IN THE DARK WATCHES
The camp was in a state of excitement; the natives in a whirl of
breathless jabber, even the stolid Englishman slightly fluttered. Lion
had been seen and heard at last--seen with the naked eye and heard
by the fleshy ear. It was no question of imagination, nor of rumour,
nor of excited fancy this time. It was true, genuine, solid fact. A
small party of the native servants had been out reconnoitring some
distance from the new camp into which they had just moved, and while
returning at sunset, as they came up to the brow of a long low line of
rocky hills, a tawny form had been seen swinging along over the gilded
ripples of the sandy plain towards them and somewhere far on the left
of them had disappeared amongst the rock and scrub.
The reconnoitring band had hurried back to camp, bursting with
importance and triumph, and since their arrival with the news the whole
party was a-buzz and astir with excitement.
There was a unanimous wish to go out that very night. They had all
been tantalised and irritated so long now by lion stories that came to
nothing, and wearied by every other kind of shooting than that which
they wanted and had come out for, that they all burned with the same
enthusiasm to catch the chance now it had come. The men called upon
Everest to come and talk matters over with them in the gun-room tent,
away from the women, and he went, leaving Regina cleaning her rifle
and looking over her cartridge belt in their sleeping tent. Her eyes
had sparkled when she had heard the news. She had no wish to kill a
lion for herself, nor acquire as an indifferent hearthrug the beautiful
golden coat that fitted him so perfectly, but the joy of going side by
side with Everest into danger, and perhaps being of service to him, of
even possibly saving his life, seemed to make every nerve and fibre
within her glow like hot steel.
"I may come with you, mayn't I?" she had asked, before he left the
tent, "and be close to you through it all, wherever you go, whatever
you do?" And he had bent and kissed her.
"My darling, yes, I should think so. You have waited a long time for
this. You must come now and show what you can do. You shall have the
first shot if you like."
"Oh no, Everest," Regina exclaimed. "I want nothing really. I would not
for worlds take your shot. I only want to be there so as to aid you or
help in any way if it is necessary. Do you see? I don't want to kill a
lion except in self-defence or defence of you."
"All right," laughed Everest in return, greatly amused. "You shall come
to protect me. Get ready now as I sha'n't be able to keep these fellows
waiting." And he had gone out.
She busied herself immediately with every detail of her dress, boots
and equipment, her pistol, her tiny flask of brandy, her knife.
Nothing was forgotten. Her courage and her blood rose with every
instant. There was only one thing she feared, and that was any
accident that might happen to Everest which should leave him maimed
or disfigured. If he were killed, the matter was simple. She would
instantly follow him by means of her pistol. But the thought of his
living bereft of the physical beauty and power he now possessed filled
her with horror. She would not think of it, however, for she was
powerless. She knew Everest wished to go after the lion, and she could
not deprive him of a danger and excitement, that he had enjoyed all his
life, on account of her foolish--as he would consider them--fears. No,
she would face everything with him and hope for the best, that was all
she could do. Of herself she never once thought. In addition to her own
naturally courageous nature, she had that added indifference to danger
which we all feel when our life is unhappy and full of pain. Hers had
contained so much slow corroding suffering lately that the thought of
risking it in facing some active danger seemed of far less moment than
it would have done on board the dahabeeyah on the golden Nile.
Meanwhile Everest had gone round to the gun tent, and the first thing
he saw as he entered was Sybil, seated on a camp-stool under the rows
of feathered game, surrounded by the three men, who were looking down
upon her with various degrees of dismay written on their countenances.
She was white to the lips with terror, trembling and clinging to the
sides of the stool with both hands to steady herself. The upshot of her
incoherent talk was that she was too frightened to go with them and
too terrified to remain alone in camp. Like most stupid, unimaginative
people, she did not realise or picture a danger to herself until it was
actually upon her, and when she had heard and spoken of lion-hunting
no very definite idea beyond that of the discomforts of camp-life had
presented itself to her. Now brought suddenly face to face with the
proposition of going out to meet the wild beasts or being shut up alone
in the camp, knowing they were in the vicinity, she lost her head
completely and seemed beside herself with terror.
Shooting harmless, defenceless things that could not strike back had
seemed pleasant and amusing enough to her all this time; when it came
to considering the teeth and claws of a lion the whole matter had a
different aspect.
Having just left Regina, brilliant and enthusiastic in her courage and
devotion, when Everest's eyes fell on the pitiable object his cousin
looked, shaking on her camp-stool, a throb of contempt went through
him. He was intrepid coolness, courage and dash himself to the very
brim, and he could hardly enter at all into the abject cowardice of the
girl before him. Directly she saw him she sprang up and ran to him.
"Oh, Everest, _you_ will stay in camp with me and protect me, won't
you?" she exclaimed, and the contrast between the two women's cries
struck him at the moment and recurred to him afterwards.
Regina's had been an appeal that she might come into danger to protect
him.
"What nonsense is this, Sybil?" he answered impatiently. "We've been
waiting all this time for our chance, and now you make a silly fuss
about it! Don't you want to come with us after all?"
"Come with you?" stammered the girl, while her teeth chattered. "No,
no, no, I couldn't."
"Well, then, you can stay at home," he returned curtly.
"That's what I've been telling her," interrupted Merton, "and she wants
one of us to stay, too. I'll be hanged if I'm going to now after the
rotten time we've had so far."
Sybil sank again on her camp-stool. Literally she could not stand up,
her knees were knocking together, her limbs crumpling up beneath her.
She was cold with fear.
"Well, why can't the two women stay and look after each other?"
asked St John, who was standing, his feet apart, his hands deep in
the pockets of his Norfolk jacket, staring at the little figure in
the centre of the tent. "We'll get on heaps better without them;
responsibility, you know, having women about."
"Regina! What good would she be?" answered Sybil.
"Regina would be as good as any of us," returned the doctor rather
fiercely. "She's a better shot than any one of us, bar Lanark, and
_she's_ no fear of anything--_she's_ Courage itself."
Sybil was too terrified to heed or care for the obvious comparison.
"You seem rather to forget, gentlemen," remarked Everest coldly, "that
this whole camp and expedition was organised by me solely for Regina;
and the first shot at lion really belongs to her. Our guests joined us
afterwards as--er--an afterthought."
This silenced the guests. St John flung himself down on another
camp-stool and began to clean his gun, muttering to himself it was
always like this when you had women about. Merton looked as if he could
have strangled his sister, the doctor turned to a hanging flamingo and
fingered his rosy wing in silence.
"That's quite right, Everest, you're the boss of this show," Merton
said, after a second. "You arrange the thing any way you like."
"Why won't _you_ stay with me?" pleaded Sybil, looking up at Everest.
"Because I don't choose to," he returned, almost brutally for him, so
great was the contrast to his usual voice and manner. "You are making
yourself absolutely ridiculous. I will ask Regina to stay with you to
take care of you, but if she refuses you'll have to stay alone."
He turned to the others.
"I'll go over and ask her and then come back to you and we can fix up
our plans. I think if we could ride out to the ridge to-night in the
cool, and be round those water-holes just after dawn, that's about the
best we can do."
"Right! Anything you say, Everest," Merton responded, and the others
grunted assent.
"Come, Sybil, you'd better go back to the dining tent and wait for me
there till I've seen Regina," Everest said peremptorily, and they went
out of the tent together.
"Splendid, plucky girl that other, you know," remarked the doctor. "I
think it will be a beastly shame if Lanark makes her stop in camp to
look after your precious sister."
"Don't talk to me," growled Merton. "I'm savage enough with her; she
wants a good shaking, upsetting things like this."
"Everest, you're angry with me," faltered Sybil, as they got outside.
"I can't help being frightened--can--can I?"
"Not altogether, I suppose," returned Everest contemptuously. "But you
can help making a fuss about it. You could stay quietly in camp and not
bother anybody else if you chose."
"I should have thought you would have liked to stay with me," she
murmured plaintively, slipping her tiny hand through his arm.
"If they all go, and Regina too, we should be in the camp all
night--together--alone--we could----Oh, Everest, do; won't you?"
They were passing under the few palms that intervened between the
gun tent and the dining tent. The moon was rising, but not yet very
strong. His face was in the shadow and darkness. She could not see it,
but she felt him let his arm fall so that her hand had no longer a
resting-place, and noticed he moved from her.
"I do not think that Regina would go except with me or for me," he
merely answered, but a great wave of passion for the woman he had named
rose in him as he thought of that tender, eager, devoted nature longing
to face death and danger for his sake.
Sybil felt silenced. She knew she had injured herself in his eyes by
her fears, but it was no use her pretending to be brave; she was white
and cold with fear. She did not know what to say. She felt he was angry
with her, and she was almost as much afraid of him as she was of his
lions.
Everest did not speak again till they reached the dining tent, in
which he found her a chair, and then went on to Regina. He felt his
whole being ablaze and aflame with love for her. Suddenly he hated
himself for his conduct, and a resolve sprang into life that as soon as
possible he would break up the present arrangement and go away alone,
alone with her.... He was at her tent door and entered.
Regina sprang up. "Are we to start now?" she exclaimed joyously. She
was quite ready, and looked gloriously handsome and vital and full of
mettle, like a racer at the start, as she stood in the centre of the
tent, flushed and smiling and animated, awaiting his commands. Everest
went straight up to her and without a word caught her to him in one of
those mad, passionate embraces she loved from him and never wearied of
and never found too violent.
"Dearest, dearest, dearest!" she murmured, kissing him back as soon as
he would let her. Whatever he had done, was doing, or desiring, however
he had sinned or was sinning against her, he wanted her kiss now and
she was powerless to do anything but give it.
He set her free after a moment and stood looking at her.
"Darling, I am so sorry, I have got to ask you something I hate. Will
you do it for me?"
Regina's reply was instant.
"Of course, you know you have only to tell me your wishes."
"I am so sorry, so angry, so vexed, you have no idea, but will you stay
in camp to-night and give up this expedition?"
Regina's face suddenly grew white and grave; the joyous flush vanished.
"You yourself going without me?"
"I and the other men, yes."
Regina fell on her knees before him and stretched out her arms.
"Everest! If you only knew what it means to me, to let you go into
danger without me, you would not ask me. If anything should happen to
you, I do so want to be with you. Won't you let me come?"
Her voice, in which her whole ardent nature, her great and overwhelming
love for him revealed themselves in wonderful music of tone, made
Everest's eyes suddenly swim and the image of her kneeling at his feet
swayed mistily before him. He took both her arms and gently raised her.
"Dear one, listen. I know all you feel and I appreciate it so much, but
there is no danger, or very little, for you to worry about. I know you
want to share what there is and I want you with me, but in this case
you can serve me so much better, if you will, by remaining here. After
this we will break up the arrangement and you and I will go and hunt
somewhere together alone, where we can do as we please."
"Why do you want me to stay?" she asked, looking up at him.
The red of angry savage annoyance surged all over his face.
"This girl Sybil has been making a scene and saying she cannot be left
alone in camp, and of course, in a way, we are responsible for her. I
can't order any of the others to stay with her, and it's hardly well to
leave her by herself, she might do any foolish thing. She is simply in
a state of nervous terror. So I am asking you to stay and look after
her."
Regina paled with resentment. She did not know how utterly and entirely
Everest revolted now from the girl whose physical beauty had for a time
so ensnared and delighted his senses. She did not know how strongly
he was drawn to herself and how completely the whole influence of the
other had faded from his body and his mind. She had no clue as to
the gradual weakening of this influence for some time past and the
growing indifference on Everest's part which now had suddenly changed
into contempt and revolt. He had been very silent about Sybil, after
the manner of men, and had tried to show Regina by acts rather than
in words that the matter, as far as he was concerned, was at an end.
But as he stood to Sybil as host, and as she put out all her powers
to keep him by her side, it was difficult for Regina to gain a just
idea of the truth. Had Everest been of a more brutal and less refined
type of sensualist he could have explained to Regina in a few short,
outspoken sentences the fact that all and more than he wanted had been
pressed upon him, and that he was now weary and annoyed with the girl
and everything connected with her. But he revolted from any betrayal of
a woman who, however selfishly, had loved him. He felt it a matter of
honour to be absolutely silent about her. And in this way Regina had to
be left to misunderstand and to suffer.
So now that he appealed to her to stay in camp it only seemed to
her that she was appointed as guardian to the jewel he wished kept
in safety, and her happiness, desire and pleasure was to be again
sacrificed to this girl as it had been now for so long.
She was so bitterly angry; the rage and tumult of her jealous passion
and indignation was such within her, that she could have turned upon
Everest then and poured out a flood of burning reproach like a torrent
of molten metal upon him.
But her self-control was perfect, her empire over self complete. She
knew, with a man like this, violence, coercion was useless. And that
moment of all others was not the one for recrimination or reproach.
She was white to the lips as she looked at him, but she said simply:
"I am to give up coming with you in order to take care of Sybil. Is
that it?"
"That is the letter of it, the spirit is that you stay behind in camp
because _I_ have wished you to do so."
Unconsciously his tone was cold and commanding. He felt the intense
vibration of resentment and indignation that went through her as
plainly as if an assagai was shaken before his face, and he was enraged
at the whole situation. For a second they both looked at each other
in silence, and, as so often before, the girl felt that, if he chose,
he had every right to command. To a man of inferior physical aspect,
to one who had less influence on her senses, she could not in that
moment of intense disappointment, of revolt and outraged feeling, have
submitted. As it was, after that moment of silent rebellion, she laid
down her rifle and turned away.
"There is no more to be said then: I will stay," she answered, in a low
tone.
Everest's face softened. He followed her and put his arm round her neck.
"Dear little girl, you think me a brute, don't you? I will give up the
expedition myself and stay with you. Do you wish me to do that?"
Regina looked up at him, her eyes were full of hot blinding tears.
"I shall be in an agony of suspense till you come back safely," she
returned; "but I can't ask you to stay, I know how you would hate
it--the other men thinking you perhaps wanted to get out of it and all
that, or else that you had no will of your own and I had made you stay.
As host and leader you can't well stay behind--you would feel it so."
The male nature in Regina made it easy for her to understand how
hateful, nearly impossible, it would have been for Everest to stay
in camp with the women while the rest of the party went out to the
excitement of the hunt. The intense disappointment she suffered herself
in foregoing this, the first really important, expedition with him, for
which she had trained herself so patiently, made it easy to realise
what his would be in missing the first opportunity for which they had
all waited so long.
She turned and kissed his hand on her shoulder.
"Go, my dearest, as you wish; only come back to me safely."
When Everest left her and went back to the impatient men in the tent,
his whole heart and soul seemed on fire with passion for her. He just
looked into the dining tent as he passed, where Sybil was sitting
quivering and pallid in her chair.
"You have got your way," he said curtly. "Regina has given up her own
wishes to stay and look after you, but if this sort of thing is going
to continue, the sooner you go home, I should think, the better. It is
simple nonsense to join a hunt and then try and spoil the sport."
He felt so angry with her, she had spoiled the whole thing and
prevented his having Regina with him, which he had really looked
forward to. Above all, he was repelled by her weakness and cowardice.
His passion leapt up for a woman who was courageous and fearless. There
was something in himself that responded instantly to any heroic act
or quality, and for the weak and timid he had nothing but a sense of
aversion. Sybil was too cowed and too wretched altogether to reply. She
could not find her voice and Everest went on his way to the gun tent.
"Hurray!" they shouted, as they saw him. "We thought you were never
coming back. Well, what's the news?"
"Regina will stay," Everest answered quietly.
"She _is_ a brick. _You_ ought to have stayed, Merton, and let her come
with us."
Merton only grinned and went on counting his cartridges.
Regina, left alone in her tent, sat down and pressed both her clasped
hands on her knees. She was thinking of her love for Everest and how
absolutely it made her his slave. She recalled the image of him as
he had stood there a few seconds back, practically commanding her
to stay in the camp, and realised how impossible it was for her to
rebel against him as it would be impossible for her to refuse or deny
him anything, as in fact it had always been from the first. And she
was inclined to resent this taking away of her will-power and this
feeling that it was beneath another's feet, but she was foolish to do
so, for in the heart of worship of another is found the extreme of
passionate pleasure. Above all she was fortunate, and this she did
really feel grateful for, that the empire over her was in such hands
as his. Everest was not a commonplace nor an ordinary individual. She
had not that intensely painful humiliation of being conquered by an
inferior. All her sense of wounded self-love and pride was tempered by
her intense admiration of him; physically and mentally in every way he
was worthy to command others and exact their obedience. Passion, the
slave-driver, had at least made her over to a noble owner.
Immoral he might be called, but she would not say so, it did not seem
to her the right word. She knew that almost nowhere, neither in the
pages of history nor in the world, are there men to be found of great
physical strength and energy combined with powerful mental equipment
who have joined to them a rigid morality. That a vigorous and active
male animal shall acquire all the unattached females in his vicinity is
one of Nature's most general and fundamental laws, and Regina knew it,
and that is why she had resisted and resented, as far as she had been
able, the vicinity of camp-life that threw Sybil into constant contact
with him.
And though he made her suffer frightfully for his own gratification,
she did not blame him so blindly as another woman might have done,
because she realised it was Nature's fault more than his--Nature who
will not give that gift of intense vitality to a man without its
accompanying dangers.
That vitality Regina loved and desired for her child. How she longed
now to tell him he was the father of the little life that was forming
within her! It was such a supreme happiness to her to know that she
was bearing his child, something that would be perhaps the beautiful
tiny image of himself. It would be a delight intensified if he knew it
too. Perhaps, if she delayed, the pleasure of ever saying those happy
words would be denied to her. Perhaps this very night he would be taken
away from her, and then he would not ever have known that which once at
least he had told her he desired so much.
She sprang to her feet, it was such a temptation to speak, to tell
him, before he left this evening! But out of pure unselfishness she
hesitated. If in reality he wished now after all to abandon her, to put
his cousin in her place, she must, must, must leave him, as ever, free
to do so, though it killed her.
He might already consider himself in honour bound to marry her, of that
she could not be quite sure, but she was certain that he would feel
bound if she told him she was to be the mother of his child.
No, she would wait still and be silent. Fate would perhaps reveal to
her in some way, soon, the truth of things and how she ought to act.
She dismissed personal thought from her mind and began to gather some
things together to take over to Sybil's tent. For, from the first, she
had strenuously opposed the girl entering hers. This was the sanctuary
of her and Everest's love. She would not have anyone to intrude there.
The whole of the camp was public. She wanted one place at least where
she could be secure of privacy. She had made a great point of this
with Everest, and he had given absolute and stringent orders that
neither Sybil nor anyone else was to disturb Mrs. Lanark in her tent.
And Regina was grateful. She felt she could not tolerate the hateful
presence of Sybil there. Everest was wonderfully good in matters like
that, where so many men fail. If Regina expressed a wish, however
little of importance it might seem to him, he exerted himself to have
it carried out. He never pooh-poohed or waved away her request. If she
wished it, that was sufficient. That same obedience he expected from
her, he exacted from everybody else to the orders he gave for her sake.
Regina was very grateful to him for this. It gave her a position in the
camp that was very pleasant, and she knew intuitively that it was a
rare quality in men. The small daily wishes of wives are generally, as
in her father's case, politely but steadily ignored.
She cleared up the tent, and it was from Sybil's door, some two hours
later, that both the girls saw the hunting party start, a small
procession of camels, headed by the native guides, scouts and servants
with all the necessary guns, ammunition, knives, flasks, water-bottles,
flash-lamps, food-baskets, and all the rest of the necessaries for
luxurious hunting.
Everest, having the arranging and planning of everything, mounted and
started last and had moved a few paces already from the camp, the
others being a little on ahead, when he paused and, drawing up the
camel, told it to kneel down again, which it immediately did, for the
tone of his caressing voice had the effect of reducing every camel he
mounted to docility.
He never carried a whip or a goad, nor had the rein fastened in the
nostril of the camel, relying entirely on his voice and magnetic
influence over them to guide them. Nor had he ever struck an animal in
his life. He used to say: "A man must be a fool if he can't manage an
animal by his intellect," and it was a fact that they never disobeyed
him.
Now Regina, watching him from the tent door, with tear-filled eyes,
admired the easy skill with which he handled his camel and dismounted.
She thought he had forgotten something and went forward to him. But
Everest had only turned back for her. He clasped her to him and kissed
her.
"My dear, good little empress," he whispered in her ear, as he bent
over her, and Regina felt that he was pleased with her and her own
heart grew hot with delight. She threw her arms round him with
passionate fervour.
"My emperor! You know I would die for you," she murmured back.
Another moment and he had swung himself on to the saddle-cloth and the
camel rose, to recommence its stately march. The moon was now high,
and its light, clear and silver, flooded all the plain and illumined
the string of moving objects. One of the men looked back and saw the
incident.
"What's up?" asked St. John, who was close beside him. "Anything gone
wrong?"
"Oh no, it's only Everest spooning as usual."
"Which one is it this time?" asked the doctor grimly, looking straight
ahead of him.
"His wife, as it happens."
There was silence for a moment and then Graham said:
"But he's an awfully nice fellow. I don't wonder at the women all
running after him, I should be in love with him myself if I were one.
He's a marvellous person really. I don't believe he's ever lost his
temper in his life, he's such tremendous command of himself. Animals
are just as crazy about him as women. I saw him managing a horse, a
vicious brute that no one else could get near. Everest was riding it
and it began its tricks, it did everything to make a man in a rage,
but Everest never turned a hair. He kept his seat just as if he'd been
in an arm-chair, and talked to the animal the whole time and, by Jove!
the horse seemed to understand him, he settled down and was as quiet
and good as anything. Everest had never touched him once, except to
stroke his neck; he'd no whip, no spurs, nothing. I expect that's how
he manages his women, makes them do all he wants without a disagreeable
word."
"Easy enough," mumbled the doctor, "when a man's so beastly
good-looking."
Everest had just caught up with them, so they lapsed into silence, and
the camels all sidled together and swung forward steadily into the
silver silence of the desert night.
Regina, left behind, stood watching them diminish and diminish into
distance with the blood racing madly in her veins and all her brain
alight with anger. She did so long and yearn to be there, up beside
him on the saddle-blanket, on the camel, swinging, swaying out into
wide space, beneath that glorious, star-filled, infinitely arching sky.
She loved being with him anywhere, and most of all riding, and on a
camel.
The free, giant motion of the animal, the sense of strength and ease
with which its great stride goes forward, bearing its burden high above
the dust and impediments of the earth, sets the blood glowing and the
pulses dancing, and she loved it. Here and now to part with him, to
see him going to adventure, danger, risk she might not share, to be
condemned to the hot, silent tent, to sit inactive there when all her
eager, ardent frame was calling out for deeds, movement, action, hurt
cruelly. Her brain was seething in fury and rebellion as she turned her
steps slowly back to Sybil's tent.
"Come in and shut the door, do," came the latter's voice from within,
peevish with fear. "I feel so frightened. I think they were brutes to
go and leave us alone."
"I can't see what there is to be afraid of," returned Regina coldly,
entering and letting down the tent flap.
Of another nature altogether, she had no fear of solitude, nor of the
desert. She would have lain down anywhere on the sand, her hand on her
rifle, her pistol in her belt, and slept like an English child in its
cot at home.
"They are rather brutes, but they can't help it," she added absently,
and sat down on a folding camp-stool, watching the other girl begin to
undress.
The tent interior looked cosy enough, bright with red rugs on its
sandy floor and a gilt-framed mirror swinging between the two narrow
beds--for a second one had been put in for herself, as Sybil could not
bear to be alone if Graham was no longer in the tent beside her.
"What are you afraid of specially?"
"Why, all these lions about!"
Regina laughed contemptuously.
"All these lions about! You talk as if we had been falling over lions
and unable to get into our tent door for them!" she exclaimed. "As a
fact, we've been here nearly two months and not seen one!"
"Yes; but that was in another camp. I do believe we've got into the
districts now where they are. Regina," she added suddenly, "what does
'Hina' in Arabic mean?"
"'Hina' means 'here.'"
"I thought so; and 'henak,' what does that mean?"
"'Henak' means 'there,' 'over there,' 'at a distance.'"
"Well, that's just what I thought. Now I'll tell you what I heard those
servants saying. They were talking about lions, because I know that
word, and then one said: 'La, la mush henak, lekin hina, hina.' Now
doesn't that mean: 'No, no, it's not over there but here, here'? And he
got quite excited, and pointed just round the camp."
Regina looked grave.
"Why did you not tell the men?" she asked.
"I _did_, I kept telling them about it, but nobody would listen to me.
Merton did ask the man something about it, but the others all swore
the lions were over the ridge. You know how they jabber and how they
contradict themselves and each other. My idea is, these horrid beasts
are all round us," and she shivered. The light from the centre lamp
fell on the fair, flower-like beauty of the girl, and as she let down
the gold river of her hair the blood of her companion watching her
seemed to turn into flame. She felt she would like to spring upon her
and kill her, like the lions she was talking about.
"Well, if it's true, I am rather glad," she returned. "I'd much rather
they would come and eat us up than Everest."
"Regina! How can you! You don't mean it!"
"Of course I mean it," she flashed out, with extreme passion in her
tones, "to be here and know he is in danger, that's the worst agony I
can have. I would give up my life for him any time."
"How wonderful!" returned Sybil, drawing off her shoes. "I couldn't
care for a man like that."
"No, I don't suppose you could."
"Good-night, I shall try to go off to sleep and forget I am in this
horrible place. How you stare, Regina! What's the matter? Won't you go
to bed?"
"No; I shall sit up for a time. Go to sleep in peace. You are quite
safe."
Sybil lay down on her bed, only drawing the rug partly over her. She
had a loose thin flannel gown fastened round her waist and open a
little at her neck in the hot night. It was very still within the tent,
and without there was not a sound as the moonlit hours went by.
Regina sat like a statue, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her hand,
watching the sleeping girl.
What mad, passionate thoughts came to her in their dark battalions and
assailed her!
How beautiful it was, that delicate, ivory face, so exquisitely carved,
as it lay against the white canvas pillow. It was no wonder that a
man should covet it for his own, especially a man like Everest, with
his artistic eye for perfect lines. He had always admired it enough
to make him keep with him everywhere the blue velvet portrait-case he
had had in his rooms at the Rectory. His sister had said that but for
Regina he would have married her. But it was not true--Regina felt it
was not true, that she never could have satisfied him--kept him--but
yet, perhaps, beauty and name and breeding in his wife would have been
enough, and for the rest, of all that is divine in humanity--passion
and love and character--he would have sought in other women ... she did
not know, her thoughts could only whirl round in dizzy, empty circles,
outside the barrier of his implacable silence, as falling leaves might
beat and whirl round a fortress wall. She knew nothing, and in the
obscurity of another's feelings and passions there is no firm ground to
stand on.
"It is not his fault, nor hers," she thought; "but oh! Fate! take her
away from here, leave him to me again."
In the silence stirred a tiny sound, she heard it, and then, instantly,
quicker than thought itself, the tent flap moved and a long yellow
streak flashed by her and was upon the bed before her eyes.
One frightful shriek rang out, then the yellow flash passed by and was
gone into the night, and the bed was empty where the golden beauty of
the girl had been. Regina had sprung to her feet, but the lion had
apparently not even seen her.
Almost like lightning, with a rapidity that no one can believe until he
has seen it, the great beast had entered, seized its prey and gone.
For a second, Regina stood motionless. The blinding realisation came
upon her that she stood alone in the tent and that her rival was gone
from her to a certain death. Her invocation had been heard.
In that moment a view of her future came to her. She would be his,
alone with him again, safe, secure, protected, loved, herself and her
child. And all that was required of her was to do nothing. No one could
blame her. Fate had come to her aid. Why should she not receive back
her life and happiness at its hands?
The temptation came upon her and gripped her for a moment so that she
could not move.
Then she picked up her rifle, jammed her pistol more firmly in her belt
and went to the flap of the tent door and pushed it aside.
In the bright African moonlight she saw the form of the great yellow
cat, trotting leisurely across the sand in the direction of a low
ridge of sandhill, scrub and rock that lay towards the east, obliquely
opposite to the direction in which the men had gone. The moonlight
showed her clearly its victim flung over its shoulder for its
convenience in long travel. She could see, too, it was a lioness, and
these two facts made her think that the girl was probably uninjured.
The lioness was out hunting, not for herself but for food for her cubs,
and the prey was being carefully carried back to them. She could see
there was no struggle. No screams broke the stillness. In helpless
unconsciousness the girl was being borne away to a swift, inexorable
death. And to the watcher at the tent door came again the great voice
of Self and all the cries of the Flesh saying: "Let her go! It is not
your part to save her."
She did not know how many servants had gone with the men; doubtless
they had left some, but those probably not the most active nor the best
shots. If she took the time to go to the back of the camp and find and
rouse them, before anything could really be done in rescue the lioness
would have disappeared. The natives would talk and gesticulate, weapons
would probably not be ready, the time in which rescue could be effected
would be lost. Yet Regina would appear to have done all she could, she
would have roused the camp, she would have tried to get assistance; no
one could expect a woman to go out on foot alone to face lions in the
night, nor reproach her if she did not.
Regina would be guiltless and Sybil for ever unable to mar her life
again.
But as there is a magnetic pole which draws all magnets to itself, so
in this world there is that great indefinable Force of the Right which
draws all noble natures always to itself. Where they see the Good
and the Right gleaming ahead of them, there they must follow, though
stones cut their feet and thorns tear their flesh. The Right, through
everything, pulls them to itself. And it drew Regina's feet swiftly
over the threshold of the tent now. Silently, quickly, gripping her
rifle, she followed in the wake of the lioness. And Temptation walked
beside her, trying vainly to suffocate her soul with its dark wings.
She knew that in the effort before her she must probably surrender her
own life, and the greatness of the sacrifice, the immensity of the
demand made upon her appealed to her, called upon the heroism within
her.
For some miles the lioness went on at the same easy trot, and Regina
followed swiftly, but unable to shorten the distance between them. Then
the yellow form began to spring and bound, and for a second now and
then was lost to view, and her pursuer knew that she had reached the
scrub by the rocks. Then the tawny form disappeared altogether and only
the human figure remained, hurrying over the sand in the moonlight.
At last she reached the scrub amongst the rising sandhills and here she
went very cautiously, searching for the mouth of the lair she guessed
was hidden there. She stood still for a moment, listening for a sound
to guide her. A faint scuffling noise came from a gully beside her,
deep down between two black faces of rock and overgrown with stunted
thorn and the disk-leaved cactus. Down, down through these, one step at
a time, silently, holding her heavy rifle above her head to avoid the
catching thorn, she descended. The moon, that had been obscured by a
tiny cloud, broke suddenly again into full brilliance and she saw she
was at the mouth of the cave.
Calm, cool, without a thought of her own life and beauty that she was
taking to destruction, only filled with an intense determination to
save another, she stooped down and entered the lair. The entrance was
low, but worn smooth and easy of access, once reached, by the passing
and repassing of a great body. Within the cave the floor was sandy, and
the rock roof so near to it she could not stand upright, but had to
move forward crouchingly, with bent knees. Through the obscurity of the
inside she strained her eyes, and there, opposite her, far back from
the entrance, she saw four green spots of phosphorescent fire against
the rock background. She paused, holding herself very still. The warm,
suffocating scent of the den filled her nostrils; she heard snuffing
and scrambling noises, and then, as the darkness became more and more
clear to her eyes, she descried the forms of two little yellow cubs
tumbling over each other on some brush in the corner and snuffing at
her with curiosity. The mother was not there. Regina looked round. On a
ledge of rock jutting out from one side lay the unconscious form of her
companion, her loose sleeping gown all gathered together by her neck,
where the lioness had held her, but apparently otherwise untouched.
Regina's heart leaped up in a great sense of triumph. All personal
feeling was lost and she was only intent now on her heroic duty to save.
As she had thought, the lioness had been out hunting, not for immediate
food, but for the sake of filling up her larder, and having secured one
victim, dissatisfied, perhaps, with the size of it, she had left it
there and started out again to look for more.
Speed was the great necessity now! Regina felt that if she could get
away from the den and cross the desert to the camp in time, her success
was won. She turned to the rock and lifted the girl's limp body into
her arms. One of the cubs ran out and snuffed and growled at her like
a puppy and she nearly fell over its soft body as it waddled to the
entrance with her. But in a moment more she stood upright outside and
drew in a deep breath of the pure desert air.
Up, up through the brake and the tangle of tearing thorn and poisonous
cactus, she ascended, panting with the burden of the girl and the
rifle in her arms. She held her against her breast, one arm under
her shoulders, the other under her knees, and the rifle clasped flat
along the girl's side in her right hand. How she blessed her splendid
strength of limb and lung and muscle coming up that thorny, rocky
path. The top of the sandhills gained, the worst was over, smooth and
easy to travel lay before her the hard sand of the desert. Down from
the sandhills in safety she stood now on the level and, breathing
deeply, she started a steady, even walk over the moonlight plain. Her
burden lay so still in her arms she feared the shock had killed her.
But the body felt limp and warm; she could only hope she was merely
unconscious. She walked on and the sweat in the hot night broke from
her forehead and poured down her face, her knees trembled from fatigue.
From behind a faint light of the coming dawn began to shine on the
desert. Still very far in the distance she thought her strained eyes
could distinguish the white peaks of their camp. Would the men have
returned? Would he be there? How would---- Without her having heard
a sound, there was a rush of wind past her, a blow on her neck and
shoulders of something she could not see and the next instant she was
flat on the sand, the body of the girl beside her, over which stood
the lioness, growling and snuffing suspiciously. Confused by the scent
of the den and the cubs, the animal paused there.
Regina scrambled to her knees, raised her rifle, took aim and fired,
over the body of the girl, straight at the snowy breast of the lioness.
There was a roar of agony and rage and the beast was upon her. Her
bullet had found its heart, but it still had strength and time to take
its vengeance. Without pain, for the girl was above the region of pain
in that excitement that knows neither suffering nor fear, she felt its
teeth close cruelly on her shoulder and break it, and its claws sink
deep into her breast and back and tear the flesh. She turned her head
away, cheek down to the sand, to save her sight, for she still had
work to do, and so for a second remained motionless. The great beast's
growling turned to long moans, slowly its teeth and claws relaxed. Then
suddenly it rolled clear from her and lay still.
Regina picked herself up and stood, the blood pouring from her shoulder
and chest, but the dauntless soul, strong and unbroken, determined to
conquer.
With her left and uninjured arm she drew the girl's body up to her and
walked forward, strong in that last great gush of vitality that Nature
gives, opening all those reserves for which there is no future need.
Half-an-hour later, as the dawn came up over the ridge, she reached the
camp.
Her eyes were dim, and vaguely she saw the press of figures, the fires,
the standing camels. Her head was light and a strange singing filled
her ears, but she heard the word "Regina" come in his voice to her,
full of agony and love and passion, and she staggered towards him,
livid, speechless, her clothing drenched with blood that still came
slowly from her shoulder.
It seemed to her swaying vision that she was instantly surrounded by
figures and faces, a thousand faces swam round her, her burden was
taken from her, then came the roughness of sand to her cheek and lips
as she fell, and then black unconsciousness.
The doctor and Everest knelt beside her; at his orders all the others
fell back and the cool breeze that blows in the desert at dawn came
to her unimpeded. With hands that did not show the slightest quiver,
though the tension of agony in his brain was so great, it seemed as if
it must break it, Everest loosened her cartridge belt and drew it from
her.
"Good God! her right arm!" He exclaimed, as it fell unnaturally,
broken, as he moved her and suddenly the words shot across his brain in
its anguish, "if some love business does not cripple her."
The doctor forced a little brandy between her white lips, but she did
not move, she lay there under Everest's eyes, the gay, radiant creature
he had left, now crushed and senseless, a little heap of torn flesh and
broken bones and blood-stained clothing.
It seemed to him that all the agony of a hundred lives of pain was
forced into his brain at that sight.
"We must get this off," the doctor muttered, indicating the black and
stiffening blouse; it was already torn down by the lioness's claws at
the back, and the under-linen bodice and flesh and skin with it. St
John and Merton, who were standing by, turned away, unable to bear the
sight of all that white loveliness mangled and destroyed. Everest, pale
as ashes, but perfectly calm, drew and cut away the stuff, piece by
piece, with infinite skill and care.
No one seemed to think of Sybil; after the first hasty pronouncement of
the doctor that she was alive and uninjured, she had been carried to
her tent. Merton had given some orders about her, then he had come back
to Everest's side, but Regina herself, as sense struggled back to her,
asked as she first unclosed her eyes:
"Is she all right? Did I save her?"
"Yes, my sweet, my brave darling, you did," Everest answered, bending
over her. Their eyes met, and a little smile played in hers as she saw
the fire of love in his.
"I'm glad," she said faintly. The agony was intense now that action
was over. Her eyelids quivered and then grew still as she lapsed into
senselessness again.
Merton, who was watching her face, turned to St John and gripped his
arm.
"Oh, St John, this is too horrible. If she dies what shall I do? Why
did I leave Sybil with her?" His face was working convulsively. St John
drew him away.
The sun was getting quite hot, in that instant way it has in Africa; as
soon as its rays are well over the horizon they begin to burn.
The doctor wanted to get her into the shelter of the tent. As he
touched her to raise her she groaned.
"Let Everest lift me," she murmured, and the doctor drew back.
"She can stand it better from you," he said to Everest, and the latter
slipped his arm very gently under her and raised her. It was agony to
be touched, frightful pain to be moved, but she was silent in his arms
as he lifted her and carried her into their tent.
He laid her on the bed, on her unwounded side, and put a pillow to
support the broken, useless arm, and then bent and kissed her as, in
all their days of passion, he had not done yet. She saw in the anguish
on his face at that moment his suffering, that he showed in no other
way.
"Do not grieve so," she whispered. "I am so strong. I shall recover all
right. Tell me, did you find any lion?"
He shook his head. "No, not where we went. That's why we came back.
They were on this side."
"Then I did have the first shot at lion in this camp, as you said I
ought to. How strange it all seems! I shot it out there to the east of
the camp. I want you to have that skin. Will you send after it? Get it
before it is spoiled, and always keep it. Everest, you know--I saved
her--for _you_."
"I know, I know," he answered, and his voice told her the words were
wrung out of his inmost soul. "But I only want you. It has all been a
mistake, and I felt I could not explain. You are my very life, dearest,
no one else is anything."
"Come, come, this won't do!" broke in upon them from the door. "No
talking, no excitement, please."
The doctor had gone for his case of probes and dressings. He stood now
with it in his hand and disapproval on his face. Everest moved a little
from the bed.
"Leave me with the doctor for a moment," Regina said. "I want to ask
him something," and Everest left the tent to give orders for the body
of the lioness to be brought into camp.
As he came back from doing this, he came upon the doctor just leaving
the tent and stopped.
"Will she live?" he asked, and the doctor thought in all his experience
he had never seen so much suffering and anxiety on a person's face,
combined with such perfect self-control and calm, and thought what a
splendid pair they were.
"No one can say," he replied, "but I should think there is every chance
of her doing so. I was just coming out to find you. This probing of the
wounds is a most painful process, but it's extremely necessary; all our
success depends on getting them clean. They are all choked up now with
clotted blood and bits of linen driven in by the beast's claws. Your
wife's just as brave as she can be, but she must suffer intensely. Your
influence is so good over her, you'd better be present while I'm doing
it: you soothe her, mesmerise her in some way, and that's better than
an anæsthetic. I believe she'd let you mince her up alive and never
complain. It's a nasty business for you seeing it done, but if you can
stand it, it's better for her."
"Of course I will," rejoined Everest. "I was coming back now to her,"
and both men entered the tent together.
It was a hideous scene of four long hours of suffering that followed,
but suffering illumined by those noblest qualities in humanity that
shine out like lamps here and there and throw their light across the
stained pages of humanity's black record as a whole.
The girl never flinched nor groaned as the probes went deep into the
long slashes from shoulder to waist made by the lion's claws, nor when
the forced-in linen was drawn out from the wound above her breast, nor
when her broken arm was handled and set. Of all the great horrible
pain she was suffering the men were given no sign to increase their
difficulty and labour.
Everest at first held her hand and spoke to her, putting to her lips
from time to time the liquid the doctor ordered, but when the wounds
were clean it was his strong, slight hand that, without a quiver of
the muscles, replaced as far as was possible the torn fragments of
flesh and strips of skin exactly and perfectly in their place in the
hope that they would grow again, reunite and join without a serious
scar. The union of brain between these two was so complete that, though
Regina had not uttered any word on the subject, to Everest it seemed as
if her whole body, as it lay there so broken and wounded, was crying
out to him: "My beauty, my beauty! Save that if you can for the sake
of our love." And the doctor watched with surprise the admirable skill
and infinite care with which he pieced all the satin surface together.
Some of the places were too deep to be treated in any way but stitched
up, and this the doctor did himself. Then they dressed and bandaged the
whole of the back and shoulder and breast and set and bandaged the
broken arm, and only at the very last Regina quietly fainted as Everest
kissed her and told her it was finished.
When she recovered consciousness she passed almost immediately into
a deep sleep. She was so very, very tired and everything was done
now, and he was pleased with her, so nothing mattered and the sense
of suffocating heat in the tent as the noon rays poured down on the
canvas, the buzz of the flies, the sight of the instruments and basins
and bandages, the long ache and smart of her whole body, all these were
blotted out as the soft, velvet darkness of sleep enfolded her.
The doctor turned to Everest.
"Now you must turn in and take a rest. Out riding all last night and
then four hours of this. Tell them to send in that extra little bed
here and then get a good sleep. If you don't you'll be done up and no
good to nurse her."
"But it's the same for you, doctor," rejoined Everest, smiling. He was
standing erect at the foot of the bed, without any sign of fatigue.
"You've been without sleep as long as I have; you want a rest."
"Oh, nonsense. I'm not leading the life you are and taking it out of
myself all ways at once. I'll get that bed in and then off to sleep you
go. When you wake up you can watch her and let me doze a bit." And he
went out.
A little later, when he had seen his two patients, as he called them
to himself--for the pallor and extreme mental distress of Everest's
face told him that, unless there were some alleviation of the strain,
physical collapse must follow--asleep in the big tent, he crossed the
strip of fiery sand to the two little white ones opposite of Sybil and
her brother. He entered the girl's and found her white and shivering in
her bed with the rug drawn up to her neck. Merton was standing beside
her.
"Why doesn't Everest come to see me?" Sybil asked directly the doctor
appeared. "It was all so awful for me. He might have come."
"Mr. Lanark has not had a moment in which to think of anything but
his wife and her suffering; he's been working with me there for her
these last four hours, and now I've made him go to bed. He's utterly
exhausted with it all," the doctor answered, with some asperity.
"I don't believe I shall ever get over it," moaned Sybil, "that awful
beast coming on to the bed. I think it's coming again every minute."
"You had better try and brace up, and not give way to your nerves like
this," he returned. "Your friend shot the lioness, so you've nothing
to fear from the same one anyway. You'd better get up and have some
luncheon with the rest of us. There's nothing on earth the matter with
you."
"Oh, doctor, how can you! You don't know what I feel! I couldn't eat! I
want to see Everest. I am sure he would come if he were told." And her
eyes began to fill with tears.
"I'll go and get him, Sybil; don't cry," exclaimed Merton, who resented
a little the doctor's attitude to his sister. He approached the door,
but the doctor barred his progress.
"You shall not go," he exclaimed angrily, "and disturb him now. I won't
be responsible for his life, I tell you, if you drag him up from his
sleep and bully him. Let your sister wait till the evening. If she has
the smallest consideration for him she will do that at least."
The doctor was a great burly man and Merton could not get by him. He
stopped sulkily and Sybil said:
"Don't go, Merton, I'll wait."
"I should think you would," grunted the doctor, "when you've caused all
this trouble already!"
The contrasts of humanity, he was thinking--Regina in her agonies had
declared they were not to worry about her, she was not suffering, she
would soon recover. This girl, untouched, persisted in lying in bed and
magnifying her little woes.
Regina's first inquiry had been for Sybil. Sybil never troubled herself
once to ask about the one who had rescued her!
"Well, if you won't get up and lunch," he said aloud, "you'd best have
a sleeping draught and try to go to sleep."
But Sybil did not want to be put to sleep, she wanted to lie and shiver
and look ill and complain and talk about herself. So the doctor put the
draught back in his pocket and went off to the dining tent, where he
found St John, and the two men sat down to luncheon alone.