Afterwards. Kathlyn Rhodes
Indian night's soft dusk.
"I think not." Her tone was calm, almost indifferent, but her apprehensive eyes belied her voice. "Dr. Anstice, you have not forgotten your promise? If … if it comes to the worst, you—you won't let me fall into—their hands?"
And then he knew that in spite of her endeavours to be brave, to face the impending fate heroically, she too had had her doubts throughout the long hours of their imprisonment—doubts as to whether death would indeed come to her with the merciful swiftness of a fanatic's bullet. …
And because he shared her doubt, because he, too, had wondered whether he alone would be shot at dawn, while she, his companion in this horrible nightmare, were reserved for some far more ghastly fate, because of his wonder and his doubt Anstice rejoiced in the fact that he had it in his power to save her from the worst that could happen.
He had not given his promise-lightly; yet having given it he would fulfil it, if the God who seemed to have deserted them in their need should see fit to nerve him to the deed.
She was looking at him wistfully, with something of horror behind the wistfulness; and he could not bear to keep her waiting any longer for the assurance she craved.
"Yes," he said gently, and there was a tender note in his voice. "I will keep my word. You shall not fall into their hands. I promise you that."
She sighed faintly, and made room for him beside her on the rough seat.
"That is settled, then. And now, just for this last half-hour, let us pretend that we are in no danger, that we are waiting for our friends, the friends we ran away from at the picnic—yesterday."
Something in her own words startled her, and she broke off abruptly.
"Well?" He smiled at her. "Let us pretend. How shall we begin?"
"Was it only yesterday?" Her accent thrilled him through and through. "Did we really start out from my uncle's bungalow yesterday morning? How gay we were, weren't we—all the twenty of us … you and I leading because our horses were the best and I knew the way. … "
"Yes—and all the smart young officers looking daggers at me because I had carried you off!" His tone was admirably light.
"Nonsense!" Hilda Ryder actually laughed, and in the dim and gloomy hut her laughter sounded almost uncanny. "I'm sure no one was in the least envious! You see, we were new friends—and it is such a treat to meet someone new out here!"
"Yes. By Jove, we'd only met twice, hadn't we? Somehow I was thinking we were quite old friends, you and I! But as you say, I was a new-comer, this was my first visit to the East. Rather a change, India and the snows, from a slum in Shoreditch!"
"Shoreditch? Did you really live in a slum?"
"Rather—and quite enjoyed it!" He laughed at her incredulous face. "It was experience, you see—disease flourishes in many and divers forms down there, and although I couldn't contemplate staying there for ever, the time wasn't wasted."
"And then—you left your slum?"
"Yes. I wanted more time to myself." He threw back his head as he talked, and swept the curly black hair off his brow with an impatient hand. "You see I had visions—oh, purely futile ones, I daresay—but I had a great idea of finding a cure for a certain disease generally considered incurable——" He broke off suddenly.
"Well? You have found it?" Her tone was eager.
"Not yet—but I shall!" In his enthusiasm he had forgotten the present, forgotten the horror which was coming nearer with great strides as the morning brightened in the sky. He saw only the future—not the immediate future—death, with his back against the wall of the courtyard, his face turned to the rising sun; but the splendid, strenuous future, when after good years of toil, of experience, even of suffering, he should make the great discovery which should free mankind from one of its most grievous foes, and add a precious treasure to the scientific storehouse of the world. …
"It's a difficult task—almost superhumanly difficult!" His black eyes snapped at the thought of the difficulties in the way. "But thank God I'm young and full of hope—the hope that belongs to youth—and with luck I believe I'll win through in the end. … "
A sudden shaft of rosy light, striking slantwise through the windowless aperture in the wall, brought him to a standstill.
"Sunrise! My God—I—I'd forgotten!" In an instant the youth and enthusiasm were wiped out of his face as by a ruthless hand, and he started to his feet. "Miss Ryder, forgive me! I've been talking like a fool, and you sit there listening like an angel, while all the time——"
"Hush, please!" She laid her hand on his arm, and through the sleeve of his thin riding-suit he felt the chill of her slender fingers. "It isn't time—yet. Let us pretend until the last minute. You know—you haven't asked me what I intend—intended"—for a second she faltered—"to make of my life!"
Inwardly cursing his own folly, Anstice sat down again beside her and took her hand in his as a brother might have done.
"Well, what is … was. … " He, too, bungled over the tense, but she pretended not to notice his confusion. "What are you going to be—or do? I hope your dreams are as wild as mine!"
"Not quite!" Her tone robbed the words of all offence. "Mine are very humble dreams, I'm afraid! You see"—for a second her voice shook, but she steadied it and continued to speak—"there's a man in Egypt whom I am—was—oh, what can I say?—whom I was to marry—some day."
"Really? You're engaged?" A fresh pang of pity shot through his heart.
"Yes. He's an engineer—in the Irrigation Department—and the best man in all the world!" For a moment love triumphed over death, and its glory illuminated the gloom of that fatal place of imprisonment with a hint of immortality. "That's my ambition, Dr. Anstice—to love him and marry him, and be a true and faithful wife—and perhaps"—her voice sank a note—"perhaps in time to bear his children. That"—said Hilda Ryder, and now her eyes were full of dreams—"would be to me the most glorious destiny in the world!"
Her soft voice trembled into silence, and for the space of twenty heart-beats the two sat motionless, only their hands seeking the mutual comfort which their warm contact might well bring.
Then, with a sudden movement, Hilda Ryder sprang to her feet and crossed the mud floor to the aperture in the wall.
"Dr. Anstice, the sun is rising. I suppose—now—we have only a few minutes more to live."
He followed her across the floor and together they watched the dawning of the day which was to be the herald of death. With the inexorable swiftness of the East the sun was rushing into the sky in all his glory of scarlet and pearl, and in spite of the significance of his triumphal rising the two who watched him caught their breath at the rosy magnificence of his entry.
But Hilda's words must not go unanswered; and with a resolute squaring of his shoulders Anstice turned from the gorgeous world outside to the dimness of the hut.
"Yes," he said, rather slowly and deliberately. "I am afraid we have only a few minutes left—now."
Curiously, she cavilled at his choice of words.
"Why do you say—afraid?" He could not understand her tone. "You are not afraid to die—it's I who am such a pitiful coward that I daren't face death—out there in the sunlight."
"You're not a coward, Miss Ryder!" Impulsively he patted her shoulder, and in spite of everything his action thrilled her with a sense of comfort. "Why, all through this dreadful night you've behaved like a heroine, and if your courage fails you a little now—which I hardly believe—well, that's excusable, at any rate!"
"Have I been brave?" She looked at him with wide blue eyes like the eyes of a child. "I am glad of that, seeing it was I who led us into this by profaning—and making you profane—their Temple. I was afraid I had been dreadfully cowardly. I—I didn't feel