r. If Bertha Kircher had needed further
evidence to assure her that they were in the hands of a mentally
deranged people the man's present actions would have been sufficient
to convince her. The sudden uncontrolled rage and now the equally
uncontrolled and mirthless laughter but emphasized the facial
attributes of idiocy.

Suddenly realizing how helpless she was in the event any one of the
men should seek to overpower her, and moved by a sudden revulsion
of feeling that brought on almost a nausea of disgust, the girl
hurled the weapon upon the ground at the feet of the laughing maniac
and, turning, kneeled beside the Englishman.

"It was wonderful of you," he said, "but you shouldn't have done
it. Don't antagonize them: I believe that they are all mad and you
know they say that one should always humor a madman."

She shook her head. "I couldn't see him kill you," she said.

A sudden light sprang to the man's eyes as he reached out a hand and
grasped the girl's fingers. "Do you care a little now?" he asked.
"Can't you tell me that you do--just a bit?"

She did not withdraw her hand from his but she shook her head
sadly. "Please don't," she said. "I am sorry that I can only like
you very much."

The light died from his eyes and his fingers relaxed their grasp on
hers. "Please forgive me," he murmured. "I intended waiting until
we got out of this mess and you were safe among your own people.
It must have been the shock or something like that, and seeing you
defending me as you did. Anyway, I couldn't help it and really it
doesn't make much difference what I say now, does it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

He shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I will never leave this city
alive," he said. "I wouldn't mention it except that I realize that
you must know it as well as I. I was pretty badly torn up by the
lion and this fellow here has about finished me. There might be
some hope if we were among civilized people, but here with these
frightful creatures what care could we get even if they were
friendly?"

Bertha Kircher knew that he spoke the truth, and yet she could not
bring herself to an admission that Smith-Oldwick would die. She
was very fond of him, in fact her great regret was that she did
not love him, but she knew that she did not.

It seemed to her that it could be such an easy thing for any girl
to love Lieutenant Harold Percy Smith-Oldwick--an English officer
and a gentleman, the scion of an old