His natural impulse was to take her in his arms and crush this latest attempt at rebellion by sheer weight of mingled authority and affection, as he had done more than once before; but the words died upon his lips as he looked into her face, and he stood irresolute. This was not coquetry, not the wild talk for which he had smiled at her that very evening, but desperate earnest.
“Am I to take this as your own unbiassed wish, Mabel?” he asked slowly, seeing his world fall in ruins around him as he spoke.
“Absolutely,” she answered.
He took the ring from her hand. “It is the kind of encouragement that is calculated to nerve a man for the fight, isn’t it?” he asked. “But perhaps some bullet will be more merciful than you are.”
He slipped the ring on his little finger, and taking up his crutch, left her without another word. When he returned to the rampart it struck him, preoccupied though he was, that the night was not quite so dark as before. Dawn was approaching, and there was a perceptible unrest in the direction of the plane trees behind which the enemy were posted. As he stood looking round, Ghulam Rasul approached him from the north curtain.
“There is a large body of the enemy advancing towards the gate, sahib,” he said. “They come out of the town, and are marching in perfect silence.”
“Then they mean to attack us on two sides at once,” said the Commissioner. “Tell the men in the turrets to reserve their fire until they are close up, Ressaldar. We can’t afford to throw away a shot. Are the reserve all under arms?”
“All ready, sahib. Your honour can now hear the enemy’s approach.”
They stood waiting and listening. And in that hour of awful expectancy, when armed men were advancing on all sides upon the sorely pressed fort, Georgia’s boy was born.