As it was, receiving no response, she turned to look, and the next instant was on her knees beside him, her thin young arms clinging to his neck.

“Daddy, darling, darling!” she whispered, and hid her face against him in sudden, nameless terror.

He clasped her to him, holding her close, that she might not again see his face and the look it wore.  She began to tremble, and he tried to soothe her with his hand, but for many seconds he could find no words.

“What is it, Daddy?” she whispered at last, unable to endure the silence longer.  “Won’t you tell me?  I can be very brave.  You said so yourself.”

“Yes,” he said.  “You will be a brave girl, I know.”  His voice quivered and he paused to steady it.  “Muriel,” he said then, “I don’t know if you have ever thought of the end of all this.  There will be an end, you know.  I have had to face it to-night.”

She looked up at him quickly, but he was ready for her.  He had banished from his face the awful despair that he carried in his soul.

“When Sir Reginald Bassett comes—­” she began uncertainly.

He put his hand on her shoulder.  “You will try not to be afraid,” he said.  “I am going to treat you, as I have treated my officers, with absolute candour.  We shall not hold out more than three days more.  Sir Reginald Bassett will not be here in time.”

He stopped.  Muriel uttered not a word.  Her face was still upturned, and her eyes had suddenly grown intensely bright, but he read no shrinking in them.

With an effort he forced himself to go on.  “I may not be able to protect you when the end comes.  I may not even be with you.  But—­there is one man upon whom you can safely rely whatever happens, who will give himself up to securing your safety alone.  He has sworn to me that you shall not be taken, and I know that he will keep his word.  You will be safe with him, Muriel.  You may trust him as long as you live.  He will not fail you.  Perhaps you can guess his name?”

He asked the question with a touch of curiosity in the midst of his tragedy.  That upturned, listening face had in it so little of a woman’s understanding, so much of the deep wonder of a child.

Her answer was prompt and confident, and albeit her very lips were white, there was a faint hint of satisfaction in her voice as she made it.

“Captain Grange, of course, Daddy.”

He started and looked at her narrowly.  “No, no!” he said.  “Not Grange!  What should make you think of him?”

He saw a look of swift disappointment, almost of consternation, darken her eyes.  For the first time her lips quivered uncertainly.

“Who then, Daddy?  Not—­not Mr. Ratcliffe?”

He bent his head.  “Yes, Nick Ratcliffe.  I have placed you in his charge.  He will take care of you.”

“Young Nick Ratcliffe!” she said slowly.  “Why, Daddy, he can’t even take care of himself yet.  Every one says so.  Besides,”—­a curiously womanly touch crept into her speech—­“I don’t like him.  Only the other day I heard him laugh at something that was terrible—­something it makes me sick to think of.  Indeed, Daddy, I would far rather have Captain Grange to take care of me.  Don’t you think he would if you asked him?  He is so much bigger and stronger, and—­and kinder.”