"They must come," she said in a muffled voice. Then she bent over her husband. "Will!" she whispered, bringing him back from confused, half-restful dreams, "the Sepoys say they must search--or--or kill--them all. We will hide you--if we can."
If we can! Was it possible, she wondered, feeling dead, dead at heart, as the door opened wide, letting in the sunlight and showing a group of tense womanhood, a bed whereon, huddled up asleep or awake, lay the children deftly disposed to hide all betraying contours.
"Huzoor! salaam!" said the tall subahdâr, drawing himself up to attention, and the search party of four followed suit.
How long that minute seemed. How interminable the sunlight. Ah! would no one shut out the light, and why did Sonnie move his hand?...
"Huzoor! Salaam!"
Oh! God in heaven! were they going? Was the door closing? Was the blessed darkness coming?...
It was utter darkness, as, her strength giving way, she fell on her knees beside the bed, burying her face upon her children, her husband.
"Will! Will!" she whispered.
A faint sigh came from the watching women. So Fate had been kind to her--her only....
One who had seen her husband shot down before her very eyes rose slowly, and taking her baby from the bed, moved away, rocking it in her arms almost fiercely. So, in the grim intensity of those first seconds, the sound of further parley at the door escaped them.