He still held her hand. "You know," he said, blundering awkwardly, "I always blamed myself that—that I wasn't the one to be with you when you escaped from Wara. I might have been. But I—I wasn't prepared to pay the possible price."
She was still looking at him with those aloof, tragic eyes of hers. "I don't quite understand," she said, "I never did understand—exactly—why Nick was chosen to protect me. I always wished it had been you."
"It ought to have been," Grange said, with feeling. "It should have been. I blame myself. But Nick is a better fighter than I. He keeps his head. Moreover, he's a savage in some respects. I wasn't savage enough."
He smiled with a hint of apology.
Muriel repressed a shudder at his words. "I don't understand," she said again.
He hesitated. "It's a difficult thing to explain to you," he said reluctantly. "You see, the fellow who took charge of you had to be prepared for—well—anything. You know what devils those tribesmen are. There was to be no chance of your falling into their hands. It didn't mean just fighting for you, you understand. We would all have done that to the last drop of our blood. But—your father—was forced to ask of us—something more. And only Ratcliffe would undertake it. He's a queer chap. I used to think him a rotter till I saw him fight, and then I had to change my mind. That was, I believe, the main reason why General Roscoe selected him as your protector. He knew he could trust the fellow's nerve. The rest of us were like women compared to Nick."
He paused. Muriel's eyes had not flinched from his. She heard his explanation as one not vitally concerned.
"Have I made myself intelligible?" he asked, as she did not speak.
"Do you mean I was to be shot if things went wrong?" she returned, in her deep, quiet voice.
He nodded. "It must have been that. Your father saw it in that light, and so did we. Of course you are bound to see it too. But we stuck at it—Marshall and I. There was only Nick left, and he volunteered."