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The penumbra, dense and dark, was the virtual screen of a figure which stood in it as still as some image erect in a niche or as some black-vizored sentinel guarding a treasure. Brydon was to know afterwards, was to recall and make out, the particular thing he had believed during the rest of his descent.
He went out quickly to the little platform, and saw through the dusk a man drawing himself up. It was Brydon. He caught the old man's shoulders convulsively. "How is she?" he asked. "Come in, my son," was the low reply. The old man saw a grief greater than his own. He led the husband to the room where the wife lay beautiful and still. "She is better, as you see," he said bravely.
The Afghan chiefs had boasted that they would allow only one man to live, to warn the British to meddle no more with Afghanistan. Their boast seemed literally fulfilled. Only one man had traversed in safety that "valley of the shadow of death." Fortunately, there were more living than Dr. Brydon was aware of.
Corbett was busy setting a new batch of bread, and looked up with an exclamation of surprise when they walked into the kitchen, white with snow. It staggered Mrs. Corbett somewhat to see them together at that late hour, but she showed no surprise as she made Mrs. Brydon welcome. "I am going away, Mrs. Corbett," Evelyn began at once. "No bad news from home, is there?" Mrs. Corbett asked anxiously.
"Well, mebbe, I saved your life. For that I'm going to ask you to draw no more driftwood from the Madawaska not a stick, now or ever." "It is the only way we can keep from freezing in winter." Mr. Rupert scarcely knew what he said. Brydon looked at Judith, who turned away, then answered: "I'll keep you from freezing, if you'll let me, you and Judith."
They were not certain where he was. But when the mother took to her bed again, the young doctor said it was best that Brydon should come. Pierre had time and inclination to go for him. But before he went he was taken to Judith's bedside.
"But he's grim, he's worn and things have happened to him. He doesn't make shift, for sight, with your charming monocle." "No" it struck Brydon; "I couldn't have sported mine 'down-town. They'd have guyed me there." "His great convex pince-nez I saw it, I recognised the kind is for his poor ruined sight. And his poor right hand !" "Ah!"
"At sunrise to-morrow he goes." He tried to take her hand. "Oh, please, please," she pleaded, with a quick, protesting gesture. "Sunrise is far off, but the man's fate is near, and you must save him. You only can do so, for Doctor Hadley is away, and Doctor Brydon is sick, and in any case Doctor Brydon dare not attempt the operation alone. It is too critical and difficult, he says."
A revengeful, active enemy, bitter cold and driving snow overwhelmed them; and of that great multitude, only one officer, Dr Brydon, reached Jellalabad in safety. All the rest had died from cold or the sword of the enemy except those who had been delivered as hostages at the commencement of the retreat, or who had been taken prisoners; an account of whose release will be hereafter given.
It bristled there somewhere near at hand, however unseen still as the hunted thing, even as the trodden worm of the adage must at last bristle; and Brydon at this instant tasted probably of a sensation more complex than had ever before found itself consistent with sanity.
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