It went out in silence--a dreadful, lasting silence in which the souls of men, stripped naked of human convention, stood confronting the first primaeval instinct of human chivalry.
It continued through many terrible seconds--that silence, and through it no one moved, no one seemed to breathe.

It was as if a spell had been cast upon the handful of Englishmen gathered there in the deepening darkness.
The Brigadier sat bowed and motionless at the table, his head sunk in his hands.
Suddenly there was a quiet movement behind him, and the spell was broken.

Ratcliffe stepped deliberately forward and spoke.
"General," he said quietly, "if you will put your daughter in my care, I swear to you, so help me God, that no harm of any sort shall touch her." There was no hint of emotion in his voice, albeit the words were strong; but it had a curious effect upon those who heard it.

The Brigadier raised his head sharply, and peered at him; and the other two officers started as men suddenly stumbling at an unexpected obstacle in a familiar road.
One of them, Major Marshall, spoke, briefly and irritably, with a touch of contempt.

His nerves were on edge in that atmosphere of despair.
"You, Nick!" he said.