some metallic
substance thrown against the panels.

"Hullo!" said Laing.

"Oh, somebody tumbled downstairs," said Deane reassuringly. "Don't
move, Miss Bussey."

"Oh, but Sir Roger, what is it? What do you think? It didn't sound at
all like what you say."

The General laughed.

"Come, Miss Bussey, I don't suppose it's----"

As he spoke the form of Painter appeared at the open window. He was
breathless, and shrieked hastily:

"Dynamite, dynamite! Save yourselves! It'll be off in a minute."

"Then I shall be off in half a minute," said Laing.

There was a rush to the door, and Laing, remembering his instructions,
joined hastily in it.

"No, no. The bomb's there!" cried Painter, excitedly.

They stood still in horror for ten seconds.

"To the window, to the window, for your lives! Save the ladies!" cried
Sir Roger Deane.

CHAPTER XIII

FAITHFUL TO DEATH

The ladies looked at one another. Even in that awful moment, the
becoming, the seemly, the dignified had its claims. The window was
narrow: the ladder--Mary Travers had gone to look at it--was steep: a
little, curious, excited crowd was gathering below. Deane saw their
hesitation. He rushed to the door and cautiously opened it. The thing
was there! Across the very entrance--that villainous oblong case! And
from below came a shriek--it was Madame's voice, and a cry of "Quick!
quick!"

"This," said the General firmly (he had been through the Mutiny), "is
not a time for punctilio. Excuse me," and he lifted Lady Deane in his
stalwart arms and bore her toward the window.

With a distant reminiscence of the ball room, Arthur Laing approached
Miss Bussey, murmuring "May I have the--" and with a mighty effort
swung the good lady from the ground. She clutched his cravat wildly,
crying "Save me!"

Mary Travers was calmness itself. With quiet mien and unfaltering
voice, she laid her hand on Charlie's arm and murmured:

"I am ready, Charlie."

At the same moment John Ashforth, the light of heroism in his eye,
whispered to Dora, "You must trust yourself implicitly to me."

"Quick, quick!" cried Deane, "or it's all up with you. Quick, Ashforth!
Quick, Charlie, quick, man!"

There was one more pause. Mary's hand pressed a little harder. John's
arm was advancing towards Dora's waist. Sir Roger looked on with
apparent impatience.

"Are you never going?" he called. "Must I----"

Suddenly a loud cry rang out. It came from Miss Bellairs.

"Oh, Charli