"This is horrible, Cheveril!" said Dr. Campbell, bending over his
patient. "Every bit of him is mangled except his head. Poor chap, it
seems like the work of a beast of prey."
"So it was, Campbell, a human beast of prey! I actually saw Zynool force
his horse on him, knock him down, and make it trample on his fallen
body," whispered Mark, his eyes still full of the horror of the scene.
"But how in the world did Rayner come to be in the guise of a native
woman, I should like to know? Did he come to assist the Mussulmans, do
you think? I know he's been intriguing with that villain Zynool. Perhaps
he wanted to see the fruits of his handiwork, _incognito_."
"No, I fear it was more than that. Zynool muttered something I only half
understood," returned Mark with a troubled air. "They had quarrelled,
evidently, and Zynool indicated that Rayner was a fugitive from justice.
I only hope it's not true!"
"Well, in a way it don't matter now--not to him, at least, poor fellow.
Every organ is smashed. He's living still, though,--his heart's
flickering. Brandy, Tobias," called the doctor to his Eurasian dresser.
A few drops of the stimulant diluted with water were passed between the
blanched lips. "We'll cut away those red rags," said the doctor, and
adroitly set to work. Presently Rayner was divested of his disguise.
Finding his watch and one or two papers in his pocket, and his store of
gold, the doctor handed them to Mark; and after having arranged as best
he could for the comfort of the patient, he was called away to other
urgent cases.
Mark, on his knees beside the low pallet, continued to watch the
stricken man in the dim light. The dresser had brought a sponge and
carefully washed the stained face, and the ashen features gleamed like
those of a marble profile.
"What a perfectly beautiful face it is!" murmured Mark to himself. "Yet
it lacks strength of character." All at once he recalled the pictured
face of Mr. Morpeth's wife which Hester and he had examined that happy
afternoon, in which she had seen a likeness to her husband. "A wonderful
resemblance! I can see it now, and just that same something lacking."
His thoughts now strayed to Hester, and the trouble hovering over her in
this terrible disaster. Trying and unstable as this man had proved, the
shock and horror of this event would mark a terrible crisis in her young
life. He recalled her query, evidently wrung from a sore heart that
morning at St. Thomas' Mount. Would the Master's shaping process be
always sharp and painful and inscrutable--the tools He used sometimes
making the poor quivering heart bleed? A sore answer was coming to that
question.
Mark's reverie was now disturbed by the approach of the doctor. He was
showing signs of excitement, and he stooped down and lilted low: "The
Campbells are coming, hurrah, hurrah! The Campbells are coming, hurrah!"
"I know," nodded Mark quietly. "I saw the first of them appearing just
at the moment this happened. Otherwise I doubt if even the claim of this
poor fellow should have brought me from my post. The Collector's all
right, is he?"
"As right as a trivet, and in great spirits. Rioters on both sides
scuttling like rabbits. The police-peons are now, at last, busy making
arrests and Samptor's striding about like an avenging fate! They've got
Zynool--not without a struggle. However, he is nabbed, and the warrant
out to search his house at once. Mootuswamy Moodliar has seen to that.
It will be the Andamans for him, without doubt. The streets will soon be
empty. The soldiers are to camp here for the night, but the danger's
over. Here, alas, we have the worst result of the riot," said the
doctor, glancing round on the rows of wounded men, many of them crying
out in pain, others beyond any expression of their misery.
"Look, Campbell," said Mark, his eyes eagerly fixed on Rayner's face.
"Isn't there some sign of returning consciousness here?"
A slight tremor passed through the mangled frame, the eyelids quivered
and opened, and Rayner fixed his eyes on Mark's face for a moment, then
closed them again. Presently, however, Mark found his large, lustreless
eyes resting steadily upon him. The broken man made an effort to speak,
but the voice was so low and faint it was difficult to catch the words.
"Cheveril!--It is you--thought I was dreaming--where am I? In Zynool's
house--I remember. He spotted me--drove his horse on me--my own
Australian too. He's done for me, Cheveril--every limb--game's
up--nothing matters now----"
His voice died away, but after a moment he roused himself and fixed his
eyes on the pitying face bending over him. "Kind, by Jove! I saw
you--before Zynool--went for me."
"Don't be afraid, Rayner, this is not Zynool's house. It's the hospital,
you're all right here," said Mark, taking his limp hand.
"You brought me here--kind--I'll tell Hester." His lips parted in a
feeble smile, then his face became convulsed. "Never see Hester again,"
he moaned. "It's all up, Cheveril--I'm hunted--you'll not let them take
me--you'll not give me up----?"
"Don't trouble, Rayner. You're quite safe here," said Mark soothingly.
"The doctor's bringing something to ease you." He laid his hand on the
long, thin fingers, and stroked them gently.
"Now, my dear fellow," said the doctor cheerfully, "this ought to help
you a bit." He administered an opiate. Soon the eyelids drooped, and
sleep visited the dying man.
Mark kept unremitting vigil beside the low mattress through the long
hours of the night. At length there was a slight movement; he could see
by the light of the flickering oil-lamp overhead that the eyes of the
sufferer were open and turned to him. Hoping he might fall asleep again
he made no response. Then a hand was feebly stretched out to him.
"Yes, I'm here, Rayner! Mark Cheveril--close beside you."
"I know--I know--good--kind--Hester's friend." After a pause he seemed
to wish to speak again, though the effort was painful.
"One night I stood by her cot--in her dreams she murmured--'the false
and the true.' It seemed a home thrust--I felt furious at the time.
Cheveril--I've been the false--I see it now. You are the true--you'll
understand better--when you know." His face again became convulsed with
emotion, and Mark bent over him with pity in his eyes, unable to utter a
word.
The first streak of the dawn began to steal through the open windows.
"Ha, the daylight will be upon us, Hester," cried Rayner, with strange
clearness of tone. He tried to move. A terrible spasm seized him. Mark
called for the doctor, but before he came the sufferer was quiet again
and seemed to be sleeping. The doctor stooped over him.
"He's gone, Cheveril," he said quietly. "Your watch is ended. It was
only a question of hours. Death has been merciful in releasing him so
speedily."
The silver dawn was brightening into day when Mark Cheveril and the
weary doctor stood together at the door of the dispensary--Dr. Campbell
to snatch a few moments rest at home after the labours of the night;
Mark Cheveril to set out with a heavy heart to Madras.
"You'll look in on the Collector after breakfast, Campbell, and see that
he's all right, after last night. I say, didn't he do splendidly?" asked
Mark, with a light coming into his tired eyes.
"Oh, for the matter of that, some other people did splendidly too! I saw
your tussle over that child with that brute of a Hindu. It was
refreshing, Cheveril; only, I felt sorry he was a Hindu, and not a
Mahomedan. Anyhow, I'm bound to say, the Collector held the balance even
when put on his mettle. I expect all this will act as a thunderstorm and
clear the atmosphere. We'll be well rid of Zynool and some of his crew.
Yes, I'll look in for a moment and see Worsley. Any message? I forget if
he knew Rayner? Of course I'll tell him of the tragedy, and of your
share in it."
Mark, on thinking of it, felt relieved that he would not be the bearer
of the tidings of the terrible fate of the man he knew the Collector had
good reason to dislike. He was conscious that in Mr. Worsley's feelings
there would be a sense of relief when he heard of the swift release
which this tragedy would bring to the young wife whom he had liked and
pitied. For his own part, the knowledge of that release brought no
lightening as yet to his sad thoughts. Through the long hours of the
past night he had come face to face with a great experience. He had
watched "a human soul take wing," and the sense of it being a "fearful
thing" to see was very present with him. So heavily did it lie on his
heart, he had no thought for aught else; and to Hester, he knew the
awful news must bring unutterable pain. To know that the man with whom
she had embarked on life's voyage--though he had proved not "one to ride
the water with," as the saying is--had been tragically engulfed, would
indeed prove a crushing blow. How could he, just because he was so full
of comprehending sympathy, be the one to carry the news to the wife that
their bark had foundered in dark, treacherous waters, and that he who
should have been the mainstay was lost in the whirlpool?
More and more did he shrink from the task before him as the train
carried him to Madras.