unseen forces gathering themselves together for a final onslaught. It came
at last, like a cry, suddenly, amidst a wild outburst of yells, screams,
and the intermittent crack of revolvers fired at close quarters.
Pandemonium had been let loose on the other side of the silver lake, but
the silver lake itself remained placid and untroubled. Only the red eye
winked more vigorously, as though its warning had become more imperative.

Christine Stafford clung to a pair of unresponsive hands, which yielded
with an almost speaking reluctance to her embrace.

"You think there is no hope?" she pleaded. "None? You know what Harry
said. If the regiment got back in time--"

"The regiment will not get back in time," Margaret Caruthers interrupted.
"There are ten men guarding the gate against Heaven knows how many
thousand. Do you expect a miracle? No, no. We are a people who dance best
at the edge of a crater, and if a few, like ourselves, get swallowed up
now and again, it can not be helped. It is the penalty."

"If only Harry would come!" Christine moaned, heedless of this cold
philosophy. "But he will keep his promise, won't he? He won't let us fall
into those cruel hands? You remember what happened at Calcutta--"

"Hush! Don't frighten yourself and me!" exclaimed Margaret impatiently.
"Does it comfort you to hold my hand? Well, hold it, then. How strange you
are! I thought you weren't afraid."

"I shan't be when the time comes--but it's so very lonely. Don't you feel
it? Are you made of stone?"