She stopped.
She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply.
She saw that he tried to speak.
Her heart gave a great bound.
It seemed to her that it would be in a manner a reparation for the suffering she had caused him if at this last moment she could effect his deliverance from that load of bitterness.
His lips moved.
He did not look at her.
His eyes stared unseeing at the whitewashed wall.
She leaned over him so that she might hear.
But he spoke quite clearly.
"The dog it was that died."
She stayed as still as though she were turned to stone.
She could not understand and gazed at him in terrified perplexity.
It was meaningless.
Delirium.
He had not understood a word she said.
It was impossible to be so still and yet to live.
She stared.
His eyes were open.
She could not tell if he breathed.
She began to grow frightened.
"Walter," she whispered. "Walter."
At last, suddenly, she raised herself. A sudden fear seized her.
She turned and went to the door.
"Will you come, please.
He doesn't seem to…"
They stepped in.
The Chinese surgeon went upto the bed. He had an electric torch in his hand and he lit it and looked at Walter's eyes.
Then he closed them.
He said something in Chinese.
Waddington put his arm round Kitty.
"I'm afraid he's dead."
Kitty gave a deep sigh.
A few tears fell from her eyes.
She felt dazed rather than overcome.
The Chinese stood about, round the bed, helplessly, as though they did not quite know what to do next.
Waddington was silent.
In a minute the Chinese began to speak in a low tone among themselves.
"You'd better let me take you back to the bungalow," said Waddington. "He'll be brought there."
Kitty passed her hand wearily across her forehead.
She went up to the pallet bed and leaned over it. She kissed Walter gently on the lips.
She was not crying now.
"I'm sorry to give you so much trouble."
The officers saluted as she passed and she gravely bowed.
They walked back across the courtyard and got into their chairs.
She saw Waddington light a cigarette.
A little smoke lost in the air, that was the life of man.
LXIV
DAWN was breaking now, and here and there a Chinese was taking down the shutters of his shop.
In its dark recesses, by the light of a taper, a woman was washing her hands and face.