Page:Harold Lamb--The House of the Falcon.djvu/147

 And Edith devoted herself to her task. Racked by the pangs of inexperience, she lived in fear that her ignorance would result in harm to the sick man. So she became doubly watchful.

Not many women, with Edith's heritage of luxurious life, would have entered whole-heartedly upon the care of a man whose condition made constant demand upon their strength. But Edith, remembering the summer in Louisville when she had tended her father, put thought of self aside. Her natural sympathy was touched by the spectacle of Donovan's effort of recovery. Her pride spurred her on when she recalled Iskander's curt command to her.

More than sympathy or pride, however, was the new feeling of anxiety aroused in the girl. The safety and health of a fellow being of her own race rested in her hands. For perhaps the first time in her life Edith Rand was face to face with suffering and human need. The love of her father for the girl, the good-natured devotion of her aunt, the care of the old servants of the Rands—all these were now lost to her.

She stood alone. The men of Yakka Arik ignored her. To all intents she was a slave. And there was no telling what the morrow might bring.

The man became the only reality in her world. And she spent her strength in his care. When she slept, she was surprised to discover that Aravang slipped into the room and watched by the bed of John Donovan. At times, too, the scarred native would appear silently as always and offer by signs to assist her in her work.

To Edith it seemed that Aravang was grateful for the treatment she had given his wounds. But there