If the regiment got back in time--"
"The regiment will not get back in time," Margaret Caruthers interrupted.
"There are ten men guarding the gate against Heaven knows how many
thousand. Do you expect a miracle? No, no. We are a people who dance best
at the edge of a crater, and if a few, like ourselves, get swallowed up
now and again, it can not be helped. It is the penalty."
"If only Harry would come!" Christine moaned, heedless of this cold
philosophy. "But he will keep his promise, won't he? He won't let us fall
into those cruel hands? You remember what happened at Calcutta--"
"Hush! Don't frighten yourself and me!" exclaimed Margaret impatiently.
"Does it comfort you to hold my hand? Well, hold it, then. How strange you
are! I thought you weren't afraid."
"I shan't be when the time comes--but it's so very lonely. Don't you feel
it? Are you made of stone?"
Margaret Caruthers set her teeth hard.
"I would to God I were!" she said. All at once she wrenched her hand free
and pointed with it. Her arm, stretched out into the light, had a curious,
ghostly effect. "Look!" she cried.
The red eye winked rapidly in succession, once, twice, three times, and
then closed--this time for ever. An instant later two dark spots darted
out into the brightly lighted space and came at headlong pace toward them.
Christine sprang to her feet, and the two women clung to each other,
obeying for that one moment the instinct which can bind devil to saint.
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