"He is somewhere near!" she whispered, clinging to me. "Some great danger threatens. Where have you been?—what has happened?"
"Smith was attacked on his way back from London," I replied. "But, as you see, he is quite recovered. We are in no danger; and I insist that you go back to bed. We shall tell you all about it in the morning."
Rebellion blazed up in her wonderful eyes instantly—and as quickly was gone, leaving them exquisitely bright. Two tears, like twin pearls, hung upon the curved black lashes. It made my blood course faster to watch this lovely Eastern girl conquering the barbaric impulses that sometimes flamed up within, her, because I willed it; indeed this was a miracle that I never tired of witnessing.
Mrs. Oram, the white-haired housekeeper, placed her arm in motherly fashion about the girl's slim waist.
"She wants to stay in my room until the trouble is all over," she said in her refined, sweet voice.
"You are very good, Mrs. Oram," I replied. "Take care of her."
One long, reassuring glance I gave Kâramaneh, then turned and followed Smith and Sir Lionel up the winding oak stair. Kennedy came close behind me, carrying one of the acetylene head-lamps of the car. And—
"Just listen to the lioness, sir!" he whispered. "It's not the gathering storm that's making her so restless. Jungle beasts grow quiet, as a rule, when there's thunder about."
The snarling of the great creature was plainly audible, distant though we were from her cage.
"Through your room, Barton!" snapped Nayland Smith, when we gained the top corridor.