"Nothing," I replied with a melancholy regularity.
Once only she broke through her reserve--through the habit of bearing pain in silence which she had acquired by being so much among dying men.
"Have you no opinion?" she asked, with a sharpness in her voice which I forgave as I heard it.
"Upon what subject?"
"Upon... the chances."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"He is a good man--there is no better in India--that is all I can say.
Just hold the candle a little closer, will you, please? Thanks--yes--he is quite dead."
We pa.s.sed on to the next bed.
"It is both his duty and his inclination to take care of himself," I said as we went--going back with her in the spirit to Capoo.
"How do you know it is his inclination?" she asked guardedly.
And I knew that I was on the right path. The vague message given to "any one" by Fitz as he rode by my side that night--only a week before, although it seemed to be months--that message was intended for Elsie. It referred to something that had gone before, of which I had no knowledge.
"Because he told me so," I answered.
And then we went on with our work. Charlie Thurkow was quite right. I knew that all along. It was not fit for her. Elsie was too young, too gentle and delicate for such a place as ward number four. I make no mention of her beauty, for I took no heed of it then. It was there--but it had nothing to do with this matter. Also I have never seen why women who are blessed or cursed by beauty should be more considered in such matters, as they undoubtedly are.
I was up and about all that night. The next morning rose gloomily, as if the day was awakening unrefreshed by a feverish sleep. The heat had been intense all night, and we could look for nothing but an intensification of it when the sun rose with a tropical aggressiveness. I wanted to get my reports filled in before lying down to s.n.a.t.c.h a little rest, and was still at work when Charlie Thurkow came in to relieve me. He looked ghastly, but we all did that, and I took no notice. He took up the ward-sheets and glanced down the columns.
"Wish I had gone to Capoo," he muttered. "It couldn"t have been worse than this."
I had finished my writing, and I rose. As I did so Charlie suddenly clapped his hand to his hip.
"I say!" he exclaimed, "I say!"
He looked at me in a stupid way, and then suddenly he tottered towards me, and I caught him.
"Old chap!" he exclaimed thickly, with his face against my shoulder, "I"ve got it. Take me to number four."
He had seen by the list that there was a vacant cot in number four.
I carried him there, stumbling as I went, for I was weak from want of sleep.
Elsie had just gone to her room, and Mrs. Martin was getting the vacant bed ready. I was by that bedside all day. All that I knew I did for Charlie Thurkow. I dosed myself with more than one Indian drug to stimulate the brain--to keep myself up to doing and thinking. This was a white man"s life, and G.o.d forgive me if I set undue store upon it as compared with the black lives we were losing daily. This was a brain that could think for the rest. There was more than one man"s life wrapped up in Charlie Thurkow"s. One can never tell. My time might come at any moment, and the help we had sent for could not reach us for another fortnight.
Charlie said nothing. He thanked me at intervals for some little service rendered, and nearly all the time his eyes were fixed upon the clock. He was reckoning with his own life. He did not want to die in the day, but in the night. He was deliberately spinning out his life till the night nurse came on duty. I suppose that in his superficial, happy-go-lucky way he loved her.
I pulled him through that day, and we managed to refrain from waking Elsie up. At nightfall she came to her post. When she came into the room I was writing a note to the brigadier. I watched her face as she came towards us. There was only distress upon it--nothing else. Even women--even beautiful women grow callous; thank Heaven! Charlie Thurkow gave a long sigh of relief when she came.
My note was duly sent to the brigadier, and five minutes afterwards I went out on to the verandah to speak to him. I managed to keep him out of the room by a promise that he should be sent for later. I made no pretence about it, and he knew that it was only the question of a few hours when he walked back across the palace square to his quarters. I came back to the verandah, and found Elsie waiting to speak to me.
"Will he die?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Quite sure?"
There was a strange glitter in her eyes which I could not understand.
"Quite," I answered, forgetting to be professional. She looked at me for a moment as if she were about to say something, and then she apparently decided not to say it.
I went towards a long chair which stood on the verandah.
"I shall lie down here," I said, "and sleep for an hour."
"Yes, do," she answered almost gratefully.
"You will wake me if you want me?"
"Yes."
"Wake me when... the change comes."
"Yes."
In a few moments I was asleep. I do not know what woke me up. It seemed to be very late. All the sounds of barrack life were hushed. The moon was just up. I rose to my feet and turned to the open window. But there I stopped.
Elsie was kneeling by Charlie Thurkow"s bed. She was leaning over him, and I could see that she was kissing him. And I knew that she did not love him.
I kicked against the chair purposely. Elsie turned and looked towards me, with her hand still resting on Charlie Thurkow"s forehead. She beckoned me to go to them, and I saw at once that he was much weaker.
She was stroking his hair gently. She either gave me credit for great discernment, or she did not care what I thought.
I saw that the time had come for me to fulfil my promise to the brigadier, and went out of the open window to send one of the sentinels for him. As I was speaking to the man I heard the clatter of a horse"s feet, and a Sikh rode hard into the palace square. I went towards him, and he, recognizing me, handed me a note which he extracted from the folds of his turban. I opened the paper and read it by the light of the moon. My heart gave a leap in my throat. It was from Fitz. News at last from Capoo.
"We have got it under," he wrote. "I am coming down to help you. Shall be with you almost as soon as the bearer."
As I walked back towards the hospital the brigadier came running behind me, and caught me up as I stepped in by the window. I had neither time nor inclination just then to tell him that I had news from Capoo. The Sikh no doubt brought official news which would reach their destination in due course. And in the mean time Charlie Thurkow was dying.
We stood round that bed and waited silent, emotionless for the angel.
Charlie knew only too well that the end was very near. From time to time he smiled rather wearily at one or the other of us, and once over his face there came that strange look of a higher knowledge which I have often noted, as if he knew something that we did not--something which he had been forbidden to tell us.
While we were standing there the matting of the window was pushed aside, and Fitz came softly into the dimly lighted room. He glanced at me, but attempted no sort of salutation. I saw him exchange a long silent look with Elsie, and then he took his station at the bedside next to Elsie, and opposite to the brigadier, who never looked up.
Charlie Thurkow recognized him, and gave him one of those strangely patronizing smiles. Then he turned his sunken eyes towards Elsie. He looked at her with a gaze that became more and more fixed. We stood there for a few minutes--then I spoke.
"He is dead," I said.
The brigadier raised his eyes and looked across to Fitz. For a second these two men looked down into each other"s souls, and I suppose Fitz had his reward. I suppose the brigadier had paid his debt in full. I had been through too many painful scenes to wish to prolong this. So I turned away, and a general move was the result.