It was on the afternoon of the following day that a new and serious complication arose.

The night had passed without incident of any kind; and shortly after sunrise the little party met to compare notes of their respective vigils.

All through the night Anstice had come and gone by Cheniston's bedside; but although there was no improvement in his patient's condition, neither did he seem to have progressed any further into the grim Valley of the Shadow; and although this extreme weakness and prostration were ominous enough, Anstice still cherished that very faint, very timid hope which had been born on the previous night.

He had never wished so fervently for the power to save a life as in this particular case. Gone was all remembrance of the former ill-feeling between them, of the unfair and cruel bargain which this man had forced upon him to the utter destruction of his life's happiness. He forgot that Bruce Cheniston had been unjust, callous, a very Shylock in his eager grasping of his pound of flesh; and he remembered only that this man had won Iris' love, and thereby established his claim to any service which the man who had also loved Iris might reasonably bestow.

The fact that Iris must needs be adversely affected by her husband's death was sufficient in itself to rouse his wish to save Cheniston's life if that life could be saved; and during the day, when the vigil of the little garrison might be relaxed, he was assiduous in his care of the man who lay so desperately ill in the quiet room overlooking the sun-baked desert.

Only once Cheniston roused himself sufficiently to hold a few minutes' laboured conversation with Anstice; and afterwards the latter was not perfectly certain of Bruce's complete understanding of the words he used.

"Iris—how is she?" His voice was so weak that Anstice could barely hear it; but he guessed what it was that the other man wished to ask; and answered at once:

"Mrs. Cheniston is quite well—only a little tired. She is lying down for an hour, but if you want her I'll go and call her."

"No. Don't disturb her," said Bruce feebly; and then, after a pause, he uttered the words which, later, seemed to Anstice a reflection on his perfect mental poise at the moment. "Poor little Iris—it wasn't fair to marry her—I wish to God I'd left her—to you."

For a minute Anstice sat silent, absolutely stunned by this extraordinary statement; and before he could speak the weak voice began again.

"You loved her—so did I—in a way—but I've never really loved anyone—but—Hilda Ryder." The unconscious pathos in his tone robbed the words of all offence. "But she's a dear little soul—Iris—and I only wish I'd not been beast enough—to marry her—to spite you——" The thin voice trailed away into a whisper and Anstice spoke resolutely.

"See here, Cheniston, you're ill and you don't know what you're saying. Don't talk any more, there's a good chap. You only tire yourself out to no purpose."

But with the perversity of fever Cheniston would not be gainsaid.

"I'm all—right." His hollow voice and laboured breath gave the lie to his assertion. "But—if I die—and the rest of you get out alive—you—you'll look after Iris, won't you? I wish you'd—marry her—you'd be good to her—and she would soon—be fond—of you——"

Somehow Anstice could bear no more. With a hasty movement he sprang up, and in his voice was a decision against which Cheniston in his weakness could not hope to prevail.

"See here, Cheniston, you've just got to lie still and keep quiet. You know"—his manner softened—"you're really not fit to talk. Do try to get a little sleep—you'll feel so much stronger if you do."

"I feel—very weak." He spoke with an evident effort, and Anstice repented him of his vehemence. With a gentleness Iris herself could not have surpassed he did all in his power to make Cheniston as easy as possible; and when, presently, the latter relapsed into the stupor which passed with him for sleep, Anstice left him, to go in search of Mrs. Wood, who had promised to take charge of him for an hour or two.

A few minutes later he encountered Garnett, walking moodily along the uneven passage-way; and a new seriousness in the Australian's expressive face gave Anstice pause.

"What's up, eh? You look mighty solemn all of a sudden!"

"I feel it, too." The younger man turned round and his eyes looked grim. "Do you know what those damned Bedouins have been up to now? I believe, and so does Hassan, that they've been poisoning the well out there"—he pointed through the slit in the wall to the courtyard beneath—"and if so we've not got a drop of water we can drink."

"I don't believe it." Honestly he did not. Although he had no cause to love the Oriental race he was loth to believe even an uncivilized foe capable of such barbarity.

"As sure as God made little apples, it's true." Garnett was in no wise offended by Anstice's uncompromising rejoinder. "Hassan and I both thought we saw a fellow sneaking in the courtyard last night—just before dawn—when it was too mighty dark to see much; but as he sheered off we didn't give the alarm. But it seems Hassan is pretty well acquainted with their charming tricks, and he was suspicious from the first."

"But was this beggar prowling round by the well?"

"We couldn't see much, but this morning Hassan investigated and found footmarks on the sand leading directly to and from the well; and he is convinced that is what the brute was doing."

"How much water have we left?"

"Well, that's the very devil of it," said Garnett ruefully "It seems we had a fair quantity—you know it all has to be brought from that same old well—but that silly little Rosa thought this morning that she'd like a bath, so without asking permission she tipped it all into a kind of tin tub there was on the premises and performed her ablutions therein."

"Well, I confess I don't blame her," said Anstice rather dryly. "I feel as if I'd give a fiver for a bath myself—this damned sand makes one so infernally gritty."

"Just so—and the tin basin we wash in—in turns—isn't exactly luxurious!" Garnett's eyes twinkled. "All the same, things look pretty serious on the water question. We must have water—unfortunately the desert thirst is no fancy picture—I'm like a lime-kiln myself at this moment—but if the well is poisoned, and Hassan seems convinced it is, we can't drink the water, can we?"

"Certainly not." Anstice hoped his voice did not betray his dismay at this disclosure. "Where's the nearest well—outside of here?"

"Over in the village—or rather, there's one outside the village which would be less public." Garnett laughed a little. "But I don't quite see how we're going to fetch water from it. You know the beggars are keeping a pretty smart lookout—and if they caught sight of one of us sallying forth we'd be potted as sure as a gun. And every available man is wanted here."

"I suppose"—Anstice had been thinking—"I suppose it would be quite impossible to get out by the rocky side? I mean could one possibly climb down? The Bedouins don't seem to guard that side, and one would be in the desert, well away from their band."

"Yes—but I doubt if it would be feasible. Unless—what about a rope? I saw a great coil of rope in one of the dungeons downstairs this morning." A new alertness leaped into his bright eyes. "I say, let's go and reconnoitre, shall we? It would be great to outwit the beasts after all!"

"Right! Where shall we go and scout?"

"Place opposite—the only one with a decent-sized hole in the wall—have to find a place one could squeeze through, I suppose—and I'm such an infernally broad chap, too!"

Anstice laughed.

"Well, I'm pretty long," he said, still smiling. "Lead on, will you—oh, this is the place, is it?"

They had entered a small circular chamber which had evidently been used for the purpose of scanning the desert far below in search of possible foes; for the aperture in the wall which corresponded to a modern window was much larger than any of the other slits in the building; and Anstice and the Australian were able, by a little man[oe]uvring, to lean out side by side and view the prospect beneath.

"Pretty fair drop, eh?" From his tone Garnett was in no wise daunted by the sight.

"Yes—want a steady head. But it could be done," said Anstice judicially. "A long rope—a precious long one, too—fastened to something up here, and one could clamber down all right. And once down it should be easy to skirt round to the well you mentioned. That's settled, then, and since you're disabled"—he glanced at the other's bandaged arm—"this is going to be my job."

"Oh, I say, that's not fair!" The other's tone of indignation amused Anstice even at that critical moment. "It was my suggestion, wasn't it? Oh, I believe you did say something about it too ... but I think I ought to be the one to go."

"But your arm——"

"Oh, damn my arm!" Garnett spoke vehemently. "It won't hurt it a scrap—and honestly, I'd simply love the job!"

"I know you would—but really you'll have to let me do it." Anstice spoke firmly, though he was sorry for the other man's disappointment. "You see that arm of yours is badly hurt, though you won't own up to it; and it might easily go back on you when you started using it. And if you got stuck down there, we'd have no water, and be a man short here as well."

For another minute the Australian held out, arguing the point with a kind of fiery eloquence which showed how keenly he desired to undertake the adventure; but in the end he gave way, though he was too unsophisticated entirely to hide his chagrin.

"Then that's settled." Anstice dared not betray his sympathy any further. "Now it remains to settle the details; and by the way, wouldn't it be wise to keep it as quiet as possible? We don't 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 more for him?"

"There is so little to be done," he said. "Believe me, I have tried every means in my power, but you know my resources here are so limited, and in those surroundings—if I had been here a week earlier, I might have done something; but as things are——"

"Oh, I know—I know you have done all you could!" She feared her words had sounded ungracious. "Only—Bruce is so young—he has never been ill before——"

"Ah, yes, but everything has been against him—the climate for one thing—and of course the forced removal was about the last thing he should have had to endure." Anstice longed to comfort her as she stood before him, looking oddly young and wistful in her distress, but honesty forbade him to utter words of hope, knowing as he did what might well take place during the coming night.

"You think he will die—to-night?" Her eyes, tearless as they were, demanded the truth; and after a secondary hesitation Anstice replied candidly:

"I am very much afraid he may." He turned aside when he had spoken, that he might not see her face; and for a long moment there was a silence between them which Anstice, for one, could not have broken.

Then Iris sighed very faintly.

"If that is so, you—you won't leave us, will you? I think—I could bear it better if you were here."

Anstice's vehement promise to stay with her was suddenly cut short as he remembered the venture which was planned for the early hours of the coming night; and Iris' quick wits showed her that some project was afoot which would prevent him comforting her by his constant presence. Yet so sore was her need of him, so ardently did she desire the solace which he alone could bring her, that she was moved to a wistful entreaty that was strangely unlike herself.

"Dr. Anstice, you—you will stay? If—if anything happens to Bruce, I shall be so—so lonely——"

Never had Anstice so rebelled against the fate which had given her to another man as in this moment when she stood before him, her face pale with dread, her wide eyes filled with something not unlike absolute terror as she faced the coming shadow which was to engulf her life. He would have given the world to have the right to take her in his arms, to kiss the colour back to those white cheeks, the security to the quivering mouth. This was the first favour she had ever asked at his hands, the first time she had thrown herself, as it were, on his mercy; and he must refuse her even the meagre boon she asked of him.

But Anstice was only mortal; and he could not refuse without giving her the true reason of his refusal, although he and Garnett had agreed that the undertaking of the night should be kept a secret lest the rest of the little party be rendered nervous and uncomfortable by his absence. The feelings of the other women were nothing to him, compared with those of the girl he still loved with all the strength of his soul and heart; and he could not have borne to let her think him callous, regardless of her fears, content to leave her to pass through what must be one of the darkest hours of her life alone.

Very gently he told her of the discovery Garnett and Hassan had made; with the subsequent unhappy certainty of a water famine; and Iris had been in Egypt long enough to know that in this desert waste of sun and sand the lack of water and its attendant evil, thirst, were the most fruitful sources of tragedy in the Egyptian land.

"You mean there is no water left?" She spoke very quietly, and he answered her in the same tone.

"No—at least barely a bottleful. The rest was used for making coffee for us all just now. And this remaining drop must be reserved for your husband, in case he calls for it. Besides, there is to-morrow——" He stopped short, with a tragic foreboding that there would be no morrow on earth for the man who lay dying beneath their eyes.

"Yes. As you say, there is to-morrow. And"—her voice was low—"I suppose there is no hope of rescue before to-morrow night at earliest?"

"I am afraid not before the following dawn." Somehow he could not lie to Iris. "And since we must have water it is plain one of us must go and get it."

"Go? Outside the Fort?" Her face blanched still further. "But it—would be madness to venture out—you would be seen—and shot—at once...."

"Ah, but you haven't heard the plan Garnett and I have evolved!" He spoke more lightly, though his voice was still low. "Listen, and tell me if you approve of our strategy!"

He rapidly outlined their plan of campaign, making as light of the perils of the undertaking as possible; and Iris listened breathlessly, her eyes on his face the while.

When he had finished she spoke very quietly.

"Dr. Anstice, I think it is a terribly reckless thing to attempt, and if I thought only of myself—or of you—I should beg you not to go. But as you say, there are the others—the child for one—and if help should be delayed the lack of water would be—serious."

"So you approve the plan?" He felt unreasonably glad that she did not altogether condemn the idea, since, as go he must, he would certainly go more happily with her approval.

"I shall be terribly anxious all the while," she said simply, "but you are a brave man. Dr. Anstice, and I do not believe God will let you suffer for your courage."

"Then I am to go? You will not mind being left alone?"

"No. I think—perhaps—I shall be a little—afraid—if Bruce dies while you are gone"—a shiver passed through her as she spoke the fatal words—"but I will try to be brave."

"Mrs. Wood will come and sit here with you," said Anstice quickly; but Iris shook her head.

"No, she is asleep just now, and I won't awaken her. You know she has been so anxious about poor little Molly to-day." The child had indeed been feverish and ailing of late. "But after all, we may be alarming ourselves unnecessarily, mayn't we? You—you're not certain that Bruce will die?"

And because he could not bear to see the terror in her face, hear the quiver of dread in her voice, Anstice lied at last.

"No—I may be wrong after all," he said. "In any case I am not going yet. I will stay here till the last possible moment. Look—his eyes are open—come and sit here, where he can see you without moving his head."

And as she obeyed without a word Anstice took up his own position opposite to her where he could watch every change in the grey face of the man who had once been his enemy, but was now only a fellow-creature in the grip of the mightiest enemy of all.

It was nearly ten o'clock before Anstice started on his perilous adventure.

Shortly before the time fixed for his departure little Molly Wood had been taken alarmingly ill, with severe pains in her head and a high temperature, and Anstice had spent an anxious hour beside her improvised bed before he had the satisfaction of seeing her sink into a quiet sleep beneath the remedies he employed, and when, leaving the distracted mother to watch her slumbers, he had crept into Cheniston's room, he had found Bruce still desperately ill, and Iris paler and yet more wan beneath the stress of the position in which she found herself.

It was only the imperative need of water which nerved Anstice to leave her alone, but he knew perfectly well that it would be impossible to procure any water in daylight, and though Mr. Wood would certainly have volunteered to make the attempt in his place, had he known the circumstances, Anstice had discovered, by a casual word let drop by his wife, that the clergyman suffered from a long-standing weakness of the heart which would have prevented him carrying through the project successfully.

Plainly he must be the one to go, for Hassan, whom they had been forced, through stress of circumstance, to take into their confidence, had absolutely refused to brave the perils of the journey and the dangling rope, and since he must be back at his post as soon after midnight as possible, Anstice steeled his heart and bade Iris good-bye with a stoical calm which did not deceive her in the least.

"Keep up your courage, Mrs. Cheniston." He laid his hand gently on her arm. "I'll be back in an hour or so—and in the meantime, if there should be any change, you will do exactly as I have told you." He had already given her full directions. "Remember, no one but Mr. Garnett and Hassan knows of my absence, so don't be surprised if I'm supposed to be asleep somewhere."

"No. But"—she put her own right hand over his as he gently clasped her arm—"you're sure there is no one but you to go? Is Mr. Wood too old?"

"No—but his heart is affected, and the climb would be dangerous. And Hassan, though he's behaved like a brick up to now, funks the climb." His tone was good-naturedly contemptuous. "As for Garnett, he's longing to go—can't quite forgive me for shoving him out—but his arm won't stand it; so plainly I am the one to go."

"Then go—and God be with you," she said very gently, and in her eyes Anstice saw once again the look of mingled strength and tenderness whose possibility he had divined long ago on the occasion of their first meeting on that sunlit morning on the steps of Cherry Orchard.

And with the words ringing in his ears he set forth upon his quest.