leamed in his hand--a steel blade had caught the reflection
of the lowered flame of a lamp hanging on the wall. The man's purpose
was plain, for thieves do not usually carry knives. He was there to
commit murder. Oh, God!

What was she to do?--She was powerless to move. Fear made her a coward,
a helpless, nerveless creature. Like one in a horrible dream, her tongue
refused to utter a warning, or her constricted throat to produce a
sound.

And there was not a moment to lose as the figure was stealthily nearing
the sleeper. Thoughts flashed through her brain with lightning rapidity.
If the man were not stopped, somehow, and at any cost, in another moment
she would see Honor's fears justified and Brian killed while asleep in
his bed. How was it possible for her to witness such a deed and not
raise a finger to save him?

But she was defenceless!

The man raised his right arm, and the sight of the knife fully exposed,
gave the impetus needed to galvanise Mrs. Dalton's nerves into sudden
and fierce activity. Without a thought for her own danger, she sprang
into the room and flung herself upon the Indian, clasping him round the
waist and holding him back as in a vice.

"Brian!" she shrieked in strangled tones, finding her voice at last.
"Brian! Help! Murder!"

A fierce struggle ensued. The native tried to free himself in vain; her
arms tightened about him as he flung himself from side to side, and did
not loose their hold even when he struck at her with his knife over his
shoulder, once, twice, thrice, burying the blade deep every time.

Only one idea obsessed Mrs. Dalton, and that was to hold on till the
assassin could be secured. He should not escape to remain a menace to
her husband's life!

Her cries aroused Dalton from his profound sleep. He had long been in
the habit of placing a loaded revolver under his pillow at night for
self-protection from possible attempts on his life, and instantly
realising the situation, leaped out of bed, and fired point blank at the
Indian's head as the knife descended once more on his poor doomed wife.

As the man dropped dead, Mrs. Dalton fell into her husband's arms, an
unforgettable sight.

Dalton carried her to his bed and laid her in it, a dying woman, while
the terror-stricken servants crowded into the room. He gave them his
orders and they sped in various directions--one to inform the police,
another to rouse Mr. Bright. Someone took the car for the assistant
surgeon, whi