There fell a step upon the parched earth, and with a start Beryl turned
her head. She had seated herself again, but it was impossible to feign
limpness with every pulse at the gallop. She looked up at Fletcher with
a desperate smile.
He wore a knotted handkerchief on his head to protect it from the sun,
and in his hat, which he balanced with great care in both hands, he
carried water.
"I am glad to see you looking better," he said as he reached her. "I am
afraid there isn't much more than a cupful left. I had to go nearly half
a mile to get it, and it has been running out steadily all the way
back."
He knelt down before her, deep concern on his sunburnt face.
Reluctantly, out of sheer gratitude, she dipped her handkerchief in the
tepid drain, and bathed her face and hands.
"I am so sorry to give you all this trouble," she murmured.
He smiled with raised brows.
"I think I ought to say that. You will never trust yourself to me again
after this experience."
She looked at him with a guilty sense of duplicity.
"I--scarcely see how you were to blame for it," she said, rather
faintly.
He surveyed her for a moment in silence. Then, "I hardly know how to
break it to you," he said. "I am afraid the matter is rather more
serious than you think."
She forced a smile. This delicate preparation was far more difficult to
endure than the actual calamity to which it paved the way.
"Please don't treat me like a coward," she said. "I know I was foolish
enough to faint, but it was not so much from fright as from the heat."
"You behaved splendidly," he returned, his dark eyes still intently
watching her. "But this is not so much a case for nerve as for
resignation. Mrs. Denvers, you will never forgive me, I know. That jump
of the mare's damaged one of the shafts. The wonder is it didn't break
altogether. I have had to send the _saice_ back to Farabad to try and
get it patched up, and there is very little chance of our getting back
to Kundaghat for two or three hours to come."
All the time that he was communicating this tragic news, Beryl's eyes
were upon his face. She paid no heed to his scrutiny. Simply, with
absolute steadiness, she returned it.
And she detected nothing--nothing but the most earnest regret, the most
courteous anxiety regarding her welfare. Could it all be a monstrous
lie, she asked herself. And yet it was to the smallest detail the story
she had been warned to expect.
"But surely," she said, at last, "we cannot be so very far from
Kundaghat?"
"No great distance as the crow flies," said Fletcher, "but a good many
miles by road. I am afraid there is nothing for it but to wait till the
mischief is repaired. My only comfort is that you will feel the heat
less in returning later in the day. There are some pine trees on the
other side of the rise where you can rest. If I had only brought
something to eat I should have less cause to blame myself. As it is, do
you think you will be able to hold out?"
She smiled at that.
"Oh, I am not starving yet," she said, with more assurance; "but I do
not see the use of sitting still under the circumstances. I am quite
rested now. Let us walk back to Farabad, and we might start on foot
along the lower road for Kundaghat, and tell your man to overtake us."
Notwithstanding the resolution she infused into her voice, she made the
proposal somewhat breathlessly, for she knew--in her heart she
knew--that it would be instantly negatived.
And so it was. His face expressed sharp surprise for a second,
developing into prompt remonstrance.
"My dear Mrs. Denvers, in this heat! You have not the least idea of what
it would mean. You simply have not the strength for such a venture."
But Beryl was growing bolder in the face of emergency. She coolly set
his assurance aside.
"I do not quite agree with you," she said. "I am a better walker than
you seem to imagine, and the walk into Farabad certainly would not kill
me. We might be able to hire some conveyance there--a _tonga_ or even a
bullock-cart"--she laughed a little--"would be better than nothing."
But Fletcher persistently shook his head.
"I am sorry--horribly sorry, but it would be downright madness to
attempt it."
"Nevertheless," said Beryl very quietly, "I mean to do so."
She saw his brows meet for a single instant, and she was conscious of a
sick feeling at her heart that made her physically cold. Doubt was
emerging into deadly conviction.
Suddenly he leaned towards her, and spoke very earnestly.
"Mrs. Denvers, please believe that I regret this mischance every whit as
much as you do. But, after all, it is only a mischance, and we may be
thankful it was no worse. Shall we not treat it as such, and make the
best of it?"
He was looking her straight in the face as he said it, but, steady as
was his gaze, she was not reassured. Quick as lightning came the
thought--it was almost like an inner voice warning her--that he must not
suspect the fact. Whatever happened she must veil her uneasiness, which
she feared had been already far too obvious.
Quietly she rose and expressed her willingness to go with him into the
shade of the trees.
They stood grouped on the side of a hill, a thick belt through which the
scorching sun-rays slanted obliquely, turning the straight brown trunks
to ruddiest gold. There was more air here than in the valley, and it was
a relief to sit down in the shade and rest upon a fallen tree.
Fletcher threw himself down upon the ground. "We can watch the road from
here," he remarked. "We should see the dog-cart about a mile away."
This was true. Barren, stony, and deserted, the road twisted in and out
below them, visible from that elevation for a considerable distance.
Beryl looked over it in silence. Her heart was beating in great
suffocating throbs, while she strove to summon her resolution. Could she
do this thing? Dared she? On the other hand, could she face the
alternative risk? Her face burned fiercely yet again as she thought of
it.
Furtively she began to study the man stretched out upon the ground close
to her, and a sudden, surging regret went through her. If only it had
been Lord Ronald lounging there beside her, how utterly different would
have been her attitude! Foolish and inept he might be--he was--but, as
he himself had comfortably remarked, a man might be worse. She trusted
him implicitly, every one trusted him. It was impossible to do
otherwise.
Had any one accused him of laying a trap for her, she would have treated
the suggestion as too contemptible for notice. A sharp sigh escaped her.
Why had he taken her so promptly at her word? He could never have
seriously cared for her. Probably it was not in him to care.
"You are not comfortable?" said Fletcher.
She started at the sound of his voice, and with desperate impulse took
action before her courage could fail her.
"Major Fletcher, I--have lost the bangle you gave me. It slipped off
down by that big rock when I was feeling ill. And I must have left it
there. Should you very much mind fetching it for me?"
She felt her face grow crimson as she made the request, and she could
not look at him, knowing too well what he would think of her confusion.
She felt, indeed, as if she could never look him in the face again.
Fletcher sat quite still for a few seconds. Then, "But it's of no
consequence, is it?" he said. "I will fetch it for you, of course, if
you like, but I could give you fifty more like it. And in any case we
can find it when Subdul comes with the dog-cart."
He was reluctant to leave her. She saw it instantly, and tingled at the
discovery. With a great effort she made her final attempt.
"Please," she said, with downcast eyes, "I want it now."
He was on his feet at once, looking down at her. "I will fetch it with
the greatest pleasure," he said.
And, not waiting for her thanks, he turned and left her.