that he was saved? And by Jove it was a near thing for him, too."

"Too near to be pleasant," rejoined his companion grimly. "Of course, no
one but a lunatic would have allowed the girl to enter that Temple.
Don't you remember that affair a couple of years ago, when two American
fellows only just got out in time?"

"Yes." Young Payton's voice was dubious. "But you must remember, sir,
Anstice was a new-comer, and didn't know the yarn--and it is just
possible Miss Ryder didn't know it either. Or she may have
over-persuaded him."

"Well, she's paid for her folly, poor girl." Colonel Godfrey rose. "Her
uncle's off his head about it, and what the fellow she was to marry will
say remains to be seen. I suppose he'll want an explanation from
Anstice."

"Why, you don't mean he'll blame the man for doing what he did?" The
young officer spoke boyishly. "After all, it was the only thing to do.
Fancy, if the girl had fallen into the hands of those fanatics! Shooting
would have been a merciful death compared to the life she might have had
to endure."

"Of course, of course!" Colonel Godfrey rose and moved to the steps of
the verandah, where he stood looking absently out over the moonlit
world. "It was the only thing to do--and yet, what a tragedy it has all
been! By the way, where is Anstice? I've not seen him since we came in."

"He's in hospital. Got a nasty swipe across the shoulder in the
rough-and-tumble before we got away, and it gave Dr. Morris an excuse to
shove morphia into him to keep him quiet a bit. Of course when he comes
round I expect he'll be pretty sick about it all, but at least the poor
devil has got a few hours' respite."

"That's a blessing, anyway. Wonder what he'll do after this. Sort of
thing to ruin a man's nerve, what?"

"Probably take to drink--or drugs," said Payton succinctly. "Some chaps
would put a bullet through their brains, but I don't fancy Anstice is
the sort to do that."

"Don't you?" For a second Colonel Godfrey hesitated, still looking out
over the garden to where the line of the eternal snows glimmered white
and passionless in the splendid moonlight. "Yet you know, my boy, one
could hardly blame a man for blowing out his brains after a tragedy of
this sort. No." With a last glance at the mystery of the snows he turned
back to the lighted verandah and took out his cigar-case. "I think one
could not blame this fellow Anstice if he chose that way out." He
selected a cigar with care. "