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Michael was very much annoyed; and after that we took to signing our telegrams 'Veritas, which means: 'This is really from me." "Just think!" said Ronnie. "He, a prisoner; and we, all marching away! But I remember now, we always suspected prisoners had been taken at Targai. And positive proofs of Lord Ingleby's death were difficult to well, don't you know to find.
This afternoon he knows for the first time that I am Lady Ingleby of Shenstone. And, boys, the shock has been too much for him. He is such a splendid man; but a dear delightful cowboy sort of person. He has lived a great deal abroad, and been everything you can imagine that bestrides a horse and does brave things. He finished up at your horrid little war, and got fever at Targai.
The yelling swearing Tommies, making up for the long enforced silence and inaction; the hordes of dark devilish faces, leering in their fury, and jeering at our discomfiture; for inside their outer wall, was a rampart of double the strength, and we were no nearer taking Targai. "Afterwards if I hadn't owned up at once to my mistake, nobody would have known how the thing had happened.
The Sergeant was a fine fellow, and superior but, good Lord! Her husband! Yet girls of eighteen do foolish things, and repent ever after. A runaway match from an unhappy home; then cast off by her relations, and now left friendless and alone. But Sergeant O'Mara! Yet no other O'Mara fell at Targai; and there was some link between him and Lord Ingleby.
The doctor unfolded the War Office message. Regret to report Sergeant O'Mara killed in assault on Targai yesterday. "He was a good husband," said Margaret O'Mara, simply; "and we were very happy." The doctor held out his hand. "I am proud to have met you, Mrs. O'Mara. This seems to me the bravest thing I have ever known a woman do." She smiled through her tears.
We certainly must not let Deryck know that Jim Airth what a nice name was at Targai. He would move you on, promptly. Report again next week; and do abide, if necessary, beneath the safe chaperonage of the cameo brooch. Yours, in all fidelity, JANE DALMAIN.
Jim Airth had but one question to ask. He asked it, without lifting his head. "Who is Mrs. O'Mara?" "She is the widow of Sergeant O'Mara who fell at Targai. We both lost our husbands in that disaster, Jim. She had been for many years my maid-attendant. When she married the sergeant, a fine soldier whom Michael held in high esteem, I wished still to keep her near me.
"Reported death a mistake. Taken prisoner Targai. Escaped. Arrived Cairo. Large bribes and rewards to pay. Cable five hundred pounds to Cook's immediately. "Michael Veritas." "Great Scot!" said Ronnie again. Billy said nothing; but his eyes never left Lady Ingleby's radiant face. "Think what it will mean to Jim Airth," she repeated. "Er yes," said Ronnie.
Later on, details of Lord Ingleby's death came to hand, and his widow had to learn that he had fallen at the attempt upon Targai, it is true but the victim of an accident; losing his life, not at the hands of the savage enemy, but through the unfortunate blunder of a comrade.
My husband was a very good man; kind and patient, beyond words, towards me. But I often vaguely felt I was missing the Best in life. Now I know I was." "How long have you been How long has he been dead?" The deep voice was so tender, that the question could bring no pain. "Seven months," replied Lady Ingleby. "My husband was killed in the assault on Targai."
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