is about the greatest sacrifice you can make for him at the present
moment. He is worn out with anxiety on your behalf, literally bowed
down by it. For his sake, you are going to do this thing, it being the
only thing left that you can do for him."

There was more than persuasion in his voice. It held authority. But
Muriel heard it without awe. She had passed that stage. The matter
was too momentous to allow of weakness. She had strung herself to the
highest pitch of resistance as a hunted creature at bay. She threw
back her head, a look of obstinacy about her lips, her slight figure
straightened to the rigidity of defiance.

"I will not be forced," she said, in sharp, uneven tones. "Mr.
Ratcliffe, you may go on persuading and arguing till doomsday. I will
not leave my father."

Ratcliffe stood up abruptly. A curious glitter shone in his eyes, and
the light eyebrows twitched a little. She felt that he had suddenly
ceased to do battle with her, yet that the victory was not hers. And
for a second she was horribly frightened, as though an iron trap had
closed upon her and held her at his mercy.

He walked to the door without speaking and opened it. She expected
him to go, sat waiting breathlessly for his departure, but instead he
stood motionless, looking into the dark passage.

She wondered with nerves on edge what he was waiting for. Suddenly
she heard a step without, a few murmured words, and Nick stood on one
side. Her father's Sikh orderly passed him, carrying a tray on which
was a glass full of some dark liquid. He set it down on the table