es at a large
cardboard box, with a flat-iron on its lid, which stood on the table.
The two elder people were each holding small knobkerries, that is,
stout sticks with wired handles and heavy heads made by the natives. A
revolver lay at Saxby's elbow.

The little tableau remained stationary just long enough for Christine
to observe all details; then everyone acted at once. Roddy flew round
the table and reached her at the window, sobbing:

"Oh, Miss Chaine! Miss Chaine!"

Saxby laid his knobkerrie on the table and lit a cigarette, and Mrs.
van Cannan, rising from her seat with an air of dignity outraged beyond
all bounds, addressed Christine.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, Miss Chaine? How dare you come
bursting into Mr. Saxby's house like this?"

"I heard Roddy call out," was the firm answer, "and I consider it my
duty to protect him." She had the boy well within her reach now, and
could easily have lifted him out of the low window, but it seemed an
undignified thing to do unless it became absolutely necessary.

"Protect him! From what, may I ask?" The woman's voice was like a
knife.

"I don't know from what. I only know that he was in grave fear of
something you were about to do."

Saxby interposed with a soft laugh.

"You surely cannot suppose Roddy was in any danger from his mother,
Miss Chaine--or that I would harm him?"

He certainly did not look very harmful with his full, handsome features
and melancholy smile.

"Your action is both ridiculous and impertinent," continued Mrs. van
Cannan furiously. "And I can tell you that I will not stand that sort
of thing from any one in my house," she added, with the air of one
dismissing a servant: "You may go. Roddy, come here!"

Roddy gave a wild cry.

"Don't leave me, Miss Chaine. They've got a snake in that box, and
they want me to let it out."

There was blank silence for a moment; then Christine spoke with
deliberation.

"If this is true, it is the most infamous thing I have ever heard."

Even Isabel van Cannan was silenced, and Saxby's deprecating smile
passed. He said gravely:

"Mrs. van Cannan has a right to use what methods she thinks best to
cure her boy of cowardice."

"Cowardice!" Christine answered him scornfully. "The word would be
better applied to those who deliberately terrify a child. I am
astonished at a man taking part in such a vile business."

She was pale with indignation and pity for the boy who trem