It had come; she heard voices without the wall, among them Ishmael’s. Her heart stopped, then bounded like a live thing in her breast. He was commanding someone to “catch that dog and tie it up, for it was bewitched, and did not know him or anyone,” then the sound of a dog being dragged away, whining feebly, and then the door opened. First Ishmael came in with an affectation of swaggering boldness, but looking like a man suffering from the effects of a long debauch. About his eyes were great black rings, and in them was a stare of sleeplessness. He carried a double-barrelled gun under his arm, but the hand with which he supported it shook visibly, and at every unusual sound he started. After him came Richard, his wrists bound together behind him, and on his legs hide shackles which only just allowed him to shuffle forward slowly. Moreover he was guarded by four men who carried spears. Rachel glanced quickly at his face, and saw that it was pale and resolute; quite untouched by fear. “Are you well?” she asked quietly, taking no note of Ishmael. “Yes,” he answered, “and you, Rachel?” “Quite well bodily, Richard, but oh! my soul is sick.” Before he could reply Ishmael turned on him savagely, and bade him be silent, or it would be the worse for him. Then he took off his hat with his shaking hand, and bowed to Rachel. “Rachel,” he said, “I have kept my promise, and left you alone for three days, but time is up and now this gentleman and I have come to hear your decision, which is so important to both of us.” “What am I to decide?” she asked in a low voice, looking straight before her. “Have you forgotten? Your memory must be very bad. Well, it is best to have no mistake, and no doubt our friend here would like to know exactly how things stand. You have to decide whether you will take me as your husband to-day of your own free will, or whether Mr. Richard Darrien shall suffer the punishment of death, for having tried to kill his sentry and escape, a crime of which he has been guilty, and afterwards I should take you as my wife with, or without, your consent.” When Richard heard these words the veins in his forehead swelled with rage and horror till it seemed as though they would burst. “You unutterable villain,” he gasped, “you cowardly hound! Oh! if only my hands were free.” “Well, they ain’t, Mr. Darrien, and it’s no use your tugging at that buffalo hide, so hold your tongue, and let us hear the lady’s answer,” sneered Ishmael. “Richard, Richard,” said Rachel in a kind of wail, “you have heard. It is a matter of your life. What am I to do?” “Do?” he answered, in loud, firm tones, “do? How can you ask me such a question? The matter is not one of my life, but of your—of your—oh! I cannot say it. Let this foul beast kill me, of course, and then, if you care enough, follow the same road. A few years sooner or later make little difference, and so we shall soon be together again.” She thought a moment, then said quietly: