“Dear,” he said, “let us bear it together. When you are in the doctor’s hands after a fight, it helps if there’s a friend beside you, whose hand you can grip hard. Take mine, Penelope.”
Her sobs ceased, and she looked at him wonderingly through her tears. He went on speaking in the same low, deeply moved voice—
“I can’t bear to leave you to go through it alone. Let me help. You know I know what trouble is. Give me the right to share yours.”
“Now—when Colin may be tortured, starving, dying? Oh, how can you?” cried Penelope. “Oh, go, go away, and never talk like this again. I don’t want my trouble to be less. Why should I? Share it! how can you share it? you won’t even—no, I don’t mean that. I have only Colin, and he has only me.”
He looked down hopelessly at her bowed head. “I cannot desert my post,” he said, and turned to leave her.
“Oh no, no!” cried Penelope, following him. “It was wicked of me to say what I did. Only, please don’t talk like that again. Let me feel you are a real friend. Oh, you will help him if you can, won’t you?”
“I dare not encourage you to hope for your brother’s safety, but it might be possible to obtain news of him. If it can be done, it shall be. Trust me—and forgive me.”
CHAPTER XIX.
A WOUNDED SPIRIT.
Instead of appearing in the gardens that evening, Major Keeling rode out, accompanied only by an orderly, to Sheikhgarh. He had never met the Sheikh-ul-Jabal face to face since the day of the eclipse and of his triumphant vindication, but important pieces of information had come to him several times by strange messengers, testifying to the friendliness of the recluse. Curious to relate, the destruction of the marvellous legend which had grown up about the supposed identity of the two men seemed to have had little or no effect. The dwellers on the border and the tribesmen alike possessed a strong love of the miraculous, and resented the attempt to deprive them of a wonder. Taking refuge in the fact that only a very few people, and most of those Europeans, had seen Major Keeling and the Sheikh side by side, they maintained with obstinate pertinacity their original theory that the one man led a double existence—as British commandant by day and head of the Brotherhood of the Mountains by night. From this belief nothing could move them, and as the result tended to the peace of the border, their rulers had left off trying to convince them against their will. It is to be feared that Ismail Bakhsh, the orderly, foresaw a large increase of credit to himself from this journey, by the unconcealed joy with which he entered upon it; and yet, marvellous as were the tales he told on his return, his experiences were confined to remaining with his horse at the point where visitors to the fortress were first challenged. To Major Keeling’s astonishment, no attempt was made to blindfold him on this occasion, the guards saying that they had orders from the Sheikh to admit Kīlin Sahib freely whenever he might come, and he rode with them to the gate of the fortress, noticing the care with which the place was defended. This time the Sheikh came to meet him at the entrance, and taking him up to the room over the gateway, possibly from fear of eavesdroppers in the great hall, sent away all his attendants as soon as the proper salutations had passed. He seemed anxious, and was evidently expecting news of importance.
“There is no message from Nalapur—no outbreak?” he asked eagerly, as soon as they were alone.