“Your life is in danger?” she questioned, rushing to him as though she would protect him.
Ilam, without a word, led her to the window, from the corner of which a glimpse of the avenue could be caught, and walking to and fro there in the avenue was the Soudanese.
“You see that man?” said Ilam. “It’s the fellow they call ‘Spats’ in the native village. I don’t know why. He is devoted to me; he is fully armed; he follows me everywhere. I have only to blow this whistle”—and Ilam produced a whistle from his pocket.
“Darling”—and Juliette clung to him—“is it so bad as that? Who is it that threatens you?”
“The man that I buried,” said Ilam quietly.
“But what are you going to do?”
“Well,” said Ilam, “I’m come here to see you. We must get your brother on our side.”
“I’ll force him to understand at once,” cried Juliette.
“No,” said Ilam, “perhaps you would fail, as things are, but if you were my wife, you would not fail then. Carpentaria, once the thing was done, would do everything in his power to protect your husband; he likes you well enough for that. He might be angry at first, but he would see reason.”
“Dearest, you want me to marry you secretly?”