m. "It'll be no less
than a miracle if she lasts through the night."

"Have you told him that?" Wyndham asked in a voice of stunned quietness.

"Man alive, no! 'Twould be no mortal use. _He_ won't give up hope
till the last nail's in her coffin." Paul winced visibly, and by way
of atonement for his bluntness, the other made haste to add: "If
there's the remotest chance of pulling her through, Desmond 'll do it.
You may swear to that. The man's just one concentrated, incarnate
purpose."

Wyndham set his lips, and turned away: and the Scotchman stood eyeing
him keenly.

"What sort of a tiffin did you have?" he asked with rough kindliness.

"Oh, I don't know. Nothing much."

"I thought so. Eat a good dinner, man. Starvation's no use to any
one, and I don't want to have you back on my hands."

With that he departed, and Wyndham had just decided on filling another
pipe, since some pretence at occupation was imperative, when Meredith
entered unannounced.

A glance at his face showed Paul that he knew, and believed the worst;
and for a moment they confronted one another in mute dismay. The
Englishman's inability to put his heart into words has its pathetic
aspect at times. These two men were linked by years of mutual work,
and immediate mutual pain: yet Wyndham merely laid down his pipe and
asked; "Have you seen Mackay?"

"Yes. Met him on my way here. I'm going in to her at once."

And Paul, picking up the discarded pipe, looked after him with envy and
hunger in his eyes.

Meredith knocked at the bedroom door.

"Who's there?" Desmond's voice came sharp as a challenge.

"John."

"Come in, then."

And he went in.

The room was large, lofty, and very simply furnished. With the
leisurely swaying of the punkah, light and shadow flitted across the
wide, low bed, on one side of which Honor lay, warmly covered with
blankets, her breath coming in laboured gasps. Desmond knelt by her;
and, on Meredith's entrance, set down the feeding-cup, but because her
hand was on his coat-sleeve, he did not change his position, or rise
from his knees. She held out the other to Meredith, But it fell
limply before he could reach her.

"John . . dear," she greeted him in a husky whisper. "I'm so glad.
Sit near me . . here."

He obeyed, seating himself on the unoccupied part of the bed; and
taking up her hand, cherished it between both his own. It was cold and
clammy, the finger-tips wrinkled like a washerwoman