Gradually the tent emptied until only Yusef was left, and at last,
reluctantly, he too went, stopping at the entrance to speak to Saint
Hubert, who had just taken leave of the two headmen.

The Vicomte came back, bringing a chair for Diana, and put her into it
with gentle masterfulness. "Sit down," he said almost gruffly. "You
look like a ghost."

She looked up at him reproachfully. "You drugged that coffee, Raoul. If
he had died to-day while I was asleep I don't think I could ever have
forgiven you."

"My dear child," he said gravely, "you don't know how near you were to
collapse. If I had not made you sleep I should have had three patients
on my hands instead of two."

"I am very ungrateful," she murmured, with a tremulous little smile.

Saint Hubert brought a chair for himself and dropped into it wearily.
He felt very tired, the strain of the past twenty-four hours had been
tremendous. He had a very real fear that was fast growing into a
conviction that his skill was going to prove unequal to save his
friend's life, and beside that anxiety and his physical fatigue he had
fought a bitter fight with himself all day, tearing out of his heart
the envy and jealousy that filled it, and locking away his love as a
secret treasure to be hidden for always. His devotion to Ahmed Ben
Hassan had survived the greatest test that could be imposed upon it,
and had emerged from the trial strengthened and refined, with every
trace of self obliterated. It had been the hardest struggle of his
life, but it was over now, and all the bitterness had passed, leaving
only a passionate desire for Diana's happiness that outweighed every
other thought. One spark of comfort remained. He would not be quite
useless. His help and sympathy would be necessary to her, and even for
that he was grateful.