ing--this knife! Macpherson
swears there is a chance. Thomson backs him. But they're at her,
cutting! ... The pain must be awful--the mere pain! The gentlest
creature ever drew breath! And women fear blood--and her own! And a
head! She ought to have married the best man alive, not a--! I can't
remember her once complaining of me--not once. A common donkey compared
to her! All I can do is to pray. And she knows the beast I am, and has
forgiven me. There isn't a blessed text of Scripture that doesn't cry
out in praise of her. And they cut and hack...!' He dropped his head.
The vehement big man heaved, shuddering. His lips worked fast.

'She is not alone with them, unsupported?' said Dacier.

Sir Lukin moaned for relief. He caught his watch swinging and stared at
it. 'What a good fellow you were to come! Now 's the time to know your
friends. There's Diana Warwick, true as steel. Redworth came on her
tiptoe for the Continent; he had only to mention... Emmy wanted to spare
her. She would not have sent--wanted to spare her the sight. I offered
to stand by... Chased me out. Diana Warwick's there:--worth fifty of
me! Dacier, I've had my sword-blade tried by Indian horsemen, and I know
what true as steel means. She's there. And I know she shrinks from the
sight of blood. My oath on it, she won't quiver a muscle! Next to my
wife, you may take my word for it, Dacier, Diana Warwick is the pick of
living women. I could prove it. They go together. I could prove it over
and over. She 's the loyallest woman anywhere. Her one error was that
marriage of hers, and how she ever pitched herself into it, none of us
can guess.' After a while, he said: 'Look at your watch.'

'Nearly twenty minutes gone.'

'Are they afraid to send out word? It's that window!' He covered his
eyes, and muttered, sighed. He became abruptly composed in appearance.
'The worst of a black sheep like me is, I'm such an infernal sinner,
that Providence!... But both surgeons gave me their word of honour that
there was a chance. A chance! But it's the end of me if Emmy.... Good
God! no! the knife's enough; don't let her be killed! It would be
murder. Here am I talking! I ought to be praying. I should have sent
for the parson to help me; I can't get the proper words--bellow like
a rascal trooper strung up for the cat. It must be twenty-five minutes
now. Who's alive now!'

Dacier thought of the Persian Queen crying for news of the slaughtered,
with her mind on her lord