Slowly the girl regained her self-control and with it came the realization of the extremity of her danger.  She rose to a sitting posture and turned her wide eyes toward the doorway to the adjoining room—­the women and children seemed yet wrapped in slumber.  It was evident that the man’s scream had not disturbed them.

Barbara gained her feet and moved softly to the doorway.  She wondered if she could cross the intervening space to the outer exit without detection.  Once in the open she could flee to the jungle, and then there was a chance at least that she might find her way to the coast and Theriere.

She gripped the short sword which she still held, and took a step into the larger room.  One of the women turned and half roused from sleep.  The girl shrank back into the darkness of the chamber she had just quitted.  The woman sat up and looked around.  Then she rose and threw some sticks upon the fire that burned at one side of the dwelling.  She crossed to a shelf and took down a cooking utensil.  Barbara saw that she was about to commence the preparation of breakfast.

All hope of escape was thus ended, and the girl cautiously closed the door between the two rooms.  Then she felt about the smaller apartment for some heavy object with which to barricade herself; but her search was fruitless.  Finally she bethought herself of the corpse.  That would hold the door against the accident of a child or dog pushing it open—­it would be better than nothing, but could she bring herself to touch the loathsome thing?

The instinct of self-preservation will work wonders even with a frail and delicate woman.  Barbara Harding steeled herself to the task, and after several moments of effort she succeeded in rolling the dead man against the door.  The scraping sound of the body as she dragged it into position had sent cold shivers running up her spine.

She had removed the man’s long sword and armor before attempting to move him, and now she crouched beside the corpse with both the swords beside her—­she would sell her life dearly.  Theriere’s words came back to her now as they had when she was struggling in the water after the wreck of the Halfmoon:  “but, by George, I intend to go down fighting.”  Well, she could do no less.

She could hear the movement of several persons in the next room now.  The voices of women and children came to her distinctly.  Many of the words were Japanese, but others were of a tongue with which she was not familiar.

Presently her own chamber began to lighten.  She looked over her shoulder and saw the first faint rays of dawn showing through a small aperture near the roof and at the opposite end of the room.  She rose and moved quickly toward it.  By standing on tiptoe and pulling herself up a trifle with her hands upon the sill she was able to raise her eyes above the bottom of the window frame.

Beyond she saw the forest, not a hundred yards away; but when she attempted to crawl through the opening she discovered to her chagrin that it was too small to permit the passage of her body.  And then there came a knocking on the door she had just quitted, and a woman’s voice calling her lord and master to his morning meal.