"I will certainly do that," said Iris quietly; and as the other men pressed round the little group, eagerly questioning the defenders of the besieged Fort, Iris slipped away from the excited crowd so unobtrusively that no eyes save those of Anstice witnessed her departure.
Three minutes later Anstice, leaving the rest planning the return journey over the desert, went quietly in search of Iris.
He found her, as he had half expected, standing by the window of the room in which Bruce Cheniston had died; and in her eyes was a forlorn look which showed him the measure of her desolation in this sunrise hour.
Quietly as he had entered she had heard him come, and turned to face him with a rather tremulous smile.
"Mrs. Cheniston, I came to look for you." He approached as he spoke; and in spite of herself she felt comforted by the mere fact of his presence. "You are not worrying because your father very wisely let those fellows come on ahead of him?"
"N-no," she said, with a queer little catch in her breath. "Only—I had so wanted—so hoped—to see my father—soon."
"I know," he said quietly, "and you will see him—very soon. We shall start this afternoon, when the horses are rested; and then it will not be many hours before you and your father meet again."
"Yes." She looked at him with something of appeal in her eyes. "Dr. Anstice, my father said you would help me ... you will, won't you? You know," said Iris simply, "you are the only person I can turn to—now."
More moved by her words than he cared to show, Anstice answered her, not impetuously, but with something in his manner which would have inspired confidence in any woman.