"No, Dr. Anstice." She spoke determinedly. "I am going to stay here. You have spare revolvers, haven't you? Then I can load for you and for Hassan, at any rate, even if I can't be of other use."
"You know how?" He was surprised.
"Yes. My father taught me long ago. And"—for a second her voice faltered—"I—I feel safer here. Please let me stay."
"Very well." He could not bear to send her away. "But you must promise to keep as far as possible out of range. We can't afford any casualties, you know."
"I promise," she said very quietly; and he knew she would obey his injunctions implicitly.
The next moment Garnett rushed into the room, his blue eyes alight with a most warrior-like flame.
"See what's up, Anstice? Good—I guessed you'd not be caught napping. I'll get back now—there's going to be a gorgeous scrap in a minute. Mrs. Cheniston, are you all right there?"
"Quite, thanks." Her calm voice reassured him; and he dashed out of the room without further parley, while Anstice and Hassan waited, tensely, their revolvers in readiness, for the moment to open their defence.
It was not yet day; and in the grey gloom it was difficult to distinguish the nature of any object which was not close at hand; but Anstice made out that the approaching Bedouins intended to scramble up to the windows by use of their scaling ladders; and his face wore an unusually grim expression as the flying moments passed.
Ah! The first tribesman to reach the level of the window gave an exultant yell, as though he saw his foe already within his grasp; and on that shout of triumph his desert-born soul was sped to whatever haven awaited it. For Anstice's revolver had spoken; and the swarthy Bedouin fell headlong to the earth, shot, unerringly, through the heart.