He saw by my face that I wanted to ask him something, and guessed what it was. "Jassim is dead," he said. "I shot him." "Poor devil!" I thought, and was sorry. He then went on to tell me that Mr. Scarlett had been informed of all that had happened, and had come ashore to see me whilst I was asleep, and make all arrangements for the night in case the Afghans attacked. "We are all ready. Your two men (the signal-man and the man you sent with the Maxim) and I are taking it in turn to keep watch down by the fence all through the night. The signal-man is there now, and half my fellows and twenty of the coolies are lining the wall, so they can’t take us by surprise. The greater part of the trench is filled in, and there is nothing more to be done until daylight. I’ve wired to Muscat to tell the political agent about everything, and of you being wounded, and have asked him to inform the _Intrepid_, but she is not back yet. "It’s nearly midnight now, and my turn for the wire fence. Keep absolutely still, and try to go to sleep until I come back." He rose—his shadow was thrown on the wall as he bent over to lower the lamp—and I heard him go out. But sleep was now impossible; my chest was so tightly bandaged that I could hardly breathe, and though I counted all the cracks in the shutter through which the moonlight was showing, counted them time after time until it was almost maddening, sleep would not come. It seemed ages before I heard a very soft footstep creeping towards me, and the lamp threw the shadow of a woman on the wall, and for a moment the silhouette of Miss Borsen’s face. For a second I had a great longing to ask her if she would forgive me, but I still seemed to be under the spell of her orders not to speak or move, and, fearful of seeing her, I closed my eyes. She felt my pulse, lowered the lamp the slightest degree more, and I heard her go out as noiselessly as she had entered. After that the night dragged on somehow. I seemed to be rather delirious, and fancied all sorts of strange things. At one time the shadows on the wall took on the shape of old Popple Opstein, and I thought we were sitting yarning on the little deck outside the cabin; and at another they turned to Jassim, and I thought he was "coming" for me again. Then I thought I was once more trying to carry Miss Borsen down to the dinghy, but my feet would not move, and Jassim was after us. It was horrid. With the first streaks of daylight I came to my senses again, and waited and waited to hear the sound of firing and the yells of the Afghans charging up to the loopholed wall. I strained my ears to catch the noise of the six-pounder, but all was still. Gradually the light grew stronger, people began moving about in the house, and presently, when it was quite daylight—even though the shutters were closed—Mr. Fisher came in with a joyous expression on his face. "They’ve thought better of it," he said. "They’re still down there, but aren’t making a move.