"Be it so, my brother."
Shut off from the world for days they remained thus in their lofty eyrie
among the crags. A better shelter was found, and this not before it was
needed, for the rainy weather continued and the cold at night was more
than uncomfortable. Then Mehrab Khan went forth upon the maraud one
night and stole a blanket or two and a _poshtin_--a sort of ulster made
of soft leather and fur-lined--as well as some more food. But from
their hiding-place he steadfastly refused to allow them to budge.
On Hilda Clive these conditions of hardship, which would have driven the
average civilised and cultured woman nearly out of her senses, seemed to
have no effect at all--neither on her spirits nor on her health. As to
the latter they positively seemed to suit her. She had acquired a
colour and a brightness of eye such as had never lit up her face under
conditions of civilisation, and Raynier, looking at her, would wonder
twenty times a day how he could ever have passed her every day of his
life for about three weeks, and taken no notice of her whatever. So
much for looks. But as a companion, as a fellow castaway, she was
perfect, he decided. She was full of ideas. She could converse on
every subject under the sun, no matter what; the only topic she seemed
to avoid, he was prompt to observe, being herself. More, he thought to
notice even that she purposely avoided it, yet in such wise as to convey
no idea of purposely concealing anything, but rather as not choosing to
be drawn. She would beguile the time, too, in trying to learn
Hindustani and Pushtu, under the joint tuition of himself and Mehrab
Khan, frequently to the amusement of both.
Thus, as the days wore on, something uncommonly like a very real
contentment settled down upon these two, here in the solitude of their
vast mountain world--nay, more. Their converse began to take on a sort
of insidiously familiar, not to say caressing, form of confidence, alike
on the part of the one as on that of the other. Raynier began to forget
that they were fugitives from a whole countryside, eager for their
blood. To forget the perils to be encountered ere they should once more
mingle among their kind. To forget the havoc and massacre and misery
that had come about since last they had so mingled. And, more difficult
still to forget, perhaps, the official ruin which would most probably
await himself. Strangely enough, the only thing he could not forget,
the only thing that would force itself upon his memory, and that with a
horrid and most discordant jar, was the fact that Cynthia Daintree was
on her way out to claim him--to claim him, upon whom she had absolutely
no claim at all; would, in fact, by this time soon be landing.
Without, the elements stormed and raged. For two whole days at a time
they would be unable to see outside their mountain abode, so thick and
unyielding were the mists that encompassed it, and the rain poured down
unceasingly, while now and again the roll of intermittent thunder would
shake the mountain peaks in stunning reverberation the night through,
and the red gleam seek out every corner of their cave abode. And when
the mists parted, they gazed down upon shiny rock surfaces labyrinthed
with ragged black chasms, or the dark wildness of a juniper forest swept
by the wreaths of the flying scud.
But this state of comparative peace was not to last--was, in fact,
destined to be brought to a most startling termination. One morning
Mehrab Khan, who had been away on a foraging expedition, failed to
return. The day passed, and still no Mehrab Khan. Night likewise
failed to bring him, and now things began to look serious for these two,
for their food supply was all but exhausted. As for the Baluchi, there
was only one conclusion to be arrived at--he had been found by the
enemy, and either killed or detained as a prisoner. As for themselves,
something must be done, for it was clear they could not remain there to
starve. With his own knowledge of the country, supplemented by further
detail which Mehrab Khan had given him, Raynier thought he could find
the way to Mazaran.
It was scarcely daylight when they started from their place of refuge.
The weather had cleared overhead, but the ground was miry and slippery
to the last degree, so much so indeed that, until they should reach
smoother and more level ground, the horses were of more hindrance than
help. But at the start Raynier discovered that his steed had gone dead
lame to such an extent that to ride it would be downright dangerous
here, where cliffs and slippery slopes abounded. It was decided to
abandon the animal.
"Seems as if our troubles were beginning over again," he said ruefully.
"By Jove, it looks as if the story about the Syyed's _tangi_ was going
to prove true again in our case."
He spoke half jestingly, glancing at her the while. To his surprise she
was looking very serious.
"No," she answered. "I don't think so. At least, unless--No--it's of
no use. I can't see."
She had passed her hand over her eyes, as he had seen her do on that
strangely memorable night, and her face wore the same dreamy look.
That, he knew, accounted for the seeming incoherence of her words. For
Hilda Clive possessed in some degree the gift of clairvoyance, and what
she saw now in front of them she preferred not to tell him just then.
Whatever it was it took no definite shape in her own mind, hovering
there vague but ominous. He looked at her curiously.
"Well, we'll cheat that superstition yet," he said, with a gaiety that
was just a trifle forced.
They made but sorry headway, the horse slipping and stumbling to such an
extent that Hilda preferred to walk, so that by the time day had fairly
dawned they were scarcely more than three miles from their
starting-point. It was deemed advisable to go into hiding once more,
and here they were forced to finish what little food remained.
Towards dusk they started again. An unaccountable and wholly unwonted
depression had come upon Hilda, while her escort, walking beside her
horse, began to feel strangely weak and faint. He supposed it was the
result of recent bad living and want of exercise, and then, with a chill
of dismay, he recognised the infallible symptoms of his old fever. No--
this would never do. He must pull himself together; and by way of doing
this, he stumbled and fell dizzily forward.
With a little cry of alarm Hilda was off her horse in a moment and was
beside him. She raised his head, laying a hand upon the damp and clammy
brow.
"There, there! Do you feel better now?" she exclaimed, with a rush of
tenderness in her tone.
"What an idiot I am," he answered, but the smile was a sickly one as he
tried to raise himself. "I shall be all right in a minute. Heavens!
the horse! Hilda--quick--go after the silly brute. It would never do
to lose it."
In her anxiety to reach his side, Hilda had let the reins go, and now
the animal was walking steadily off. She tried to coax it, but the
result only seemed to be to accelerate its pace. She was quite a little
way off now. Raynier had staggered to his feet, and had managed to take
a few steps after her. Then he sank down in a dead faint.
The horse stopped. Now she would have it. Speaking soothingly, Hilda
drew near. She had all but got her hand on the bridle rein, when the
perverse brute slewed round. This manoeuvre he repeated three or four
times and then resumed his stroll. After him again she went.
No--it was too bad. She would try no further. She must have come quite
far already, but how far? She stopped and looked back. Great Heaven!
what was this? The cloud which had encompassed the hilltop had
extended, stealing silently and insidiously downward, blotting out the
whole mountain side, blotting out the way she had come, blotting out
everything save three or four yards of slimy wet ground immediately
around her. How would she find her way back to where she had left her
companion, and--what if she could not?