want to alarm the
women."

"Quite so." Garnett squared his shoulders and plunged pluckily into the
discussion. "I should suggest you go fairly early, as soon as the moon's
up--so that with luck you'd be back before the enemy start prowling
round. The well is a mile away, in a westerly direction." He pointed
as he spoke. "And there is not much cover when once you get fairly
out ... though I don't think there is a very great risk of the brutes
spotting you."

"How long should it take me to get there and back?"

"Well, walking over sand is not like walking on macadam," said Garnett
practically, "and I don't suppose you could do the job under an hour or
two. Besides, you may have to dodge the brutes now and then," he added
regretfully; and again Anstice could not refrain from smiling.

"Well, that's settled, then. The moon rises about seven, doesn't it? And
if I get off soon after that----"

"That would do tophole. And we can easily spin a yarn to the rest," said
Garnett more cheerfully. "In the meantime let's go and get something to
eat. I'm famished."

The suggestion meeting with Anstice's approval they adjourned in search
of food; and found Iris coming to look for them with tidings of a meal.
When they had taken their seats at the improvised table, Iris quietly
withdrew; and Anstice guessed she had returned to her place by the side
of her husband--a place she had relinquished for an hour only during the
whole of the strenuous day.

When, a little later, he went to see Cheniston again, he was dismayed to
find an ominous change in his patient.

Bruce had indeed the air of a man at the point of death; and as he
looked at the wasted features, the sunken eyes, the grey shadows which
lay over the whole face, transforming it into a mere mask, Anstice told
himself bitterly that all his care had been in vain; that before morning
broke there would be one soul the less in their pitiful little company.

He bent over the bed and spoke gently; but Cheniston was too ill to pay
any heed; and with a sigh Anstice stood upright and turned to Iris
rather helplessly.

"Mrs. Cheniston"--he forced himself to speak truthfully--"I am afraid
your husband is no better. In fact"--he hesitated, hardly knowing how to
put his fears into words--"I think--perhaps--you must be prepared for
the worst."

"You mean he will die?" She spoke steadily, though her eyes looked
suddenly afraid. "Dr. Anstice, is there no hope? Can _you_ do nothing
mo