"I'll just speak to those soldiers, myself," said Arlee decidedly.
"I'll make them understand." She left them there, their eyes upon
her and sped down the long room to the door which the Captain's
hurried entrance had left half open. She disappeared down the steps.

In three minutes she was back, a flame in the frightened white of
her cheeks, a flame in the frightened blue of her eyes.

"Captain Kerissen," she called, and he took a step nearer to her,
his face alert with sympathy, "Captain Kerissen, that is a _native_
soldier! He is at the bottom of the stairs--with a bayonet--and he
will not let me pass. He doesn't know a word I say. Please come and
tell him."

"Miss Beecher, it is useless for me to tell him anything," said the
young Turk with a ring of quiet conviction. "I have been talking to
that one--and to the others. They are at every entrance. It is as I
told you--we are prisoners."

"Surely you can tell him that I am a guest--you can _bribe_ him to
turn his head, to let me slip by----"

"He would be shot if he let you out that street door. He has his
orders to keep the ladies in their quarters and it is death to him
to disobey. That is the discipline--and the discipline has no
mercy--particularly upon the native soldiers." His tone held
bitterness. "It is useless to resist the soldiers. You must resign
yourself to remain a guest until I can obtain word to one who can
render assistance.... Will it be so hard?" he added sympathetically,