fashion.” He drew himself up, with his wounded wrist stuck into the front of his jacket, “Je suis Chrétien. J’y reste,” he cried, a gallant falsehood in each sentence.
“What do you say, Mr. Stephens?” asked Mansoor in a beseeching voice. “If one of you would change, it might place them in a good humour. I implore you that you do what they ask.”
“No, I can’t,” said the lawyer quietly.
“Well then, you, Miss Sadie? You, Miss Adams? It is only just to say it once, and you will be saved.”
“Oh, auntie, do you think we might?” whimpered the frightened girl. “Would it be so very wrong if we said it?”
The old lady threw her arms round her.
“No, no, my own dear little Sadie,” she whispered. “You’ll be strong! You would just hate yourself for ever after. Keep your grip of me, dear, and pray if you find your strength is leaving you. Don’t forget that your old aunt Eliza has you all the time by the hand.”
For an instant they were heroic, this line of
