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

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

I will, if you don't mind. You will wake me if anything
happens, won't you?"
"Yes, I promise." It gave Beatrice a sense of comfort to have Lois
near her. Very gently she passed her hand over the aching forehead,
and presently Lois fell into a sleep of absolute exhaustion.
By mutual consent, Mrs. Carmichael and Beatrice ceased to talk, but
when suddenly there was a movement close to them, and a dim light
flashed over the partition, they exchanged a glance of meaning.
"That is my husband," Mrs. Carmichael whispered. "Something is going
to happen. Listen!"
She was not wrong in her supposition. The Colonel had entered the next
room, followed by Nicholson and Saunders, and had closed the door
carefully after him. All three men carried lanterns. They glanced
instinctively at the wooden partition which divided them from the four
women, but Carmichael shook his head.
"It's all right," he said. "They must be fast asleep, poor souls.
Let's have a look at these fellows." He went over to a huddled-up
figure lying in the shadow. The corner of a military cloak had been
thrown over the face. He drew it on one side and then let it drop.
"Gone!" he said laconically. He passed on to the next. There were in
all three men ranged against the wall. Two of them were dead. "Martins
told me they couldn't last," Colonel Carmichael muttered. "It is
better for them. They are out of it a little sooner, that's all.


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