She stepped in instantly.
"Bring the baby here, will you? Then take her away again." Miss Brock quickly returned with little Helen.
"Good morning, mummy dear," she said.
"Helen—the baby—to say good morning," I whispered in her ear. Helen opened her eyes, looking at me a little puzzled. The strange expression was still there. Slowly she turned her head and looked at the baby.
"Good morning, baby—precious."
I signed to Miss Brock, who took the child away. For a long time yet I sat, holding Helen's hand. She dozed; and again her eyes would open, with the faintest flicker of her smile upon her lips as she saw me by her. Then she opened her eyes once, and I saw she no longer knew me.
"Helen—my Helen girl—it's Ted—your Ted," I whispered frantically. She gave no sign—but slowly, ever so slowly, the eyes glazed. Her hand was still in mine when I knew the end had come. I looked at my watch on the camp table. Twenty minutes to eleven.
I got to my feet, gently laying the hand I had held on her breast. I stooped and kissed her lips. From the door of the tent I looked back again. She was beautiful. I faced the breeze and the dazzling sunshine without. A heavy scent of orange-blossoms was in the air.
I walked into the living room of the bungalow. Miss Brock sprang to her feet when she saw me come in. She gave me one look and dashed for the tent. I sat down before the empty fire place. Little baby Helen ran to me and climbed into my lap. A pair of grey eyes looked up smiling at me. I think that saved me....