“Miss Howe,” she said, in the quick clicking syllables of her race, “Sister Margaret wishes you to come immediately to the surgical ward. A case has come in, and Miss Gonsalvez is there, but Sister Margaret will not be bothered with Miss Gonsalvez. She says you are due by right in five minutes,”—the messenger's smile broadened irresponsibly, and she put a fondling touch upon Hilda's apron string,—“so will you please to make haste!”
“What's the case?” asked Hilda; “I hope it isn't another ship's hold accident.” But Alicia, a shade paler than before, put up her hand. “Wait till I'm gone,” she said, and went quickly. The girl had opened her lips, however, but to say that she didn't know, she had only been seized to take the message, though it must be something serious since they had sent for both the resident surgeons.
CHAPTER XXX
Dr. Livingstone's concern was personal, that was plain in the way he stood looking at the floor of the corridor with his hands in his pockets, before Hilda reached him. Regret was written all over the lines of his pausing figure with the compressed irritation which saved that feeling in the Englishman's way from being too obvious.
“This is a bad business, Miss Howe.”
“I've just come over—I haven't heard. Who is it?”
“It's my cousin, poor chap—Arnold, the padre. He's been badly knifed in the bazar.”
The news passed over her and left her looking with a curious face at chance. It was lifted a little, with composed lips, and eyes which refused to be taken by surprise. There was inquiry in them, also a defence. Chance, looking back, saw an invincible silent readiness, and a pallor which might be that of any woman. But the doctor was also looking, so she said, “That is very sad,” and moved near enough to the wall to put her hand against it. She was not faint, but the wall was a fact on which one could, for the moment, rely.
“They've got the man—one of those Cabuli money-lenders. The police had no trouble with him. He said it was the order of Allah—the brute! Stray case of fanaticism, I suppose. It seems Arnold was walking along as usual, without a notion, and the fellow sprang on him, and in two seconds the thing was done. Hadn't a chance, poor beggar.”