The other Hindus ran fast; but “with heart of fire and foot of wind,” the active Robin overtook them mid-way and passed them, narrowly missing a heavy blow from a club. Victor in the race, panting and streaming with perspiration, the English youth came near enough to the bungalow for his shout to be heard by one within it. “Up to the roof, Kripá Dé!” He had no breath to say more. It was too late for the convert to fly with any hope of escaping; but if he could mount to the roof, Robin had resolved to take his own stand on the steep narrow outside stair which led to it, and make good its defence against the attacking force. “I think that I can keep the wolves at bay, at least until the arrival of my father and Harold shall reduce the odds against me,” muttered Robin Hartley. Kripá Dé, as commanded, fled to the roof; Robin shouted to him to lie down flat, so as not to offer a mark to the shower of bricks with which the pursuers were likely to assail him. Robin himself caught up a hatchet which had been left on a heap of rough timber which a servant had been chopping up for firewood. This was a formidable weapon wielded by a strong, vigorous English arm. Robin mounted the steep stair, took his stand on one of the upper steps, and in an attitude of defiance awaited the expected rush of men from below. The Hindus looked up, but did not attempt to come within reach of the swing of the hatchet. No one chose to be the first to encounter the fearless boy. A brief consultation appeared to be held below. Robin could not hear the words spoken, but he was soon to see their effect. About half the number of Hindus moved off. Young Hartley knew that there was no inner staircase to the bungalow, and therefore considered that the only way of reaching the convert on the roof was by passing over his own body. But Robin had forgotten that Alicia’s “paradise” had a separate outer staircase, and that the dwellings were so close to each other that they virtually formed but one. Young Hartley was reminded of his oversight by seeing dark figures running over the flat roof of his brother’s house. Robin could not guard two staircases at once, so springing upon his own roof with intent to defend Kripá Dé to the last, he saw the poor young convert struggling in the grasp of a dozen dark hands. Robin beheld no more, for he was himself struck down by a bludgeon which laid him senseless on the flat roof. There he lay, bleeding and unconscious of all that was passing around him. When the poor youth recovered his senses, he found the place deserted; the convert had evidently been carried off, and all that he had himself gained from the brief struggle to save Kripá Dé was an aching head, from which blood flowed freely over his face and dress. Robin raised himself, first to a sitting posture, then to his feet, looked around, and then, though feeling sick, dizzy, and faint, made his way to the stair. He descended the steps much more slowly than he had mounted them, and just