er, and that if any man
moved to rescue her he would blow the girl's brains out. And the voice
that made these threats was the voice of Cornelys Jensen!

I cannot tell you how astounded we were at this sudden turn in our
fortunes. Our garrison, taken by surprise, had left their posts every
man, and stood together at one end of our parallelogram. Lancelot stood
still and white as a statue. I leant against the wall and gasped for
breath like a man struck silly. Marjorie lay perfectly still in the
grasp of her enemy, and Jensen's eyes between the bandages seemed to
survey the whole scene with a savage sense of mastery. He was so well
protected where he crouched by Marjorie's body that no one dared to
fire, or, indeed, for the moment, to do anything but stare in
stupefaction. The stroke was so sudden, the change so unexpected, the
dash so bold, that we were at a disadvantage, and for a space no one
moved.

In a loud voice Jensen called upon every man to throw down his weapons,
swearing furiously that if they did not do so he would kill Marjorie.
Marjorie, on her part, though she could not free herself from Jensen's
hold--for Jensen had the clasp and the hold of a bear--cried out to them
bravely to do their duty, and defend the place, and pay no heed to her.
But the men were not of that temper; they were at a loss; they feared
Jensen, and this display of his daring unnerved them. They stood idly in
a mass, while I, from where I stood, could see through the open door, to
which no one else paid any heed, Jensen's men coming out of the wood,
with only a few hundred yards of level ground between them and us. I
was cumbered, as I told you, with some sea-coats, that I had caught up
to make a couch for Mr. Ebrow, and as I held them to me with my left
arm, they almost covered me from neck to knee. Now, in my pocket I
carried the little pistol that Lancelot had given me, and in my first
moment of surprise my right hand had involuntarily sought it out. Now, I
was not much of a shot, and yet in a moment I made my mind up what I
would do. I would, under cover of the coats, which I clutched to me,
fire my piece through my pocket at Jensen, trusting to God to straighten
the aim and guide the bullet. In that moment I took all the chances. If
I hit Jensen, who was somewhat exposed to me where I stood, all would be
well. If I missed him and he at once killed Marjorie, or if, missing
him, I myself wounded or killed Marjorie, I knew that at l