They will be here in twenty-four hours. Surely we can
manage so long."
"Colonel, if you had seen what I saw last night, you would not count
much on help. It isn't the rising of a few unarmed men. It is the
revolt of a fanatic, warlike nation led by a man. They call him God.
His godhead does not matter to us. As a god we have no need to fear
him; but as a man and a born leader of men, with hatred and revenge as
an incentive, armed with unlimited power, he is an enemy not to be
held at bay by a handful of Gurkhas and not to be conquered by a
regiment."
His words had their quiet, fatal significance. Colonel Carmichael and
Stafford looked at each other. Hitherto they had faced the situation
coolly enough, with their eternal national optimism and self-confidence.
This man had wrenched down the veil, and they stood before a chasm to
which there seemed no shore, no bottom. It was the end, and they knew it.
"You mean, then, that it is all over?" the Colonel said casually. "You
know more than either of us. You ought to be able to tell."
"Yes, Colonel, I should judge that it was all over, unless a miracle
happens."
"We might fight our way through."
"On my way early this morning the roads were already guarded. They did
not recognize me, otherwise I should not be here."
"And the women?"
All three men had grown cool and indifferent. Death had stepped in,
and from that moment it was not seemly to show either trouble or
excitement.
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