“I may be of use here. Here’s the pistol, though,” handing it over.
“Will you obey orders, Viv? What sort of a soldier’s niece are you?”
“Do go,” said Campian, looking at her. “Well, I will, then.”
As she ascended the iron ladder Campian followed her up, under pretext of aiding her. In reality he managed so he should serve to screen her from any shot that might be fired, for the ladder was in full view of the window.
“I know why you came up behind me,” she whispered as she gained the loft. “It was to shield me in case they fired.”
Then, before he had time to begin his descent, she bent her head and kissed him, full on the lips.
Not a word did he speak as he went down that ladder again. The blood thrilled and tingled through his frame. Not all the fury of fanaticism which spurred the Ghazis on to mania could surpass the exaltation of fearlessness which was upon him as he tried to treasure up the warm sweetness of that kiss—and after five years!
“Campian, confound it! We have only a dozen shots among us,” growled the Colonel. “What an ass I am to go about without a pistol.”
“We can do a lot with a dozen shots. And Der’ Ali has his tulwar.”
Der’ Ali was the Colonel’s bearer, who had been within at the time of the onslaught. He had been a trooper in his master’s old regiment, and they had seen service together on more than one occasion. What had become of the two syces and the forest guard, who were outside, they did not then know, for then the whole volume of the savage fanatics came surging up to the door. In their frenzy they fired wild shots at the solid iron plates.