Captain Desmond, V.C.. Diver Maud
within reasonable limits. Now, sit down, please, and light up. You've been all this time without a cigar!"
But the cigar was hardly lighted before they were startled by a confused sound of shouting from the compound; – a blur of shrill and deep voices, punctuated by the strained discordant bark of a dog; – a bark unmistakable to ears that have heard it once. Desmond sprang out of his chair.
"By Jove! A mad pariah!"
Lifting Rob by the scruff of his neck, he flung that amazed and dignified person with scant ceremony into the study, and shut the door; then, judging by the direction of the sound, hurried out to the front verandah, snatching up a heavy stick as he passed through the hall. Honor, following not far behind, went quickly into her own room.
Desmond found his sun-diffused compound abandoned to a tumult of terror. Fourteen servants and their belongings had all turned out in force, with sticks, and staves, and valiant shakings of partially unwound turbans, against the unwelcome intruder – a mangy-coated pariah, with lolling tongue and foam-flecked lips, whose bones showed through hairless patches of skin; and whose bared fangs snapped incessantly at everything and nothing, in a manner gruesome to behold. A second crowd of outsiders, huddled close to the gates, was also very zealous in the matter of shouting, and of winnowing the empty air.
As Desmond set foot on the verandah, a four-year-old boy, bent on closer investigation of the enemy, escaped from the "home" battalion. His small mother pursued him, shrieking; but at the first snap the dog's teeth met in the child's fluttering shirt, and his shrieks soared, high and thin, above the deeper torrent of sound.
In an instant Desmond was beside him, the stick swung high over his head. But a low sun smote him straight in the eyes, and there was scant time for accurate aim. The stick merely grazed the dog's shoulder in passing; and Desmond almost lost his balance from the unresisted force of the blow.
The girl-mother caught wildly at her son; and prostrating herself at a safe distance, babbled incoherent and unheeded gratitude. The dog, mad with rage and pain, made a purposeful spring at his one definite assailant; and once again Desmond, half-blinded with sunlight, swung the heavy stick aloft. But before it fell a revolver shot rang out close behind him; and the dog dropped like a stone, with a bullet through his brain.
A shout of quite another new quality went up from the crowd; and Desmond, turning sharply on his heel, confronted Honor Meredith, white to the lips, the strong light making an aureole of her hair.
The hand that held the revolver quivered a little, and he caught it in so strong a grip that she winced under the pressure.
"It would be mere impertinence to say 'thank you,'" he murmured with low-toned vehemence. But his eyes, that sought her own, shamed the futility of speech. "The sun was blinding me; and if I'd missed the second time – "
"Oh, hush, hush!" she pleaded with a quick catch of her breath. "Look, there's Rajinder Singh coming back."
"He must have seen what happened; and by the look of him, I imagine he will have no great difficulty in expressing his feelings."
Indeed, the tall Sikh, whose finely-cut face and cavernous eye-bones suggested a carving in old ivory, bowed himself almost to the ground before the girl who had saved his admired Captain Sahib from the possibility of a hideous death.
But in the midst of an impassioned flow of words, his deep voice faltered; and squaring his shoulders, he saluted Desmond with a gleam of fire in his eyes.
"There be more things in the heart of a man, Hazúr, than the tongue can be brought to utter. But, of a truth, the Miss Sahib hath done good service for the Border this day."
Desmond flung a smiling glance at Honor.
"There's fame for you!" he said, with a lightness that was mere foam and spray from great deeps. "The whole Border-side is at your feet! – But what brought you back again, Rajinder Singh?"
"Merely a few words I omitted to say to your Honour at parting."
The words were soon spoken; and the crowd, breaking up into desultory groups, was beginning to disperse, when, to his surprise, Desmond saw his wife's jhampan appear between the gate-posts, and pause for a moment while she took leave of some one on the farther side. Instinctively he moved forward to greet her; but, on perceiving her companion, changed his mind, and stood awaiting her by the verandah steps.
The dead dog lay full in the middle of the path; and Honor, still holding her revolver, stood only a few yards away. At sight of these things the faint shadow of irritation upon Evelyn's face deepened to disgust, not unmixed with fear, and her voice had a touch of sharpness in it as she turned upon her husband.
"Who on earth put that horrible dog there, Theo? And why is Honor wandering about with a pistol? I met a whole lot of natives coming away. Has anything been happening?"
"The dog was mad, and Honor shot him," Desmond answered, with cool abruptness. Her manner of parting from Kresney had set the blood throbbing in his temples. "I only had a stick to tackle him with; and she very pluckily came to my rescue."
While he spoke, Honor turned and went into the house. She was convinced that Evelyn would strike a jarring note, and in her present mood felt ill able to endure it.
Evelyn frowned.
"Oh, Theo, how troublesome you are! If the dog had bitten a few natives, who'd have cared?"
"Their relations, I suppose. And there was a child in danger, Evelyn."
"Poor little thing! But you really can't go about trying to get killed for the benefit of any stray sort of people. I am thankful I wasn't here!"
"Yes – it was just as well," her husband answered drily, as he handed her out of the jhampan. "What brought you back so early?"
"The sun was too hot. I had a headache; and we were all playing abominably. I'm going in now, to lie down."
She paused beside him, and her eyes lingered upon his empty coat-sleeve. Lifting it distastefully between finger and thumb, she glanced up at him with a droop of her delicate lips.
"When is it going to be better? I hate to see you looking all one-sided like that."
"I'm sorry," he answered humbly. "But Nature won't be persuaded to hurry herself – even to please you." He scrutinised her face with a shade of anxiety.
"You do look white, Ladybird. How would it be if I took you to Murree in a week's time?"
"It would be simply lovely! Can you do it – really? Would you let me go so soon?"
"Let you go? Do you think I want to keep you here a moment later than you care to stay?"
"Theo!" Instant reproach clouded the April brightness of her face. "How horrid you are! I thought you liked to have me here as long as possible."
He laughed outright at that. He was apt to find her unreasonableness more charming than irritating.
"Surely, little woman, that goes without saying. But if the heat is troubling you, and headaches, I like better to have you where you can be rid of both; and as the notion seems to please you, we'll consider the matter settled."
Between nine and ten that evening, when the three were sitting together in the drawing-room, the outer stillness was broken by a sound of many footsteps and voices rapidly nearing the house. No native crowd this time. The steps and voices were unmistakably English; and Desmond rose hastily.
"This must be Rajinder Singh's doing! It looks as if they meant to overwhelm us in force."
Evelyn had risen also, with a slight frown between her brows.
"Can't I go to bed before they come, Theo? I'm very tired, and they're sure to make a dreadful noise."
"I'm afraid that won't do at all," he said decisively, a rare note of reproof in his tone. "They probably won't stop long, and you must please stay up till they go."
As he spoke, Harry Denvil in white Mess uniform, scarlet kummerband, and jingling spurs, plunged into the room.
"I'm only the advance guard! The whole regiment's coming on behind – even the Colonel – to drink