When I got back to the hut she was sitting on the side of the bed and had quite shaken off the faintness.
“You need not have gone through the rain—but I suppose you are used to it?” she said.
“A man in my position has to get used to anything. Here are the biscuits and the milk. I’ve some tinned meat in the cupboard here. Can you eat?”
“What are those?” she cried, pointing to the guns.
“The men’s guns. Best to keep them in the dry, you see.” I spoke as indifferently as I could; but she was very quick, and by the light of the storm I saw her eyes upon my face, with a sharp, piercing look.
“That’s not your reason. I hear it in your voice. Is there anything more to fear?”
“No.” It was a lie, of course, but I uttered it stoutly, feeling the need of it. “If you’ll eat some of this and get some strength back, I’ll explain the position presently.”
“What’s that?” she asked, starting and listening.
In an interval of the storm I heard the voices of the men raised in high tones.
“Nothing, only the men with the prisoner,” I replied calmly; but I didn’t understand the reason for the high voices, and didn’t like it. “I’ll just go and see them.”