"Not too well," he said slowly. "The fact is, I believe they resented

the European people settling there at all. As I told you, it is a tiny

settlement--just thirty or so Bedouins who cultivate the land and grow

vegetables, which they hawk to other villages a day's march away. They

daren't openly complain, of course, but I believe they would like to

drive the white folks out; especially young Garnett, who is really

beating them at their own game as a clever agriculturist."

"There is never any trouble, I suppose?" Somehow Anstice felt a vague

uneasiness at the thought of Iris Cheniston shut up in a desert colony

among sullenly hostile neighbours.

"Oh, no, the Bedouins know the English Government won't allow any

hanky-panky." Sir Richard voiced the assertion so emphatically that a

tiny seed of doubt sprang up in his hearer's heart. "I confess I should

rather like to see Iris and Bruce settle down to civilized life again,

but this is only a holiday, and they won't be there long. Unless----" He

paused and Anstice guessed only too surely the ominous nature of the

pause.

With an instinctive desire to reassure the other man he spoke quickly.

"Perhaps when Cheniston is better they will fall in with your advice. No

doubt he will require a change after this illness, and very often, you

know, a man who has been ill takes a dislike to his surroundings, and is

only too ready to exchange them for others."

"Quite so." Sir Richard spoke absently, looking out of the window the

while, and since he was apparently disinclined for conversation, Anstice

followed his example, seeing plenty to interest him in the panorama

spread before his eyes in this strange and fascinating land, this living

frieze of pictures which might have been transplanted bodily from the

pages of the Old Testament itself.

Once, when the train came to a standstill at Ismailia, Sir Richard

roused himself to speech.

"Of course, should the Bedouins ever rise against the strangers in their

midst," he said, repelling with a gesture the attentions of a tall

water-seller who thrust a brass saucer containing a doubtful-looking

liquid through the carriage window, "things might be serious. True,

there are not more than a couple of score of them, and so far, with the

exception of a _fracas_ with Garnett over some vegetables they stole

from him, they have been peaceable enough."

"I see. And, as you say, they know quite well that the British

Government is behind this handful of English people, and knowing that

reprisals would be certain to follow any lawlessness, I should say they

are too wise to put themselves in the wrong. After all, too, these

people are not doing them any harm by living in their midst."

"You are right, Anstice, and I'm a silly old fool for letting my

imagination run riot in this way." Sir Richard sat upright and gazed out

at the world of sun and sand through which they were passing. "As you

say, they would not dare--and in any case as soon as Bruce can travel we

will bring them back to civilization."

"By the way, how soon can we start?" The bare thought of meeting Iris

sent the blood humming wildly through Anstice's veins; and he awaited

Sir Richard's reply with barely-concealed impatience.

"Well, we shall reach Cairo--if this confounded train doesn't break down

_en route_--about dinner-time. It would be no use attempting to start

to-night--the horses must be ordered for to-morrow morning, as early as

you like. And no doubt you will want to take one or two things with

you."

Anstice nodded.

"Yes--but they won't take long to procure. As for baggage--we travel

light?"

"Yes--just what we can carry. I have plenty of things out there--can

give you all you need," said Sir Richard more briskly. "And if all goes

well we need not anticipate a long stay. Now, how about a cup of tea?

This beastly sand has gone down my throat in bushels."

He called the Soudanese attendant and gave him an order, and over the

indifferent tea and Huntley and Palmer biscuits which were presently

brought to them, he and Anstice discussed Littlefield and other matters

widely removed from the subject of their former conversation.

It was seven o'clock when the train finally ran into the station at

Cairo, humming like a beehive with its crowded native life, and ten

minutes later the two men were driving through the busy streets beneath

the clear green evening sky on the way to the hotel chosen by Sir

Richard.

"The Angleterre--it's quieter than Shepheard's," he said, "and anyhow it

is only for one night. After dinner we'll go and make arrangements for

an early start. That will suit you all right?"

"The earlier the better," returned Anstice promptly, and as their

carriage drew up before the hotel he sprang out with an eagerness which

seemed to betoken a readiness to start forthwith.

By ten o'clock that night all arrangements were made, horses bespoken,

baggage packed, and all necessaries purchased, and shortly afterwards

the two men exchanged cordial good-nights and retired to their

respective rooms to seek the refreshment of sleep in preparation for the

morrow's early start.

But though Sir Richard, his mind relieved by his meeting with Anstice,

fell into a sound slumber ten minutes after he laid his head down on his

pillow, Anstice lay awake all night between the white walls of his

mosquito curtains.

For there was that in his thoughts which effectually banished sleep.

CHAPTER II

Anstice never forgot that first day's ride over the desert sand. They

had started early, very shortly, indeed, after daybreak, and by the time

the sun was fully risen they were already some miles on their way.

It was a heavenly morning, the dry and glittering air full of that

peculiar, crisp sparkle which mounts to one's head like champagne. The

sand shone and twinkled in the yellow sunshine with an almost dazzling

effect, and the pale blue sky had not yet taken on the pitiless

ultramarine hue which comes with the brazen noon.

The horses, too, seemed alive to the exhilarating quality of the air.

They curvetted and danced over the sand, tossing their arched necks and

lifting their feet daintily as though they were conscious of the beauty

and fitness of their own motion.

"By Jove, Sir Richard, life is worth living on a morning like this!"

Anstice threw back his head and inhaled large draughts of the

intoxicating, sun-warmed air. "Why on earth do we herd in cities when

there are glorious tracts of desert land where one might pitch one's

tent! I declare I wish I were a nomad myself!"

"You feel like that?" Sir Richard looked a trifle wistfully at the

younger man, envying him his superior youth and more robust physique.

"For my part I confess to a distrust of the desert. It seems to me as

though there were a blight on these huge tracts of sand, as though the

Creator had regretted their creation, yet was too perfect a Worker to

try, by altering the original purpose of His handiwork, to turn them

into something for which they were not intended."

He paused, pulling up his horse and turning in his saddle to survey the

yellow and brown waste over which they had come.

"I suppose, as an Englishman whose forbears have always clung to the

soil, I find more pleasure in beholding an English landscape," he said,

with a smile which was half apologetic. "The ideal of making two blades

of grass spring where there was but one before may not be a very exalted

one, but I confess I see more beauty in a field of grain waving under

the August sun, than in these acres of yellow sand, and the thought of a

perpetual summer, with never the soft grey tones of an autumn sky or the

crisp frostiness of a winter's morning--well, it doesn't appeal to my

John Bull soul!"

He laughed, ashamed of his vehemence, and the horses sprang gaily

forward, glad to be moving again after even so brief a halt.

All through the morning they rode, resting for an hour or two at noon;

and in the late afternoon they remounted their horses and fared forth

once more in search of the camping-place Sir Richard had in mind.

By dint of compasses and an unusually accurate sense of location, the

older man had staked their course with admirable directness, and as the

moon rose they drew rein at the appointed destination, a wild and rocky

valley whose caves offered a natural protection from the chill night

breeze which blew with disconcerting freshness over the loose,

salt-impregnated sand.

Here, thanks to the ever-useful thermos flask, they enjoyed a sufficient

meal of hot soup, followed by a multitude of sandwiches of divers kinds;

and when, after a pull at their respective flasks, the two lit their

pipes and stretched their limbs, cramped by the day's exertions,

Anstice, at least, felt more at peace with the world than he had felt

for years.

To be hastening towards Iris Cheniston, to be sure of meeting her within

twenty-four hours, sure of seeing the kind friendliness of her wide grey

eyes, of hearing the soft cooing notes of her voice, was enough to make

a man content with his lot; and the fact that he was journeying towards

her in order to do his best to save the life of the one human being who

stood between him and his happiness lost all its irony when he

remembered that it was in reality Iris herself for whom this service was

undertaken.

The next morning found them early astir; and as their horses danced over

the sand, literally throwing the miles behind them, Sir Richard's

spirits, which had been somewhat fluctuating, rose with a bound. He

whistled gaily as they rode, ever and anon breaking off to conjecture on

the nature of the welcome they might reasonably expect to receive; and

when he spoke, as he did frequently, of his son-in-law, his

prognostications, in striking contrast with his former pessimism, were

couched in the most hopeful language.

Strange to say, as his spirits rose, so did those of Anstice sink. An

odd foreboding, a premonition for which he could not account, displaced

the gladness from his heart; and as they rode on and ever onwards he

told himself that they were surely riding towards tragedy.

Possibly it was the Celtic strain in him which rendered him liable to

these strange and perverse forebodings of evil. On sundry other

occasions in his earlier youth he had fallen with appalling swiftness

from the heights of glad anticipation to the depths of a certain and

most unwelcome gloom; and now, quite suddenly, he found himself involved

in a black and rayless melancholy which seemed to fortell some

catastrophic happening at hand.

It was with more and more difficulty that he replied to Sir Richard's

hopeful prophecies; and so strong upon him was the premonition of

disaster that when he learned at last that they were within an hour or

two's ride of their destination he spurred on his still willing steed in

a sudden desire to know the worst which was to befall.

As he stared ahead of him, his eyes beginning to adjust themselves now

to the peculiar conditions of the desert atmosphere, he caught sight of

a speck upon the sand which, unlike the majority of desert objects, the

scanty tamarisk bushes, the low humpbacked hills which here and there

formed an apparently endless chain, appeared to move, to grow almost

imperceptibly larger as the distance between them diminished.

During their ride over the desert they had met no other human beings.

Once or twice they had seen, to right or left of their track, a

collection of mud huts, overshadowed by the plumy tufts of tall

date-palms, betokening the presence of a handful of _fellaheen_

scratching a livelihood from the unfriendly sand. Again they had twice

beheld in the far distance a caravan winding its leisurely way upon some

mysterious errand to an unknown destination; but these last had been too

far away for their component parts of horses, camels, merchandise, to be

distinguished; and after a brief glance towards the long snaky lines as

they wound their way through the sand, Sir Richard and Anstice had

wisely refused to strain their eyesight further.

But this solitary unit on the vast face of the desert was a different

matter; and Anstice gazed steadily ahead in an as yet fruitless attempt

to make out what this thing which appeared to move towards them might

be.

At first he said nothing, thinking that his eyes might quite conceivably

be playing him tricks, that this apparently moving figure might possibly

be a figment of his brain, or one of those delusive sprites which are

said to haunt the unwary traveller in the desert; but at length, as the

distance between the object and himself diminished more and more

rapidly, until he could have sworn he caught the flutter of a blue robe,

Anstice felt it time to point out the vision or whatever it might be to

his as yet unseeing companion.

"Sir Richard," he said, so suddenly that Sir Richard, who had been

jogging along sunk in reverie, started in surprise. "Do you see anyone

coming towards us over the sand?"

Sir Richard, thus appealed to, sat up more erectly in his saddle; and

gazed with his keen old eyes in the direction of Anstice's pointing

hand; and Anstice watched him with an anxiety which was surely out of

place.

After a moment's fruitless search Sir Richard unslung the field-glasses

which he carried, and applied them to his eyes; and in another moment,

having adjusted the focus, he uttered an exclamation.

"By Gad, Anstice, you're right! It's a native of sorts, and he is coming

directly towards us. He is too far off for me to distinguish his

features--you look and see what you can make of him."

He handed the glasses to Anstice, who raised them to his eyes; and after

adjusting the lenses to suit his younger, keener sight, he swept them

round in an attempt to focus the distant object.

First an apparently illimitable expanse of sky and sand swam slowly into

view, each insignificant landmark in the desert magnified almost

incredibly by the powerful glasses; and at last the blue-robed native

appeared suddenly as though only a stone's throw away from the man who

searched for him.

The glass revealed him as an Arab of an ordinary type clad in a faded

blue djibbeh, over which he wore the short grey coat so inexplicably

beloved of the native. On his head was a scarlet fez; and his blue robe

was gathered up in such a way as to leave bare his brown and sinewy legs

as he paddled ruthlessly and unhesitatingly over the burning sand.

As he lowered the glasses Anstice gave a short description of the

advancing native to Sir Richard, adding:

"He seems to be in something of a hurry--he's covering the ground in a

most energetic fashion--and he really does appear to be making straight

for us!"

All at once Sir Richard's lately-born optimism fell from him like an

ill-fitting garment. Taking the glasses back he adjusted them once more

with fingers that absolutely trembled; and when after a long and steady

stare he lowered them and turned to his companion his face was very

serious.

"Anstice, I hope to God I'm mistaken, but that fellow looks uncommonly

like Hassan--and from the haste he's making I should say he had been

sent out to meet us. And that can only mean disaster--either Bruce is

worse, or----" He broke off suddenly, his fine old face suddenly grey.

"Oh, it won't be so bad as that, sir!" Unconsciously Anstice replied to

the unspoken suggestion. "Possibly your daughter has sent this chap to

relieve your mind--Cheniston may have taken a turn for the better--heaps

of things may have happened."

"Quite so." Sir Richard was replacing his glasses in their case with

oddly fumbling movements. "But I wish to God we were safely back ... we

can't even see the village for these confounded palm trees!"

As though the horses understood and sympathized with the mental tension

of their riders they sprang forward with renewed energy; and some hard

riding brought the two men within hailing distance of the approaching

native.

"It is Hassan all right," said Sir Richard with a rather painful attempt

at composure. "Let us hurry on and find out what is amiss at the

village."

As the native drew nearer it was easy to see that he was the bearer of

important news. His coffee-coloured face was shining with drops of

perspiration, and his breath came in pitiful gasps as he hurried up to

Sir Richard and began pouring out his story in a flood of mixed Arabic

and English which was quite unintelligible to Anstice.

"Speak slower, man, slower!" Sir Richard spoke emphatically, and for a

space the native obeyed; but it was evident from the look of mingled

consternation and rage in his hearer's face that the story was one of

dire import.

When, presently, the Arab ceased, his tongue positively lolling out of

his mouth like that of a thirsty dog, Sir Richard turned to Anstice with

an air of determination.

"Things have been moving, with a vengeance, in our absence," he said

grimly. "It seems that yesterday morning early young Garnett found a

couple of Bedouins prowling about his place and helping themselves to

his choicest produce; and being a hotheaded young fool he let fly at

them with his revolver, the result being that by a most unlucky chance

he winged one of the rascals and the other assisted him off, vowing

vengeance on the whole little English colony of eight souls. It was not

an empty threat either; for when Hassan, feeling uneasy at the idea of

harm coming to Iris, slunk into the village to find out, if possible,

what mischief was afoot, he ran slick into a conclave of the brutes, and

hiding behind a rock heard their plans."

"They were pretty deadly, I suppose?"

"They merely embraced the wholesale massacre, under cover of night, of

the English men and women who had been fools enough to trust their good

faith," returned Sir Richard shortly. "Well, Hassan, whose wits are as

sharp as his ears are long, lost no time in going back to his mistress

with the information; and between them they evolved a plan which might,

with the most marvellous luck, be successful."

"And that plan, sir?" Anstice's tone was tense.

"Aided by Hassan, at the approach of night the whole little group of

white people crept safely into the Fort of which I told you; and when, a

couple of hours later, the Bedouins came forth intent on reprisals, they

found the houses of the English empty, and realized, too late, that the

Fort was quite a different nut to crack."

"It is a fairly safe building?"

"Well, it has certain natural advantages, I grant." Sir Richard spoke

rather dubiously. "We went over it one day, in a spirit of curiosity;

and I have a pretty clear recollection of the place. To begin with, as I

told you the Bedouin encampment is a sort of oasis in a valley at the

foot of some quite respectably high rocks. You know the desert is not,

as some people imagine, merely a flat expanse of sand. Here and there

are ranges of hills, limestone, and so on--and now and then one comes

across quite a chain of rocky places which in another country would be

looked upon as precipices."

He paused; and Anstice waited eagerly for him to continue.

"Well, this Fort is, very luckily, built on a plateau overlooking the

valley. On one side the ground slopes gently down to the little colony,

but on the other the Fort overlooks a high precipice of rock which of

course affords no means of transit from the ground below; so that on

that side the place is absolutely impregnable."

"I see." Anstice's tone held a note of relief. "Well, that sounds fairly

promising--as I suppose it means there are only three sides to defend

instead of four."

"Well, it is a circular building," Sir Richard explained, "and there are

only slits in the walls on two sides; and also, fortunately for us, only

one means of entrance or exit, in the shape of a massive door which

could hardly be forced without a charge of dynamite. It was the

stronghold, so I gather, of a kind of robber chief in the old days, and

doubtless was built to resist possible assaults from lawless tribesmen.

But there is one weak spot in the building--one or rather two places

which are a decided menace to any defence."

"And those----"

"Well, it seems this French artist, Massenet by name, sought and

obtained permission from the authorities who leased him the building to

throw out a couple of windows in the upper floor which enabled him to

convert the place into a very passable studio. He was a rich man--son of

a well-known Paris banker, and the cost did not intimidate him. But the

result is that those two big windows, which only boast the flimsiest of

sand-shutters, are, without a doubt, capable of being made into means of

entry, provided, of course, that the defenders within are short of

ammunition or are unable to construct efficient barricades."

"I see. I suppose they are a fair height from the ground?"

"Yes--but there are such things as ladders," said Sir Richard dryly. "Of

course a mere handful of men, given a sufficiency of ammunition, might

keep an attacking party at bay almost indefinitely. But I'm afraid our

supply of munitions is somewhat scanty, and with women--and children--to

defend----" He broke off suddenly as the native began to speak.

"You go a-back, bring help, bring many gentlemens. Me and the Effendi

take care of ladees ... but you go quick--bring the soldiermans...." He

stopped, as though at the end of his suggestions.

"Yes." Sir Richard's face lighted up. "I see what he means. Anstice, you

or I must make all speed back to Cairo and fetch out some soldiers. The

barracks swarm with them, and if I know them they'll jump at the chance

of a little scrap like this. With luck you'd be back in three

days--less, if you pushed your horses--and by God I believe we could

hold the Fort till then!"

As he finished the native nodded his head as though in approval of the

plan; but suddenly his expressive features lengthened, and he said

something in a lower tone to Sir Richard in which the words "_El Hakim_"

occurred more than once.

Sir Richard listened restively, and uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

"Well, well, there's no need to repeat it so often! Anstice, this fellow

points out that after all I had better be the one to go for help, as he

says your aid is urgently required at the Fort. Besides Cheniston, who

seems, from what I can gather, to be in about the same state as before,

Garnett got wounded last night when the besiegers tried to force an

entrance, and I suppose the sooner you get to them the better."

"Well, there's something in that," conceded Anstice, reluctant to deepen

the disappointment in Sir Richard's face. "You see, sir, the sooner I

fix up Cheniston the better--but why shouldn't this fellow go and fetch

help instead of you?"

Sir Richard's eyes brightened, but after another colloquy with the Arab

his former air of dejection returned.

"He says--confound him--that the authorities in Cairo would pay more

attention to me than to him--and I suppose he's not far wrong. Also he

points out that with his knowledge of the land and of the language he

would be of more use to the garrison"--he used the word half

ashamedly--"than I, who know little of either. His plan is for me to

return immediately with all possible speed to fetch help, while you and

he seek, under cover of night, to enter the Fort, a task which I

gather," said Sir Richard grimly, "is not altogether devoid of risk."

Anstice said nothing, but his mouth was set in a hard line which

betokened ill for anyone who attempted to bar his way into that same

Fort, and with a half-strangled sigh Sir Richard continued his speech.

"It seems on the whole the best plan, though God knows it's hard to turn

round and leave my only daughter in this damned hole. Still, I see the

logic of the thing, and if you are willing to go forward, why, there's

nothing left for me but to turn back."

"I'll go forward all right," replied Anstice quietly. "And if you will

trust me, I will do my best to carry on until you arrive with

reinforcements."

"In that case I'll go at once," said Sir Richard more briskly. "Which is

the better horse? Yours, I think--and if so I'll take it and hurry back

to Cairo. But first let's have a look at the provisions--I'm a tough old

fellow and can do without a lot of stuff, but I daren't risk failing on

the way. Luckily we are lavishly provided."

Hearing this speech the Arab smiled gleefully and produced from some

mysterious recess in his robe a square package, tied with string, and

handed it, still smiling, to Sir Richard, who took it with a rather

mystified expression.

"It's food--what you call grub," explained Hassan proudly. "The ladees

make it--say it carry the Effendi back to _le Caire_"--in common with

many Arabs he gave the city its French name--"and it _good_ grub too!"

Sir Richard slipped the packet into his pocket with a rather uncertain

smile, and turned to the matter of transit without loss of time.

Anstice's horse was the fresher of the two, and it was decided that Sir

Richard should start at once, and when at a safe distance dismount and

rest until moonrise, after which the night hours might profitably be

spent in journeying onwards, since night-riding in the desert is

infinitely preferable to riding by day.

"With luck you should make Cairo very early on the day after to-morrow,"

said Anstice, who had been making a calculation. "And if you could get

started again without loss of time you could be here in just under three

days. But that would mean hard riding, I'm afraid----"

"I'm pretty tough," said Sir Richard again. "And after all you'll have

the harder part. I suppose"--he turned to Hassan--"I suppose there is no

possibility of getting help nearer than Cairo--no village or settlement

to which I might apply?"

No, Hassan opined, it was of no use seeking help elsewhere. The one or

two native villages within call were quite inadequate to render

assistance, and to apply to them would be a loss of time which would

have no practical result.

When once Sir Richard was assured of the impossibility of procuring help

nearer than Cairo he wasted no further time in discussion, but mounted

his horse with a businesslike air and proceeded to take leave of Anstice

with a heartiness which but thinly disguised his real and gnawing

anxiety.

"I will make all possible speed," he said, as he settled himself

sturdily in his saddle. "And with luck three days should see me back. In

the meantime"--for a moment his voice faltered, but he pulled himself

together pluckily--"I leave my girl in your care. And I know"--Sir

Richard spoke very slowly--"I know you will guard her, if need be, with

your life...."

"Thank you for your trust, Sir Richard." In Anstice's hand-grip Sir

Richard read the measure of his resolve. "I will not fail you--nor your

daughter--so long as I am alive."

Sir Richard wrung his hand, tried to speak, and failed, utterly, to

articulate a syllable. But the look which the two men exchanged spoke

more eloquently than words, and Sir Richard, as he rode away on his

mission, knew that so far as mortal man might compass success his

daughter's safety was assured at this man's hands.

* * * * *

When Sir Richard had ridden away, sitting squarely in his saddle, with

never a backward look, Anstice turned to Hassan.

"Now," he said, "how do we proceed? I mean"--he remembered that the man

understood little English--"do we go straight back to the village--and

what do we do with this horse?"

Hassan's explanation was necessarily somewhat unintelligible, being

couched in a polyglot mixture of French and English, with a few words of

Arabic thrown in, but by dint of patient inquiry Anstice presently made

out the drift of his involved speech. Briefly, his plan was as follows.

It would be useless, so Hassan asserted, to attempt to return to the

village and enter the Fort until darkness covered the land. The

Bedouins, it seemed, already surrounded the place so that Hassan's

escape had been a matter of some difficulty, and it would be necessary

to proceed cautiously, with careful strategy, in order to re-enter the

place in safety.

When once it was comparatively dark--if possible before the moon

rose--the attempt must be made; and in the meantime Hassan considered

the wisest thing to do was to shelter somewhere and rest in preparation

for the evening's adventures.

The horse, he decided, must be turned loose outside the village. The

Bedouins, as he pointed out, would be likely to snap up readily a horse

of such good appearance, and in any case Hassan was plainly of the

opinion that a horse's existence was of very little importance when

graver matters were at stake.

Although, as an Englishman, Anstice was inclined to rate the horse's

value as a living creature more highly than the Arab was disposed to do,

he saw the reason of the plan, and agreed to follow Hassan's advice in

every particular.

Having come to this wise resolve, he invited Hassan to choose a place

where the time of waiting might be passed, and the native deciding on a

little sandy hollow between two low, round-backed hills, he proceeded to

ensconce himself more or less comfortably on the loose and drifting

sand, and prepared to endure the waiting-time with what patience he

might.

CHAPTER III

"Dr. Anstice! Is it really--_you_?"

Iris stood opposite to him with an expression of wondering surprise in

her wide grey eyes, and as he held her hand in his Anstice noted the

beating of a little blue vein in her temple--a sure sign, with this

girl, of some inward agitation which could not be altogether concealed.

"Yes. It is really I." Although he spoke calmly he was to the full as

agitated as she, and he could not keep his eager eyes from studying her

face, in which he found a dozen new beauties for which their separation

had not prepared him. She was a little thinner than he remembered her,

but the African sun had kissed her fine skin so warmly that any pallor

which might well distinguish her in these troublous days was effectually

disguised.

With an effort he relinquished her hand and spoke with well-simulated

indifference.

"It was by the merest chance that Sir Richard and I met in Port Said,"

he said. "I was taking a holiday--the first I've had for years"--he

smiled--"and was only too glad to see a familiar face in a strange

land."

"And you have given up your holiday to come to our help," she said in a

low voice. "You don't know how thankful I am to see you--but for your

own sake I wish you had not come."

"That's rather unkind," he said, with a smile. "Here have I been

flattering myself that you would welcome me--well, warmly--and you as

good as tell me I am not wanted!"

"Indeed I did not mean that." She too smiled, but quickly grew grave

again. "If you only knew _how_ glad I am to see you. We--we are in

rather a bad way here, you know, Dr. Anstice, and--and your help will be

valuable in more ways than one."

"I hope it may prove so," he said. Anstice and Hassan had made a

perilous, but successful, entry into the little Fort, pursued, it is

true, by a shower of bullets, for the Bedouins were armed with a strange

collection of weapons, ranging from antique long-barrelled guns to

modern rifles. "May I see him at once? The sooner the better, as I am

here at last."

"Yes. I want you to see him as soon as possible." Iris hesitated, and in

her eyes was the shadow of a haunting dread. "You will find him very

ill, I am afraid. We have done what we could--Mrs. Wood has been

splendid--but he doesn't seem to get any better. Of course in ordinary

circumstances we should not have dared to move him, but we had to do it,

and I am sure it has been very bad for him."

"Well, we must see what we can do now," said Anstice in as reassuring a

tone as he could muster. "Where is he? On this floor, I suppose?"

"Yes. Next door. One of the rooms which the artist used is furnished,

more or less, as a bedroom, and it is fairly comfortable. The other

rooms--this and the ones downstairs--are almost empty except for a few

chairs and a kind of bench we use for a table."

"I see." Anstice looked round the room, noting the rough stone walls,

the ancient, uneven floor, uncovered by so much as a piece of matting;

and then his glance returned to the large modern window which looked so

incongruous in its mediæval setting.

The room into which a moment later Iris showed him was of the same shape

and size as the one they had just quitted; and boasted the second of the

windows which might, were help too long delayed, prove the undoing of

the little garrison. It was, however, roughly furnished, though it was

evident that the Frenchman, for all his reputed wealth, had been no

Sybarite by inclination. The bed was of a common pattern, and the few

other things scattered about on the scantily matted floor were of the

most primitive description.

As a room for an invalid the apartment certainly left much to be

desired; but Anstice did not waste time over his surroundings. He moved

quickly towards the bed; and stood looking down upon the man who lay

thereon in silence.

And as he looked at the wreck of the once gallant Bruce Cheniston, his

heart sank within him; for if ever Death had printed his sign-manual on

a living man's face, it was written here too legibly for even an

untrained eye to miss its significance.

Cheniston was wasted to a shadow by fever and suffering. From his

haggard face his sunken eyes looked out with an expression of anguish

which was surely mental as well as physical; and though he evidently

recognized his visitor, he was too weak to do more than move one

fleshless hand an inch or two towards Anstice by way of greeting.

Hiding the shock Cheniston's appearance had given him as well as he

might, Anstice sat down beside the bed and took the painfully thin hand

in his own.

"Cheniston, I'm sorry to see you in such a bad way." He spoke very

gently, his eyes on the other's face the while. "It was hard luck

falling ill out here--but I've brought up several things from Cairo that

will give you relief in no time."

Over Cheniston's face flitted the ghost of a smile; and his voice, when

he replied, gave Anstice a fresh shock, so thready and devoid of all

tone was it.

"Thanks--very much--Anstice." He spoke slowly, with spaces between the

words. "I'm very ill--I know--I think I'm going--to peg out--but I can't

bear--to think--of Iris."

He stopped, quite exhausted by the effort of speech; and Anstice, more

moved than he cared to show, laid the thin hand back on the bed, and

took his patient's temperature, his heart sinking still lower as he read

the thermometer's unimpeachable testimony.

Strive as he might, he could not rid himself of a fear that Bruce

Cheniston's earthly race was ran; and catching sight of Iris' face as

she stood on the opposite side of the bed, he felt, with a quick

certainty, that she too realized that only by a miracle could her

husband be restored to the health and vigour to which his young manhood

surely entitled him.

"Come, Cheniston," he said presently, in answer to Bruce's last words,

"you mustn't talk of pegging out. You have been bad, I can see that, but

you know dozens of travellers in Egypt enjoy a taste of enteric and come

through it as good as new. You got this through drinking polluted water,

I understand?"

"Yes." Bruce smiled, haggardly, once more. "Too bad, wasn't it, that

after playing with water ever since I came out here it should turn on me

in the end. Serves me right--for--trusting an Arab--I suppose."

His voice died weakly away; and Anstice gently bade him keep quiet for a

while.

"No use talking and exciting yourself," he said, for he could see the

other's stock of strength was lamentably small. "Lie still and allow me

to talk over affairs with Mrs. Cheniston--we will put our heads together

and evolve some plan for your benefit." He hardly knew what he said, so

filled was his heart with a pity in which now there was no faintest

tinge of resentment for the unfair bargain which this man had once

driven with him.

With a sigh Cheniston closed his eyes, and appeared to relapse once more

into a kind of stupor; and when, in obedience to a silent gesture, Iris

withdrew to the window, Anstice joined her there immediately.

Such remedies as yet remained to be tried Anstice determined to employ;

but though he told himself fiercely that if mortal man could save Bruce

Cheniston from the grave he should assuredly be saved, he experienced

that hopeless feeling which all who gaze in the very face of death know

only too well; and he did not dare to meet Iris' eyes as he conversed

with her in a carefully-lowered tone.

"I'll sit up to-night, Mrs. Cheniston, and you must try to get some

sleep. I suppose"--he broke off suddenly, remembering the position in

which they stood--"I suppose some of you watch--for the enemy"--he

laughed with something of an effort--"every night?"

"Yes. I don't think we any of us slept last night," said Iris quietly.

"You see we are so short-handed--only Mr. Wood and Mr. Garnett and

Hassan know anything about fire-arms; and Mrs. Wood and I, and Rosa,

Mrs. Wood's nurse, have been busy looking after Bruce and little Molly

Wood."

"Of course. Well, I think the first thing to do, after I have given Mr.

Cheniston this"--he had been mixing something in a little glass as he

spoke--"is to meet and hold a council of war, with a view to the most

useful disposition of our forces. After all"--he spoke more lightly, so

keen was his desire to see her look less anxious--"we are not by any

means a force to be despised. We have four able-bodied men among us; and

this place, from what I can gather, looks pretty impregnable, on one

side at least."

"Yes. Even Mr. Garnett admits that the Bedouins could hardly swarm up

that rocky wall," said Iris, with a slightly more cheerful air. "And of

course, too, we have not got to hold out indefinitely; for if my father

reaches Cairo in good time we may have the relieving force here in less

than three days."

"Of course we may!" His tone was resolutely optimistic. "Now, as soon as

Mr. Cheniston drinks this we'll set to work."

He approached the bed, and having with some difficulty roused Cheniston

from his stupor, administered the dose deftly; after which he turned to

Iris once more.

"You spoke of a nurse just now. Who is she?"

"Oh, she is only a children's nurse, and rather a broken reed at the

best of times," said Iris ruefully. "She had hysterics all last night,

but she's a bit more sensible to-day."

"Hysterics or no, she can keep watch for half an hour," said Anstice

rather grimly. "Suppose you find her and send her to me. Would you

mind?"

"I'll go at once." Iris turned towards the door, and Anstice noted with

a pang at his heart that she was certainly thinner and moved with less

buoyancy than of old. "You--you won't be too severe with her, Dr.

Anstice? After all, she is only a young girl, and she has gone through

quite a lot since yesterday morning!"

"Oh, I won't bite her head off," said Anstice, with a short laugh of

genuine amusement. "But we have no use for hysterical young women here;

and no doubt when she understands that she will amend her ways."

"Very well. I will go and find her." With a last look towards the bed

Iris vanished; and for a brief moment Anstice was left alone, to wonder

at the strange and unexpected situation in which he now found himself,

shut up in this lonely building in the heart of the desert with a

handful of souls for whose safety he could not but feel himself largely

responsible.

He did not attempt to disguise from himself that the outlook was

decidedly unpromising. Even though Sir Richard reached Cairo without

mishap, some time must necessarily elapse before he could gather

together what Iris had called the relieving force; and although Anstice

had no reason to doubt the staunchness and courage of his

fellow-defenders, he could not fail to realize that as a fighting unit

they were altogether outmatched by the two or three score of enemies who

were by now, apparently, thirsting savagely for their blood.

Then, too, the shadow of death already hovered over the little garrison;

and as Anstice turned once more to survey the pale and wasted features

of the man who had supplanted him in the one supreme desire of his life,

he told himself that it would be a miracle if Bruce Cheniston lived long

enough to see the arrival of the help on which so much depended.

"If I had got here a week--three days ago, I might have done something,"

he told himself rather hopelessly. "But now I'm very much afraid it is

too late. He is going to die, I'm pretty sure of that, though I hope to

God I may be mistaken; and heaven only knows what will happen in the

course of the next three days."

As he reached this point in his meditations a voice in his ear made him

start; and turning, he beheld a pale and distraught-looking young woman

who might in happier circumstances have laid claim to a certain

uninspired prettiness. At this moment, however, her eyes red-rimmed with

lack of sleep, her ashy-coloured hair limp and dishevelled round her

unintellectual forehead, she was rather a piteous object; and in spite

of his resolve to speak bracingly to her Anstice's voice was quite

gentle as he replied to her murmured question.

"Yes, I am Dr. Anstice, and I want you to be good enough to sit here and

look after Mr. Cheniston while I talk over matters with the other

gentlemen."

"Yes, sir." She cast a swift look at the bed, and then hastily averted

her pale-brown eyes. "Mr. Cheniston--he--he won't die, will he, sir? I

mean, not immediate, like?"

"No, he will not die immediately," said Anstice reassuringly. "All you

have to do is to sit here, beside the bed"--he had noticed how she kept

her distance from the aforesaid bed, and placed her in the chair he had

vacated with a firm pressure there was no resisting--"and watch Mr.

Cheniston carefully. If he shows signs of waking come for me. But don't

disturb him in any way. You understand?"

The girl said, rather whimperingly, that she did; and with a last glance

at Cheniston, who still lay sunk in a dreary stupor, Anstice went

quietly from the room in search of his comrades in misfortune.

He found them in the room in which he had first seen Iris; and he joined

the conclave without loss of time.

"Oh, here you are!" Iris broke off in the middle of a sentence and came

forward. "Mrs. Wood, this is Dr. Anstice; and this"--she turned to a

tall, clean-shaven man dressed, rather unconventionally, in the clothes

of a clergyman--"is Mr. Wood. Here is Mr. Garnett, and that is all, with

the exception of Molly."

She drew forward a child of about Cherry Carstairs' age, a pale, fragile

child in whose face Anstice read plainly the querulousness of an

inherited delicacy of constitution.

"She ought really to be asleep," said Mrs. Wood, a short, rather

good-looking woman of a florid type, whose subdued voice and air were at

variance with the cheerful outline of her features. "But somehow night

and day have got mixed up at present--in fact, my watch has stopped, and

I don't know what time it is."

"It is just ten o'clock, Mrs. Wood." It was Roger Garnett who

volunteered the information; and as Anstice turned to discover what

manner of man the speaker might be he was relieved to find that the

young Australian wore an unmistakably militant air. He was of average

height, with powerful shoulders; and in his blue eyes burned a lust for

battle which was in no way diminished by the fact that his left arm was

bound up just below the elbow.

"Brute dotted me one there," he explained casually as he saw Anstice's

glance fall on the bandage. "Thought at first he'd broken a bone, but he

hadn't. It was only a flesh wound, and Mrs. Wood did it up in the most

approved St. John style!"

"I'll look at it for you presently, if you like," said Anstice, "though

it appears to be most scientifically bandaged. Now, what I should like

to know is this. Did these fellows attack you last night? They did? At

what time--and in what force did they come?"

"It was just before dawn--the recognized time for a night attack, eh?"

Garnett's blue eyes twinkled. "They thought it was going to be a soft

job, I believe; but they had apparently forgotten that the door was

pretty well impregnable, thanks to the jolly old bandit, or whatever he

was, who used to retire here with his doubtless ill-gotten gains! And as

they had forgotten to provide themselves with any means of reaching

these windows the attack failed, so to speak."

"I gather you were looking out? Any casualties?" Anstice put the

question coolly; and young Garnett grinned.

"Yes, siree--one for which by the grace of God I may consider myself

responsible. They were all arguing in the courtyard below when I gave

them a kind of salute from up here, and by gosh, you should have seen

the beggars scatter! One of them got it in the thigh, at least so I

deduce from the fact that he had to be assisted away, groaning!"

"They didn't return?"

"No. Clambered over the wall and made tracks for home, sweet home

instanter."

"To tell you the truth, Dr. Anstice"--it was Mr. Wood who spoke, and

Anstice turned quickly towards him--"I do not myself believe that they

will attack us again at present. They have now found it impossible to

force an entrance unseen; and I should not be surprised if their plan of

campaign included waiting, and trying to starve us out. A policy of

masterly inaction, so to speak."

"Do you know, I rather agree with the Padre," said Garnett thoughtfully.

"Of course they have not a notion that we have sent for help; and though

they saw Dr. Anstice arrive with Hassan, it is quite possible that in

the dusk they thought it was one of us who had made a futile sortie with

the Arab."

"I daresay you are right," said Anstice thoughtfully. "But I suppose you

do not propose we should relax our vigilance on that account?"

"No." Mr. Wood looked keenly at the speaker, and appeared reassured by

something he read in the other's face. "Last night we watched both this

window and that of the other room--the one where Mr. Cheniston is

lying----"

"It is unfortunate that he should be in one of the rooms where there is

a possibility of trouble," said Anstice, rather worried by the notion.

"I suppose the others are really uninhabitable?"

"Well, there is no possibility of admitting sufficient air," said Mrs.

Wood practically. "There is a little hole where we snatch a moment's

rest now and then, but for a man with fever----"

"No, I suppose he must stay where he is." Anstice genuinely regretted

the necessity. "The only thing to do is to try to draw the enemy's fire

to the other window, if occasion arises. Now, how do we divide our

forces? Mrs. Cheniston"--he spoke the name firmly now--"you, I suppose,

will watch your husband, and if I may suggest that I take the window in

that room under my charge--Hassan might be at hand to take my place when

I'm occupied with Mr. Cheniston----"

"Then Mr. Garnett and I will be responsible for the watch in this room,"

said the clergyman quietly. "The others--my wife and Rosa--can take it

in turn to relieve Mrs. Cheniston. How does that plan strike you, Dr.

Anstice?" By common consent they began to look on Anstice as their

leader.

"A very sensible plan," said Mrs. Wood quickly, "But I positively insist

upon Mrs. Cheniston having some sleep. She was up all night and has not

rested a moment to-day."

"What about me, Mummy?" A rather fretful little voice interrupted the

speaker, as Molly pressed closely to her side. "What's me and Rosa going

to do? There isn't any beds and the bench is so hard!"

"Poor kiddie!" Anstice's heart was touched by this lamentable wail.

"Suppose you let me see what I can do to make you a bed, Molly! I'm a

doctor, you know, and doctors know more about making beds than ordinary

people!"

The child regarded him with lack-lustre eyes which were quite devoid of

any childish gaiety; and for a moment she appeared to revolve the

question in her mind. Finally she decided that he was to be trusted, for

she nodded her weary little head and put her thin, hot hand into the one

he extended to her.

"The room opposite to this is our bedroom," said Iris, with a faint

smile. "Shall I come too, Molly, and show Dr. Anstice where to find the

things?"

"Yes. You come too." The other moist hand sought Iris' cooler one; and

between them they led the poor child into the room Iris indicated.

Here, with a little ingenuity, a bed was made up of chairs and cushions,

which Molly was too worn out to resist; and having seen her sink at once

into an uneasy slumber, the two returned to the larger room, where the

others still held whispered conclave.

"Dr. Anstice"--Iris laid her hand on his arm, her voice full of the

sweetest contrition--"you have had nothing to eat and you must be

famished."

"I'm not hungry," he assured her truthfully; but she refused to listen

to his protests; and calling Mrs. Wood to her assistance she soon had a

meal ready for him. Although the resources of the establishment were

limited to tinned food and coffee boiled over a little spirit stove,

Anstice was in no mood to criticize anything which Iris set before him.

Indeed he could hardly take his eyes from her as she ministered to him;

and the food he ate might have been manna for anything he knew to the

contrary.

Having finished his hasty meal and assured his kind hostesses that he

felt a hundred per cent better thereby, Anstice turned to Mr. Wood with

a new seriousness.

"It is nearly eleven o'clock," he said, "and I suppose we should be

thinking of taking up our positions? If you and Mr. Garnett are ready,

I'll call Hassan to take charge of the other window for a little while,

and have a look at my patient yonder."

The other men agreed; and Anstice left them stationing themselves at

their posts while he entered the next room and relieved the frightened

Rosa from her task of watching the invalid.

As he approached Cheniston's side he saw that as yet no fatal change had

occurred. Bruce still lay in a kind of stupor, half-sleep,

half-unconsciousness; but his pulse was not perceptibly weaker, and for

a wild moment Anstice considered the possibility of his patient's

recovery--a possibility which, however, he dared hardly entertain as he

looked at the haggard face, the sunken eyes, the peeling lips.

When Iris entered a minute or two later Anstice gave her a few

directions, bidding her call him immediately should Bruce awaken; and as

she acquiesced and sat down on the hard chair lately vacated by the

maid, Anstice looked at her with a feeling of rather helpless

compassion.

"Mrs. Cheniston, I'm so awfully sorry to have to ask you to sit up.

You're worn out, I know, and I wish you could get some sleep."

"Oh, don't bother about me!" She smiled up at him, and his heart

contracted within him at the look of fatigue in her face. "I'm immensely

strong, you know--and I can sleep to-morrow. Only"--the smile faded out

of her eyes, leaving them very sad--"do you think there is any

possibility of Bruce being better in the morning?"

"Yes--he is no worse than when I saw him an hour or two ago," Anstice

assured her. "And in a bad case like this even a negative boon of that

kind is something to be thankful for."

She looked at him again, rather wistfully this time; but he did not meet

her eyes; and presently he withdrew, leaving her to her lonely watch;

while he went to take up his vigil at the window in preparation for any

possible attack.

But that night passed without adventure of any kind.

CHAPTER IV

It was on the afternoon of the following day that a new and serious

complication arose.

The night had passed without incident of any kind; and shortly after

sunrise the little party met to compare notes of their respective

vigils.

All through the night Anstice had come and gone by Cheniston's bedside;

but although there was no improvement in his patient's condition,

neither did he seem to have progressed any further into the grim Valley

of the Shadow; and although this extreme weakness and prostration were

ominous enough, Anstice still cherished that very faint, very timid hope

which had been born on the previous night.

He had never wished so fervently for the power to save a life as in this

particular case. Gone was all remembrance of the former ill-feeling

between them, of the unfair and cruel bargain which this man had forced

upon him to the utter destruction of his life's happiness. He forgot

that Bruce Cheniston had been unjust, callous, a very Shylock in his

eager grasping of his pound of flesh; and he remembered only that this

man had won Iris' love, and thereby established his claim to any service

which the man who had also loved Iris might reasonably bestow.

The fact that Iris must needs be adversely affected by her husband's

death was sufficient in itself to rouse his wish to save Cheniston's

life if that life could be saved; and during the day, when the vigil of

the little garrison might be relaxed, he was assiduous in his care of

the man who lay so desperately ill in the quiet room overlooking the

sun-baked desert.

Only once Cheniston roused himself sufficiently to hold a few minutes'

laboured conversation with Anstice; and afterwards the latter was not

perfectly certain of Bruce's complete understanding of the words he

used.

"Iris--how is she?" His voice was so weak that Anstice could barely hear

it; but he guessed what it was that the other man wished to ask; and

answered at once:

"Mrs. Cheniston is quite well--only a little tired. She is lying down

for an hour, but if you want her I'll go and call her."

"No. Don't disturb her," said Bruce feebly; and then, after a pause, he

uttered the words which, later, seemed to Anstice a reflection on his

perfect mental poise at the moment. "Poor little Iris--it wasn't fair to

marry her--I wish to God I'd left her--to you."

For a minute Anstice sat silent, absolutely stunned by this

extraordinary statement; and before he could speak the weak voice began

again.

"You loved her--so did I--in a way--but I've never really loved

anyone--but--Hilda Ryder." The unconscious pathos in his tone robbed the

words of all offence. "But she's a dear little soul--Iris--and I only

wish I'd not been beast enough--to marry her--to spite you----" The thin

voice trailed away into a whisper and Anstice spoke resolutely.

"See here, Cheniston, you're ill and you don't know what you're saying.

Don't talk any more, there's a good chap. You only tire yourself out to

no purpose."

But with the perversity of fever Cheniston would not be gainsaid.

"I'm all--right." His hollow voice and laboured breath gave the lie to

his assertion. "But--if I die--and the rest of you get out

alive--you--you'll look after Iris, won't you? I wish you'd--marry

her--you'd be good to her--and she would soon--be fond--of you----"

Somehow Anstice could bear no more. With a hasty movement he sprang up,

and in his voice was a decision against which Cheniston in his weakness

could not hope to prevail.

"See here, Cheniston, you've just got to lie still and keep quiet. You

know"--his manner softened--"you're really not fit to talk. Do try to

get a little sleep--you'll feel so much stronger if you do."

"I feel--very weak." He spoke with an evident effort, and Anstice

repented him of his vehemence. With a gentleness Iris herself could not

have surpassed he did all in his power to make Cheniston as easy as

possible; and when, presently, the latter relapsed into the stupor which

passed with him for sleep, Anstice left him, to go in search of Mrs.

Wood, who had promised to take charge of him for an hour or two.

A few minutes later he encountered Garnett, walking moodily along the

uneven passage-way; and a new seriousness in the Australian's expressive

face gave Anstice pause.

"What's up, eh? You look mighty solemn all of a sudden!"

"I feel it, too." The younger man turned round and his eyes looked grim.

"Do you know what those damned Bedouins have been up to now? I believe,

and so does Hassan, that they've been poisoning the well out there"--he

pointed through the slit in the wall to the courtyard beneath--"and if

so we've not got a drop of water we can drink."

"I don't believe it." Honestly he did not. Although he had no cause to

love the Oriental race he was loth to believe even an uncivilized foe

capable of such barbarity.

"As sure as God made little apples, it's true." Garnett was in no wise

offended by Anstice's uncompromising rejoinder. "Hassan and I both

thought we saw a fellow sneaking in the courtyard last night--just

before dawn--when it was too mighty dark to see much; but as he sheered

off we didn't give the alarm. But it seems Hassan is pretty well

acquainted with their charming tricks, and he was suspicious from the

first."

"But was this beggar prowling round by the well?"

"We couldn't see much, but this morning Hassan investigated and found

footmarks on the sand leading directly to and from the well; and he is

convinced that is what the brute was doing."

"How much water have we left?"

"Well, that's the very devil of it," said Garnett ruefully "It seems we

had a fair quantity--you know it all has to be brought from that same

old well--but that silly little Rosa thought this morning that she'd

like a bath, so without asking permission she tipped it all into a kind

of tin tub there was on the premises and performed her ablutions

therein."

"Well, I confess I don't blame her," said Anstice rather dryly. "I feel

as if I'd give a fiver for a bath myself--this damned sand makes one so

infernally gritty."

"Just so--and the tin basin we wash in--in turns--isn't exactly

luxurious!" Garnett's eyes twinkled. "All the same, things look pretty

serious on the water question. We must have water--unfortunately the

desert thirst is no fancy picture--I'm like a lime-kiln myself at this

moment--but if the well is poisoned, and Hassan seems convinced it is,

we can't drink the water, can we?"

"Certainly not." Anstice hoped his voice did not betray his dismay at

this disclosure. "Where's the nearest well--outside of here?"

"Over in the village--or rather, there's one outside the village which

would be less public." Garnett laughed a little. "But I don't quite see

how we're going to fetch water from it. You know the beggars are keeping

a pretty smart lookout--and if they caught sight of one of us sallying

forth we'd be potted as sure as a gun. And every available man is wanted

here."

"I suppose"--Anstice had been thinking--"I suppose it would be quite

impossible to get out by the rocky side? I mean could one possibly climb

down? The Bedouins don't seem to guard that side, and one would be in

the desert, well away from their band."

"Yes--but I doubt if it would be feasible. Unless--what about a rope? I

saw a great coil of rope in one of the dungeons downstairs this

morning." A new alertness leaped into his bright eyes. "I say, let's go

and reconnoitre, shall we? It would be great to outwit the beasts after

all!"

"Right! Where shall we go and scout?"

"Place opposite--the only one with a decent-sized hole in the wall--have

to find a place one could squeeze through, I suppose--and I'm such an

infernally broad chap, too!"

Anstice laughed.

"Well, I'm pretty long," he said, still smiling. "Lead on, will you--oh,

this is the place, is it?"

They had entered a small circular chamber which had evidently been used

for the purpose of scanning the desert far below in search of possible

foes; for the aperture in the wall which corresponded to a modern window

was much larger than any of the other slits in the building; and Anstice

and the Australian were able, by a little man[oe]uvring, to lean out

side by side and view the prospect beneath.

"Pretty fair drop, eh?" From his tone Garnett was in no wise daunted by

the sight.

"Yes--want a steady head. But it could be done," said Anstice

judicially. "A long rope--a precious long one, too--fastened to

something up here, and one could clamber down all right. And once down

it should be easy to skirt round to the well you mentioned. That's

settled, then, and since you're disabled"--he glanced at the other's

bandaged arm--"this is going to be my job."

"Oh, I say, that's not fair!" The other's tone of indignation amused

Anstice even at that critical moment. "It was my suggestion, wasn't it?

Oh, I believe you did say something about it too ... but I think I ought

to be the one to go."

"But your arm----"

"Oh, damn my arm!" Garnett spoke vehemently. "It won't hurt it a

scrap--and honestly, I'd simply _love_ the job!"

"I know you would--but really you'll have to let me do it." Anstice

spoke firmly, though he was sorry for the other man's disappointment.

"You see that arm of yours is badly hurt, though you won't own up to it;

and it might easily go back on you when you started using it. And if you

got stuck down there, we'd have no water, and be a man short here as

well."

For another minute the Australian held out, arguing the point with a

kind of fiery eloquence which showed how keenly he desired to undertake

the adventure; but in the end he gave way, though he was too

unsophisticated entirely to hide his chagrin.

"Then that's settled." Anstice dared not betray his sympathy any

further. "Now it remains to settle the details; and by the way, wouldn't

it be wise to keep it as quiet as possible? We don't want to alarm the

women."

"Quite so." Garnett squared his shoulders and plunged pluckily into the

discussion. "I should suggest you go fairly early, as soon as the moon's

up--so that with luck you'd be back before the enemy start prowling

round. The well is a mile away, in a westerly direction." He pointed

as he spoke. "And there is not much cover when once you get fairly

out ... though I don't think there is a very great risk of the brutes

spotting you."

"How long should it take me to get there and back?"

"Well, walking over sand is not like walking on macadam," said Garnett

practically, "and I don't suppose you could do the job under an hour or

two. Besides, you may have to dodge the brutes now and then," he added

regretfully; and again Anstice could not refrain from smiling.

"Well, that's settled, then. The moon rises about seven, doesn't it? And

if I get off soon after that----"

"That would do tophole. And we can easily spin a yarn to the rest," said

Garnett more cheerfully. "In the meantime let's go and get something to

eat. I'm famished."

The suggestion meeting with Anstice's approval they adjourned in search

of food; and found Iris coming to look for them with tidings of a meal.

When they had taken their seats at the improvised table, Iris quietly

withdrew; and Anstice guessed she had returned to her place by the side

of her husband--a place she had relinquished for an hour only during the

whole of the strenuous day.

When, a little later, he went to see Cheniston again, he was dismayed to

find an ominous change in his patient.

Bruce had indeed the air of a man at the point of death; and as he

looked at the wasted features, the sunken eyes, the grey shadows which

lay over the whole face, transforming it into a mere mask, Anstice told

himself bitterly that all his care had been in vain; that before morning

broke there would be one soul the less in their pitiful little company.

He bent over the bed and spoke gently; but Cheniston was too ill to pay

any heed; and with a sigh Anstice stood upright and turned to Iris

rather helplessly.

"Mrs. Cheniston"--he forced himself to speak truthfully--"I am afraid

your husband is no better. In fact"--he hesitated, hardly knowing how to

put his fears into words--"I think--perhaps--you must be prepared for

the worst."

"You mean he will die?" She spoke steadily, though her eyes looked

suddenly afraid. "Dr. Anstice, is there no hope? Can _you_ do nothing

more for him?"

"There is so little to be done," he said. "Believe me, I have tried

every means in my power, but you know my resources here are so limited,

and in those surroundings--if I had been here a week earlier, I might

have done something; but as things are----"

"Oh, I know--I know you have done all you could!" She feared her words

had sounded ungracious. "Only--Bruce is so young--he has never been ill

before----"

"Ah, yes, but everything has been against him--the climate for one

thing--and of course the forced removal was about the last thing he

should have had to endure." Anstice longed to comfort her as she stood

before him, looking oddly young and wistful in her distress, but honesty

forbade him to utter words of hope, knowing as he did what might well

take place during the coming night.

"You think he will die--to-night?" Her eyes, tearless as they were,

demanded the truth; and after a secondary hesitation Anstice replied

candidly:

"I am very much afraid he may." He turned aside when he had spoken, that

he might not see her face; and for a long moment there was a silence

between them which Anstice, for one, could not have broken.

Then Iris sighed very faintly.

"If that is so, you--you won't leave us, will you? I think--I could bear

it better if you were here."

Anstice's vehement promise to stay with her was suddenly cut short as he

remembered the venture which was planned for the early hours of the

coming night; and Iris' quick wits showed her that some project was

afoot which would prevent him comforting her by his constant presence.

Yet so sore was her need of him, so ardently did she desire the solace

which he alone could bring her, that she was moved to a wistful entreaty

that was strangely unlike herself.

"Dr. Anstice, you--you will stay? If--if anything happens to Bruce, I

shall be so--so lonely----"

Never had Anstice so rebelled against the fate which had given her to

another man as in this moment when she stood before him, her face pale

with dread, her wide eyes filled with something not unlike absolute

terror as she faced the coming shadow which was to engulf her life. He

would have given the world to have the right to take her in his arms, to

kiss the colour back to those white cheeks, the security to the

quivering mouth. This was the first favour she had ever asked at his

hands, the first time she had thrown herself, as it were, on his mercy;

and he must refuse her even the meagre boon she asked of him.

But Anstice was only mortal; and he could not refuse without giving her

the true reason of his refusal, although he and Garnett had agreed that

the undertaking of the night should be kept a secret lest the rest of

the little party be rendered nervous and uncomfortable by his absence.

The feelings of the other women were nothing to him, compared with those

of the girl he still loved with all the strength of his soul and heart;

and he could not have borne to let her think him callous, regardless of

her fears, content to leave her to pass through what must be one of the

darkest hours of her life alone.

Very gently he told her of the discovery Garnett and Hassan had made;

with the subsequent unhappy certainty of a water famine; and Iris had

been in Egypt long enough to know that in this desert waste of sun and

sand the lack of water and its attendant evil, thirst, were the most

fruitful sources of tragedy in the Egyptian land.

"You mean there is no water left?" She spoke very quietly, and he

answered her in the same tone.

"No--at least barely a bottleful. The rest was used for making coffee

for us all just now. And this remaining drop must be reserved for your

husband, in case he calls for it. Besides, there is to-morrow----" He

stopped short, with a tragic foreboding that there would be no morrow on

earth for the man who lay dying beneath their eyes.

"Yes. As you say, there is to-morrow. And"--her voice was low--"I

suppose there is no hope of rescue before to-morrow night at earliest?"

"I am afraid not before the following dawn." Somehow he could not lie to

Iris. "And since we must have water it is plain one of us must go and

get it."

"Go? Outside the Fort?" Her face blanched still further. "But it--would

be madness to venture out--you would be seen--and shot--at once...."

"Ah, but you haven't heard the plan Garnett and I have evolved!" He

spoke more lightly, though his voice was still low. "Listen, and tell me

if you approve of our strategy!"

He rapidly outlined their plan of campaign, making as light of the

perils of the undertaking as possible; and Iris listened breathlessly,

her eyes on his face the while.

When he had finished she spoke very quietly.

"Dr. Anstice, I think it is a terribly reckless thing to attempt, and if

I thought only of myself--or of you--I should beg you not to go. But as

you say, there are the others--the child for one--and if help should be

delayed the lack of water would be--serious."

"So you approve the plan?" He felt unreasonably glad that she did not

altogether condemn the idea, since, as go he must, he would certainly go

more happily with her approval.

"I shall be terribly anxious all the while," she said simply, "but you

are a brave man. Dr. Anstice, and I do not believe God will let you

suffer for your courage."

"Then I am to go? You will not mind being left alone?"

"No. I think--perhaps--I shall be a little--afraid--if Bruce dies while

you are gone"--a shiver passed through her as she spoke the fatal

words--"but I will try to be brave."

"Mrs. Wood will come and sit here with you," said Anstice quickly; but

Iris shook her head.

"No, she is asleep just now, and I won't awaken her. You know she has

been so anxious about poor little Molly to-day." The child had indeed

been feverish and ailing of late. "But after all, we may be alarming

ourselves unnecessarily, mayn't we? You--you're not _certain_ that Bruce

will die?"

And because he could not bear to see the terror in her face, hear the

quiver of dread in her voice, Anstice lied at last.

"No--I may be wrong after all," he said. "In any case I am not going

yet. I will stay here till the last possible moment. Look--his eyes are

open--come and sit here, where he can see you without moving his head."

And as she obeyed without a word Anstice took up his own position

opposite to her where he could watch every change in the grey face of

the man who had once been his enemy, but was now only a fellow-creature

in the grip of the mightiest enemy of all.

* * * * *

It was nearly ten o'clock before Anstice started on his perilous

adventure.

Shortly before the time fixed for his departure little Molly Wood had

been taken alarmingly ill, with severe pains in her head and a high

temperature, and Anstice had spent an anxious hour beside her improvised

bed before he had the satisfaction of seeing her sink into a quiet sleep

beneath the remedies he employed, and when, leaving the distracted

mother to watch her slumbers, he had crept into Cheniston's room, he had

found Bruce still desperately ill, and Iris paler and yet more wan

beneath the stress of the position in which she found herself.

It was only the imperative need of water which nerved Anstice to leave

her alone, but he knew perfectly well that it would be impossible to

procure any water in daylight, and though Mr. Wood would certainly have

volunteered to make the attempt in his place, had he known the

circumstances, Anstice had discovered, by a casual word let drop by his

wife, that the clergyman suffered from a long-standing weakness of the

heart which would have prevented him carrying through the project

successfully.

Plainly he must be the one to go, for Hassan, whom they had been forced,

through stress of circumstance, to take into their confidence, had

absolutely refused to brave the perils of the journey and the dangling

rope, and since he must be back at his post as soon after midnight as

possible, Anstice steeled his heart and bade Iris good-bye with a

stoical calm which did not deceive her in the least.

"Keep up your courage, Mrs. Cheniston." He laid his hand gently on her

arm. "I'll be back in an hour or so--and in the meantime, if there

should be any change, you will do exactly as I have told you." He had

already given her full directions. "Remember, no one but Mr. Garnett and

Hassan knows of my absence, so don't be surprised if I'm supposed to be

asleep somewhere."

"No. But"--she put her own right hand over his as he gently clasped her

arm--"you're sure there is no one but you to go? Is Mr. Wood too old?"

"No--but his heart is affected, and the climb would be dangerous. And

Hassan, though he's behaved like a brick up to now, funks the climb."

His tone was good-naturedly contemptuous. "As for Garnett, he's longing

to go--can't quite forgive me for shoving him out--but his arm won't

stand it; so plainly I am the one to go."

"Then go--and God be with you," she said very gently, and in her eyes

Anstice saw once again the look of mingled strength and tenderness whose

possibility he had divined long ago on the occasion of their first

meeting on that sunlit morning on the steps of Cherry Orchard.

* * * * *

And with the words ringing in his ears he set forth upon his quest.

CHAPTER V

It was a perfect moonlight night, and as he swung himself out over the

rocky precipice, which was surely more formidable at close quarters than

it had appeared from above, Anstice was conscious of a sudden wild

exhilaration which sent the blood coursing like quicksilver through his

veins.

He knew very well that he was embarking upon a perilous adventure which

might easily end in disaster, for he had no delusions on the subject of

his probable fate did he fall into the hands of the vengeful Bedouins.

But somehow, as he swung between earth and heaven, the rope slipping

with almost uncomfortable rapidity through his fingers, he felt no fear,

only a joyous thrill which strongly resembled the boyish glee with

which, in his school-days, he had taken part in many midnight adventures

strictly hidden from the notice of the authorities.

His former proficiency in gymnastics and his natural love of climbing

stood him in good stead. He had never been addicted to nerves, had never

known what it was to experience any vertigo or attacks of giddiness when

exploring some dizzy height or negotiating some mountain ledge, and he

swung down the rope which was his only support as coolly as though he

were practising in a gymnasium, with no risk, did he fall, of being

dashed to death against the unfriendly rocks below.

In an incredibly short space of time he reached the ground, and after

giving three gentle tugs upon the rope--the preconceived signal that all

was well with him--he looked cautiously round him to take his bearings

before proceeding on his journey.

He stood now in a kind of rocky valley, ringed round with caves--whether

tombs or not he could not pretend to judge--but beyond the valley lay

the desert over which he must pass, and he lost no time in clambering

over the rooks and setting foot on the firm brown sand without.

By the aid of his small compass he located the direction in which the

well lay, and then, restoring it to his pocket and making certain that

the goat-skin water-bottle was firmly slung over his shoulder, he set

off at a brisk pace which should, if possible, shorten the time of his

absence from the Fort by a few precious moments at least.

He had never before been alone in the desert at night, and the

strangeness of it gripped him by the throat as he strode steadily

onwards. He could not believe, at first, that he was really alone. It

seemed incredible that in all that huge expanse of sand he should be the

only moving, living being, yet, though he knew that there _were_ living

creatures in the desert--jackals and other prowling things, and a whole

host of bats and tiny insects--they gave no sign of their presence, and

it seemed to him that he was the only live thing in a dead world....

Yet the air, as it blew gently round him, was soft and sweet. A group of

palm trees rustled deliciously as he passed by; and above his head the

big silver stars seemed to look down on him with a friendly, benignant

gaze as though they knew and approved the errand which brought him out

there, alone in the moonlit desert.

When once he had conquered the instinctive feeling of something like

nervousness which made him look now and again half fearfully over his

shoulder as he walked, he began to enjoy this uncommon pilgrimage.

His spirits rose, he felt a wild inclination to sing and shout with

glee--an inclination hastily checked by the remembrance that after all

the Bedouin village was not far away, though hidden for the moment by

the merciful palm trees--and he told himself exultantly that the

devilish revenge of the Bedouins who had poisoned the well in the

courtyard of the Fort was only an empty menace after all.

Only when he thought of Bruce Cheniston, dying in that barely-furnished

room, far away from any of the luxuries and ease-bringing contrivances

with which civilization smooths the path of her children to the grave,

did his leaping exultation die down in his heart, and he walked more

soberly as he told himself that it was probable he would not see Bruce

Cheniston alive again.

It was in the moment in which he realized this fact that another thought

struck Anstice for the first time, and the sheer blinding radiance of

that thought made him catch his breath and stand still in the desert,

absolutely oblivious to any risks which he might run from Bedouins or

other prowling marauders were he to be observed.

He had suddenly realized that were Cheniston to die Iris would once more

be free--free to marry another man did she so desire; and the very idea

of that freedom set his heart knocking against his ribs in a positive

fury of wild and tumultuous feeling.

Never--he was thankful to remember it now--never had the thought so much

as crossed his mind as he ministered to Cheniston, doing all in his

power to defeat the grim foe who held the young man so firmly in his

clutches. He had spared no pains, had given himself up body and soul to

the task of saving Bruce Cheniston's life, were it possible for that

life to be saved, and he was glad to know, looking back, that he had

never for one second contemplated the possibility of any benefit

accruing to himself through the other man's death. Even should he find,

on his return, that Cheniston had indeed slipped into another world

during his absence, he could always assure himself that he had not

sullied the last strenuous hours in which he had fought for his

patient's life with all his might by so much as one underhand or

dishonourable thought.

And then, by a natural corollary, his thoughts reverted to Hilda Ryder;

and for the first time since her death he began to feel that now, after

all these years, he might surely be considered to have atoned for his

too hasty carrying-out of the promise he had made her in that

rose-coloured dawn of a bygone Indian morning.

Never had man regretted an impulsive deed more than he had regretted the

thing which had been done that day. The years which had elapsed since

then had been indeed years of penance--a penance more cruel and far more

hard to bear than any penalty inflicted by man could possibly have been.

He had been a prisoner indeed, bound fast in the captivity of his own

remorse; but now it seemed to him as though the long black night of his

imprisonment were breaking, as though a light, as yet very far off and

faint, showed upon some distant horizon with a promise of another and

more radiant day which should surely dawn ere long.

Whence came this blessed lightening of his gloom? He could not say. Was

it perhaps due to the fact that even now he was risking his life in the

service of another woman--it is to be feared he forgot all but Iris in

this strangely exalted moment--that to him her life had been confided by

the father who adored her, and that to him and to him alone could she

look for comfort and for help in the bitter hour which he foresaw was

even now at hand for the girl who loved Bruce Cheniston--and must see

him die....

* * * * *

And as his thoughts played, lightning-wise, round the figure of the

beloved woman, his footsteps led him on, more and more blithely as his

spirit rose, ph[oe]nix-like, above the ashes of his burnt-out tragedy,

and in an incredibly short space of time he approached the well whence

he might draw the precious water for lack of which the little garrison

he had left must perish and die.

It was a peaceful spot, this well. Just such a place as that to which

Rachel and the daughters of Jacob must, long ago, have come to fill

their pitchers--a quiet, palm-guarded spot where doubtless, in days gone

by, the village women had congregated in search of water and of

news--the chattered gossip of the East, punctuated by the tinkling of

native bangles as the beautifully-moulded arms raised the pitchers to

the finely-carried heads.

The well was deserted now, but the water was as clear and pure as ever,

and with a sigh of relief Anstice set about filling his goat-skin

water-bottle, and then, anxious to lose no time, he retraced his steps

over the moonlit desert without delay.

He marched blithely on and on, ever companioned by that new and thrice

welcome sense of freedom which had come to him, as though at each step

he took the fetters with which a great regret had for so long shackled

his soul grew looser and less binding, until it seemed that they might

presently fall off altogether, and allow him once more to face the world

as a free man, and not the captive of a cruel and unjust fate.

* * * * *

He had reached the outskirts of the village before the necessity for

caution reasserted itself; but just as he was passing, as softly as

possible, the little group of palm trees which he had noted earlier, he

caught a glimpse of a man prowling, as it seemed, round the trunks of

those same trees; and in another second he knew that by an unlucky

chance the man was between him and the only place in which he might have

taken cover.

There was no time to be lost. At any moment the Bedouin might look up

and see him--an unfortunately conspicuous figure in the moonlight; and

although the Fort was not more than a quarter of a mile away, should it

come to a race the odds might well be in favour of the desert-bred man.

True, he was armed--for in spite of his protests Garnett had insisted on

him carrying one of the few revolvers owned by the little defending

force; but he did not wish to fire, save in the last extremity, since a

shot would certainly rouse the village and cut off his one chance of

regaining the shelter of the Fort.

There was just a possibility that the man might not see him, so intent

was he at the moment in his scrutiny of the village; and in a second

Anstice had taken his resolve--a desperate resolve enough, but the only

one he could formulate at the moment.

He began, instantly, to run, and so noiseless was his progress that no

sound reached the ears of the prowling Bedouin; and had the native's

other senses been less keen, it is possible Anstice would have escaped

notice altogether.

Unfortunately the man turned himself about, and saw the flying figure,

which stood out only too plainly in that empty expanse of moonlit sand;

and after a second's hesitation, as though he could barely believe the

evidence of his eyes, the native left his hiding-place and began to run

with quick, loping gait after the fugitive, calling out something in a

high, piercing voice as he ran.

In his college days Anstice had been somewhat of an athlete; and

although he had long since relinquished any sporting ambitions which he

might once have cherished, he had reason to bless his own turn of speed,

which, being a natural and not an acquired gift, did not fail him now.

But never in his life had he run as he was running to-night. Apart from

any consideration of his own personal safety he was running for the

safety of others--of one in particular; for he knew only too well how

pitifully small was the force which held the beleaguered Fort; and

though in itself his life might be of little value, as a bulwark between

Iris Cheniston and her enemies it had a value all its own; and must not

be relinquished without a fierce and determined struggle.

On and on he ran, the blood drumming in his ears, the goat-skin pounding

maddeningly about his shoulders. But even could he have brought himself

to fling away the precious water for which he had cheerfully risked his

life, he could not spare time to unfasten the skin slung across his

back; and he raced swiftly onward, cursing the loose sand which now and

again threatened to trip him up, not daring to look back until he had

lessened the distance to the Fort by a considerable amount.

Then, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder, he saw that the Bedouin

was gaining upon him, his long, tireless stride, which resembled that of

a greyhound, swallowing the ground with little apparent effort; and

Anstice's quick mind realized that, fine runner as he knew himself to

be, he was outclassed by this native athlete.

"All right, Dorando," he muttered grimly, half-aloud, as he checked

himself for a second in his race. "I can't outrun you, but I'm damned if

I don't put a bullet through you all the same."

And pulling out his revolver he whisked about, so quickly that the other

had no time to realize his intention; and taking definite aim at the

man's thigh he fired once, twice--with satisfactory results, inasmuch

as the other uttered a sharp cry, spun round once or twice and fell in a

heap on the sand, incapable of further movement.

For a second Anstice paused, innate humanity forbidding him to leave the

man alone in his agony; but the thought of Iris drove away such

weakness, and realizing that the noise of the shots must incite his foes

to immediate investigation, he hastily restored his revolver to its

place and ran, faster than ever, in the direction of the Fort.

Suddenly the air behind him was rent with shrill clamour, and he knew

the village was aroused at last; but he cared little now, for he was

close to his desired haven; and a last spurt over the rocks at the

entrance to the valley landed him, spent and breathless, at the foot of

the Fort, beneath the window from which dangled the precious rope which

should carry him to safety.

Regardless now of precaution, he lifted such voice as remained to him in

a would-be lusty hail; and as an answering shout came from above he

wasted no further time, but seized the rope and began--painfully now,

for he was exhausted--to haul himself slowly up, cheered on by Garnett's

hearty congratulations from above.

* * * * *

"By Jove, that was a close call!" Once safely inside the building, the

dangling rope pulled through the window after him, Anstice collapsed on

the rough stone floor and mopped his brow feebly.

"I should say so!" The resourceful Australian had already produced a

tiny flask of brandy. "Here, take a pull at this, and you'll feel better

in a second. And when you've recovered, if you'll explain the meaning of

the shooting-match, I'll be thankful to you."

Between his gasps Anstice described the chase and its subsequent ending;

and Garnett's eyes shone with an unholy lust for battle as he listened.

"Good on you!" He clapped the other man on the shoulder with a

heartiness which was almost painful. "Well, we'll have the hornet's nest

about our ears in no time now; but at least we've got you back safe and

sound, and with a bit of luck we'll hold out grandly till the

reinforcements come!"

"How is Cheniston?" Anstice rose as he spoke and slipped the goat-skin

from off his shoulders. "Anything happened since I've been away?"

"Not that I know of--but I believe he was pretty bad a while ago."

Garnett's face clouded. "Jolly rough luck on his wife, isn't it? She's

so young, and so plucky, and I see you expect the poor chap to peg out."

"I think I'll go and see him," said Anstice slowly, the exhilaration

dying from his manner; and as Garnett pulled aside the rough curtain

which covered the doorway he stepped on to the uneven stone floor

without.

And then he came to a pause; for Iris was coming towards him; and her

face wore a curiously stricken look which made his heart miss a beat.

"Mrs. Cheniston--you want me? Is your husband worse?"

For a moment she did not reply. Then:

"He is dead, Dr. Anstice," she said quietly. "He died ten minutes

ago--just after I heard those two shots----"

"Dead?" Although he had half expected the news, Anstice found it hard to

believe. "Mrs. Cheniston, are you _sure_? May I come and see? You

might--possibly--be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken," she said, and for a second a pitiful little smile

touched her white lips. "Bruce is dead--but come and see for yourself.

I ... I am glad you are safely back, Dr. Anstice."

"Thank you," he said quietly; and then without more ado they moved side

by side towards the room in which Bruce Cheniston had yielded up his

life.

Mrs. Wood rose from her seat as they entered, and glided softly away,

beckoning to her husband, who stood by the window, to join her; and when

they were alone Anstice and the girl so lately widowed moved forward

until they stood beside the bed on which Bruce Cheniston lay in all the

white majesty of Death.

A very brief examination satisfied Anstice that Iris had not been

mistaken. Cheniston was dead; and as he stood looking down on the quiet

face, which, by virtue of Death's magic alchemy, had regained in the

last hour something of its former youth, Anstice knew a sincere and

unfeigned pity for the young life so ruthlessly cut short by a cruel

disease.

"Yes, Mrs. Cheniston." He covered the dead white face gently. "I am

sorry to say you are right. Were you with him when he died?"

"Yes. We were alone," she said, and again that oddly stricken look made

his heart yearn pitifully over her.

"He was conscious before the end?"

"I--I think so--at least, partly." Her tone was indefinable, desolation

and a strange, half-hurt wonder sounding in its low note. "He did not

speak much--only a few words--at the end I don't think he knew me...."

"I am sorry you were left alone," he said, and he ventured to lay his

hand for a second gently on her arm. "I wish I could have been back

earlier. I am afraid it has been a shock to you."

"Death is always a shock," she said quietly, and again a wintry little

smile touched her lips. "But--don't think me unkind, Dr. Anstice--I am

glad I was alone with him--at the end."

In spite of himself a great amazement shook him at her words. Although

her meaning was a mystery to him, there was no doubt she had spoken in

perfect sincerity; and in the midst of his inward turmoil Anstice found

time to wonder exactly what she meant by this curious speech. Somehow he

could not help connecting the odd look which her face still held with

the strange words she had used; and he wondered what had been the manner

of Cheniston's passing.

"Mrs. Cheniston"--Iris started as his voice fell on her ears--"you will

come away--now? There is nothing for you to do here. And you should try

to sleep----"

"Sleep?" She glanced up at him with an indescribably dreary look in her

eyes. "I could not sleep, Dr. Anstice. If you will let me stay with

you"--her voice shook a little--"I should be glad. I--I don't want to be

alone--just yet."

"Of course you don't." He spoke promptly. "And you shall certainly stay

with me, if you will. But--will it trouble you to make me a cup of

coffee, Mrs. Cheniston? I'm awfully sorry to bother you, but I've had

nothing to eat for some time----"

At another moment she might have seen through his subterfuge; but now,

her wits dulled, her mind clouded by the scene through which she had

lately passed, she accepted his petition as genuine.

"Of course I will get you some coffee--at once." She moved towards the

door as she spoke. "I--I am so sorry I did not think of it before."

When she had gone he went quickly in search of Garnett, and explained

what service he required of the stalwart Australian.

"Of course--we'll carry him, bed and all, into another room," said

Garnett readily. "That window must be guarded, and we can't ask the poor

girl to enter the room with her husband lying dead there. Let's hustle,

while she's busy--the little room 'way across there will do."

Accordingly when Iris re-entered the room, rather shrinkingly, to

acquaint Anstice with the fact that a meal awaited him, she found an

empty space where the bed had stood; and although her eyes widened she

said nothing on the subject--an omission for which Anstice was thankful,

for the night's work had been a strain on him also; and he was in no

humour for further discussion at the moment.

* * * * *

He found the rest of the little garrison even more subdued than usual.

The death of one of their number had naturally cast a general gloom; and

when he had made a pretence of despatching his supper Anstice easily

persuaded Mrs. Wood to take a few hours' rest by the side of her little

girl, who was now, fortunately, well on the way to recovery from her

sudden illness.

The incapable Rosa was also dismissed to seek what slumber was possible;

and then the four men took up their positions as before--Mr. Wood and

Garnett keeping watch from the window of the room in which Cheniston had

died, while Anstice and Hassan stationed themselves at the second

window; Iris leaning against the wall, very pale, but apparently quite

composed, on a pile of rugs which Anstice had arranged for her well out

of range of a possible stray shot.

She had promised him to try to rest; but as the hours of the short night

wore away and the critical moment of dawn approached, he knew that

although she sat in silence with closed eyes she did not sleep; and

again he wondered, vainly, insistently, what had passed between husband

and wife before Death cut short their mutual life.

He felt he would have given much to know what reason Iris had to be

thankful that she and her husband had been alone in the hour of his

death; and although he had no intention of pursuing the subject he could

not quite stifle his curiosity as to her meaning.

But Sir Richard Wayne's daughter was the soul of loyalty; and although a

day was to come in which she and Anstice had few secrets from one

another, he was destined never to know that Bruce Cheniston had died

with Hilda Ryder's name upon his lips.

* * * * *

And so the short night passed; and with the dawn the long-expected

attack came at last.

CHAPTER VI

"Dr. Anstice"--Iris' voice was very low--"shall I disturb you if I come

and sit beside you for a little while? I--I feel rather--lonely--sitting

over there."

Anstice had turned round sharply as she began to speak and his heart

yearned over her pitifully as he noted the pallor of her cheeks, the

forlorn look in her grey eyes.

"Of course you won't disturb me." He dared not speak so emphatically as

he wished. "I shall be only too glad if you will come and sit here"--he

arranged the pile of rugs by him as he spoke--"only, if danger arises,

you will keep out of harm's way, won't you?"

"Yes." She said no more for a moment; but her assent satisfied him, and

he turned back to the window with a sudden feeling of joy at her

proximity which would not be repressed.

Presently he heard her low voice once more.

"Dr. Anstice, when you told me your story--long ago--why didn't you tell

me the name of the man to whom that poor girl was engaged? Didn't you

want me to know she was to have married--Bruce?" Her voice sank on the

last word.

For an instant Anstice kept silence, uncertain how to answer her. Then,

seeing she was waiting for his reply, he made an effort and spoke.

"Mrs. Cheniston, to be honest, I don't know why I did not tell you.

But"--he seized the opportunity for a question on his own account--"will

you tell me how you know, now? Did--did your husband tell you?"

"No." Her eyes met his frankly and he knew she was speaking the truth.

"I learned the fact for certain by accident three days ago, when Bruce

was delirious. Of course I had wondered--sometimes"--said Iris

honestly--"but I never liked to ask. And after all it made no

difference."

"No." He sighed. "It made no difference. But I am glad you know--now."

Again a silence fell between them; and then a sudden impulse drove

Anstice into speech.

"Mrs. Cheniston," he said, very quietly, "may I tell you something

else--something I have long wanted you to know?"

Startled, she assented; and he continued slowly.

"You remember that night--the night before your wedding day"--he saw her

wince, and went on more quickly--"the night, I mean, when Cherry

Carstairs set herself on fire and you came for me to my house----"

"Yes." Her eyes were sad. "I remember. I don't think I shall ever be

able to forget that night."

"Ah, don't say that!" His voice was eager. "Mrs. Cheniston, don't,

please, believe I gave in without a struggle. I didn't. God knows I

fought the horrible thing--for your sake, because you had been good

enough, kind enough--to ask me to give up trying that way out. I did

try. Oh, I know you can hardly believe me--you who saw me in the very

hour of my failure--but it's true. Although I gave in at the last,

beaten by the twin enemies of bodily pain and mental suffering----"

"You were--in pain--that day?"

"Yes. I had endured torture--oh, I don't want to excuse myself, but

please understand I was really ill, really suffering, and morphia, as

you know, does bring a blessed relief. And I was wretched, too--it

seemed to me that life was over for me that day----"

He stopped short, biting his lips at his self-betrayal; but Iris' grey

eyes did not turn away from his face.

"And so, thinking I could endure no more agony of body and mind, I had

recourse to the one relief I knew; but before God, if I had known that

you would be a witness to my failure----"

"Dr. Anstice"--the gentleness in her voice fell like balm upon his sore

spirit--"please don't say any more. We are only human, you and I; and

one failure does not minimize a long-continued success."

"You mean----"

"I mean that I know--I can't tell you how, but I _do_ know it--you have

never again tried that way out of your troubles. I think," said Iris,

"you have found the _real_ way out--at last."

Her words perplexed, even while they relieved him; and he sought the

meaning of them.

"The _real_ way, Mrs. Cheniston? I wonder what you mean by that?"

"I mean," she said very softly, "you must have found the way out of your

own troubles by the very act of pointing out the way to others. You have

brought Chloe Carstairs back to life--oh, I know it was through you that

the mystery was cleared up at last--and that alone must make you feel

that whatever mistake you may once have made you have atoned for it a

hundredfold. And"--for an instant Iris' voice shook--"what are you doing

now but atoning for that mistake--if further atonement were necessary?"

"You mean----"

"I mean that you are here, waiting for the Bedouins to attack us at any

moment, waiting to fight for us women, ready, if need be, to die on our

behalf." The words fell very softly on the quiet air. "And though I pray

that God will send us help so that no life may be sacrificed I

know"--Iris' eyes shone, and her voice rang suddenly like a clarion

call--"I know that I--that we are safer with you than with any other man

in the world...."

Carried away by her trust in him Anstice turned to her impulsively.

"Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you enough for those words. God knows I

would willingly, gladly die to shield you from any harm; and if help

should not come in time, and I should lose my life, well, please believe

two things--firstly, that since that dreadful night I have

never--failed--in that way again; and secondly, that to die in your

service"--so much he might surely say in this poignant hour--"would be a

death which any man might envy me."

She did not reply in words; but her eyes answered for her and for a

moment there was silence between them. Then, as though half afraid he

might have angered her by his last impetuous speech, Anstice spoke

abruptly in another tone.

"Odd, isn't it, how an action carried through in a moment may have such

tremendous consequences? I mean if I had stayed my hand long ago in that

Indian hut you and I would not be here now, faced with this

rather--difficult--situation. It makes one realize that one should never

act too hastily--without looking all round the subject, so to speak."

"Yes. And yet--sometimes--if one stopped to think of the consequences

one would be afraid to act, and let the vital moment slip," she said

rather dreamily. "Of course there is always the afterwards----"

"Do you know of what that reminds me?" He spoke quickly. "Once, long ago

when I was a student, I picked up a book of old plays at a bookstall in

the Charing Cross Road. And in one of the plays I came across this

sentence: 'The deed itself may be the work of a moment; but there is

always the long, long _afterwards_ with which to reckon.'"

His voice died away; but she said nothing, though her eyes betokened her

interest; and presently he resumed.

"Well, that sentence has haunted me pretty frequently of late--it has

run through the years like the saying of some avenging angel. I have

known what the reckoning with the _afterwards_ may be--sometimes,

indeed, I have feared that reckoning will never be paid."

"Dr. Anstice," she said quietly, "you are wrong. The reckoning _is_

paid; the atonement _is_ made; and I am quite sure that the future--for

you--will be rid for ever of the haunting shadow of the past. And"--her

cheeks blanched suddenly as a clamour arose in the courtyard outside--"I

think the future is beginning--with trouble and danger--now."

"I believe you are right." Turning impetuously to the window, which for

a moment he had neglected, he found Hassan, his eyeballs rolling

horribly in his dusky face, leaning out excitedly; and as he too craned

into the lifting darkness Anstice saw that the moment of attack was at

hand.

Without warning save that given by their exultant shouts the Bedouins

were swarming over the wall, clambering over like great cats, dropping

with sundry thuds on to the sandy ground beneath; and in another moment

Anstice saw that they carried roughly fashioned scaling ladders, with

which they evidently intended to force an entrance, should that be

possible in the face of the defenders' fire.

"See here, Mrs. Cheniston." Anstice spoke almost curtly. "Will you go

into the other room now? You are safer there, and out of harm's way for

the time, at least."

"No, Dr. Anstice." She spoke determinedly. "I am going to stay here. You

have spare revolvers, haven't you? Then I can load for you and for

Hassan, at any rate, even if I can't be of other use."

"You know how?" He was surprised.

"Yes. My father taught me long ago. And"--for a second her voice

faltered--"I--I feel safer here. Please let me stay."

"Very well." He could not bear to send her away. "But you must promise

to keep as far as possible out of range. We can't afford any casualties,

you know."

"I promise," she said very quietly; and he knew she would obey his

injunctions implicitly.

The next moment Garnett rushed into the room, his blue eyes alight with

a most warrior-like flame.

"See what's up, Anstice? Good--I guessed you'd not be caught napping.

I'll get back now--there's going to be a gorgeous scrap in a minute.

Mrs. Cheniston, are you all right there?"

"Quite, thanks." Her calm voice reassured him; and he dashed out of the

room without further parley, while Anstice and Hassan waited, tensely,

their revolvers in readiness, for the moment to open their defence.

It was not yet day; and in the grey gloom it was difficult to

distinguish the nature of any object which was not close at hand; but

Anstice made out that the approaching Bedouins intended to scramble up

to the windows by use of their scaling ladders; and his face wore an

unusually grim expression as the flying moments passed.

Ah! The first tribesman to reach the level of the window gave an

exultant yell, as though he saw his foe already within his grasp; and on

that shout of triumph his desert-born soul was sped to whatever haven

awaited it. For Anstice's revolver had spoken; and the swarthy Bedouin

fell headlong to the earth, shot, unerringly, through the heart.

Anstice heard Iris give a faint gasp at his side; but now his blood was

up and he had no time to reassure even the one beloved woman. Something

strange, unexpected, had happened to him. Suddenly he too was primitive

man, even as these desert men were magnificently primitive. Gone was all

the veneer of civilization, the humanity which bids a man respect a

fellow-creature's life. He was no longer the educated, travelled man of

the world, who earned his living in honourable and decorous ways. He was

the cave-dweller, the man of another and more barbaric age, who defended

his stronghold because it held his woman, the woman for whom he would

fight to the very end, and count his life well spent if it were yielded

up in her service. But he did not mean to die. He meant to live--and

since that implied the death of these savages who clamoured without,

then let red death stalk between them, and decide to whom he would award

the blood-dripping sword of the victor.

Another fierce face at the window--a pair of hawk-like eyes flashing

haughty challenge, a sinewy hand raising a revolver in deliberate

aim--and Hassan's shot rang out, so swiftly that this man too fell back,

disabled, his face disappearing from the window as one runs a film off a

reel of pictures.

But there were others--many others--to take his place. Up and up they

came till there was a whole phalanx of enemy faces, eyes flashing, white

teeth gleaming in horrid snarls ... shot after shot rang out, but by

marvellous luck none touched the defenders, who on their side emptied

their revolvers as fast as Iris' fingers could make them ready.

Suddenly a gigantic man half sprang over the sill and without attempting

to fire seized Anstice by the wrist in a grip of iron, whose marks

disfigured him for weeks to come. His intention was obvious--by holding

Anstice a prisoner he hoped to make opportunity for others to force an

entrance; and as Anstice had involuntarily dropped the revolver as the

steel-like fingers crushed his wrist, the fate of the little garrison

hung, for a second, in the balance.

"Iris--shoot--quick!" Quite unconscious of the name he used Anstice

raised his voice in a desperate shout; and the girl heard and obeyed in

the same breath.

Lifting the revolver she had just loaded she fired once, twice, with

fingers which did not even tremble; and the next moment with a loud

gurgle the Bedouin released his hold and fell back through the window,

dislodging the men who were clambering up the ladder behind him, so that

they fell together in a confused mass into the courtyard below.

For a second there was a breathing-space; and Anstice turned to Iris

with gleaming eyes.

"My God, you have a nerve!" His breath was coming in quick pants. "Mrs.

Cheniston, I can't thank you--I never dreamed that even you would be so

plucky."

"It wasn't pluck--it was just--obedience," she said, and though her face

was very pale she smiled bravely up at him. "Dr. Anstice, are

there--many more to come? You have disabled a good many, haven't you?"

"Between us, yes." He was cool again now, and picked up his revolver as

he spoke. "They seem to be hanging back a bit--and to judge by the row

Garnett's making I should say he's doing pretty well too."

Bang! A bullet whizzed suddenly by Iris' head; and Anstice pulled her

hastily into a safer place.

"Here they come back again!" His tone was almost boyishly gleeful.

"Well, we're ready for 'em--eh, Hassan?"

The Arab, who was firing as steadily as though at a pigeon-shooting

match, nodded, his white teeth flashing out in a merry grin; and as the

Bedouins, taking heart, recommenced their attack, the two men, native

and Englishman, turned back to their task with renewed vigour.

Neither Iris nor Anstice ever had a very clear recollection of the next

ten minutes. It was an inferno, a babel, a confusion of shots and yells

and angry clamour; but beyond a slight, flesh wound sustained by Hassan

neither of the defenders sustained any casualties; and had their

ammunition been as plentiful as their courage was high there would have

been no doubt as to the ultimate issue.

Suddenly Anstice turned to Iris with a question on his lips; and her

face paled as she replied:

"Not much, now. I think--only enough for three more rounds." She spoke

steadily.

"I see. And then----" He broke off, handing her the empty revolver he

held.

"And then?" She breathed the question softly; but there was no fear in

her face.

"And then--I am not quite clear what happens then." He looked at her

more searchingly. "Mrs. Cheniston, what do you say--then? I'm ready, as

you know, to die for you, but"--he paused, then resumed in a rather

hoarse tone--"if I die what will become of you? I suppose"--he faltered,

and his lips were dry, but some inward impulse drove him on--"I suppose

you would not wish me to--save--a last cartridge...."

"For me?" Her smile, as she faced him, was splendid. "No, Dr. Anstice,

I'm not afraid to die, if I must, at the hands of our enemies. But I

will not accept death--from _you_."

He knew--irrevocably--what she meant. She was determined at least to

spare him a recurrence of the tragedy which had ruined so many of what

should have been the best years of his life; and although he knew he

could have faced even that risk courageously in her service, none the

less did he rejoice that he was not called upon to do this thing a

second time.

"Then--if the worst should happen--if we are not relieved in time----"

"We can all die--together," she said very simply; and in her face he

read something which, told him that for all her youth this girl would

know how to die.

But further speech was suddenly cut short The Bedouins, who had been

hanging back for a moment's parley, had evidently rallied their forces

for another effort; for with a yell destined to strike terror into the

hearts of their foes they literally swarmed up the ladder until the

whole window-space was filled with a horrid nightmare of bearded,

swarthy faces, of sinewy, grasping hands, of tossing spears and

flourished fire-arms.

Suddenly, with an exclamation of pain, Hassan dropped his revolver and

clapped his hand to his side; and Anstice felt, with a wild thrill of

dismay in all his veins, that the fight was practically over for them

now. The odds were too great--one well-directed bullet and he too would

be disabled, powerless to protect the girl for whose sake he longed so

ardently to win the day.

"My God, Iris, we're beaten!" Even as he spoke he was firing into the

midst of the mass of packed faces at the window; and he heard her words,

spoken in a passionate whisper as one hears strange, whispered sentences

in a dream:

"No--no!" Iris had been listening to another sound--the sound of hope,

of renewed life--and now, in the moment of his discouragement, she

whispered the glorious truth. "Listen--they're here--the men have come

in time--oh, don't you hear them shouting to us to hold on--for a

minute----"

The next moment a wild cry from Hassan rent the air; and as the crowd of

fierce faces seemed, suddenly, to recede as a wave washes backwards on

the shore, Anstice knew, with a great uplifting of his spirit, that help

had indeed come--miraculously--in time to save the day....

* * * * *

Answering shouts from the desert, the drumming of horses' hoofs, the

clamour of voices upraised in cries of encouragement--these were the

sounds which Anstice, almost unbelieving, heard at last; and as the

desert men began to retreat, tumbling over themselves and each other in

their haste to flee before this new enemy was upon them, Anstice turned

to Iris with a laugh of purest happiness.

"They have come--you're safe now, thank God!"

"We're all safe, thanks to you," she answered him with shining eyes; and

as he threw his empty revolver aside she held out both her hands to him

and he clasped them joyfully.

"They have come--and so soon! I never dared to hope they would be here

before to-night at earliest!"

"Nor I--but they are here!" He released her hands and turned to greet

the rest of the little garrison, who, having heard the clamour, had

realized they were saved, and came pouring in to hear the story of the

night's encounter.

* * * * *

At the same moment a fierce hubbub arose in the courtyard as the

Bedouins realized that they were verily in a trap. Some of them,

gathering their robes about them in undignified haste, managed to

scramble over the wall in the confusion and so make good their escape,

for the time at least; but the majority were neatly cornered; and though

they fought magnificently, as was their wont, they realized only too

soon that they were outnumbered; and in a comparatively short space of

time the fight was over.

* * * * *

Just as the rising sun flooded the desert with superb pink brilliance

the whole party, rescuers and besieged, met in the courtyard.

Both Anstice and Garnett had been in the thick of the last affray; and

the soldier who was apparently in command of the expedition took

advantage of the breathing-space to congratulate the defenders on the

splendid defiance they had offered to their foes.

"We heard the row quite a long way off," he said, "and hurried for all

we were worth, thinking we'd be too late if we didn't hustle. But from

the vigour of your defence it seems to me we might have taken it easy."

"Good job for us you didn't," returned Anstice rather grimly. "We'd got

down to our last round--another five minutes and we'd have been wiped

out."

"Whew!" The other man whistled. "Pretty close call, what? Lucky for you

we _did_ hustle, I see."

"Yes--but can you explain how it is you're here so soon? We hadn't dared

to look for you till to-night or to-morrow morning."

"Oh, that's easily explained. We fell in with your messenger--Sir

Richard Wayne, isn't it?--on our way back to Cairo. We were returning

from a little punitive expedition"--he smiled pleasantly--"and were only

too glad to set out on another jaunt. We get fed-up lounging about

barracks, and these affairs come as quite a God-send in the wilderness."

"By the way, where is Sir Richard?" Anstice had been scanning the

company, but could catch no glimpse of his friend. "His daughter, Mrs.

Cheniston, is here, you know, and she will be anxious----"

"Ah, yes--I have a message for her. Is she here--can you take me to

her?"

"She is here," said Anstice quietly, as Iris, hearing her name,

approached. "Mrs. Cheniston, this gentleman has a message for you--from

your father----"

"I'm Lane--Captain Lane, Mrs. Cheniston." He saluted her hastily. "And

your father asked me to tell you he was quite well, only a little tired

with his double journey. He wanted very much to return with us, but he

really was not fit to turn back immediately; and knowing how a lame

duck"--he coughed and looked suddenly embarrassed--"I mean--how one man

may delay a squadron, so to speak, he very sensibly agreed to stay at

our camp for a few hours' rest. We shall pick him up as we go back," he

added, and Iris smiled rather wearily as she answered:

"Thank you very much, Captain Lane. You are _sure_ my father is all

right?"

"Certain--only a bit fagged, and no wonder, for he'd ridden hard.

Ah--and he told me to say you were to ask Dr. Anston--Anstice, is

it?--to help you in any matter in which you wanted a little help."

"I will certainly do that," said Iris quietly; and as the other men

pressed round the little group, eagerly questioning the defenders of the

besieged Fort, Iris slipped away from the excited crowd so unobtrusively

that no eyes save those of Anstice witnessed her departure.

* * * * *

Three minutes later Anstice, leaving the rest planning the return

journey over the desert, went quietly in search of Iris.

He found her, as he had half expected, standing by the window of the

room in which Bruce Cheniston had died; and in her eyes was a forlorn

look which showed him the measure of her desolation in this sunrise

hour.

Quietly as he had entered she had heard him come, and turned to face him

with a rather tremulous smile.

"Mrs. Cheniston, I came to look for you." He approached as he spoke; and

in spite of herself she felt comforted by the mere fact of his presence.

"You are not worrying because your father very wisely let those fellows

come on ahead of him?"

"N-no," she said, with a queer little catch in her breath. "Only--I had

so wanted--so hoped--to see my father--_soon_."

"I know," he said quietly, "and you _will_ see him--very soon. We shall

start this afternoon, when the horses are rested; and then it will not

be many hours before you and your father meet again."

"Yes." She looked at him with something of appeal in her eyes. "Dr.

Anstice, my father said you would help me ... you will, won't you? You

know," said Iris simply, "you are the only person I can turn to--now."

More moved by her words than he cared to show, Anstice answered her, not

impetuously, but with something in his manner which would have inspired

confidence in any woman.

"Mrs. Cheniston, I will do all I can--and God knows I am grateful to Him

for allowing me the chance of helping you--now. If you will trust

yourself to me I will not relinquish my trust until I give you safely

into your father's keeping. You _will_ trust me?"

"Yes, Dr. Anstice." She held out her hands to him as she spoke in token

of sincerity. "I would trust you--to the end of the world!"

* * * * *

And as he took her hands in his and vowed himself afresh to her service

Anstice knew, with a great lightening of his spirit, that during the

night march over the desert, that which he had almost dared to hope

might happen, had indeed come to pass; that the chains with which his

own action had shackled his soul had fallen from him for ever, and that

full atonement for Hilda Ryder's death had been made at last.

* * * * *

FAMOUS NOVELS BY KATHLYN RHODES

THE LURE OF THE DESERT

THE DESERT DREAMERS

THE WILL OF ALLAH

SWEET LIFE

AFTERWARDS

FLOWER OF GRASS

THE MAKING OF A SOUL

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