At last she was in the open air, under the stars, and refreshed by the breeze. She stood looking out to sea, but there was an expression of trouble on her face, that the air could not blow away.
A voice said, "Good evening," and, turning, she saw Archdale beside her. She asked him if he were on guard that evening.
"Yes," he answered. "You must be very tired, cooped up in that hot place for so many hours," he went on. "Shall we walk down to the shore and back, for a change. I'm sorry that I can't suggest any variations in the route. But we will stop at the brook and I will get you some fresh water."
She took a step, then hesitated.
"But I thought you were on guard," she said.
"So I am, especially detailed by our commander-in-chief to look after the comfort and welfare of a certain gentleman, a civilian in name, but so active an inspector of military operations that I cannot often keep track of him unless I'm under fire myself, and also the welfare of two volunteer nurses who are in great danger of letting their zeal outrun their strength. No, I am wrong; I am in charge of only one nurse; she takes care of the other. It is you whom the General has in mind." Never was Archdale's tact finer and more opportune. After the smouldering passion of Edmonson, felt if not yet confessed to herself, the ease and safety of this companionship seemed to her like the difference between the air of the tents hot and heavy with unhealthy breaths, and the salt wind that came to her softly now, but with invigorating freshness.
"I haven't the least idea where my father is," she said. "I suppose he is so used to business that he must have always something on hand."
"He is with the General now," he said.
"There is one walk I wish you would invite me to take," said Elizabeth, as they sauntered away. "Into the city, I mean." And for a moment she forgot the cost of victory in its exultation.
"I will," he answered. "Will you come, then?"