“Your life is in danger?” she questioned, rushing to him as though she would protect him. Ilam, without a word, led her to the window, from the corner of which a glimpse of the avenue could be caught, and walking to and fro there in the avenue was the Soudanese. “You see that man?” said Ilam. “It’s the fellow they call ‘Spats’ in the native village. I don’t know why. He is devoted to me; he is fully armed; he follows me everywhere. I have only to blow this whistle”--and Ilam produced a whistle from his pocket. “Darling”--and Juliette clung to him--“is it so bad as that? Who is it that threatens you?” “The man that I buried,” said Ilam quietly. “But what are you going to do?” “Well,” said Ilam, “I’m come here to see you. We must get your brother on our side.” “I’ll force him to understand at once,” cried Juliette. “No,” said Ilam, “perhaps you would fail, as things are, but if you were my wife, you would not fail then. Carpentaria, once the thing was done, would do everything in his power to protect your husband; he likes you well enough for that. He might be angry at first, but he would see reason.” “Dearest, you want me to marry you secretly?” “I merely want you to go with me to the registry office at Putney.” “Is that what you came for?” “That is what I came for.” “My love!” she murmured. Yet, with that cold and penetrating insight which women have, she saw clearly that, though Ilam’s idea of getting Carpentaria’s assistance in a moment of grave danger was doubtless quite serious, it was somewhat fanciful, and that Ilam’s professed reason for their instant marriage was also fanciful, and was not a real reason, but only an excuse. He merely wanted to marry her at once, that was all, and although his life was threatened, he thought little of that. She loved him the more. “I can make the arrangements pretty quick,” said Ilam. “You will agree, my angel?” And she nodded, and the compact was sealed. They heard a scurrying in the passages of the house. “Juliette! Juliette!” It was Carpentaria’s voice, and other voices mingled with it indistinctly--the voices of the servants. “Yes!” she answered loudly and, whispering to Ilam, “Get out of the window; whistle softly for your Soudanese. You can get on to the roof of the outhouse. He will help you.” And noiselessly she opened the window, and Ilam, struck by her tremendous resourcefulness, passed out. She heard his low whistle, and then she ran to the door and into the passage. “The house is on fire,” said Carpentaria, meeting her. “Is it?” she answered calmly. “Are the firemen come? where’s the fire?”--She sniffed--“Yes,” she said, “I can smell it.”