n, in a piteous whisper.

The candle flickered with feeble interest in the shadows that began to
grow in the farthest corner. The girl drew closer to the side of the
strong yet powerless man. Their gaze went to the sputtering candle. It
was going out and they would be in utter darkness. And yet neither
thought of the supply of fresh candles in the corner.

King brought himself out of the strange lethargy with a jerk. It was
high time, for the light was going.

"Quick!" he cried. "The candle! Light a fresh one. My hands are bound."

She crept to the candles and joined the wicks. A new light grew as the
old one died. Then she stood erect, looking down upon him.

"You are bound. I forgot."

She started forward, dropping to her knees beside him, an eager gleam in
her eyes. "If I can untie the rope--will that help? Can you do anything?
You are strong. There must be a way. There must be one little chance for
you--for us. Let me try."

"By Jove," he whispered admiringly, his spirits leaping to meet hers.
"You've got pluck. You put new life in me. I--I was almost a--a
quitter."

"You have been here so long," she explained quickly. "And tied all these
days." She was tugging at the knot.

"Only since I gave that pleasant punch to Peter Brutus."

"That shows what you can do," she whispered warmly. "Oh, I wonder! I
wonder if we have a chance! Anyway, your arms will be free. I shall feel
safer if your arms are free."

He sat with his back to her while she struggled with the stubborn knots.
A delicious thrill of pleasure swept over him. She had said she would
feel safer if his arms were free! She was struggling, with many a tense
straining of delicate fingers, to undo the bonds which held him
helpless. The touch of her eager fingers, the closeness of her body, the
warmth of her breathing--he was beginning to hope that the effort might
be prolonged interminably.

At last, after many despairing tugs, the knot relaxed. "There!" she
cried, sinking back exhausted. "Oh, how it must have hurt you! Your
wrists are raw!"

He suppressed the tactless impulse to say that he preferred a rope on
the wrists to one about his neck, realising that the jest could only
shock and not amuse her under the present conditions.

His arms were stiff and sore and hung like lead at his sides. She
watched him, with narrowed eyes, while he stood off and tried to work
blood and strength back into his muscles.

"Do you think you can--can do anythi