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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"

"You
have saved her life. God bless you for it, Adam!"
"That's all right," was the cheerful answer. "You know, Colonel, Lois
and I were always helping each other out of scrapes, and I expect it
was my turn." He looked down at the pale face against his shoulder,
and there was an unconscious tenderness in his expression which
touched the shaken old man's heart.
"She will be glad to hear it was you, Adam," he said. "You were always
her favorite."
They had reached the great doors, which the Rajah himself had flung
wide open, when Travers sprang up the steps to meet them. He was
dishevelled, breathless, and exhausted as though with hard running,
and his eyes, as they flashed from one to the other of the little
procession, were those of a madman.
"What has happened?" he demanded frantically. "I was outside with
Webb. What has happened?--Oh!" He caught sight of Lois in Nicholson's
arms, and his cry was high and hysterical, like a frightened woman's.
Stafford seized him by the shoulder and dragged him back into the now
empty hall.
"Control yourself!" he said roughly. "Don't behave like a fool. She is
all right, but they won't want you interfering, especially if you
can't keep your head."
"They won't want me!" Travers exclaimed, staring at him. He then broke
into a discordant laugh. "Why, my good Stafford, they'll have to have
me, whether they want me or no. Lois is mine--mine, I tell you; and
that fellow, Nicholson, had better look to himself--"
"You are beside yourself, Travers.


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