r concealed.

"Yes. It is really I." Although he spoke calmly he was to the full as
agitated as she, and he could not keep his eager eyes from studying her
face, in which he found a dozen new beauties for which their separation
had not prepared him. She was a little thinner than he remembered her,
but the African sun had kissed her fine skin so warmly that any pallor
which might well distinguish her in these troublous days was effectually
disguised.

With an effort he relinquished her hand and spoke with well-simulated
indifference.

"It was by the merest chance that Sir Richard and I met in Port Said,"
he said. "I was taking a holiday--the first I've had for years"--he
smiled--"and was only too glad to see a familiar face in a strange
land."

"And you have given up your holiday to come to our help," she said in a
low voice. "You don't know how thankful I am to see you--but for your
own sake I wish you had not come."

"That's rather unkind," he said, with a smile. "Here have I been
flattering myself that you would welcome me--well, warmly--and you as
good as tell me I am not wanted!"

"Indeed I did not mean that." She too smiled, but quickly grew grave
again. "If you only knew _how_ glad I am to see you. We--we are in
rather a bad way here, you know, Dr. Anstice, and--and your help will be
valuable in more ways than one."

"I hope it may prove so," he said. Anstice and Hassan had made a
perilous, but successful, entry into the little Fort, pursued, it is
true, by a shower of bullets, for the Bedouins were armed with a strange
collection of weapons, ranging from antique long-barrelled guns to
modern rifles. "May I see him at once? The sooner the better, as I am
here at last."

"Yes. I want you to see him as soon as possible." Iris hesitated, and in
her eyes was the shadow of a haunting dread. "You will find him very
ill, I am afraid. We have done what we could--Mrs. Wood has been
splendid--but he doesn't seem to get any better. Of course in ordinary
circumstances we should not have dared to move him, but we had to do it,
and I am sure it has been very bad for him."

"Well, we must see what we can do now," said Anstice in as reassuring a
tone as he could muster. "Where is he? On this floor, I suppose?"

"Yes. Next door. One of the rooms which the artist used is furnished,
more or less, as a bedroom, and it is fairly comfortable. The other
rooms--this and the ones downstairs--are almost empty except for a few