The Isle of Devils Read Free

almost ethereal in her figure, but with luxuriant locks of chestnut-tinted hair neatly tied into a long braid. Her deep blue eyes held a hint of timidity, despite the great horrors that they witnessed every day in that hospital, and she had a soothing voice that emanated from her perfectly-shaped mouth. She wore a plain but pretty cerulean frock covered with a white apron in order to protect it from blood and other unpleasantries.
     
    As my strength rallied and her visits passed each day, the struggle within my breast grew ever fiercer. I was well aware that Army regulations expressly forbade any form of intimate liaisons between its officers and those brave women who volunteered their time at the base hospitals. Nor was there any sign from her that she returned any of my interest as she briskly went about her business. I was simply another patient to her. Finally, however, my self-restraint abandoned me, not only due to her remarkable beauty, but also from my natural curiosity over her strange presence in exotic Peshawar. One day she spent additional time working upon my shoulder, where I had foolishly strained the wound while reaching for a novel, inducing a crimson patch to soak through the white linen compress. After days of responding to her in the most cold and distant tones that I could muster, so as not to betray my true emotions, I suddenly asked her if she would take me out onto the hospital’s verandah in order to bask in the late afternoon sun.
     
    She looked startled by the suggestion. “I think, sir, that you could manage it by yourself,” she replied eventually.
     
    I shrugged my unwounded shoulder sadly. “I have tried to walk about the wards, but met with little success. I believe that my injured leg still requires more nursing before it is ready for such a journey.”
     
    Her brows furrowed in thought. “Then I will ask one of the orderlies to push you out there in one of the wheeled-chairs.” She began to rise to in order to carry out this plan.
     
    I impetuously reached out a hand and laid it gently upon her dainty white wrist. Something about my recent brush with death made me feel like I needed to live my life more boldly. “Ah, but I would greatly prefer if you would escort me yourself.”
     
    She looked down at my hand and considered this. “I do not believe that this would be a wise idea, sir. I will call an orderly.”
     
    I unhappily watched her rise and walk away. Later, as I sat in my chair upon the verandah, I gloomily pondered my situation as the sun settled over the arid valley. I remained in place for many hours, brusquely waving away orderlies who attempted to fetch me back to my bed. The night was clear and fine above me. The stars shone cold and bright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain light. This sterile vision seemed to be a foretelling of my future, which appeared rudderless and forlorn. Despite these dark thoughts, however, when I later returned to my bed I thought that the fresh air had done me some good, and I felt stronger for having made the excursion. 
     
    You can imagine my surprise when, the following day, Miss Devere arrived at her usual time and offered to take me out onto the verandah herself. I cautiously inquired as to the alteration in her opinion. “I have carefully considered your suggestion, sir, and decided that you possess a sympathetic face and that there would likely be no harm in conversing with you.”
     
    “I am honored, Miss Devere,” said I, gravely. “It would give me no keener pleasure.”
     
    And so began a steady ritual. My leg grew progressively stronger and yet I hid this fact from all, so as to not disrupt the impetus for our nightly excursions upon the verandah. Much of the time we spent talking, where I learned that she was the niece and ward of her uncle, Major-General Sir Neville Devere, C.B., of the renowned Third Buffs. She had been orphaned at a young age, and her uncle’s wife had recently