"I'll not have you at any price," she answered bluntly.
He frowned. But the fact that he did not insist spoke volumes to her understanding heart.
"Swear you'll send Amar Singh to wake me if it seems necessary."
"I will—no fear."
"He'll sit handy, just outside, all night and help you in any possible way. He's a jewel at times like this. I'll look in again when I get home."
"Come back early," she commanded with a sudden smile, "and have a solid night of sleep. It's plain your needing it badly."
"Thanks. I believe I am. I'll make a fresh start afterwards and take my fair share of the work. Jove! It's a furnace of a night. There goes the trumpet; I'll be back before long."
His words were truer than he knew.
Shortly after nine o'clock, while Mrs Olliver was persuading her semi-delirious patient to swallow two tablespoonfuls of chicken-broth, quick footsteps and the clink of spurs made her sit suddenly upright, with a listening look in her eyes. She knew the country of her service well enough to be prepared for anything at any hour of the day or night—and she was barely surprised when, two minutes later, Desmond stood before her in his forage cap, his sword buckled on over his mess-jacket and held high to prevent it from clanking.
"What is it?" she asked in a hurried whisper. "A beacon fire alight?"