Part 36 (1/2)

There was an instant's silence; then her eyes wandered to his cuff as it rested on her corselet, and she smiled again. ”We match, don't we?

I'm glad. Besides, it won't stain much. I expect--that's why soldiers wear red, isn't it?”

The deadly realism roused Vincent to a sort of fury at his own helplessness. But what could a man do, caught in a second by Fate to be chief actor in a scene like this, where he was lost,--lost utterly? And those two fools looking on--doing nothing!

”At least, in common charity, you might help. You're something of a doctor!” he cried pa.s.sionately. ”We can settle scores afterwards, you and I, can't we? But now you might help _her_.”

”What did she say?” asked Father Ninian, tonelessly. He had caught a word or two, and their triviality, in the face of what had happened--a triviality common in those who have been struck down as she had been, almost painlessly--had but increased his bewilderment. ”What does it mean? How do you come here? I must know, first.”

The girl had turned her face quickly to the new voice; and, after vainly trying to rise, lay back breathlessly. ”Tell him, Vincent; he's Father Laurence. Remember--he must know--and--and I--can't--”

”Then here it is, sir!” broke in Vincent, brutally. ”If you will wait to know, when every moment is precious. We love each other--you've done it in your time, I'm told! I've been coming here, night after night, to see her; she wears that dress to please me--there! Now you've got it!

And to-night, some devil--she says Roshan Khan, but she's dreaming; what can he have to do with it?--stood there and fired--at me, I think; but she flung herself--Ah! Laila, my darling, why did you? Now, will that satisfy you--you--you--”

”Hus.h.!.+” came Laila's voice--”there is no use in being angry. Besides, he understands; he knows what it is to be in love quite well. Don't you, guardian? You loved her, didn't you? Margherita, I mean--”

She wandered off into Italian--the language they always spoke, and her rich voice dulled, died away, as the faintness returned.

”For G.o.d's sake, sir, bring the light, if you won't do anything else!”

cried Vincent, wildly. ”She has fainted, I think--I can't see--it is so dark. For G.o.d's sake, sir, the light at least!”

The light at least! As Father Ninian mechanically took the red lamp from its niche he felt that he needed no more light than those words, ”he understands,” had sent into his very soul. Yes, he knew what love was. But he knew also--it came home to him in a second--that his love, even after all these years, differed not at all from this girl's. He heard it in her voice--that voice so strangely like that other voice--which he remembered--oh! so well!

”Take off the shade,” said Vincent, ”it makes everything so--so red--you--you can't see the truth.” He s.h.i.+vered as he spoke.

But that first look at the girl had been enough for Pidar Narayan. It had roused him, his apathy was gone. He thrust the lamp into Vincent's trembling hands without a word, and his own steady ones--the hands which had not touched their kind, except to heal body or soul, since they had said farewell to a woman--took up the task.

So for a few minutes there was silence, but for the old pantaloon's ceaseless mumblings as he rocked himself backwards and forwards. He had meant no harm, he protested--he had conducted more affairs of the kind to a decent ending than he could well remember--no one could be more discreet--accidents would happen--

”She is shot through the lungs,” said Father Ninian, breaking the silence. ”There is very little to be done--I--I--” He would have said ”_fear_,” but for Vincent's face of anguish. What right had he to feel sorrow?--he, the man who had brought this about. ”Still, I will try.

Akbar! bring the candles from the altar. Stay! she had better go there.

It will save time. You two can carry her.”

But Vincent had her in his arms, with a brief ”Where?”

”The chapel--the lights are lit. Lay her on the cus.h.i.+ons before the altar. I will be with you again directly.”

When he returned from his room with lint and bandages she was lying there as he had directed, her long red skirt trailing down the white steps.

”The candles, please,--the smaller ones, Akbar,--and place them at her head. They will give me a better light.”

Vincent s.h.i.+vered again at the sight; she looked already dead, with those tall tapers about her. Ah! what did it all mean? Was he dreaming?

How was it possible? The wild improbability of it stunned him; when not three hours ago he had had a sherry-and-bitters before dinner! The curious irrelevance of his thoughts made him feel as if he must wake soon. Yet there she lay. Laila, whom he loved!

”Is she--is she--” he began.

”Not dead, if you mean that,” replied Father Ninian quietly. ”But she will not live an hour.”

There was no mincing matters between these two men--nothing but the brutal truth; yet this time it was the old priest who held up his hand against a pa.s.sionate outcry. ”Don't make a fuss. Be brave, at least, and don't disturb her. She is coming to herself again.”