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He was holding her very gently between his hands. He seemed to be pleading with her. Her resolution began to waver. They had shattered her idol, yet she clung fast to the crumbling shrine.

“You will not let them be killed?” she whispered piteously. “Oh, promise me!”

“No one belonging to this camp will be killed if I can help it,” he said. “You will tell them at Fort Akbar that we are prepared here. General Harford is marching to join them from Fort Wara. Whatever they may hear they must not dream of moving to join us till he reaches them. They are not strong enough. They would be cut to pieces. That is the message you are going to take for me. Their garrison is too small to be split up, and Fort Akbar must be protected at all costs. It is a more important post than this even.”

“But there are women here,” Averil whispered.

“They are under my protection,” said Carlyon quietly. “I want you to start at once–before we shut the gates.”

“Have they taken you by surprise, then?” she asked, with a sharp, involuntary shiver.

“No,” Carlyon said. “They have taken the Government by surprise. That’s all.” He spoke with strong bitterness. For he was the watchman who had awaked in vain.

A moment later he was drawing her with him along the shadowy path.

“You need have no fear,” he whispered to her. “The road is open all the way. I have a horse waiting that will carry you safely. It is barely ten miles. You have done it before.”

“Am I to go just as I am?” she asked him, carried away by his unfaltering resolution.

“Yes,” said Carlyon, “except for this.” He loosened the chuddah from his own head and stooped to muffle it about hers. “I have provided for your going,” he said. “You will see no one. You know the way. Go hard!”

He moved on again. His arm was round her shoulders.

“And you?” she said, with sudden misgiving.

“I shall go back to the camp,” he said, “when I have seen you go.”

They went a little farther, ghostly, white figures gliding side by side. Wildly as her heart was beating, Averil felt that it was all strangely unreal, felt that the man beside her was a being unknown and mysterious, almost supernatural. And yet, strangely, she did not fear him. As she had once said to him, she believed he was a good man. She would always believe it. And yet was that awful doubt hammering through her brain.

They reached the bounds of the club compound and Carlyon stopped again. From the building behind them there floated the notes of a waltz, weird, dream-like, sweet as the earth after rain in summer.

“I want to know,” Carlyon said steadily, “if you trust me.”

She stretched up her hands like a child and laid them against his breast. She answered him with piteous entreaty in which passion strangely mingled.

“Colonel Carlyon,” she whispered brokenly, “promise me that when this is over you will give it up! You were not made to spy and betray! You were made an honourable, true-hearted man–God’s greatest and best creation. You were never meant to be twisted and warped to an evil use. Ah, tell me you will give it up! How can I go away and leave you toiling in the dungeons?”

“Hush!” said Carlyon. “You do not understand.”

Later, she remembered with what tenderness he gathered her hands again into his own, holding them reverently. At the time she realized nothing but the monstrous pity of his wasted life.

“It isn’t true!” she sobbed. “You would not sacrifice your friends?”

“Never!” said Carlyon sharply.

He paused. Then–“You must go, Averil,” he said. “There are two sentries on the Buddhist road, and the password is ‘Empire.’ After that-straight to Akbar. The moon is rising, and no one will speak to you or attempt to stop you. You will not be afraid?”

“I trust you,” she said very earnestly.