Then his comprehension returned. Still weak and shaken, yet greatly
benefited by his sleep, he took a few steps toward the door. Where was
the girl? Was he alone? What could all this mean?
"Beatrice! Oh, Beatrice!" he called thickly, in guarded tones. "Where
are you? Answer me!"
"Here--coming!" he heard her voice. And then he saw her, dimly, in the
doorway.
"What is it? Where have you been? How long have I been asleep?"
She did not answer his questions, but came quickly to him, took his
hand, and with her own smoothed his brow.
"Better, now?" asked she.
"Lots! I'll be all right in a little while. It's nothing. But what
have _you_ been doing all this time?"
"Come, and I'll show you." She led him toward the other room.
He followed, in growing wonder.
"No attack, yet?"
"None. But the drums have been beating for a long time now. Hear
_that?_"
They listened. To them drifted a dull, monotonous sound, harbinger of
war.
Stern laughed bitterly, chokingly, by reason of his thirst.
"Much good their orchestra will do them," said he, "when it comes to
facing soft-nosed .38's! But tell me, what was it you were going to
show me?"
Quickly she went over to their crude table, took up a dish and came
back to him.
"Drink this!" bade she.
He took it, wondering.
"What? _Coffee?_ But--"
"Drink! I've had mine, already. Drink!"
Half-stupefied, he obeyed. He drained the whole dish at a draft, then
caught his breath in a long sigh.
"But this means water!" cried he, with renewed vigor. "And--?"
"Look here," she directed, pointing. There on the circular hearth
stood the copper kettle, three-quarters full.
"Water! You've got _water?_" He started forward in amazement. "While
I've been sleeping? Where--?"
She laughed with real enjoyment.
"It's nothing," she disclaimed. "After what you've done for me, this
is the merest trifle, Allan. You know that big cavity made by the
boiler-explosion? Yes? Well, when we looked down into it, before we
ventured out to the spring, I noticed a good deal of water at the
bottom, stagnant water, that had run out of the boiler and settled on
the hard clay floor and in among the cracked cement. I just merely
brought up some, and strained and boiled it, that's all. So you see--"
"But, my Lord!" burst out the man, "d'you mean to say you--you went
down _there--alone?_"
Once more the girl laughed.
"Not alone," she answered. "One of the automatics was kind enough to
bear me company. Of course the main stairway was impassable. But I
found another way, off through the east end of the building and down
some stairs we haven't used at all, yet. They may be useful, by the
way, in case of--well--a retreat. Once I'd reached the arcade, the
rest was easy. I had that leather rope tied to the kettle handle, you
see. So all I had to do was--"
"But the Horde! The Horde?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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