And so we strolled on under the trees, and forgot our troubles for one short morning. The air seemed deliciously sweet and fresh, though, a few days later, it grew unbearably hot. We were just thinking of returning to the house when in the distance I saw a curious object on the ground; it lay under the trees about 200 yards away, and nothing would content me but that I must go and find out what it was. In vain Mrs. Ross expostulated, and pointed out the danger of going so far and getting out of touch with the houses; the spirit of mischief prompted me, and I ran away laughing. Lilian followed, entreating me to stop, but, I am sorry to say, the more excited she grew the more I laughed and the faster I ran—on and on, until I got quite close to the object which had excited my curiosity. Judge of my horror when, on looking down, I found it was one of our own soldiers lying there, dead; he had evidently been murdered by the Boxers. I felt sobered in a moment. The beauty of the day had gone, and the sun seemed cruel now, as it blazed pitilessly down on the man’s white, upturned face. I recognized him at once, for he had been for years in my father’s regiment, and was a great favourite with us all. And now he lay there in the bright sunshine, dead. I knelt by his side, quite forgetting the danger we were in, until Lilian Ross came up and almost dragged me away. "Nina," she said, "you must be mad; come back with me this instant. We are out of sight of home, and any moment we may be stopped." I rose sobbing, and quite subdued now, prepared to follow her quietly, feeling indifferent to everything. It was too late. As we retraced our steps, we heard wild shouting and cries, that awful cry that woke the stillness of the night—"Kill, kill." Lilian turned as white as snow. I realized that it was through my rashness; we were probably doomed to a cruel death. I felt it keenly, because I saw that I had sacrificed Lilian as well as myself, but she never reproached me. "Nina," she whispered, hurriedly, "have you got your satchet with you?" The fear in her lovely eyes was reflected, I know, in mine. "Yes," I said, fumbling with my hand in the bosom of my dress, "it is here." "That is right, we may need it. I do not fear death, not since I met Mr. St. John; but torture—" and she shuddered. "Oh, Lilian, and I have brought you to this. I shall never forgive myself—never." "You did not mean it, darling." "No, but it comes to the same thing." "It may be possible for us to escape, even now; let us take this turn, Nina, it will lead us round by the other entrance."