"Is it not well to be prepared for whatever may happen?"
"Yes; I've looked both to my guns and pistols," was Denis's reply.
"It was not that which I meant. I was thinking of what follows death."
"You don't want me surely to set about making my will?" exclaimed Denis. "It is not needed; if I die my estate must go to my brother."
"I am not speaking of worldly property. I was thinking that you—that we both—need to know more of God's will, that we may be ready, should He please to call us suddenly." Walter took his small pocket Testament from his bosom. "I am going to read my evening chapter; would you have any objection to my reading aloud?"
"None in the world," replied Denis, lightly; "but I can't promise to listen."
Walter selected his chapter, and selected well. Never before had he so realised the force of the expression, "Preaching as a dying man to dying men." Walter knew that at that moment stealthy foes might be creeping towards them under the cover of darkness, or that his reading might be interrupted by a sudden volley from the thicket or the heights above it. But the feeling of peril which solemnised the young Englishman did not at all un-nerve him; Walter drank in the meaning of each life-giving verse which he read. His companion's perfect silence encouraged Walter, till—when he closed the book—he turned to look at Dermot Denis, and saw him sunk in a deep slumber.
CHAPTER VII.
THE STRUGGLE COMES.
Walter's strange interview with the child of the Eagle's Nest had strengthened the missionary spirit in the young man's breast. He went over in thought every circumstance of their brief meeting during the long hours of his night-watch. On this occasion Walter felt no disposition to sleep; physical discomfort, combined with mental anxiety to take away all desire for repose. The wind had arisen, and, rushing through the pass as through a funnel, extinguished the fire, put out even the hurricane-lamp, and chilled the frame of the young sentinel. Dermot Denis, with characteristic thoughtlessness, had appropriated the rug of his friend. Though the day had been hot, there was sharp keenness in the night wind, and young Gurney missed his usual protection. It was only by motion that he could keep up any degree of warmth. As Walter paced up and down, now facing the furious blast, now almost swept down by its violence, watching the wild lightning-illumined clouds above him, as they seemed in their rapid course to blot out star after star, Walter's spirit yearned over the Afghan child in the power of the king of darkness.