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Updated: June 7, 2025
It was cruel that at the door of the dead or the dying there should be such levity. All at once a figure came between her and the light. Instinctively she knew it was Al'mah. "Al'mah! Al'mah!" she said painfully, and in a voice scarce above a whisper. The figure of the singing-woman bent over her protectingly, as it might almost seem, and her hands were caught in a warm clasp. "Am I in time?"
When Jasmine read the note Al'mah had sent her, a flush stole slowly over her face, and then faded, leaving a whiteness, behind which was the emanation, not of fear, but of agitation and of shock. It meant that Rudyard was dying, and that she must go to him. That she must go to him? Was that the thought in her mind that she must go to him? If she wished to see him again before he went!
Her eyes were big and brown like Stafford's; her face was a delicate oval, and her hair was a deep black, waving freely over a strong, broad forehead. It was her speech that betrayed her; otherwise she was little like the flower-girl that Adrian Fellowes had introduced to Al'mah, who had got her a place in the chorus of the opera and had also given her personal care and friendly help.
Into those eyes she had looked but once since the rescue, but all that was necessary of gratitude was said in that one glance: "You have saved Rudyard you, Ian," it said. With Al'mah it was different. In the light of the open door of the manager's office, she looked into Ian Stafford's face. "He saved my life, you remember," she said; "and you have saved his. I love you." "I love you!"
"She made Al'mah go and nurse Byng." "Al'mah," repeated Stafford mechanically. "Al'mah!" His mind rushed back to that night at the opera, when Rudyard had sprung from the box to the stage and had rescued Al'mah from the flames. The world had widened since then.
Al'mah was gently appreciative of the welcome she received from both Byng and Jasmine, and she prepared to sing. "Yes, I think I am in good voice," she said to Jasmine, presently. Then Rudyard went, giving his wife's arm a little familiar touch as he passed, and said: "Remember, we must have some patriotic things tonight. I'm sure Al'mah will feel so, too. Something really patriotic and stirring.
Then I asked Tynie, and he told me that well, all about her and Adrian Fellowes. Was Al'mah there? Did she give evidence?" "She was there to be called, if necessary," he responded, "but the coroner was very good about it. After the autopsy the authorities said evidence was unnecessary, and " "You arranged that, probably?" "Yes; it was not difficult. They were so stupid and so kind."
Al'mah shut her eyes for a moment, clinched her fingers, and became very pale; then she recovered herself, and turned her face towards the door, as though waiting for some one to come out. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Some bad case?" "Yes very bad," she replied. "One you've been attending?" "Yes." "What arm the artillery?" he asked with sudden interest. "Yes, the artillery."
No heed could be given now to Red Cross work, to ambulance, nurse, or surgeon. There would come a time for that, but not yet. Here were two races in a life-and-death grip; and there could be no give and take for the wounded or the dead until the issue of the day was closed. The woman who had come through the zone of fire was Al'mah. She had no right to be where she was.
She was foolish to go to him, but women do mad things, and they must not be expected to do the obviously sensible thing when the crisis of their lives has come. Stafford understood it all. One thing he was certain Jasmine did not know the intimacy between Fellowes and Al'mah. He himself had been tempted to speak of it in their terrible interview that morning; but he had refrained.
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