There was not much talking, for Lady Despard was merciful, but at last she looked up.
“And now, my dear Othello, if you can and will deign to recount some of your adventures, Desdemona and your humble servant will be gratified. Though I have known since yesterday that you had escaped, I haven’t any of the details, and I will confess to a faint and lazy kind of curiosity. Touching that interesting wound now, which I do trust will soon be all right, for it must be so awkward——” she stopped and glanced at Doris, with provoking archness.
“Yes, tell us!” murmured Doris.
Lord Cecil—he shall be Cecil for us to the end—looked suddenly grave, and hesitated.
“Yes, I want to tell you, and I must,” he said. “Not about myself so much as——” He stopped. “Did you see the list of the killed? Did they give a list of names?”
“No,” said Lady Despard, “it was all surmise. Why do you ask that?”
“Because——” he stopped again. “Doris,” and he laid his hand on her head, soothingly, “there was another person whom you know in this awful business, besides myself. Cam you guess his name?”
Doris shook her head apprehensively. Lady Despard leaned forward.
“He was—he became a fast and devoted friend of mine, Doris. But for him I should not be here, dearest. He came out with the hospital, and I saw him first beside my bed. He pulled me through the fever.” He stopped again, and Doris held her face low down, out of the lamplight. “We were great friends after that, and when our detachment was ordered to the interior he volunteered. I tried to dissuade him. There was no reason that he should go, but he insisted, and——On the evening of the fight he stood by the guns with the rest, and with the rest fought like a lion. Once or twice I found a moment to speak to him, for he was always near me. When the fast struggle came, I joined in the rush—that’s the only word for it—and saw a couple of the Dacoits making for me. One I cut down, the other gave me this,” he pointed to his arm, “and would have settled me—hush, dearest, don’t cry—but this friend was near me still, and he threw himself between us.”
He stopped and drew a long breath. “I don’t remember any more till I came to, and, crawling about, came upon him. He was alive, just alive, but he knew me. I—I took his head on my knee, and bent down. Doris, my darling, Doris, my dearest. Hush, hush! ‘Tell her that her love saved me from worse than this, Cecil,’ he said. ‘Tell her that I died with her name on my lips. Be good to her, Cecil; be good to—Doris!’”