_ BOOK II CHAPTER XXXIV. C'ETAIT MA VIE
"C'etait toute petite, ma vie:
Mais c'etait ma vie."
--ANATOLE FRANCE.
"Honor, come out! I want you."
Desmond's voice, followed by a peremptory rap on the door, startled the girl back to a realisation of the flight of time. The sun had set, and a grey light filled the room. Without a passing thought of the tears upon her face, she lowered the bolt and confronted Evelyn's husband.
"Ladybird isn't back yet," he said quickly. "It'll be dark in ten minutes. I
must know where she went to, and go after her myself."
Honor bit her lip. To tell him at such a moment would be madness; yet he was in an ill mood to oppose.
"Can't you send the orderly?" she asked, with something less than her wonted assurance.
"No. I am going myself. This is no time to fuss over trifles. Something may have gone wrong----"
"Hush,--listen! What's that?"
The shuffling and grunting of jhampanis, and the thud of the lowered dandy, were distinctly audible in the stillness.
"There she is!" Desmond said eagerly; and a moment later the blood in his veins was chilled by a long-drawn wail from the verandah. "Hai--hai--
mere Memsahib murgya!"[33]
[33] My mistress is dead.
Before the cry had spent itself he was through the "chick," down the verandah steps at a bound, and bending over his unconscious wife. Her head had dropped down to one shoulder, and on the other ominous stains showed darkly in the half light.
"Great God--
murder!" Desmond muttered between his teeth. "What devil's work is this?" he added, turning upon the cowering jhampanis.
"Ghazi, Sahib; Ghazi," they told him in eager chorus, with a childish mingling of excitement and terror; and would fain have enlarged upon their own valour in pursuing the Taker of Life, but that Desmond's curt "
chupraho"[34] checked them in mid-career.
[34] Be quiet.
"Stay where you are, Honor," he added to the girl, who had followed him, and now stood at the head of the steps. "I am bringing her in."
"Is she--alive?"
"God knows. Look sharp and get some brandy."
He took up one limp hand and laid his fingers on her wrist. A faint flutter of life rewarded him.
"Thank Heaven!" he murmured; and lifted her tenderly in his arms. But at the foot of the steps he paused.
"Nassur Ali--the Doctor Sahib. Ride like the wind!" Then turning again to the jhampanis, big with harrowing detail, added: "The devil who did this thing, hath he escaped?"
"
Nahin,
nahin,[35] Sahib. Would your Honour's servants permit? The jackal spawn is even now in the hands of the police. May his soul burn in hell----"
[35] No, no.
"It is enough--go!" Desmond commanded in the peremptory vernacular; and mounted the steps with his burden.
Honor stood awaiting him in the drawing-room, white as her dress, tears glistening on her cheeks and lashes, yet very composed withal.
At sight of his face she started; it was grey-white and set like a rock. Only the eyes were alive--and ruthless, as she had never yet seen them, and prayed that she never might see them again.
"They've got the man," he said between his teeth. "I wish to God I could shoot him with my own hand."
Then he went forward to the sofa, and laid his wife upon it. His quick eye detected at once the nature of the wound. "Lung," he muttered mechanically. "No hope."
With the same unnatural calmness, he drew the long pins out of her hat--the poor, pretty hat which had so delighted her six hours ago; and as she moved, with a small sound of pain, he applied the spirit to her lips.
"What is it?" she murmured. "Don't touch me."
The faint note of distaste struck on her husband's heart; for he did not understand its meaning.
"Ladybird--look!" he entreated gently. "It is Theo." She opened her eyes, and gazed blankly up at him, where he leaned above her.
Then, as recognition dawned, he saw the shadow of fear darken them, and instantly dropped on one knee enclosing her with his arm.
"Ladybird, forgive me! You must never be frightened of me--never!"
The intensity of his low tone roused her half-awakened brain.
"But you were so angry, I was--afraid to come home."
"My God!" the man groaned under his breath. But before he could grasp the full horror of it all, she shrank closer to him, clutching at his arm, her eyes wide with terror.
"There's blood on me--look! It was--that man. Is it bad? Am I going--to die?"
"Not if human power can save you, my dear little woman. Mackay will soon be here."
But pain and fear clouded her senses, and she scarcely heard his words.
"Theo--I can't see you properly. Are you there?"
"Yes, yes. I am here."
The necessity for speech tortured him. But her one coherent longing was for the sound of his voice.
"
Don't let me die, please--not yet. I won't make you angry any more, I promise. And--it frightens me so. Keep tight hold of me; don't let me slip--away."
Desmond had a sensation as if a hand had gripped his throat, choking him, so that he could neither speak nor breathe. But with a supreme effort he mastered it; and leaning closer to her, spoke slowly, steadily, that she might lose no word of the small comfort he had power to give.
"I am holding you, my darling; and I will hold you to the very end. Only try--try to be brave, and remember that--whatever happens, you are safe--in God's hands."
A pitiful sob broke from her.
"But I don't understand about God! I only want--you. I want
your hands--always. Where is the other one? Put it--underneath me--and hold me--ever so close."
He obeyed her, in silence, to the letter. She winced a little at the movement; then her head nestled into its resting-place on the wounded shoulder, with a sigh that had in it no shadow of pain; and bending down he kissed her, long and fervently.
"Theo--darling," she breathed ecstatically, when her lips were free for speech, "now I
know it isn't true--what you said about not--caring any more. And I am--ever so happy. God can't let me--die--now."
And on the word, a rush of blood from the damaged lung brought on the inevitable choking cough, that shattered the last remnant of her strength. Her fingers closed convulsively upon his; and at the utmost height of happiness--as it were, on the crest of a wave--her spirit slipped from its moorings;--and he was alone.
Still he knelt on, without movement, without thought, almost it seemed without breathing, like a man turned to stone; holding her, as he had promised, to the very end, and--beyond.
Honor, standing afar off, dazed and heart-broken, one hand clasping the back of a chair for support, heard at last the rattle of approaching hoofs, and nerved herself for the ordeal of speech. But when Mackay entered with Paul Wyndham, Desmond made no sign. The little doctor's keen eye took in the situation at a glance; and at the unlooked-for relief of Paul's presence, Honor's strained composure deserted her. She swayed a little, stretched out a hand blindly towards him, and would have fallen, but that he quietly put his arm round her, and with a strange mixture of feelings saw her head drop on to his shoulder. But it was only for a moment. Contact with the roughness of his coat roused her on the verge of unconsciousness. She drew herself up, a faint colour mantling in her cheeks, and tried to smile.
"Come away," Paul whispered, leading her to the door. "We can give him no help--or comfort--yet." _