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He turned away with the words and began to loosen his sandals. Phil watched him dumbly. He was face to face with a difficulty of such monstrous proportions that he was utterly nonplussed. From the distance came the sound of voices.

“You had better go,” observed Tudor, in steady tones. “The guards are coming back. It will hasten matters for both of us if we are discovered like this.”

“Sir!” Phil burst out suddenly. “I–can’t!”

Tudor wheeled swiftly. It was almost as if he had been waiting for that desperate appeal. He caught up the native garment and flung it over Phil’s shoulders. He dragged the beard down over his face and secured the chuddah about his head. He did it all with incredible rapidity and a strength that would not be gainsaid.

Then, holding Phil fast in a merciless, irresistible grasp, he spoke:

“If you attempt to disobey me now, I’ll kill myself with my own hands.”

There was no mistaking the resolution of his voice, and it wrought the end of the battle–an end inevitable. Phil realised it and accepted it with a groan. He did not utter another word of protest. He was conquered, humiliated, powerless. Only when at last he was ready to depart he stood up and faced Tudor, as he had faced him on the day that the latter had refused to give him a hearing.

“I’ve given in to you,” he said; “but it’s to save your life, if possible, and for no other reason. You can think what you like of me, but not–of her! Because, before Heaven, I believe this will break her heart.”

He would have said more, but Tudor cut him short.

“Go!” he said. “Go! I know what I am doing–better than you think!”

And Phil turned in silence and went out into the world-wide starlight.

CHAPTER XI

THE AWAKENING

The sun was already high when Audrey awoke. She started up, refreshed in body and mind. Her first thought was of her husband. No doubt he had gone out long before. He always rose early, even when off duty.

Then she remembered Phil, and her face contracted as all the trouble of the night before rushed back upon her. Was he still living? she wondered.

She stretched out her hand to ring for her ayah. But as she did so her eyes fell upon a table by her side and she caught sight of an envelope lying there. She picked it up.

It was addressed to herself in her husband’s handwriting, and, with a sharp sense of anxiety, she tore it open. The note it contained was characteristically brief:

I hope by the time you read this to have procured young Turner’s release, if he still lives–at no very great cost, I beg you to believe. I desire the letter that you will find on my writing-table to be sent at once to the colonel. There is also a note for Mrs. Raleigh which I want you to deliver yourself. God bless you, Audrey.

E.T.

Audrey looked up from the letter with startled eyes and white cheeks. What did it mean? What had he been doing in the night while she slept? How was it possible for him to have saved Phil?

Trembling, she sprang from her bed and began to dress. Possibly the note to Mrs. Raleigh might explain the mystery. She would ride round with it at once.

She went into Tudor’s room before starting and found the letter for the colonel. It was addressed and sealed. She gave it to a syce with orders to deliver it into the colonel’s own hands without delay.

Then, still quivering with an apprehension she would not own, she mounted and rode away to the surgeon’s bungalow.

Mrs. Raleigh received her with some surprise.

“Ah, come in!” she said kindly. “I’m delighted to see you, dear; but, sure, you are riding very late. And is there anything the matter?”

“Yes,” gasped Audrey breathlessly. “I mean no, I hope not. My husband has–has gone to try to save Phil Turner; and–and he left a note for you, which I was to deliver. He went away in the night, but he–of course he’ll–be back–soon!”