Long before she had reached the end of her sentence she recognised that it was Mr Burgrave to whom she was speaking. They had scarcely met since the dreadful night of anxiety when she had given him back his ring, and she noticed with a shock how gray and shrunken he looked. It was the hardships of the siege, she tried to assure herself, that had made him old before his time. “I will certainly give your message to the officer on guard,” he answered politely. “We can’t allow this sort of thing to begin.” He went on his way with a bow, and she stood looking after him. Hearing a click, she glanced up hastily. The sentry on the rampart above her was kneeling down and taking deliberate aim with his carbine at the unconscious Commissioner. She knew the man; he was Ismail Bakhsh’s son Ibrahim, and she saw that the moment Mr Burgrave quitted the shelter of the wall in crossing the courtyard he would be at his mercy. But in her arms was a talisman, and she ran forward and caught up the Commissioner, who looked round at her in astonishment. “Oh, do take him in your arms for a moment!” she cried, stammering in her eagerness. “You have never held him, and his mother will be so pleased.” Taken completely by surprise, Mr Burgrave allowed the baby to be placed in his arms, and actually carried it across the court, while Mabel, at his side, was shaking with apprehension. She knew that he was safe while he held that precious bundle, but she was by no means sure that Ibrahim would not resent her interference with his plans to the extent of shooting her instead. This physical terror kept her from feeling the awkwardness of the situation, and she did not even realise it until Mr Burgrave paused at the archway leading into the outer court, and looked into her face as he gave her back the baby. “You will laugh at me for saying that I had a little hope left until to-day,” he said. “Now I see how foolish I was. In spite of the siege and all your troubles, you look now as you did when I first knew you, and it is simply because you are free from me. Don’t be afraid; I shall not persecute you. All I care for is to see you happy in your own way.” There was little inclination to laughter in Mabel’s mind as she returned slowly to Georgia’s room. She had scarcely reached it when Rahah came flying along the passage to tell her mistress that Woodworth Sahib and ten men had come and taken Ismail Bakhsh prisoner, and there was therefore no hope of escaping to-day. Georgia hardly seemed to hear. She was still sitting where Mabel had left her, sobbing feebly and too weak to move, and they were able to get her into bed again before Dr Tighe came bustling in. “Now, now, what’s this I hear?” he asked severely. “Will you think, Mrs North, that we’ve always regarded you as a sensible woman, and that the Major was proud of your judgment? You wouldn’t be in earnest just now?”