The Way of an Eagle Part 8

"Heaven knows what you did it for," he said, seeming to control his voice with some difficulty. "It wasn't for your own sake, and I won't presume to think it was for mine. But when the time comes for handing round rewards, may it be remembered that your offering was something more substantial than a cup of cold water."

He broke off with a queer sound in the throat, and began to move away.

But Muriel followed him, an unaccountable sense of responsibility overcoming her reluctance.

"Nick!" she said.

He stood still without turning. She had a feeling that he was putting strong restraint upon himself. With an effort she forced herself to continue.

"You want sleep, I know. Will you--will you lie down while I watch?"

He shook his head without looking at her.

"But I wish it," she persisted. "I can wake you if--anything happens."

"You wouldn't dare," said Nick.

"I suppose that means you are afraid to trust me," she said.

He turned at that. "It means nothing of the sort. But you've had one scare, and you may have another. I think myself that that fellow was a scout on the look-out for Ba.s.sett's advance guard. But Heaven only knows what brought him to this place, and there may be others. That's why I didn't dare to shoot."

He paused, his light eyebrows raised, surveying her questioningly; for Muriel had suddenly covered her face with both hands. But in another moment she looked up again, and spoke with an effort.

"Your being awake couldn't lessen the danger. Won't you--please--be reasonable about it? I am doing my best."

There was a deep note of appeal in her voice, and abruptly Nick gave in.

He moved back to their resting-place without another word, and flung himself face downwards beside the nest of fern that he had made for her, lying stretched at full length like a log.

She had not expected so sudden and complete a surrender. It took her unawares, and she stood looking down at him, uncertain how to proceed.

But after a few seconds he turned his head towards her and spoke.

"You'll stay by me, Muriel?"

"Of course," she answered, that unwonted sense of responsibility still strongly urging her.

He murmured something unintelligible, and stirred uneasily. She knew in a flash what he wanted, but a sick sense of dread held her back.

She felt during the silence that followed as though he were pleading with her, urging her, even entreating her. Yet still she resisted, standing near him indeed, but with a desperate reluctance at her heart, a shrinking unutterable from the bare thought of any closer proximity to him that was as the instinctive recoil of purity from a thing unclean.

The horror of his deed had returned upon her over-whelmingly with his brief reference to it. His lack of emotion seemed to her as hideous callousness, more horrible than the deed itself. His physical exhaustion had called her out of herself, but the reaction was doubly terrible.

Nick said no more. He lay quite motionless, hardly seeming to breathe, and she realised that there was no repose in his att.i.tude. He was not even trying to rest.

She wrung her hands together. It could not go on, this tension. Either she must yield to his unspoken desire, or he would sit up and cry off the bargain. And she knew that sleep was a necessity to him.

Common-sense told her that he was totally unfit for further hards.h.i.+p without it.

She closed her eyes a moment, summoning all her strength for the greatest sacrifice she had ever made. And then in silence she sat down beside him, within reach of his hand.

He uttered a great sigh and suffered his whole body to relax. And she knew by the action, though he did not speak a word, that she had set his mind at rest.

Scarcely a minute later, his quiet breathing told her that he slept, but she sat on by his side without moving during the long empty hours of her vigil. He had trusted her without a question, and, as her father's daughter, she would at whatever cost prove herself worthy of his trust.

CHAPTER VII

THE COMING OF AN ARMY

Through a great part of the night that followed they tramped steadily southward. The stars were Nick's guide, though as time pa.s.sed he began to make his way with the confidence of one well-acquainted with his surroundings. The instinct of locality was a sixth sense with him.

Hand in hand, over rocky ground, through deep ravines, by steep and difficult tracks, they made their desperate way. Sometimes in the distance dim figures moved mysteriously, revealed by starlight, but none questioned or molested them. They pa.s.sed from rock to rock through the heart of the enemy's country, unrecognised, un.o.bserved.

There were times when Nick grasped his revolver under his disguise, ready, ready at a moment's notice, to keep his word to the girl's father, should detection be their portion; but each time as the danger pa.s.sed them by he tightened his hold upon her, drawing her forward with greater a.s.surance.

They scarcely spoke throughout the long, long march. Muriel had moved at first with a certain elasticity, thankful to escape at last from the horrors of their resting-place. But very soon a great weariness came upon her. She was physically unfit for any prolonged exertion.

The long strain of the siege had weakened her more than she knew.

Nevertheless, she kept on bravely, uttering no complaint, urged to utmost effort by the instinctive desire to escape. It was this one idea that occupied all her thoughts during that night. She shrank with a vivid horror from looking back. And she could not see into the dim blank future. It was mercifully screened from her sight.

At her third heavy stumble, Nick stopped and made her swallow some raw brandy from his flask. This buoyed her up for a while, but it was evident to them both that her strength was fast failing. And presently he stopped again, and without a word lifted her in his arms. She gasped a protest to which he made no response. His arms compa.s.sed her like steel, making her feel helpless as an infant. He was limping himself, she noticed; yet he bore her strongly, without faltering, sure-footed as a mountain goat over the broken ground, till he found at length what he deemed a safe halting-place in a clump of stunted trees.

The sunrise revealed a native village standing among rice and cotton fields in the valley below them.

"I shall have to go foraging," Nick said.

But Muriel's nerves that had been tottering on the verge of collapse for some time here broke down completely. She clung to him hysterically and entreated him not to leave her.

"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she kept reiterating. "If you go, I must go too. I can't--I can't stay here alone."

He gave way instantly, seeing that she was in a state of mind that bordered upon distraction, and that he could not safely leave her. He sat down beside her, therefore, making her as comfortable as he could; and she presently slept with her head upon his shoulder. It was but a broken slumber, however, and she awoke from it crying wildly that a man was being murdered--murdered--murdered--and imploring him with agonised tears to intervene.

He quieted her with a steady insistence that gained its end, though she crouched against him sobbing for some time after. As the sun rose higher her fever increased, but she remained conscious and suffering intensely, all through the heat of the day. Then, as the evening drew on, she slipped into a heavy stupor.

It was the opportunity Nick had awaited for hours, and he seized it.

Laying her back in the deep shadow of a boulder, he went swiftly down into the valley. The last light was pa.s.sing as he strode through the village, a gaunt, silent figure in a hillman's dress, a native dagger in his girdle. Save that he had pulled the _chuddah_ well over his face, he attempted no concealment.

He glided by a ring of old men seated about a fire, moving like a shadow through the glare. They turned to view him, but he had already pa.s.sed with the tread of a wolf, and the mud wall of one of the cottages hid him from sight.

Into this hut he dived as though some instinct guided him. He paid no heed to a woman on a string-bedstead with a baby at her breast, who chattered shrilly at his entrance. Preparations for a meal were in progress, and he scarcely paused before he lighted upon what he sought. A small earthen pitcher stood on the mud floor. He swooped upon it, caught it up, splas.h.i.+ng milk in all directions, clapped his hand yellow and claw-like upon the mouth, and was gone.

There arose a certain hue and cry behind him, but he was swiftly beyond detection, a fleeing shadow up the hillside. And the baffled villagers, returning, found comfort in the reflection that he was doubtless a holy man and that his brief visit would surely entail a blessing.

By the time they arrived at this conclusion, Nick was kneeling by the girl's side, supporting her while she drank. The nourishment revived her. She came to herself, and thanked him.

"You will have some too," said she anxiously.

And Nick drank also with a laugh and a joke to cloak his eagerness.

That draught of milk was more to him at that moment than the choicest wine of the G.o.ds.