Mackay pursed his lips.

"He'll do best with just the women-folk this evening. Look in after Mess, if you like--last thing."

"Was Evelyn with him when you left?" Honor asked suddenly, a flash of apprehension in her tone.

"No."

"I must go and see what has come to her," she said, visibly disturbed.

"I shall see you both after Mess."

She hurried out, and listened intently at the study door. No sound broke the stillness; and with an aching dread at her heart she pa.s.sed on to the next door.

The brief dusk of India was already almost spent; and finding Evelyn's room in semi-darkness, she paused on the threshold.

"Are you there, dear?" she called softly; and was answered by a stifled sound from the region of the bed, where Evelyn lay p.r.o.ne, her face buried in the pillows. At that Honor came forward, and laid a firm though a not unkindly hand upon her.

"Evelyn, this is childish selfishness. Get up and go to him at once."

The sole answer vouchsafed to her was a vehement shaking of the fair head; a fresh paroxysm of distress.

"My dear--my dear," she urged, bending down and speaking more softly, "you _must_ pull yourself together. This is no time to think of your own trouble. He is wounded, anxious, and terribly unhappy and--he wants you. Do you call this being a loyal wife? Remember, you promised----"

Thus appealed to, Evelyn lifted her head, supporting it on one elbow, and showed a grief-disfigured face.

"Yes, I know. But--couldn't you go to him, just for now, Honor? You're not upset, like I am;--and say I--I'll come when I'm better."

Honor went white to the lips.

"No, Evelyn," she said, her anger rising as she went on. "There are things that even _I_ must refuse to do for you. I have done all that is in my power; but I _will_ not take your place with--your husband."

Astonishment checked Evelyn's sobbing, and a spark of unreasoning jealousy shot through the mist of her tears.

"I don't _want_ you to take my place with him. He's _mine_!"

"Then don't ask me to go to him now."

The counter-stroke was unanswerable. Evelyn made a genuine attempt to still the uncontrolled quivering of her body, and actually got upon her feet. But abandonment to misery had so shaken her that, even as Honor put out a steadying hand, she fell back among her pillows with a choking sob.

"It's no use," she moaned. "Go, Honor--go _now_; and say I--I'm coming."

The girl set her teeth hard. A strange light gleamed in the blue of her eyes. She moved across to the washing-stand and poured out a stiff dose of sal volatile.

"Here, Evelyn," she said, all the tenderness gone from her voice, "drink this at once. Then get up as soon as you can, and make yourself presentable. I shall not be gone many minutes, and you _must_ be ready to go to him the instant I come back."

Evelyn choked and spluttered over the burning mixture.

"Oh, thank you, Honor, thank you. Only--don't look so angry about it, please."

"I _am_ angry--I am bitterly angry," Honor answered with sudden vehemence, and went quickly from the room.

Once outside, she paused; her whole soul uplifted in a wordless prayer for strength and self-control. It seemed to her that Evelyn's reception of Theo went far to make her own departure a matter of imperative necessity, cruelly hard though it was to risk being misjudged at such a crisis.

With heart and spirit braced for her ordeal, she entered the room.

But at sight of him, who was the incarnation of life, cheerfulness, and vigour, lying stricken in heart and body, her courage deserted her, and she could neither speak nor move. On the lower end of the long chair Rob nestled in an att.i.tude of perplexed watchfulness; satisfaction and bewilderment contending for the mastery over his faithful soul; and Desmond's right arm supported his stunned and aching head.

As Honor paused on the threshold, he stirred uneasily. "That you, Ladybird?" he asked; and his tone, if listless, was unmistakably tender.

"No, Theo. It is I--Honor," the girl answered in a low voice without moving forward.

"Where's Evelyn, then?"

"She's coming soon--very soon."

"What's gone wrong with her? Has she fainted? You might come a little closer to a fellow, Honor. I feel cut off from everything and every one, with this d.a.m.nable green wall in front of my eyes."

At that cry from the man's tormented heart all thought of her own pain, all doubt as to her own strength, was submerged by a flood-tide of pure human compa.s.sion; and she came to him straightway, kneeling close beside his chair, and laying one hand lightly on the rug that covered him.

"There, Theo--there. Can you see me a little now?" she asked tenderly.

"You mustn't think hard things of--Ladybird--please. She let herself go so completely after seeing you in the verandah, and it was impossible for her to come to you while she was in such a state of collapse. I have given her a strong dose of sal volatile, and she begged me to explain things to you; so--I came. I can't tell you how sorry I was that it should be--only me."

He raised his head at that.

"You've the grit of all the Merediths in you, Honor," he said, and his changed tone a.s.sured her that she had, in some measure, fulfilled her purpose. "I can't have you talking about 'only me' in that deprecating fashion. Goodness knows what Ladybird would have done without you. No doubt she'll pull herself together when she has got more used to the hideousness of it all--myself included----"

"She will--I am sure she will," the girl declared with pardonable insincerity; "and I really believe that if--if _I_ were not here, Evelyn might make more of an effort to stand on her own feet than she does now. Please don't misunderstand me, Theo,"--her brave voice faltered on the words--"please believe that I myself would far rather be here at a time like this. I would not dream of deserting my post if I were not quite sure that there are many others ready to look after you as carefully and willingly as I would do myself. Indeed, I am honestly suggesting what I think would be best for us all round--Evelyn especially. Won't you let me go, Theo, and at least try how it works?"

Desmond shook his head with cautious deliberation, since hasty movements had proved to be dangerous.

"My dear Honor," he objected, "you, who know Ladybird even better than I do, must surely know by now that nothing will force her to stand upon her own feet. To-day gives final proof of it. What's more, Paul will probably establish himself here. I can't have him criticising her, even in his own mind; and who but you can I rely on to prevent it, by keeping her up to the mark? You see, I am taking you at your word, and not misunderstanding you, and I ask you frankly to stand by us till this trouble is over, when you shall both go straight to the Hills."

"Very well, Theo; I will stay."

But her voice had an odd vibration in it. There was no refusing a request so worded; but she knew her decision was only deferred to a more seasonable moment.

"Thank you with all my heart," he said. "You'll not regret it, I feel certain."

During the pause that followed, the wounded man made a futile attempt to change his position. In an instant her hands were at his pillows, shifting them quickly and dexterously, supporting his shoulders with her arm the while.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she asked; and the mother-note sounded in her voice.

"It's just beautiful, thank you. Now--I want Ladybird."

Honor's colour ebbed at the words, and she may be forgiven if a pang of rebellion stabbed her. All the hard tasks, it seemed, were to be hers; while for Evelyn was reserved the full measure of a love and tenderness which she seemed little able to rate to their true value.

But there was no trace of emotion in her voice as she replied, "You shall have her at once; only she mustn't stay long. You have already talked more than is good for you."

"Talked?" he echoed, with a sudden outburst of impatience. "What else is there for me to do? I can neither read, nor write, nor move. Am I to lie here like a log, with my own black thoughts for company? I'm not ill, in spite of all."

"No, Theo, you are not ill now," the girl reasoned with him in all gentleness, "but with a wound like that so near your temple you soon will be ill, if you refuse to be moderately careful. Evelyn shall stay for a quarter of an hour. After that you _must please_ obey me and lie quiet, so as to get a little sleep, if possible, after your cruel journey. Amar Singh shall sit here, and I will leave the drawing-room door open and play to you;--something invigorating--the Pastoral, to start with. Will that do?"