y, but not with terror. "It may not be
too late," again cried the Princess. "There are enough of us here to
make an effort, no matter how futile. He may be alive and trapped, up--"

"You're right," shouted Browne. "He's not the kind to go down with the
first rush. We must go to him. We can get there in ten minutes. Britt!
Where are the guns? Are you with us, Deppingham?"

He did not wait for an answer, but dashed out of the garden and down the
steps, calling to his wife to follow.

"Stop!" shouted Deppingham. "We dare not leave this place! If they have
turned against Chase, they are also ready for us. I'm not a coward,
Browne. We're needed here, that's all. Good God, man, don't you see what
it means? It's to be a general massacre! We all are to go to-night. The
servants may even now be waiting to cut us down. It's too late to help
Chase. They've got him, poor devil! Everybody inside! Get to the guns if
possible and cut off the servants' quarters. We must not let them
surprise us. Follow me!"

There was wisdom in what he said, and Browne was not slow to see it
clearly. With a single penetrating glance at Genevra's despairing face,
he shook his head gloomily, and turned to follow Deppingham, who was
hurrying off through the corridor with her ladyship.

"Come," he called, and the Princess, feeling Drusilla's hand grasping
her arm, gave one helpless look at the fire and hastened to obey.

In the grand hallway, they came upon Britt and Saunders white-faced and
excited. The white servants were clattering down the stairways, filled
with alarm, but there was not one of the native attendants in sight.
This was ominous enough in itself. As they huddled there for a moment,
undecided which way to turn, the sound of a violent struggle in the
lower corridor came to their ears. Loud voices, blows, a single shot,
the rushing of feet, the panting of men in fierce combat--and then, even
as the whites turned to retreat up the stairway, a crowd of men surged
up the stairs from below, headed by Baillo, the major-domo.

"Stop, excellencies!" he shouted again and again. Bobby Browne and
Deppingham were covering the retreat, prepared to fight to the end for
their women, although unarmed. It was the American who first realised
that Baillo was not heading an attack upon them. He managed to convey
this intelligence to the others and in a moment they were listening in
wonder to the explanations of the major-domo.

Surprising as it may appe