"None save the fleetest among us could keep pace with the Captain Sahib, wounded as he was," the Sikh was saying, when Wyndham, with a hideous jar, came back to reality. "But God gave me strength, though I have fifty years well told, so that I came not far behind; and even as Denvil Sahib fell, with his face to the earth, at the Captain Sahib's feet, he turned upon the Afridi devils like a lion among wolves, and smote three of them to hell before a man could say, 'It lightens.' Yet came there one pig of a coward behind him, Miss Sahib. Only, by God's mercy, I also was there, to give him such greeting as he deserved with my Persian sword, that hath passed from father to son these hundred and fifty years, and hath never done better work than in averting the hand of death from my Captain Sahib Bahadur, whom God will make Jungi-Lat-Sahib [29] before the end of his days! For myself I am an old man, and of a truth I covet no higher honour than this that hath befallen me, in rendering twice, without merit, such good service to the Border. Nay, but who am I that I should speak thus? Hath not the Miss Sahib herself rendered a like service? May your honour live long, and be the mother of heroes!"
Rajinder Singh bowed low on the words, which brought the girl to her feet and crimsoned her clear skin from chin to brow. By a deft question she turned the tide of talk into a less embarrassing channel; and Paul Wyndham, pulling himself together with an effort, went noiselessly out of the room.
Passing through the hall, he sought the comparative privacy of the back verandah, which was apt to be deserted at this time of day. Here he confronted the discovery that tortured him—denied it; wrestled with it; and finally owned himself beaten by it. There was no evading the witness of his own eyes; and in that moment it seemed to him that he had reached the limit of endurance. Then a sudden question stabbed him. How far was Theo responsible for that which had come about? Was he, even remotely, to blame?
Had any living soul dared to breathe such questions in his hearing Wyndham would have knocked the words down his throat, and several teeth along with them, man of peace though he was. But the very depth of his feeling for Desmond made him the more clear-eyed and stern in judgment; and the intolerable doubt, uprising like a mist before his inner vision, held him motionless, forgetful of place and time; till footsteps roused him, and he turned to find Honor coming towards him.
"Why, Paul," she said, "what brings you here? I have been looking for you everywhere. I thought you had gone to him. Evelyn says he is alone, and he wants you."
The unconscious use of the pronoun did not escape Paul's notice, and he winced at it, as also at the undernote of reproof in her tone.
"Sorry to have kept him waiting," he said quietly, and for the first time his eyes avoided her face. "I will go to him at once."
But on opening the study door he hesitated, dreading the necessity for speech; glad—actually glad—that his face was hidden from his friend. For all the depth of their reserve, the shadow of restraint was a thing unknown between them. But the world had been turned upside down for Wyndham since he left the familiar room half an hour ago. A spark that came very near to anger burned in his heart.
Desmond turned in his chair. Two hours of undiluted Evelyn had left him craving for mental companionship.