Her warm clasp held him unresisting, yet in his heart of hearts he was not thinking of her, only of some expedient which should avoid the last resource of brute force; for with all his tenderness his pride was in arms. "Have I not given you enough, Belle?" he said hoarsely. "Will you not even leave me my courage?"
With a sob she flung his hands from her as if they bit and stung. "Go!" she cried. "You are unjust, ungenerous; but go!"
He did not wait. Torn as he was by love and compassion for the woman he was leaving so forsaken and abased, he could not pause in the mad hurry which seized him, even for a word of comfort; time, if he was to retrieve his self-respect and hers, was too precious. Another instant and he was searching frantically for his revolver among his half-unpacked things, and feeling a certain fierce joy in anticipation of the struggle to come. A quick snatch, a breathless relief, and he looked up to find Afzul Khân standing by the only door of exit from the room. "Afzul!" he cried, "why are you here? Why are you not at your post when there is danger afoot? Follow me at once!"
But the Pathan's answer was to close the door and stand with his arm thrown across it, bolt-wise. Then he looked at the Major boldly, yet respectfully. "I'm here, Huzoor, because I have grown tired of helping a tyrant. The sahib should be tired of it too and take his reward. That is what I came to make known to the Presence."
"Let me pass, fool!" shouted Philip, struggling to get at the door. But Afzul was his match in strength, and, even as he resisted, found time for words. "Listen, Huzoor! If it is the money, let it go. I have here in my pocket something that will put more money into the mem's hand. So you can have her and the money too."
"Are you mad? Let me pass, I say, or it will be the worse for you!"
"For you, Huzoor. There is danger; the men mean fight, but if Raby sahib has none to back him, he will choose prudence. He wrought the evil--I will not stir, sahib, till you have listened--he wrought the evil, let him bear the loss. You--"
Philip gave one glance round for other means of escape; then the breathless hurry of the last few moments left his voice and manner. "Stand back, Afzul," he said quietly, "or I'll fire. One,--two,--three!--"
An instant's pause, and the hand on the trigger wavered. Something, the memory of those days and nights in the smoky cave, perhaps, came between Philip and the wrist he aimed at, for the ball struck the door below it, splintering the wood. But that waver, slight though it was, caught the Pathan's quick eye. He threw up his arm with a laugh of malicious triumph. "We are quits, Huzoor! We have both been fools before the other's bravery; that is the end, the end at last!"
The meaning of his words, even the words themselves, were lost on Philip, who was already down the verandah steps, his head, as he ran, bent low to save himself from being blinded by the swirl of dust which now swept past continuously. Afzul scowled after the retreating figure. "Fool!" he muttered between his teeth. "But I have done with him now--done with everything save this accursed letter. I wish I had sent it to the mem at first. It belongs to her, and she is the best of the bunch."