The Way of an Eagle. Ethel M. Dell

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СКАЧАТЬ raising himself, and she saw the grim lines of his lean cheek and jaw.

      "That you, Muriel?" he said, speaking haltingly, spasmodically. "I'm awfully sorry. Fact is—I'm not well. I shall be—better—directly. Go back, won't you?"

      He broke off, and lay silent, his hands clenched as if he were in pain.

      Muriel stood looking down at him in consternation. It was her chance to escape—a chance that might never occur again—but she had no further thought of taking it.

      "What is it?" she asked him timidly, "Can I—do anything?"

      And then she suddenly saw what was the matter. It burst upon her—a startling revelation. Possibly the sight of those skeleton fists helped her to enlightenment. She turned swiftly and sped back to their camping ground.

      In thirty seconds or less, she was back again and stooping over him with a piece of brown bread in her hand.

      "Eat this," she ordered, in a tone of authority.

      Nick's face was hidden again. He seemed to be fighting with himself.

       His voice came at length, muffled and indistinct.

      "No, no! Take it away! I'll have a drain of brandy. And I've got some tobacco left."

      Muriel stooped lower. She caught the words though they were scarcely audible. She laid her hand upon his arm, stronger in the moment's emergency than she had been since leaving the fort.

      "You are to eat it," she said very decidedly. "You shall eat it. Do you hear, Nick? I know what is the matter with you. You are starving. I ought to have seen it before."

      Nick uttered a shaky laugh, and dragged himself up on to his elbows.

       "I'm not starving," he declared. "Take it away, Muriel. Do you think

       I'm going to eat your luncheon, tea, and dinner, and to-morrow's

       breakfast as well?"

      "You are going to eat this," she answered.

      He flashed her a glance of keen curiosity. "Am I?" he said.

      "You must," she said, speaking with an odd vehemence which later surprised herself. "Why should you go out of your way to tell me a lie? Do you think I can't see?"

      Nick raised himself slowly. Something in the situation seemed to have deprived him of his usual readiness. But he would not take the bread, would not even look at it.

      "I'm better now," he said. "We'll go back."

      Muriel stood for a second irresolute, then sharply turned her back. Nick sat and watched her in silence. Suddenly she wheeled. "There!" she said. "I've divided it. You will eat this at least. It's absurd of you to starve yourself. You might as well have stayed in the fort to do that."

      This was unanswerable. Nick took the bread without further protest. He began to eat, marvelling at his own docility; and suddenly he knew that he was ravenous.

      There was very little left when at length he looked up.

      "Show me what you have saved for yourself," he said.

      But Muriel backed away with a short, hysterical laugh.

      He started to his feet and took her rudely by the shoulder. "Do you mean to say—" he began, almost with violence; and then checked himself, peering at her with fierce, uncertain eyes.

      She drew away from him, all her fears returning upon her in a flood; but at her movement he set her free and turned his back.

      "Heaven knows what you did it for," he said, seeming to control his voice with some difficulty. "It wasn't for your own sake, and I won't presume to think it was for mine. But when the time comes for handing round rewards, may it be remembered that your offering was something more substantial than a cup of cold water."

      He broke off with a queer sound in the throat, and began to move away.

      But Muriel followed him, an unaccountable sense of responsibility overcoming her reluctance.

      "Nick!" she said.

      He stood still without turning. She had a feeling that he was putting strong restraint upon himself. With an effort she forced herself to continue.

      "You want sleep, I know. Will you—will you lie down while I watch?"

      He shook his head without looking at her.

      "But I wish it," she persisted. "I can wake you if—anything happens."

      "You wouldn't dare," said Nick.

      "I suppose that means you are afraid to trust me," she said.

      He turned at that. "It means nothing of the sort. But you've had one scare, and you may have another. I think myself that that fellow was a scout on the look-out for Bassett's advance guard. But Heaven only knows what brought him to this place, and there may be others. That's why I didn't dare to shoot."

      He paused, his light eyebrows raised, surveying her questioningly; for Muriel had suddenly covered her face with both hands. But in another moment she looked up again, and spoke with an effort.

      "Your being awake couldn't lessen the danger. Won't you—please—be reasonable about it? I am doing my best."

      There was a deep note of appeal in her voice, and abruptly Nick gave in.

      He moved back to their resting-place without another word, and flung himself face downwards beside the nest of fern that he had made for her, lying stretched at full length like a log.

      She had not expected so sudden and complete a surrender. It took her unawares, and she stood looking down at him, uncertain how to proceed.

      But after a few seconds he turned his head towards her and spoke.

      "You'll stay by me, Muriel?"

      "Of course," she answered, that unwonted sense of responsibility still strongly urging her.

      He murmured something unintelligible, and stirred uneasily. She knew in a flash what he wanted, but a sick sense of dread held her back. She felt during the silence that followed as though he were pleading with her, urging her, even entreating her. Yet still she resisted, standing near him indeed, but with a desperate reluctance at her heart, a shrinking unutterable from the bare thought of any closer proximity to him that was as the instinctive recoil of purity from a thing unclean.

      The horror of his deed had returned upon her over-whelmingly with his brief reference to it. His lack of emotion seemed to her as hideous callousness, more horrible than the deed itself. His physical exhaustion had called her out of herself, but the reaction was doubly terrible.

      Nick said no more. He lay quite motionless, hardly seeming to breathe, and she realised that there was no repose in his attitude. He was not even trying to rest.

      She wrung her hands together. It could not go on, this tension. Either she must yield to his unspoken desire, or he would sit СКАЧАТЬ