ome," he said, "listen a moment and let me tell you my plan of
campaign. It is very simple, and for that reason it is going to
succeed. You are listening now?"

His tone was vigorous and insistent. Muriel sat slowly up in response
to it. She looked down at the thin hand that grasped hers, and
wondered at its strength; but she lacked the spirit at that moment to
resent its touch.

He leaned down upon the table, his face close to hers, and began to
unfold his plan.

"We shall leave the fort directly the moon is down. I have a disguise
for you that will conceal your face and hair. And I shall fake as a
tribesman, so that my dearest friend would never recognise me. They
will be collecting the wounded in the dark, and I will carry you
through on my shoulder as if I had got a dead relation. You won't
object to playing a dead relation of mine?"

He broke into a sudden laugh, but sobered instantly when he saw her
shrink at the sound.

"That's about all the plan," he resumed. "There is nothing very
alarming about it, for they will never spot us in the dark. I'm as
yellow as a Chinaman already. We shall be miles away by morning. And I
know how to find my way afterwards."

He paused, but Muriel made no comment. She was staring straight before
her.

"Can you suggest any amendments?" he asked.

She turned her head and looked at him with newly-roused aversion in
her eyes. She had summoned all her strength to the combat, realising
that now was the moment for resistance if she meant to resist.

"No, Mr. Ratcliffe," she said, with a species of desperate firmness
very different from his own. "I have nothing to suggest. If you wish
to escape, you must go alone. It is quite useless to try to persuade
me any further. Nothing--nothing will induce me to leave my father."

Whether or not he had expected this opposition was not apparent on
Nick's face. It betrayed neither impatience nor disappointment.

"There would be some reason in that," he gravely rejoined, "if you
could do any good to your father by remaining. Of course I see your
point, but it seems to me that it would be harder for him to see you
starve with the rest of the garrison than to know that you had escaped
with me. A woman in your position is bound to be a continual burden
and anxiety to those who protect her. The dearer she is to them, so
much the heavier is the burden. Miss Roscoe, you must see this. You
are not an utter child. You must realise that to leave you