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Page 26
The minutes passed.
He became conscious, on a sudden, of a freezing stream of air
pouring into the room.
He turned, and saw Crayford opening the door of the hut. A man
was behind him. Wardour rose eagerly, and looked over Crayford's
shoulder.
Was it--could it be--the man who had carved the letters on the
plank? Yes! Frank Aldersley!
Chapter 11.
"Still at work!" Crayford exclaimed, looking at the
half-demolished bed-place. "Give yourself a little rest, Richard.
The exploring party is ready to start. If you wish to take leave
of your brother officers before they go, you have no time to
lose."
He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face.
"Good Heavens!" he cried, "how pale you are! Has anything
happened?"
Frank--searching in his locker for articles of clothing which he
might require on the journey--looked round. He was startled, as
Crayford had been startled, by the sudden change in Wardour since
they had last seen him.
"Are you ill?" he asked. "I hear you have been doing Bateson's
work for him. Have you hurt yourself?"
Wardour suddenly moved his head, so as to hide his face from both
Crayford and Frank. He took out his handkerchief, and wound it
clumsily round his left hand.
"Yes," he said; "I hurt myself with the ax. It's nothing. Never
mind. Pain always has a curious effect on me. I tell you it's
nothing! Don't notice it!"
He turned his face toward them again as suddenly as he had turned
it away. He advanced a few steps, and addressed himself with an
uneasy familiarity to Frank.
"I didn't answer you civilly when you spoke to me some little
time since. I mean when I first came in here along with the rest
of them. I apologize. Shake hands! How are you? Ready for the
march?"
Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him
with perfect good humor.
"I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as
well seasoned to fatigue as you are."
Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh.
"Not strong, eh? You don't look it. The dice had better have sent
me away, and kept you here. I never felt in better condition in
my life." He paused and added, with his eye on Frank and with a
strong emphasis on the words: "We men of Kent are made of tough
material."
Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in Richard
Wardour.
"You come from Kent?" he said.
"Yes. From East Kent." He waited a little once more, and looked
hard at Frank. "Do you know that part of the country?" he asked.
"I ought to know something about East Kent," Frank answered.
"Some dear friends of mine once lived there."
"Friends of yours?" Wardour repeated. "One of the county
families, I suppose?"
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