"The Rajah has a charmed life," he said somberly. "He is always in the front of his men--we can recognize him by his dress and figure--he is always within range, but we can't hit him. Not that I ought to wish his death, though it's our only chance." He put his hands distractedly to his head. "Heaven knows, it's too hard for a Christian man! Every time I see an enemy fall, I rejoice--and then I remember that it is my brother--" He stopped, the expression on his face of profound trouble giving way to active alarm. "Hush! Some one is coming!" A second time the door opened, and Travers rushed in. Lois saw his face, and something in her recoiled in sick disgust. Fear, an almost imbecilic fear, was written on the wide-open, staring eyes, and the hand that held the revolver trembled like that of an old man. "Quick--out by the back way!" he stammered incoherently. "I will lock the door--so. That will keep them off a minute. They are bound to look for us here first. Nicholson is retiring with his men--they are going to have a try to bring down the Rajah. It's our one chance. It may frighten the devils--they think he's a god. I believe he is, curse him!" All the time, he had been piling furniture against the door with a mad and feverish energy. "Help me! Help me!" he screamed. "Why don't you help? Do you want to be killed like sheep?" Lois drew him back by the arm. "You are wasting time," she said firmly. "Come with us! Why, you are hurt!" He looked at the thin stream which trickled down the soiled white of his coat. A silly smile flickered over his big face. "Oh, yes, a scratch. I hardly feel it. It isn't anything. It can't be anything. There's nothing vital thereabouts, is there, Berry?" The missionary shrugged his shoulders. He had flung open the glass doors which led on to the verandah, and the brightening dawn flooded in upon them. "Come and help me carry this poor lady," he said. "We have not a minute to lose." Travers tried to obey, but he had no strength, and the other thrust him impatiently on one side. "Mrs. Carmichael, you are a strong woman," he appealed. Between them they managed to bring Mrs. Cary's heavy, unconscious frame down the steps. It was a nerve-trying task, for their progress was of necessity a slow one, and the sound of the desperate fighting seemed to surround them on every side. It was with a feeling of intense relief that the little party saw Nicholson appear from amidst the trees and run toward them. "That's right!" he cried. "Only be quick! They are at us on all sides now, but my men are keeping them off until you are out of the bungalow. The old ruin at the back of the garden is our last stand. Carmichael is there already with a detachment, and is keeping off a rear attack. I shall remain here." "Alone?" Berry asked anxiously.