Part 57 (1/2)

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 Ha.s.san 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed; 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 a.s.sent 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 a.s.sented; 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----”