Arms and the Man | Page 8

does not kiss it
or press it to her breast, or shew it any mark of bodily affection; but she
takes it in her hands and elevates it like a priestess.)
RAINA (looking up at the picture with worship.) Oh, I shall never be
unworthy of you any more, my hero--never, never, never.
(She replaces it reverently, and selects a novel from the little pile of
books. She turns over the leaves dreamily; finds her page; turns the
book inside out at it; and then, with a happy sigh, gets into bed and
prepares to read herself to sleep. But before abandoning herself to
fiction, she raises her eyes once more, thinking of the blessed reality
and murmurs)
My hero! my hero!
(A distant shot breaks the quiet of the night outside. She starts, listening;
and two more shots, much nearer, follow, startling her so that she
scrambles out of bed, and hastily blows out the candle on the chest of
drawers. Then, putting her fingers in her ears, she runs to the
dressing-table and blows out the light there, and hurries back to bed.
The room is now in darkness: nothing is visible but the glimmer of the
light in the pierced ball before the image, and the starlight seen through
the slits at the top of the shutters. The firing breaks out again: there is a

startling fusillade quite close at hand. Whilst it is still echoing, the
shutters disappear, pulled open from without, and for an instant the
rectangle of snowy starlight flashes out with the figure of a man in
black upon it. The shutters close immediately and the room is dark
again. But the silence is now broken by the sound of panting. Then
there is a scrape; and the flame of a match is seen in the middle of the
room.)
RAINA (crouching on the bed). Who's there? (The match is out
instantly.) Who's there? Who is that?
A MAN'S VOICE (in the darkness, subduedly, but threateningly).
Sh--sh! Don't call out or you'll be shot. Be good; and no harm will
happen to you. (She is heard leaving her bed, and making for the door.)
Take care, there's no use in trying to run away. Remember, if you raise
your voice my pistol will go off. (Commandingly.) Strike a light and let
me see you. Do you hear? (Another moment of silence and darkness.
Then she is heard retreating to the dressing-table. She lights a candle,
and the mystery is at an end. A man of about 35, in a deplorable plight,
bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and the strap of his
revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat of a
Servian artillery officer. As far as the candlelight and his unwashed,
unkempt condition make it possible to judge, he is a man of middling
stature and undistinguished appearance, with strong neck and shoulders,
a roundish, obstinate looking head covered with short crisp bronze
curls, clear quick blue eyes and good brows and mouth, a hopelessly
prosaic nose like that of a strong-minded baby, trim soldierlike carriage
and energetic manner, and with all his wits about him in spite of his
desperate predicament--even with a sense of humor of it, without,
however, the least intention of trifling with it or throwing away a
chance. He reckons up what he can guess about Raina--her age, her
social position, her character, the extent to which she is frightened--at a
glance, and continues, more politely but still most determinedly)
Excuse my disturbing you; but you recognise my uniform--Servian. If
I'm caught I shall be killed. (Determinedly.) Do you understand that?
RAINA. Yes.
MAN. Well, I don't intend to get killed if I can help it. (Still more
determinedly.) Do you understand that? (He locks the door with a
snap.)

RAINA (disdainfully). I suppose not. (She draws herself up superbly,
and looks him straight in the face, saying with emphasis) Some soldiers,
I know, are afraid of death.
MAN (with grim goodhumor). All of them, dear lady, all of them,
believe me. It is our duty to live as long as we can, and kill as many of
the enemy as we can. Now if you raise an alarm--
RAINA (cutting him short). You will shoot me. How do you know that
I am afraid to die?
MAN (cunningly). Ah; but suppose I don't shoot you, what will happen
then? Why, a lot of your cavalry--the greatest blackguards in your
army--will burst into this pretty room of yours and slaughter me here
like a pig; for I'll fight like a demon: they shan't get me into the street to
amuse themselves with: I know what they are. Are you prepared to
receive that sort of company in your present undress? (Raina, suddenly