Richard’s hand came on hers with a sudden heavy pressure. “Listen!” he murmured.
“Let the exalted magnificence listen to the words of this humble one,” pleaded the voice of Abdul Qaiyam. “In very deed there is no one within. The Beebee talks with herself.”
“In such a voice as that? Stand aside, old man. If this is true, I will ask pardon. Out of the way!”
A hand lifted the grass blind, and Kamal-ud-din stood in the opening, in his hand the drawn sword with which he had just threatened the old servant.
CHAPTER XXV.
USE AND WONT.
The sun had risen some time, and the waves of heat were rolling up to the assault of Colonel Bleackley’s camp in the shadeless desert, but the bored and discontented officers who were lounging about the mess tent made no move to retire to their own quarters. They had no spirit even for what jealous civilians called “Arabit-hunting,” the perpetual diversion of Sir Harry and his circle—which meant recalling the exploits of this or that comrade in the battles, and how many of the enemy he had killed. The few words exchanged among them were not of a character flattering to the commander of their column.
“Shoving his responsibility off upon Delany!” growled Captain Keeling savagely. “We ought to be in Umarganj now, and should be if he had done his duty.”
“More just to say Delany shouldered the responsibility of his own accord,” said the measured tones of Sir Dugald Haigh. “But it ought not to have been left to him.”
“Well, he’s paid for it, poor chap!” muttered some one else. “Must have broke down somewhere, or he’d be back by now.”
“Wouldn’t choose to be in Bleackley’s shoes when old Harry talks to him about this business!” said another cheerfully.