"Who told you?" said Terrington. "Hussain Shah," replied the other excitedly. "Langford was in the courtyard with half the escort, when a yelling began inside the hall, and a swarm of those brown swine poured out shouting that Sir Colvin was killed, and attacked him. Langford charged, and tried to jam them in the doorway; but the crowd joined in behind, and when Langford was shot through the body Hussain retired 'em, and they had to cut their way through till they were clear of the Bazaar. Every man of them was wounded, and they've lost five and Langford's dying." "Is Clones with him?" Walcot nodded. Terrington remained a moment without speaking, gazing almost absently through the window in the thick mud wall at the green grove of chenar. In his loose racing-coat above polo boots and breeches, and with the gay silk scarf at his throat, he suggested anything but a man suddenly met by a great emergency. "Tell Subadar Afzul Singh," he said slowly, "to post the Fort guard, break out the loopholes and put the place at once in a state of defence. You will parade every other available man in the courtyard within half an hour, in marching order a hundred and fifty rounds a man. Dore will take over Langford's Sikhs and Dogras; the Bakót levies will reinforce the Fort guard. Send Risaldar Hussain Shah to me here." Rose Chantry held her sobbing breath in astonishment at the note of control which had come into the man's voice. It was lower and softer than she had ever heard it, but it spoke with a quiet and assured authority which seemed to master her even while it addressed another. Walcot felt it too. He was the elder of the two men, and but a few months junior in the service; they had lived together for some time on terms of perfect equality, yet now, though Terrington had made no reference to a change in their relations, Walcot's heels came together while the other was speaking, and his hand went to his cap with a "Very good, sir" as Nevile ended. The phrase, the sudden change of relation, Walcot's retreating figure, disciplined and subordinate, produced on Rose Chantry a very curious effect. "Are you going to take over the command?" she said to Terrington, who had seated himself at his desk and was writing rapidly. He turned his head and looked at her, his mind evidently occupied with an interrupted thought. "I have taken it over," he said quietly, turning again to his pen. She watched him for a moment. His silence, his unconcern, his power, were all alike beyond her. "Are you going to the Palace?" she asked at length. He looked round at her again, as clearly preoccupied as before, but without irritation. "You will save them, won't you, if you can?" she went on imploringly, to force the subject into his mind. "Yes," he said slowly, "I'm going to the Palace." Then after a pause, but with his eyes still upon her, "Mr. Clones would probably be very glad of some help with the wounded."