Bahram Khan, who had ridden in advance of the palanquin, now dismounted, and approaching it with extreme deference, raised the heavy gold-embroidered curtain at the side. Those in the turret strained their eyes to pierce the dimness within, and made out with some difficulty the figure of the white-bearded ruler, sitting motionless, as though absorbed in meditation.
“He’s stupefied!” came in a fierce whisper from Dick. “They’ve given him opium or something of the sort.”
Colonel Graham addressed the Amir politely, but no answer was vouchsafed. It was Bahram Khan who replied for him, in the silkiest of tones.
“The Amir Sahib refuses to look upon the sahibs, or to listen to their words, until they have surrendered to him.”
“Oh, does he?” said Dick, and he stepped forward between Colonel Graham and the Commissioner, and showed himself at the loophole.
“Amir Sahib, do you know my voice?” he cried.
An electric shock seemed to pass through the inanimate form in the palanquin. “Is that the voice of Nāth Sahib?” was asked, in high, quavering tones. “Then can this most unhappy one die in peace.”
“Do you guarantee our safety, Amir Sahib?” asked Dick.
“Trust them not,” came back the answer. “See how they treat me!” and the old man rose as though to step out of the palanquin. There were chains on his wrists and ankles. The next moment Bahram Khan and his followers, recovering from their surprise, had thrown themselves upon him and forced him back, and the palanquin was immediately carried away.
“Well, after this, I think even Bahram Khan must feel that the capitulation idea has been knocked on the head,” said Dick. “Now everything depends on whether they attack us at once.”
“Isn’t that a rather obvious remark?” asked Mr Burgrave dryly.
“Ah, you don’t see my point,” said Dick, without taking offence. “I think Colonel Graham will agree with me that since Bahram Khan has thrown off the mask, and made himself master of Nalapur, it shows he is determined to crush us at once. Evidently the relieving column is on its way, or famine might have been left to do the work.”
“I see what you mean,” said Colonel Graham. “If he attacks at once, it means that relief is close at hand, but if he gives his men a night’s rest, the column is still far enough off for him to take things easily.”
“That’s it. Well, since he’s so bent on putting the blame on his uncle, it’s clear that he means to come the injured innocent over our men when they get up. We here know too much now to be allowed to escape, but the order for massacring us must be given by the Amir, who will be murdered by his virtuously indignant nephew as soon as it has been carried out. We are safe just so long as we can hold out, and the Amir is safe while we are. That’s the situation. Now if we are left in peace for to-night, I mean to get through and hurry up the relieving column.”
“I thought so,” said the Colonel, “and I mean you to do nothing of the kind. Why, man, you couldn’t walk a mile in the state you are in. You ought to be in hospital now. We have no medical comforts left to feed you up with, but at least we can see that you have a rest.”
“I shall get on somehow. I don’t mind telling you that I have designs on the tribes on my way. We have eaten each other’s salt, and they won’t hurt me.”
“Possibly not, but they would stop you, and Bahram Khan would soon find a way of getting you out of their hands. I won’t let you go on any such fool’s errand.”
“I think the civil and the political power will have to combine against the military,” said Dick, turning to the Commissioner, who had stood by with a “Settle it between yourselves” air. “What do you think?”
“As a military man yourself, you are hardly the person to organise such a revolt,” was the reply, “and I am debarred from it by the delegation of authority to which I agreed at the beginning of the siege.” The tone was abrupt, and Dick and Colonel Graham glanced at one another in surprise, but the Commissioner went on, “If the decision lay in my hands, I should absolutely forbid your going. Your wife may at least claim to be spared useless torture, and you can’t expect to get the V.C. twice over.”
“I am glad you agree with me,” said the Colonel heartily, ignoring the stiffness of the tone. “Consider yourself sat upon, North.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Fitz, coming up the steps and addressing the Colonel, “but there’s a queer light to the westward, which doesn’t seem like the sunset. We thought it might possibly be a signal.”
Colonel Graham wheeled round sharply. “No, it’s certainly not the sunset,” he said, looking through the doorway which led on to the ramparts. “Somewhere behind Gun Hill on the south-west, I should say. What do you think of looking at it from the broken tower?” to the Commissioner. “You come too, North.”
“What in the world are Papa and the Major and Mr Burgrave climbing up there for?” demanded Flora, a few minutes later. She was sitting with the other inmates of the Memsahibs’ courtyard in Georgia’s verandah—such part of it as had survived the earthquake—watching the sunset, and it was natural that the acrobatic feats necessary for reaching the top of the south-west tower should catch her eye at once.
“They are gone to look at some sort of fire that there seems to be in the hills,” said Fitz, who came in just then.
“A fire? Oh, perhaps——” Flora stopped suddenly, for Mr Hardy had sprung up from his chair in wild excitement.
“A fire?” he cried. “Nicodemus!” and rushed out of the courtyard.
“Is Mr Hardy beginning to swear?” asked Mabel, in an awed voice, of the rest, but even Mrs Hardy was too much astonished to rebuke her.
“He’ll kill himself!” she murmured, as she saw her husband mounting the broken steps that led up to the tower.
“Why, Padri, what’s the matter?” asked Colonel Graham, turning round to see the old missionary toiling after him. “Take my hand across here.”
“I am so sorry—I can never forgive myself—it quite slipped my memory,” panted Mr Hardy. “It was aMalikfrom one of the tribes to the south-west—he came to me secretly—to ask about Christianity—I called him Nicodemus to myself. The night the siege began—he came to warn me—and promised to light a fire in the hills—when relief was at hand. I was so busy hurrying the Christians into the fort, and helping them to save their possessions, that I never remembered the matter again.”
“Well, it doesn’t signify so much, since you have remembered it now,” said the Colonel kindly. “Did the man seem to you trustworthy?”
“He took his life in his hand to warn me that night, and of course when he came before he risked losing everything. His name was Hasrat Isa, curiously enough, and he seemed to me to be genuinely in earnest.”
“Thanks, Padri. You have brought us the best news we could desire. We must manage to hold out now.”
“This settles it,” muttered Dick. “Can I have a word or two with you?” he asked of the Commissioner, and they moved across to the other side of the tower, Mr Burgrave’s face wearing an absolutely non-committal expression.
“You see how it is?” said Dick. “This gives me just the pull I wanted over the tribes. Of course the one thing now is to detach them from Bahram Khan before our men come up, and to save the Amir. They know me and trust me, and if I assure them that an overwhelming force is close at hand, I believe they will be ready to lay down their arms. Of course they will have to give up all their loot and to pay a fine of rifles, but they know enough of us by this time to prefer that to a war of extermination. Then about the Amir. He’s safe for the present, as I said, but I haven’t a doubt his guards have got orders to kill him when the head of the column appears, if we are still holding out then. I shall try to get the tribes to rescue him. But now for the crux of the whole thing. If I am to have the faintest hope of success, I must be able to tell the tribes that we mean to hold on to Nalapur when the rising is put down. Otherwise as soon as Bahram Khan has made terms he will establish himself in his uncle’s place, and wipe out all who submitted before him. Have I a free hand to do it?”
“Why consult me?” asked the Commissioner coldly.
“Because it depends upon you. The announcement of our intended withdrawal has never been actually made, thanks to the ambush on the road to the durbar, and it rests with you to withhold it altogether. Of course I know I’m inviting you to reverse your policy, and all that sort of thing, but I don’t believe you’re the man to weigh that against the peace of the frontier.”
“Are you aware that I came to Khemistan for the express purpose of carrying out the policy you invite me to reverse?”
“Yes, and I know it means you will probably have to resign, and will certainly get the cold shoulder at Simla. But I call upon you to do it, just as I am staking everything myself—and I have a wife and child. It will prevent no one knows how much bloodshed, the desolation of hundreds of miles of country, and years of unrest and bitter feeling, for the Government can’t press things against the opinion, not only of the man on the spot, but of their own official converted by observation of the facts. They will shunt us—that’s only to be expected—but it will save the frontier.”
“You are right, and it must be done. You are at liberty to tell the tribes that I throw all my influence on the side of maintaining the treaty with Nalapur.”
“Thanks. If anything happens to me, look after my wife and the boy.”
The trust was the seal of the newly born friendliness between them, and Mr Burgrave felt it so. “God knows,” he said, with more emotion than Dick had seen him display before, “I wish I could risk my life as you are doing, but at least I’ll do what I can.”
Without another word, Dick crossed to the spot where Colonel Graham was standing, still examining the distant glare through his field-glass.
“Our friend Nicodemus has gone to work very shrewdly,” he said, as Dick came up. “I should say that his signal is absolutely invisible to any one on the plain. We only see it because we are so high up.”
“So much the better,” said Dick. “I suppose you’ve guessed what our plotting was about, Colonel? I have my plans all cut and dried by this time, and with the civil and the political power both against you, you’ll have to let me go. Assuming that there won’t be any attack till dawn, I shall take Anstruther with me, and creep out as soon as it’s really dark. He must go across the hills and hunt for the relief column, and guide it here when he has found it, and I shall set to work to palaver the tribes.”
“They’ll shoot you at sight,” groaned the Colonel.
“I hope not. At any rate, for argument’s sake, we’ll take it that they don’t. Of course my dodge will be to get them to delay the attack by insisting beforehand on an impossible proportion of loot. While their messengers and Bahram Khan’s are going to and fro, Anstruther, knowing the ground, ought to be able to bring up the column. When I see his signal, the tribes will hasten to make graceful concessions, and Bahram Khan will order the attack. While he is occupied at the front, a few of the tribesmen and I will make a dash for the Amir, and the column will get its guns into position. Then, if all goes well, a grand transformation scene. The guns plump a shell or two into the advancing ranks, the Sikhs and Goorkhas, and possibly a British regiment, make their appearance on the heights, the tribesmen turn their rifles against their own side, and the Amir shows himself and orders his revolted army to surrender. If they won’t, their blood will be upon their own heads, as they’ll soon see, but I think only Bahram Khan and a few irreconcilables will refuse.”
“And you?” demanded the Colonel. “Your programme doesn’t provide for your being killed a dozen times over, does it? What will Mrs North say when she hears what you think of doing?”
“She will tell me to go. The tribes are as much her people as mine—more so, indeed. I am going to tell her now.”
He clambered down the ruined staircase, found Fitz and told him briefly what he wanted of him, and then went to Georgia’s room, where he set himself to catch her with guile—a process which, as he ought to have known, had not the faintest chance of success.
“Do you remember the last time I went away, Georgie?” he asked, as he sat down beside her.
Georgie looked up at him with a thrill of alarm. “Do you think I could ever forget it, Dick? Not if I lived for hundreds of years.”
“We almost quarrelled, didn’t we? You were in the right, of course—I knew it all along, but I had to go. You don’t like me to go out treaty-breaking, do you?”
“No.” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“But it’s all right if I go treaty-making, isn’t it? just to get the tribes to feel what fools they’ve been, and make them see reason?”
“Oh, Dick, must you go? so soon? and you have been away so long!”
“You jump at things so suddenly,” lamented Dick. “I wanted to break it gently to you.”
“My dear stupid boy, do you think I don’t know your way of breaking things gently yet?”
“Well, anyhow, you’ll let me go, won’t you? without making a fuss, I mean?”
“A fuss! Do I ever make a fuss?”
“Oh, you know what I mean—without making me feel a brute for doing it?”
“You know I would never keep you back from what was really your duty.”
“That’s all right, then,” Dick failed to notice the distinction thus delicately implied. “And I’m going to try and save all your father’s work from being ruined, so it must be my duty, mustn’t it?”
“I suppose so. And I am forbidden to make a fuss?”
“Oh yes, please, absolutely—unless it would comfort you awfully to do it.”
“It wouldn’t comfort you. That’s what I have to think of. When do you start, Dick?”
“In an hour or so—as soon as it’s properly dark.”
“Then there’s plenty of time. I should so like the boy to be baptized before you go.”
“Why not? I suppose the Padri won’t kick at the shortness of the notice? Georgie, will you be very much surprised? I should like to ask Burgrave to be godfather.”
“Dick!” Georgia’s tone was full of dismay. “I thought of Colonel Graham—” Dick nodded approval—“and either Fitz Anstruther or Dr Tighe——”
“I’d rather have Burgrave, if you don’t mind. He has come out strong to-night. I respect him more than any man I know. In his place I don’t believe I could have made the sacrifice he’s prepared to make.”
“Then we will have him, of course. But Mabel is the godmother, naturally. Won’t she feel it awkward? You know they have quarrelled?”
“That’s putting it mildly. I’m afraid it’s quite off.”
“Ah, that’s what I was afraid of, too, but Mab always refuses to discuss the subject with me until I am stronger. I can’t force her confidence, you know.”
“I suppose not, but there’s no need to be so awfully careful of her feelings. She has treated Burgrave shamefully, and so far as I can see, without the slightest excuse. She insists on engaging herself to him, and then she goes and breaks it off for no reason whatever. I’m disgusted with her.”
“Oh, Dick, don’t be unkind to her! If she didn’t care for him it was only right to break it off. I told you she was miserable about it.”
“Then she had no business to begin it. But don’t let us waste time over her nonsense, Georgie. Shall I go and speak to the Padri?” He opened the door, and stepped out on the verandah. “Why, Anstruther, you here? It’s not nearly dark enough to start yet.”
Fitz smothered an exclamation of impatience. This was the second time he had been foiled in half-an-hour in an attempt to get a few words with Mabel. He had succeeded in catching her alone for a moment immediately after Dick had told him of the adventure in which he was to take part, and then Flora came and called her away, because the baby was breathing heavily in its sleep, and she was afraid something was wrong with it. On this occasion he had got hold of Flora herself, wasting no time in preliminaries.
“Oh, I say, Miss Graham, could you manage to get Mabel here without telling her that I want to see her? I must speak to her before I go. I’m certain she cares for me a little, but she was so determined I should not see it that I couldn’t insult her by letting on that I did. But there’s no time now for any more fooling. I must tell her what I have to say, and there’s an end of it.”
“Now, why couldn’t you have said that before?” demanded Flora. “That’s the right way to take her. I’ll have her here in a moment,” and even now she was beguiling her out on the verandah when Dick appeared to announce that the baptism was to take place at once, and Fitz’s hopes were again disappointed. There would be no chance of speaking to Mabel now for some time, and he left the courtyard and joined Winlock on the broken tower, where he was keeping a solitary watch in case the relieving force should attempt to communicate with the fort by means of flash-light signals. Their eyes, strained with staring into the darkness, showed them lights at every possible and impossible point in the more distant hills, until at last they abandoned the tantalising prospect, and talked in whispers of the expected relief.
“To think that by this time to-morrow we may have had a good square meal!” sighed Winlock.
“Beef, not horse,” murmured Fitz sympathetically.
“And tinned things—though I shall always feel a delicacy about tins in future. They’ve been ‘medical comforts, strictly reserved for the sick,’ such a long time.”
“And real bread, instead of this abominable bran mash.”
“And as much to drink as ever you want—and soap—and baths—” He stopped suddenly, for Fitz had caught him by the arm. “What is it?” he whispered.
“I’m sure I heard a noise down below. Help me to move this sand-bag.”
The sand-bag on the parapet was pushed aside, and Fitz put his head through the gap thus left, but only just far enough to see over the edge, lest he should be visible against the sky. It was clear that the enemy were keeping high festival in all their camps, for the air was full of the sound of tomtoms and similar instruments, and snatches of wild song. To Winlock it seemed impossible to detect any noise less insistent or nearer at hand, but Fitz looked and listened until his friend hauled him back.
“Well, is there anything?” he demanded impatiently.
“I’m almost certain there is. You take a look.”
“I’m not a cat,” whispered Winlock in disgust, when he had drawn his head back in his turn. “Can’t see a thing.”
“Well, I am, rather, in that way, and I believe there’s a fellow down there.”
Again he put his head into the opening, and supporting his face on his hands, concentrated all his attention on the foot of the wall. After several minutes, which seemed like hours to Winlock, he faced him again.
“There is a man down there, and his clothes are dark, so as not to show. He has put two bags against the wall, and he has crawled away to fetch another.”
“Going to blow down the tower?”
“Yes, it’s their best chance. Half gone already, you see. Well, will you clear the men off the near half of the wall, and tell the Colonel, so as to be ready for developments? I’m going to nip the villain in the bud.”
“Nonsense, he’ll knife you! And how will you get down?”
“Climb down the broken brickwork and drop.” He drew off his boots. “I shall take him by surprise. Don’t let any one fire, whatever you do. It would explode the powder at once. Be off.”
Winlock obeyed, and hurried to alarm the Colonel, after hastily calling down the sentries, the noise of whose own footsteps effectually prevented their noticing any suspicious sound. Richard St George Keeling had just received his name, and was accepting the congratulations of the representatives of the regiment on the auspicious event with his usual composure, when Winlock came into the courtyard and drew Colonel Graham aside. Before he could utter a word, however, there was an explosion which seemed to shake the very foundations of the fort, followed by the collapse of various portions of the newly-repaired defences.
“I’m afraid the wall’s gone, sir,” gasped Winlock, when he recovered himself.
“Not a bit of it,” said the Colonel, pointing to the dark line above the roofs; but before anything more could be said, the sentry on the north-west tower gave the alarm. There was no time for anything but a rush to the walls, which were only reached just as a hurrying mob of men, some carrying torches, others scaling-ladders, advanced in wild confusion, shouting and singing, from the shelter of the plane trees. A couple of volleys sent them flying back in headlong rout, and beyond a shot or two from General Keeling’s house there was no semblance of an attack on any other side of the fort. The officers gathered on the rampart looked at one another in complete mystification.
“I never remember a worse-planned attack,” said Colonel Graham. “In fact there was no plan about it. And yet the explosion——”
“Yes, but how came it to do so little damage?” said Dick. Some additional masses of brickwork had been torn from the tower, and the sand-bags were flung about, but the wall was comparatively uninjured.
“Probably the powder became ignited before it was properly placed in position,” suggested Mr Burgrave. “If the man in charge intended to use a slow match, the attack may only have been planned for dawn, so that the various parties were naturally not prepared. This fiasco here was a kind of drunken forlorn hope, started simply by the noise of the explosion.”
“Yes, but why should the powder get ignited? Why, Winlock!” The young man had made his appearance with his arms full of rope.
“I want to go down and look for Anstruther, sir. He must be awfully hurt, for he was going to try and stop the explosion.”
Half-an-hour later Mabel and Flora, waiting anxiously in the verandah to learn the result of the attack, heard in the passage the slow tread of a body of men carrying something. Dick was at their head.
“We’ll bring him in here, as the hospital is full,” he was saying. “As I shall be away, there’ll be the room I had last night to spare, and the ladies will help to look after him.”
“Who is it? What has happened?” asked the two girls together.
“Poor old Anstruther has got himself blown up instead of the fort,” returned Dick. “Take care of that corner, Woodworth.”
“What is the matter with him? Is he badly hurt?” asked Mabel hoarsely.
“Can’t say yet. On second thoughts, Colonel, I’ll take Winlock, if you can spare him. He knows the country round here so much better than Beltring.”
“Dick, are you absolutely heartless?” Mabel grasped her brother’s arm, and shook him. “Is he dying?”
“How can I tell? He was just alive when we found him.”
“I must be with him. I will nurse him,” she managed to say.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. It’s no sight for you, and we don’t want fainting and hysterics. For Heaven’s sake, Mabel, don’t make a scene!” he added, in a whisper of angry disgust. “It’s not as if he was anything to you.”
“I have a right——” she began with difficulty.
“Keep her away, Burgrave,” said Dick curtly, turning his head for a moment, and the Commissioner drew her hand within his arm, and led her in silence to the other side of the courtyard. In the tumult of her anger and mortification, she struggled furiously at first, but he declined to release her, and presently she found herself deposited in a chair, with Mr Burgrave standing over her like a jailer. Between her sobs she could hear him talking, apparently with the charitable intention of at once comforting her for her exclusion and assuring her that the cause of her emotion remained unsuspected.
“Anxious to be of use—highly delicate nervous organisation—might distract the doctor’s attention at a critical moment—your brother meant kindly—” were some of the scraps that reached her ears.
“It’s not that!” she cried wildly. “He’ll die without my seeing him, and Dick says he’s nothing to me, and—and he’s everything!” and her sobs died away into low, hopeless weeping, which wrung the heart of the man before her. She did not think of him until she felt an unsteady touch on her hair, and looking up at him, saw that not only his hands but his very lips were trembling.
“Don’t cry so,” he said hoarsely; “you break my heart. Then you are engaged to him? I never dreamt of this.”
“No, I’m not—but it’s my own fault. He asked me long ago—and I told him it could never be—and I was so horrid that—he never asked me again. And now they won’t let me go to him—and I wanted—just to tell him—before he died—that—that——”
“That he might die happy? No, no, I am in earnest,” as Mabel threw him a glance of reproach. “I could die happy in his case.”
“Oh, how wicked—how mean—I am, to say all this to you! And I have treated you so badly— What can you think of me?”
“What should I think but that you are the woman I hoped to shield from every breath of trouble, and now you are in this sorrow, and I can do nothing?”
“Oh, but you can!” cried Mabel impulsively. “It’s no good speaking to Dick, but Dr Tighe will listen to you, and you can ask him to let me help to nurse him.”
“I have no doubt he will be willing to do that—or if it is not possible, I am sure he will promise to call you if any change for the worse occurs.”
“Oh, you won’t believe in me even now! You don’t think I could be brave even for him. If it was to do him good, I could——”
“Your seeing him now could do him no possible good, and the sight would haunt you for ever. I think you don’t quite trust me, do you? Try to think of me as a friend, as one who would a thousand times rather see you happy with the man you loved than unhappy with himself. And perhaps”—he hesitated a little—“you may like to know that you have lifted a weight from my mind to-night. I confess it seemed to me a cruel thing when you broke off our engagement without any special reason, but now I know that you love some one else, I feel it was quite natural and right.”
Mabel saw his meaning dimly. The sting of her treatment of him had lain in the feeling that though there was no one else she preferred, she valued so lightly the love he offered that she refused even to tolerate it. Now his self-respect was restored. It was for a tangible rival, not for freedom in the abstract, that she had cast him off.
“Mab, are you awake?”
“Go away; I hate you!” was the muffled reply. Mabel had thrown herself, dressed, upon her bed, and her face was buried in the pillow. She shook off Flora’s hand angrily from her shoulder as she spoke.
“Why, Mab, I only wanted to tell you—— What have I done?”
Mabel sat up and pushed back her hair. “They let you go and help with him,” she said venomously, “and they kept me out. Dick called you—I heard him myself. And they wouldn’t let me come. Eustace held my hands. And you went—and helped them.”
“I didn’t do anything but hold things for them, really. Dr Tighe did it all, and your brother helped him. I had to go when they called me.”
“Did he look at you—recognise you? If he did, I’ll never forgive you.”
“No, not a bit. But, Mab——”
“I’m glad of that, at any rate. And you came to say I might go to him now?”
“Yes, Mr Burgrave spoke to Dr Tighe. But don’t say you’re glad he didn’t look at me. It will make you miserable all your life to have even thought it.”
“Why, what is the matter?” asked Mabel impatiently, as Flora barred her way to the door.
“I can’t let you go into the room without realising it. His—his hair is all burnt off, Mab, and he’s fearfully scorched. You can’t see anything but bandages, and he is quite insensible.”
“It’s only the shock. He must come round soon.”
“That’s not all. I must tell you. The explosion seems to have paralysed all his faculties. He is deaf and dumb and blind—for the time.”
“Oh, for the time, of course. But he won’t be deaf when I speak to him. Don’t keep me here, Flora. I want to wake him.”
Flora drew back reluctantly, and Mabel ran across the courtyard. At the door of the sick-room, which was a makeshift structure erected since the earthquake at the corner where two verandahs joined, she met Dr Tighe.
“So I hear you want to play at nursing a little, Miss North?” he said, not unkindly, but by no means as if he regarded her intention as serious. “Do you think you won’t fall asleep? Can you keep cool, whatever happens? Not that you could do much harm if you went into hysterics,” he added, half to himself. “The poor fellow wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Even this slighting estimate of her powers did not provoke Mabel to protest. “What have I to do?” she asked, with determined calmness, and the doctor looked at her curiously.
“I want you to sit beside him and watch for any sound or movement. If there is the least change, send for me at once. I must spend the night over at the hospital, but I am leaving my boy in the verandah here, and he will fetch me whenever you want me.”
“Wait, please. May I speak to him?”
“Who—the boy? Oh, the patient. Yes, of course, as much as you like, if it will ease your mind. Didn’t I tell you that he couldn’t hear you?” He glanced sharply at her, but she turned away from him, and went into the room without saying anything, leaving him puzzled. “I feel a bit of a brute,” he said to himself, as he crossed to the passage leading into the hospital, “but she must keep up. I don’t want her on my hands in hysterics, in addition to all the rest.”
Mabel sat down quietly beside the bed. A smoky native lamp shed a flickering light through the little room, rendering dimly visible the swathed figure which lay absolutely motionless in its shroud of bandages. Of the face nothing could be seen, and the bandaged hands were stretched straight at the sides. A great terror seized Mabel. Surely he must be dead? She laid her hand timidly on the wrist nearest her, so lightly as scarcely to touch it, but the contact served to reassure her. He was still living, and she resigned herself to her silent and solitary watch.
At first she was so much absorbed in listening and looking for the sounds and movements which never came, that she had no thought of her surroundings, but after a time they forced themselves upon her notice. The deathlike silence all around, the presence of that shrouded form upon the bed, the uncertain light—all combined to strain her nerves to their utmost tension. She would have risen and walked about, in the hope of breaking the spell, but she discovered that she had no power to stir. The semi-darkness was full of shadows for which she could not account, and small mysterious noises sounded in her ears like thunder-claps. Over and over again she thought she saw her patient move, only to find that her eyes had deceived her, and the breathless expectation did but increase the strain upon her. By degrees her terror grew almost uncontrollable, but she fought against it doggedly. Never in her life had she placed such constraint upon herself. The door was so near, two steps would take her to it, and once outside she would be safe from the shadows and the silence. But she gripped her chair hard with both hands, and at last the impulse passed away. Next came the temptation to scream—to shriek, sing, do anything to break the stillness. She was shaking from head to foot; it seemed utterly impossible to check her sobs, yet she succeeded in crushing them down. The struggle was a fearful one, and she felt that her self-command would not hold out much longer. She looked at her watch, and resolved to remain quiet for five minutes, whatever happened. When the five minutes was over, she renewed the resolution for another five minutes, and so on, and the expedient was successful for a time. Then it became more and more difficult to maintain, and the periods of five minutes dwindled to four, three, and finally one. She gazed at the watch aghast. It was impossible that so much agony and mental stress could have been crowded into one minute. But the watch had not stopped, and she gave up the conflict, and burst into tears.
“Fitz!” she wailed, dropping on her knees beside the bed. “Fitz!”
Surely he would hear. Georgia had said that Dick’s voice would reach her if she were dead. But in this case there was no answer.
“Oh, Fitz, speak to me!” she entreated. “I am so frightened.”
The piteous voice died away. It must have availed to pierce the silence which enwrapped him, she thought, and yet he would not speak. Could it be that he was resolved to punish her for her coldness in the past, to humble her pride in return for all she had made him suffer? Or perhaps he did not understand even yet.
“Fitz,” she murmured softly, “I love you.”
No sooner had the words escaped her lips than she sprang up aghast. They seemed to be echoed back by the walls on every side, to be whispered by mocking sprites, to clang like the strokes of great bells. “I love you! I love you!” The air was full of them, and she was overwhelmed with shame.
“Oh, if you don’t hate me, say just one word!” she sobbed. “I am so ashamed, but you said you loved me. Oh, Fitz, it’s not like you to be so unkind! And I thought you would be glad to know.”
Surely he must answer now?—but she sobbed on, and there came no word of comfort.
“Well, Miss North, and what’s all this about?” said Dr Tighe.
He stood at the door, looking in at her, and Mabel sprang to her feet and confronted him, shaking with sobs, her face stained with tears.
“It’s—it’s only—I was speaking to him, and he won’t answer,” she managed to say.
“But I told you he wouldn’t. He can’t. Why, he doesn’t even hear you.”
“I thought I could make him hear.”
“As well try to wake the dead. No, no; what an idiot I am!” as she recoiled from him in terror. “Purely a figure of speech, nothing more. Now I will take a turn of watching, and do you go and get some rest.”
“Oh no, I won’t leave him. I am not a bit tired.”
“Go to Mrs North. She can’t sleep either, and she and her ayah have got some coffee for you. It will soon be daylight, and you had better rest while you can.”
“As if I should think of leaving him!” repeated Mabel in scorn.
“I won’t be defied by my own nurses, Miss North. If you don’t go peaceably, I’ll have you gently assisted out, and once outside this room you won’t get in again.”
“Oh, how can you be so unkind!” sobbed Mabel, breaking down abjectly.
“I am not unkind. I want you to help me a great deal with the poor fellow, and that’s why I insist upon your resting now. You shall come on duty again in four hours or so, and I’ll promise faithfully to call you if there’s any change in the meantime.”
Slowly and reluctantly Mabel left the room, and went along the verandah to Georgia’s door. Georgia was sitting up in a long cane chair, and welcomed her cheerfully.
“Come in, Mab. It seems absurdly early to be up, but I knew how cold and miserable you would feel after being awake all night. This is the very last of the coffee. Dr Tighe has lavished it upon us recklessly on the chance of our being relieved to-day, so make the most of it.”
“I couldn’t touch it, Georgie!” with a gesture of disgust.
“Oh yes, you can, to please me. After you have drunk it you shall lie down on my bed, and if you can’t sleep, we will talk. Why, you are shivering! Put on that shawl, and now drink the coffee,” and Mabel obeyed.
“Let me stay here, Georgie,” she said when she had finished, sitting down on the floor, and laying her head on Georgia’s knee. “I like to be close to you. You understand things.” Georgia stroked her hair softly, and she went on, “Other people don’t understand—even Flora, or Dr Tighe. And Dick was horrid last night. The only person who seems to know how I feel is poor Eustace—he understands.”
“Yes, he has suffered himself.”
“And that is my fault. But I never knew how it hurt till now, Georgie, or I couldn’t have done it, and now that I do know, it’s too late. I know now how you feel about Dick, because of what I feel abouthim. I can’t bear any one else to do a single thing for him, and if he became conscious again while I was away, I should be ready to kill Dr Tighe. Isn’t it strange that to-day I would give anything to hear him say the things that made me so angry a little while ago, and that I have said things in his ear to-night that would have made him perfectly happy then, and now he can’t even hear them? Oh, Georgie, if he should never hear them—if he should die without recovering his senses!”
“We can only hope—and pray,” said Georgia gently.
“I know, but you must pray—I can’t. You have always been kind to him, at any rate; I haven’t. I don’t deserve that he should get well, I know—but I do want him so much. When I think that he has been wasting his love upon me all this time, while I was too proud to take it, I feel it would serve me right if I never had the chance of telling him how glad and thankful I am to have it. But I do love him, Georgie, indeed I do.”
“I know you do, Mab,” said Georgia, still passing her hand softly over Mabel’s hair. She would not allow a word of reproach to cross her lips, but in her heart there was a little tumult of wifely indignation. Mabel was so much engrossed with Fitz Anstruther as not even to remember that her brother had taken his life in his hand and gone straight into the enemy’s camp. “But it is only natural. Perhaps I should do the same in her place,” thought Georgia, and continued the pleasant restful movement. Before very long Mabel was asleep, and she was still crouched upon the floor, leaning against Georgia, when Dr Tighe came to say that she might take her second turn of watching in the sick-room. She awoke with a start, while he was talking to Georgia in an excited whisper.
“Yes, Mrs North, I’m certain there’s something up. Two or three distinctjirgahsseem to be going on in the enemy’s lines, and though they began to make preparations for fighting two hours ago, they don’t get any forrarder. And we are almost certain that there’s a movement of some kind in progress at the back of Gun Hill. There may be artillery there, taking up a position, or possibly the whole relief column is preparing to occupy the heights. If it’s anything of the sort, it’s all due to that marvellous husband of yours, whom I’d make Viceroy this very hour if I had my way.”
“And he would be excessively unhappy at Government House, and the cause of extreme misery to every one else,” laughed Georgia; but Mabel, who had been listening to their talk half asleep, sprang up.
“Oh, Doctor, is there any change? Is he awake?”
“No change whatever, I’m sorry to say. Have your breakfast before you come across, and then I’ll leave you in charge while I go my morning rounds in the hospital.”
Very soon Mabel was at her post again, wondering at the horror which night and silence had lent to the rough-walled, commonplace little room. The full blaze of sunlight never reached this particular corner of the courtyard until late in the afternoon, but the hole which had been left as a window admitted a certain amount of light. Through it also there came pleasantly distant sounds of life and movement from the other parts of the fort. As Mabel sat with her eyes fixed upon the bed, the murmur of different noises lulled her into a state very nearly resembling sleep, and once again she thought she saw a movement, only to discover that it was merely fancy. Another period of intense vigilance passing gradually into semi-consciousness followed, the mere effort of concentrating her gaze on one object inclining her to slumber, and then there came a sudden awakening. Was it thunder, or another earthquake, or what could be the meaning of those tremendous crashes, each of which was welcomed by cries of delight from the walls?
“Guns, I suppose,” said Mabel to herself, still half asleep. “Perhaps it will wake him.” She bent forward eagerly, but there was still no movement, and she sat down again disappointed. The crashes and the shouts of joy overhead still continued, but she made no attempt to learn what was going on, not so much from reluctance to leave her post as from sheer lack of interest. Suddenly there came a different sound, a singing, shrieking noise, deepening into a groan as it came nearer. She had never heard it before, and yet she knew by instinct what it meant.
“A shell!” she cried, springing up involuntarily. However long she may live, she will never remember that moment without a blush of bitter humiliation, for she sprang up to run away. But the impulse was only momentary. Even before she could turn towards the door a rush of incredulous shame swept over her and made her throw herself on her knees by the bed. She clasped one of the bandaged hands in hers to give herself courage. “I will die with him!” she said, and burying her face in the coverlet, waited. It seemed to her that she waited for hours, and yet only the minutest fraction of time can have elapsed between her recognition of the nature of the sound and the concussion which followed—a deafening, rending noise, which seemed to comprise within itself all imaginable sounds of terror, and which was intensified a hundredfold by the echoes it evoked from the walls of the fort. To Mabel it felt as if the world was coming to an end, and she was being buried in the ruins, but at this point she lost consciousness, and knew no more until she found Dr Tighe and Flora dashing water into her face, rubbing her hands, and using various other means to revive her. Her first impression was of a blaze of intense light, and it only dawned upon her gradually that the roof of the room and the two walls facing the courtyard were gone, their shattered fragments lying in heaps around.
“I’ll never forgive myself!” cried Dr Tighe frantically. “What business had I to be trespassing upon the walls, just to watch the practice our fellows were making, and leaving my patients to be killed without me? The moment I saw the Nalapuri horse trying to escape across the canal, and the gun on the hill turned round to cover them, I said, ‘We’ll have a shell dumped into us in another minute,’ and sure enough we had.”
“What was it, then?” asked Mabel feebly.
“Thank God you’re alive yet! ’Twas one of our own shells that fell short, and as nearly as possible wrecked the whole place. I made sure you were done for when Miss Graham and I got you out.”
“Oh, but what about him—is he safe?” cried Mabel, starting up and pushing her way into the corner where the bed stood. Its position had protected it to a wonderful extent from the falling timbers of the roof and walls, but it was covered with smaller fragments, and enveloped in a haze of dust which was only now dispersing. But Mabel cared nothing for the dust or falling plaster.
“He’s talking!” she shrieked to Dr Tighe, who followed her, stumbling over the rubbish on the floor. “Hush, oh, hush! I must hear what he says.”
Dr Tighe held his breath, and Flora quickly waved back the curious servants and others who had been attracted to the spot by the bursting of the shell, and withdrew with them out of earshot. Mabel, kneeling beside the bed, was listening hungrily to the words which poured from the patient’s lips, not spoken with any apparent difficulty, but rattled off in quick low tones.
“Awfully good job those Sikh fellows are making such a noise on the wall. I’m sure I dislodged something then, but I didn’t hear it fall. Perhaps it fell on our friend down below. Rather a startler for him, but he’ll be waiting for me. Hope he looks in the wrong place. This is the best point to drop from, I should think. Hope and trust there are no sharp bricks and things to come down upon. It’s creepy work. One, two, three, and away! So far, so good. Now to stalk our friend. If he’s trying to stalk me at the same moment, our heads will probably meet with a bang. I’ll have my knife out—revolver would be too risky. Ah—h—h—h—what’s that? The powder-bag, I’ll swear; but I thought it was the man. Now if only I knew where you are at this moment, my friend, I would drag your bags to a safe distance, and give you a nice little hunt for them. But it would be awkward if you came on me from behind, so I’ll wait here. Wonder if my eyes shine in the dark like a cat’s? That would give him rather a turn; he might think it was a tiger. Hullo! back already, are you, and another lot of powder too? Now if you’ll only leave it behind you, and retire gracefully for the moment, we’ll whip it up over the wall in no time, and requisition it for her Majesty’s service. Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, you are a cool hand, I must say, to make your bed on a heap of powder-bags! But I can’t stay watching you until you choose to make a move. I might sneeze, you know, so I’m afraid I must trouble you. Now then! just hand over that knife. Oh, that’s your little game, is it? This is not playing fair. Firearms not allowed on any account. I say!”
There was a pause, a sigh, and the voice went on again.
“I never guessed these bricks would be so knobby. It’s rather rough negotiating them without any boots. Awfully good job those Sikh fellows are making such a noise on the wall. I’m sure I dislodged something then——” Mabel lifted an agonised face to the doctor.
“He’s saying the same things over again. What does it all mean?”
“He is going over the last two or three minutes before the explosion. I suppose the thoughts and impressions of that time have fixed themselves in his mind, which seems to have been set working again by the shock of the bursting shell. Very likely he will go on like this.”
“What! Always?” cried Mabel, in horror.
“We’ll hope not, though I have known cases in which the effect of such a shock has been permanent. The brain seems unable ever to receive any other impression afterwards. But he can’t well go on talking at this rate long, and when he’s exhausted he may sink into a stupor, and emerge in a more rational state of mind. I wonder whether his hearing has returned? Anstruther!”
There was no answer. “You try,” said the doctor.
“Fitz!” cried Mabel, her tones sharpened by anxiety; but the low monotonous voice rambled on, and there was no response to be discerned.
“We can’t do anything. He must go on until he is tired,” said Dr Tighe. “And you had better go on the sick-list yourself, Miss North. You’re a good deal knocked about.”
To her astonishment, Mabel found that this was the case. Bruises and flesh-wounds of which she had not been conscious were painfully evident on her arms and shoulders, and her dress was torn in a dozen places. But she refused to leave her post until the time Dr Tighe had appointed her was over; and perceiving that she would not be able to rest while Fitz was in this state, he consented to do what he could for her on the spot, and allowed her to remain for the present. It was almost more heart-rending to listen to the often-repeated story of the last few minutes of consciousness Fitz had known, than it had been to see him lying silent, but she remained at her post until the low hurrying tones became intermittent, and finally ceased altogether. By this time the servants had contrived, by means of screens and loose boards, partially to repair, or at least to conceal, the dilapidation of the room, for Dr Tighe declined to attempt the removal of the patient, assuring Mabel cheerfully that he was in the safest place in the fort. Even if the relieving column should chance to drop in a few more shells, all the probabilities were against their falling in the same spot. Thus assured, Mabel consented to allow her own hurts to be looked to, and swallowed with unexpected docility the draught which the doctor gave her. She did so the more readily that she began to be conscious she could not keep up much longer. The vigil and terror of the night, the alarm and anxiety of the day, seemed to have robbed her of every vestige of strength, and she had no mind to allow herself to be ousted from the post which was hers by right. If she was to continue in charge of Fitz, she must contrive to get the doctor on her side, and not alienate him by opposition to his orders.
This time she had no difficulty in obtaining rest. Her eyes closed almost as soon as she threw herself on her bed, and she slept without waking until the evening. When at length she awoke, she sprang up in alarm. Why had no one called her? It was actually getting dark, and the courtyard looked utterly deserted. What had happened? She threw on her dress, and ran along the verandah to the sick-room. Just as she reached it, the screen which served as a door was moved aside, and Dick and Dr Tighe came out, accompanied by a sunburnt elderly man in khaki campaigning uniform.
“My sister,” said Dick laconically. “We have been taking Colonel Slaney to see Anstruther, Mab. Glad to say he thinks he’ll do.”
“Oh, really, really?” cried Mabel, clasping her hands, and looking at the surgeon with eyes suddenly overflowing with tears.
“Well, he’ll never be much of a beauty again,” was the gruff reply.
“Oh, what does that signify? His mind—will that be all right?”
“I hope so—if he can be kept from any more shocks. That shell to-day seems to have been a kill or cure business—I shouldn’t recommend any more of the same sort. You were there at the time—stuck to him—eh? Very plucky thing to do. Well, you just let him alone now. Don’t try to excite his feelings, or make him recognise you. Give the brain time to recover itself.”
“But you are sure it will be all right? Oh, I can’t thank you properly for telling me this—but he will get quite well?”
“Very ungrateful if he doesn’t, with such a nurse. Don’t go and wear yourself to a shadow looking after him while he’s insensible. You’ll need all your cheerfulness and good spirits when he recovers consciousness.”
Mabel looked dumbly at Dr Tighe. What did this warning portend? The little man answered her mute appeal with friendly alacrity.
“At the best he’ll be rather badly scarred, Miss North, but we hope and trust there’ll be nothing else the matter. Colonel Slaney doesn’t mean to imply that you would mind the scars, or that the poor fellow would care about them for his own sake, but it’s likely he will for yours.”
“I see. Thank you for telling me. I shall know what to do now,” said Mabel, quite calmly, though the screen trembled where her fingers were gripping it.
“Buck up, Queen Mab!” said Dick kindly, lingering behind the other two to give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Never say die!”
She caught his hand and wrung it, reading in his action an apology for his hasty speech of the night before, and he smiled at her cheerily as she disappeared behind the screen. Fitz was still lying in the state of stupor in which she had left him, and she sat down beside the bed, and tried to lay her plans for the future. As she recalled what Colonel Slaney had said, it was natural that the man himself should recur to her mind.
“Why, we must be relieved!” she said to herself. “How stupid of me never to have thought of it. Colonel Slaney belongs to the column, of course. And Dick has come back safe, too. And I took it all for granted, and nobody said anything. Where can Georgie be—and Flora?”
Wondering again at the calm way in which the three men had ignored the almost incredible fact of the ending of the siege, she tried to recall her conversation with them, in order to see whether any allusion had been made to it, and suddenly remembered what had struck her vaguely at the time, the stranger’s manner. He had not addressed her in the way in which long experience had prepared her to be addressed; in fact, she missed the peculiar deference to which she was accustomed from the other sex.
“He spoke to me just as if I was any other woman!” she said to herself, with anaïvetéwhich would have struck her as laughable in any one else. “He was kind and encouraging—patronising, almost. Do I look very dreadful, I wonder?” She cast a puzzled glance at her limp cotton gown. “Still, even then, it’s not usually my clothes that people think about. How Dick would laugh! He’ll say that the celebrated smile failed of its effect for once.”
Presently an unexpected solution of the mystery occurred to her.
“Perhaps I’m getting old and ugly, and people won’t care to talk to me any more. How dreadful to have to ask men to do things, instead of their rushing to do them of their own accord! It will take a long time to get accustomed to it. Oh, and perhaps Fitz won’t care for me now! If he leaves off loving me just as I have found out that I love him, what shall I do? I told Georgie once that I would give anything to care for any one as she cared for Dick, but I never thought of not being loved in return. There was some fairy tale about a princess who had no heart, and could not get one without giving everything she had in exchange for it, and that’s how I feel. But how dreadful to get the heart, and then find that it’s not wanted! If he cares for me still, I don’t mind if I never speak to another man again, but if he doesn’t——!”
There was a step outside, and Flora looked cautiously round the corner of the screen, then advanced, bearing a tray.
“Oh, Mab, you must have thought we had forgotten you, you poor thing!” she murmured, in subdued tones. “But you were fast asleep when I looked into your room, and we thought it would be kinder not to wake you. We were all in the mess-room verandah to welcome General Cranstoun and the officers of the column. It was lovely to see them come in; I did wish you were there. And they are all so kind, you can’t think! As soon as ever they heard what we were reduced to, they sent their servants for all sorts of private stores, and gave us everything they could think of that we should like. Look! here’s a cup of tea—strong tea—for you, with milk in it, and I have made you some sandwiches of potted meat. Isn’t it good of them? And they say such nice things about the way we have stood the siege, and they are so interested in the boy, and they admire your brother and Mrs North so much. It’s delightful to hear them.”
“But what has happened to the enemy?” asked Mabel.
“Oh, most of them have surrendered, but Bahram Khan and a body of horse escaped, and got safely to Dera Gul. Major North just succeeded in saving the Amir, and he’s in the fort now. Part of the column has gone on to keep an eye on Dera Gul, but the rest will camp here for to-night. Some of the officers are coming in after dinner—doesn’t it sound funny to say that again? You will come and talk to them, won’t you?”
“I’ll just come and see them—it would seem rude not to go near them after all they have done for us—but I can’t leave him for long. Flora!” suddenly, “do you see anything different in me?”
“You are dreadfully pale and tired, and your dress looks as if you had put it on in a hurry, and your hair isn’t very nicely done,” said Flora hesitatingly. “Is that what you mean?”
“No—not quite. If—if you were a man, should you still think of me as Queen Mab?”
Flora hesitated still, then suddenly flew at Mabel, and kissed her with great vehemence. “What does it signify?” she demanded. “I shall love you just as well, and so willhe, and lots of people will love you a great deal more. You’re just as lovely, really, as ever you were.”
“Then there is something,” cried Mabel. “What is it?”
“I—I don’t know, exactly. It’s something gone. I have noticed it going, since—I think since Mr Anstruther came back from looking for your brother. It was a sort of assurance—I can’t think of the proper word—as if you knew that every one admired you, and you had a right to their services. Yes, that was it. It took every one captive, you know, Mab.”
“And now?” asked Mabel, in a low voice.
“Now? Oh, it makes me miserable to see you. You look as if you wanted people to be kind to you, poor darling.”
“Only one person,” whispered Mabel. “Do you think he will?”
“As if you doubted him! Fraud! If he isn’t, I’ll give Fred up, and come and live with you in a hermitage. There!”
“Then I don’t mind. I have lost my kingdom, and found a heart.”
“Dick, I want to speak to you. I’m sure there’s something wrong.”
“There’ll be something wrong with you, if you rush up the steps at that rate, after being out all morning. You haven’t walked back, I hope?”
“No, of course not. I had a doolie. But it’s really important, Dick.”
“I dare say it is, but I won’t listen to a single word until you lie down in that chair and let me fan you. Now let us hear about it. You went to the Refugees’ Camp as usual, and doctored all and sundry?”
It was not in the confined limits of the Memsahibs’ courtyard that this conversation took place, for since the arrival of the relieving column the fort had been practically deserted, owing to its insanitary condition. As the town had also been left by the enemy in an undesirable state, most of the rightful inhabitants were under canvas for the present. Quarters had been found, however, in the large Sarai for a good many of the Europeans, who led a picnic existence in the bare mud rooms, cheered by such remnants of their household goods as they had been able to save, until the neighbourhood should quiet down, so as to allow them to return to their homes. Bahram Khan was holding out obstinately at Dera Gul, where he appeared to hold in deep contempt the devastation wrought by the besiegers’ mountain-guns. They had battered his walls to pieces, but he and his garrison retired to shelters underground, whence they emerged on more than one occasion to frustrate, with considerable loss to the attacking party, attempts to carry the place by assault. Meanwhile, his followers’ wives and children, who were not admitted into the fortress, had thrown themselves quite happily on the hands of the besiegers, in the calm confidence that this course would ensure their being provided with food, lodging, and medical attendance free of cost. To have despatched them, in their present unprotected condition, to any distance from the British lines would merely have led to their being killed or enslaved by the tribes, and after much discussion they were gathered into a special camp, under the charge of an officer detailed for the duty, which he cursed daily. Here they were looked after in company with the native women and children who had survived the siege, and such of the townspeople as now began to reappear from mysterious hiding-places or cities of refuge. The care of their health was entrusted to Georgia, and every morning she visited the camp and prescribed for any patients that might be awaiting her. It was from one of these visits that she had just returned.
“I was making a surprise inspection of the huts, Dick—it’s necessary every few days, you know—and I came to one where a number of women who have no children are quartered together. They were not expecting me, and they were just sitting or standing about. One of them was Jehanara.”
“My word!” Dick sprang to his feet. “Are you certain, Georgie?”
“Quite. I never forget a face, you know, and hers is a remarkable one.”
“And what did you do?”
“I pretended not to have recognised her, and our eyes did not meet, so I don’t think she could have seen that I knew her. I finished the inspection, and then, when I was reporting to Major Atkinson, I asked him to arrest her at once, as I was sure she was there as a spy.”
“And had she got away in the meantime?”
“Oh dear, no! When I had made Major Atkinson understand which woman I meant, he laughed at me, and said that she was certainly a spy—a spy of our own; and she had a pass signed by the General to allow her to leave the camp when she liked.”
“Somebody is being made a nice fool of.”
“That’s what I thought. If she has come to the General, and offered to betray the fortress to him—that door, you know—and it’s all a trap! He doesn’t know her as we do. I thought of going to him at once, but then it struck me that he might laugh at me as Major Atkinson did, so I came back to tell you as fast as I could.”
“You thought he might be like Burgrave, and dislike ladies’ interfering in politics? Well, I suppose I must go myself, and fish for snubs. What I do admire in all these big chaps is their deep-rooted distrust of the man on the spot. I wonder they don’t order us all out of the district before they’ll deign to set foot in it.”
Before very long Dick was received by General Cranstoun in the seclusion of his tent. To his observant eye, the General’s face wore a slightly expectant, not to say conscious expression, and he went straight to the business in hand.
“I should be glad, sir, if you would authorise the arrest of an East Indian woman who calls herself Joanna Warren or Jehanara. She is a secret agent of Bahram Khan’s, and my wife found her secreted in the Refugees’ Camp this morning.”
“There is no such person in the camp,” was the terse reply.
“What! has she got away already?” cried Dick. “Excuse me, but this may be a serious matter. Did she know that she was recognised?”
“I believe not. I understand that when she heard it was Mrs North’s habit to visit the camp, she considered it unwise to remain there longer.”
“I wish to goodness I knew whether that was all,” muttered Dick. “Is there any hope of getting hold of her still?”
“I do not know. The matter does not appear to me to lie in your province, Major North, and I am not prepared to offer you any assistance.”
“Perhaps you are not aware, sir, that the woman in question is Bahram Khan’s most trusted counsellor? It is generally understood that all our recent misfortunes are attributable to her influence, and I know personally that she has done an immense amount of harm.”
“Perhaps you are not aware that the unfortunate woman of whom you are speaking has been for years most cruelly ill-used by Bahram Khan, and has vowed vengeance upon him in consequence? But I am not at liberty to say more upon the subject.”
“No!” cried Dick, with sudden enlightenment, “because she made you promise to say nothing to me before she would utter a word. She told you that I was brutally unsympathetic, and had insulted her in her misfortunes, and that I forbade my wife to receive her?”
“These are facts of which I should scarcely expect you to be proud, Major North.” Still, the General looked uncomfortable.
“I am prouder of them than I should be of being taken in by the most cunning Jezebel in India. The woman hasn’t a grain of truth in her composition.”
“I have been considered a good judge of character,” said General Cranstoun severely, “and I would stake my life on Miss Warren’s truthfulness. She has told me something of her history, and her manner left on my mind the most extraordinary impression of impotent fury thirsting for revenge. No acting could have produced the effect.”
“And so you are going to stake your life on her truthfulness? and the lives of her Majesty’s troops? I see it all!” cried Dick, with growing excitement. “You are to be at the north-east corner of the Dera Gul rock with a body of picked men at a certain time, when she will open a door leading into the subterranean passages. Guided by her, you will make your way up with your detachment to the gate opening on the zigzag path, and hold it until the rest of your force comes up. Then the fortress is in your hands.”
“Why—how in the world did you know this?”
“I am acquainted with the lady, you see.”
“But the door—how did you hear about that?”
“I have seen it. When the place was empty, before it was restored to Bahram Khan, I explored it thoroughly.”
“And you never told me of the existence of the door? I should have imagined that the interests of the public service would have prevailed over any slight personal jealousy——”
“I didn’t mention it,” said Dick, “because the door is a portion of the solid rock, and can only be opened from within. It is lifted by a complicated arrangement of weights and pulleys, and a dozen women couldn’t make it stir. I should say it needed ten men at least.”
The General’s brow gathered blackness. “Your information would have been more valuable had it come earlier,” he said. “In the circumstances, I do not feel justified in abandoning an excellent opportunity of ending this revolt, merely in view of your suspicions.”
“They are certainties. Say that you and your picked men are trapped in the cave—the door works from above. The only way out is up a narrow staircase, which only one man can climb at a time, but there are holes high up through which you could be shot down in dozens. Once inside, Bahram Khan has you safe—to use as a hostage, if he likes.”
“I should not feel justified in abandoning the attempt,” repeated the General, “but,” he added, with a degree less of severity, “if you can suggest any precautions that might render success more certain, I shall be glad to consider them.”
“There are to be no lights, I suppose? Then I would let every man except those in the front rank carry a block of stone. We can get them out of the ruins not far off, and if they are piled up at the sides of the doorway—I’ll show the men how to do it—the door can’t come right down, at any rate. Then, Jehanara has arranged with you that the rest of the force shall advance up the zigzag path at a signal from the gate? The enemy’s fire commands every foot of the way, and we can’t shell them to any purpose at night. But if, instead of climbing up on that side, our main body was making a determined assault with scaling-ladders upon the opposite side of the fortress, where the walls come down to the level, that would distract the attention of the garrison if you found it necessary to retire from the cave. My idea is that as soon as you are well inside, the door will go down, and you will be summoned to surrender. But the door will stick, and you will be able to retire in good order, and form outside. Then, even if the attack did not come off quite at the same moment, you would be prepared to resist the garrison if they charged, and be sheltered against their fire from above. And the best part of the plan,” added Dick cunningly, “is that there is no need to break faith with Jehanara. If she means well by you, everything will go off just as you arranged, and her feelings will not be hurt by the knowledge of my base suspicions.”
“Major North,” said the General, holding out his hand, “I have done you an injustice. The arrangements you suggest seem to obviate all risk, and I shall be glad if you will accompany me, in order to direct the men who will carry the stones. The details of the main attack I will arrange immediately.”
“Then when was the attempt to be made, sir?”
“To-night, of course.Isto be made, if you please.”
“That was a pretty close shave!” muttered Dick to himself, when he was safely outside.