“I shall lie down here,” I said, “and sleep for an hour.”
“Yes, do,” she answered almost gratefully.
“You will wake me if you want me?”
“Yes.”
“Wake me when... the change comes.”
“Yes.”
In a few moments I was asleep. I do not know what woke me up. It seemed
to be very late. All the sounds of barrack life were hushed. The moon
was just up. I rose to my feet and turned to the open window. But there
I stopped.
Elsie was kneeling by Charlie Thurkow's bed. She was leaning over him,
and I could see that she was kissing him. And I knew that she did not
love him.
I kicked against the chair purposely. Elsie turned and looked towards
me, with her hand still resting on Charlie Thurkow's forehead. She
beckoned me to go to them, and I saw at once that he was much weaker.
She was stroking his hair gently. She either gave me credit for great
discernment, or she did not care what I thought.
I saw that the time had come for me to fulfil my promise to the
brigadier, and went out of the open window to send one of the sentinels
for him. As I was speaking to the man I heard the clatter of a horse's
feet, and a Sikh rode hard into the palace square. I went towards him,
and he, recognizing me, handed me a note which he extracted from the
folds of his turban. I opened the paper and read it by the light of the
moon. My heart gave a leap in my throat. It was from Fitz. News at last
from Capoo.
“We have got it under,” he wrote. “I am coming down to help you. Shall
be with you almost as soon as the bearer.”
As I walked back towards the hospital the brigadier came running behind
me, and caught me up as I stepped in by the window. I had neither time
nor inclination just then to tell him that I had news from Capoo. The
Sikh no doubt brought official news which would reach their destination
in due course. And in the mean time Charlie Thurkow was dying.
We stood round that bed and waited silent, emotionless for the angel.
Charlie knew only too well that the end was very near. From time to time
he smiled rather wearily at one or the other of us, and once over his
face there came that strange look of a higher knowledge which I have
often noted, as if he knew something that we did not--something which he
had been forbidden to tell us.
While we were standing there the matting of the window was pushed aside,
and Fitz came softly into the dimly lighted room. He glanced at me, but
attempted no sort of salutation. I saw him exchange a long silent look
with Elsie, and then he took his station at the bedside next to Elsie,
and opposite to the brigadier, who never looked up.
Charlie Thurkow recognized him, and gave him one of those strangely
patronizing smiles. Then he turned his sunken eyes towards Elsie. He
looked at her with a gaze that became more and more fixed. We stood
there for a few minutes--then I spoke.
“He is dead,” I said.
The brigadier raised his eyes and looked across to Fitz. For a second
these two men looked down into each other's souls, and I suppose Fitz
had his reward. I suppose the brigadier had paid his debt in full. I
had been through too many painful scenes to wish to prolong this. So I
turned away, and a general move was the result.
Then I saw that Elsie and Fitz had been standing hand-in-hand all the
while.
So wags the world.