across the river at them, a fanatic with a quenchless thirst for human blood. Soon he and his minions would come for them. She shuddered, and concentrated again on her father's voice. 'Of course, I grant that you have your mother's raw courage and obstinacy, but think of the twins, Becky. Think of the babies. They are your babies now.' 'I am aware of my duty to them every waking moment of my day,' she flared, then as swiftly veiled her anger and smiled again -- the smile that always softened his heart. 'But I think of you also.' She crossed to stand beside his chair, and placed her hand on his shoulder. 'If you come with us, Father, the girls and I will go.' 'I cannot, Becky. My duty is here. I am Her Majesty's consul general. I have a sacred trust. My place is here in Khartoum.' 'Then so is mine,' she said simply, and stroked his head. His hair was still thick and springing under her fingers, but shot through with more silver than sable. He was a handsome man, and she often brushed his hair and trimmed and curled his moustache for him, proudly as her mother had once done. He sighed and gathered himself to protest further, but at that moment a shrill chorus of childish shrieks rang through the open window. They stiffened. They knew those voices, and they struck at both their hearts. Rebecca started across the room, and David sprang up from