They obeyed him instinctively, and stood helpless, watching the short, desperate struggle between life and death. Scarcely a moment elapsed before the flames died down--one last tight drawing together of Mrs. Carmichael's wrap, and they were extinct. Nicholson stumbled to his feet, the frail, unconscious burden in his arms. "Please make way," he said. "I do not think she is badly hurt, but she must be taken home at once. Stafford, go and see if the carriage is there." His own face was singed, and one of his hands badly burnt, but he did not seem to notice his own injuries. Colonel Carmichael, who had entered the hall with him at the moment of the accident, helped to clear the road. His features in the half-light were grey with the fear of those last few moments. "You have saved our little girl!" he said brokenly to Nicholson. "You have saved her life. God bless you for it, Adam!" "That's all right," was the cheerful answer. "You know, Colonel, Lois and I were always helping each other out of scrapes, and I expect it was my turn." He looked down at the pale face against his shoulder, and there was an unconscious tenderness in his expression which touched the shaken old man's heart. "She will be glad to hear it was you, Adam," he said. "You were always her favorite." They had reached the great doors, which the Rajah himself had flung wide open, when Travers sprang up the steps to meet them. He was dishevelled, breathless, and exhausted as though with hard running, and his eyes, as they flashed from one to the other of the little procession, were those of a madman. "What has happened?" he demanded frantically. "I was outside with Webb. What has happened?--Oh!" He caught sight of Lois in Nicholson's arms, and his cry was high and hysterical, like a frightened woman's. Stafford seized him by the shoulder and dragged him back into the now empty hall. "Control yourself!" he said roughly. "Don't behave like a fool. She is all right, but they won't want you interfering, especially if you can't keep your head." "They won't want me!" Travers exclaimed, staring at him. He then broke into a discordant laugh. "Why, my good Stafford, they'll have to have me, whether they want me or no. Lois is mine--mine, I tell you; and that fellow, Nicholson, had better look to himself--" "You are beside yourself, Travers. Nicholson saved her life. What do you mean by saying she is yours?" "She is to be my wife. Who can have more right to her than I have?" The two men stared at each other through the semi-darkness. One by one the lights at the side of the hall were extinguished by the softly-moving servants. The hushed voices of the departing guests died away in the distance. "Your wife!" Stafford repeated slowly. "Since when is that, Travers?" "Since this afternoon. Let me pass!"