was a magnificent man with the physique
of a Hercules. He had remained on his feet, impassive but observant,
from the moment of his entrance. His voice had that soft quality
peculiar to some big men.

"I am ready to sell my life for Miss Roscoe's safety, sir," he said.

Nick Ratcliffe jerked his shoulders expressively, but said nothing. He
was waiting for the General to speak. As the latter rose slowly, with
evident effort, from his chair, he thrust out a hand, as if almost
instinctively offering help to one in sore need.

General Roscoe grasped it and spoke at last. He had regained his
self-command. "Let me understand you, Ratcliffe," he said. "You
suggest that I should place my daughter in your charge. But I must
know first how far you are prepared to go to ensure her safety."

He was answered instantly, with an unflinching promptitude he had
scarcely expected.

"I am prepared to go to the uttermost limit, sir," said Nicholas
Ratcliffe, his fingers closing like springs upon the hand that gripped
his, "if there is a limit. That is to say, I am ready to go through
hell for her. I am a straight shot, a cool shot, a dead shot. Will you
trust me?"

His voice throbbed with sudden feeling. General Roscoe was watching
him closely. "Can I trust you, Nick?" he said.

There was an instant's silence, and the two men in the background
were aware that something passed between them--a look or a rapid
sign--which they did not witness. Then reckless and debonair came
Nick's voice.

"I don't know, sir. But if I am untrustworthy, may I die to-night!"

General Roscoe laid his free hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"Is it so, Nick?" he said, and uttered a heavy sigh. "Well--so be it
then. I trust you."

"That settles it, sir," said Nick cheerily. "The job is mine."

He turned round with a certain arrogance of bearing, and walked to the
door. But there he stopped, looking back through the darkness at the
dim figures he had left.

"Perhaps you will tell Miss Roscoe that you have appointed me
deputy-governor," he said. "And tell her not to be frightened, sir.
Say I'm not such a bogey as I look, and that she will be perfectly
safe with me." His tone was half-serious, half-jocular. He wrenched
open the door not waiting for a reply.

"I must go back to the guns," he said, and the next moment was gone,
striding carelessly down the passage, and whistling a music-hall
ballad as he went.

CHAPTER II

A SOLDIER'S DAUG