Still he did not go. Still I stood staring into the mirror.
“Oh, of course we shall come out and see you off,” they said.
There was a little pause. He appeared to be on the point of leaving; a chain jingled and the creak of some leather strap he wore about him could be plainly heard. He struck his riding-boot with something he held in his hand. I stood rooted to the ground, staring—staring—at the pale passionate waiting face in the glass before me. What was I waiting for so passionately?
“Where is Miss Saurin?” he said.
At this a wave of pure happiness seemed to sweep over me and recede again, leaving me as weak and faint as if a real great wave of the sea had dashed itself against me. I leaned upon the dressing-table, trembling and helpless to move, and dimly in my throbbing head I heard the answers carelessly given that I was about somewhere, getting my things ready to go into laager—busy doing something or other.
A moment later he was gone, with I know not what thought in his heart. Those women had the wisdom not to come and look for me afterwards. I think my eyes would have struck them dead as they entered the room.
In a little while I had recovered myself and went calmly on with my preparations. Judy’s rouge box, forgotten, stood open on the table. I had never used paint in my life, but at the sight of my white face in the mirror I dipped my finger into the red powder and made two little smears on my face before I re-entered the sitting room. Nonie Valetta was at the window again; the other two had gone.
At seven o’clock ten horses were standing saddled and bridled in the square, and speculation was rife as to who the tenth was for. Maurice Stair had been put out of business by his sprained arm, so it had been decided that he could not go to the front, evidently some one had been chosen in his place. Wrath and envy mingled with curiosity was written upon the face of every stay-behind.
Was it possible that Clinton (the man most unwillingly left in charge of our guns) was breaking away after all? they fiercely asked. Had Stair’s arm miraculously recovered? Was Bleksley an open rebel? Had the doctor suddenly become inspired with a lust for war?—but that was too far-fetched a supposition even for Mashonaland!