THE FIRE ON THE HILL.
“Ah!” said Colonel Graham sharply. “So that is the little dodge, is
it?”
He and Dick were standing in one of the gateway turrets as the day
broke, and it was the sight of a long column of men marching into the
town from the north-east that had called forth the exclamation.
“Look behind you!” said Dick laconically. A second force was moving
along the south bank of the canal in the direction of the fort.
“Nice use to make of an armistice!” said the Colonel.
“Well, you didn’t expect anything else, did you? You see they have got
us between two fires? That means a simultaneous attack on the gateway
and the breastwork, at any rate, if not on all four sides at once. We
have no time to lose.”
“Have you any suggestions to offer?” The Colonel spoke with the
calmness of despair, and Dick glanced at him in surprise.
“Of course you know our possibilities better than I do, but I should
certainly occupy Gun Hill, so as both to cover our west face, and
enable us to deliver a flank attack on the fellows on the opposite
bank if they come any nearer.”
“We have no guns, unfortunately, as you know, and worse than that, we
have not men enough to send out a detachment to the hill and hold the
place at the same time. Look there!” he handed Dick his field-glass.
“The buildings facing us are packed with men ready to advance in
response to any movement on our part.”
“I see. But at any rate we can line the earthwork and the roofs and
our bank of the canal with sharpshooters, and keep the enemy at a
distance on the south face?”
“No doubt we could, but for one thing. Do you recollect that we have
now been besieged over a month? What is the natural corollary?”
“That the ammunition is running out?”
“Exactly. There is so little left for the rifles that I have forbidden
it to be used except for picking off any specially troublesome
snipers. We are slightly better off as regards the carbines, but a
single day of hard fighting would leave us with nothing but cold
steel.”
“Good heavens!” said Dick, beginning to pace backwards and forwards in
the narrow limits of the turret; “and with the men they are bringing
up now they can overwhelm us by sheer weight of numbers. You see it’s
the Nalapur army that is marching in? No doubt Bahram Khan was on his
way to fetch it when I saw him in the Pass. Now, either the Amir has
been got rid of, or he has decided to throw in his lot with his
precious nephew. If he’s dead, it’s all up, but if not, there’s just a
chance. You said he seemed to turn reckless when he thought he had
done for me; well, I may be able to sober him down again.”
“You are not thinking of venturing into their camp?”
“Scarcely, since Bahram Khan would very soon repair his unfortunate
omission if I did. But if he doesn’t propose a parley, you must, and
insist on the Amir’s taking part in it. Then I will show myself
suddenly, and see whether there’s any hope of working upon the old
man’s feelings.”
All morning the garrison watched in gloomy helplessness the assembling
of the force which was to crush them. When Bahram Khan’s
reinforcements had taken up their positions, the fort was practically
surrounded. On the north-west, and extending under cover of the trees
to the reconstructed bridge, were the tents of the tribes, now once
more fully occupied, and humming like a hive of bees. Clearly, the
news had gone out that victory was at hand. On the north and east was
the town, now held by a strong contingent of Nalapuris, in addition to
Bahram Khan’s original force, and on the south the main body of the
Nalapur army in a roughly fortified camp. Famine and pestilence had
proved too slow in their work, and the final arbitrament was to be
sharp and short.
In the course of the afternoon a white flag was hoisted on General
Keeling’s house, and when the garrison had replied to it, Bahram Khan
rode out on the cleared space, surrounded by his own guard and the
Nalapuri officers. Colonel Graham and Mr Burgrave faced him at the
loophole of the turret, Dick lurking in the shadows behind them, and
received what was announced as a final offer of terms. Stripped of the
verbiage in which it was enwrapped, this was simply a demand for
unconditional surrender. Bahram Khan would do his best to save the
lives of the garrison, but the fury of the Amir was so great that he
could not guarantee even that, and every shred of public and personal
property was to be relinquished. Colonel Graham returned a prompt
refusal. To propose a surrender was preposterous, unless the besiegers
were prepared to guarantee the lives of all in the fort. Upon this
Bahram Khan sent a messenger back into his own lines, ostensibly to
consult the wishes of the Amir, and when he returned, announced
joyfully that the stipulation was accepted. The instant and obvious
retort was that the Amir must show himself in person, and swear to
observe the conditions, if the thought of capitulation was to be
entertained; but to this Bahram Khan demurred for a long time,
displaying a singular fertility of excuse. The Amir was ill, he was
resting, he had sworn not to exchange another word with an Englishman
who was not his prisoner, he was in such a frenzied state that to
insist upon his appearance would probably goad him to order a general
massacre forthwith. Colonel Graham pointed out politely that since the
besieged were still under the protection of their own walls and
weapons, there was no immediate fear of such a contingency, and at
last Bahram Khan himself withdrew into the town, in order, as he
explained, to lavish all his entreaties upon his uncle, and persuade
him to appear.
Presently a state palanquin was seen approaching, borne by sixteen
men, who carried it out upon the cleared space, and set it down.
“What’s this?” murmured Dick. “Ashraf Ali in a _palki_? I’ve never
seen him in one in my life.”
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 a _Malik_ from 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.