n in his strong arms, threw him over his
shoulder and staggered toward the steps.

"Release me, damn you!" shrieked Vos Engo, striking his rescuer in the
face with his fist.

"I'm saving you for another day," said King as he dropped behind the
balustrade, with his burden safe. A wild cheer went up from the lips of
the defenders, scornful howls from the enemy.

"I pray God it may be deferred until I am capable of defending myself,"
groaned Vos Engo, glaring at the other with implacable hatred in his
eyes.

"You might pray for my preservation, too, while you're at it," said
Truxton, as he crept away to regain his rifle.

There were other witnesses to Truxton's rash act. In a lofty window of
the north wing crouched a white-faced girl and a grim old man. The
latter held a rifle in his tense though feeble hands. They had been
there for ten minutes or longer, watching the battle from their eerie
place of security. Now and then the old man would sight his rifle and
fire. A groan of anger and dismay escaped his lips after each attempt to
send his bullet to the spot intended. The girl who crouched beside him
was there to designate a certain figure in the ever-changing mass of
humanity on the bloody parade ground. Her clear eyes sought for and
found Marlanx; her unwavering finger pointed him out to the old
marksman.

She saw Vos Engo fall. Then a tall, well-known figure sprang into view,
dashing toward her wounded lover. Her heart stopped beating. The blood
rushed to her eyes. Everything before her turned red--a horrid, blurring
red. With her hands to her temples, she leaned far over the window ledge
and screamed--screamed words that would have filled Truxton King with an
endless joy could he have heard them above the rattle of the rifles.

"A brave act!" exclaimed the old man at her side. "Who is he?"

But she did not hear him. She had fallen back and was gasping
supplication, her eyes set upon the old man's face with a stare that
meant nothing.

The corner of the building had shut out the picture; it was impossible
for her to know that the man and his burden had reached the balcony in
safety. Even now, they might be lying on the terrace, riddled by
bullets. The concentrated aim of the enemy had not escaped her horrified
gaze. The cheering did not reach her ears.

The old man roused her from the stupor of dread. He called her name
several times in high, strident tones. Dully she responded. Standing
bolt upright in t