Before the cry had spent itself he was through the "chick," down the verandah steps at a bound, and bending over his unconscious wife. Her head had dropped down to one shoulder, and on the other ominous stains showed darkly in the half light. "Great God--_murder!_" Desmond muttered between his teeth. "What devil's work is this?" he added, turning upon the cowering jhampanis. "Ghazi, Sahib; Ghazi," they told him in eager chorus, with a childish mingling of excitement and terror; and would fain have enlarged upon their own valour in pursuing the Taker of Life, but that Desmond's curt "_chupraho_"[34] checked them in mid-career. [34] Be quiet. "Stay where you are, Honor," he added to the girl, who had followed him, and now stood at the head of the steps. "I am bringing her in." "Is she--alive?" "God knows. Look sharp and get some brandy." He took up one limp hand and laid his fingers on her wrist. A faint flutter of life rewarded him. "Thank Heaven!" he murmured; and lifted her tenderly in his arms. But at the foot of the steps he paused. "Nassur Ali--the Doctor Sahib. Ride like the wind!" Then turning again to the jhampanis, big with harrowing detail, added: "The devil who did this thing, hath he escaped?" "_Nahin_, _nahin_,[35] Sahib. Would your Honour's servants permit? The jackal spawn is even now in the hands of the police. May his soul burn in hell----" [35] No, no. "It is enough--go!" Desmond commanded in the peremptory vernacular; and mounted the steps with his burden. Honor stood awaiting him in the drawing-room, white as her dress, tears glistening on her cheeks and lashes, yet very composed withal. At sight of his face she started; it was grey-white and set like a rock. Only the eyes were alive--and ruthless, as she had never yet seen them, and prayed that she never might see them again. "They've got the man," he said between his teeth. "I wish to God I could shoot him with my own hand." Then he went forward to the sofa, and laid his wife upon it. His quick eye detected at once the nature of the wound. "Lung," he muttered mechanically. "No hope." With the same unnatural calmness, he drew the long pins out of her hat--the poor, pretty hat which had so delighted her six hours ago; and as she moved, with a small sound of pain, he applied the spirit to her lips. "What is it?" she murmured. "Don't touch me." The faint note of distaste struck on her husband's heart; for he did not understand its meaning. "Ladybird--look!" he entreated gently. "It is Theo." She opened her eyes, and gazed blankly up at him, where he leaned above her. Then, as recognition dawned, he saw the shadow of fear darken them, and instantly dropped on one knee enclosing her with his arm. "Ladybird, forgive me! You must never be frightened of me--never!" The intensity of his low tone roused her half-awakened brain. "But you were so angry, I was--afraid to come home."