The Colonel in Chains

Umballa edged out of danger and sat up, feeling tenderly of his throat.
Next he picked up his turban and crawled to the open door. He pulled
himself up and stood there, weakly. But there was venom enough in his
eyes. The tableau lasted a minute or two; then slowly he closed the
door, bolted it, and departed.

This ominous silence awoke the old terror in Kathlyn's heart far more
than oral threats would have done. There would be reprisal, something
finished in cruelty.

"My dear, my dear!" She ran over to her father and flung her arms
about him, supporting him and mothering him. An hour passed.

"All in, Kit, all in; haven't the strength of a cat. Ah, great God; if
that strength had but lasted a moment longer. Well, he's still alive.
But, O, my Kit, my golden Kit, to see you here is to be tortured like
the damned. And it is all my fault, all mine!" The man who had once
been so strong sobbed hysterically.

"Hush, hush!"

"There were rare and wonderful jewels of which I alone knew the hiding
place. But God knows that it was not greed; I wanted them for you and
Winnie . . . I knew you were here. Trust that black devil to announce
the fact to me . . . God! what I haven't suffered in the way of
suspense! Kit, Kit, what has he done to you?"

Briefly she recounted her adventures, and when she had done he bowed
his head upon her bare shoulder and wept as only strong men, made weak,
weep.