“Ainslie must have seen him from the church tower. He must know that I have had tidings. He will want to know what they are. If I tell him they must all know.” “How long can we hold out?” “An hour or two at the most.” “Is that absolutely certain?” “I pledge my credit as a soldier upon it.” “Then we must fall?” “Yes, we must fall.” “There is no hope for us?” “None.” The door flew open and young Ainslie rushed in. Behind him crowded Ralston, Patterson, and a crowd of white men and of native Christians. “You’ve had news, Colonel?” Professor Mercer pushed to the front. “Colonel Dresler has just been telling me. It is all right. They have halted, but will be here in the early morning. There is no longer any danger.” A cheer broke from the group in the doorway. Everyone was laughing and shaking hands. “But suppose they rush us before to-morrow morning?” cried Ralston, in a petulant voice. “What infernal fools these fellows are not to push on! Lazy devils, they should be court-martialled, every man of them.” “It’s all safe,” said Ainslie. “These fellows have had a bad knock. We can see their wounded being carried by the hundred over the hill. They must have lost heavily. They won’t attack before morning.” “No, no,” said the Colonel; “it is certain that they won’t attack before morning. None the less, get back to your posts. We must give no point away.” He left the room with the rest, but as he did so he looked back, and his eyes for an instant met those of the old Professor. “I leave it in your hands,” was the message which he flashed. A stern set smile was his answer. * * * * * The afternoon wore away without the Boxers making their last attack. To Colonel Dresler it was clear that the unwonted stillness meant only that they were reassembling their forces from their fight with the relief column, and were gathering themselves for the inevitable and final rush. To all the others it appeared that the siege was indeed over, and that the assailants had been crippled by the losses which they had already sustained. It was a joyous and noisy party, therefore, which met at the supper-table, when the three bottles of Lachryma Christi were uncorked and the famous port of caviare was finally opened. It was a large jar, and, though each had a tablespoonful of the delicacy, it was by no means exhausted. Ralston, who was an epicure, had a double allowance. He pecked away at it like a hungry bird. Ainslie, too, had a second helping. The Professor took a large spoonful himself, and Colonel Dresler, watching him narrowly, did the same. The ladies ate freely, save only pretty Miss Patterson, who disliked the salty, pungent taste. In spite of the hospitable entreaties of the Professor, her portion lay hardly touched at the side of her plate. “You don’t like my little delicacy. It is a disappointment to me when I had kept it for your pleasure,” said the old man. “I beg that you will eat the caviare.”