It was quite dark now; even the stars were obscured. The travellers held on their way; no words passed between them, for each was occupied with his and her thoughts. They drew near to their destination; they could see the lights in the barrack windows, but they had yet about a quarter of a mile to go. The road was through some clustering trees, and past a number of straggling native huts; these places all seemed deserted--at least, none of the natives showed themselves. In a little while Harper stopped suddenly, and drawing Haidee to him, whispered--“I believe that we are being followed. I am certain that I have discerned figures moving quickly about, as if dodging us. Do not be alarmed,” as he passed his arm round her and drew his pistol. “We have not far to go, and if we can reach the barracks we shall be safe. See,” he exclaimed, in a low tone, and pointing to a small mound upon which grew two or three palms, “I am convinced that there are some men there moving about suspiciously. Do you not see them?” “Yes, yes,” she murmured, clinging to him--not from fear for herself, but rather as a mother would cling to her child when she knows that danger threatened it. “Let us proceed cautiously.” They went on for a few yards, until they were nearly abreast of the mound; then Harper stopped again, and he placed himself before Haidee, for a sound had come to him that was terribly ominous. He had heard the sharp “click, click,” of a rifle. His soldier’s ear detected it in a moment. “Crouch down, Haidee. Crouch down. They are going to fire,” he said, quickly. But the words had scarcely left his lips when there rang out on the still night air a startling report, and a tongue of fire darted from the clump of trees. Then instantly another report, and another tongue. It was certain that two rifles had been fired, and one of the bullets had found its billet. Harper tossed up his arms, and, with a gurgling gasp, sank to the ground. With a shrill scream Haidee threw herself beside him. She passed her arm round his neck; she bent over and kissed him frantically. “Oh, my beloved!” she moaned, “speak to me. Do not die! Do not leave Haidee alone in the world! Oh, ye Houris of goodness!” she prayed, as she turned her eyes up to heaven, “ye who observe human sorrow from the gates of Paradise, pity me, and spare this mortal.” Perhaps her prayer was heard--perhaps some pitying angel did carry it up, and lay it before the throne of mercy. The wounded man heard it, and he managed to clutch her hand, and press it to the left side of his breast. The blood was gushing out--his warm blood--and it flowed over her hand and arm. In an instant she had bared his breast; and, tearing off her muslin skirt, she stanched the wound. He could not speak, but a faint pressure of the hand gave her hope. “My beloved, live--live!” she murmured. “Oh, for some assistance! But you must not lie here; it were death to do so. Oh, that I had a man’s strength but for a brief half-hour.”