The Way of an Eagle Part 7

WHEN STRONG MEN FAIL

"Wake up!" said Nick softly. "Wake up! Don't be afraid."

But Muriel turned her face from the light with a moan. Memory winged with horror was sweeping back upon her, and she wanted never to wake again.

"Wake up!" Nick said again, and this time there was insistence in his voice. "Open your eyes, Muriel. There is nothing to frighten you."

Shuddering, she obeyed him. She was lying once more upon her couch of ferns, and he was stooping over her, looking closely into her face.

His eyes were extraordinarily bright, like the eyes of an eagle, but the lids flickered so rapidly that he seemed to be looking through her rather than at her. There was a wound upon his lower lip, and at the sight she shuddered again, closing her eyes. She remembered that the last time she had looked upon that face, it had been the face of a devil.

"Oh, go away! Go away!" she wailed. "Let me die!"

"I will go away," he answered swiftly, "if you will promise to drink what is in this cup."

He pressed it against her hand, and she took it almost mechanically.

"It is only brandy and water," he said. "You will drink it?"

"If I must," she answered weakly.

"You must," he rejoined, and she heard him rise and move away. She strained her ears to listen, but she very soon ceased to hear him; and then raising herself cautiously, she drank. A warm thrill of life ran through her veins with the draught, steadying her, refres.h.i.+ng her. But it was long before she could bring herself to look round.

The miniature roar of the stream was the only sound to be heard, and when at length she glanced downwards there was no sign anywhere of the ghastly spectacle she had just witnessed. She saw the rock behind which she had knelt, and again a violent fit of shuddering a.s.sailed her. What did that rock conceal?

Nevertheless she presently took courage to rise, looking about her furtively, half afraid that Nick might pop up at any moment to detain her. For she felt that she could not stay longer in that place, whatever he might say or do. The one idea that possessed her was to get away from him, to escape from his horrible presence, whither she neither knew nor cared. If he appeared to stop her then, she thought that she would go raving mad.

But she saw nothing of him as she stood there, and with deep relief she began to creep away. Half a dozen yards she covered, and then stood suddenly still with her heart in her throat. There, immediately in front of her, flung p.r.o.ne upon the ground with his face on his arms, was Nick. He did not move at her coming, did not seem to hear.

And the thought came to her to avoid him by a circuit, and yet escape.

But something--a queer, indefinable something--made her pause. Why was he lying there? Had he been hurt in that awful struggle? Was he--was he unconscious? Was he--dead?

She fought back the impulse to fly, not for its unworthiness, but because she felt that she must know.

Trembling, she moved a little nearer to the prostrate, motionless figure.

"Nick!" she whispered under her breath.

He made no sign.

Her doubt turned to sudden, overmastering fear that p.r.i.c.ked her forward in spite of herself.

"Nick!" she said again, and finding herself close to him she bent and very slightly touched his shoulder.

He moved then, and she almost gasped with relief. He turned his head sharply without 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, m.u.f.fled 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.