THE WORLD WAR COLLECTION OF H. C. MCNEILE (SAPPER). Sapper
other end of the garden, standing by a small wooden shed. And she hesitated no longer. She had said she'd pay him back; she would. Two minutes later she had left the house.
Tea was over when Sydney, comfortably ensconced in a hammock at the end of the garden, saw her uncle step out on to the lawn. He was talking to her father, and even from the distance she could see that something unusual had happened. It wasn't like Uncle Jimmy to be agitated, and he was clearly in that condition now.
The two men were strolling towards her and suddenly she heard her father's voice: "Great Scott! what an appalling thing!" And somewhere down her spine there seemed to run a little trickle of cold water. "Do you hear what's happened, Sydney?" cried her father. "Get your uncle to tell you about it."
"Don't get uneasy, my dear," said her uncle reassuringly. "Dacres being the manner of man he is, there's no great damage done. But the pluck of the blighter—that's what gets me every time."
"Do you mind telling me what you're talking about?" said Sydney in a low voice. The trickle had become a rivulet.
"You know I told you about the big experiment he was going to carry out this afternoon?" began her uncle. And then he paused, for the girl's face was as white as the muslin frock she was wearing. "It's all right, Kid," he said with a smile. "He's quite all right."
"Oh, go on, please—go on," she cried urgently.
"Well, the experiment was one which not one man in ten thousand would have had the nerve to carry out. You know, don't you, that a tremendous number of deaths occur annually from snake-bites in India and elsewhere? And in India, particularly, the principal culprit is the cobra. Well, for months past Dacres has been experimenting with the idea of finding out some fairly simple antidote for the cobra venom; something that can be kept in every house—something that can be slipped into a man's pocket if he's out shooting or anything. And a little while ago he decided that he'd found it."
"Oh, no, no, no!"
If he heard the girl's little broken whisper he gave no sign; but then. Uncle Jimmy's appreciation of the situation in military parlance was a little wide of the mark.
"Now comes the point," he continued. "In a wooden shed in his garden he keeps a full-grown cobra—he's had it there for months. And this afternoon he'd determined to test his discovery. He asked me to go up in case—well, in case he was wrong. To tell people the truth— and to kill the cobra. Because, you see,"—the old soldier's eyes were shining—"if he was wrong, he wouldn't be there to kill the brute himself.
"And so," went on the General after a little pause, "that singularly gallant man proceeded this afternoon to face one of the most agonising deaths in the world. The antidote was in a little bottle, which he placed close at hand. I was standing at the door with a double-barrelled gun to shoot the cobra in case it escaped. And then I had the privilege of watching what was, I think, the bravest deed I've ever seen. He deliberately infuriated the cobra to make it bite him. He had covered up his left hand—all save two fingers, and it was at one of those that the snake struck. Then as calmly as if he were reaching for the cake at tea, he took up the bottle of antidote and poured it over his finger...And even as he did so his face changed.
"For the moment, I couldn't realise what had happened; and then, before I could speak, he had put the bitten finger on the muzzle of the gun and pulled the trigger. My first coherent thought was that he'd lost his nerve; that at the very end his courage had failed him. His face was white—a hand wound is one of the most painful there is— but he shut the door quite calmly and started to walk up to the house. And it wasn't till we got to the door that he spoke."
"Sorry, General," he said quietly, "the fault is mine. I quite forgot, like the silly ass that I am, that I'd put the antidote in another bottle. There was only water in that one."
"It's astounding how he could have made such a mistake," said Mr. Marsham. "My dear child—what's the matter with you? You look ghastly."
But Sydney was half-way to the house, and the General solemnly dug her father in the ribs. "You might find as good a son-in-law," he remarked, "but I'll be hanged if you could ever find a better."
Up to her bedroom tore Sydney. Her brain was whirling, and every now and then she caught her breath in a little sob. She hadn't known; she hadn't even had the remotest inkling when she'd done it. All she'd meant to do was to make him feel a fool when he tried his wonderful liquid and found that nothing happened. And instead—she'd done this...
Only one coherent thought was in her mind—she must get to him and explain. Beg his pardon on bended knee, grovel. He must have known that she had changed the stuff in the bottle, but he hadn't said anything. He never would say anything.
Breathless and panting, she arrived at his gate, clasping tightly in her hand the precious bottle into which she had poured the antidote. And suddenly she paused; she was staring at the wooden shed. The next moment, her mind made up, she was walking steadily towards it. She tried the door; it was not locked. But a sudden hiss from inside made her draw back instinctively. Then, with a little shake of her head, she opened the door and went in.
At first she saw nothing, until there came another hiss from close by her; and turning round, she saw the cobra. It was erect and swaying slightly, with hood extended; and she bit her hand to stop the scream of terror that rose to her lips. She stared fascinated at the brute-essence of evil personified, and then tremblingly she stretched out her hand towards it.
Came a deafening report from the doorway, and the head of the snake had disappeared; and all jumbled up like a bad dream she saw a still writhing body, felt a strong arm round her waist, realised that bending over her was a man whose chalk-white face was wet with sweat. Then blackness...
She was back in the laboratory when she came to. At first she thought she was alone, and then she saw Dacres. In his hand he held the bottle of antidote, and he was staring at her with an inscrutable expression.
"Feeling better?" he said gravely.
"I'm sorry I was such an idiot," she said shakily. "And oh! can you ever forgive me for that?" She was pointing at the bottle, and he placed it on the table.
"Why did you do it?" he asked.
"Because I was a fool, and deserve to be smacked with the business side of a hairbrush," she answered steadily. "But one thing I would like you to know. I had no idea, when I did it, as to what it was or that you were going to use it this afternoon." She bit her lip as she saw the bandages on his left hand. "I don't suppose you can forgive me; what I did was utterly inexcusable. I'm—I'm sorry."
With a little sob she buried her face in her hands.
"Of course I forgive you," he said. "The fault was mine in the first place."
"It wasn't," came a stifled choke. "I was a hateful beast."
"But it was exceedingly naughty of you to go into that shed at all. If I hadn't happened to see you from the house and arrived in time, you would most certainly have been bitten."
She raised her face and stared at him through her tears. "But I wanted to be bitten. That's why I went there. I wanted you to find out if the antidote worked."
"Good God!" Dacres sat down suddenly. And then again: "Good God!"
"Surely you understood that," she said desperately. "It was the least I could do to try and make up."
"You mean to say," said Dacres dazedly, "that, knowing there was a cobra in that shed, you deliberately went in there and risked your life to test my antidote?"
"I don't think I cared much about the antidote," she said with a tremulous little smile. "I wanted to show you I was sorry."
Without a word the man rose and walked over to the window. For if his life had depended on it he couldn't have spoken steadily at that moment. And it wasn't until he heard the sound of the door opening that he swung round.
He caught her just outside in the hall, and for a time they stared into one another's eyes in silence.
"Sydney," he said at length, and his voice was shaking