How the poor girl in the nullah preserved her senses, how she kept back the scream that was clutching at her throat, she never knew. Grace, palpitating with horror, grasping with her one hand at the sides of the nullah, and with the other pressing Kit's face to her bosom, so that he could neither cry out nor see, she stood, yet never for one moment did she lose her presence of mind. Her friends rose, ran a few paces, saw by the flare of the torches that they were surrounded, and then knelt again, and implored piteously for mercy. For a few moments no one stirred. Then the voice of the leader broke the silence. 'I want one of you. The rest may go on their way in peace.' Here the guide interposed with a shrill cry: 'What my lord wishes is impossible. We go on together or not at all.' 'Be silent! Who spoke to you?' said the leader. 'Excellency, for the love of the Prophet--by your hopes of Paradise, listen to me!' 'Do you hear?' roared the leader, making a dash at the poor man with his sword. 'Silence! I have to put a question to these mem-sahibs. If they answer it truly they are free. The daughter of that son of Satan, who calls himself the General Elton, is here. I am sent to take her prisoner. Let her give herself up and the rest are free!' In the little group of trembling women there was neither sound nor stir; but their guide sprang forward. 'She is not here,' he cried. 'You lie, infidel!' 'Nay, by the Prophet's beard. I speak the truth! To satisfy you, I will give you the names of those here. Let them go on in peace, and----' The leader broke in with an awful imprecation. 'That is enough,' he cried. 'If she has escaped me, all these shall die.' He advanced threateningly. Even as he did so there came from close at hand a voice, so clear and still that it seemed to be ringing down from the upper air. 'They shall not die,' it said, 'I am here.' * * * * * It was like a vision. Hoosanee told his master so, when, sobbing like a child, he gave him an account of his stewardship. Pale as death; but, moving proudly like a queen, her head thrown back, her eyes burning under their lids; she stood suddenly amongst them--the young English girl who knew how to die. 'I am here,' she said firmly. 'Let me speak a word to the kind friend who has helped me so far, and then, if you have really any pity, kill me.' A moment of silence followed her bold words. No one cried out. No hand was raised to touch her. Her heroism, it would almost seem, had touched some chord of gentleness even in these wild hearts.