For a second there was a breathing-space; and Anstice turned to Iris with gleaming eyes.
"My God, you have a nerve!" His breath was coming in quick pants. "Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you--I never dreamed that even you would be so plucky."
"It wasn't pluck--it was just--obedience," she said, and though her face was very pale she smiled bravely up at him. "Dr. Anstice, are there--many more to come? You have disabled a good many, haven't you?"
"Between us, yes." He was cool again now, and picked up his revolver as he spoke. "They seem to be hanging back a bit--and to judge by the row Garnett's making I should say he's doing pretty well too."
Bang! A bullet whizzed suddenly by Iris' head; and Anstice pulled her hastily into a safer place.
"Here they come back again!" His tone was almost boyishly gleeful. "Well, we're ready for 'em--eh, Hassan?"
The Arab, who was firing as steadily as though at a pigeon-shooting match, nodded, his white teeth flashing out in a merry grin; and as the Bedouins, taking heart, recommenced their attack, the two men, native and Englishman, turned back to their task with renewed vigour.
Neither Iris nor Anstice ever had a very clear recollection of the next ten minutes. It was an inferno, a babel, a confusion of shots and yells and angry clamour; but beyond a slight, flesh wound sustained by Hassan neither of the defenders sustained any casualties; and had their ammunition been as plentiful as their courage was high there would have been no doubt as to the ultimate issue.
Suddenly Anstice turned to Iris with a question on his lips; and her face paled as she replied: "Not much, now. I think--only enough for three more rounds." She spoke steadily.
"I see. And then----" He broke off, handing her the empty revolver he held.
"And then?" She breathed the question softly; but there was no fear in her face.
"And then--I am not quite clear what happens then." He looked at her more searchingly. "Mrs. Cheniston, what do you say--then? I'm ready, as you know, to die for you, but"--he paused, then resumed in a rather hoarse tone--"if I die what will become of you? I suppose"--he faltered, and his lips were dry, but some inward impulse drove him on--"I suppose you would not wish me to--save--a last cartridge...."
"For me?" Her smile, as she faced him, was splendid. "No, Dr. Anstice, I'm not afraid to die, if I must, at the hands of our enemies. But I will not accept death--from you."