hispered; as with the cold sweat
pouring from me I placed the muzzle within an inch of her forehead and
began to press the trigger. My God! yes, I actually began to press the
trigger softly and steadily, for I wished to make no mistake.

It was at this very moment, above the dreadful turmoil of the roaring
flames, the yells of the savages and the shrieks and groans of wounded
and dying men, that I heard the sweetest sound which ever fell upon my
ears--the sound of shots being fired, many shots, and quite close by.

"Great Heaven!" I screamed; "the Boers are here to save us. Marie,
I will hold the door while I can. If I fall, scramble through the
window--you can do it from the chest beneath--drop to the ground, and
run towards the firing. There's a chance for you yet, a good chance."

"And you, you," she moaned. "I would rather die with you."

"Do what I bid you," I answered savagely, and bounded forward towards
the rocking door.

It was falling outward, it fell, and on the top of it appeared two great
savages waving broad spears. I lifted the pistol, and the bullet that
had been meant for Marie's brain scattered that of the first of them,
and the bullet which had been meant for my heart pierced that of the
second. They both went down dead, there in the doorway.

I snatched up one of their spears and glanced behind me. Marie was
climbing on to the chest; I could just see her through the thickening
smoke. Another Quabie rushed on. Hans and I received him on the points
of our assegais, but so fierce was his charge that they went through him
as though he were nothing, and being but light, both of us were thrown
backwards to the ground. I scrambled to my feet again, defenceless now,
for the spear was broken in the Kaffir, and awaited the end. Looking
back once more I saw that Marie had either failed to get through the
window or abandoned the attempt. At any rate she was standing near the
chest supporting herself by her right hand. In my despair I seized the
blade end of the broken assegai and dragged it from the body of the
Kaffir, thinking that it would serve to kill her, then turned to do the
deed.

But even as I turned I heard a voice that I knew well shout: "Do you
live, Marie?" and in the doorway appeared no savage, but Henri Marais.

Slowly I backed before him, for I could not speak, and the last dreadful
effort of my will seemed to thrust me towards Marie. I reached her and
threw my hand that still held the go