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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15704-8.txt b/15704-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf65fc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/15704-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18311 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Far to Seek, by Maud Diver + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Far to Seek + A Romance of England and India + +Author: Maud Diver + +Release Date: April 25, 2005 [EBook #15704] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + + + + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +FAR TO SEEK + +A Romance of England and India + +BY +MAUD DIVER + +AUTHOR OF 'CAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C.,' 'LILÁMANI,' +'DESMOND'S DAUGHTER,' ETC. + + "I am athirst for far-away things. + My soul goes out in longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.... + O Far-to-Seek! O the keen call of thy flute...!" + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + "His hidden meaning dwells in our endeavours; + Our valours are our best gods." + --JOHN FLETCHER. + +William Blackwood & Sons Ltd. + +Edinburgh and London + + * * * * * + + _TO + MY BLUE BIRD, + + BRINGER OF HAPPINESS TO MYSELF + AND OTHERS, + + I DEDICATE THIS IDYLL OF + A MOTHER AND SON. + + M.D._ + + * * * * * + + "The dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills, + The stars hold their breath, counting the hours.... + There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky, + Bird, oh my Bird, listen to me--do not close your wings." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE. + + +As part of my book is set in Lahore, at the time of the outbreak, in +April 1919, I wish to state clearly that, while the main events are true +to fact, the characters concerned, both English and Indian, are purely +imaginary. At the same time, the opinions expressed by my Indian +characters on the present outlook are all based on the written or spoken +opinions of actual Indians--loyal or disaffected, as the case may be. + +There were no serious British casualties in Lahore, though there were +many elsewhere. I have imagined one locally, for purposes of my story. +In all other respects I have kept close to recorded facts. + + M.D. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +PHASE I. THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 1 + +PHASE II. THE VISIONARY GLEAM 65 + +PHASE III. PISGAH HEIGHTS 135 + +PHASE IV. DUST OF THE ACTUAL 283 + +PHASE V. A STAR IN DARKNESS 417 + + + + +PHASE I. + +THE GLORY AND THE DREAM + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Thou art the sky, and thou art the nest as well." + --Tagore. + + +By the shimmer of blue under the beeches Roy knew that summer--"really +truly summer!"--had come back at last. And summer meant picnics and +strawberries and out-of-door lessons, and the lovely hot smell of +pine-needles in the pine-wood, and the lovelier cool smell of moss +cushions in the beech-wood--home of squirrels and birds and bluebells; +unfailing wonderland of discovery and adventure. + +Roy was an imaginative creature, isolated a little by the fact of being +three and a half years older than Christine, and "miles older" than +Jerry and George, mere babies, for whom the magic word adventure held no +meaning at all. + +Luckily, there was Tara, from the black-and-white house: Tara, who +shared his lessons and, in spite of the drawback of being a girl, had +long ago won her way into his private world of knight-errantry and +romance. Tara was eight years and five weeks old; quite a reasonable age +in the eyes of Roy, whose full name was Nevil Le Roy Sinclair, and who +would be nine in June. With the exception of grown-ups, who didn't +count, there was no one older than nine in his immediate neighbourhood. +Tara came nearest: but _she_ wouldn't be nine till next year; and by +that time, he would be ten. The point was, she couldn't catch him up if +she tried ever so. + +It was Tara's mother, Lady Despard, who had the happy idea of sharing +lessons, that would otherwise be rather a lonely affair for both. But it +was Roy's mother who had the still happier idea of teaching them +herself. Tara's mother joined in now and then; but Roy's mother--who +loved it beyond everything--secured the lion's share. And Roy was old +enough by now to be proudly aware of his own good fortune. Most other +children of his acquaintance were afflicted with tiresome governesses, +who wore ugly jackets and hats, who said "Don't drink with your mouth +full," and "Don't argue the point!"--Roy's favourite sin--and always +told you to "Look in the dictionary" when you found a scrumptious new +word and wanted to hear all about it. The dictionary, indeed! Roy +privately regarded it as one of the many mean evasions to which +grown-ups were addicted. + +His ripe experience on the subject was gleaned partly from neighbouring +families, partly from infrequent visits to "Aunt Jane"--whom he hated +with a deep unreasoned hate--and "Uncle George," who had a kind, stupid +face, but anyhow tried to be funny and made futile bids for favour with +pen-knives and half-crowns. Possibly it was these uncongenial visits +that quickened in him very early the consciousness that his own +beautiful home was, in some special way, different from other boys' +homes, and his mother--in a still more special way--different from other +boys' mothers.... + +And that proud conviction was no mere myth born of his young adoration. +In all the County, perhaps in all the Kingdom, there could be found no +mother in the least like Lilámani Sinclair, descendant of Rajput chiefs +and wife of an English Baronet, who, in the face of formidable barriers, +had dared to accept all risks and follow the promptings of his heart. +One of these days there would dawn on Roy the knowledge that he was the +child of a unique romance, of a mutual love and courage that had run the +gauntlet of prejudices and antagonisms, of fightings without and fears +within; yet, in the end, had triumphed as they triumph who will not +admit defeat. All this initial blending of ecstasy and pain, of +spiritual striving and mastery, had gone to the making of Roy, who in +the fulness of time would realise--perhaps with pride, perhaps with +secret trouble and misgiving--the high and complex heritage that was +his. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile he only knew that he was fearfully happy, especially in summer +time; that his father--who had smiling eyes and loved messing with +paints like a boy--was kinder than anyone else's, so long as you didn't +tell bad fibs or meddle with his brushes; that his idolised mother, in +her soft coloured silks and saris, her bangles and silver shoes, was the +"very most beautiful" being in the whole world. And Roy's response to +the appeal of beauty was abnormally quick and keen. It could hardly be +otherwise with the son of these two. He loved, with a fervour beyond his +years, the clear pale oval of his mother's face; the coils of her dark +hair, seen always through a film of softest muslin--moon-yellow or +apple-blossom pink, or deep dark blue like the sky out of his window at +night spangled with stars. He loved the glimmer of her jewels, the sheen +and feel of her wonderful Indian silks, that seemed to smell like the +big sandalwood box in the drawing-room. And beyond everything he loved +her smile and the touch of her hand, and her voice that could charm away +all nightmare terrors, all questionings and rebellions, of his excitable +brain. + +Yet, in outward bearing, he was not a sentimental boy. The Sinclairs did +not run to sentiment; and the blood of two virile races--English and +Rajput--was mingled in his veins. Already his budding masculinity bade +him keep the feelings of 'that other Roy' locked in the most secret +corner of his heart. Only his mother, and sometimes Tara, caught a +glimpse of him now and then. Lady Sinclair, herself, never guessed that, +in the vivid imaginations of both children, she herself was the +ever-varying incarnation of the fairy princesses and Rajputni heroines +of her own tales. Their appetite for these was insatiable; and her store +of them seemed never ending: folk tales of East and West; true tales of +Crusaders, of Arthur and his knights; of Rajput Kings and Queens, in the +far-off days when Rajasthán--a word like a trumpet call--was holding her +desert cities against hordes of invaders, and heroes scorned to die in +their beds. Much of it all was frankly beyond them; but the colour and +the movement, the atmosphere of heroism and high endeavour quickened +imagination and fellow-feeling, and left an impress on both children +that would not pass with the years. + +To their great good fortune, these tales and talks were a part of her +simple, individual plan of education. An even greater good fortune--in +their eyes--was her instinctive response to the seasons. She shared to +the full their clear conviction that schoolroom lessons and a radiant +day of summer were a glaring misfit; and she trimmed her sails, or +rather her time-table, accordingly. + +"Sentimental folly and thoroughly demoralising," was the verdict of Aunt +Jane, overheard by Roy, who was not supposed to understand. "They will +grow up without an inch of moral backbone. And you can't say I didn't +warn you. Lady Despard's a crank, of course; but Nevil is a fool to +allow it. Goodness knows _he_ was bad enough, though he was reared on +the good old lines. And you are not giving his son a chance. The sooner +the boy's packed off to school the better. I shall tell him so." + +And his mother had answered with her dignified unruffled sweetness--that +made her so beautifully different from ordinary people, who got red and +excited and made foolish faces: "He will not agree. He shares my +believing that children are in love with life. It is their first love. +Pity to crush it too soon; putting their minds in tight boxes with no +chink for Nature to creep in. If they first find knowledge by their +young life-love, afterwards, they will perhaps give up their life-love +to gain it." + +Roy could not follow all that; but the music of the words, matched with +the music of his mother's voice, convinced him that her victory over +horrid interfering Aunt Jane was complete. And it was comforting to know +that his father agreed about not putting their minds in tight boxes. For +Aunt Jane's drastic prescription alarmed him. Of course school would +have to come some day; but his was not the temperament that hankers for +it at an early age. As to a moral backbone--whatever sort of an +affliction that might be--if it meant growing up ugly and +'disagreeable,' like Aunt Jane or the Aunt Jane cousins, he fervently +hoped he would never have one--or Tara either.... + +But on this particular morning he feared no manner of bogey--not even +school or a moral backbone--because the bluebells were alight under his +beeches--hundreds and hundreds of them--and 'really truly' summer had +come back at last! + +Roy knew it the moment he sprang out of bed and stood barefoot on the +warm patch of carpet near the window, stretching his slim shapely body, +instinctively responsive to the sun's caress. No less instinctive was +his profound conviction that nothing possibly could go wrong on a day +like this. + +In the first place it meant lessons under their favourite tree. In the +second, it was history and poetry day; and Roy's delight in both made +them hardly seem lessons at all. He thought it very clever of his +mother, having them together. The depth of her wisdom he did not yet +discern. She allowed them within reason, to choose their own poems: and +Roy, exploring her bookcase, had lighted on Shelley's 'Cloud'--the +musical flow of words, the more entrancing because only half understood. +He had straightway learnt the first three verses for a surprise. He +crooned them now, his head flung back a little, his gaze intent on a +gossamer film that floated just above the pine tops--'still as a +brooding dove.'... + +Standing there, in full sunlight--the modelling of his young limbs +veiled, yet not hidden, by his silk night-suit; the carriage of head and +shoulders betraying innate pride of race--he looked, on every count, no +unworthy heir to the House of Sinclair and its simple honourable +traditions: one that might conceivably live to challenge family +prejudices and qualms. The thick dark hair, ruffled from sleep, was his +mother's; and hers the semi-opaque ivory tint of his skin. The clean-cut +forehead and nose, the blue-grey eyes, with the lurking smile in them, +were Nevil Sinclair's own. In him, at least, it would seem that love was +justified of her children. + +But of family features, as of family qualms, he was, as yet, radiantly +unaware. Snatching his towel, he scampered barefoot down the passage to +the nursery bathroom, where the tap was already running. + +Fifteen minutes later, dressed, but hatless and still barefoot, he was +racing over the vast dew-drenched lawn, leaving a trail of grey-green +smudges on its silvered surface, chanting the opening lines of Shelley's +'Cloud' to breakfast-hunting birds. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + "Those first affections, + Those shadowy recollections,... + Are yet the fountain-light of all our day; + Are yet the master-light of all our seeing." + --WORDSWORTH. + + +The blue rug under Roy's beech-tree was splashed with freckles of +sunshine; freckles that were never still, because a fussy little wind +kept swaying the top-most branches, where the youngest beech-leaves +flickered, like golden-green butterflies bewitched by some malicious +fairy, so that they could never fly into the sky till summer was over, +and all the leaf butterflies in the world would be free to scamper with +the wind. + +That was Roy's foolish fancy as he lay full length, to the obvious +detriment of his moral backbone--chin cupped in the hollow of his hands. +Close beside him lay Prince, his golden retriever; so close that he +could feel the dog's warm body through his thin shirt. At the foot of +the tree, in a nest of pale cushions, sat his mother, in her +apple-blossom sari and a silk dress like the lining of a shell. No +jewels in the morning, except the star that fastened her sari on one +shoulder and a slender gold bangle--never removed--the wedding-ring of +her own land. The boy, mutely adoring, could, in some dim way, feel the +harmony of those pale tones with the olive skin, faintly aglow, and the +delicate arch of her eyebrows poised like outspread wings above the +brown, limpid depths of her eyes. He could not tell that she was still +little more than a girl; barely eight-and-twenty. For him she was +ageless:--protector and playfellow, essence of all that was most real, +yet most magical, in the home that was his world. Unknown to him, the +Eastern mother in her was evoking, already, the Eastern spirit of +worship in her son. + +Very close to her nestled Tara, a vivid, eager slip of a girl, with +wild-rose petals in her cheeks and blue hyacinths in her eyes and +sunbeams tangled in her hair, that rippled to her waist in a mass almost +too abundant for the small head and elfin face it framed. In +temperament, she suggested a flame rather than a flower, this singularly +vital child. She loved and she hated, she played and she quarrelled with +an intensity, a singleness of aim, surprising and a little disquieting +in a creature not yet nine. She was the despair of nurses and had never +crossed swords with a governess, which was a merciful escape--for the +governess. Juvenile fiction and fairy tales she frankly scorned. Legends +of Asgard and Arthur, the virile tales of Rajputana and her warrior +chiefs, she drank in as the earth drinks dew. Roy had a secret weakness +for a happy ending--in his own phrase, "a beautiful marry." Tara's rebel +spirit rose to tragedy as a flame leaps to the stars; and there was no +lack of high tragedy in the records of Chitor--Queen of cities--thrice +sacked by Moslem invaders; deserted at last, and left in ruins--a sacred +relic of great days gone by. + +This morning Rajputana held the field. Lilámani, with a thrill in her +low voice, was half reading, half telling the adventures of Prithvi Raj +(King of the Earth) and his Amazon Princess, Tara--the Star of Bednore: +verily a star among women for beauty, wisdom, and courage. Many princes +were rivals for her hand; but none would she call "lord" save the man +who restored to her father the Kingdom snatched from him by an Afghan +marauder. "On the faith of a Rajput, _I_ will restore it," said Prithvi +Raj. So, in the faith of a Rajputni, she married him:--and together, by +a daring device, they fulfilled her vow. + +Here, indeed, was Roy's 'beautiful marry,' fit prelude for the tale of +that heroic pair. For in life--Lilámani told them--marriage is the +beginning, not the end. That is only for fairy tales. + +And close against her shoulder, listening entranced, sat the child Tara, +with her wild-flower face and the flickering star in her heart--a +creature born out of time into an unromantic world; hands clasped round +her upraised knees, her wide eyes gazing past the bluebells and the +beech-leaves at some fanciful inner vision of it all; lost in it, as Roy +was lost in contemplation of his Mother's face.... + +And this unorthodox fashion of imbibing knowledge in the very lap of the +Earth Mother, was Lilámani Sinclair's impracticable idea of 'giving +lessons'! Shades of Aunt Jane! Of governess and copy-books and rulers! + +Happily for all three, Lady Roscoe never desecrated their paradise in +the flesh. She was aware that her very regrettable sister-in-law had +'queer notions' and had flatly refused to engage a governess of high +qualifications chosen by herself; but the half was not told her. It +never is told to those who condemn on principle what they cannot +understand. At their coming all the little private gateways into the +delectable Garden of Intimacy shut with a gentle, decisive click. So it +was with Jane Roscoe, as worthy and unlikeable a woman as ever organised +a household to perfection and alienated every member of her family. + +The trouble was that she could not rest satisfied with this achievement. +She was afflicted with a vehement desire--she called it a sense of +duty--to organise the homes of her less capable relations. If they +resented, they were written down ungrateful. And Nevil's ingratitude had +become a byword. For Nevil Sinclair was that unaccountable, +uncomfortable thing--an artist; which is to say he was no true Sinclair, +but the son of his mother whose name he bore. No one, not even Jane, had +succeeded in organising him--nor ever would. + +So Lilámani carried on, unmolested, her miniature attempt at the forest +school of an earlier day. Her simple programme included a good deal more +than tales of heroism and adventure. This morning there had been +rhythmical exercises, a lively interlude of 'sums without slates' and +their poems--a great moment for Roy. Only by a superhuman effort he had +kept his treasure locked inside him for two whole days. And his mother's +surprise was genuine: not the acted surprise of grown-ups, that was so +patent and so irritating and made them look so silly. The smile in her +eyes as she listened had sent a warm tingly feeling all through him, as +if the spring sunshine itself ran in his veins. Naturally he could not +express it so; but he felt it so. And now, as he lay looking and +listening, he felt it still. The wonder of her face and her voice, and +all the many wonders that made her so beautiful, had hitherto been as +much a part of him as the air he breathed. But this morning, in some dim +way, things were different--and he could not tell why.... + +His own puzzled thoughts and her face and her voice became entangled +with the chivalrous story of Prithvi Raj holding court in his hill +fortress with Tara--fit wife for a hero, since she could ride and fling +a lance and bend a bow with the best of them. When Roy caught him up, he +was in the midst of a great battle with his uncle, who had broken out in +rebellion against the old Rana of Chitor. + +"All day long they were fighting, and all night long they were lying +awake beside great watch-fires, waiting till there came dawn to fight +again...." + +His mother was telling, not reading now. He knew it at once from the +change in her tone. + +"And when evening came, what did Prithvi Raj? He was carelessly +strolling over to the enemy's camp, carelessly walking into his Uncle's +tent to ask if he is well, in spite of many wounds. And his uncle, full +of surprise, made answer: 'Quite well, my child, since I have the +pleasure to see you.' And when he heard that Prithvi had come even +before eating any dinner, he gave orders for food: and they two, who +were all day seeking each other's life, sat there together eating from +one plate. + +"'In the morning we will end our battle, Uncle,' said Prithvi Raj, when +time came to go. + +"'Very well, child, come early,' said Surájmul. + +"So Prithvi Raj came early and put his Uncle's whole army to flight. But +that was not enough. He must be driven from the kingdom. So when Prithvi +heard that broken army was hiding in the depths of a mighty forest, +there he went with his bravest horsemen, and suddenly, on a dark night, +sprang into their midst. Then there was great shouting and fighting; and +soon they came together, uncle and nephew, striking at each other, yet +never hating, though they must make battle because of Chitor and the +Kingdom of Mewar. + +"To none would Suráj yield, but only to Prithvi, bravest of the brave. +So suddenly in a loud voice he cried--'Stay the fight, nephew. If I am +killed, no great matter. But if _you_ are killed, what will become of +Chitor? I would bear shame for ever.' + +"By those generous words he made submission greater than victory. Uncle +and nephew embraced, heart to heart, and all those who had been fighting +each other sat down together in peace, because Surájmul, true Rajput, +could not bring harm, even in anger, upon the sacred city of Chitor." + +She paused--her eyes on Roy, who had lost his own puzzling sensations in +the clash of the fight and its chivalrous climax. + +"Oh, I love it," he said. "Is that all?" + +"No, there is more." + +"Is it sad?" + +She shook her head at him--smiling. + +"Yes, Roy. It is sad." + +He wrinkled his forehead. + +"Oh dear! I like it to end the nice way." + +"But I am not making tales, Sonling. I am telling history." + +Tara's head nudged her shoulder. "_Go_ on--please," she murmured, +resenting interruptions. + +So Lilámani--still looking at Roy--told how Prithvi Raj went on his last +quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief, who had married his sister and +was ill-treating her. + +"In answer to her cry he went; and climbing her palace walls in the +night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving prince. But when +penance was over, his noble nature was ready, like before, to embrace +and be friends. Only that mean one, not able to kill him in battle, put +poison in the sweets he gave at parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking +no harm. So when he came on the hill near his palace the evil work was +done. Helpless he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might +see her before death. But even that could not be. And she, loyal wife, +had only one thought in her heart. 'Can the blossom live when the tree +is cut down?' Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping warriors build +up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her own hand. Then, before +them all, she climbed on that couch of fire and went through the leaping +scorching flames to meet her lord----" + +The low clear voice fell silent--and the silence stayed. The vague +thrill of a tragedy they could hardly grasp laid a spell upon the +children. It made Roy feel as he did in Church, when the deepest notes +of the organ quivered through him; and it brought a lump in his throat, +which must be manfully swallowed down on account of being a boy.... + +And suddenly the spell was broken by the voice of Roger the footman, who +had approached noiselessly along the mossy track. + +"If you please, m'lady, Sir Nevil sent word as Lord and Lady Roscoe 'ave +arrived unexpected; and if convenient, can you come in?" + +They all started visibly and their dream-world of desert and rose-red +mountains and battle-fields and leaping flames shivered like a +soap-bubble at the touch of a careless hand. + +Lilámani rose, gentle and dignified. "Thank you, Roger. Tell Sir Nevil I +am coming." + +Roy suppressed a groan. The mere mention of Aunt Jane made one feel +vaguely guilty. To his nimble fancy it was almost as if her very person +had invaded their sanctuary, in her neat hard coat and skirt and her +neat hard summer hat with its one fierce wing, that, disdaining the +tenderness of curves, seemed to stab the air, as her eyes so often +seemed to stab Roy's hyper-sensitive brain. + +"Oh dear!" he sighed. "Will they stop for lunch?" + +"I expect so." + +He wrinkled his nose in a wicked grimace. + +"Bad boy!" said Lilámani's lips, but her eyes said other things. He +knew, and she knew that he knew how, in her heart, she shared his innate +antagonism. Was it not of her own bestowing--a heritage of certain +memories--ineffaceable, unforgiveable--during her early days of +marriage? But in spite of that mutual knowledge, Roy was never allowed +to speak disrespectfully of his formidable aunt. + +"You can stay out and play till half-past twelve, not one minute later," +she said--and left them to their own delectable devices. + +Roy had been promoted to a silver watch on his eighth birthday, so he +could be relied on; and he still enjoyed a private sense of importance +when the fact was recognised. + +Left alone they had only to pick up the threads of their game; a sort of +interminable serial story, in which they lived and moved and had their +being. But first Tara--in her own person--had a piece of news to impart. +Hunching up her knees, she tilted back her head till it touched the +satin-grey hole of the tree and all her hair lay shimmering against it +like a stream of pale sunshine. + +"What do you think?" she nodded at Roy with her elfin smile. "We've got +a Boy-on-a-visit and his mother, from India. They came last night. He's +rather a large boy." + +"Is he nine?" Roy asked, standing up very straight and slim, a defensive +gleam in his eye. + +"He's ten and a half. And he looks bigger'n that. He goes to school. And +he's been quite a lot in India." + +"Not my India." + +"I don't know. He called it 'Mballa. That letter I brought from Mummy +was asking if she could bring them for tea." + +"Well, I don't want him for tea. I don't like your Boy-on-a-visit. I'll +tell Mummy." + +"Oh, Roy--you mustn't." She made reproachful eyes at him. "Coz then _I_ +couldn't come. And he's quite nice--only rather lumpy. And you can't not +like someb'dy you've never seen." + +"_I_ can, I often do." The possibility had only just occurred to him. He +saw it as a distinction and made the most of it. "Course if you're going +to make a fuss----" + +Tara's eyes opened wider still. "Oh, Roy, you _are_----! 'Tisn't me +that's making fusses." + +Though Roy knew nothing as yet about woman and the last word, he +instinctively took refuge in the masculine dignity that spurns descent +to the dusty arena when it feels defeat in the air. + +"Girls don't never fuss--do they?" he queried suavely. "Let's get on +with the Game and not bother about your Boy-of-ten." + +"And a half," Tara insisted tactlessly, with her sweetest smile. But +when Roy chose to be impassive pin-pricks were thrown away on him. + +"Where'd we stop?" he mused, ignoring her remark. "Oh--I know. The +Knight was going forth to quest the Elephant with golden tusks for the +High Tower Princess who wanted them in her crown. Why _do_ Princesses +always want what the knights can't find?" + +Tara's feminine intuition leaped at a solution. + +"I 'spec it's just to show off they are Princesses and to keep the +Knights from bothering round.--So away he went and the Princess climbed +up to her highest tower and waved her lily hand----" + +In the same breath she, Tara, sprang to her feet and swung herself +astride a downward sweeping branch just above Roy's head. There she +perched like a slim blue flower, dangling her tan-stockinged legs and +shaking her hair at him like golden rain. She was in one of her impish +moods; reaction, perhaps,--though she knew it not--from the high tragedy +of that other Tara, her namesake, and the great greatest-possible +grandmother of her adored 'Aunt Lila.' Suddenly a fresh impulse seized +her. Clutching her bough, she leaned down and lightly ruffled his hair. + +He started and looked reproachful. "Don't rumple me. I'm going." + +"You needn't, if you don't want to," she cooed caressingly. "_I_'m going +to the tipmost top to see out over the world. And the Princess doesn't +care a bean about the Golden Tusks--truly." + +"She's jolly pleased with the knight that finds them," said Roy with a +deeper wisdom than he knew. "And you can't be stopped off quests that +way. Come on, Prince." + +At a bend in the mossy path, he looked back and she waved her lily hand. + + * * * * * + +To be alone in the deep of the wood in bluebell time was, for Roy, a +sensation by itself. In a moment, you stepped through some unseen door +straight into fairy-land--or was it a looking-glass world? For here the +sky lay all around your feet in a shimmer of bluebells: and high +overhead were domes of cool green light, where the sun came flickering +and filtering through millions of leaves. Always, as far as he could +remember, the magical feeling had been there. But this morning it came +over him in a queer way. This morning--though he could not quite make it +out--there was the Roy that felt and the Roy that knew he felt, just as +there had suddenly been when he was watching his mother's face. And this +magical world was his kingdom. In some far-off time, it would all be his +very own. That uplifting thought eclipsed every other.... + +Lost in one of his dreaming moods, he wandered on and on, with Prince at +his heels. He forgot all about Tara and his knighthood and his quest; +till suddenly--where the trees fell apart--his eye was arrested by twin +shafts of sunlight that struck downward through the green gloom. + +He caught his breath and stood still. "I've _found_ them! The Golden +Tusks!" he murmured ecstatically. + +The pity was he couldn't carry them back with him as trophies. He could +only watch them fascinated, wondering how you could explain what you +didn't understand yourself. All he knew was that they made him feel +'dazzled inside,' and he wanted to watch them more. + +It was beautiful out in the open with the sunshine pouring down and a +big lazy white cloud tangled in tree-tops. So he flung himself on the +moss, hands under his head, and lay there, Prince beside him, looking +up, up into the far blue, listening to the swish and rustle of the wind +talking secrets to the leaves, and all the tiny mysterious noises that +make up the silence of a wood in summer. + +And again he forgot about Tara and the Game and the silver watch that +made him reliable. He simply lay there in a trance-like stillness, that +was not of the West, absorbing it all, with his eyes and his dazzled +brain and with every sentient nerve in his body. And again--as when his +mother smiled her praise--the Spring sunshine itself seemed to flow +through his veins.... + + * * * * * + +Suddenly he came alive and sat upright. Something was happening. The +Golden Tusks had disappeared, and the domes of cool green light and the +far blue sky and the lazy white cloud. Under the beeches it was almost +twilight--a creepy twilight, as if a giant had blown out the sun. Was it +really evening? Had he been asleep? Only his watch could answer that, +and never had he loved it more dearly. No--it was daytime. Twenty past +twelve--and he would be late---- + +A long rumbling growl, that seemed to shudder through the wood, so +startled him that it set little hammers beating all over his body. Then +the wind grew angrier--not whispering secrets now, but tearing at the +tree-tops and lashing the branches this way and that. And every minute +the wood grew darker, and the sky overhead was darkest of all--the +colour of spilled ink. And there was Tara--his forgotten +Princess--waiting for him in her high tower; or perhaps she had given up +waiting and gone home. + +"Come on, Prince," he said, "we must run!" + +The sound of his own voice was vaguely comforting: but the moment he +began to run, he felt as if some one--or Something--was running after +him. He knew there was nothing. He knew it was babyish. But what could +you do if your legs were in a fearful hurry of their own accord? +Besides, Tara was waiting. Somehow Tara seemed the point of safety. He +didn't believe she was ever afraid---- + +All in a moment the eerie darkness quivered and broke into startling +light. Twigs and leaves and bluebell spears and tiny patterns of moss +seemed to leap at him and vanish as he ran: and two minutes after, high +above the agitated tree-tops, the thunder spoke. No mere growl now; but +crash on crash that seemed to be tearing the sky in two and set the +little hammers inside him beating faster than ever. + +He had often watched storms from a window: but to be out in the very +middle of one all alone was an adventure of the first magnitude. The +grandeur and terror of it clutched at his heart and thrilled along his +nerves as the thunder went rumbling and grumbling off to the other end +of the world, leaving the wood so quiet and still that the little +hammers inside seemed almost as loud as the plop-plop of the first big +raindrops on the leaves. But, in spite of secret tremors, he wanted +tremendously to hear the thunder speak again. The childish feeling of +pursuit was gone. His legs that had been in such a fearful hurry, came +to a sudden standstill; and he discovered, to his immense surprise, that +he was back again---- + +There lay the rug and the cushions under the downward sweeping branches +with their cascades of bright new leaves. No sign of Tara--and the heavy +drops came faster, though they hardly amounted to a shower. + +Flinging down bow and arrows, he ran under the tree and peered up into a +maze of silver grey and young green. Still no sign. + +"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?" + +"'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph. "I'm at the +tipmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous. Come up--quick!" + +Craning his neck he could just see one leg and the edge of her frock. +Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to disobey his +mother--not because it was naughty, but it was her. + +"I can't--now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining. You _must_ +come down." + +"I will--if you come up." + +"I tell you, I can't!" + +"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away. I can see miles +and miles--to Farthest End." + +Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argument with one tan +shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock, and he wanted badly to +tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he go on alone, or should he climb +up and fetch her----? + +The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a rustle and +a shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down faster than she cared +about. + +Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!" + +Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that had caught +in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously--his High Tower +Princess--her hair floating like seaweed, her hands clutching at the +nearest branches that were too pliable for support. If her skirt should +tear, or the bough should break---- + +"_Keep_ stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and like a squirrel he sped +up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to him as the ground +he walked on. + +But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust himself on +the jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight. It looked +rather a dead one, and its sharp end was sticking through a hole in +Tara's frock. He set foot on it cautiously and proffered a hand. + +"Now--catch hold!" he said. + +Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him with both +hands. The half-dead bough, resenting these gymnastics, cracked +ominously. There was a gasp, a scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly, dragging +her nearer for a firmer foothold. + +And suddenly down below Prince began to bark--a deep, booming note of +welcome. + +"Hullo, Roy!" It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering Tara up +there? Come out of it!" + +Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down--or to +disobey: and they proceeded to come out of it, with rather more haste +than dignity. + +Roy, swinging from a high branch for his final jump--a bit of pure +bravado because he felt nervous inside--discovered, with mingled terror +and joy, that his vagrant foot had narrowly shaved Aunt Jane's neat hard +summer hat: Aunt Jane--of all people--at such a moment, when you +couldn't properly explain. He half wished he _had_ kicked the fierce +little feather and broken its back---- + +He was on the ground now, shaking hands with her, his sensitive +clean-cut face a mask of mere politeness: and Tara was standing by +him--a jagged hole in her blue frock, a scratch across her cheek, and +her hair ribbon gone--looking suspiciously as if he had been trying to +murder her instead of doing her a knightly service. + +She couldn't help it, of course. But still--it was a distinct score for +Aunt Jane, who, as usual, went straight to the point. + +"You nearly kicked my head just now. A little gentleman would +apologise." + +He did apologise--not with the best grace. + +"My turn next," his father struck in. "What the dickens were you up +to--tearing slices out of my finest tree!" His twinkly eyes were almost +grave and his voice was almost stern. ("Just because of Aunt Jane!" +thought Roy.) + +Aloud he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. It was only ... Tara got in a +muddle. I had to help her." + +The twinkle came back to his father's eyes. + +"The woman tempted me!" was all he said; and Roy, hopelessly mystified, +wondered how he could possibly know. It was very clever of him. But Aunt +Jane seemed shocked. + +"Nevil, be quiet!" she commanded in a crisp undertone; and Roy, simply +hating her, pulled out his watch. + +"We've got to hurry, Daddy. Mother said 'not later than half-past.' And +it is later." + +"Scoot, then. She'll be anxious because of the storm." + +But though Roy, grasping Tara's hand, faithfully hurried ahead because +of mother, he managed to keep just within earshot; and he listened +shamelessly, because of Aunt Jane. You couldn't trust her. She didn't +play fair. She would bite you behind your back. That's the kind of woman +she was. + +And this is what he heard. + +"Nevil, it's perfectly disgraceful. Letting them run wild like that; +damaging the trees and scaring the birds." + +She meant the pheasants of course. No other winged beings were sacred in +her eyes. + +"Sorry, old girl. But they appear to survive it." (The cool good-humour +of his father's tone was balm to Roy's heart.) "And frankly, with us, if +it's a case of the children or the birds, the children win, hands down." + +Aunt Jane snorted. You could call it nothing else. It was a sound +peculiarly her own, and it implied unutterable things. Roy would have +gloried had he known what a score for his father was that delicately +implied identity with his wife. + +But the snort was no admission of defeat. + +"In _my_ opinion--if it counts for anything," she persisted, "this +harum-scarum state of things is quite as bad for the children as for the +birds. I suppose you _have_ a glimmering concern for the boy's future, +as heir to the old place?" + +Nevil Sinclair chuckled. + +"By Jove! That's quite a bright idea. Really, Jane, you've a positive +flair for the obvious." + +(Roy hugely wanted to know what a "flair for the obvious" might be. His +eager brain pounced on new words as a dog pounces on a bone.) + +"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted unabashed. +"The obvious, in this case--though you can't or won't see it--is that +the boy is thoroughly spoilt, and in September he ought to go to school. +You couldn't do better than Coombe Friars." + +His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't catch +Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no more. What he had +heard was bad enough. + +"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth--which +looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the spoiling. + +"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame. And they +hurried on in earnest. + +"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest. "I _found_ the +Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after." + +"Oh, Roy, you are a wonder!" She gave his hand a convulsive squeeze and +they broke into a run. + +The "bits of blue" had spread half over the sky. The thunder still +grumbled to itself at intervals and a sharp little shower whipped out of +a passing cloud. Then the sun flashed through it and the shadows crept +round the great twin beeches on the lawn--and the day was as lovely as +ever again. + +And yet--for Roy, it was not the same loveliness. Aunt Jane's repeated +threat of school brooded over his sensitive spirit, like the +thundercloud in the wood that was the colour of spilled ink. And the +Boy-of-ten--a potential enemy--was coming to tea.... + +Yet this morning he had felt so beautifully sure that nothing could go +wrong on a day like this! It was his first lesson, and not by any means +his last, that Fate--unmoved by 'light of smiles or tears'--is no +respecter of profound convictions or of beautiful days. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Man am I grown; a man's work I must do." + --TENNYSON. + + +Tara was right. The Boy-of-ten (Roy persistently ignored the half) was +rather a large boy: also rather lumpy. He had little eyes and freckles +and what Christine called a "turnip nose." He wore a very new school +blazer and real cricket trousers, with a flannel shirt and school tie +that gave Roy's tussore shirt and soft brown bow almost a girlish air. +Something in his manner and the way he aired his school slang, made +Roy--who never shone with strangers--feel "miles younger," which did not +help to put him at ease. + +His name was Joe Bradley. He had been in India till he was nearly eight; +and he talked about India, as he talked about school, in a rather +important voice, as befitted the only person present who knew anything +of either. + +Roy was quite convinced he knew nothing at all about Rajputana or Chitor +or Prithvi Raj or the sacred peacocks of Jaipur. But somehow he could +not make himself talk about these things simply for "show off," because +a strange boy, with bad manners, was putting on airs. + +Besides, he never much wanted to talk when he was eating, though he +could not have explained why. So he devoted his attention chiefly to a +plate of chocolate cakes, leaving the Boy-of-ten conversationally in +command of the field. + +He was full of a recent cricket match, and his talk bristled with such +unknown phrases as "square leg," "cover point" and "caught out." But for +some reason--pure perversity perhaps--they stirred in Roy no flicker of +curiosity, like his father's "flair for the obvious." He didn't know +what they meant--and he didn't care, which was not the least like Roy. +Tara, who owned big brothers, seemed to know all about it, or looked as +if she did; and to show you didn't understand what a girl understood, +would be the last indignity. + +When the cricket show-off was finished, Joe talked India and ragged +Tara, in a big-brotherly way, ignored Christine, as if five and a half +simply didn't count. That roused Roy; and by way of tacit rebuke, he +bestowed such marked attention on his small sister, that Christine (who +adored him, and was feeling miserably shy) sparkled like a dewdrop when +the sun flashes out. + +She was a tiny creature, exquisitely proportioned; fair, like her +father, yet in essence a replica of her mother, with the same wing-like +brows and dark limpid eyes. Dimly jealous of Tara, she was the only one +of the three who relished the presence of the intruder and wished +strange boys oftener came to tea. + +Millicent, the nursery-maid, presided. She was tall and smiling and +obviously a lady. She watched and listened and said little during the +meal. + +Once, in the course of it, Lilámani came in and hovered round them, +filling Roy's tea-cup, spreading Christine's honey--extra thick. Her +Eastern birthright of service, her joy in waiting on those she loved, +had survived ten years of English marriage, and would survive ten more. +It was as much an essential part of her as the rhythm of her pulses and +the blood in her veins. + +She was no longer the apple-blossom vision of the morning. She wore her +mother-o'-pearl sari with its narrow gold border. Her dress, that was +the colour of a dove's wing, shimmered changefully as she moved, and her +aquamarine pendant gleamed like drops of sea water on its silver chain. + +Roy loved her in the mother-o'-pearl mood best of all; and he saw, with +a throb of pride, how the important Boy-from-India seemed too absorbed +in watching her even to show off. She did not stay many minutes and she +said very little. She was still, by preference, quiet during a meal; and +it gave her a secret thrill of pleasure to see the habit of her own race +reappearing as an instinct in Roy. So, with merely a word or two, she +just smiled at them and gave them things and patted their heads. And +when she was gone, Roy felt better. The scales had swung even again. +What was a school blazer and twenty runs at cricket, compared with the +glory of having a mother like that? + +But if tea was not much fun, after tea was worse. + +They were told to run and play in the garden; and obediently they ran +out, dog and all. But what _could_ you play at with a superior being who +had made twenty runs not out, in a House Match--whatever that might be? +They showed him their ring-doves and their rabbits; but he didn't even +pretend to be interested, though Tara did her best, because it was she +who had brought this infliction on Roy. + +"How about the summer-house?" she suggested, hopefully. For the +summer-house locker contained an assortment of old tennis-bats, mallets +and balls, that might prove more stimulating than rabbits and doves. Roy +offered no objection; so they straggled across a corner of the lawn to a +narrower strip behind the tall yew hedge. + +The grown-ups were gathered under the twin beeches; and away at the far +end of the lawn Roy's mother and Tara's mother were strolling up and +down in the sun. + +Again Roy noticed how Joe Bradley stared: and as they rounded the corner +of the hedge he remarked suddenly "I say! There's that swagger ayah of +yours walking with Lady Despard. She's jolly smart, for an ayah. Did you +bring her from India? You never said you'd been there." + +Roy started and went hot all over. "Well, I _have_--just on a visit. And +she's _not_ an ayah. She's my Mummy!" + +Joe Bradley opened his mouth as well as his eyes, which made him look +plainer than ever. + +"Golly! what a tale! White people don't have ayahs for Mothers--not in +my India. I s'pose your Pater married her out there?" + +"He didn't. And I tell you she's _not_ an ayah." + +Roy's low voice quivered with anger. It was as if ten thousand little +flames had come alight inside him. But you had to try and be polite to +visitors; so he added with a virtuous effort: "She's a really and truly +Princess--so there!" + +But that unspeakable boy, instead of being impressed, laughed in the +rudest way. + +"Don't excite, you silly kid. I'm not as green as you are. Besides--who +cares----?" + +It flashed on Roy, through the blur of his bewildered rage, that perhaps +the Boy-from-India was jealous. He tried to speak. Something clutched at +his throat; but instinct told him he had a pair of hands.... + +To the utter amazement of Tara, and of the enemy, he silently sprang at +the bigger boy; grabbed him unscientifically by the knot of his superior +neck-tie and hit out, with more fury than precision, at cheeks and eyes +and nose---- + +For a few exciting seconds he had it all his own way. Then the +enemy--recovered from the first shock of surprise--spluttered wrathfully +and hit out in return. He had weight in his favour. He tried to bend Roy +backwards; and failing began to kick viciously wherever he could get at +him. It hurt rather badly and made Roy angrier than ever. In a white +heat of rage, he shook and pummelled, regardless of choking sounds and +fingers clutching at his hair.... + +Tara, half excited and half frightened, could only grab Prince's collar, +to keep him from rushing into the fray; and when Joe started kicking, it +was all she could do not to let him go. But she knew Athol--her dearest +brother--would say it wasn't fair play. So she tugged, and Prince +tugged; while the boys, fiercely silent, rocked to and fro; and +Christine sobbed piteously--"He's hurting Roy--he's _killing_ Roy!" + +Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out: "Don't be a baby, +Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine simply didn't +believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It mightn't be his, but +still---- + +It made even Tara feel rather sick; and when a young gardener appeared +on the scene she called out: "Oh, Mudford, do stop them--or something'll +happen." + +But Mudford--British to the bone--would do nothing of the kind. He saw +at once that Roy was getting the better of an opponent nearly twice his +weight; and setting down his barrow he shamelessly applauded his young +master. + +By now, the enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the brand-new +blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you little beast!" But Roy, +fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder. + +"'Pologise--'pologise! Say she isn't!" + +His forward jerk on the words took Joe unawares. The edge of the lawn +tripped him up and they rolled on the grass, Joe undermost in a close +embrace---- + +And at that critical moment there came strolling round the corner of the +hedge a group of grown-ups--Sir Nevil Sinclair with Mrs Bradley, Lady +Roscoe, Lady Despard and Roy's godfather, the distinguished novelist, +Cuthbert Broome. + +Mudford and his barrow departed; and Tara looked appealingly at her +mother. + +Roy--intent on the prostrate foe--suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder +and heard his father's voice say sharply: "Get up, Roy, and explain +yourself!" + +They got up, both of them--and stood there, looking shy and stupefied +and very much the worse for wear:--hair ruffled, faces discoloured, +shirts torn open. One of Roy's stockings was slipping down; and, in the +midst of his confused sensations, he heard the excited voice of Mrs +Bradley urgently demanding to know what her "poor dear boy" could have +done to be treated like that. + +No one seemed to answer her; and the poor dear boy was too busy +comforting his nose to take much interest in the proceedings. + +Lady Despard (you could tell at a glance she was Tara's mother) was on +her knees comforting Christine; and as Roy's senses cleared, he saw with +a throb of relief that his mother was not there. But Aunt Jane was--and +Uncle Cuthbert---- + +He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless silence, full +of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving him a few seconds to +recover himself. + +Then: "What do you mean by it, Roy?" he asked; and this time his voice +was really stern. It hurt more than the bruises. "Gentlemen don't hammer +their guests." This was an unexpected blow. And it wasn't fair. How +could he explain before "all those"? His cheeks were burning, his head +was aching; and tears, that must not be allowed to fall, were pricking +like needles under his lids. + +It was Tara who spoke--still clutching Prince, lest he overwhelm Roy and +upset his hardly maintained dignity. + +"Joe made him angry--he _did_," she thrust in with feminine +officiousness; and was checked by her mother's warning finger. + +Mrs Bradley--long and thin and beaky--bore down upon her battered son, +who edged away sullenly from proffered caresses. + +Sir Nevil, not daring to meet the humorous eye of Cuthbert Broome--still +contemplated the dishevelled dignity of his own small son--half puzzled, +half vexed. + +"You've done it now, Roy. Say you're sorry," he prompted; his voice a +shade less stern than he intended. + +Roy shook his head. + +"It's him to say--not me." + +"Did he begin it?" + +"No." + +"Of course he didn't," snapped the injured mother. "He's been properly +brought up," which was not exactly polite, but she was beside +herself--simply an irate mother-creature, all beak and ruffled feathers. +"You deserve to be whipped. You've hurt him badly." + +"Oh, dry up, mother," Joe murmured behind his sanguinary handkerchief, +edging still further away from maternal fussings and possible catechism. + +Nevil Sinclair saw clearly that his son would neither apologise nor +explain. At heart he suspected young Bradley, if only on account of his +insufferable mother, but the laws of hospitality must be upheld. + +"Go to your own room, Roy," he said with creditable severity, "and stay +there till I come." + +Roy gave him one look--mutely reproachful. Then--to every one's surprise +and Tara's delight--he walked straight up to the Enemy. + +"I _did_ hammer hardest. 'Pologise!" + +The older boy mumbled something suspiciously like the fatal word: a +suspicion confirmed by Roy's next remark: "I'm sorry your blazer's +spoilt. But you made me." + +And the elders, watching with amused approbation, had no inkling that +the words were spoken not by Roy Sinclair but by Prithvi Raj. + +The Enemy, twice humbled, answered nothing; and Roy,--his dignity +unimpaired by such trifles as a lump on his cheek, a dishevelled tie and +one stocking curled lovingly round his ankle--walked leisurely away, +with never a glance in the direction of the "grown-ups," who had no +concern whatever with this--the most important event of his life---- + +Tara--torn between wrath and admiration--watched him go. In her eyes he +was a hero, a victim of injustice and the density of grown-ups. + +She promptly released Prince, who bounded after his master. She wanted +to go too. It was all her fault, bringing that horrid boy to tea. She +did hope Roy would explain things properly. But boys were stupid +sometimes and she wanted to make sure. While her mother was tactfully +suggesting a homeward move, she slipped up to Sir Nevil and insinuated a +small hand into his. + +"Uncle Nevil, _do_ believe," she whispered urgently. "Truly it isn't +fair----" + +His quick frown warned her to say no more; but the pressure of his hand +comforted her a little. + +All the same she hated going home. She hated 'that putrid boy'--a +forbidden adjective; but what else _could_ you call him? She was glad he +would be gone the day after to-morrow. She was even more glad his nose +was bleeding and his eye bunged up and his important blazer all +bloodied. Girl though she was, there ran a fiercer strain in her than in +Roy. + +As they moved off, she had an inspiration. She was given that way. + +"Mummy darling," she said in her small clear voice, "mayn't I stay back +a little and play with Chris. She's _so_ unhappy. Alice could fetch +me--couldn't she? Please." + +The innocent request was underlined by an unmistakable glance through +her lashes at Joe. She wanted him to hear; and she didn't care if he +understood--him and his beaky mother! Clearly her own Mummy understood. +She was nibbling her lips, trying not to smile. + +"Very well, dear," she said. "I'll send Alice at half-past six. Run +along." + +Tara gave her hand a grateful little squeeze--and ran. + +She would have hated the "beaky mother" worse than ever could she have +heard her remark to Lady Despard, when they were alone. + +"Really, a most obstinate, ungoverned child. His mother, of course--a +very pretty creature--but what can you expect? Natives always ruin +boys." + +Lady Despard--Lilámani Sinclair's earliest champion and friend--could be +trusted to deal effectually with a remark of that quality. + +As for Tara--once "the creatures" were out of sight they were extinct. +All the embryo mother in her was centred on Roy. It was a shame sending +him to his room, like a naughty boy, when he was really a champion, a +King-Arthur's-Knight. But if only he properly explained, Uncle Nevil +would surely understand---- + +And suddenly there sprang a dilemma. How could Roy make himself repeat +to Uncle Nevil the rude remarks of that abominable boy? And if not--how +was he going to properly explain----? + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "What a great day came and passed; + Unknown then, but known at last." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +That very problem was puzzling Roy as he lay on his bed, with Prince's +head against his shoulder, aching a a good deal, exulting at thought of +his new-born knighthood, wondering how long he was to be treated like a +sinner,--and, through it all, simply longing for his mother.... + +It was the conscious craving for her sympathy, her applause, that +awakened him to his dilemma. + +He had championed her with all his might against that lumpy +Boy-of-ten,--who kicked in the meanest way; and he couldn't explain why, +so she couldn't know ever. The memory of those insulting words hurt him +so that he shrank from repeating them to anyone--least of all to her. +Yet how could he see her and feel her and not tell her everything? She +would surely ask--she would want to know--and then--when he tried to +think beyond that point he felt simply lost. + +It was an _impasse_ none the less tragic because he was only nine. To +tell her every little thing was as simple a necessity of life as eating +or sleeping; and--till this bewildering moment--as much a matter of +course. For Lilámani Sinclair, with her Eastern mother-genius, had +forged between herself and her first-born a link woven of the tenderest, +most subtle fibres of heart and spirit; a link so vital, yet so +unassertive, that it bid fair to stand the strain of absence, the test +of time. So close a link with any human heart, while it makes for +beauty, makes also for pain and perplexity,--as Roy was just realising +to his dismay. + +At the sound of footsteps he sat up, suddenly very much aware of his +unheroic dishevelment. He tugged at the fallen stocking and made hasty +dabs at his hair. But it was only Esther the housemaid with an envelope +on a tray. Envelopes, however, were always mysterious and exciting. + +His name was scribbled on this one in Tara's hand; and as Esther +retreated he opened it, wondering.... + +It contained a half-sheet of note-paper, and between the folds lay a +circle of narrow blue ribbon plaited in three strands. But only two of +the strands were ribbon; the third was a tress of her gleaming hair. Roy +gazed at it a moment, lost in admiration, still wondering; then he +glanced at Tara's letter--not scrawled, but written with laboured +neatness and precision. + + "DEAR ROY,--It was splendid. You are Prithvi Raj. I am + sending you the bangel like Aunt Lila told us. It can't be gold or + jewels. But I pulled the ribbin out of my petticote and put in sum + of my hair to make it spangly. So now you are Braselet Bound + Brother. Don't forget. From TARA." + + "I hope you aren't hurting much. Do splain to Uncle Nevil properly + and come down soon. I am hear playing with Chris. TARA." + +Roy sat looking from the letter to the bangle with a distinctly pleasant +kind of mixed-up feeling inside. He was so surprised, so comforted, so +elated by this tribute from his High Tower Princess, who was an exacting +person in the matter of heroes. Now--besides being a Knight and a +champion he was Bracelet-Bound Brother as well. + +Only the other day his mother had told them a tale about this old custom +of bracelet-sending in Rajputana:--how, on a certain holy day, any +woman--married or not married--may send her bracelet token to any man. +If he accepts it, and sends in return an embroidered bodice, he becomes +from that hour her bracelet brother, vowed to her service, like a +Christian Knight in the days of chivalry. The bracelet may be of gold or +jewels or even of silk interwoven with spangles--like Tara's impromptu +token. The two who are bracelet-bound might possibly never meet face to +face. Yet she, who sends, may ask of him who accepts, any service she +pleases; and he may not deny it--even though it involve the risk of his +life. + +The ancient custom, she told them, still holds good, though it has +declined in use, like all things chivalrous, in an age deafened by the +clamour of industrial strife; an age grown blind to the beauty of +service, that, in defiance of "progress," still remains the keynote of +an Indian woman's life. + +So these privileged children had heard much of it, through the medium of +Lilámani's Indian tales; and this particular one had made a deeper +impression on Tara than on Roy; perhaps because the budding woman in her +relished the power of choice and command it conferred on her own sex. +Certainly no thought of possible future commands dawned on Roy. It was +her pride in his achievement, so characteristically expressed that +flattered his incipient masculine vanity and added a cubit to his +stature. He knew now what he meant to be when he grew up. Not a painter, +or a soldier or a gardener--but a Bracelet-Bound Brother.... + +Gingerly, almost shyly, he slipped over his hand the deftly woven, +trifle of ribbon and gleaming hair. As the first glow of pleasure +subsided, there sprang the instinctive thought--"Won't Mummy be +pleased!" And straightway he was caught afresh in the toils of his +dilemma--How could he possibly explain----? + +What was she doing? Why didn't she come----? + +There----! His ear caught far-off footsteps--too heavy for hers. He +slipped off the Bracelet, folded it in Tara's letter and tucked it away +inside his shirt. + +Hurriedly--a little nervously--he tied his brown bow and got upon his +feet, just as the door opened and his father came in. + +"_Well_, Roy!" he said, and for a few seconds he steadily regarded his +small son with eyes that tried very hard to be grave and judicial. +Scoldings and assertions of authority were not in his line: and the tug +at his heart-strings was peculiarly strong in the case of Roy. Fair +himself, as the boy was dark, their intrinsic likeness of form and +feature was yet so striking that there were moments--as now--when it +gave Nevil Sinclair an eerie sense of looking into his own eyes,--which +was awkward, as he had come steeled for chastisement, if needs must, +though his every instinct revolted from the mutual indignity. He had +only once inflicted it on Roy for open defiance in one of his stormy +ebullitions of temper; and, at this moment, he did not seem to see a +humble penitent before him. + +"What have you got to say for yourself?" he went on, hoping the pause +had been impressive; strongly suspecting it had been nothing of the +kind. "Gentlemen, as I told you, don't hammer their guests. It was +rather a bad hammering, to judge from his handkerchief. And you don't +look particularly sorry about it either." + +"I'm not--not one littlest bit." + +This was disconcerting; but Nevil held his ground. + +"Then I suppose I've got to whack you. If boys aren't sorry for their +sins, it's the only way." + +Roy's eyelids flickered a little. + +"You better not," he said with the same impersonal air of conviction. +"You see, it wouldn't make me sorry. And you don't hurt badly. Not half +as much as Joe did. He was mean. He kicked. I wouldn't have stopped, all +the same--if _you_ hadn't come." + +The note of reproach was more disconcerting than ever. + +"Well, if whacking's no use, what am I to do with you? Shut you up here +till bedtime--eh?" + +Roy considered that dismal proposition, with his eyes on the summer +world outside. + +"Well--you can if you like. But it wouldn't be fair." A pause. "You +don't know what a horrid boy he was, Daddy. _You'd_ have hit him +harder--even if he _was_ a guest." + +"I wonder!" Nevil fatally admitted. "Of course it would all depend on +the provocation." + +"What's 'provication'?" + +The instant alertness, over a new word, brought back the smile to +Nevil's eyes. + +"It means--saying or doing something bad enough to make it right for you +to be angry." + +"Well, it was bad enough. It was"--a portentous pause--"about Mummy." + +"About Mummy?" The sharp change in his father's tone was at once +startling and comforting. "Look here, Roy. No more mysteries. This is +my affair as much as yours. Come here." + +Pulling a bedside chair near the window, he sat down and drew Roy close +to him, taking his shoulders between his hands. + +"Now then, old boy, tell me just exactly what happened--as man to man." + +The appeal was irresistible. But--how could he----? The very change in +his father's manner made the telling at once more difficult and more +urgent. + +"Daddy--it hurts too much. I don't know how to say it----" he faltered, +and the blood tingled in his cheeks. + +If Nevil Sinclair was not a stern father, neither was he a very +demonstrative one. Even his closest relations were tinged with something +of the artist's detachment, and innate respect for the individual even +in embryo. But at sight of Roy's distress and delicacy of feeling, his +heart melted in him. Without a word, he slipped an arm round the boy's +shoulder and drew him closer still. + +"That better, eh? You've got to pull it through, somehow," he said +gently, so holding him that Roy could, if he chose, nestle against him. +He did choose. It might be babyish; but he hated telling: and it was a +wee bit easier with his face hidden. So, in broken phrases and in a +small voice that quivered with anger revived--he told. + +While he was telling, his father said nothing; and when it was over, he +still said nothing. He seemed to be looking out of the window, and Roy +felt him draw one big breath. + +"Have you got to whack me--now, Daddy?" he asked, still in his small +voice. + +His father's hand closed on his arm. "No. You were right, Roy," he said. +"I would have hit harder. Ill-mannered little beast! All the same----" + +A pause. He, no less than Roy, found speech difficult. He had fancied +himself, by now, inured to this kind of jar--so frequent in the early +years of his daringly unconventional marriage. It seemed he was +mistaken. He had been vaguely on edge all the afternoon. What young Joe +had rudely blurted out, Mrs Bradley's manner had tacitly expressed. He +had succeeded in smothering his own sensations, only to be confronted +with the effect of it all on Roy--who must somehow be made to +understand. + +"The fact is, old man," he went on, trying to speak in his normal voice, +"young Bradley and a good many of his betters spend years in India +without coming to know very much about the real people over there. +You'll understand why when you're older. They all have Indians for +servants, and they see Indians working in shops and villages, just like +plenty of our people do here. But they don't often meet many of the +other sort--like Mummy and Grandfather and Uncle Rama--except sometimes +in England. And then--they make stupid mistakes--just because they don't +know better. But they needn't be rude about it, like Joe; and I'm glad +you punched him--hard." + +"So'm I. Fearfully glad." He stood upright now, his head erect:--proud +of his father's approval, and being treated as "man to man." "But, +Daddy--what are we going to do ... about Mummy? I _do_ want her to know +... it was for her. But I _couldn't_ tell--what Joe said. Could you?" + +Nevil shook his head. + +"Then--what?" + +"You leave it to me, Roy. I'll make things clear without repeating Joe's +rude remarks. She'd have been up before this; but _I_ had to see you +first--because of the whacking!" His eye twinkled. "She's longing to get +at your bruises----" + +"Oh nev' mind my bruises. They're all right now." + +"And beautiful to behold!" He lightly touched the lump on Roy's cheek. +"I'd let her dab them, though. Women love fussing over us when we're +hurt--especially if we've been fighting for them!" + +"Yes--they do," Roy agreed gravely; and to his surprise, his father drew +him close and kissed his forehead. + + * * * * * + +His mother did not keep him waiting long. First the quick flutter of her +footsteps; then the door gently opened--and she flew to him, her sari +blowing out in beautiful curves. Then he was in her arms, gathered into +her silken softness and the faint scent of sandalwood; while her lips, +light as butterfly wings, caressed the bruise on his cheek. + +"Oh, what a bad, wicked Sonling!" she murmured, gathering him close. + +He loved her upside-down fashion of praise and endearment; never +guessing its Eastern significance--to avert the watchfulness of jealous +gods swift to spy out our dearest treasures, that hinder detachment, and +snatch them from us. "Such a big rude boy--and you tried to kill him +only because he did not understand your queer kind of mother! That you +will find often, Roy; because it is not custom. Everywhere it is the +same. For some kind of people not to be like custom is much worse than +not to be good. And that boy has a mother too much like custom. Not +surprising if he didn't understand." + +"I made him though--I did," Roy exulted shamelessly, marvelling at his +father's cleverness, wondering how much he had told. "I hammered hard. +And I'm not sorry a bit. Nor Daddy isn't either." + +For answer she gave him a convulsive little squeeze--and felt the +crackle of paper under his shirt. "Something hidden there! What is it, +Sonling?" she asked with laughing eyes: and suddenly shyness overwhelmed +him. For the moment he had forgotten his treasure; and now he was +wondering if he could show it--even to her. + +"It is Tara--I think it's rather a secret----" he began. + +"But I may see?" Then as he still hesitated, she added with grave +tenderness: "Only if you are wishing it, son of my heart. To-day--you +are a man." + +From his father that recognition had been sufficiently uplifting. And +now--from her...! The subtle flattery of it and the deeper prompting of +his own heart demolished his budding attempt at reserve. + +"I am--truly," he said: and she, sitting where his father had sat, +unfolded Tara's letter--and the bangle lay revealed. + +Roy had not guessed how surprised she would be--and how pleased! She +gave a little quick gasp and murmured something he could not catch. Then +she looked at him with shining eyes, and her voice had its low serious +note that stirred him like music. + +"Now--you are Bracelet-Bound, my son. So young!" + +Roy felt a throb of pride. It was clearly a fine thing to be. + +"Must I give a 'broidered bodice'?" + +"I will broider a bodice--the most beautiful; and you shall give it. +Remember, Roy, it is not a little matter. It is for always." + +"Even when I'm a grown-up man?" + +"Yes, even then. If she shall ask from you any service, you must not +refuse--ever." + +Roy wrinkled his forehead. He had forgotten that part of it. Tara might +ask anything. You couldn't tell with girls. He had a moment of +apprehension. + +"But, Mummy, I don't think--Tara didn't mean all that. It's only--our +sort of game of play----" + +Unerringly she read his thoughts, and shook her head at him with smiling +eyes, as when he made naughty faces about Aunt Jane. + +"Too sacred thing for only game of play, Roy. By keeping the bracelet, +you are bound." Her smile deepened. "You were not afraid of the big rude +boy. Yet you are just _so_ much afraid--for Tara." She indicated the +amount with the rose-pink tip of her smallest finger. "Tara--almost like +sister--would never ask anything that could be wrong to do." + +At this gentle rebuke he flushed and held his head a shade higher. + +"I'm not afraid, Mummy. And I will keep the bracelet--and I _am_ bound." + +"That is my brave son." + +"She said--I am Prithvi Raj." + +"She said true." Her hand caressed his hair. "Now you can run down and +tell you are forgiven." + +"You too, Mummy?" + +"In a little time. Not just now. But see----" Her brows flew up. "I was +coming to mend your poor bruises!" + +"I haven't got any bruises." + +The engaging touch of swagger delighted her. A man to-day--in very deed. +Her gaze dwelt upon him. It was as if she looked through the eyes of +her husband into the heart of her son. + +Gravely she entered into his mood. + +"That is good. Then we will just make you tidy--and one littlest dab for +this not-bruise on your cheek." + +So much he graciously permitted: then he ran off to receive the ovation +awaiting him from Tara and Chris. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Thy bosom is endearéd with all hearts, + For there reigns love, and all love's loving parts." + --SHAKSPERE. + + "Women are not only deities of the household fire, but the flame of + the soul itself."--RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Left to herself, Lilámani moved back to the window with her innate, +deliberate grace. There she sat down again, very still, resting her +cheek on her hand; drinking in the serenity, the translucent stillness +of clear green spaces robed in early evening light, like a bride arrayed +for the coming of her lord. The higher tree-tops were haloed with glory. +Young leaves of beeches and poplars gleamed like minted gold; and on the +lawn, the great twin beeches cast a stealthily encroaching continent of +shadow. Among the shrubs, under her window, birds were trilling out +their ecstasy of welcome to the sun, in his Hour of Union with +Earth--the Divine Mother, of whom every human mother is, in Eastern +eyes, a part, a symbol, however imperfect. + +Yet, beneath her carven tranquillity, heart and spirit were deeply +stirred. For all Nevil's skill in editing the tale of Roy's +championship, she had read his hidden thoughts as unerringly as she had +divined Mrs Bradley's curiosity and faint hostility beneath the veneer +of good manners, not yet imparted to her son. + +Helen Despard--wife of a retired Lieut.-Governor--had scores of +Anglo-Indian friends; but not all of them shared her enthusiasm for +India,--her sympathetic understanding of its peoples. Lilámani had too +soon discovered that the ardent declaration, "I love India," was apt to +mean merely that the speaker loved riding and dancing and sunshine and +vast spaces, with 'the real India' for a dim effective background. And +by now, she could almost tell at a glance which were the right and which +the wrong kind of Anglo-Indian, so far as she and Nevil were concerned. +It was not like Helen to inflict the wrong kind on her; but it had all +been Mrs Bradley's doing. She had been tactlessly insistent in her +demand to see the beautiful old garden and the famous artist-Baronet, +who had so boldly flouted tradition. Helen's lame excuses had been +airily dismissed, and the discourtesy of a point-blank refusal was +beyond her. + +She had frankly explained matters to her beloved Lilámani as they +strolled together on the lawn, while Roy was enlightening Joe on the +farther side of the yew hedge. + +His championship had moved her more profoundly than she dared let him +see without revealing all she knew. For the same reason, she could not +show Nevil her full appreciation of his tact and delicacy. How +useless--trying to hide his thoughts--he ought to know by now: but how +beautiful--how endearing! + +That she, who had boldly defied all gods and godlings, all claims of +caste and family, should have reaped so rich a harvest----! For +her--high priestess of the inner life--that was the miracle of miracles: +scarcely less so to-day than in that crowning hour when she had placed, +her first man-child in the arms of her husband--still, at heart, lord of +her being. For the tale of her inner life might almost be told in two +words--she loved. + +Even now--so many years after--she thrilled to remember how, in that one +magical moment, without nearness or speech or touch, the floating +strands of their destinies had become so miraculously entangled, that +neither gods nor godlings, nor household despots of East or West, had +power to sever them. From one swift pencil sketch, stolen without +leave--he sitting on the path below, she dreaming on the Hotel balcony +above--had blossomed the twin flower of their love: the deeper revealing +of marriage--its living texture woven of joy and pain; and the wonder of +their after-life together--a wonder that, to her ardent, sensitive +spirit, still seemed new every morning, like the coming of the sun. A +poet in essence, she shared with all true poets that sense of eternal +freshness in familiar things that, perhaps, more than any other gift of +God, keeps the bloom on every phase and every relation of life. By her +temperament of genius, she had quickened in her husband the flickering +spark that might else have been smothered under opposing influences. +Each, in a quite unusual degree, had fulfilled the life of the other, +and so wrought harmony from conflicting elements of race and religion +that seemed fated to wreck their brave adventure. To gain all, they had +risked all: and events had amazingly justified them. + +Within a year of his ill-considered marriage Sir Nevil had astonished +all who knew him with the unique Exhibition of the now famous Ramayána +pictures, inspired by his wife: a series of arresting canvases, setting +forth the story of India's great epic, her confession of faith in the +two supreme loyalties--of the Queen to her husband, of the King to his +people. His daring venture had proved successful beyond hope. Artistic +and critical London had hailed him as a newcomer of promise, amounting +to genius: and Lilámani Sinclair, daughter of Rajputs, had only escaped +becoming the craze of the moment by her precipitate withdrawal to +Antibes, where she had come within an ace of losing all, largely through +the malign influence of Jane--her evil genius during those wonderful, +difficult, early months of marriage. + +Nevil had returned to find himself a man of note; a prophet, even in his +own county, where feathers had been ruffled a little by his erratic +proceedings. Hence a discreetly changed attitude in the neighbourhood, +when Lilámani, barely nineteen, had presented her husband with a son. + +But--for all the gracious condescension of the elderly, and the frank +curiosity of the young--only a discerning few had made any real headway +with this attractive, oddly disconcerting child of another continent; +this creature of queer reserves and aloofness and passionate pride of +race. The friendliest were baffled by her incomprehensible lack of +social instinct, the fruit of India's purdah system. Loyal wives and +mothers who 'adored' their children--yet spent most of their day in +pursuit of other interests--were nonplussed by her complete absorption +in the joys and sanctities of home. Yet, in course of time, her patent +simplicity and sincerity had disarmed prejudice. The least perceptive +could not choose but see that she was genuinely, intrinsically +different, not merely in the matter of iridescent silks and saris, but +in the very colour of her soul. + +Not that they would have expressed it so. To talk about the soul and its +colour savoured of being psychic or morbid--which Heaven forbid! The +soul of the right-minded Bramleigh matron was a neutral-tinted, decently +veiled phantom, officially recognised morning and evening, also on +Sundays, but by no means permitted to interfere with the realities of +life. + +The soul of Lilámani Sinclair--tremulous, passionate and aspiring--was a +living flame, that lighted her thoughts, her prayers, her desires; and +burned with clearer intensity because her religion had been stripped of +all feastings and forms and ceremonies by a marriage that set her for +ever outside caste. The inner Reality--free of earth-born mists and +clouds--none could take from her. + +God manifest through Nature, the Divine Mother, must surely accept her +incense and sacrifice of the spirit, since no other was permitted. Her +father had given her that assurance; and to it she clung, as a child in +a crowd clings confidingly to the one familiar hand. + +She was none the less eager to glean all she could assimilate of the +religion to which her husband conformed, but in which, it seemed, he did +not ardently believe. Her secret pangs on this score had been eased a +little by later knowledge that it was he who shielded her from tacit +pressure to make the change of faith expected of her by certain members +of his family. Jane--out of regard for his wishes--had refrained from +frontal attacks; but more than one flank movement had been executed by +means of the Vicar (a second cousin) and of Aunt Julia--a mild elder +Sinclair, addicted to foreign missions. + +She had not told Nevil of these tentative fishings for her soul, lest +they annoy him and he put a final veto on them. Being well versed in +their Holy Book, she wanted to try and fathom their strange illogical +way of believing. The Christianity of Christ she could accept. It was a +faith of the heart and the life. But its crystallised forms and dogmas +proved a stumbling-block to this embarrassing slip of a Hindu girl, who +calmly reminded the Reverend Jeffrey Sale that the creed of his Church +had not really been inspired by Christ, but dictated by Constantine and +the Council of Nicea; who wanted to know why, in so great a religion, +was there no true worship of woman--no recognising, in the creative +principle, the Divine Motherhood of God? Finally, she had scandalised +them both by quarrelling with their exclusive belief in one single +instance, through endless ages, of the All-embracing, and All-creating +revealed in terms of human life. Was not that same idea a part of her +own religion--a world-wide doctrine of Indo-Aryan origin? Was every +other revealing false, except that one made to an unbelieving race only +two thousand years ago? To her--unregenerate but not unbelieving--the +message of Krishna seemed to strike a deeper note of promise. "Wherever +irreligion prevails and true religion declines, there I manifest myself +in a human form to establish righteousness and to destroy evil." + +So she questioned and argued, in no spirit of irreverence, but simply +with the logic of her race, and the sweet reasonableness that is a vital +element of the Hindu faith at its best. But, after that final +confession, Aunt Julia, pained and bewildered, had retired from the +field. And Lilámani, flung back on the God within, had evolved a private +creed of her own;--shedding the husks of Christian dogmas and the +grosser superstitions of her own faith, and weaving together the +mystical elements that are the life-blood of all religious beliefs. + +For the lamps are many, but the flame is one.... + + * * * * * + +Not till the consummation of motherhood had lifted her status--in her +own eyes at least--did she venture to speak intimately with Nevil on +this vital matter. Though debarred from sharing of sacred ceremonies, +she could still aspire to be true _Sahardamini_--'spiritual helpmate.' +But to that end he also must co-operate; he must feel the deeper +need.... + +For many weeks after the coming of Roy she had hesitated, before she +found courage to adventure farther into the misty region of his faith +or unfaith, in things not seen. + +"If I am bothering you with troublesome questions--forgive. But, in our +Indian way of marriage, it is taught that without sharing spiritual life +there cannot arrive true union," she had explained, not without secret +tremors lest she fail to evoke full response. And what such failure +would mean, for her, she could hardly expect him to understand. + +But--by the blessing of Sarasvati, Giver of Wisdom--she had succeeded, +beyond hope, in dispelling the shy reluctance of his race to talk of the +'big little things.' Even to-day she could recall the thrill of that +moment:--he, kneeling beside the great chair in his studio--their +sanctuary; she holding the warm bundle of new life against her breast. + +In one long look his eyes had answered her. "Nothing _short_ of 'true +union' will satisfy me," he had said with a quiet seriousness more +impressive than any lovers' fervour. "God knows if I'm worthy to enter +your inner shrine. But unwilling--never. In the 'big little things' you +are pre-eminent. I am simply your extra child--mother of my son." + +That tribute was her charter of wifehood. It linked love with life; it +set her, once for all, beyond the lurking fear of Jane; and gave her +courage to face the promised visit to India, when Roy was six months +old, to present him to his grandfather, Sir Lakshman Singh. + +They had stayed nearly a year; a wonderful year of increasing knowledge, +of fuller awakening ... and yet! + +The ache of anticipation had been too poignant. The foolish half-hope +that Mátaji might relent and sanctify this first grandchild with her +blessing, was--in the nature of things Oriental--foredoomed to failure. +And not till she found herself back among sights and sounds hauntingly +familiar, did she fully awake to the changes wrought in her by marriage +with one of another race. For, if she had profoundly affected Nevil's +personality, he had no less profoundly influenced her sense of values +both in art and life. + +She had also to reckon with the insidious process of idealising the +absent. Indian to the core, she was deeply imbued with the higher tenets +of Hindu philosophy--that lofty spiritual fabric woven of moonlight and +mysticism, of logic and dreams. But the new Lilámani, of Nevil's making, +could not shut her eyes to debasing forms of worship, to subterranean +caverns of gross superstition, and lurking demons of cruelty and +despair. While Nevil was imbibing impressions of Indian Art, Lilámani +was secretly weighing and probing the Indian spirit that inspired it; +sifting the grain from the chaff--a process closely linked with her +personal life; because, for India, religion and life are one. + +But no shadow had clouded the joy of reunion with her father; for both +were adepts in the fine art of loving, the touchstone of every human +relation. And in talk with him she could straighten out her tangle of +impressions, her secret doubts and fears. + +Also there had been Rama, elder brother, studying at college and loving +as ever to the sister transformed into English-wife--yet sister still. +And there had been fuller revelation of the wonders of India, in their +travels northward, even to the Himalayas, abode of Shiva, where Nevil +must go to escape the heat and paint more pictures--always more +pictures. Travelling did not suit her. She was too innately a creature +of shrines and sanctities. And in India--home of her spirit--there +seemed no true home for her any more.... + + * * * * * + +Five years later, when Roy was six and Christine two and a half, they +had been tempted to repeat their visit, even in the teeth of stern +protests from Jane, who regarded the least contact with India as fatal +to the children they had been misguided enough to bring into the world. +That second time, things had been easier; and there had been the added +delight of Roy's eager interest; his increasing devotion to the +grandfather, whose pride and joy in him rivalled her own. + +"In this little man we have the hope of England and India!" he would +say, only half in joke. "With East and West in his soul--the best of +each--he will cast out the devils of conflict and suspicion and draw the +two into closer understanding of one another." + +And, in secret, Lilámani dreamed and prayed that some day ... possibly +... who could tell----? + +Yet, still there had persisted the sense of a widening gulf between her +and her own people, leaving her doubtful if she ever wanted to see India +again. The spiritual link would be there always; for the rest--was she +not wife of Nevil, mother of Roy? Ungrateful to grieve if a price must +be paid for such supreme good fortune. + +For herself she paid it willingly. But--must Roy pay also? And in what +fashion? How could she fail to imbue him with the finest ideals of her +race? But how if the magnet of India proved too strong----? To hold the +scales even was a hard task for human frailty. And the time of her +absolute dominion was so swiftly slipping away from her. Always, in the +back of her mind, loomed the dread shadow of school; and her Eastern +soul could not accept it without a struggle. Only yesterday, Nevil had +spoken of it again--no doubt because Jane made trouble--saying too long +delay would be unfair for Roy. So it must be not later than September +next year. Just only fifteen months! Nevil had told her, laughing, it +would not banish him to another planet. But it would plunge him into a +world apart--utterly foreign to her. Of its dangers, its ideals, its +mysterious influences, she knew herself abysmally ignorant. She must +read. She must try and understand. She must believe Nevil knew +best--she, who had not enough knowledge and too much love. But she was +upheld by no sustaining faith in this English fashion of school, with +its decree of too early separation from the supreme influences of mother +and father--and home.... + + * * * * * + +Later on, that evening, when she knelt by Roy's bed for good-night talk +and prayer, his arms round her neck, his cool cheek against hers, the +rebellion she could not altogether stifle surged up in her afresh. But +she said not a word. + +It was Roy who spoke, as if he had read her heart. + +"Mummy, Aunt Jane's been talking to Daddy again about school. Oh, I do +_hate_ her!" (This in fervent parenthesis.) + +She only tightened her hold and felt a small quiver run through him. + +"Will it be fearfully soon? Has Daddy told you?" + +"Yes, my darling. But not too fearfully soon, because he knows I don't +wish that." + +"When?" + +"Not till next year, in the autumn. September." + +"Oh, you good--_goodest_ Mummy!" + +He clutched her in an ecstasy of relief. For him a year's respite was a +lifetime. For her it would pass like a watch in the night. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Thou knowest how, alike, to give and take gentleness in due season + ... the noble temper of thy sires shineth forth in thee."--PINDAR. + + +It was a clear mild Sunday afternoon of November;--pale sunlight, pale +sky, long films of laminated cloud. From the base of orange-tawny +cliffs, the sands swept out with the tide, shining like rippled silk, +where the sea had uncovered them; and sunlight was spilled in pools and +tiny furrows: the sea itself grey-green and very still, with streaks and +blotches of purple shadow flung by no visible cloud. The beauty and the +mystery of them fascinated Roy, who was irresistibly attracted by the +thing he could not understand. + +He was sitting alone, near the edge of a wooded cliff; troubles +forgotten for the moment; imbibing it all.... + +His fifteen months of reprieve had flown faster than anyone could have +believed. It was over--everything was over. No more lessons with Tara +under their beech-tree. No more happy hours in the studio, exploring the +mysteries of 'maths' and Homer, of form and colour, with his father, who +seemed to know the 'Why' of everything. Worse than all--no more Mummy, +to make the whole world beautiful with the colours of her saris and the +loveliness and the dearness of her face, and her laugh and her voice. + +It was all over. He was at school: not Coombe Friars, decreed by Aunt +Jane; but St Rupert's, because the Head was an artist friend of his +father, and would take a personal interest in Roy. + +But the Head, however kind, was a distant being; and the boys, who could +not exactly be called kind, hemmed him in on every side. His shy +sensitive spirit shrank fastidiously from the strange faces and bodies +that herded round him, at meals, at bedtime, in the schoolroom, on the +playground; some curious and friendly; others curious and hostile:--a +very nightmare of boys, who would not let him be. And the more they +hemmed him in, the more he felt utterly, miserably alone. + +As the endless weeks dragged on, there were interesting, even exciting +moments--when you hardly felt the ache. But other times--evenings and +Sundays--it came back sharper than ever. And in the course of those +weeks he had learnt a number of things not included in the school +curriculum. He had learnt that it was better to clench your teeth and +not cry out when your ears were tweaked or your arm twisted, or an +unexpected pin stuck into the soft part of your leg. But, inside him, +there burned a fire of rage and hate unsuspected by his tormentors. It +was not so much the pain, as the fact that they seemed to enjoy hurting +him, that he could neither understand nor forgive. + +And by now he felt more than half ashamed of those early letters to his +mother, pouring out his misery of loneliness and longing; of frantic +threats to run away or jump off the cliff, that had so strangely failed +to soften his father's heart. It seemed, he knew all about it. He had +been through it himself. But Mummy did not know; so she got upset. And +Mummy must not be upset, whatever happened to Roy, who was advised to +'shut his teeth and play the man' and he would feel the happier for it. +That hard counsel had done more than hurt and shame him. It had steadied +him at the moment when he needed it most. He _had_ somehow managed to +shut his teeth and play the man; and he _was_ the happier for it +already. + +So his faith in the father who wouldn't have Mummy upset, had increased +ten-fold: and the letter he had nearly torn into little bits was +treasured, like a talisman, in his letter-case--Tara's parting gift. + + * * * * * + +It was on the Sunday of the frantic threats that he had wandered off +alone and discovered the little wood on the cliff in all its autumn +glory. It was a very ordinary wood of mixed trees with a group of tall +pines at one end. But for Roy any wood was a place of enchantment; and +this one had trees all leaning one way, with an air of crouching and +hurrying that made them seem almost alive; and the moment they closed on +him he was back in his old familiar world of fancy, where nothing that +happened in houses mattered at all.... + +Strolling on, careless and content, he had reached a gap where the trees +fell apart, framing blue deeps and distances of sea and sky. For some +reason they looked more blue, more beautiful so framed than seen from +the open shore; and there--sitting alone at the edge of all things, he +had felt strangely comforted; had resolved to keep his discovery a +profound secret; and to come there every Sunday for 'sanctuary'; to +think stories, or write poetry--a very private joy. + +And this afternoon was the loveliest of all. If only the sheltering +leaves would not fall so fast! + +He had been sitting a long time, pencil in hand, waiting for words to +come; when suddenly there came instead the very sounds he had fled +from--the talk and laughter of boys. + +They seemed horribly close, right under the jutting cliff; and their +laughter and volleys of chaff had the jeering note he knew too well. +Presently his ear caught a high-pitched voice of defiance, that broke +off and fell to whimpering--a sound that made Roy's heart beat in quick +jerks. He could not catch what they were saying, nor see what they were +doing. He did not want to see. He hated them all. + +Listening--yet dreading to hear--he recognised the voice of Bennet Ma., +known--strictly out of earshot--as Scab Major. Is any school, at any +period, quite free of the type? It sounded more like a rough than an +ill-natured rag; but the whimpering unseen victim seemed to have no kick +in him: and Roy could only sit there wondering helplessly what people +were made of who found it amusing to hurt and frighten other people, who +had done them no harm.... + +And now the voice of Scab Major rang out distinctly: "After _that_ +exhibition, he'll jolly well salaam to the lot of us, turn about. If +he's never learnt, we'll show him how." + +The word salaam enlightened Roy. Yesterday there had been a buzz of +curiosity over the belated arrival of a new boy--an +Indian--weedy-looking and noticeably dark, with a sullen mouth and +shifty eyes. Roy, though keenly interested, had not felt drawn to him; +and a new self-protective shrinking had withheld him from proferring +advances that might only embroil them both. He had never imagined the +boy's colour would tell against him. Was _that_ what it meant--making +him salaam? + +At the bare suspicion, shrinking gave place to rage. Beasts, they were! +If only he could take a flying leap on to them, or roll a few stones +down and scare them out of their wits. But he could not stir without +giving away his secret. And while he hesitated, his eye absently +followed a moving speck far off on the shining sand. + +It was a boy on a bicycle--hatless, head in air, sitting very erect. +There was only one boy at St Rupert's who carried his head that way and +sat his bicycle just so. From the first Roy had watched him covertly, +with devout admiration; longing to know him, too shy to ask his name. +But so far the godlike one, surrounded by friends, had hardly seemed +aware of his existence. + +Swiftly he came nearer; and with a sudden leap of his pulses, Roy knew +he had seen---- + +Springing off his bicycle, he flung himself into the little group of +tormentors, hitting out vigorously right and left. Sheer surprise and +the fury of his onslaught gave him the advantage; and the guilty +consciences of the less aggressive were his allies.... + +This was not cruelty, but championship: and Roy, determined to see all, +lay flat on his front--danger of discovery forgotten--grabbing the edge +of the cliff, that curved inward, exulting in the triumph of the +deliverer and the scattering of the foe. + +Bennet Major, one of the first to break away, saw and seized the +prostrate bicycle. At that Roy lost his head; leaned perilously over and +shouted a warning, "Hi! Look out!" + +But the Scab was off like the wind: and the rest, startled by a voice +from nowhere, hurriedly followed suit. + +Roy, raising himself on his hands, gave a convulsive wriggle of +joy--that changed midway, into a backward jerk ... too late! + +The crumbling edge was giving way under his hands, under his body. No +time for terror. His jerk gave the finishing touch.... + +Down he went--over and over; his Sunday hat bouncing gaily on before; +nothing to clutch anywhere; but by good luck, no stones---- + +The thought flashed through him, "I'm killed!" And five seconds later he +rolled--breathless and sputtering--to the feet of the two remaining +boys, who had sprung back just in time to escape the dusty avalanche. + +There he lay--shaken and stupefied--his eyes and mouth full of sand; and +his pockets and boots and the inside of his shirt. Nothing seemed to be +broken. And he wasn't killed! + +Some one was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his eyes to +find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and concerned. + +"I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark were you +up to? Are you hurt?" + +"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it +startled you. I'm sorry." + +The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's minions a jolly +sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good riddance--eh, +Chandranath?" + +To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered assent. He +stood a little apart, looking sullen, irresolute, and thoroughly +uncomfortable, the marks of tears still on his face. + +"Thanks veree much. I am going now," he blurted out abruptly; and Roy +felt quite cross with him. Pity had evaporated. But the other boy's +good-humour seemed unassailable. + +"If you're not in a frantic hurry, we can go back together." + +Chandranath shook his head. "I don't wish--to go back. I would +rather--be by myself." + +"As you please. Those cads won't bother you again." + +"If they do--I will _kill_ them." + +He made that surprising announcement in a fierce whisper. It was the +voice of another race. + +And the English boy's answer was equally true to type. "Right you are. +Give me fair warning and I'll lend a hand." + +Chandranath stared blankly. "But--they are of _your_ country," he said; +and turning, walked off in the opposite direction. + +"A queer fish," Roy's new friend remarked. "Quite out of water here. +Awfully stupid sending him to an English school." + +"Why?" asked Roy. He was sitting up and dusting himself generally. + +"Oh, because----" the boy frowned pensively at the horizon. "That takes +some explaining, if you don't know India." + +"D'_you_ know India?" Roy could not keep the eagerness out of his tone. + +"Rather. I was born there. North-West Frontier. My name's Desmond. We +all belong there. I was out till seven and a half, and I'll go back like +a bird directly I'm through with Marlborough." + +He spoke very quietly; but under the quietness Roy guessed there was +purpose--there was fire. This boy knew exactly what he meant to do in +his grown-up life--that large, vague word crowded with exciting +possibilities. He stood there, straight as an arrow, looking out to sea; +and straight as an arrow he would make for his target when school and +college let go their hold. Something of this Roy dimly apprehended: and +his interest was tinged with envy. If they all 'belonged,' were they +Indians, he wondered; and decided not, because of Desmond's coppery +brown hair. He wanted to understand--to hear more. He almost forgot he +was at school. + +"We belong too----" he ventured shyly; and Desmond turned with a +kindling eye. + +"Good egg! What Province?" + +"Rajputana." + +"Oh--miles away. Which service?" + +Roy looked puzzled. "I--don't know You see--it's my mother--that +belongs. My grandfather's a Minister in a big Native State out there." + +"Oh--I say!" + +There was a shadow of change in his tone. His direct look was a little +embarrassing. He seemed to be considering Roy in a new light. + +"I--I wouldn't have thought it," he said; and added a shade too +quickly: "_We_ don't belong--that way. We're all Anglo-Indians--Frontier +Force." (Clearly a fine thing to be, thought Roy, mystified, but +impressed.) "Is your father in the Political?" + +More conundrums! But, warmed by Desmond's friendliness, Roy grew bolder. + +"No. He hates politics. He's just--just a gentleman." + +Desmond burst out laughing. + +"Top hole! He couldn't do better than that. But--if your mother--he must +have been in India?" + +"Afterwards--they went. I've been too. He found Mother in France. He +painted her. He's a rather famous painter." + +"What name?" + +"Sinclair." + +"Oh, I've heard of him.--And your people are always at home. Lucky +beggar!" He was silent a moment watching Roy unlace his boot. Then he +asked suddenly, in a voice that tried to sound casual: "I say--have you +told any of the other boys--about India--and your Mother?" + +"No--why? Is there any harm?" Roy was on the defensive at once. + +"Well--no. With the right sort, it wouldn't make a scrap of difference. +But you can see what some of 'em are like--Bennet Ma. and his crew. +Making a dead set at that poor blighter, just because he isn't their +colour----" + +Roy started. "Was it only because of _that_?" he asked with emphasis. + +"'Course it was. Plain as a pike-staff. I suppose they'd bullied him +into cheeking them. And they were hacking him on to his knees--forcing +him to salaam." Twin sparks sprang alight in his eyes. "That sort of +thing--makes me feel like a kettle on the boil. Wish I'd _had_ a boiling +kettle to empty over Bennet." + +"So do I--the mean Scab! And he's pinched your bicycle." + +"No fear! You bet we'll find it round the corner. He wouldn't have the +spunk to go right off with it. But look here--what I mean is"--hesitant, +yet resolute, he harked back to the main point--"if any of that lot +came to know--about India and--your mother, well--they're proper +skunks, some of them. They might say things that would make _you_ feel +like a kettle on the boil." + +"If they did--I would kill them." + +Roy stated the fact with quiet deliberation, and without noticing that +he had repeated the very words of the vanished victim. + +This time Desmond did not treat it as a joke. + +"'Course you would," he agreed gravely. "And that sort of shindy's no +good for the school. So I thought--better give you the tip----" + +"I--see," Roy said in a low voice, without looking up. He did not see; +but he began dimly to guess at a so far unknown and unsuspected state of +mind. + +Desmond sat silent while he shook the sand out of his boots. Then he +remarked in an easier tone: "Quite sure there's no damage?" + +Roy, now on his feet, found his left leg uncomfortably stiff--and said +so. + +"Bad luck! We must walk it off. I'll knead it first, if you like. I've +seen them do it on the Border." + +His unskilled manipulation hurt a good deal; but Roy, overcome with +gratitude, gave no sign. + +When it was over they set out for their homeward tramp, and found the +bicycle, as Desmond had prophesied. He refused to ride on; and Roy +limped beside him, feeling absurdly elated. The godlike one had come to +earth indeed! Only the remark about his mother still rankled; but he +felt shy of returning to the subject. The change in Desmond's manner had +puzzled him. Roy glanced admiringly at his profile--the straight nose, +the long mouth that smiled so readily, the resolute chin, a little in +the air. A clear case of love at sight, schoolboy love; a passing phase +of human efflorescence; yet, in passing, it will sometimes leave a mark +for life. Roy, instinctively a hero-worshipper, registered a new +ambition--to become Desmond's friend. + +Presently, as if aware of his thought, Desmond spoke. + +"I say, Sinclair, how old are you? You seem less of a kid than most of +the new lot." + +"I'm ten and a half," said Roy, wishing it was eleven. + +"Bit late for starting. I'm twelve. Going on to Marlborough next year." + +Roy felt crushed. In a year he would be gone! Still--there were three +more terms: and _he_ would go on to Marlborough too. He would insist. + +"Does Scab Ma. bother you much?" Desmond asked with a friendly twinkle. + +"Now and then--nothing to fuss about." + +Roy's nonchalance, though plucky, was not quite convincing. + +"Righto! I'll head him off. He isn't keen to knock up against me." A +pause. "How about sitting down my way at meals? You don't look awfully +gay at your end." + +"I'm not. It would be ripping." + +"Good. We'll hang together, eh? Because of India; because we both +belong--in a different way. And we'll stick up for that miserable little +devil Chandranath." + +"Yes--we will." (The glory of that 'we.') "All the same,--I don't much +like the look of him" + +"No more don't I. He's the wrong 'ját.' He won't stay long--you'll see. +But still--he shan't be bullied by Scabs, because he's not the same +colour outside. You see that sort of thing in India too. My father's +fearfully down on it, because it makes more bad blood than anything; +I've heard him say that it's just the blighters who buck about the +superior race who do all the damage with their inferior manners. Rather +neat--eh?" + +Roy glowed. "Your father must be a splendid sort. Is he a soldier?" + +"Rath_er_! He's a V.C. He got it saving a Jemadar--a Native Officer." + +Roy caught his breath. + +"I would awfully like to hear how----" + +Desmond told him how.... + +It was a wonderful walk. By the end of it Roy no longer felt a lonely +atom in a strange world. He had found something better than his +Sanctuary--he had found a friend. + +Looking back, long afterwards, he recognised that Sunday as the +turning-point.... + +Later in the evening he poured it all out to his mother in four +closely-written sheets. + +But not a word about herself, or Desmond's friendly warning, which +still puzzled him. He worried over it a little before he fell asleep. It +was the very first hint--given, in all friendliness--that the mere fact +of having an Indian mother might go against you, in some people's eyes. +Not the right ones, of course; but still--in the nature of things,--he +couldn't make it out. That would come later. + +At the time its only effect was to deepen his private satisfaction at +having hammered Joe Bradley; to quicken his attitude of championship +towards his mother and towards India, till ultimately the glow of his +fervent devotion fused them both into one dominant idea. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "He it is--the innermost one who awakens my being with his deep + hidden touches."--TAGORE. + + +Lilámani read and re-read that letter curled among her cushions in the +deep window-seat of the studio, a tower room with tall windows looking +north, over jagged pine tops, to the open moor. + +And while she read, Nevil stood at his easel, seizing and recording, the +unconscious grace of her pose, the rapt stillness of her face. He was +never weary of painting her--never quite satisfied with the result; +always within an ace of achieving the one perfect picture that should +immortalise a gleam from her inner uncaptured loveliness--the essence of +personality that eternally foils the sense, while it sways the spirit. +Impossible, of course. One might as well try and catch the fragrance of +a rose, the bloom of an April dawn, or any other fragment of the world's +unseizable beauty But there remained the joy of pursuing--and pursuing, +not achieving, is the salt of life. + +Something in her pose, her absorption--lips just parted, shadow of +lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the green velvet +curtain--had fired him, lit a spark of inspiration.... + +If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a companion to +the Antibes pastel: her two aspects--wife of Nevil; mother of Roy. Later +on, the boy would understand. His star stood higher than usual, just +then. For Nevil had detested writing that letter of rebuke; had not +dared show it to his wife; and Roy had taken it like a man. No more +lamentations, so far. Certainly not on this occasion, judging by her +rapt look, her complete absorption that gave him the chance of catching +her unawares. + +For, in truth, she was unaware; lost to everything but the joy of +contact with her son. The pang of parting had been dulled to a hidden +ache; but always the blank was there, however amply filled with other +claims on heart and spirit. A larger schoolroom now: and Nevil, with his +new Eastern picture on hand, making constant demands on her--as +usual--in the initial stages; till the subject of the moment eclipsed +everything, every one--sometimes even herself. Her early twinges of +jealousy, during that phase, rarely troubled her now. As wife and +mother, she better understood the dual allegiance--the twofold strain of +the creative process, whether in spirit or flesh. Now she knew that, +when art seemed most exclusively to claim him, his need was greater, not +less, for her woman's gift of self-effacing tenderness, of personal +physical service. And through deeper love, came clearer insight. She saw +Nevil--the artist--as a veritable Yogi, impelled to ceaseless striving +for mastery of himself, his atmosphere, his medium: saw her wifely love +and service as the life-giving impetus without which he might flag and +never reach the heights. + +Women of wide social and intellectual activities might raise perplexed +eyebrows over her secluded life, still instinct with the 'spirit of +purdah.' She found the daily pattern of it woven with threads so richly +varied that to cherish a hidden grief seemed base ingratitude. Yet +always--at the back of things--lurked her foolish mother-anxieties, her +deep unuttered longing. And letters were cold comfort. In the first few +weeks she had come to dread opening them. Always the bitter cry of +loneliness and longing for home. What was it Nevil had said to make so +surprising a change? Craving to know, she feared to ask; and more than +suspected that he blessed her for refraining. + +And now came this long, exultant letter, written in the first flush of +his great discovery---- + +And as she read on, she became aware of a new sensation. This was +another kind of Roy. On the first page he was pouring out his heart in +careless unformed phrases. By the end of the second, his tale had hold +of him; he was enjoying--perhaps unaware--the exercise of a +newly-awakened gift. And, looking up, at last, to share it with Nevil, +she caught him in the act of tracing a curve of her sari in mid-air. + +With a playful movement--pure Eastern--she drew it half over her face. + +"Oh, Nevil--you wicked! I never guessed----" + +"That was the beauty of it. I make my salaams to Roy! What's he been up +to that it takes four sheets to confess?" + +"Not confessing. Telling a tale. It will surprise you." + +"Let's have a look." + +She gave him the letter; and while he read it, she intently watched his +face. "The boy'll write--I shouldn't wonder," was his verdict, handing +back her treasure, with an odd half-smile in his eyes. + +"And you were hoping--he would paint?" she said, answering his thought. + +"Yes, but--scarcely expecting. Sons are a perverse generation. I'm glad +he's tumbled on his feet and found a pal." + +"Yes. It is good." + +"We'll invite young Desmond here and inspect him, eh?" + +"Yes--we will." + +He was silent a moment, considering her profile--humanly, not +artistically. "Jealous, is she? The hundredth part of a fraction?" + +"Just so much!" she admitted in her small voice. "But underneath--I am +glad. A fine fellow. We will ask him--later." + +The projected invitation proved superfluous. Roy's next letter informed +them that after Christmas Desmond was coming for ten whole days. He had +promised. + +He kept his promise. After Christmas he came and saw--and conquered. At +first they were all inclined to be secretly critical of the new element +that looked as if it had come to stay. For Roy's discreetly repressed +admiration was clear as print to those who could read him like an open +page. And, on the whole, it was not surprising, as they were gradually +persuaded to admit. There was more in Lance Desmond than mere grace and +good looks, manliness and a ready humour. In him two remarkable +personalities were blended with a peculiarly happy result. + +They discovered, incidentally, his wonderful gift of music. "Got it off +my mother," was his modest disclaimer. "She and my sister are simply +top-hole. We do lots of it together." + +His intelligent delight in pictures and books commended him to Nevil; +but, at twelve and a half, skating, tramping, and hockey matches held +the field. Sometimes--when it was skating--Tara and Chris went with +them. But they made it clear, quite unaggressively, that the real point +was to go alone. + +Day after day, from her window, Lilámani watched them go, across the +radiant sweep of snow-covered lawn; and, for the first time, where Roy +was concerned, she knew the prick of jealousy,--a foretaste of the day +when her love would no longer fill his life. Ashamed of her own +weakness, she kept it hid--or fancied she did so; but the little +stabbing ache persisted, in spite of shame and stoic resolves. + +Tara and Christine also knew the horrid pang; but they knew neither +shame not stoic resolves. Roy mustn't suspect, of course; but they told +each other, in strictest confidence, that they hated Desmond; firmly +believing they spoke the truth. So it was particularly vexatious to find +that the moment he favoured them with the most casual attention, they +were at his feet. + +But that was their own private affair. Whether they resented, or whether +they adored, the boys remained entirely unconcerned, entirely absorbed +in each other. It was Desmond's opinion of them that mattered supremely +to Roy; in particular--Desmond's opinion of his mother. After those +first puzzling remarks and silences, Roy had held his peace; had not +even shown Desmond her picture. His invitation accepted, he had simply +waited, in transcendent faith, for the moment of revelation. And now he +had his reward. After a prelude of mutual embarrassment, Lance had +succumbed frankly to Lady Sinclair's unexpected charm and her shy +irresistible overtures to friendship:--so frankly, that he was able, +now, to hint at his earlier perplexity. + +He had seen no Indian women, he explained, except in bazaars or in +service; so he couldn't quite understand, until his own mother made +things clearer to him and recommended him to go and see for himself. Now +he had seen--and succumbed: and Roy's very private triumph was +unalloyed. Second only to that triumph, the really important outcome of +their glorious Ten Days was that, with Desmond's help, Roy fought the +battle of going on to Marlborough when he was twelve--and won.... + +It was horrid leaving them all again; but it did make a wonderful +difference knowing there was Desmond at the other end; and together they +would champion that doubtfully grateful victim--Chandranath. Their zeal +proved superfluous. Chandranath never reappeared at St Rupert's. Perhaps +his people had arrived at Desmond's conclusion, that he was not the +right "ját" for an English school. In any case, his disappearance was a +relief--and Roy promptly forgot all about him. + +Years later--many years later--he was to remember. + + * * * * * + +After St Rupert's--Marlborough:--and just at first he hated it, as he +had hated St Rupert's, though in a different fashion. Here it was not so +much the longing for home, as a vague yet deepening sense that, in some +vital way--not yet fully understood--he was different from his fellows +But once he reached the haven of Desmond's study, the good days began in +earnest. He could read and dream along his own lines. He could scribble +verse or prose, when he ought to have been preparing quite other things; +and the results, good or bad, went straight to his mother. + +Needless to say, she found them all radiant with promise; here and there +a flicker of the divine spark: and, throughout the years of transition, +the locked and treasured book that held them was the sheet-anchor to +which she clung, till the new Roy should be forged out of the +backslidings and renewals incidental to that time of stress and +becoming. What matter their young imperfections, when--for her--it was +as if Roy's spirit reached out across the dividing distance and touched +her own. In the days when he seemed most withdrawn, that dear illusion +was her secret bread. + +And all the while, subconsciously, she was drawing nearer to the given +moment of religious surrender that would complete the spiritual link +with husband and children. As the babies grew older, she saw, with +increasing clearness, the increasing difficulty of her position. +Frankly, she had tried not to see it. Her free spirit, having reached +the Reality that transcends all forms, shrank from returning to the +dogmas, the limitations of a definite creed. In her eyes, it seemed a +step backward. Belief in a personal God, above and beyond the Universe, +was reckoned by her own faith a primitive conception; a stage on the way +to that ultima Thule where the soul of man perceives its own inherent +divinity, and the knower becomes the Known, as notes become music, as +the river becomes the sea. It was this that troubled her logical mind +and delayed decision. + +But the final deciding factor--though he knew it not--was Roy. By reason +of her own share in him, religion would probably mean more to him than +to Nevil. For his sake--for the sake of Christine and Tara and the +babies, fast sprouting into boys--she felt at last irresistibly +constrained to accept, with certain mental reservations, the tenets of +her husband's creed; and so qualify herself to share with them all its +outward and visible forms, as already she shared its inward and +spiritual grace. + +The conviction sprang from no mere sentimental impulse. It was the +unhurried work of years. So--when there arose the question of Roy's +confirmation, and Tara's, at the same Easter-tide, conviction blossomed +into decision, as simply and naturally as the bud of a flower opens to +the sun. That is the supreme virtue of changes not imposed from without. +When the given moment came--the inner resolve was there. + +Quite simply she spoke of it to Nevil, one evening over the studio fire. +And behold a surprise awaited her. She had rarely seen him more deeply +moved. From the time of Roy's coming, he told her, he had cherished the +hidden hope. + +"Yet too seldom you have spoken of such things--why?" she asked, moved +in her turn and amazed. + +"Because from the first I made up my mind I would not have it, except +in your own way and in your own time. I knew the essence of it was in +you. For the rest--I preferred to wait till you were ready--Sita Devi." + +"Nevil--lord of me!" She slipped to her knees beside him. "I _am_ ready. +But oh, you wicked, how _could_ I know that all the time you were caring +that much in your secret heart." + +He gathered her close and said not a word. + +So the great matter was settled, with no outward fuss or formalities. +She would be baptized before Roy came home for the Easter holidays and +his confirmation. + +"But not here--not Mr Sale," she pleaded. "Let us go away quietly to +London--we two. Let it be in that great Church, where first the thought +was born in my heart that some day ... this might be." + +He could refuse her nothing. Jeffrey might feel aggrieved when he knew. +But after all--this was their own affair. Time enough afterwards to let +in the world and its thronging notes of exclamation. + +Roy was told when he came home. For imparting such intimate news, she +craved the response of his living self. And if Nevil's satisfaction +struck a deeper note, it was simply that Roy was very young and had +always included her Hindu-ness in the natural order of things. + +Wonderful days! Preparing the children, with Helen's help; preparing +herself, in the quiet of her "House of Gods"--a tiny room above the +studio--in much the same spirit as she had prepared for the great +consecration of marriage, with vigil and meditation and unobtrusive +fasting--noted by Nevil, though he said no word. + +Crowning wonder of all, that golden Easter morning of her first +Communion with Roy and Tara, with Nevil and Helen:--unfolding of heart +and spirit, of leaf and blossom; dual miracle of a world new made.... + + +END OF PHASE I. + + + + +PHASE II. + +THE VISIONARY GLEAM + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Youth is lifted on Wings of his strong hope and soaring valour; + for his thoughts are above riches."--PINDAR. + + +Oxford on a clear, still evening of June: silver reaches of Isis and +Cher; meadows pied with moon daisies and clover, and the rose madder +bloom of ripe grasses; the trill of unseen birds tuning up for evensong; +the passing and repassing of boats and canoes and punts, gay with +cushions and summer frocks; all bathed in the level radiance that steals +over earth like a presence in the last hours of a summer day.... + +Oxford--shrine of the oldest creeds and the newest fads--given over, for +one hilarious week, to the yearly invasion of mothers and sisters and +cousins, and girls that were neither; especially girls that were +neither.... + +Two of the punts, clearly containing one party, kept close enough +together for the occupants to exchange sallies of wit, or any blissful +foolishness in keeping with the blissfully foolish mood of a moonlight +picnic up the river in 'Commem.' + +Roy Sinclair's party boasted the distinction of including one mother, +Lady Despard; and one grandfather, Cuthbert Broome; and Roy himself--a +slender, virile figure in flannels, and New College tie--was poling the +first punt. + +As in boyhood, so now, his bearing and features were Nevil incarnate. +But to the shrewd eye of Broome the last seemed subtly overlaid with the +spirit of the East--a brooding stillness wrought from the clash of +opposing forces within. When he laughed and talked it vanished. When he +fell silent, and drifted away from his surroundings, it reappeared. + +It was precisely this hidden quality, so finely balanced, that +intrigued the brain of the novelist, as distinct from the heart of the +godfather. Which was the real Roy? Which would prove the decisive factor +at the critical corners of his destiny? To what heights would it carry +him--into what abyss might it plunge him--that gleam from the ancient +soul of things? Would India--and his young glorification of India--be, +for him, a spark of inspiration or a stone of stumbling? + +Broome had not seen much of the boy, intimately, since the New Year; and +he did not need spectacles to discern some inner ferment at work. Roy +was more talkative and less communicative than usual; and Broome let him +talk, reading between the lines. He knew to a nicety the moment when a +chance question will kill confidence--or evoke it. He suspected one of +those critical corners. He also suspected one of those Indian cousins of +his: delightful, both of them; but still.... + +The question remained, which was it--the girl or the boy? + +The girl, Arúna--student at Somerville College--was reclining among vast +blue and pink cushions in the bows, pensively twirling a Japanese +parasol, one arm flung round the shoulders of her companion--a +fellow-student; fair and stolid and good-humoured. Broome summed her up +mentally: "Tactless but trustworthy. Anglo-Saxon to the last button on +her ready-made Shantung coat and the blunted toe of her white sučde +shoe." + +Arúna--in plain English, Dawn--was quite arrestingly otherwise. Not +beautiful, like Lilámani, nor quite so fair of skin; but what the face +lacked in symmetry was redeemed by lively play of expression, piquante +tilt of nose and chin, large eyes, velvet-dark like brown pansies. The +modelling of the face--its breadth and roundness and upturned +aspect--gave it a pansy-like air. Over her simple summer frock of +carnation pink she wore a paler sari flecked with gold; and two ropes of +coral beads enhanced the deeper coral of her full lower lip. Not yet +eighteen, she was studying "pedagogy" for the benefit of her less +adventurous sisters in Jaipur. + +Clearly a factor to be reckoned with, this creature of girlish laughter +and high purpose; a woman to the tips of her polished finger nails. Yet +Broome had by no means decided that it _was_ the girl---- + +After Desmond--Dyán Singh: each, in his turn and type, own brother to +Roy's complex soul. Broome--in no insular spirit--preferred the earlier +influence. But Desmond had sped like an arrow to the Border, where his +eldest brother commanded their father's old regiment; and Dyán +Singh--handsome and fiery, young India at its best--reigned in his +stead. The two were of the same college. Dyán, twelve months younger, +looked the older by a year or more. Face and form bore the Rajput stamp +of virility, of a racial pride, verging on arrogance; and the Rajput +insignia of breeding--noticeably small hands and feet. + +He was poling the second punt with less skill and assurance than Roy. +His attention was palpably distracted by a vision of Tara among the +cushions in the bows; an arm linked through her mother's, as though +defending her against the implication of being older than any one else, +or in the least degree out of it because of that trifling +detail--tacitly admitted, while hotly denied; which was Tara all over. + +Certainly Lady Despard still looked amazingly young; still emanated the +vital charm she had transmitted to her child. And Tara at twenty, in +soft butter-coloured frock with roses in her hat, was a vision alluring +enough to distract any young man from concentration on a punt pole. +Vivid, eager and venturesome, singularly free from the bane of +self-consciousness; not least among her graces--and rare enough to be +notable--was the grace of her chivalrous affection for the older +generation. In Tara's eyes, girls who patronised their mothers and +tolerated their fathers were anathema. It was a trait certain to impress +Roy's Rajput cousin; and Broome wondered whether Helen was alive to the +disturbing possibility; whether, for all her genuine love of the East, +she would acquiesce.... + +Only the other day, it seemed, he and she had sat together among the +rocks of the dear old Cap, listening to Nevil's amazing news. She it was +who had championed his choice of a bride: and Lilámani had justified her +championship to the full. But then--Lilámani was one in many thousands; +and this affair would be the other way about:--Tara, the apple of their +eye; Tara, with her wild-flower face and her temperament of clear +flame----? + +How sharply they tugged at his middle-aged heart, these casual and +opinionated young things, with their follies and fanaticisms, their +Jacob's ladders hitched perilously to the stars; with their triumphs and +failures and disillusions all ahead of them; airily impervious to +proffered help and advice from those who would agonise to serve them if +they could.... + +A jarring bump in the small of his back cut short his flagrantly +Victorian musings. Dyán's punt was the offender; and Dyán himself, +clutching the pole that had betrayed him, was almost pitched into the +river. + +His achievement was greeted by a shout of laughter, and an ironic +"Played indeed!" from Cuthbert Gordon--Broome's grandson. Roy, tumbled +from some starry dream of his own, flashed out imperiously: "Look alive, +you blithering idiot. 'Who are you a-shoving'?" + +The Rajput's face darkened; but before he could retort, Tara had risen +and stepped swiftly to his side. Her fingers closed on the pole; and she +smiled straight into his clouded eyes. + +"Let _me_, please. I'm sick of lazing and fearfully keen. And I can't +allow my Mother to be drownded by anyone _but_ me. I'd be obliged to +murder the other body, which would be awkward--for us both!" + +"Miss Despard--there is no danger----" he muttered--impervious to +humour; and--as if by chance--one of his hands half covered hers. + +"Let go," she commanded, so low that no one else knew she had spoken; so +sternly that Dyán's fingers unclosed as if they had touched fire. + +"Now, don't fuss. Go and sit down," she added, in her lighter vein. +"You've done your share. And you're jolly grateful to me, really. But +too proud to own it!" + +"_Not_ too proud to obey you," he muttered. + +She saw the words rather than heard them; and he turned away without +daring to meet her eyes. + +It all passed in a few seconds, but it left him tingling with repressed +rage. He had made a fool of himself in her eyes; had probably given away +his secret to the whole party. After all, what matter? He could not +much longer have kept it hidden. By the touch of hands and his daring +words he had practically told her.... + +As he settled himself, her clear voice rang out: "Wake up, Roy! I'll +race you to the backwater." + +They raced to the backwater; and Tara won by half a length, amid cheers +from the men. + +"Well, you see, I _had_ to let you," Roy explained, as she confronted +him, flushed with triumph. "Seemed a shame to cut you out. Not as if you +were a giddy suffragette!" + +"_Qui s'excuse--s'accuse!_" she retorted. "Anyway--_I'm_ the winner." + +"Right you are. The way of girls was ever so. No matter what line you +take, it's safe to be the wrong one." + +"Hark at the Cynic!" jeered young Cuthbert. "Were you forty on the 9th, +or was it forty-five?" + +Roy grinned. "Good old Cuthers! Don't exhaust yourself trying to be +funny! Fish out the drinks. We've earned them, haven't we--High Tower +Princess?" The last, confidentially, for Tara's ear alone. + +And Dyán, seeing the smile in her eyes, felt jealousy pierce him like a +red-hot wire. + +The supper, provided by Roy and Dyán, was no scratch wayside meal, but +an ambrosial affair:--salmon mayonnaise, ready mixed; glazed joints of +chicken; strawberries and cream; lordly chocolate boxes; sparkling +moselle--and syphons for the abstemious. + +It was a lively meal: Roy, dropped from the clouds, the film of the East +gone from his face, was simply Nevil again; even as young Cuthbert, with +his large build and thatch of tawny hair, was a juvenile edition of +Broome. And the older man, watching them, bandying chaff with them, +renewed his youth for one careless golden hour. + +The punts were ranged alongside; and they all ate together, English and +Indian. No irksome caste rules on this side of the water; no hint of +condescension in the friendly attitude of young Oxford. Nothing to jar +the over-sensibility of young India--prone to suspect slight where no +thought of it exists; too often, also, treated to exhibitions of +ill-bred arrogance that undo in an hour the harmonising work of years. + +Dyán sat by Tara, anticipating her lightest need; courage rising by +leaps and bounds. Arúna, from her nest of cushions, exchanged lively +sallies with Roy. Petted by a college full of friendly English girls, +she had very soon lost what little shyness she ever possessed. Now and +again, when his eyes challenged hers, she would veil them and watch him +surreptitiously; one moment approving his masculine grace; the next, +boldly asking herself: "Does he see how I am wearing the favourite +sari--and how my coral beads make my lips look red?" And again: "Why do +they make foolish talk of a gulf between East and West?" + +To that profound question came no answer in words; only in hidden +stirrings, that she preferred to ignore. Both brother and sister had +persuaded themselves that talk of a gulf was exaggerated by unfriendly +spirits. They, at all events, having built their bridge, took its +stability for granted. Children of an emotional race, it sufficed to +discover that they loved the cool green freshness of England, the +careless kindly freedom of her life and ways; the hum of her restless, +smoky, all-embracing London; her miles and miles of books and pictures. +Above everything they loved Oxford, where all were brothers in +spirit--with a proper sense of difference between the brothers of one's +own college and the mere outsider:--Oxford, at this particular hour of +this particular June evening. And at this actual moment, they loved +salmon mayonnaise and crushed strawberries fully as much as any other +manifestation of the delectable land. + +And down in subconscious depths--untroubled by the play of surface +emotions--burned their passionate, unreasoned love of India that any +chance breath might rekindle to a flame. + +Presently, as the sun drew down to earth, trees and meadows swam in a +golden haze. Arrows of gold, stealing through alders and willows, +conjured mere leaves into discs of pure green light. Clouds of pollen +brightened to dust of gold. In the near haze midges flickered; and, +black against the brightness, swallows wheeled and dipped, uttering thin +cries in the ecstasy of their evening flight. + +On the two punts in the backwater a great peace descended after the +hilarity of their feast. Clouds of cigarette smoke kept midges at bay. +In the deepening stillness small sounds asserted themselves--piping of +gnats, the trill of happy birds, snatches of disembodied laughter and +talk from other parties in other punts, somewhere out of sight.... + +Only Arúna did not smoke; and Emily Barnard, her fanatic devotee, +retired with her to the bank, where they made a lazy pretence of +"washing up." But Arúna's eyes _would_ stray toward the recumbent figure +of Roy, when she fancied Emmie was not looking. And Emmie--who could see +very well without looking--wished him at the bottom of the river. + +Propped on an elbow, he lay among Arúna's cushions, his senses stirred +by the faint carnation scent she used, enlarging on his latest +enthusiasm--Rabindranath Tagore, the first of India's poet-saints to +challenge the ethics of the withdrawn life. When the mood was on, the +veil of reserve swept aside, he could pour out his ardours, his +protests, his theories, in an eloquent rush of words. And +Arúna--absently wiping spoons and forks--listened entranced. He seemed +to be addressing no one in particular; but as often as not his gaze +rested on Broome, as though he were indirectly conveying to him thoughts +he felt shy of airing when they were alone. + +A pause in the flow of his talk left a space of silence into which the +encompassing peace and radiance stole like an inflowing tide. None loved +better than Roy the ghostly music of silence; but to-night his brain was +filled with the music of words--not his own. + +"Just listen to this," he said, without preamble. His eyes took on their +far-away look; his voice dropped a tone. + +"The night is night of mid-May; the breeze is the breeze of the South. + +"From my heart comes out and dances the image of my Desire. + +"The gleaming vision flits on. + +"I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. + +"I seek what I cannot get; I get what I do not seek." + +To that shining fragment of truth and beauty, his audience paid the +fitting tribute of silence; and his gaze--returning to earth--caught, in +Tara's eyes, a reflection of his exalted mood. Dyán saw it also; and +once more that red-hot wire pierced his heart. + +It passed in a second; and Roy was speaking again--not to Tara, but to +her mother. + +"Is there any poet, East or West, who can _quite_ so exquisitely capture +the essence of a mood, hold it lightly, like a fluttering bird, and as +lightly let it go?" + +Lady Despard smiled approval at the simile. "In that one," she said, "he +has captured more than a mood--the very essence of life.--Have you met +him?" + +"Yes, once--after a lecture. We had a talk--I'll never forget. There's +wonderful stuff in the new volume. I know most of it by heart." + +"Spare us, good Lord," muttered Cuthbert--neither prejudiced nor +perverse, but British to the core. "If you start again, I'll retaliate +with Job and the Psalms!" + +Roy retorted with the stump of an extinct cigarette. It smote the +offender between the eyebrows, leaving a caste-mark of warm ash to +attest the accuracy of his aim. + +"Bull's eye!" Tara scored softly; and Roy, turning on his elbow, +appealed to Broome. "Jeffers, please extinguish him!" ("Jeffers" being a +corruption of G.F., alias Godfather). + +Broome laughed. "I had a hazy notion he was your show candidate for the +Indian Civil!" + +"He's supposed to be. That's the scandal of it. A mighty lot of interest +he's cultivating in the people and the country he aspires to +administer." + +"High art and sloppy sentiment are not in the bond," Cuthbert retorted, +with a wink at Dyán Singh. + +That roused Lady Despard. "Insight and sympathy _must_ be in the bond, +unless England and India are to drift apart altogether. The Indian +Civilian should be caught early, like the sailor, and trained on the +spot. Exams make character a side issue. And one might almost say +there's no _other_ issue in the Indian services." + +Cuthbert nodded. "Glorious farce, isn't it? They simply cram us like +Christmas turkeys. Efficiency's the war-cry, these enlightened days." + +"Too _much_ efficiency," Dyán struck in, with a kindling eye. "Already +turning our ancient cities into nightmares like Manchester and +Birmingham, killing the true sense of beauty, giving us instead the +poison of money and luxury worship. And what result? Just now, when the +West at last begins to notice our genius of colour and design--even to +learn from it--we find it slipping out of our own fingers. Nearly all +the homes of the English educated are like caricatures of your +villas--the worst kind. Yet there are still many on both sides who wish +to make life--not so ugly, to escape a little from gross superstition of +_facts_----" + +"Hear, hear!" Broome applauded him. "But I'm afraid, my dear boy, the +Time Spirit is out to make tradesmen and politicians of us all. Thank +God, the soul of a race lives in its books, its philosophy and art." + +"Very well then"--Roy was the speaker,--"the obvious remedy lies in +getting the souls of both races into closer touch--philosophy, art, and +all that--eh, Jeffers? That's what we're after--Dyán and I--on the lines +of that society Dad belongs to." + +Broome looked thoughtfully from one to the other. "A tall order," said +he. + +"A vision splendid!" said Lady Despard. + +Roy leaned eagerly towards her. "_You_ don't sneer at dreams, Aunt +Helen." + +"Nor do I, my son. Dreamers are our strictly unpaid torch-bearers. They +light the path for us; and we murmur 'Poor fools!' with a kind of +sneaking self-satisfaction, when they come a cropper." + +"'Which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me!'" quoted Roy, cheered by Lady +Despard's approval. "Anyway, we're keen to speed up the better +understanding move--on the principle that Art unites and politics +divide." + +"Very pithy--and approximately true! May I be allowed to proffer a sound +working maxim for youth on the war-path? 'Freedom and courage in +thought--obedience in act.' When I say obedience, I don't mean slavish +conformity. When I say freedom, I don't mean licence. Only the bond are +free." + +"Jeffers, you're a Daniel! I'll pinch that pearl of wisdom! But what +about democracy--Cuthers' pet panacea? Isn't it making for +_dis_obedience in act--rebellion; and enslavement in thought--every man +reared on the same catch-words, minted with the same hall-mark?" + +That roused the much-enduring British Lion--in the person of Cuthbert +Gordon. + +"Confound you, Roy! This is a picnic, not a bally Union debate. You +can't argue for nuts; and when you start spouting you're the limit. But +two can play at that game!" He flourished a half-empty syphon of +lemonade, threatening the handle with a very square thumb. + +"Fire away, old bean." Roy opened his mouth by way of invitation. +Cuthbert promptly pressed the trigger--and missed his mark. + +There was a small shriek from Tara and from the girls on the bank: then +the opponents proceeded to deal with one another in earnest.... + +Dyán soon lost interest when India was not the theme; and, as the elders +fell into an undercurrent of talk, his eyes sought Tara's face. Her +answering smile spurred him to a bold move; and he leaned towards her, +over the edge of the boat. "Miss Despard," he said under his breath, +"won't you come for a stroll in the field?--Do." + +She shook her head. "I'm too lazy! We've had enough exercise. And +there's the walk home." + +Her refusal jarred him; but desire overruled pride. "You couldn't call +it exercise. Do come." + +"Truly--I'm tired," she insisted gently, looking away from him towards +her mother. + +It was Lady Despard's boast that she could listen to three conversations +at once; but even Tara was surprised when she casually put out a hand +and patted her knee. "Wise child. Better keep quiet till we start home." + +The hand was not removed. Tara covered it with her own, and further +maddened the discomfited Dyán by saying, with her very kindest smile: +"I'm so sorry. Don't be vexed." + +Vexed! The bloodless word was insult piled on injury. All the pride and +passion of his race flamed in him. Without answering her smile or her +plea, he drew abruptly away from her; stepped out of the punt and went +for his stroll alone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Who knows what days I answer for to-day...? + Thoughts yet unripe in me, I bend one way...." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +While Broome and Lady Despard were concerned over indications of a +critical corner for Roy, there was none--save perhaps Arúna--to be +concerned for the dilemma of Dyán Singh, Rajput--half savage, half +chivalrous gentleman; idealist in the grain; lover of England and India; +and now--fiercely, consumedly--lover of Tara Despard, with her Indian +name and her pearl-white English skin and the benign sunshine of England +in her hair. + +It is the danger-point for the young Indian overseas, unused to free +intercourse with women other than his own; saddled, very often, with a +girl-wife in the background--the last by no means a matter of course in +these enlightened days. In Dyán Singh's case the safeguard was lacking. +His mother being dead, he had held his own against a rigidly +conventional grandmother, and insisted on delaying the inevitable till +his education was complete. Waxing bolder still, he had demanded the +same respite for Arúna; a far more serious affair. For months they had +waged a battle of tongues and temper and tears, with +Mátaji--high-priestess of the Inside--with the family matchmaker and the +family _guru_, whom to offend was the unforgiveable sin. Had he not +power to call down upon an entire household the curse of the gods? + +More than once Arúna had been goaded to the brink of surrender; till her +brother grew impatient and spurned her as a weakling. Yet her ordeal had +been sharper than his own. For him, mere moral suasion and threats of +ostracism. For her, the immemorial methods of the Inside; forbidden by +Sir Lakshman, but secretly applied, when flagrant obstinacy demanded +drastic measures. So neither Dyán nor his grandfather had suspected that +Arúna, for days together, had suffered the torment of Tantalus--food set +before her so mercilessly peppered that a morsel would raise blisters on +her lips and tongue; water steeped in salt; the touch of the +'fire-stick' applied where her skin was tenderest; not to mention the +more subtle torment of jibes and threats and vile insinuations that +suffused her with shame and rage. A word to the menfolk, threatened +Mátaji, and worse would befall. If _men_ cared nothing for family +honour, the women must vindicate it in their own fashion. For the two +were doing their duty, up to their lights. Only the knowledge that Dyán +was fighting her battle, as well as his own, had kept the girl unbroken +in spirit, even when her body cried out for respite at any price.... + +All this she had confided to him when, at last, they were safe on the +great ship, with miles of turbulent water between them and the ruthless +dominion of _dastúr_. That confession--with its unconscious revealing of +the Rajput spirit hidden in her laughter-loving heart--had drawn them +into closest union and filled Dyán with self-reproach. Small wonder if +Oxford seemed to both a paradise of knowledge and of friendly freedom. +Small wonder if they believed that, in one bold leap, they had bridged +the gulf between East and West. + +At Bramleigh Beeches, Lilámani--who knew all without telling--had +welcomed them with open arms: and Lady Despard no less. It was here that +Dyán met Tara, who had 'no use' for colleges--and, in the course of a +few vacation visits, the damage had been done. + +At first he had felt startled, even a little dismayed. English education +and delayed marriage had involved no dream of a possible English wife. +With the Indian Civil in view, he had hoped to meet some girl student of +his own race, sufficiently advanced to remain outside purdah and to +realise that a modern Indian husband might crave companionship from his +wife no less than motherhood, worship, and service. + +And now ... _this_----! + +Striding across the field, in the glimmer of a moon just beginning to +take colour, he alternately raged at her light rebuff, and applauded her +maidenly hesitation. As a Hindu and a man of breeding, his natural +instinct had been to approach her parents; but he knew enough of modern +youth, by now, to realise that English parents were a side issue in +these little affairs. For himself, the primitive lover flamed in him. He +wanted to kneel and worship her. In the same breath, he wanted simply to +possess her, would she or no.... + +And in saner moods, uncertainty racked him. What did they amount to, her +smiles and flashes of sympathy, her kind, cousinly ways? What did Roy's +cousinly kindness amount to, with Arúna? If in India they suffered from +too much restriction, it dawned on him that in England trouble might +arise from too much freedom. Always, by some cause, there would be +suffering. The gods would see to it. But not through loss of her--he +mutely implored them. Any way but that! + +Everything hung on the walk home. Those two must have finished their +sparring match by now.... + +They had. Roy was on the bank, helping Arúna pack the basket; and +Cuthbert in possession of Tara--not for long. + +He was called upon to punt back; and at the boat-house, where a taxi +removed the elders and the picnic impedimenta, he essayed a futile +manoeuvre to recapture Tara and saddle Dyán with the solid Emily. +Failing, he consoled himself by keeping in touch with Arúna and Roy. + +Dyán patently delayed starting, patently lagged behind. Unskilled and +desperately in earnest, he could not lead up to his moment. He was +laboriously framing the essential words when Tara scattered them with a +light remark, rallying him on his snail's pace. + +"You _would_ go for that stroll; and you strolled so violently----!" + +"Because my heart in me was raging--aching, violently!" he blurted out +with such unexpected vehemence, that she started and stepped back a +pace. + +"Of course I knew--there must be difficulties--so I have been waiting +and hoping ..." An idiotic catch in his throat brought a sudden hot +wave of self-consciousness. He flung out both hands. "Tara----!" + +Instinctively, she drew her own out of reach. A ghost of a shiver ran +through her. "No--no. I don't ... I never have.... If I've misled you, +I'm ever so sorry." + +"If you are sorry--_give me hope_," his voice, his eyes implored her. +"You come so near--then you draw back; like offering a thirsty man a cup +of water he must not drink. Give me only a little time--a little +chance----" + +She shook her head. "Please believe me. I'm _not_ the wavering kind. I'm +keen to go on being friends--because of Roy. But, truthfully, it's no +use hoping for anything more--ever." + +Her patent sincerity, the sweet seriousness of her face, carried +conviction. And conviction turned his ardour to bitterness. + +"Why no use--_ever_?" he flung out, maddened by her emphasis on the +word. + +"I suppose--because I know my own mind." + +"No. Because--_I_ am Indian." His voice was changed and harsh. "We are +all British subjects--oh yes--when convenient! But the door is opened +only--so far. If we make bold to ask for the best, it is slammed in our +faces." + +"Dyán Singh, if I have hurt you, it was quite unintentional. You know +that. But now, _with_ intention, you are hurting me." Her dignity and +gentleness, the justice of her reproof, smote him silent; and she went +on: "You forget, it is the same among your own people. Aunt Lila was +cast out--for always. With an English girl that could never be." + +Too distraught for argument, he harked back to the personal issue. "With +_you_ there would be no need. I would live altogether like an +Englishman----" + +"Oh, _stop_!" she broke out desperately. "Don't start all over +again----" + +"Look alive, you two slackers," shouted Roy, from the far corner of the +road. "I'm responsible for keeping the team together." + +"Coming!" called Tara, and turned on Dyán a final glance of appeal. "I'm +_sorry_ from the bottom of my heart. I can't say more."--And setting +the pace, she hurried forward. + +For the fraction of a second, he hesitated. An overmastering impulse +seized him to walk off in the opposite direction. His eager love for +them all had suddenly turned to gall. But pride forbade. He would not +for the world have them guess at his rebuff--not even Arúna.... + + * * * * * + +He slept little that night; and it was not Dyán Singh of New College who +awoke next morning. It was Dyán Singh, Rajput, Descendant of the Sun. +Yet the foolish round of life must go on as if no vital change had come +to pass. + +That afternoon, he was going with Roy to a select drawing-room meeting. +A certain Mr Ramji Lal had been asked to read a paper on the revival of +Indian arts and crafts. Dyán had been looking forward to it keenly; but +now, sore and miserable as he was--all sense of purpose and direction +gone--he felt out of tune with the whole thing. + +He would have been thankful to cry off. Roy, however, must not suspect +the truth--Roy, who himself might be the stumbling-block. The suspicion +stung like a scorpion; though it soothed a little his hurt pride of +race. + +Embittered and antagonistic, he listened only with half his mind to his +own countryman's impassioned appeal for renewal of the true Swadeshi[1] +spirit in India; renewal of her own innate artistic culture, her faith +in the creative power of thought and ideas. That spirit--said the +speaker--has no war-cries, no shoutings in the market-place. It is a way +of looking at life. Its true genesis and inspiration is in the home. +Like flame, newly-lit, it needs cherishing. Instead, it is in danger of +being stamped out by false Swadeshi--an imitation product of the West; +noisy and political, crying out for more factories, more councils; +caring nothing for true Indian traditions of art and life. It will not +buy goods from Birmingham and Manchester; but it will create Birmingham +and Manchester in India. In effect, it is the age-old argument whether +the greatness of a nation comes from the dominion of men or +machinery.... + +For all this, Dyán had cared intensely twenty-four hours ago. Now it +seemed little better than a rhapsody of fine phrases--'sounding brass +and tinkling cymbals.' + +Could the mere word of a woman so swiftly and violently transform the +mind of a man? His innate masculinity resented the idea. It succumbed, +nevertheless. He was too deeply hurt in his pride and his passionate +heart to think or feel sanely while the wound was still so fresh. He was +scarcely stirred even by the allusion to Rajputana in Mr Ramji Lal's +peroration. + +"I ask you to consider, in conclusion--my dear and honoured English +friends--the words of a veteran lover of India, who is also a son of +England. It was his conviction--it is also mine--that 'the still living +art of India, the still living chivalry of Rajputana, the still living +religion of the Hindus, are the only three points on which there is any +possibility of regenerating the national life of India--the India of the +Hindus....'" + +Very fine; doubtless very true; but what use--after all--their eternal +talk? By blowing volumes of air from their lungs, did they shift the +mountains of difficulty one single inch? + +More talk followed; tea and attentions that would have flattered him +yesterday. To-day it all passed clean over his head. They were ready +enough to pamper him, like a lap-dog, these good ladies; forgetting he +was a man, with a man's heart and brain, making demand for something +more than carefully chosen sugar-plums. + +He had never been so thankful to get away from that hospitable house, +where he had imagined himself so happy.... + +They were out in the street again, striding back to New College: +Roy--not yet alive to the change in him--full of it all; talking +nineteen to the dozen. But Dyán's urgent heart spoke louder than his +cousin's voice. And all the while he kept wondering consumedly--_Was_ it +Roy? + +He could not bring himself to ask outright. The answer would madden him +either way. And Goodness--or Badness--knew he was miserable enough: +hurt, angry with Fate, with England, even with Tara--lovely and +unattainable! She had spoilt everything: his relation with her, with her +people, with Roy. She had quenched his zeal for their joint crusade. All +the same, he would hold Roy to the India plan; since there was just a +chance--and it would take him away from her. He hated himself for the +thought; but jealousy, in the East, is a consuming fire.... + +Roy's monologue ceased abruptly. "Your innings, old chap, I think!" he +said. "You're mum as a fish this afternoon. I noticed it in there--I +thought you'd have lots to say to Ramji Lal." + +Dyán frowned. He could not for long play at pretences with Roy. + +"Those ladies did all the saying. They would not have liked it at all if +I had spoken my true thought,"--he paused and added deliberately--"that +we are all cracking our skulls against stone walls." + +"My dear chap----!" Roy stared in frank bewilderment. "What's gone +wrong? Your liver touched up? Too much salmon mayonnaise and cream?" + +His light tone goaded Dyán to exasperation. "Quite likely," he retorted, +a sneer lurking in his tone. "Plenty of mayonnaise and cream, for all +parties. But when we make bold to ask for more satisfying things, we +find 'No Indians need apply.'" + +"But--my good Dyán----!" + +"Well--it's true. Suppose I wish to promote that closer union we all +chatter about by marrying an English girl--what then?" + +Up went Roy's eyebrows. "Are _you_ after an English wife?" + +"I am submitting a case--that might easily occur." He spoke with a touch +of irritation; and fearing self-betrayal, swerved from the main issue. +"Would _you_ marry an Indian girl?" + +"I believe so. If I was keen. I'm not at all sure, though, if it's +sound--in principle--mixing such opposite strains. And in your +case--hypothetical, I suppose----?" + +Dyán's grunt confessed nothing and denied nothing. + +"Well--from what one hears, an English wife, out there, might make a bit +of complication, if you get the 'Civil.'" + +Dyán started. "I shan't go up for it. I've changed my mind." + +"Good Lord! And you've been sweating all this time." + +Dyán's smile was tinged with bitterness. + +"Well--one lives and learns. I can make good use of my knowledge without +turning myself into an imitation Englishman. An Indian wife might make +equal difficulty. So--with all my zeal--I am between two grindstones. My +father joined the Civil. He was keen. He did well. But--no promotion; +and little friendliness, except from very few. I believe he was never +happy. I believe--it killed him. I was cherishing a hope that, now, +things might be better. But I am beginning to see--I may be wrong. Safer +to see it in time----" + +Roy looked genuinely distressed. "Poor old Dyán. Perhaps you're right. I +don't know much about British India. But it does seem hard lines--and +bad policy--to choke off men like you." + +"Yes. They might consider _that_ more, if they heard some of our +fire-eaters. One was at me last week. He gave the British ten years to +survive. Said their lot could raise a revolution to-morrow if they had +money--a trifle of five millions! He was swearing the Indian princes are +not loyal, in spite of talk and subscriptions; that the Army will join +whichever side gives best pay. We who _are_ loyal need _some_ +encouragement--some recognition. We are only human----!" + +"Rather. But _you_ won't go back on our little show, old chap. Just when +I'm dead keen--laying my plans for India----" + +He took hold of Dyán's upper arm and gave it a friendly shake. + +"No, I'll stick to that. But are you sure you can work it--with your +people? If _you_ back out, I swear, by the sin of the sack of Chitor, +I'll join the beastly crowd who are learning to make bombs in Berlin." + +At that--the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of a Rajput--Roy +looked startled. Then he laughed. + +"'Commem' seems to have disagreed with you all round! But I won't be +intimidated. Likewise--I won't back out. I intend opening diplomatic +conversations with Jeffers to-night. Recherché dinner for two in my +room. All his little weaknesses! He'd be a strong ally. Wish me luck." + +Dyán wished him luck in a rather perfunctory tone, considering his +vehemence of a moment earlier. All the fire seemed suddenly to have gone +out of him. + +They had just entered the college gate; and a few yards ahead, they +caught sight of Lady Despard and Tara--the girl's hand linked through +her mother's arm. + +"Oh, I clean forgot," remarked Roy. "I said they could look in." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Own country.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "It is the spirit of the quest which helps. I am the slave of this + spirit of the quest."--KABIR. + + +Roy's recherché little dinner proved an unqualified success. With sole +and chicken sauté, with trifle and savoury, he mutely pleaded his cause; +feeling vaguely guilty, the while, of belittling his childhood's idol, +whom he increasingly admired and loved. But this India business was +tremendously important, and the dear old boy would never suspect---- + +Roy watched him savouring the chicken and peas; discussing the decay of +falling in love, its reasons and remedies; and thought, for the +hundredth time, what a splendid old boy he was; so big and breezy, +nothing bookish or newspapery about him. Quite a masterpiece of +modelling, on Nature's part; the breadth and bulk of him; the massive +head, with its thatch of tawny-grey hair that retreated up the sides of +his forehead, making corners; the nose, rugged and full of character; +the beard and the sea-blue eyes that gave him the sailor aspect Roy had +so loved in nursery days. Now he appraised it consciously, with the +artist's eye. A vigorous bust of his godfather was his acknowledged +masterpiece, so far, in the modelling line, which he preferred to brush +or pencil. But first and foremost, literature claimed him: poetry, +essays, and the despised novel--truest and most plastic medium for +interpreting man to man and race to race: the most entirely obvious +medium, thought Roy, for promoting the cause he had at heart. + +Though his brain was overflowing with the one subject, he was reserving +it diplomatically for the more intimate atmosphere of port wine, coffee +and cigars. Meantime they always had plenty to talk about, these two. +Broome held the unorthodox view that he probably had quite as much to +learn from the young as they from him; and at the moment, the question +whether Roy should take up literature in earnest was very much to the +fore. + +Once or twice during a pause, he caught the shrewd blue eye watching him +from under shaggy brows; but each kept his own counsel till the scout +had removed all superfluities. Then Broome chose a cigar, sniffed it, +and beheaded it. + +"My particular weakness!" he remarked pensively, while Roy filled his +glass. "What an attentive godson it is! And after this intriguing +prelude--what of the main plot? India?" + +Under a glance as direct as the question Roy reddened furiously. The +'dear old boy' had done more than suspect; he had seen through the whole +show--the indignity of all others that youth can least abide. + +At sight of his crestfallen countenance, Broome laughed outright. "Bear +up, old man! Don't grudge me a fraction of the wits I live by. Weren't +you trying to give me an inkling yesterday?" + +Roy nodded, mollified a little. But his self-confidence wilted under the +false start. "How about arm-chairs?" he remarked tentatively, very much +engaged with a cigarette. + +They removed their coffee-cups, and sipped once or twice in silence. +"I'm waiting," said Broome, encouragement in his tone. + +But Roy still hesitated. "You see----" he temporised, "I'm so fearfully +keen, I feel shy of gassing about it. Might seem to you mere soppy +sentiment." + +Broome's sailor eyes twinkled. "You pay me the compliment, my son, of +treating me as if I were a fellow-undergrad! It's only the 'teens and +the twenties of this very new century that are so mortally afraid of +sentiment--the main factor in human happiness. If you had _not_ a strong +sentiment for India, you would be unworthy of your mother. You want to +go out there--is that the rub?" + +"Yes. With Dyán." + +"In what capacity?" + +"A lover and a learner. Also--by way of--a budding author. I was hoping +you might back me up with a few commissions for my preliminary stuff." + +"You selected your godfather with unerring foresight! And preliminaries +over--a book, or books, would be the end in view?" + +"Yes--and other things. Whatever one can do--in a small way--to inspire +a friendlier feeling all round; a clearer conviction that the destinies +of England and India are humanly bound up together. I'm sure those +cursed politics are responsible for most of the friction. It's art and +literature, the emotional and spiritual forces that draw men together, +isn't it, Jeffers? _You_ know that----" + +He leaned forward, warming to his subject; the false start forgotten; +shyness dispelled.... + +And, once started, none was more skilful than Broome in luring him on to +fuller, unconscious self-revealing. He knew very well that, on this +topic, and on many others, Roy could enlarge more freely to him than to +his father. Youth is made that way. In his opinion, it was all to the +good that Roy should aspire to use his double heritage, for the +legitimate and noble purpose of interpreting--as far as might be--East +to West, and West to East: not least, because he would probably learn a +good deal more than he was qualified to teach. It was in the process of +qualifying himself, by closer acquaintance with India, that the lurking +danger reared its head. But some outlet there must be for the Eastern +spirit in him; and his early efforts pointed clearly to literary +expression, if Broome knew anything of the creative gift. Himself a +devotee, he agreed with Lafcadio Hearne that 'a man may do quite as +great a service to his country by writing a book as by winning a +battle'; and just so much of these thoughts as seemed fit he imparted to +Roy, who--in response to the last--glowed visibly. + +"Priceless old Jeffers! I knew I could reckon on you to back me up--and +buck me up! Of course one will be hugely encouraged by the bleating of +the practical crowd--Aunt Jane and Co. '_Why_ waste your time writing +silly novels?' And if you try to explain that novels _have_ a real +function, they merely think _you've_ got a swelled head." + +"Never mind, Roy. 'The quest is a noble one and the hope great.' And we +scribblers have our glorious compensations. As for Aunt Jane----" He +looked very straight at her nephew--and winked deliberately. + +"Oh, of course--she's _the_ unlimited limit," Roy agreed without shame. +"I suppose if Dad plays up, she'll give him hell?" + +"Good measure, pressed down.--By the way--have you spoken to _him_ yet +of all this----?" + +"No. Mother probably guesses. But you're the first. I made sure _you'd_ +understand----" + +"You feel doubtful--about Father?" + +"M-yes. I don't quite know why." + +Broome was silent a moment. "After all--it's natural. Put yourself in +his place, Roy.--He sees India taking a stronger hold of you each year. +He knows you've a deal of your mother and grandfather in your make-up. +He may very well be afraid of the magnet proving too strong at close +quarters. And I suspect he's jealous--for England. He'd like to see your +soul centred on Bramleigh Beeches: and I more than suspect they'd both +prefer to keep you nearer home." + +Roy looked distressed. "Hard lines. I hadn't got to that yet. But it +wouldn't be for always. And--there's George and Jerry sprouting up." + +"I gather that George and Jerry are not precisely--Roy----" + +"Jeffers--you old sinner! I can't flatter myself----!" + +"Don't be blatantly British, Roy! You can flatter yourself--you know as +well as I do!" + +"I know it's undiplomatic to contradict my elders!" countered Roy, +lunging after pipe and pouch. + +"Especially convenient godfathers, with press connections?" + +Roy fronted him squarely, laughter lurking in his eyes. "Are you _going_ +to be convenient--that's the rub! _Will_ you give Dad a notion I may +turn out something decent when I've scraped up some crumbs of +knowledge----?" + +Broome leaned forward and laid a large reassuring hand on his knee. +"Trust me to pull it off, old man--provided Mother approves. We couldn't +press it against _her_ wish--either of us." + +"No--we couldn't." There was a new gravity in Roy's tone. "As I said, +she probably knows all about it. That's her way. She understandeth one's +thoughts long before." The last in a lower tone--his eyes dwelling on +her portrait above the mantelpiece: the one in the studio window-seat. + +And Broome thought: "With all his brains, the man's hardly astir in him +yet; and the boy's still in love with her. This notion may be an +unconscious outlet. A healthy one--if Nevil can be got to see it that +way." + +After a perceptible pause, he said quietly: "Remember, Roy, just because +she's unique, she can't be taken as representative. She naturally stands +for India in your eyes. But no country can produce beings of her quality +by the score----" + +"I suppose not." Roy reluctantly shifted his gaze. "But she does +represent what's best in the Indian spirit: the spirit that people over +here might take more pains to understand." + +"And you are peculiarly well fitted to assist them, I admit--if Father's +willing to bear the cost of your trip. It's a compact between us. The +snare of your A1 dinner shall not have been laid in vain!" + +They sat on together for more than an hour. Then Broome departed, +leaving Roy to dream--in a blue mist of tobacco smoke--the opal-tinted +ego-centric dreams of one-and-twenty. + + * * * * * + +And to-night one dream eclipsed them all. + +For years the germ of it had lived in him like a seed in +darkness--growing with him as he grew. All incidents and impressions +that struck deep had served to vitalise it: that early championship of +his mother; her tales of Rajputana; his friendship with Desmond and +Dyán; and, not least, his father's Ramayána pictures in the long gallery +at home, that had seized his imagination in very early days, when their +appeal was simply to his innate sense of colour, and the reiterate +wonder and beauty of his mother's face in those moving scenes from the +story of Sita--India's crown of womanhood.... + +Then there was the vivid memory of a room in his grandfather's house; +the stately old man, with his deep voice, speaking words that he only +came to understand years after; and the look in his mother's eyes, as +she clapped her hands without sound, in the young fashion he loved.... + +And Chandranath--another glimpse of India; the ugly side ...And stories +from Tod's 'Rajasthán'--that grim and stirring panorama of romance and +chivalry, of cruelty and cunning; orgies of slaughter and miracles of +high-hearted devotion.... + +Barbaric; utterly foreign to life, as he had lived it, those tales of +ancient India most strangely awakened in him a vague, thrilling sense of +familiarity ... He _knew_...! Most clearly he knew the spirit that fired +them all, when Akbar's legions broke, wave on wave, against the mighty +rock-fortress of Chitor--far-famed capital of Mewar, thrice sacked by +Islam and deserted by her royal house; so that only the ghost of her +glory remains--a protest, a challenge, an inspiration.... + +Sometimes he dreamed it all, with amazing vividness. And in the dreams +there was always the feeling that he knew ...It was a very queer, very +exciting sensation. He had spoken of it to no one but his mother and +Tara; except once at Marlborough, when he had been moved to try whether +Lance would understand. + +Priceless old Desmond! It had been killing to watch his +face--interested, sceptical, faintly alarmed, when he discovered that it +was not an elaborate attempt to pull his leg. By way of reassuring him, +Roy had confessed it was a family failing. When things went wrong his +mother nearly always knew: and sometimes she came to him, in dreams that +were not exactly dreams. What harm? + +Desmond, puzzled and sceptical, was not prepared to hazard an opinion. +If Roy was made that way, of course he couldn't help it. And Roy, half +indignant, had declared he wouldn't for worlds be made any other way.... + +To-night, by some freak of memory, it all came back to him through the +dream-inducing haze of tobacco smoke. And there, on his writing-table, +stood a full-length photograph of Lance in Punjab cavalry uniform. +Soldiering on the Indian Border, fulfilling himself in his own splendid +fashion, he was clearly in his element; attached to his father's old +regiment, with Paul for second-in-command; proud of his strapping Sikhs +and Pathans; watched over, revered and implicitly obeyed by the sons of +men who had served with his father--men for whom the mere name Desmond +was a talisman. For that is India's way. + +And here was he, Roy, still at his old trick of scribbling poems and +dreaming dreams. For a fleeting moment, Desmond was out of the picture; +but when time was ripe he would be in it again. The link between them +was indestructible--elemental. Poet and Warrior; the eternal +complements. In the Rig Veda[2] both are one; both _Agni Kula_--'born of +fire'; no fulness of life for the one without the other. + +The years dominated by Desmond had been supreme. They had left school +together, when Roy was seventeen; and, at the time, their parting had +seemed like the end of everything. Yet, very soon after, he had found +himself in the thick of fresh delights--a wander-year in Italy, Greece, +the Mediterranean, with the parents and Christine---- + +And now, here he was, nearing the end of the Oxford interlude--dominated +by Dyán and India; and, not least, by Oxford herself, who counts her +lovers by the million; holds them for the space of three or four years +and sets her impress for life on their minds and hearts. For all his +dreamings and scribblings, he had played hard and worked hard. In the +course of reading for Greats, he had imbibed large draughts of the +classics; had browsed widely on later literature, East and West; won the +Newcastle, and filled a vellum-bound volume--his mother's gift--with +verse and sketches in prose, some of which had appeared in the more +exclusive weeklies. He had also picked up Hindustani from Dyán, and +looked forward to tackling Sanskrit. In the Schools, he had taken a +First in Mods; and, with reasonable luck, hoped for a First in the +Finals. Once again, parting would be a wrench, but India glowed like a +planet on the horizon; and he fully intended to make that interlude the +pick of them all.... + +What novels he would write! Not modern impressionist stuff; not mean +streets and the photographic touch. No--his adventuring soul, with its +tinge of Eastern mysticism, craved colour and warmth and light;--not the +mere trappings of romance, but the essence of it that imparts a deeper +sense of the significance and mystery of life; that probes to the +mainsprings of personality, the veiled yet vital world of spiritual +adventure ... Pain and conflict; powers of evil, of doubt and +indecision:--no evading these. But in any imaginative work he essayed, +beauty must be the prevailing element--if only as a star in darkness. +And nowadays Beauty had become almost suspect. Cleverness, cynicism, sex +and sensation--all had their votaries and their vogue. Mere Beauty, like +Cinderella, was left sitting among the ashes of the past; and +Roy--prince or no--was her devout lover. + +To the son of Nevil and Lilámani, her clear call could never seem either +a puritanical snare of the flesh or a delusion of the senses; but +rather, a grace of the spirit, the joy of things seen detached from +self-interest: the visible proof that love, not power, is the last word +of Creation. Happily for him, its outward form and inward essence had +been his daily bread ever since he had first consciously looked upon his +mother's face, consciously delighted in his father's pictures. They +lived it, those two: and the life lived transcends argument. + +At this uplifted moment--whatever might come later--he blessed them for +his double heritage; for the perfect accord between them that inspired +his hope of ultimate harmony between England and India, in spite of +barriers and complexities and fomenters of discord; a harmony that could +never arrive by veiled condescension out of servile imitation. Intimacy +with Dyán and his mother had made that quite clear. Each must honestly +will to understand the other; each holding fast the essence of +individuality, while respecting in the other precisely those baffling +qualities that strengthen their union and make it vital to the welfare +of both. Instinctively he pictured them as man and woman; and on general +lines the analogy seemed to hold good. He had yet to discover that +analogies are often deceptive things; peculiarly so, in this case, +since India is many, not one. Yet there lurked a germ of truth in his +seedling idea: and he was at the age when ideas and tremendous impulses +stir in the blood like sap in spring-time; an age to be a reformer, a +fanatic or a sensualist. + +Too often, alas, before the years bring power of adjustment, the live +spark of enthusiasm is extinct.... + +To-night it burned in Roy with a steady flame. If only he could enthuse +his father----! + +He supposed he would go in any case: but he lacked the rebel instinct of +modern youth. He wanted to share, to impart his hidden treasure; not to +argue the bloom off it. And his father seemed tacitly to discourage +rhapsodies over Indian literature and art. You couldn't say he was not +keen: only the least little bit unresponsive to outbursts of keenness in +his son; so that Roy never felt quite at ease on the subject. If only he +could walk into the room now, while Roy's brain was seething with it +all, high on the upward curve of a wave.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 2: Ancient Hindu Scriptures.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world. But + it is your loved ones ... whom you choose to worship. Therefore I + worship you." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Roy, after due consideration, decided that he would speak first to his +father--the one doubtful element in the home circle. But habit and the +obsession of the moment proved too strong, when his mother came to 'tuck +him up,' as she had never failed to do since nursery days. + +Seated on the edge of his bed, in the shaded light, she looked like some +rare, pale moth in her moon-coloured sari flecked and bordered with +gold; amber earrings and a rope of amber beads--his own gift; first +fruits of poetic earnings. The years between had simply ripened and +embellished her; rounded a little the oval of her cheek; lent an added +dignity to her grace of bearing and enriched her wisdom of the heart. + +It was as he supposed. She had understood his thoughts long before. He +flung out his hand--a fine, nervous hand--and laid it on her knee. + +"You're a miracle. I believe you know all about it." + +"I believe--I do," she answered, letting her own hand rest on his; +moving her fingers, now and then, in the ghost of a caress:--an +endearing way she had. "You are wishing--to go out there?" + +"Yes. I simply must. _You_ understand?" + +She inclined her head and, for a moment, veiled her eyes. "I am proud. +But you cannot understand how difficult ... for us ... letting you go. +And Dad...." + +She paused. + +"You think he'll hate it--want to keep me here?" + +"My darling--'hate' is too strong. He cares very much for all that makes +friendship between England and India. But--is it wonder if he cares more +for his own son? You will speak to him soon?" + +"To-morrow. Unless--a word or two, first, from you----" + +"No, not that!" She smiled at his old boyish faith in her. "Better to +keep me outside. You see--I _am_ India. So I am already too much in it +that way." + +"You are in it up to the hilt!" he declared with sudden fervour: +and--his tongue unloosed--he poured out to her a measure of his pent up +feeling; how they had inspired him--she and his father; how he naturally +hoped they would back him up; and a good deal more that was for her +private ear alone.... + +Her immense capacity for listening, her eloquent silence and gentle +flashes of raillery, her occasional caress--all were balm to him in his +electrical mood. + +Were ever two beings quite so perfectly in tune----? + +Could he possibly leave her? Could he face the final wrench? + +When at last she stooped to kiss him, the faint clear whiff of +sandalwood waked a hundred memories; and he held her close a long time, +her cheek against his hair. + +"Bad boy! Let me go," she pleaded; and, with phenomenal obedience, he +unclasped his hands. + +"See if you _can_ go now!" + +It was his old childish game. The moment she stirred, his hands were +locked again. + +"Son of my heart--I must!" + +"One more kiss then--for luck!" + +So she kissed him, for luck, and left him to his midnight browsings.... + + * * * * * + +Next morning she sat among her cushions in the studio, ostensibly +reading a long letter from her father. Actually, her mind was intent on +Nevil, who stood at his easel absorbed in fragmentary studies for a new +picture--flying draperies; a man's face cleverly fore-shortened. + +Though nearing fifty, he looked more like five-and-thirty; his face +singularly free of lines; his fair hair scarcely showing the intrusion +of grey. To her he seemed perennially young; and dearer than ever--if +that could be--as the years mellowed and deepened the love on which they +had boldly staked everything that counted most for them both. Yet, for +all her skill in divination, she could not tell precisely how he would +take the things Roy had to say; nor whether Roy himself would say them +in just the right way. With Nevil, so much depended on that. + +Till this morning, she had scarcely realised how unobtrusively she had +been, as it were, their connecting link in all difficult or delicate +matters, where their natures were not quite in tune. But now, Roy being +a man, they must come to terms in their own fashion.... + +At the first far-off sound of his step on the stairs, she rose and came +over to the easel, and stood there a few moments--fascinated always by +the swift sure strokes. + +"Good--eh?" he asked, smiling into her serious eyes. + +She nodded. "Quite evident--you are in the mood!" Her fingers lightly +caressed the back of his hand. "I will come back later. _Such_ a tray of +vases waiting for me in the drawing-room!" + +As Roy entered, she passed him and they exchanged a smile. Her eyes, +mutely blessing him, besought him not to let his eager tongue run away +with itself. Then she went out, leaving them together--the two who were +her world. + +Down in the drawing-room, roses and sweet-peas, cut by Christine--her +fairy daughter--lay ready to hand. Between them they filled the lofty +room with fragrance and harmonies of delicate colour. Then Christine +flew to her beloved piano; and Lilámani wandered away to her no less +beloved rose-garden. Body and mind were restless. She could settle to +nothing till she knew what had passed between Nevil and Roy. His boyish +confidences and adorations of the night before had filled her cup to +overflowing. She felt glad and proud that her first-born should have set +his heart on the high project of trying to promote deeper sympathy +between his father's great country and her own people, in this time of +dangerous antagonism and unrest. + +But beneath her pride and gladness, stirred a fear lest the scales she +had tried to hold even, should be inclining to tilt the wrong way. For +duty to his father's house was paramount. Too strong a leaning towards +India--no matter for what high purpose--would still be a tilt the wrong +way. She had seen the same fear lurking in Nevil's heart also; and now, +unerringly, she divined the cause of that hidden trouble which baffled +Roy. Nevil feared that--if Roy went to India--history might repeat +itself. She admitted the danger was real; and she knew his fear implied +no reflection on herself or her country. Best of all, she knew +that--because of his chivalrous loyalty that had never failed her--he +would not speak of it, even to his son. + +Clearly then, if Roy insisted on going to India, and if a word of +warning must be spoken to ease Nevil's mind, only one person in the +world could speak it--herself. For all her sensitive shrinking she could +not, at this critical turning-point, stand outside. She was "in it"--as +Roy dramatically assured her--up to the hilt.... + +Time passed--and he did not come. Troubled, she wandered back towards +the house; caught sight of him, lonely and abstracted, pacing the lawn: +saw him stop near the great twin beeches--that embowered a hammock, +chairs and rugs--and disappear inside. Then she knew her moment had +come.... + +She found him prone in the hammock: not even smoking: staring up into +the cool green dome, fretted with graceful convolutions of trunk and +branches. One lightly clenched hand hung over the edge. Attitude and +abstraction alike suggested a listless dejection that sharply caught at +her heart. + +He started at sight of her. "Blessed little Mummy--no hiding from +_you_!" + +He flung out his left hand. She took it and laid it against her cheek: a +form of caress all her own. + +"Were you wishing to hide? I was waiting among the roses, to show you +the new sweet-peas." + +"And I never came. Proper beast I am! And sprawling here----" He swung +his long legs over the side and stood up, tall and straight--taller than +Nevil--smiling down at her. "I wasn't exactly hiding. I was shirking--a +little bit. But now you've found me, you won't escape!" + +Pressing down the edge of the hammock, he half lifted her into it and +settled her among the cushions, deftly tucking in her silks and muslins. + +"Comfy?" he asked, surveying her, with Nevil's own smile in his eyes. + +"Comfy," she sighed, wishing discreet warnings at the bottom of the sea. +Just to be foolish with him--the bliss of it! To chime in with his +moods, his enthusiasms, his nonsense--she asked nothing better of life, +when he came home. "Very clever, Sonling. But no,"--she lifted a +finger--"that won't do. You are twenty-one. Too big for the small name +now. So far away up there!" + +"If I shot up as high as a lamp-post, my heart would still be down +there--at your feet." + +He said it lightly--that was the Englishman. But he said it--that was +the Rajput. And she knew not which she loved the best. Strange to love +two such opposites with equal fervour. + +She blew him a kiss from her finger-tips. "Very well. We will not be +unkind to the small name and throw him on the rubbish-heap. But now sit, +please--Sonling. You have been talking--you and Dad? Not any decision? +Is he not wishing you should--work for India?" + +"Mummy, I don't know." He secured a chair and sat down facing her. "He +insists that I'm officially free to kick over the traces, that he's not +the kind of father who 'thunders vetos from the family hearthrug!'" + +Lilámani smiled very tenderly at that so characteristic touch; but she +said nothing. And Roy went on: "All the same, I gathered that he's +distinctly not keen on my going out there. So--what the devil am I to +do? He rubbed it in that I'm full young, and no hurry--but I feel +there's something else at the back of his mind." + +He paused--and she could hesitate no longer. + +"Yes, Roy--there is something else----" + +"Then _why_ can't he speak out?" + +"Not to be so impatient," she rebuked him gently. "It is because he so +beautifully remains--my lover, he cannot put in words--any thought that +might give----" She flung out an appealing hand. "Oh, Roy--can you not +guess the trouble? He is afraid--for your marriage----" + +"My marriage!" It was clear he did not yet grasp the truth. "Really, +Mummy, that's a trifle previous. I'm not even thinking of marriage." + +"No, Stupid One! But out there you might come to think of it! No man can +tell when Kama, godling of the arrows, will throw magic dust in his +eyes. You might meet other cousins--like Arúna, and there would come +trouble, because"--she faced him steadily and he saw the veiled blush +creep into her cheeks--"that kind of marriage--for you--must not be." + +Now he understood; and, for all her high resolve, she thrilled at the +swift flash of anger in his eyes. + +"Who says--it must not be?" he demanded with a touch of heat. "Aunt +Jane--confound her! When I do marry, it will be to please myself--not +_her_!" + +"Oh, hush, Roy--and listen! You run away too fast. It is not Aunt +Jane--it is _I_ who am saying must not, because I know--the difficult +thought in Dad's heart. And I know it is right----" + +"Why is it right?" He was up in arms again. Obstinate--but how +lovable!--"Why mayn't I have the same luck as he had--if it comes my +way? I've never met a girl or woman that could hold a candle to you for +all-round loveliness. And it's the East that gives you--inside and +out--a quality, a bloom--unseizable--like moonlight----" + +"But, my darling! You make me blush!" She drew her sari across her face, +hiding, under a veil of lightness, her joy at his outspoken praise. + +"Well, you made me say it. And I'm not sentimentalising. I'm telling a +home truth!" + +His vehemence was guarantee of that. Very gently he drew back the sari +and looked deep into her eyes. + +"Why should we only tell the ugly ones, like Aunt Jane? Anyway, I've +told you my truest one now--and I'm not ashamed of it." + +"No need. It is a jewel I will treasure in my heart." + +She dropped the veil of lightness, giving him sincerity for sincerity as +he deserved. "But--Ancient one, have you seen so many girls and women in +your long life----?" + +"I've seen a pretty good mixture of all sorts--Oxford, London, and round +here," he insisted unabashed. "And I've had my wits about me. Of course +they're most of them jolly and straight. Good fellows in fact; talking +our slang; playing our games. No harm, of course. But it kills the +charm of contrast--the supreme charm. They understand _that_ in India +better than we do here." + +The truth of that last Lilámani could not deny. Too clearly she saw in +the violent upheaval of Western womanhood the hidden germs of tragedy, +for women themselves, for the race. + +"You are right, Roy," she said, smiling into his serious face. "From +our--from Hindu point of view, greatest richness of life come from +greatest possible difference between men and women. And most of all it +is so in Rajputana. But over here...." She sighed, a small shivering +sigh. The puzzle and pain of it went too deep with her. "All this +screaming and snatching and scratching for wrong kind of things hurts my +heart; because--I am woman and they are women--desecrating that in us +which is a symbol of God. Nature made women for ministering to Life and +Love. Are they not believing, or not caring, that by struggling to +imitate man (while saying with their lips how they despise him!) they +are losing their own secret, beautiful differences, so important for +happiness--for the race. But marriage in the West seems more for +convenience of lovers than for the race----" + +"Yet your son, though he _is_ of the West--must not consider his own +inclination or convenience----" + +"My son," she interposed, gently inflexible, "because he is _also_ of +the East, must consider this matter of the race; must try and think it +with his father's mind." + +"All the same--making such a point of it seems like an insult--to +you----" + +"No, Roy. _Not_ to say that----" The flash in her eyes, that was almost +anger, startled and impressed him more than any spoken word. "No thought +that ever came in your father's mind could be--like insult to me. Oh, my +dear, have you not sense to know that for an old English family like +his, with roots down deep in English soil and history, it is not good +that mixture of race should come twice over in two generations. To +you--our kind of marriage appears a simple affair. You see only how +close we are now, in love and understanding. You cannot imagine all the +difficulties that went before. We know them--and we are proud, because +they became like dust under our feet. Only to you--Dilkusha, I could +tell ... a little, if you wish--for helping you to understand." + +"Please tell," he said, and his hand closed on hers. + +So, leaning back among her cushions--speaking very simply in the low +voice that was music to his ears--she told.... + + * * * * * + +The telling--fragmentary, yet vivid--lasted less than half an hour. But +in that half-hour Roy gleaned a jewel of memory that the years would not +dim. The very words would remain.... + +For Lilámani--wandering backward in fancy through the Garden of +Remembrance--revealed more than she realised of the man she loved and of +her own passionate spirit, compact of fire and dew, the sublimated +essence of the Eastern woman at her best. + +Yet in spite of that revealing--or rather because of it--rebellion +stirred afresh. And, as if divining his thoughts, she impulsively raised +her hand. "Now, Roy, you must promise. Only so, I can speak to Dad and +rest his mind." + +Seizing her hand, he kissed it fervently. + +"Darling--after all that, a mere promise would be a fatuous superfluity. +If you say 'No Indian wife,' that's enough for me. I suppose I must rest +content with the high privilege of possessing an Indian mother." + +Her radiant surprise was a beautiful thing to see. Leaning forward, she +took his head in her hands and kissed him between his eyebrows where the +caste-mark should be. + +"Must it be October--so soon?" she asked. + +He told her of Dyán, and she sighed. "Poor Dyán! I wonder? It is so +difficult--even with the best kind--this mixing of English education and +Indian life. I hope it will make no harm for those two----" + +Then they started, almost like lovers; for the drooping branches rustled +and Tara stood before them--a very vision of June; in her straight frock +of Delphinium blue; one shell-pink rose in her hat and its counterpart +in her waist-belt. Canvas shoes and tennis-racquet betrayed her fell +design on Roy. + +"Am I despritly superfluous?" she queried, smiling from one to the +other. + +"Quite too despritly," Roy assured her with emphasis. + +She wrinkled her nose at him, so far as its delicate aquiline would +permit. "Speak for yourself, spoilt boy!" + +But she favoured him with her left hand, which he retained, while she +stooped over the hammock and kissed Lilámani on both cheeks. Then she +stood up and gently disengaged her hand. + +"Christine's to blame. She guessed you were here. I came over in hopes +of tennis. It's just perfect. Not too hot." + +"Still more perfect in here, lazing with Mummy," said graceless Roy. + +"I disown you, I am ashamed!" Lilámani rebuked him only half in jest. +"No more lazing now. I have done with you. Only you have to get me out +of this." + +They got her out, between them; fussed over her and laughed at her; and +then went off together for Roy's racquet. + +She stood in the silvery sunlight watching them till they disappeared +round the corner of the house. Not surprising that Nevil said--"No +hurry!" If he would only wait...! He was still too young, too much in +love with India--with herself. Yet, had he already begun inditing +sonnets, even to the most acceptable eyebrow, her perverse heart would +doubtless have known the prick of jealousy--as in Desmond's day. + +Instead she suddenly knew the first insidious prick of middle age; felt +dazed, for a mere moment, by the careless radiance of their youth; to +them an unconsidered thing: but to those who feel it relentlessly +slipping through their fingers ... + +Her small fine hands clenched in unconscious response to her thought. +She was nearing forty. In her own land she would be reckoned almost an +old woman. But some magic in the air and way of life in this cool green +England seemed to keep age at bay: and there remained within a +flame-like youth of the spirit--not so easy, even for the Arch-Thief to +steal away.... + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "The bow saith to the arrow, 'Thy freedom is mine.'" + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +And while Lilámani reasoned with the son--whose twofold nature they had +themselves bestowed and inspired--Nevil was pacing his shrine of all the +harmonies, heart and brain disturbed, as they had not been for years. + +Out of the troubled waters of family friction and delicate adjustments, +this adventurous pair had slid into a haven of peace and mutual +understanding. And now behold, fresh portent of trouble arising from the +dual strain in Roy--the focal point of their life and love. + +Turning in his stride, his eye encountered a head and shoulders portrait +of his father, Sir George Sinclair: an honest, bluff, unimaginative +face: yet suddenly, arrestingly, it commanded his attention. Checking +his walk, he stood regarding it: and his heart went out to the kindly +old man in a quite unusual wave of sympathetic understanding. He saw +himself--the "damned unsatisfactory son," Bohemian and dilettante, +frankly at odds with the Sinclair tradition--now standing, more or less, +in that father's shoes; his heart centred on the old place and on the +boy for whom he held it in trust; and the irony of it twisted his lips +into a rueful smile. By his own over-concentration on Roy, and his +secret dread of the Indian obsession, he could gauge what his own father +must have suffered in an aggravated form, blind as he was to any point +of view save his own. And there was Roy--like himself in the twenties, +but how much more purposeful!--drawn irresistibly by the lure of the +horizon; a lure bristling with dangers the more insidious because they +sprang from the blood in his veins. + +Yet a word of warning, spoken at the wrong moment, in the wrong tone, +might be disastrously misunderstood; and the distracting sense of being +purely responsible for his own trouble, stung him to renewed irritation. +All capacity for work had been dispelled by that vexatiously engaging +son of his, with his heart in India and his head among the stars.... + +Weary of pacing, he took out his pipe and sat down in the window-seat to +fill it. He was interrupted by the sound of an unmistakable footstep; +and the response of his whole being justified to admiration Lilámani's +assurance that his hidden trouble implied no lightest reflection on +herself. Lilámani and irritation simply could not co-exist within him; +and he was on his feet when she opened the door. + +She did not come forward at once. Pushing it shut with both hands, she +stood so--a hovering question in her eyes. It recalled, with a tender +pang, the earlier days of worshipful aloofness, when only by special +invitation would she intimately approach her lord. + +That she might guess his thought he held out his arms. "Come +along--English wife!" + +It had been their private password. But her small teeth imprisoned her +lip. + +"No--King of me--Indian wife: making too much trouble again!" + +"Lilámani! How dare you! Come here." + +His attempt at sternness took effect. In one swift rush--sari blown +backward--she came: and he, smitten with self-reproach, folded her +close; while she clung to him in mute passionate response. + +"Beloved," she whispered. "Not to worry any more in your secret heart. I +told--he understands." + +"Roy----? My darling! But _what_----?" His incoherence was a shameless +admission of relief. "You couldn't--you haven't told him----?" + +"Nevil, I have told him all. I saw lately this trouble in your thoughts: +and to-day it came in my mind that only I could speak--could give +command that--one kind of marriage must _not_ be." + +He drew her closer, and she suppressed a small sigh. + +"Wasn't the boy angry?" + +"Only at first--on account of me. He is--so very darling, so +worshipping--his foolish little Mother." + +"A weakness he shares with his father," Nevil assured her: and in that +whispered confession she had her reward. For after twenty-three years of +marriage, the note of loverly extravagance is as rare as the note of the +cuckoo in July. + +"Sit, little woman." He drew her down to the window-seat, keeping an arm +round her. "The relief it is to feel I can talk it all over with you +freely. Where the dickens would we be, Roy and I, without our +interpreter? And she does it all unbeknownst; like a Brownie. I _have_ +been worrying lately. The boy's clean gone on his blessed idea. No +reasoning with him; and the modern father doesn't venture to command! +It's as much as his place is worth! Yet _we_ see the hidden dangers +clearer than he can. Wouldn't it be wiser to apply the curb discreetly +before he slips off into an atmosphere where all the influences will tug +one way?" + +It was the sane masculine wisdom of the West. But hers--that was +feminine and of the East--went deeper. + +"Perhaps it is mother-weakness," she said, leaning against him and +looking away at a purple cloud that hung low over the moor. "But it +seems to me, by putting on the curb, you keep only his body from those +influences. They would tug all the stronger in his soul. Not healthy and +alive with joy of action, but cramped up and aching, like your legs when +there is no room to stretch them. Then there would come impatience, +turning his heart more to India, more away from you. Father had that +kind of thwarting when young--so I know. Dearest one, am I too foolish?" + +"You are my Wisest of Wise.--Is there more?" + +"Yes. It is this. Perhaps, through being young and eager, he will make +mistakes; wander too far. But even if he should wander to farthest end, +all influence will _not_ tug one way. He will carry in his heart the +star of you and the star of me. These will shine brighter if he knows +how we longed--for ourselves--to keep him here; yet, for himself, we let +him go. I have remembered always one line of poetry you showed me at +Como. 'To take by leaving, To hold by letting go.' That is true truth +for many things. But for parents truest of all." + +High counsel indeed! Good to hear; hard to act upon. Nevil +Sinclair--knowing they would act upon it--let out an involuntary sigh +and tightened his hold of the gentle, adoring woman, whose spirit +towered so far above his own. + +"Lilámani--you've won," he said, after a perceptible pause. "You deserve +to win--and Roy will bless you. It's the high privilege of Mothers, I +suppose, to conjure the moon out of heaven for their sons." + +"Sometimes, by doing so, they nearly break their hearts," she answered +very low. + +He stooped and kissed her. "Keep yours intact--for me. I shall need it." +Her fingers closed convulsively on his--"England will seem sort of +empty--without Roy. Is he dead keen on going this autumn?" + +"Yes--I am afraid. A little because of young impatience. A little +because he is troubled over Dyán; and he has much influence. There are +so many now in India dragged two ways." + +Nevil sighed again. "Bless the boy! It's an undeniable risk. And what +the family will say to our Midsummer madness, God knows! Jane can be +trusted to make the deuce of a row. And we can't even smooth matters by +telling her of our private precaution----" + +"No--not one little _word_." + +Lilámani sat upright, a gleam of primitive hate in her eyes. + +Nevil smiled, in spite of secret dismay. "You implacable little sinner! +Can't you ever forgive her like a Christian?" + +"No--not ever." The tense quiet of her tone carried conviction. "Not +only far-off things, I can never forget--nearly killing me and--and Roy. +But because she is always stabbing at me with sharp words and ugly +thoughts. She cannot ever forgive that I am here--that I make you happy, +which she could not believe. She is angry to be put in the wrong by mere +Hindu wife----" She paused in her vehement rush of speech: saw the look +in Nevil's face that recalled an earlier day; and anger vanished like a +light blown out. "King of me--I am sorry. Only--it is true. And _she_ is +Christian born. But I--down in my deepest places I am still--Rajputni. +Just the same as after twenty-three years of English wife, I am still in +my heart--like the 'Queen who stood erect!'" + +On the word she rose and confronted him, smiling into his troubled eyes; +grace of girlhood and dignity of womanhood adorably mingled in her pose. + +"Who was she?" Nevil asked, willingly lured from thoughts of Jane. + +"Careless one! Have you forgotten the story of my Wonder-Woman--how a +King, loving his Queen with all his soul, bowed himself in ecstasy, and +'took the dust off her feet' in presence of other wives who, from +jealousy, cried: 'Shameless one, lift up the hands of the King to your +head.' But the Queen stood erect, smiling gladly. 'Not so: for both feet +and head are my Lord's. Can I have aught that is mine?'" + +The swiftness of transition, the laughing tenderness of her eyes so +moved him--and so potent in her was the magical essence of +womanhood--that he, Sir Nevil Sinclair, Baronet, of Bramleigh Beeches, +came near to taking the dust of her feet in very deed. + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Qui n'accepte pas le regret, n'accepte pas la vie." + + +Nevil's fears were justified to the full. Lady Roscoe was one of those +exasperating people of whom one can predict, almost to a word, a look, +what their attitude will be on any given occasion. So Nevil, who shirked +a "scene"--above all when conducted by Jane--put off telling her the +unwelcome news as long as he dared, without running the dire risk of its +reaching her "round the corner." + +Meantime he was fortified and cheered by a letter from Cuthbert +Broome--a shrewd, practical letter amounting to a sober confession of +faith in Roy the embryo writer, as in Roy the budding man. + +"I don't minimise the risk," he concluded, with his accustomed frankness +(no relation to the engaging candour that dances a war-dance on other +people's toes), "but, on broad lines, I hereby record my conviction that +the son of you two and the grandson of Sir Lakshman Singh can be trusted +to go far--to keep his head as well as his feet, even in slippery +places. He is eager for knowledge, for work along his own lines. If you +dam up this strong current, it may find other outlets, possibly less +desirable. I came on a jewel the other day. As it's distinctly +applicable, I pass it on. + +"'The sole wisdom for man or boy who is haunted with the hovering of +unseen wings, with the scent of unseen roses, and the subtle enticement +of melodies unheard, is _work_. If he follow any of these, they vanish. +If he work, they will come unsought ..." + +"Well, when Roy goes out, I undertake to provide him with work that will +keep his brain alert and his pen busy. That's my proposed contribution +to his start in life; and--though I say it!--not to be despised. Tell +him I'll bear down upon the Beeches the first available week-end, and +talk both your heads off!--Yours ever, C.B." + +"After _that_," was Nevil's heroic conclusion, "Jane can say what she +damn well pleases." + +He broke the news to her forthwith--by post; the usual expedient of +those who shirk "scenes." He furthermore took the precaution to add that +the matter was finally settled. + +She replied next morning--by wire. "Cannot understand. Coming down at +once." + +And, in record time, on the wings of her new travelling car--she came. + +As head of the Sinclair clan--in years and worldly wisdom at least--she +could do no less. From her point of view, it was Nevil's clear duty to +discourage the Indian strain in the boy, as far as that sentimental, +headstrong wife of his would permit. But Nevil's sense of duty needed +constant galvanising, lest it die of inanition. It was her sacred +mission in life to galvanise it, especially in the matter of Roy; and no +one should ever say _she_ shirked a disagreeable obligation. It may +safely be added that no one ever did! + +Nevil--who would have given a good deal to be elsewhere--awaited her in +the library: and at the first shock of their encountering glances, he +stiffened all through. He was apt to be restive under advice, and +rebellious under dictation; facts none knew better than Jane, who throve +on advice and dictation--given, not received! She still affected the +neat hard coat and skirt and the neat hard summer hat that had so +distressed the awakening beauty-sense of nine-year-old Roy: only, in +place of the fierce wing there uprose in majesty a severely wired bow. +Jane was so unvarying, outside and in; a worse failing, almost, in the +eyes of this hopelessly artistic household, than her talent for +pouncing, or advising or making up other people's minds. + +But to-day, as she glanced round the familiar room, her sigh--half +anger, half bitterness of heart--was genuine. She did care intensely, in +her own way, for the brother whom she hectored without mercy. And he +too cared--in his own way--more than he chose to reveal. But their love +was a dumb thing, rooted in ancestral mysteries. Their surface clash of +temperament was more loquacious. + +"I suppose we're fairly safe from interruption?" she asked, with ominous +emphasis; and Nevil gravely indicated the largest leather chair. + +"I believe the others are out," he said, half sitting on the edge of the +writing-table and proceeding to light a cigarette. "But, upon my soul, I +don't know _why_ you put yourself out to come down all this way when I +told you plainly everything was fixed up." + +"You thought I'd swallow that--and keep my mouth shut?" she retorted, +bristling visibly. "_I'm_ no fool, Nevil, if _you_ are. I _told_ you how +it would be, when you went out in '99. You wouldn't listen then. Perhaps +you'll at least have the sense to listen _now_?" + +Nevil shrugged. "As you've come all this way for the satisfaction of +airing your views--I've not much choice in the matter." + +And the latitude, thus casually given, she took in full measure. For +twenty minutes, by the clock, she aired her views in a stream of +vigorous colloquial English, lapsing into ready-made phrases of +melodrama, common to the normally inexpressive, in moments of +excitement.... + +To the familiar tuning-up process, Nevil listened unmoved. But his anger +rose with her rising eloquence:--the unwilling anger of a cool man, more +formidable than mere temper. + +Such fine distinctions, however, were unknown to Jane. If you were in a +temper, you were in a temper. That was flat. And she rather wanted to +rouse Nevil's. Heated opposition would stiffen her own.... + +"India of all countries in the world!" she culminated--a desperate note +invading her wrath. "The one place where he should _not_ be allowed to +sow his wild oats--if the modern anćmic young man has enough red blood +in his veins--for that sort of thing. And it's your obvious duty to be +quite frank with him on the subject. If you had an ounce of common-sense +in your make-up, you'd see it for yourself. But I always say the clever +people are the biggest fools. And Roy's in the same boat--being your +son. No ballast. All in the clouds. _That's_ the fruits of Lil's fancy +education. And you can't say I didn't warn you. What he needs is +discipline--a tight hand. Why not one of the Services? If he gets bitten +with India--at his age, it's quite on the cards that he may go turning +Hindu--or even repeat _your_ folly----" + +She paused, simply for lack of breath--and became suddenly alive to the +set stillness of her brother's face. + +"_My_ folly--as you are pleased to call it," he said with concentrated +scorn, "has incidentally made our name famous, and cleared the old place +of mortgage. For that reason alone, you might have the grace to refrain +from insulting my wife." + +She flung up her head, like a horse at a touch of the curb. + +"Oh, if it's an insult to speak the simple truth, I'm _quite_ out of it. +I never could call spades agricultural instruments: and I can't start +new habits at my time of life. I don't deny you've made a good thing out +of your pictures. But no one in their senses _could_ call your marriage +an act of wisdom." + +Nevil winced visibly. "I married for the only defensible reason," he +said, in a low controlled voice. "And events have more than justified +me." + +"Possibly--so far as _you're_ concerned. But you can't get over the fact +that--even if Roy marries the best blood of England--his son may revert +to type. Dr Simons tells me----" + +"_Will_ you hold your tongue!" Nevil blazed out, in a white fury. "I'll +thank you _not_ to discuss my affairs--or Roy's--with your damned +Doctor. And the subject's barred between us--as you're very well aware." + +She blenched at the force and fire of his unexpected onslaught, never +dreaming how deeply her thrust had gone home. + +"Goodness knows it's as painful for me as it is for you----" + +"I didn't say it was painful. I said it was barred." + +"Well, you goad me into it, with your unspeakable folly; too much under +Lil's thumb to check Roy, even for his own good. For heaven's sake, +Nevil, put your foot down firmly, for once, and reverse your crazy +decision." + +He gave her a long, direct look. "Sorry to disappoint, after all the +trouble you've taken," he said in a level tone, "but I've already told +you the matter's settled. My foot is down on that as firmly as even +_you_ could wish." + +"You _mean_ it?" she gasped, too incredulous for wrath. + +"I mean it." + +"Yet you see the danger?" + +"I see the danger." + +The fact that he would not condescend to lie to her eased a little her +bitter sense of defeat. + +She rose awkwardly--all of a piece. + +"Then I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you all. Until you come +to your senses, I don't cross this threshold again." + +In spite of the threadbare phrases, genuine pain vibrated in her tone. + +"Don't rant, old thing. You know you'll never keep it up," Nevil urged +more gently than he had spoken yet. + +But anger still dominated pain. + +"When _I_ say a thing, I mean it," she retorted stiffly, "as you will +find to your cost." Without troubling to answer, he lunged for the door +handle; but she waved him aside. "All humbug--playing at +politeness--when you've spurned my advice." + +"As you please." He stood back for her to pass. "Sorry it's upset you +so. But we'll see you here again--when you've got over it." + +"The _boy_ would have got over it in no time," she flung back at him +from the threshold. "Mark my words, disaster will come of it. Then +perhaps you'll admit I was right." + +He felt no call to argue that point. She was gone.... And she had +carefully refrained from slamming the door. Somehow that trifling act of +restraint impressed him with a sense of finality oddly lacking in her +dramatic asseveration. + +He stood a few moments staring at the polished oak panels. Then he +turned back and sat down in the chair she had occupied; and all the +inner tension of the last hour went suddenly, completely to pieces.... + +It was the penalty of his artist nature, this sharp nervous reaction +from strain; and with it came crowding back all the insidious doubts and +anxieties that even Lilámani's wisdom had not entirely charmed away. He +felt torn at the moment between anger with Roy for causing all this +pother; and anger with Jane, who, for all her lack of tenderness and +tact, was right--up to a point. It was just Family Herald heroics about +"not crossing the threshold." At least--rather to his surprise--he found +himself half hoping it was. Roy and Lilámani could frankly detest +her--and there an end. Nevil--in spite of unforgiveable interludes--was +liable to be tripped up by the fact that, after all, she was his sister; +and her aggression was proof that, in her own queer fashion, she loved +him. Half the trouble was that the love of each for the other took +precisely the form that other could least appreciate or understand: no +uncommon dilemma in family life. At all events, he had achieved his +declaration of independence. And he had not failed to evoke the "deuce +of a row." + +With a sigh of smothered exasperation, he leaned forward and hid his +face in his hands.... + +The door opened softly. He started and looked up. It was Roy--in +flannels and blazer, his dark hair slightly ruffled: considered +dispassionately (and Nevil believed he so considered him) a singularly +individual and attractive figure of youth. + +At the look in his father's face, he hesitated, wrinkling his brows in a +way that recalled his mother. + +"Anything wrong, Daddums? I'm fearfully sorry. I came for a book. Is +it"--still further hesitation--"Aunt Jane?" + +"Why? Have you seen her?" Nevil asked sharply. + +"Yes. Was it a meteoric visitation? As I came up the path, she was +getting into her car.--And she cut me dead!" He seemed more amused than +impressed. Then the truth dawned on him. "Dad--_have_ you been telling +her? _Is_ she 'as frantic as a skit'?" + +Their favourite Hardy quotation moved Nevil to a smile. "She's +angry--naturally--because she wasn't consulted," he said (a happy idea). +"And--well, she doesn't understand." + +"'Course she doesn't. Can she ever?" retorted impertinent youth. "She +lacks the supreme faculty--imagination." Which was disrespectful, but +unanswerable. + +Nevil had long ago recognised the futility of rebuke in the matter of +"Aunt Jane"; and it was a relief to find the boy took it that way. So he +smiled, merely--or fancied he did. But Roy was quick-sighted; and his +first impression had dismayed him. + +No hesitation now. He came forward and laid a hand on his father's +shoulder. "Dads, don't get worrying over me--out there," he said with +shy tenderness that was balm after the lacerating scene Nevil had just +passed through. "That'll be all right. Mother explained--beautifully." + +But louder than Roy's comfortable assurance sounded within him the +parting threat of Jane: "Disaster will come of it. _Then_ perhaps you'll +admit I was right." It shook the foundations of courage. He simply could +not stand up to the conjunction of disaster--and Roy. With an effort he +freed himself of the insidious thing,--and just then, to his immense +surprise, Roy stooped and kissed the top of his head. + +"Confound Aunt Jane! She's been bludgeoning you. And you _are_ worrying. +You mustn't--I tell you. Bad for your work. Look here"--a portentous +pause. "Shall I chuck it--for the present, anyhow?" + +The parental attitude of the modern child has its touching aspect. Nevil +looked up to see if Roy were chaffing; and there smote him the queer +illusion (rarer now, but not extinct) of looking into his own eyes. + +Roy had spoken on impulse--a noble impulse. But he patently meant what +he said, this boy stigmatised by Jane as "all in the clouds," and +needing a "tight hand." Here was one of those "whimsical and perilous +moments of daily life" that pass in a breath; light as thistledown, +heavy with complex issues. To Nevil it seemed as if the gods, with +ironical gesture, handed him the wish of his heart, saying: "It is +yours--if you are fool enough to take it." Stress of thought so warred +in him that he came to himself with a fear of having hurt the boy by +ungracious silence. + +The pause, in fact, had been so brief that Roy had only just become +aware that his cherished dream was actually trembling in the +balance--when Nevil stood up and faced him, flatly defying Jane and +Olympian irony. + +"My dear old boy, you shall _not_ chuck it," he said with smiling +decision. "I've never believed in the older generation being a drag on +the wheel. And now it's my turn, I must play up. What's life worth +without a spice of risk? I took my own--a big one--family or no----" + +He broke off--and Roy filled the gap. "You mean--marrying Mother?" + +"Yes--just that," he admitted frankly. "The greatest bit of luck in my +life. She shared the risk--a bigger one for her. And I'm damned if we'll +cheat you of yours. There's a hidden key somewhere that most of us have +to find. Yours may be in India--who knows?" + +He spoke rapidly, as if anxious to convince himself no less than the +boy. And he had his reward. + +"Dad--you're simply stunning--you two," Roy said quietly, but with clear +conviction. + +At that moment the purring of the gong vibrated through the house, and +he slipped a hand through his father's arm. "That reminds me--I'm +_starving_ hungry! If they're still out, let's be bold, and propitiate +the teapot on our own!" + +Lady Roscoe was, after all, a benefactor in her own despite. Her +meteoric visitation had drawn these two closer together than they had +been since schoolroom days. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Ce que nous quittons c'est une partie de nous męme. II faut mourir + ŕ une vie, pour entrer dans une autre."--ANATOLE FRANCE. + + +After all, human perversity decreed it should be Roy himself who shrank +most acutely from the wrench of parting, when it loomed near enough to +bring him down from Pisgah heights to the dust of the actual. + +Dyán was overjoyed, of course, and untroubled by qualms. Towards the end +of July, he and Arúna came for a brief visit. His excuses for its +brevity struck Roy as a trifle 'thin'; but Dyán kept his secret and paid +Tara Despard the compliment of taking her answer as final. + +It was during his visit that Roy suffered the first incipient qualms; +the first sharp contact with practical details:--date of sailing, +details of outfit, the need for engaging a passage betimes. As regards +his destination, matters were simplified by the fact that the new +Resident of Jaipur, Colonel Vincent Leigh, C.S.I., D.S.O., very +considerately happened to be the husband of Desmond's delightful sister +Thea. The schoolboy link between Lance and Roy had created a lasting +friendship between their respective families; and it was General Sir +Theo Desmond--now retired--who had invited Roy, in the name of his +'Twin,' to start with an unlimited visit to the Leighs; the sort of +casual elastic visit that no one would dream of proposing outside +India,--unless it were Ireland, of an earlier, happier day. The prospect +was a secret consolation to Roy. It was also a secret jar to find he +needed every ounce of consolation available. + +Very carefully he hid his ignominious frame of mind--even from his +mother; though she probably suspected it and would not fail to +understand. What, precisely, would life be worth without that dear, +daily intimacy--life uncoloured by the rainbow-tinted charm of her +gentle, passionate, humorous, delicately-poised personality? Relations +of such rare quality exact their own pitiless price; and the woman +influence would always be, for Roy--as for most men of genuine gifts and +high purpose--his danger point or salvation. The dim and distant +prospect of parting was thinkable--though perturbing. But all this talk +of steamers and outfits startlingly illumined the fact that in October +he was actually going--to the other end of the earth. + + * * * * * + +With Dyán's departure, realisation pounced upon his heart and brain. +Vaguely, and quite unjustly, he felt as if his cousin were in some way +to blame; and for the moment, he was not sorry to be rid of him. +Partings over, he went off for a lone prowl--hatless, as usual--to quiet +his jangling sensations and tell that inner, irresolute Roy not to be a +treble-distilled fool.... + +Nothing like the open moor to clear away cobwebs. The sweeps of heady +colour and blue distances could be trusted to revive the winged impulse +that lured him irresistibly away from the tangible and assured. Is there +no hidden link--he wondered--between the wander-instinct of the +home-loving Scot and the vast spaces of moor and sky that lie about him +in his infancy...? + +But first he must traverse the enchanted green gloom of his beech-wood, +memory-haunted at every turn. Under his favourite tree, a wooden cross, +carved by Tara and himself, marked the grave of Prince, dead these three +years of sheer old age. And at sight of it there sprang to memory that +unforgotten day of May,--the fight with Joe; Tara's bracelet, still +treasured in his letter-case, even as Tara treasured the "broidered +bodice," in a lavender-scented sachet, set apart from mere blouses and +scarves.... + +And again that troublesome voice within urged--"What an utter fool you +are--running away from them all." + +To him had fallen the privilege of knowing family life at its best--the +finest and happiest on earth; and he could not escape the price +exacted, when the call comes to act and decide and suffer alone. +Associations that grow up with us are more or less taken for granted +while their roots lie deep in the heart. Only when the threat of parting +disturbs the delicate fibres, their depth and tenacity are revealed. And +so it was with Roy. Hurrying through his wood of knightly adventures he +felt besieged, in spirit, by the many loves that had hitherto simply +been a part of his life; yet to-day pressed urgently, individually, upon +his consciousness, his heart.... + +And over against them was the counter-pull of deep ancestral stirrings; +large vague forces of the outer world; the sense of ferment everywhere; +of storm-clouds on the greater horizon, big with dramas that might rock +the spheres.... + +All these challenging forces seemed to dwarf his juvenile agitations; +even to arraign his own beautiful surroundings as almost too peaceful, +too perfect. Life could not be altogether made up of goodness and +sweetness and poetry and philosophy. Somewhere--remote, unseen, +implacable--there must lurk strong things, big things, perhaps inimical +things, waiting to pounce on him, to be tackled and overcome. Anyhow +there could be no question, after all his vapourings, of playing the +fool and backing out---- + +He was on the ridge now; clear space all about him, heather underfoot; +his stride keeping pace with the march of his thoughts. Risks...? Of +course there were risks. He recognised that more frankly now; and the +talk with his mother had revealed a big one that had not so much as +occurred to him. For Broome was right. Concentration on her had, in a +sense, delayed his emotional development; had kept him--for all his +artistry and his First in Greats--very much a boy at heart. Certainly, +Arúna's grace and gaiety had struck him more consciously during this +last visit. No denying, the Eastern element had its perilous +fascination. And the Eastern element was barred. As for Tara--sister and +friend and High Tower Princess in one--she was as much a part of home as +his mother and Christine. He had simply not seen her yet as a budding +woman. He had, in fact, been too deeply absorbed in Oxford and writing +and his dream, and the general deliciousness of life, to challenge the +future definitely, except in the matter of going to India, somewhen, +somehow.... + +Lost in the swirl of his thoughts and the exhilaration of light and +colour, he forgot all about tea-time.... + +It was after five when, at last, he swung round the yew hedge on to the +long lawn; and there, at the far end, was Tara, evidently sent out to +find him. She was wearing her delphinium frock and the big blue hat with +its single La France rose. She walked pensively, her head bowed; and, in +that moment, by some trick of sense or spirit, he saw her vividly, as +she was. He saw the grace of her young slenderness, the wild-flower +colouring, the delicate aquiline of her nose that revealed breeding and +character; the mouth that even in repose seemed to quiver with +sensibility. And he thought: "Good Lord! How lovely she is!" + +Of course he had known it always--at the back of his mind. The odd thing +was, he had never thought it, in so many words, before. And from the +thought sprang an inspiration. If only _she_ could come out with +them--for a time, at least. So imbued was he with a sense of their +brother and sister relation, that the idea seemed as natural as if it +had concerned Christine. He had certainly been aware, the last year or +so, of a gossamer veil dropped between them. He attributed this to mere +grown-up-ness; but it made him feel appreciably shy at thought of +broaching his brilliant idea. + +She raised her head at that point; saw him, and waved a commanding hand. +Impelled by eagerness, he condescended to hurry. + +"Casual demon--what _have_ you been up to?" she greeted him with mock +severity. + +"Prowling on the ridge. It was gorgeous up there," he answered, noticing +in detail the curve of her eyelid and thick dark lashes. + +"Well, tea's half cold and most of it eaten; and Aunt Lila seemed +wondering a little. So I offered to go and unearth you." + +"How could you tell?" + +A dimple dipped in one cheek. "I couldn't! I was going to the wood, on +chance. Come along." + +"No hurry. If tea's half cold, it can wait a bit longer." He drew a +breath, nerving himself; then: "Tara--I've got a proposal to make." + +"Roy!" Her lips quivered, just perceptibly, and were still. + +"Well, it's this. Wouldn't it be splendid if _you_ came along out--with +us three?" + +"Roy!" It was a changed intonation. "That's _not_ a subject for a +practical joke." + +"But I'm in earnest. High Tower Princess, wouldn't you love to come?" + +"Of course I would." Was it his fancy, or did the blood stir ever so +little in her cheeks? "But it's utterly, crazily impossible. The sort of +thing only _you_ would suggest. So please let be--and come along in." + +"Not till you promise. I'm dead set on this. And I'm going to have it +out with you." + +"Well, you won't have _me_ out with you--if you talk till midnight." + +"Why not?" + +Her smile had its delicious tremulous quality. "Were you twenty-one last +birthday--or twelve? If you think you'll be lonely, ask for Christine. +She's your sister--I'm not!" + +The emphasis and faint inflection of the last words had their intended +effect. Roy's face fell. "O-oh, I see. But you've always been my sort of +sister. Thea would understand. And nowadays girls do all sorts of +things." + +"Yes--they do!" Tara agreed demurely. "They scratch faces and burn down +beautiful harmless houses. But they don't happen to belong to mother. +Roy--it's what I said--crazily--utterly---- If it wasn't, d'you suppose +I'd say No?" + +Then Roy knew he was beaten. Also he knew she was right and that he had +been an impulsive fool--depressing convictions both. For a moment he +stood nonplussed while Tara fingered a long chain he had given her, and +absently studied a daisy-plant that had dared to invade the oldest, +loveliest lawn in that part of the country. + +But Roy was little used to being thwarted--by home elements, at least: +and when an idea seized him he could be pertinacious, even to the point +of folly. He was determined Tara should come with him. And Tara wanted +to come. Add her permanent dearness and her newly-found loveliness, and +there sprang from the conjunction a second inspiration, even bolder than +the first. + +"Tara--dear," he ventured, in a changed tone that halted between +tenderness and appeal. "I'm going to say--something tremendous." + +She deserted the daisy and faced him, blue eyes wide; her tell-tale +lower lip drawn in. + +"Would it be--quite so 'crazily--utterly'--if ... well, if we were +engaged?" + +The tremendous word was out; and the effect on her was unmistakable. +Colour stirred visibly in her face. She straightened herself with an air +that seemed physically to increase the distance between them. + +"Really, Roy--have you _quite_ lost your senses to-day?" + +He looked--and felt--crestfallen. "But, Tara," he urged, "it's such a +supreme idea. Wouldn't you--think of it, ever? We'd fit like a pair of +gloves. Mummy would love it--extravagantly. And we've been kind +of--caring all these years. At least"--sudden doubt assailed him--"I +suppose you _do_ care still--a little bit?" + +"Silly boy! Of course I--care ... a lot." + +That was more like the Tara he knew. "Very well. _Why_ accuse me of +incipient lunacy? I care, too. Always have done. Think how topping it +would be, you and I together, exploring all the wonderland of our Game +and Mummy's tales--Udaipur, Amber, Chitor, perhaps the shrine of the +real Tara----" + +Still demurely distant, she thought "how topping it would be"; and the +thought kept her silent so long that he grew impatient. + +"High Tower Princess--do give over. Your grown-up airs are awfully +sweet--but not to the point. You are coming? It'll spoil everything now, +if you don't." + +She shook her head with a small wise smile that seemed to push him away +from her, gently yet inexorably; to make him feel little more than a +schoolboy confronted by a woman; very young in her new shyness and +dignity, but still--a woman. + +"No, Roy--I'm not coming. It's--dear of you to want me. But I can't--for +lots of reasons. So please understand, once for all. And don't fuss." + +"But you said--you cared," Roy murmured blankly. + +"Of course I do. Only--there's caring--and caring ... since you make me +say it. You must know that by now. Anyway, I know we simply can't get +married just because we're very fond of each other and it would please +'Mummy' and be convenient for India." + +Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger and younger +with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It was all so unlike +his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered a little his genuine +dismay. + +"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'm fearfully +disappointed." + +"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying time for +you--yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go out to India and do +them. Then--when the time really comes, you'll understand--and you'll be +grateful to me--for understanding now. There, what a lecture! But the +point is--we can't: and I won't be badgered about it. _I'm_ going back +to tea; and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila--why?" + +He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would you mind?" + +"N-no, she'll understand." + +"Bet she won't." + +"She will. You're not the only person the darling understands, though +you _are_ her spoilt boy." + +She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal +self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with +her. He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and +emotion. A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like +mountain peaks out of a mist. He knew she was all of a sudden +distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had +thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his +unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she didn't utterly despise +him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever.... + +Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a +lot to say. + +"Tara--why _are_ you sprinting like this?" he broke out, reproachfully. +"Are you angry with me?" + +She vouchsafed him a small smile. + +"Not yet. But I soon will be, if you don't take care. And I'm dangerous +in a temper!" + +"Don't I know that? I once had a scratch that didn't heal for a month. +But do walk slower. You're not chucking me--for good--eh?" + +She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and +hopelessly intractable Roy. + +"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour +before. You must have drunk some potion up on the moor! Have you +forgotten you're my Bracelet-bound Brother?" + +"But that doesn't bar--the other thing. It's not one of the Prayer-book +affinities! I say, Tara--you might promise to think it over. If you +can't do that much, I won't believe you care a bean about me, for all +you say----" + +Her blue eyes flashed at that--genuine fire; and she stood still again, +confronting him. + +"Roy--be _quiet_! You make me furious. I want to slap you. First you +suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by +behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for an answer." + +Roy straightened himself sharply. "I'm not spoilt--and I'm not a boy. +I'm a man." + +"Well then, try and _behave_ like one." + +The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had +hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung +out a hand. He held it hard. And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips +tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile. + +"Roy--darling," she murmured, barely above her breath. "You are +really--a little bit of all three. That's part of your deliciousness and +troublesomeness. And it's not your fault--the spoiling. We've all +helped. I've been as bad as the others. But this time--please believe--I +simply, utterly can't--even for you." + +Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand. + +But with a deft movement she freed herself--and fled round the corner of +the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek +his mother and the outraged teapot--alone. + +He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths of her +great arm-chair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of elaborate +embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son. + +Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room--as recreated by Sir Nevil Sinclair for +his Indian bride--was a setting worthy of its mistress: lofty and +spacious, light filled by three tall French windows, long gold curtains +shot through with bronze; gold and cream colour the prevailing tone; +ivory, brass, and bronze the prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and +flowers in profusion--roses, lilies, sweet-peas. Yet, in the midst of it +all, the spirit of Lilámani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of +whom, too soon, both she and her home would be bereft---- + +At the sound of his step she looked up. + +"Wicked one! What came to you?" + +Impossible to hide from her the disarray of his emotions. So he spoke +the simple truth. + +"Tara came to me----! I'd been prowling on the moor, and forgetting the +time. I met her on the lawn----" + +"Yes--where is she?--And you----?" + +He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was kneeling by her +chair, confessing all. + +"Mummy, I've just asked her--to marry me. And she simply ... won't hear +of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going out together--that it +would please you so----" + +The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it that way--to +her, my darling?" + +"No--not exactly. Naturally I did mention you--and India. She admits +she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry. I can't make her out." + +A faintly aggrieved note in his voice, implied expectation of sympathy. +To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if to herself: +"Such a wise Tara!" + +"Well, _I_ don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered a trifle +disconcerted. + +"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day perhaps when your eyes are not too +dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth--of yourself--you will +see--many surprises. You are not yet ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart +is reaching out to far-away things. That--_she_ has been woman enough to +guess." + +"Perhaps, I'm not so sure. She seemed--not a bit like herself, part of +the time." He looked pensively at a slim vase overflowing with sprays of +blush rambler, that, for some reason, evoked a tantalising vision of the +girl who had so suddenly blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking +thought found utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she +be--in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?" + +Lilámani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question! Hard to tell. +At this kind of age, when girls have so much character--like my +Tara--they have a natural instinct for hiding the thoughts of their +hearts." She dropped her needlework now and lightly took his head +between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you think _you_ are +yet--in love with her, Roy? Honest answer." + +The touch of her hands stirred him all through. The question in her eyes +probed deep. + +"Honest answer, Mummy--I'm blest if I know," he said slowly. "I don't +think I've ever been so near it before; beyond thrills at dances ... and +all that. She somehow churned me up just now and made me want her +tremendously. But I truly hadn't thought of it--that way, before. And--I +did feel it might ease you and Dad about ... the other thing, if I went +out fixed up." + +She drew his head to her and kissed him, then let her hands fall in her +lap. "Wonderful Sonling! Indeed it _would_ ease me and please me--if +coming from the true motive. Only remember, so long as you are thinking +first of me, you can be sure That Other has not yet arrived." + +"But I shall always think first of you," he declared, catching at her +hands. "There's no one like you. There never will be." + +"No--not like, but different--in clearness and nearness. Love is one big +impulse, but many forms. Like white light made from many colours. No +rival for me, That Other; but daughter-in-law--best gift a son can bring +to his father's house. Just now there is room inside you only for one +big thing--India." + +"And you----" + +"But I am India." + +"Sublimated essence of it, according to Jeffers." + +"Jeffers says many foolish things!" But she did not disguise her +pleasure. + +"I've noticed occasional flashes of wisdom!--But, I say, Motherling, +what price tea?" + +"Tea?" She feigned exaggerated surprise. "I thought you were much too +far in the clouds!" + +"On the contrary. I'm simply famished!" + +And forthwith he fell upon a plate of sugar cakes; while she rang for +the fresh teapot, so often in requisition for 'Mr Roy.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Comfort, content, delight, the ages' slow-bought gain, + They shrivelled in a night. Only ourselves remain + To face the naked days in silent fortitude. + Through perils and dismays renewed and re-renewed." + --KIPLING. + + +Nevil was up in town on business; not returning till next day. The +papers were seething with rumours; but the majority of everyday people, +immersed in their all-important affairs, continued cheerfully to hope +against hope. Sir Nevil Sinclair was not of these; but he kept his worst +qualms to himself. Neither his wife nor his son were keen newspaper +readers; which, in his opinion, was just as well. + +Certainly it did not occur to Lilámani that any trouble in Europe could +invade the sanctities of her home, or affect the shining destiny of Roy. +That he was destined to shine, her mother's heart knew beyond all doubt. +And round that knowledge, like an aura, glimmered a dreamlike hope that +perhaps his shining might some day, in some way, strengthen the bond +between Nevil's people and her own. For the problem of India's changing +relation to England lay intimately near her heart. Her poetic brain saw +England always as "husband of India"; while misguided or malicious +meddlers--who would "make the Mother a widow"--were fancifully +incorporated in the person of Jane. And, in this matter of India, Roy +had triumphed over Jane:--surely good omens, for bigger things:--for at +heart she was still susceptible to omens; more so than she cared to +admit. Crazy mother-arrogance, Nevil would say. But she seemed to feel +the spirit of his grandfather at work in Roy; and well she knew that the +old man's wisdom would guide and temper his young zeal. Beyond that, no +human eyes could see; only the too-human heart of a mother could dream +and hope.... + +Long ago her father had told her that nations had always been renewed by +individuals; that India--aristocratic to the deeps of her Brahmin-ridden +soul--would never acknowledge the crowd's unstable sway. For her it must +always be the _man_--ruler, soldier, or saint. + +Not that she had breathed a word of her 'arrogance' to Nevil, or even to +Roy. Nor had she shown to either a certain letter from a distinguished +Indian woman; pure Indian by birth; also by birth a Christian; her +sympathy with East and West as evenly poised as Lilámani's own. The +letter lived in a slim blue bag, lovingly embroidered. Lilámani--foolish +and fanciful--wore it like a talisman, next her heart; and at night +slipped it under her pillow with her gold watch and wisp of scented +lawn. + +To-night, being alone, and her mind very full of Roy, she drew it out +and re-read it for the hundredth time; lingering, as always, on its +arresting finale. + +"I have seen much and grieved more over the problem of the Eurasian, as +multiplied in our beloved country--the fruit, most often, of promiscuous +unions between low-caste types on both sides, with sense of stigma added +to drag them lower still. But where the crossing is of highest caste--as +with you and your 'Nevil'--I can see no stigma; perhaps even spiritual +gain to your children. For I love both countries with my whole heart. +And to my love God has given the vision that India may some day be saved +by the son of just such a union as your own. He will have the strength +of his handicap; the soul of the East; the forceful mind and character +of the West. He will bring to the task of uniting them such twofold love +and understanding that the world must needs take infection. What if the +ultimate meaning of British occupation of India be just this--that the +successor of Buddha should be a man born of high-caste, high-minded +British and Indian parents; a fusion of the finest that East and West +can give. That vision may inspire you in your first flush of happy +motherhood. So I feel impelled to pass it on ..." + +Such a vision--whether fantasy or prophecy--could not fail to stir +Lilámani Sinclair's Eastern heart to its depths. But she shrank from +sceptical comment; and sceptical Nevil would surely be. As for Roy, +intuition warned her it was too heady an idea to implant in his ardent +brain. So she treasured it secretly, and read it at intervals, and +prayed that, some day, it might be fulfilled--if not through her, then +through some other Lilámani, who should find courage to link her life +with England. Above all, she prayed he who should achieve India's +renewal might spring from Rajasthán.... + +In the midst of her thinking and praying, she fell sound asleep--to +dream of Roy tossed out of reach on the waves of some large vague +upheaval. The 'how' and 'why' of it all eluded her. Only the vivid +impression remained.... + + * * * * * + +And before the week was out, an upheaval, actual and terrible, burst +upon a startled, unheeding world; a world lulled into a false sense of +security; and too strenuously engaged in rushing headlong round a +centrifugal point called 'progress,' to concern itself with a mythical +peril across the North Sea. + +But at the first clear note of danger, devotees of pleasure and progress +and the franchise were transformed, as by magic, into a crowd of +bewildered, curious and resentful human beings, who had suddenly lost +their bearings; who snatched at newspapers; confided in perfect +strangers; protested that a European War was unspeakable, unthinkable, +and all the while could speak and think of nothing else.... + +It was the nightmare terror of earthquake, when the solid ground +underfoot turns traitor. And it shook even the stoutest nerves in the +opening weeks of the Great War, destined to shatter their dear and +familiar world for months, years, decades perhaps.... + +But underlying all the froth and fume of the earlier restlessness, of +the later fear and futility, the strong, kindly, imperturbable heart of +the land still beat, sanely--if inconspicuously--in the home life of her +cottages and her great country houses. Twentieth-century England could +not be called degenerate while she counted among her hidden treasures +homes of such charm and culture and mutual confidence as those that +produced the Grenfells, the Charltons, a Lord Elcho, an Edward Tennant +and a Charles Sorley--to pick a few names at random from that galaxy of +'golden boys' who ungrudgingly gave their lives--for what? + +The answer to that staggering question is not yet. But the splendour of +their gift remains: a splendour no after-failure can tarnish or dim ... + +To the inmates of Bramleigh Beeches--Nevil excepted--the crash came with +startling abruptness; dwarfing all personal problems, heart-searchings +and high decisions. Even Lady Roscoe forgot Family Herald heroics, and +'crossed the threshold' without comment from Nevil or herself. The +weightiest matters became suddenly trivial beside the tremendous +questions that hovered in every mind and on every tongue: 'Can We hold +Them?' 'Can They invade Us?' 'Can it be true--this whispered horror, +that rumoured disaster?' And the test question--most tremendous of all, +for the mere unit--'Where do _I_ come in?' + +Nevil came in automatically through years of casual connection with the +Artists' Rifles. He was a Colonel by now; and would join up as a matter +of course--to his wife's secret amazement and far from secret pride. +Without an ounce of the soldier in him, he acted on instinct like most +Englishmen; not troubling to analyse motives; simply in the spirit of +_Noblesse oblige_; or, in the more casual modern equivalent--'one just +does.' + +Roy--poet and dreamer--became electrically alive to his double heritage +of the soldier spirit. From age to age the primeval link between poet +and warrior is reaffirmed in time of war: and the Rajput in him +recognised only one way of fighting worthy the name--the triune +conjunction of man and horse and sword. Disillusion, strange and +terrible, awaited him on that score: and as for India--what need of his +young activities, when the whole Empire was being welded into one +resistant mass by the triple hammer-strokes of a common danger, a common +enemy, a common aim? + +It was perhaps this sense of a clear call in an age of intellectual +ferment, of sex problems and political friction, that sent so many +unlikely types of manhood straight as arrows to that universal +target--the Front. The War offered a high and practical outlet for their +dumb idealism; to their realism, it offered the 'terrific verities of +fatigue, suffering, bodily danger--beloved life and staggering death.' + +For Roy, Cavalry was a matter of course. In the saddle, even Jane could +find no fault with him; little guessing that, in his genius for +horsemanship, he was Rajput to the marrow. His compact, nervous make, +strong thigh and light hand, marked him as the inevitable centaur; and +he had already gained a measure of distinction in the cavalry arm of the +Officers' Training Corps. But a great wish to keep in touch with his +father led him to fall in with Sir Nevil's suggestion that he should +start in the Artists' Rifles and apply for a transfer later on--when one +could see more clearly how this terrific business was likely to develop. +George and Jerry--aged fifteen and sixteen and a half--raged at their +own futile juvenility--which, in happier circumstances, nothing would +have induced them to admit. Jerry--a gay and reckless being--had fell +designs on the Flying Corps, the very first moment he could 'wangle it.' +George--the truest Sinclair of them all--sagely voted for the Navy, +because it took you young. But no one heeded them very much. They were +all too absorbed in newspapers and their own immediate plans. + +And Lilámani, also, found her niche, when the King's stirring +proclamation announced the coming of Indian troops. There was to be a +camp on the estate. Later on, there would be convalescents. Meantime, +there was wholesale need of 'comforts' to occupy her and Helen and +Christine. + +Tara's soaring ambition would carry her farther afield. Her spirit of +flame--that rose instinctively to tragic issues and heroic +demands--could be at peace nowhere but in the splendid, terrible, +unorganised thick of it all. Without making any ado, she proposed to get +there in the shortest possible time; and, in the shortest possible time, +by sheer concentration and hard work, she achieved her desire. Before +Roy left England, before her best-loved brother--a man of brilliant +promise--had finished learning to fly, she was driving her car in +Belgium, besieged in Antwerp, doing and enduring terrible things ... + +After Tara, Nevil--for the Artists' Rifles were early in the field. +After Nevil, Roy--his exchange effected--very slim and soldierly in +cavalry uniform; his grey-blue eyes, with the lurking gleam in them, +more than ever noticeable in his sunburnt face. + +The last day, the last hour were at once sad and glad beyond belief; so +that Lilámani's coward heart was thankful for urgent trifles that helped +to divert attention from the waiting shadow. Even to-day, as always, +dress and sari were instinctively chosen to express her mood:--the +mother-of-pearl mood; iridescence of glad and sad: glad to give; yet +aching to keep. Daughter of Rajputs though she was, she had her moment +of very human shrinking when the sharp actuality of parting was upon +them; when he held her so close and long that she felt as if the +tightened cord round her heart must snap--and there an end.... + +But, by some miracle, some power not her own, courage held; though, when +he released her, she was half blinded with tears. + +Her last words--entirely like herself though they were--surprised him. + +"Son of my heart--live for ever," she whispered, laying light hands on +his breast. "And when you go into the battle, always keep strongly in +your mind that They must _not_ win, because no sacred or beautiful thing +would be left clean from their touch. And when you go into the battle +always remember--Chitor." + +"It is _you_ I shall always remember--looking like this," he answered +under his breath. But he never forgot her injunctions; and through years +of fighting, he obeyed them to the letter.... + + * * * * * + +That was in April, after Neuve Chapelle, when even optimists admitted +that the War might last a year. + +At Christmas time he came home on short leave--a changed Roy; his skin +browner; his sensitive lips more closely set under the shadow line of +his moustache; the fibre of body and spirit hardened, without loss of +fineness or flexibility. Livelier on the surface, he was graver, more +reticent, underneath--even with her. By the look in his eyes she knew he +had seen things that could never be put into words. Some of them she too +had seen, through his mind; so close was the spiritual link between +them. In that respect at least, he was beautifully, unaffectedly the +same.... + +Nevil was home too, for that wonderful Christmas; and Tara, changed +also, in her own vivid way; frank and friendly with Roy; though the +grown-up veil between them was seldom lifted now. For the War held them +both in its unrelaxing grip; satisfied, in terrible and tremendous +fashion, the hidden desire--not uncommon in young things, though +concealed like a vice--to suffer for others. Everything else, for the +time being, seemed a side issue. Personal affairs could wait.... + +When it came to letting Nevil and Roy go again, after their brief, +beautiful interlude together, Lilámani discovered how those fifteen +months of ceaseless anxiety and ceaseless service had shaken her nerve. +Gladness of giving could now scarce hold its own against dread of +losing; till she felt as if her heart must break under the strain. It +did not break, however. It endured--as the hearts of a million mothers +and wives have endured in all ages--to breaking-point ... and beyond. +The immensity of the whole world's anguish at once crushed and upheld +her, making her individual pain seem almost a little thing---- + +They left her. And the War went on--disastrously, gloriously, +stubbornly, inconclusively; would go on, it seemed, to the end of Time. +One came to feel as if life free from the shadow of War had never been. +As if it would never be again---- + + +END OF PHASE II. + + + + +PHASE III. + +PISGAH HEIGHTS + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "No receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend."--FRANCIS + BACON. + + +As early as 1819 there had been a Desmond in India; a +soldier-administrator of mark, in his day. During the Sikh Wars there +had been a Desmond in the Punjab; and at the time of the Great Mutiny +there was a Punjab Cavalry Desmond at Kohat; a notable fighter, with a +flowing beard and an easy-going uniform that would not commend itself to +the modern military eye. In the year of the second Afghan War, there was +yet another Desmond at Kohat; one that earned the cross 'For Valour,' +married the daughter of Sir John Meredith, and rose to high distinction. +Later still, in the year of grace 1918, his two sons were stationed +there, in the self-same Punjab Cavalry Regiment. There was also by now, +a certain bungalow in Kohat known as 'Desmond's bungalow,' occupied at +present by Colonel Paul Desmond, now in Command. + +That is no uncommon story in India. She has laid her spell on certain +families; and they have followed one another through the generations, as +homing birds follow in line across the sunset sky. And their name +becomes a legend that passes from father to son; because India does not +forget. There is perhaps nothing quite like it in the tale of any other +land. It makes for continuity; for a fine tradition of service and +devotion; a tradition that will not be broken till agitators and +theorists make an end of Britain in India. But that day is not yet; and +the best elements of both races still believe it will never be. + +Certainly neither Paul nor Lance Desmond, riding home together from +kit inspection, on a morning of early September, entertained the +dimmest idea of a break with the family tradition. Lance, at +seven-and-twenty--spare and soldierly, alive to the finger-tips--was his +father in replica, even to the V.C. after his name, which he had +'snaffled out of the War,' together with a Croix de Guerre and a +brevet-Majority. Though Cavalry had been at a discount in France, +Mesopotamia and Palestine had given the Regiment its chance--with fever +and dysentery and all the plagues of Egypt thrown in to keep things +going. + +It was in the process of filling up his woeful gaps that Colonel Desmond +had applied for Roy Sinclair, and so fulfilled the desire of his +brother's heart: also, incidentally, Roy's craving to serve with Indian +Cavalry. To that end, his knowledge of the language, his horsemanship, +his daring and resource in scout work, had stood him in good stead. +Paul--who scarcely knew him at the time--very soon discovered that he +had secured an asset for the Regiment--the great Fetish, that claimed +his paramount allegiance, and began to look like claiming it for life. + +"He's just John over again," Lady Desmond would say, referring to a +brother who had served the great Fetish from subaltern to Colonel and +left his name on a cross in Kohat cemetery. + +Certainly, in form and feature, Paul was very much a Meredith:--the +coppery tone of his hair, the straight nose and steadfast grey-blue +eyes, the height and breadth and suggestion of power in reserve. It was +one of the most serious problems of his life to keep his big frame under +weight for polo, without impairing his immense capacity for work. Apart +from this important detail, he was singularly unaware of his striking +personal appearance, except when others chaffed him about his look of +Lord Kitchener, and were usually snubbed for their pains; though, at +heart, he was inordinately proud of the fact. He had only one quarrel +with the hero of his boyhood;--the decree that officially extinguished +the Frontier Force; though the spirit of it survives, and will survive, +for decades to come. Like his brother, he had 'snaffled' a few +decorations out of the War: but to be in Command of the Regiment, with +Lance in charge of his pet squadron, was better than all. + +The strong bond of affection between these two--first and last of a +family of six--was enhanced by their very unlikeness. Lance had the élan +of a torrent; Paul the stillness and depth of a mountain lake. Lance was +a rapier; Paul a claymore--slow to smite, formidable when roused. Both +were natural leaders of men; both, it need hardly be added, 'Piffers'[3] +in the grain. They had only returned in March from active service, with +the Regiment very much the worse for wear; heartily sorry to be out of +the biggest show on record; yet heartily glad to be back in India, a +sadly changing India though it was. + +Two urgent questions were troubling the mind of Lance as they rode at a +foot's pace up the slope leading to the Blue Bungalow. Would the board +of doctors, at that moment 'sitting' on Roy, give him another chance? +Would the impending reliefs condemn them to a 'down-country' station? +For they had only been posted to Kohat till these came out. + +To one of those questions Colonel Desmond already knew the answer. + +"I had a line from the General this morning," he remarked, after +studying his brother's profile and shrewdly gauging his thoughts. + +True enough--his start betrayed him. "The General?--Reliefs?" + +"Yes." A pause. "We're for--Lahore Cantonments." + +"Damn!" + +"I've made that inspired remark already. You needn't flatter yourself +it's original!" + +"I'm not in the mood to flatter myself or any one else. I'm in a +towering rage. And if dear old Roy is to be turned down into the +bargain----!" Words failed him. He had his father's genius for making +friends; and among them all Roy Sinclair reigned supreme. + +"I'm afraid he will be if I know anything of medical boards." + +"Why the _devil_----?" Lance flashed out. "It's not as if A1 officers +were tumbling over each other in the service. If Roy was a Tommy they'd +jolly soon think of something better than leave and futile tonics." + +Colonel Desmond smiled at the characteristic outburst. + +"Certainly their tinkering isn't up to much. But I'm afraid there's more +wrong with Roy than mere doctoring can touch. Still--he doesn't seem +keen on going Home." + +Lance shook his head. "Naturally--poor old chap. Feels he can't face +things, yet. It's not only the delights of Mespot that have knocked him +off his centre. It's losing--that jewel of a mother." His eyes darkened +with feeling. "You can't wonder. If anything was to happen----" He broke +off abruptly. + +Paul Desmond set his teeth and was silent. In the deep of his heart, the +Regiment had one rival--and Lady Desmond knew it.... + +They found the bungalow empty. No sign of Roy. + +"Getting round 'em," suggested Paul optimistically, and passed on into +his dufter. + +Lance lit a cigar, flung himself into a verandah chair and picked up the +'Civil and Military.' He had just scanned the war telegrams when Roy +came up at a round trot. + +Lance sat forward and discarded the paper. An exchange of glances +sufficed. Roy's determination to 'bluff the board' had failed. + +He looked sallow in spite of sunburn; tired and disheartened; no lurking +smile in his eyes. He fondled the velvet nose of his beloved Suráj--a +graceful creature, half Arab, half Waler; and absently acknowledged the +frantic jubilations of his Irish terrier puppy, christened by Lance the +Holy Terror--Terry for short. Then he mounted the steps, subsided into +the other chair and dropped his cap and whip on the ground. + +"Damn the doctors," said Lance, questions being superfluous. + +That so characteristic form of sympathy moved Roy to a rueful smile. +"Obstinate devils. I bluffed 'em all I knew. Overdid it, perhaps. Anyway +they weren't impressed. They've dispensed with my valuable services. +Anćmia, mild neurasthenia, cardiac symptoms--and a few other +pusillanimous ailments. Wonder they didn't throw in housemaid's knee! +Oh, confound 'em all!" He converted a sigh into a prolonged yawn. +"Let's make merry over a peg, Lance. Doctors are exhausting to argue +with. And Cuthers always said I couldn't argue for nuts! Now then--how +about pegs?" + +"A bit demoralising--at midday," Lance murmured without conviction. + +"Well, I _am_ demoralised; dead--damned--done for. I'm about to be +honoured with a blooming medical certificate to that effect. As a +soldier, I'm extinct--from this time forth for evermore. You see before +you the wraith of a Might-Have-Been. After _that_ gold-medal exhibition +of inanity, kindly produce said pegs!" + +Lance Desmond listened with a grave smile, and a sharp contraction of +heart, to the absurdities of this first-best friend, who for three years +had shared with him the high and horrible and ludicrous vicissitudes of +war. He knew only too well that trick of talking at random to drown some +inner stress. With every word of nonsense he uttered, Roy was implicitly +confessing how acutely he felt the blow; and to parade his own bitter +disappointment seemed an egotistical superfluity. So he merely remarked +with due gravity: "I admit you've made out an overwhelming case for +'said pegs'!" And he shouted his orders accordingly. + +They filled their tumblers in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Every +moment emphasised increasingly all that the detested verdict implied. No +more polo together. No more sharing of books and jokes and enthusiasms +and violent antipathies, to which both were prone. No more 'shoots' in +the Hills beyond Kashmir. + +From the first of these they had lately returned--sick leave, in Roy's +case; and the programme was to be repeated next April, if they could +'wangle' first leave. Each knew the other was thinking of these things. +But they seemed entirely occupied in quenching their thirst, and their +disappointment, in deep draughts of sizzling ice-cool whisky-and-soda. +Moreover--ignominious, but true--when the tumblers were emptied, things +did begin to look a shade less blue. It became more possible to discuss +plans. And Desmond was feeling distinctly anxious on that score. + +"You won't be shunted instanter," he remarked; and Roy smiled at the +relief in his tone. + +"Next month, I suppose. We must make the most of these few weeks, old +man." + +"And then--what?... Home?" + +Roy did not answer at once. He was lying back again, staring out at the +respectable imitation of a lawn, at rose beds, carpeted with over-blown +mignonette, and a lone untidy tamarisk that flung a spiky shadow on the +grass. And the eye of his mind was picturing the loveliest lawn of his +acquaintance, with its noble twin beeches and a hammock slung +between--an empty casket; the jewel gone. It was picturing the +drawing-room; the restful simplicity of its cream and gold: but no dear +and lovely figure, in gold-flecked sari, lost in the great arm-chair. +Her window-seat in the studio--empty. No one in a 'mother-o'-pearl mood' +to come and tuck him up and exchange confidences, the last thing. His +father, also invalided out; his left coat sleeve half empty, where the +forearm had been removed. + +"N--no," he said at last, still staring at the unblinking sunshine. "Not +Home. Not yet--anyway." + +Then, having confessed, he turned and looked straight into the eyes of +his friend--the hazel-grey eyes he had so admired, as a small boy, +because of the way they darkened with anger or strong feeling. And he +admired them still. "A coward--am I? It's not a flattering conclusion. +But I suppose it's the cold truth." + +"It hasn't struck _me_ that way." Desmond frankly returned his look. + +"That's a mercy. But--if one's name happened to be Lance Desmond, one +would go--anyhow." + +"I doubt it. The place must be simply alive--with memories. We +Anglo-Indians, jogged from pillar to post, know precious little about +homes like yours. A man--can't judge----" + +"You're a generous soul, Lance!" Roy broke out with sudden warmth. +"Anyway--coward or no--I simply _can't_ face--the ordeal, yet awhile. I +believe my father will understand. After all--here I am in India, as +planned, before the Great Interruption. So--given the chance, I might as +well take it. The dear old place is mostly empty, these days--with Tiny +married and Dad's Air Force job pinning him to Town. _So_--as I remarked +before----!" + +"You'll hang on out here for the present? Thank God for that much." + +Desmond's pious gratitude was so fervent that they both burst out +laughing; and their laughter cleared the air of ghosts. + +"Jaipur it is, I suppose, as planned. Thea will be overjoyed. Whether +Jaipur's precisely a health resort----?" + +"I'm not after health resorts. I'm after knowledge--and a few other +things. Not Jaipur first, anyway. The moment I get the official order of +the boot--I'm for Chitor." + +"Chitor?" Faint incredulity lurked in Desmond's tone. + +"Yes--the casket that enshrines the soul of a race; buried in the wilds +of Rajasthán. Ever heard tell of it, you arrant Punjabi? Or does nothing +exist for _you_ south of Delhi?" + +"Just a thing or two--not to mention Thea!" + +"Of course--I beg her pardon! _She_ would appreciate Chitor." + +"Rather. They went there--and Udaipur, last year. She's death on getting +Vincent transferred. And the Burra Sahibs are as wax in her hands. If +they happen to be musical, and she applies the fiddle, they haven't an +earthly----!" + +Roy's eyes took on their far-away look. + +"It'll be truly uplifting to see her--and hear her fiddle once more, if +she's game for an indefinite dose of my society. Anyway, there's my +grandfather----" + +"Quite superfluous," Desmond interposed a shade too promptly. "If I know +Thea, she'll hang on to you for the cold weather; and ensure you a _pied +ŕ terre_ if you want to prowl round Rajputana and give the bee in your +bonnet an airing! You'll be in clover. The Residency's a sort of palace. +Not precisely Thea's ideal of bliss. She's a Piffer at heart; and her +social talents don't get much scope down there. Only half a dozen +whites; and old Vinx buried fathoms deep in ethnology, writing a book. +But, being Thea, she has pitched herself head foremost, into it all. Got +very keen on Indian women. She's mixed up in some sort of a romance now. +A girl who's been educated at home. It seems an unfailing prescription +for trouble. I rather fancy she's a cousin of yours." + +Roy started. "What--Arúna?" + +"She didn't mention the name. Only ructions--and Thea to the rescue!" + +"Poor Arúna!--She stayed in England a goodish time, because of the +War--and Dyán. I've not heard of Dyán for an age; and I don't believe +they have either. He was knocked out in 1915. Lost his left arm. Said he +was going to study art in Calcutta.--I wonder----?" Desmond--who had +chiefly been talking to divert the current of his thoughts--noted, with +satisfaction, how his simple tactics had taken effect. + +"We'll write to-morrow--eh?" said he. "Better still--happy +thought!--I'll bear down on Jaipur myself, for Christmas leave. Rare +fine pig-sticking in those parts." + +The happy thought proved a masterstroke. In the discussion of plans and +projects Roy became almost his radiant self again: forgot, for one +merciful hour, that he was dead, damned, and done for--the wraith of a +'Might-Have-Been.' + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 3: Punjab Irregular Frontier Force.] + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Oh, not more subtly silence strays + Amongst the winds, between the voices... + Than thou art present in my days. + + My silence, life returns to thee + In all the pauses of her breath. + And thou, wake ever, wake for me!" + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +Some five weeks later, Roy sat alone--very completely and desolately +alone--in a whitewashed, unhomely room that everywhere bore the stamp of +dák bungalow; from the wobbly teapoy[4] at his elbow to the board of +printed rules that adorned the empty mantelpiece. The only cheering +thing in the room was the log fire that made companionable noises and +danced shadow-dances on the dingy white walls. But the optimism of the +fire was discounted by the pessimism of the lamp that seemed specially +constructed to produce a minimum of light with a maximum of smell--and +rank kerosene at that. + +Dák bungalows had seemed good fun in the days of his leave, when he and +Lance made merry over their well-worn failings. But it was quite another +affair to smoke the pipe of compulsory solitude, on the outskirts of +Chitor, hundreds of miles away from Kohat and the Regiment; to feel +oneself the only living being in a succession of empty rooms--for the +servants were housed in their own little colony apart. Solitude, in the +right mood and the right place, was bread and wine to his soul; but +acute loneliness of the dák bungalow order was not in the bond. For four +years he had felt himself part of a huge incarnate purpose; intimately +part of his regiment--a closely-knit brotherhood of action. Now, the +mere fact of being an unattached human fragment oddly intensified his +feeling of isolation. With all his individuality, he was no egoist; and +very much a lover of his kind. Imbued with the spirit of the quest, yet +averse by temperament to ploughing the lonely furrow. + +It had been his own choice--if you could call it so,--starting this way, +instead of in the friendly atmosphere of the Jaipur Residency. But was +there really such a thing as choice? The fact was, he had simply obeyed +an irresistible impulse,--and to-morrow he would be glad of it. +To-night, after that interminable journey, his head ached atrociously. +He felt limp as a wet dish-clout; his nerves all out of gear ... Perhaps +those confounded doctors were not such fools as they seemed. He cursed +himself for a spineless ineffectual--messing about with nerves when he +had been lucky enough to come through four years of war with his full +complement of limbs and faculties unimpaired. Two slight wounds, a +passing collapse, from utter fatigue and misery, soon after his mother's +death; a spell of chronic dysentery, during which he had somehow managed +to keep more or less fit for duty;--that was his record of physical +damage, in a War that had broken its tens of thousands for life. + +But there are wounds of the mind; and the healing of them is a slow, +complex affair. Roy, with his fastidious sense of beauty, his almost +morbid shrinking from inflicted pain, had suffered acutely, where more +robust natures scarcely suffered at all. Yet it was the robust that went +to pieces--which was one of the many surprises of a War that shattered +convictions wholesale, and challenged modern man to the fiercest trial +of faith at a moment when Science had almost stripped him bare of belief +in anything outside himself. + +Roy, happily for him, had not been stripped of belief; and his receptive +mind, had been ceaselessly occupied registering impressions, to be flung +off, later, in prose and verse, that _She_ might share them to the full. +A slim volume--published, at her wish, in 1916--had attracted no small +attention in the critical world. At the time, he had deprecated +premature rushings into print; but afterwards it was a blessed thing to +remember the joy he had given her that last Christmas--the very last.... + +On the battlefield, if there had been nerve-shattering moments, these +had their counterpart in moments when the spirit of his Rajput ancestors +lived again in him, when he knew neither shrinking nor horror nor pity: +and in moments of pure pleasure, during some quiet interlude, when larks +rained music out of the blue; when he found himself alone with the eerie +wonder of dawn over the scarred and riven fields of death; or when he +discovered his Oriental genius for scout work that had rapidly earned +him distinction and sated his love of adventure to the full. + +And always, unfailingly he had obeyed his mother's parting injunction. +As a British officer, he had fought for the Empire. As Roy Sinclair--son +of Lilámani--he had fought for the sanctities of Home and +Beauty--intrinsic beauty of mind and body and soul--against hideousness +and licence and the unclean spirit that could defile the very +sanctuaries of God. + +And always, when he went into battle, he remembered Chitor. Mentally, he +put on the saffron robe, insignia of 'no surrender.' To be taken +prisoner was the one fate he could not bring himself to contemplate: yet +that very fate had befallen him and Lance, in Mesopotamia--the sequel of +a daring and successful raid. + +Returning, in the teeth of unexpected difficulties, they had found +themselves ambushed, with their handful of men--outnumbered, no loophole +for escape. + +For three months, that seemed more like years, they had lost all sense +of personal liberty--the oxygen of the soul. They had endured misery, +semi-starvation, and occasionally other things, such as a man cannot +bring himself to speak about or consciously recall: not least, the awful +sense of being powerless--and hated. From the beginning, they had kept +their minds occupied with ingenious plans for escape, that, at times, +seemed like base desertion of their men, whom they could neither help +nor save. But when--as by a miracle--the coveted chance came, no power +on earth could have stayed them.... + +It had been a breathless affair, demanding all they possessed of bodily +fleetness and suppleness, of cool, yet reckless, courage. And it had +been crowned with success; the good news wired home to mothers who +waited and prayed. But Roy's nerves had suffered more severely than +Desmond's. A sharp attack of fever had completed his prostration. And it +was then, in the moment of his passing weakness, that Fate turned and +smote him with the sharpest weapon in her armoury.... + +He had not even heard his mother was ill. He had just received her +ecstatic response to his wire--and that very night she came to him, +vividly, as he hovered on the confines of sleep. + +There she stood by his bed, in her mother-o'-pearl gown and sari; clear +in every detail; lips just parted; a hovering smile in her eyes. And +round about her a shimmering radiance, as of moonbeams, heightened her +loveliness, yet seemed to set her apart; so that he could neither touch +her nor utter a word of welcome. He could only gaze and gaze, while his +heart beat in long slow hammer-strokes, with a double throb between. + +With a gesture of mute yearning her hands went out to him. She stooped +low and lower. A faint breeze seemed to flit across his forehead as if +her lips, lightly brushing it, had breathed a blessing. + +Then, darkness fell abruptly--and a deep sleep.... + +He woke late next morning: woke to a startling, terrible certainty that +his vision had been no dream; that her very self had come to him--that +she was gone.... + +When the bitter truth reached him, he learnt, without surprise, that on +the night of his vision, her spirit passed.... + + * * * * * + +It was a sharp attack of pneumonia that gave her the _coup de grâce_. +But, in effect, the War had killed her, as it killed many another +hyper-sensitive woman, who could not become inured to horror on horror, +tragedy on tragedy, whose heart ached for the sorrows of others as if +they were her own. And her personal share had sufficiently taxed her +endurance, without added pangs for others, unseen and unknown. +George--her baby--had gone down in the Queen Mary. Jerry, too early sent +out to France, had crashed behind the German lines; and after months of +uncertainty they had heard he was alive, wounded--in German hands. Tara, +faithful to the Women's Hospital in Serbia, had been constantly in +danger, living and moving among unimaginable horrors. Nevil, threatened +with septic poisoning, had only been saved at the cost of his left +forearm. Not till he was invalided out, near the close of 1916, had he +realised--too late--that she was killing herself by inches, with work +that alone could leaven anxiety--up to a point. + +But it was the shock of Roy's imprisonment and the agony of suspense +that finally stretched her nerve to breaking-point; so that the sudden +onslaught of pneumonia had slain her in the space of a week. And Roy, +knowing her too well, had guessed the truth, in spite of his father's +gallant attempt to shield him from it. + +His first letter from that bereft father had been little short of a +revelation to the son, who had ventured to suppose he knew him: a rash +supposition where any human being is concerned. There had been more than +one such revelation in the scores of letters that at once uplifted and +overwhelmed him, and increased tenfold his pride in being her son. But +outshining all, and utterly unexpected, was a letter from herself, +written in those last days, when the others still hoped, against hope, +but she knew---- + +It had come, with his father's, in a small, gold-embroidered bag--scent +and colour and exquisite needlework all eloquent of her: and with it +came the other, her talisman since he was born. Reaching him while brain +and body still reeled under the bewildering sense of loss, it had +soothed his agony of pain and rebellion like the touch of her fingers on +his forehead; had taken the sting from death and robbed the grave of +victory.... + + * * * * * + +To-night, in his loneliness, he drew the slim bag out of an inner +pocket, and re-read with his eyes the words that were imprinted on his +memory. + + "ROY, SON OF MY HEART,--This is good-bye--but not + altogether good-bye. Between you and me that word can never be + spoken. So I am writing this, in my foolish weakness, to beg of + you--by the love between us, too deep for words--not to let heart + and courage be _quite_ broken because of this big sorrow. You were + brave in battle, my Prithvi Raj. Be still more brave for me. + Remember I am Lilámani--Jewel of Delight. _That_ I have tried to be + in my life, for every one of you. That I wish to be always. So I + ask you, my darling, not to make me a Jewel of Sorrow because I + have passed into the Next Door House too soon. Though not seen, I + will never for long be far from you. That is my faith; and you must + share it; helping your dear father, because for him the way of + belief is hard. + + "Never forget those beautiful words of Fouquet in which you made + dedication of your poems to me: 'How blessed is the son to whom it + is allowed to gladden his mother's heart with the blossom and fruit + of his life!' And you will still gladden it, Dilkusha.[5] I will + still share your work, though in different fashion than we hoped. + Only keep your manhood pure and the windows of your spirit clear, + so the Light can shine through. Then you will know if I speak + truth, and you will not feel altogether alone. + + "Oh, Roy, I could write and write till the pen drops. My heart is + too full, but my hand is too feeble for more. Only this, when your + time comes for marriage, I pray you will be to your wife all that + your splendid father has been for me--king and lover and companion + of body and spirit. Draw nearer than ever, you two, because of your + so beautiful love for me--unseen now, but with you always. God + bless you. I can write no more. + + "Your devoted + MOTHER." + +The last lines wavered and ran together. In spite of her injunction, +tears _would_ come. Chill and unheeded, they slipped down his cheeks, +while he folded his treasure, and put it away with the other, that went +to his head, a little, as she had foreseen; though in the event, it had +been overshadowed by her own, than which she could have left him no +dearer legacy. In life she had been an angel of God. In death, she was +still his angel of comfort and healing. She had bidden him share her +belief; and he never _had_ felt altogether alone. Sustained by that +inner conviction, he had somehow adapted himself to the strangeness of a +life empty of her physical presence. The human being, in a world of +pain, like the insect in a world of danger, lives mainly by that same +ceaseless, unconscious miracle of adaptation. Dearly though he craved a +sight of his father and Christine, he had not asked for leave home. +There were bad moments when he wondered if he could ever bring himself +to face the ordeal. He sincerely hoped they understood. Their letters +left an impression that it was so. Jeffers obviously did. + +And Tara----? Her belated letter, from the wilds of Serbia, had +revealed, in every line, that she understood only too well. For Tara, +not long before, had passed through her own ordeal--the death, in a +brilliant air fight, of her second brother Atholl, her devotee and hero +from nursery days. So when Roy's turn came, her fulness of sympathy and +understanding were outstretched like wings to shield him, if might be, +from the worst, as she had known it. + +For that once, she flung aside the veil of grown-up reserves and wrote +straight from her eager passionate heart to the Bracelet-bound Brother, +unseen for years, yet linked with her by an imperishable memory; and now +linked closer still by a mutual grief. + +The comfort to Roy of that spontaneous, Tara-like outpouring had been +greater than she knew--than he could ever let her know. For the old +intimacy had never been quite re-established between them since the day +of his tactless juvenile proposal--for so he saw it now. They had only +met that once, when he was home for Christmas. On the second occasion, +they had missed. Throughout the War they had corresponded fitfully; but +her letters, though affectionate and sisterly, lacked an unseizable +something that affected the tone of his response. He had been rash +enough, once, to presume on their special relation. But he was no longer +a boy; and he had his pride. + +He wondered sometimes how it would be if they met again. Would he fall +in love with her? She was supreme. No one like her. But he knew now--as +she had instinctively known then--that his conviction on that score did +not amount to being in love. Conviction must be lit and warmed with the +fire of passion. And you couldn't very well fall in love across six +thousand miles of sea. Certainly none of the girls he had danced with +and ridden with since his arrival in India had affected him that way. +And for him marriage was an important consideration. Some day he +supposed it would confront him as an urgent personal issue. But there +was a tremendous lot to be done first; and girls were kittle cattle. + +Unsuspected by him, the ultimate relation with his mother--while it +quickened his need for woman's enveloping tenderness and sympathy--held +his heart in leash by setting up a standard, to which the modern girl +rarely aspired, much less attained. + +And now she was gone, in some strange, enthralling way, she held him +still. At rare intervals, she came again to him in dreams; or when he +hovered on the verge of sleep. Dreams, or visions--they persisted as +clearly in memory as any waking act; and unfailingly left a vivid +after-sense of having been in touch with her very self. More and more +conviction deepened in him that she still had joy in 'the blossom and +fruit of his life'; that even in death she was nearer to him than many +living mothers to their sons. + +A strange experience: strangest of all, perhaps, the simplicity with +which he came to accept it as part of the natural order of things. The +intuitive brain is rarely analytical. Moreover, he had seen; he had +felt; he knew. It is the invincible argument of the mystic. Against +belief born of vivid, reiterate experience, the loquacity of logic, the +formulć of pure intellect break like waves upon a rock--and with as +little result. The intensity and persistence of Roy's experience simply +left no room for insidious whispers of doubt; nor could he have +tolerated such scepticism in others, natural though it might be, if one +had not seen, nor felt, nor known. + +So he neither wrote nor spoke of it to any one. He could scarce have +kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had shared all his thoughts and +dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too remote in every sense for +a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To his father he would fain have +confided everything, remembering her last command; but Sir Nevil's later +letters--though unfailingly sympathetic--were not calculated to evoke +filial outpourings. For the time being, he seemed to have shut himself +in with his grief. Perhaps he, of all others, had been least able to +understand Roy's failure to press for short leave home. He had said very +little on the subject. And Roy--with the instinct of sensitive natures +to take their tone from others--had also said little: too little, +perhaps. Least said may be soonest mended; but there are times when it +may widen a rift to a gulf. + +In the end, he had felt impelled at least to mention his dream +experiences, and let it rest with his father whether he said any more. + +And by return mail came a brief but poignant answer: "Thank you, my +dearest Boy, for telling me what you did. It is a relief to know you +have some sort of comfort--if only in dreams. You are fortunate to be so +made. After all, for purposes of comfort and guidance, one's capacity to +believe in such communion is the measure of its reality. As for me, I am +still utterly, desolately alone. Perhaps some day she will reach me in +spite of my little faith. People who resort to mediums and the automatic +writing craze are beyond me: though the temptation I understand. You may +remember a sentence of Maeterlinck----' We have to grope timidly and +make sure of every footstep, as we cross the threshold. And even when +the threshold is crossed, where shall certainty be found----? One cannot +speak of these things--the solitude is too great.' That is my own +feeling about it--at present." + +The last had given Roy an impression that his solitude, however +desolating, was a sort of sanctuary, not to be shared as yet, even with +his son. And, in the face of such loneliness, it seemed almost cruel to +enlarge on his own clear sense of intimate communion with her who had +been unfailingly their Jewel of Delight. + +So, by degrees--in the long months of separation from them all--his +ethereal link with her had come to feel closer and more real than his +link with those others, still in the flesh, yet strangely remote from +his inner life. + +To-night--after reading both letters--that sense of nearness seemed +stronger than ever. Could it be that the magnetism of India was in the +nature of an intimation from her that for the present his work lay here? +By the hidden forces that mould men's lives, he had been drawn to the +land of heart's desire; and at home, neither his family nor his country +seemed to have any particular need of him. Whether or no India had need +of him, he assuredly had need of her. And it was the very strength of +that feeling which had given him pause. + +But now, at last, he knew beyond cavil that, for all his mind--or was it +his conscience?--might haver and split straws, he had been drawn to +Rajputana, as irresistibly as if that vast desert region were the moon +and he a wavelet on the tidal shore. + +With a great sigh he rose, yawned cavernously and shivered. Better get +to bed and to sleep:--a bed that didn't clank and jolt and batter your +brains to a pulp. Things would look amazingly different in the morning. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 4: Tripod table.] + +[Footnote 5: Joy of my Heart.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Darkness and solitude shine for me: + For life's fair outward part, are rife + The silver noises: let them be. + It is the very soul of life + Listens for thee, listens for thee." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +The depressingly bare, whitewashed bedroom owned a French bedstead, with +brass rails;--a welcome 'find' in a dák bungalow, especially after three +very broken nights in an Indian train. Tired to the point of +stupefaction, Roy promised himself he would sleep the clock round; eat a +three-decker Anglo-Indian breakfast, and thereafter be his own man +again. In that faith he laid his head on the least lumpy portion of the +pillow--and in less than five minutes found himself quite intolerably +wide awake. + +Though the bedstead neither repudiated him, nor took liberties with his +person, ghostly clankings and vibrations still jarred his nerves and +played devil's tunes in his brain. Though he kept his eyelids severely +closed, sleep--the coveted anodyne--seemed to hover on the misty edge of +things, always just out of reach. His body was over-tired, his brain +abnormally alert. Each change of position, that was to be positively the +last, lost its virtue in the space of three minutes, till the +sheet--that was too narrow for the mattress--became ruckled into hills +and valleys and made things worse than ever. Having started like this, +he knew himself capable of keeping it up gaily till the small hours; and +to-night, of all nights----! + +Even through his closed eyelids, he was still aware that his verandah +doorway framed a wide panel of moonlight--the almost incredible +moonlight of India. He had flung it open as usual and rolled up the +chick. A bedroom hermetically sealed made him feel suffocated, +imprisoned; so he must, perforce, put up with the moon; and when the +world was drowned in her radiance, sleep seemed almost a sin. But +to-night, moon or no, he craved sleep as an opium-eater craves his magic +pellets,--because he wanted to dream. It was many weeks since he last +had sight of his mother. But surely she must be near him in his +loneliness; aware, in some mysterious fashion, of the deep longing with +which he longed for sight or sense of her, to assure him that--in spite +of qualms and indecisions--he had chosen aright. Conviction grew that +directly the veil of sleep fell he would see her. It magnified his +insomnia from mere discomfort to a baffling inimical presence +withholding him from her:--till utter weariness blotted out everything; +and even as he hovered on the verge of sleep, she was there.... + +She was lying in her hammock under the beeches, in her apple-blossom +sari, sunlight flickering through the leaves. And he saw his own figure +moving towards her, without the least surprise, that he could see and +hear himself as another being, while still remaining inside himself. + +He heard his own voice say, low and fervently, "Beloved little Mother--I +am here. Always in the battle I remembered Chitor. Now--turned out of +the battle--I have come to Chitor." + +Then he was on his knees beside her; and her fingers, light as +thistledown, strayed over his hair, in the ghost of a caress that so +unfailingly stilled his excitable spirit. Without actual words, by some +miracle of interpenetration, she seemed to know all that was in his +heart--the perplexities and indecisions; the magnetism of Home and the +dread of it; the difficulty of making things clear to his father. And +the magic of her touch charmed away all inner confusions, all headache +and heartache. But when he rose impulsively, and would have taken her in +his arms--she was gone; everything was gone; ... the hammock, the +beeches, the sunbeams.... + +He was standing alone on a moonlit plain, blotched and streaked with +shadows of dák-jungle and date-palm; and rising out of it abruptly--as +he had seen it last night--loomed the black bulk of Chitor; the sacred, +solitary ghost of a city, linked with his happiest days of childhood and +his mother's heroic tales. The great rock was scarped and bastioned, +every line of it. The walls, ruined in parts, showed ghostly shades of +ruins beyond; and soaring high above all, Khumba Rána's nine-storied +Tower of Victory lifted a giant finger to the unheeding heavens. +Watching it, fascinated, trying in vain to make out details, he was +startlingly beset by the strangest among many strange sensations that +had visited his imaginative brain: nothing less than a revival of the +long-ago dream-feeling, the strange sense of familiarity--he knew! +Beyond all cavil, he knew every line of that looming shadow, every curve +of the hills. He knew the exact position of the old bridge over the +Gamberi river. From the spot where he stood, he could find his way +unerringly to the Padal Pol--the fortified entrance to the road of Seven +Gates;--the road that had witnessed, three times in three hundred years, +that heroic alternative to surrender, the terrible rite of Johur:--the +final down-rush of every male defender, wearing the saffron robe and +coronet of him who embraces death as a bride; the awful slaughter at the +lowest gate, where they fell, every man of them, before the victors +entered in.... + +The horror and savage exaltation of it all stirred, so sensibly, in his +veins that he caught himself dimly wondering--was it he, Roy Sinclair, +who stood there remembering these things--or another...? + +And before that crazy question could resolve itself--behold he was lying +wide awake again in his ruckled bed, on the lumpy pillow, staring at the +wide patch of moonlight framed by his open door. + +Not morning _yet_, confound it all! But the tiredness and loneliness +were clean gone. It was always so when she came to him thus. Tacitly, he +knew it, and she knew it, for a visitation. There was no delusion of +having got her back again; only the comforting assurance that she was +near him still. There was also, on this occasion, a consuming curiosity +and impatience not to be denied. + +Switching on his electric torch, he consulted his watch. Nearly +half-past four--why not ...? It was no distance to the lower gate, and +only a mile of zigzag road up to the city. + +Thought and action were almost simultaneous. He was out of bed, standing +in the doorway. The moon's unclouded brilliance seemed to flood his +brain; to clear it of cobwebs and dispel all desire of sleep. For he +loved the veiled spirit of night as most men love the unveiled face of +morning; and in no way, perhaps, was he more clearly of the East. In a +land where the sun slays his thousands, the moon comes triumphantly to +her own: and Roy decided, there and then, that in the glamour of her +light he would take his first look at Chitor. Whether or no it really +was his first look, he might possibly find out when he got there. + +His train-basket provided him with a hurried cup of tea, biscuits and a +providential hard-boiled egg. He had no qualms about rousing Bishun +Singh to saddle Suráj, or disturbing the soldiery quartered at the +gates. His grandfather had written of him to the Maharana of Udaipur--a +cousin in the third degree: and he had leave to go in and out, during +his stay, at what hour he pleased. He would remain on the rock till +dawn; and from the ninth storey of Khumba Rána's Tower he would see the +sun rise over Chitor.... + +Half an hour later, he was in the saddle trotting along the empty road; +Terry, a scurrying shadow in his wake; Bishun Singh left to finish his +night's rest. Eight before him loomed the magnet that had dragged him +out of bed at this unearthly hour--the great rock-fortress, three miles +long, less than a mile broad, aptly likened to a battleship ploughing +through the disturbed sea of bush-grown hills at its base. + +Riding quickly through new Chitor--a dirty little town, fast asleep--he +reached the fortified gateway: was challenged by sleepy soldiery; gave +his name and passed on--into another world; a world that grew +increasingly familiar with every hundred yards of ascent. + +At one point he halted abreast of two rough monuments, graves of the +valiant pair who had fought and died, like Rajputs, in that last +terrible onslaught when the hosts of Akbar entered in, over the bodies +of eight thousand saffron-robed warriors, and made Chitor a place of +desolation for ever. One--a mere boy of sixteen--was the only son of +his house. Beside him, lance in hand, fought his widowed mother and girl +wife; and in death they were not divided. The other, Jaimul of Bednore, +was a far-away ancestor of his own mother. How often she had told him +the tale--adding proudly that, while Rajasthán endured, the names of +those two would shine clear in the firmament of time, as stars in the +firmament of space. + +Through gateway after gateway--under the lee of a twenty-foot wall, +pierced for musketry,--he passed, a silent shadow. And gradually there +stole over him afresh the confused wonder of his dream,--was it he +himself who rode--or was it--that other, returning to the sacred city +after long absence? For the moment he could hardly tell. But--what +matter? The astonishing thrill of recognition was all.... + +Round about the seventh gateway clustered the semblance of a village; +shrouded, slumbering forms strewn around in the open;--ghosts all. The +only instant realities were himself and Suráj and Chitor, and the +silence of the sleeping earth, watched over by unsleeping stars. Within, +and about him, hovered a stirring consciousness of ancient, unchanging +India; utterly impervious to mere birds of passage from the West; +veiled, elusive, yet almost hideously real. So real, just then, to Roy, +that--for a few amazing moments--he was unaware that he rode through a +city forsaken by man. Ghosts of houses and temples slid by on either +side of him, as he spurred Suráj to a canter and made unerringly for the +main palace. There was news for the Rana--news of Akbar's army--that did +not brook delay.... + +Not till Suráj stopped dead--there where the Palace had once stood in +its glory--did he come to himself, as abruptly as when he waked in the +French bedstead an hour ago. + +Gone was the populous city through which he had ridden in fancy; gone +the confusion of himself with that other self--how many centuries old? +But the familiar look of the palace was no dream; nor the fact that he +had instinctively made his way there at full speed. Bastioned and +sharply domed, it stood before him in clear outline; but within sides it +was hollow as a skull; a place of ghosts. Suddenly there came over him +the old childish dread of dark, that he had never quite outgrown. But +dread or no, explore it he must.... + +As his foot touched earth, a low hiss warned him he was trespassing, and +clutching Terry's collar, he stood rigid, while the whip-like shadow of +death writhed across a strip of moonlight--and disappeared. There was +life,--of a sort, in Chitor. So Roy trod warily as he passed from room +to room; dread of dark forgotten in the weird fascination of +foreknowledge verified without fail. + +Through riven walls and roofs, moonlight streamed: its spectral +brightness intensifying every patch or streak of shadow. And there, +where Kings and Princes had held audience--watched by their womenfolk +through fretted screens--was neither roof nor walls; only a group of +marble pillars, as it were assembled in ghostly conference. The stark +silence and emptiness--not of yesterday, but of centuries--smote him +with a personal pang. From end to end of the rock it brooded; a haunting +presence,--tutelary goddess of Chitor. There is an emptiness of the open +desert, of an untrodden snowfield that lifts the soul and sets it face +to face with God; but the emptiness of a city forsaken is that of a body +with the spark of life extinct:--'the silver cord loosed, the golden +bowl broken, and the pitcher broken at the fountain ...' + +Terry's sharp bark, a squawk and a scuffle of wings, made him start +violently and jarred him all through. It seemed almost profane--as if +one were in a cathedral. Calling the marauder to heel, he mounted and +rode on toward the Tower of Victory. For the moon was dipping westward; +and he must see that vast view bathed in moonlight. Then the dawn.... + +Once more deserting Suráj; he confronted Khumba's Tower; scatheless as +the builder's hand left it four centuries ago. Massive and arrogant, it +loomed above him; scarcely a foot of stone uncarven, so far as he could +see--exploring the four-square base of it with the aid of the moon and +his torch. Figures, in high relief, everywhere--animal, human and +divine; a riot of impossible forms, impossibly intertwined; ghoulish in +any aspect, and in moonlight hideously so:--bewildering, repellent, +frankly obscene. But even while his cultured eye rejected it all, some +infinitesimal fragment of himself knew there was symbolic meaning in +that orgy of sculpture, could one but find the key. + +Up and up, round and round the inner spiral staircase he climbed, in a +creepsome darkness, invaded by moonbeams, hardly less creepsome, +admitted through window-like openings set in every face of every storey. +With each inrush of light, each flash of his torch, in deepest darkness, +those thronging figures, weirdly distorted, sprang at him afresh, +sending ignominious trickles down his spine. Walls, window slabs, door +beams--the vast building was encrusted with them from base to summit; a +nightmare of prancing, writhing, gesticulating unrest; only one still +face repeated at intervals--the Great God holding the wheel of Law.... + +Never had Roy more keenly appreciated the company of Terry, who, in +spite of a Celtic pedigree, was not enjoying this prolonged practical +joke. + +It was relief unspeakable to emerge at last, into full light and clean +sweet morning air. For the ninth storey, under the dome, was arcaded on +all four sides and refreshingly innocent of decoration. Not a posturing +figure to be seen. Nothing but restful slabs of polished stone. There +was meaning in this also--could one catch the trend of the builder's +thought. + +On a slab near an arcaded opening Roy sat gratefully down; while Terry, +bored to extinction with the whole affair, curled himself up in a +shadowed corner and went fast asleep. "Unfriendly little beast," thought +Roy; and promptly forgot his existence. + +For below him, in the silvery moonlight of morning, lay Chitor; her +shattered arches and battlements, her temples and palaces dwarfed to +mere footstools for the gods. And beyond, and again beyond, lay the +naked strength and desolation of northern Rajputana--white with +poppy-fields, velvet-dark with scrub, jagged with outcrops of volcanic +rock; the gaunt warrior country, battered by centuries of struggle and +slaughter; making calamity a whetstone for courage; saying, in effect, +to friend and enemy, 'Take me or leave me. You cannot change me.' + +The Border had fascinated Roy. The Himalayas had subjugated him. But +this strong unlovely region of rock and sand, of horses and swords, of +chivalry and cruelty and daring, irresistibly laid siege to his heart; +gave him the authentic sense of being one with it all. + +On a day, in that summer of blessed memory, his mother had almost +promised him that, once again she would revisit India if only for the +joy of making a pilgrimage with him to Chitor. And here he sat on the +summit of Khumba Rána's Tower--alone. That was the way of life.... + +Gradually there stole over him a great weariness of body and spirit; +pure reaction from the uplift of his strange adventure. His lids drooped +heavily. In another moment he would have fallen sound asleep; but he +saved himself, just in time. When he craved the thing, it eluded him; +now, undesired, it assailed him. But it would never do. He might sleep +for hours. And at the back of his mind lurked a clear conviction that he +was waiting for more than the dawn.... + +To shake off drowsiness he rose, stretched himself, paced to and fro +several times--and did not sit down again. Folding his arms, he leaned +his shoulders against the stone embrasure; and stood so, a long while, +absorbing--with every faculty of flesh and spirit--the stillness, the +mystery, the pearl-grey light and bottomless gulfs of shadow; his mind +emptied of articulate thought ... his soul poised motionless, as it were +a bird on outspread wings.... + +Was it fantasy, this gradual intensifying of his uplifted mood, this +breathless stir in the region of his heart, till some vital part of him +seemed gradually withdrawn--up into the vastness and the silence...? + +And suddenly, in every nerve, he knew--he was not alone. In the seeming +emptiness of the place, something, some one hovered near him. Amazed, +yet exultant, he held his breath; and an answering leap of the heart set +him tingling from head to foot. + +It was more than a vague 'sense of presence.' Fused in the central +happiness that flooded him--as the moonlight flooded the desert--was an +almost startling awareness; not the mere emotional effect of music or a +poem; but sure knowledge that she was there with him in that upper room; +her disembodied tenderness yearning towards him across a barrier of +empty space that neither she nor he could traverse, for all their +nearness, for all their longing.... + +If Lance himself had come audibly up those endless stairs and stood +beside him, he could not have felt more certain of his presence than he +felt, at this moment, of her companionship, her unspoken assurance that +he _had_ chosen aright. He felt himself, if possible, the less real of +the two. + +For that brief space, his world seemed empty of everything, every one, +but they two--so irrevocably sundered, so mysteriously united. + +Could he only have sight of her to complete the marvel of it! But +although he kept his eyes on the spot whence the 'feel of her' seemed to +come, not the shadow of a shade could he see; only--was it fancy?--a +hint of brighter radiance than mere moonbeams--there, near the opposite +archway? + +He dared not move a finger lest he break the spell. Yet he could not +restrain altogether the emotion that surged in him, that filled his ears +with a soft roar as of breaking waves. + +"God bless you, little Mother!" he murmured, barely above his +breath--and waited; expecting he knew not what. + +A ghost of a breeze passed close to him;--truly a ghost, for the night +was dead still. Almost he could have sworn that if he put out a hand he +would have touched her. But reverence withheld him, rather than fear. + +And the next moment, the place was empty. He was alone.... + +He felt the emptiness as unmistakably as he had felt her presence. But +the pang of her going was shot through with elation that at last his +waking brain had knowledge of her--a knowledge that no man could wrest +from him, even if she never so came again. He had done her bidding. He +had kept his manhood pure and the windows of his soul clear--and, +behold, the Light _had_ shone through.... + +* * * * + +Impossible to tell how long he stood there. In those few moments of +intensified life, time was not. The ordinary sense of his surroundings +faded. The inner sense of reality quickened in like measure; the reality +of her presence, all the more felt, because it was unseen.... + +When he came clearly to himself again, the moon had vanished. Eastward, +the sky was full of primrose light. It deepened and blazed; till, all in +a moment, the sun leaped from the scabbard of the hills, keen and +radiant as a drawn sword. + +A full minute Roy stood there, eyes and brain blinded with brilliance. +Then he knelt down and covered his face; and so remained, a long while, +his whole being uplifted in a wordless ecstasy of thanksgiving. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "The snow upon my life-bloom sits + And sheds a dreary blight;-- + Thy spirit o'er my spirit flits, + And crimson comes for white." + --ANON. + + +On an unclouded afternoon of October, Roy sat alone with Thea Leigh in a +shady corner of the Residency garden, smoking and talking, feeling +blissfully at ease in body, and very much at home in spirit. After the +wrench of parting with Desmond, it was balm to be welcomed by the sister +who shared his high courage and enthusiasm for life, and who was smiling +at Roy now with the same hazel-grey eyes that both had gotten from their +father. But Thea's hair--her crown of glory--belonged exclusively to +herself. The colour of it reminded him, with a pang, of autumn beech +leaves, in his own woods. It enhanced the vivid quality of her beauty, +and added appreciably to his pleasure in watching her while she talked. + +Roy had arrived that morning, in the mist-laden chill of dawn; had +enjoyed a long talk with Colonel Leigh; had made the acquaintance of +Vernon and Phyllis, aged six and four; also of Flossie Eden, a kind of +adopted daughter, aged twenty; and, tiffin being over, had announced his +intention of riding out to re-discover the rose-red wonderland of his +childish dreams--the peacocks and elephants and crocodiles and temple +bells. Thea, however, had counselled patience, threatening him with dire +disillusion, if he went seeking his wonderland at that glaringly +unpoetic time of day. + +"An early cup of tea, and a ride afterwards," she prescribed, in her +best autocratic manner. "Only sunset, or the first glimmer of dawn, can +throw a spell over the municipal virtues and artistic backslidings of +Jaipur! I speak with feeling; because _I_ rushed forth untimely; and, in +the full glare of afternoon sunshine, your rose-red city looked like +nothing on earth but a fearful and wonderful collection of pink and +white birthday cakes, set out for a giants' tea-party! It seemed almost +a pity the giants had never come and eaten them up. Vinx said I was +ribald. As a matter of fact, he was simply jealous of my brilliant +metaphor! Look at him now--bored to death with me, because I'm telling +the truth!" + +Colonel Leigh--a tall pensive-looking man, who talked little and +listened assiduously--met her challenge with the indulgent smile of a +husband who can be at once amused and critical and devoted: an excellent +conjunction in marriage. + +"If you can stay Roy's impatience with your metaphors, I'll begin to +have some respect for them!" said he. + +And she was staying Roy's impatience now, with cigarettes and coffee and +the tale of Arúna--'England-returned.' She had revealed little by +letter; an uncharacteristic touch of caution derived from her husband, +who questioned the wisdom of her bold incursion into the complexities +and jarring elements of a semi-modern Hindu household. But Thea Leigh, +daughter of Honor Desmond, was strongly imbued with the responsibility +of the ruling race. She stoutly refused to preserve, in Jaipur, the +correct official detachment of Anglo-India. More: she possessed a racial +wisdom of the heart, not to be gainsaid; as who should know better than +her husband, since it had saved him from himself. And now, having +secured Roy for half an hour, she confided to him, unreservedly, all she +could gather of the tragic tangle she was unravelling in her own +effective fashion. + +"Arúna's the dearest thing," she told him--as well he knew. "And I'm +truly fond of her. But sometimes I feel helpless. They're so hard to +come at--these gentle, inscrutable Hindu women. Talk of English reserve! +However, I'm getting quite nimble at guessing and inferring; and I +gather that your splendid old grandfather is rather pathetically +helpless with that hive of hidden womenfolk and gurus. Also that the +old lady--Mátaji--is a bit of a tartar. Of course, having lost caste, +makes the poor child's home position almost impossible. Yet she flatly +refuses to go through their horrid rites of restitution. And Miss +Hammond--our lady doctor at the hospital--backs her up." + +"Well played, Miss Hammond!" quoth Roy; and remembering Arúna's cheerful +letters (no word of complications), all his sympathy went out to her. +Might not he--related, yet free of grandmotherly tyranny--somehow be +able to help? Too cruel that from her happy time in England there should +spring such tragic issues. And she was not a creature made for tragedy, +but for laughter and love and 'man's delight.' Yet, in the Hindu nature +of things, this very matter of marriage was the crux of her troubles. + +To the Power behind the curtain it spelt disgrace, that the eldest +grand-daughter--at the ripe age of twenty-two--should be neither wife +nor mother. It would need a very advanced suitor to overlook that +damning item. Doubtless a large dowry would be demanded by way of +compensation; and, before all, caste must be restored. While Arúna +remained obdurate, nothing could be definitely arranged; and her +grandfather had not the heart to enforce his wife's insistent demands. +But if the Indian woman's horizon be limited, her shrewdness and +intuitive knowledge are often amazing; and this formidable old +lady--skilled in the art of imposing her will on others--knew herself a +match for her husband's evasions and Arúna's flat rebellion. + +She reckoned, however, without the daughter of Sir Theo Desmond, who, at +this point, took action--sudden and disconcerting. + +"You see the child came regularly to my purdah parties," she explained +to Roy, who was impatient no longer, only absorbed. "Sometimes I had her +alone for reading and music; and it was heart-breaking to see her +wilting away before my eyes. So, at last, in desperation, I broke +loose--as Vinx politely puts it--and asked searching questions, +regardless of etiquette. After all, the poor lamb has no mother. And I +never disobey an impulse of the heart. I believe I was only in the +_nick_ of time. It seemed the old tartar and her widowed sister-in-law +were in touch with a possible husband. So they had given the screw a +fresh turn, assisted by the family _guru_. He had just honoured them +with a special visit, expecting to find the lost sheep regenerate and +eager for his blessing. Shocked at the tale of her obstinacy, he +announced that, unless he heard otherwise within a week, he would put a +nameless curse upon her; in which case her honourable grandmother would +not allow the poor child to eat or sleep under her honourable roof." + +Roy's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair. "Confound the fellow! +It's chiefly the mental effect they rely on. They're no fools; and even +men like Grandfather--who can't possibly believe such rot--seem +powerless to stand up against them. Does _he_ know all this?" + +"It's hard to tell. They're so guarded--even the most enlightened--in +alluding to domestic matters. Without a shade of discourtesy, they +simply keep one outside. Poor Arúna was terrified at having told me. +Broke down utterly. But no idea of giving in. It's astonishing the grit +one comes upon under their surface gentleness. She said she would starve +or drown rather. _I_ said she should do nothing of the kind; that I +would speak to Sir Lakshman myself--oh, very diplomatically, of course! +Afterwards, all in a rush, came my inspiration. Some sort of secretarial +work for me would sound fairly plausible. (Did you know--I'm making a +name, in a small way, over my zeal for Indian women?) On the strength of +that, one could suggest a couple of rooms in the Residency; and she +could still keep on at the hospital with Miss Hammond, giving me certain +afternoons. It struck me as flawless--_till_ I imparted it to Vinx and +saw him tweak his left eyebrow. Of course he was convinced it 'wouldn't +do'; Sir Lakshman ... my position ... and so on. I said I proposed to +make it do--and the eyebrow twitched worse than ever. So I mildly +reminded him that _he_ had not held Arúna sobbing in his arms, and he +didn't happen to be a mother! Which was unanswerable.--And, my dear Roy, +I had a hectic week of it, manipulating Sir Lakshman and Arúna _and_ the +honourable grandmother--strictly unseen! I'm sure she's anti-English. +I've got at all the other high-borns; but I can't get at her. +However--with a bold front and a tactful tongue, I carried the day. So I +hope the holy man will transfer his potent curse to me. Naturally, the +moment I'd fixed things up, came Lance's letter about you. But I +couldn't back out. And I suppose it's all right?" + +"Well, of course." Roy was troubled with no doubts on that score. "What +a family you are! I was hoping to pick up threads with Arúna." + +"You shall. But you must be discreet. Jaipur isn't exactly Oxford. +Brother and cousin are almost the same word with them; but still----" + +"Is she at the hospital now?" Roy cut in irrelevantly. Her insistence on +discretion--with Arúna, of all people--struck him as needless fussing +and unlike Thea. And by now he was feeling more impatient to see Arúna +than to see Jaipur. + +"No. But she seemed shy of appearing at tiffin. So I said if she came +out here afterwards, she would find you and me alone. She's looked +happier and less fragile lately. Even Vinx admits the event has +justified me. But of course it's simply an emergency plan--a +transition----" + +"To _what_?" Roy challenged her with surprising emphasis. + +"That's my puzzle of puzzles. Perhaps you can help me solve it. +Sometimes I wonder if she knows herself, what she wants out of life.... +But perhaps I haven't the key to her waverings...." + +At that moment, a slight unmistakable figure stepped from the shadow of +the verandah down the shallow steps flanked with pots of begonia; moving +with the effortless grace that Roy's heart knew too well. Dress and sari +were carnation pink. Her golden shoes glittered at every step: and she +pensively twirled a square Japanese parasol--almond blossoms and +butterflies scattered abroad on silk of the frailest blue. + +"_Is_ their instinct for that sort of thing unconscious, I wonder?" +murmured Thea. "You shall have half an hour with her, to pick up +threads. Help me if you can, Roy. But--_be discreet_!" + +Roy scarcely heard her. He had gone suddenly very still--his gaze +riveted on Arúna. The Indian dress, the carriage of her veiled head, +the leisured grace, so sharply smote him that tears pricked his eyelids; +and, for one intoxicating moment he was wafted, in spirit, across the +chasm of the War to that dear dream-world of youth, when all distances +were blue and all the near prospect bright with the dew of the morning. +Only under a mask-like stillness could he hide that startling uprush of +emotion; and had Broome been watching him, he would have seen the subtle +film of the East steal over his face. + +Thea saw only his sudden abstraction and the whitened knuckles of his +left hand. She also realised, with a faint prick of anxiety, that he had +simply not heard her remark. Was it possible--could Roy be at the back +of Arúna's waverings? Would his coming mean fresh complications? Too +distracting to be responsible for anything of that kind.... + +Without a word, he had risen--and went quickly forward to meet her. Thea +saw how, on his approach, all her studied composure fell away; and both, +when they joined her, looked so happy, yet so plainly discomposed, that +Thea felt ridiculously at a loss for just the right word with which to +effect a casual retreat. Responsibility for Sir Lakshman's +grand-daughter was no light matter: at least she had done well in +warning Roy. These emerging Indian girls...! + +It was a positive relief to see the prosaic figure of Floss Eden, in +brief tennis skirts and shady hat, hurrying across the lawn, with her +boyish stride; racquet swinging, her round face flushed with exercise. + +"I say, Aunt Thea--you're wanted _jut put_,"[6] she announced briskly. +"Verney's in one of his moods--and Mr Neill will soon be in one of his +tempers, if he isn't forcibly removed. Instead of helping with the +balls, he's been parading up and down the verandah; two tin pails, tied +on to him with string, clattering behind--making a beast of a row. +Shouting wasn't any earthly. So I rushed in and grabbed him. +'Verney--drop it! What _are_ you doing?' I said sternly; and he looked +up at me like a sainted cherub. 'Flop, don't hinder me. I'm walkin' froo +the valley of the shadow, an' goodness an' mercy are following me _all_ +the days of my life.' That's the fruits of teaching the Bible to +innocents!" + +Thea's laugh ended in a sigh. "I warned Miss Mills. But the creature +_is_ getting out of hand. I suppose it means he ought to go home. Mr +Neill," she explained to Roy, "is Vinx's shorthand secretary: volcanic, +but indispensable to the Great Work! So I must fly off and obliterate my +superfluous son." + +Her eyes tried to impart the warning he had not heard. Useless. His +attention was centred on Arúna. + +"Wonderful--isn't she?" the girl murmured, looking after her. Then +swiftly, half-shyly, she glanced up at him. "Still more wonderful that, +at last, you have come, that I am here too--only through her. She told +you?" + +"Yes. A little. I want to hear more." + +"Presently. I would rather push away sad things--now you are here. If +there was only Dyán too--like Oxford days. And--oh, Roy, I was bad never +writing ... about her. I did try. But so difficult.... And--you +knew----?" + +"Yes--I knew," he said in a repressed voice. On that subject he could +not trust himself just yet. Every curve and fold of her sari, and the +half-seen coils of her dark hair, every movement, every quaint turn of +phrase, set his nerves vibrating with an ecstasy that was pain. For the +moment, he wanted simply to be aware of her; to hug the dear illusion +that the years between were a dream. And illusion was heightened by the +trivial fact that her appearance was identical in every detail. Was it +chance? Or had she treasured them all this time? Only she herself looked +older. Though her face kept its pansy aspect, her cheek-bones were a +shade too prominent; no veiled glow of health under her dusky skin. But +her smile could still atone for all shortcomings. + +"Let's sit down," he added after a strained silence. "And tell +me--what's come to Dyán?" + +She shook her head. "Oh--if we could _know_. Not much use, after all, +trying to push away sadness!" She sank into her chair and looked up at +him. "The more you push it away, the more it comes flowing in from +everywhere. Everything so broken and confused from this terrible War. At +the beginning how they said all would be made new; East and West firmly +united. But here, at home, while the best were fighting, the worst were +too busy with ugly whispers and untrue talk. Even holy men, behind the +purdah...." + +"As bad as that, is it?" asked Roy, distracted from his own sensations +by the subject that lay nearest his heart. "And you think Dyán's in with +that crew?" + +"Yes, we are afraid.... A pity he came back from France too soon, +because half his left arm must be cut off. Then--you heard--he went to +Calcutta?" + +"Yes, I wrote at the time. He didn't answer. I haven't heard since." + +She nodded. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Always now ... no answer. +Like trying to speak with some one dead. So Grandfather fears he was not +only studying art. You know how he is too quick to catch fire. And too +easily, he might believe those men who spin words like spider's webs. +Also he was very sore losing his arm, by some small stupid chance; and +there was bitterness for that trouble ... of Tara...." + +Roy started. "Lord--was it _Tara_?" Instantly there flashed a vision of +the walled lane leading to New College; Dyán's embittered mood and +bewildering change of front.... Looking back now, the thing seemed +glaringly obvious; but, through the opalescent mist of his own dreams, +he had seen Dyán in one relation only. Just as well perhaps. Even at +this distance, the idea amazed and angered him. Tara! The arrogance of +it...! + +"You didn't know--never thought?... Poor Dyán!" One finger-tip furtively +intercepted a tear that was stealing down the side of her nose. + +"I am _too_ silly just now," she apologised meekly. "To me, he only +spoke of it long after, when coming wounded from France. Then I saw how +the bitterness was still there, changing the noble thoughts of his +heart. That is the trouble with Dyán. First--nothing good enough for +England. But too fierce love may bring too fierce hate--if they poison +his mind with cunning words dressed up in high talk of religion----" + +"How long since you heard? Have you any address?" Roy dared not +encourage her melting mood. + +"Six months now." She stoically blinked back her tears. "Not any word. +Not any address, since he left Calcutta. Last week, I wrote, addressing +to the office of a paper there, because once he said that editor gave +him work. I told him all the pain in my heart. If that letter finds +him--some answer _must_ come." + +"Well, if it does, I promise you this much;--I'll unearth him--somehow, +wherever he is----" + +"Oh, Roy! I hoped--I knew----!" She clasped her hands to hide their +tremor, and the look in her eyes came perilously near adoration. + +Roy had spoken with the cool assurance of his father's race, and without +a glimmering idea how his rash promise was going to be fulfilled. "I'll +do my level utmost, anyhow," he added more soberly. "But there's +you--your home complications----" + +She turned her hands outward with the expressive gesture of her race. +"That foolish sadness we _can_ push away. What matter for anything--now? +I rest--I breathe--I am here----!" Her smile shone out, sudden and +brilliant. "Almost like England--this big green garden and children and +sound of playing tennis. Let us be young again. Let us, for a small +time, not remember that all outside is Jaipur and the desert--dusty and +hot and cruel; and dark places full of secret and terrible things. Here +we are safe. Here it is almost England!" + +Her gallant appeal so moved him, and the lighter vein so charmingly +became her, that Roy humoured her mood willingly enough.... + +When his tea arrived, she played hostess with an alluring mixture of +shyness and happy importance, capping his lively sallies with the quick +wit of old days. And when Suráj was announced--"Oh, please--may I see +him?" she begged eagerly as a child. + +Suráj graciously permitted his velvet nose to be stroked by alien +fingers, light as rose petals. Then Roy sprang into the saddle; and +Arúna stood watching him as he went--_sais_ and dog trotting to heel--a +graceful lonely figure, shadowed by her semi-transparent parasol. + +At a bend in the drive, where a sentry sprang to attention, he turned +for a parting salute. Her answering gesture might or might not have been +intended for him. She at least knew all about the need for being +discreet. For, on leaving the tea-table, they had passed from the dream +of 'almost England' into the dusty actuality of Jaipur. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 6: Instantly.] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Broadly speaking, there are two blocks of people--East and West; + people who interfere and people who don't interfere; ... East is a + fatalist, West is an idealist, of a clumsy sort."--STACY AUMONIER. + + +A mile, or less, of tree-bordered road sloped gently from the Residency +gate-posts to the walled City of Victory, backed by craggy, red-grey +spurs of the Aravalli range, hidden almost in feathery heads of banyan, +acacia, and neem--a dusty, well-ordered oasis, holding its own against +the stealthy oncoming of the desert. + +North and east ran the screen of low hills with their creeping lines of +masonry; but from south and west the softly encroaching thing crept up +to the city walls, in through the gates, powdering every twig and leaf +and lattice with the fine white dust of death. Shadeless and colourless, +to the limit of vision, it rose and fell in long billowing waves; as if +some wizard, in the morning of the world, had smitten a living ocean to +lifeless sand, where nothing flourished but the camel thorn and the _ak_ +plant and gaunt cactus bushes--their limbs petrified in weird +gesticulation. + +But on the road itself was a sufficiency of life and colour--parrokeets +flashing from tree to tree, like emeralds made visible and vocable; +village women swathed in red and yellow veils; prancing Rajput +cavaliers, straight from the Middle Ages; ox-carts and camels--unlimited +camels, with flapping lip and scornful eye; a sluggish stream of life, +rising out of the landscape and flowing, from dawn to dusk, through the +seven Gates of Jaipur. And there, on the low spurs, beyond the walls, he +sighted the famous Tiger Fort, and the marble tomb of Jai Sing--he that +built the rose-red City; challenging the desert, as Canute the sea; +saying, in terms of stone and mortar, 'Here shall thy proud waves be +stayed!' Nearing the fortified gateway, Roy noted how every inch of flat +surface was silkily powdered, every opening silted with sand. Would it +rest with desert or city, he wondered, the ultimate victory of the last +word...? + +Close against the ramparts, sand and dust were blown into a deep drift; +or was it a deserted pile of rags----? Suddenly, with a sick sensation, +he saw the rags heave and stir. Arms emerged--if you could call them +arms--belonging to pinched, shadowy faces. And from that human dust-heap +came a quavering wail, "Maharáj! Maharáj!" + +"What _is_ it, Bishun Singh?" he asked sharply of the _sais_, trotting +at his stirrup. + +"Only the famine, Hazúr. Not a big trouble this year, they say. But from +the villages these come crawling to the city, believing the Maharáj has +plenty, and will give." + +"Does he give?" + +Bishun Singh's gesture seemed to deprecate undue curiosity. "The Maharáj +is great, but the people are like flies. If their Karma is good, they +find a few handfuls; if evil--they die." + +Roy said no more. That simple statement was conclusive as a dropped +stone. But, on reaching the gateway, he scattered a handful of loose +corns. + +Instantly a cry went up: "He gives money for food! _Jai déa +Maharáj!_"[7] Not merely arms, but entire skeletons emerged, seething, +scrambling, with hands wasted to mere claws. A few of the boldest caught +at Roy's stirrup; whereat Bishun Singh brushed them off, as if they were +flies indeed. + +Unresisting, they tottered and fell one against another, like ninepins: +and Roy, hating the man, turned sharply away. But rebuke was futile. One +could _do_ nothing. It was that which galled him. One could only pass +on; mentally brushing them aside--like Bishun Singh. + + * * * * * + +Spectres vanished, however, once he and Suráj were absorbed into the +human kaleidoscope of the vast main street, paved with wide strips of +hewn stone; one half of it sun-flooded; one half in shadow. The colour +and movement; the vista of pink-washed houses speckled with white +florets; the gay muslins, the small turbans and inimitable swagger of +the Rajput-Sun-descended, re-awakened in him those gleams of ancestral +memory that had so vividly beset him at Chitor. Sights and sounds and +smells--the pungent mingling of spices and dust and animals--assailed +his senses with a vague yet poignant familiarity: fruit and corn-shops +with their pyramids of yellow and red and ochre, and the fat brown +bunnia in the midst; shops bright with brass-work and Jaipur enamel; +lattice windows, low-browed arches, glimpses into shadowed courts; +flitting figures of veiled women; humbler women, unveiled, winnowing +grain, or crowned with baskets of sacred cow-dung, stepping like +queens.... + +And the animals----! Extinct, almost, in modern machine-ridden cities, +here they visibly and audibly prevailed. For Asia lives intimately--if +not always mercifully--with her animals; and Roy's catholic affection +embraced them all. Horses first--a long way first. But bullocks had +their charm: the graceful trotting zebus, horns painted red and green. +And the ponderous swaying of elephants--sensitive creatures, nervous of +their own bulk, resplendently caparisoned. And there--a flash of the +jungle, among casual goats, fowls, and pariahs--went the royal cheetahs, +led on slips; walking delicately, between scarlet peons, looking for all +the world like amiable maiden ladies with blue-hooded caps tied under +their chins. In the wake of their magnificence two distended donkeys, on +parodies of legs, staggered under loads more distended still, plump +dhobies perched callously on the cruppers. Above all, Roy's eye +delighted in the jewelled sheen of peacocks, rivalling in sanctity the +real lords of Jaipur--Shiva's sacred bulls. Some milk-white and +onyx-eyed, some black and insolent, they sauntered among the open shop +fronts, levying toll and obstructing traffic--assured, arrogant, +immune.... + +And, at stated intervals, like wrong notes in a succession of harmonies, +there sprang wrought-iron gas-lamps fitted with electric bulbs! + +So riding, he came to the heart of the city--a vast open space, where +the shops seemed brighter, the crowds gayer; and, by contrast, the human +rag and bone heaps, beggars and cripples, more terrible to behold. + +Here the first ray of actual recognition flashed through the haze of +familiar sensations. For here architectural exuberance culminated in the +vast bewildering façade of the Hall of the Winds and the Palace +flaunting its royal standard--five colours blazoned on cloth of gold. +But it was not these that held Roy's gaze. It was the group of Brahmin +temples, elaborately carven, rose-red from plinth to summit, rising +through flights of crows and iridescent pigeons; their monolithic forms +clean cut against the dusty haze; their shallow steps flanked with +marble elephants, splashed with orange-yellow robes of holy men and +groups of brightly-veiled women. + +At sight of them Roy instinctively drew rein;--and there, in the midst +of the shifting, drifting crowd, he sat motionless, letting the vision +sink deep into his mind, while Terry investigated a promising smell, and +Bishun Singh, wholly incurious, gossiped with a potter, from whose wheel +emerged an endless succession of _chirághs_--primitive clay lamps, with +a lip for the cotton wick. His neighbour, with equal zest, was creating +very ill-shapen clay animals, birds and fishes. + +"Look, Hazúr--for the Dewáli," Bishun Singh thrust upon Roy's attention +the one matter of real moment, just then, to all right-minded Hindus. +"Only two more weeks. So they are making lamps, without number, for +houses and shops and the palace of the Maharája. Very big tamasha, +Hazúr." + +He enlarged volubly on the coming festival, to this Sahib, who took such +unusual interest in the ways of India; while Roy sat silent, watching, +remembering.... + +Nearly nineteen years ago he had seen the Dewáli--Feast of Lights; had +been driven, sitting on his mother's knee, through a fairy city outlined +in tremulous points of flame, down to the shore of the Mán Sagar Lake, +where the lights quavered and ran together and the dead ruins came alive +with them. All night they had seemed to flicker in his fanciful brain; +and next morning-unable to think or talk of anything else--he had been +moved to dictate his very first attempt at a poem.... + +Suddenly, sharply, there rose above the chatter of the crowd and the +tireless clamour of crows, a scream of mingled rage and anguish that +tore at his nerves and sent a chill down his spine. + +Swinging round in the saddle, he saw a spectral figure of a +woman--detached from a group of spectres, huddled ironically against +bulging sacks of grain. One shrivelled arm was lifted in denunciation; +the other pressed a shapeless bundle to her empty breasts. Obviously +little more than a girl--yet with no trace of youth in her ravaged +face--she stood erect, every bone visible, before the stall of a +bangle-seller, fat and well liking, exuding rolls of flesh above his +_dhoti_,[8] and enjoying his savoury chupattis hot and hot; entirely +impervious to unseemly ravings; entirely occupied in pursuing trickles +of _ghi_[9] with his agile tongue that none might be lost. + +"That shameless one was begging a morsel of food," the toymaker +explained conversationally. "Doubtless her stomach is empty. _Wah! Wah!_ +But she has no pice. And a man's food is his own...." + +As he spoke a milk-white bull ambled by, plundering at will; his +privileged nose adventuring near and nearer to the savoury smell. +Promptly, with reverential eagerness, the man proffered half a fresh +chupatti to the sacred intruder. + +At that the starving girl-mother lunged forward with the yell of a +hunted beast; lunged right across the path of a dapper young man in an +English suit, green turban, and patent-leather shoes. + +"Peace, she-devil! Make way," he cried; and catching her wrist--that +looked as if it would snap at a touch--he flung her aside so roughly +that she staggered and fell, the child beneath her emitting a feeble +wail.... + +Since the days of his imprisonment, cruelty witnessed had a startling +effect on Roy. Between the moment when he sprang from the saddle, in a +blaze of fury, to the moment when he stood confronting the suave, +Anglicised Indian--riding-crop in one hand, the other supporting the +girl and her babe--his mind was a blank. The thing was done almost +before the impulse reached his brain. He wondered if he had struck the +fellow, whom he was now arraigning furiously in fluent Hindustani, and +whose sullen, shifty face was reminding him of some one--somewhere.... + +"Have you _no_ respect for suffering--or for women other than your own?" +he demanded, scorn undisguised in his look and tone. + +The man's answering shrug was frankly contemptuous. "All you English are +mad," he said in the vernacular. "If she die not to-day, she will die +to-morrow. And already there are too many to feed--" + +"She will not die to-day or to-morrow," Roy retorted with Olympian +assurance. "Courage, little mother,"--he addressed the girl--"you shall +have food, you and the sonling." + +As she raised herself, clutching at his arm, he became uncomfortably +aware that her rags of clothing were probably verminous; that his +chivalrous pity was tinged with repulsion. But pity prevailed. +Supporting her to a neighbouring stall, he bought fruit, which she +devoured like a wild thing. He begged a little milk in a lotah and gave +her money for more. Half dazed, she dropped the money, emptied the small +jar almost at a gulp, and flung herself at his feet, pressing her +forehead on his dusty boot; covering him with confusion. Imperatively he +bade her get up. No result. So he stooped to enforce his command.... + +She had fainted. + +"Help, mother--quick!" he appealed to an elder woman who hovered near +the stall, and responded, instinctively, to the note of command. + +As she stooped over the girl he said in low rapid tones: "Listen! It is +an order. Give warm food to her and the child. Take her to the Burra +Sahib's compound. There she will be cared for. I will give word." + +He slipped two rupees into her hand, adding: "Two more--when all is done +according to order." + +"_Hai! Hai!_ The Sahib is a Son of Princes," murmured the favoured one, +reflecting shrewdly that eight annas would suffice to feed those poor +empty creatures; and gathering up her light burden she bore it away--to +Roy's unfeigned relief. + +Would Thea scold him--or uphold him, he wondered,--having committed +himself. The whole thing had been so swift, so unreal, that he seemed +half a world away from the green Residency garden, with its atmosphere +of twentieth-century England, scrupulously, yet unconsciously, preserved +in a setting of sixteenth-century India. And Roy had a strain of both in +his composition. + +Across the road Bishun Singh--tolerant of his Sahib's vagaries--was +still chatting with the potter; a blare of discord in a minor key +announced an approaching procession; and there, in talk with the +bangle-seller, stood the cause of these strange doings; keeping a +curious eye on the mad Englishman, but otherwise frankly unconcerned. +Again there dawned on Roy the conviction that he had seen that face +before. It was not in India. It was linked with the same sensations, in +a milder form. It would come in a moment.... + +It came. + +Behind the slight, foppish figure, the eye of his mind saw suddenly--not +the sunlight and colour of Jaipur, but a stretch of grey-green sea, +tawny cliffs, and sandy shore ... St Rupert's! Of course, unmistakable: +the sullen mouth, the shifty eyes.... + +Instantly he went forward and said in English: "I say--excuse me--but is +your name Chandranath?" + +The man started and stiffened. "That is no matter to you." + +"Perhaps not. Only ... you're very like a boy who was one term at St +Rupert's School with me." + +"Well, I _was_ at St Rupert's. A beastly hole----" + +He, too, spoke English, and scanned Roy's face with narrowed eyes. +"Sinclair--is it? You tumbled down the cliff on to me--and that Desmond +fellow----?" + +"Yes, I did. Lucky for you," Roy answered, stiffening in his turn. But +because of old days--because this unpromising specimen of manhood had +incidentally brought him and Desmond together, he held out his hand. +"'Fraid I lost my temper," he said casually, for form's sake. "But you +put my blood up." + +Chandranath's fingers lay limply in his grasp. + +"Still so sensitive----? Then better to clear out of India. I only +pushed that crazy girl aside. Englishmen knock and kick our people +without slightest compunction. Perhaps you are a tourist--or new to this +country?" + +Words and manner set Roy's nerves on edge; but he had been imprudent +enough for one day. "I've spent seven months on the Frontier in a +cavalry Regiment," he said; "but I only came to Jaipur yesterday." + +"Well, take my advice, Mr Sinclair, and leave these people alone. They +don't want Englishmen making pretence of sentimental fuss over them. +They like much better to be pushed--or even starved--by their own _ját_. +You may not believe it. But I belong to them. So I know." + +Roy, who also 'belonged' in a measure, very nearly said so--but again +prudence prevailed. "I'm rash enough to disagree with you," he said +placably. "The question of non-interference, of letting ill +alone--because one's afraid or can't be bothered--isn't merely a race +question; it's a root question of human character. Some men can't pass +by on the other side. Right or wrong, it simply isn't arguable. It's a +matter of the individual conscience--the heart----" + +"Conscience and heart--if not drastically disciplined by the logically +reasoning brain, propagate the majority of troubles that afflict +mankind," quoth Chandranath in the manner of one familiar with platform +oratory. "Are you stopping in Jaipur?" + +"Yes. At the Residency. Mrs Leigh is Desmond's sister. Did you know?" + +"That is curious. I did not know. Too much heart and conscience there +also. Mrs Leigh is thrusting her fingers into complicated issues of +which she is lamentably ignorant." + +Roy, taken aback, nearly gave himself away--but not quite. "I gather she +acted with Sir Lakshman Singh's approval," was all he said. + +Chandranath shrugged. "Sir Lakshman is an able but deluded man. His +dreams of social reform are obsolete. We of the new school adhere +patriotically to social and religious ordinances of the Mother. All we +agitate for is political independence." He unfurled the polysyllables, +like a flag; sublimely unaware of having stated a contradiction in +terms. "But your Sir Lakshman is of the old-fashioned +school--English-mad." + +"And your particular friends--are sane, eh?" + +The apostle of Hindu revival pensively twirled an English button of his +creditably-cut English coat. + +"Yes. We are sane--thanks to more liberalising influences. Coloured dust +cannot be thrown in our eyes by bureaucratic conjuring tricks, or +imperialistic talk about prestige. To-day it is India's turn for +prestige. 'Arya for the Aryans' is the slogan of the rising generation." +He paused, blinked, and added with an ingratiating chuckle: "You will go +running away with an impression that I am metamorphosed into red-hot +revolutionary. No, thank you! I am intrinsically a man of peace!" With a +flourish he jerked out a showy gold watch. "Ah--getting late! Very +agreeable exchanging amenities with old schoolfellows. But I have an +appointment in the Palace Gardens, at the time they feed the muggers. +_That_ is a sight you should see, Mr Sinclair--when the beasts are +hungry and have not lately snapped up a washerwoman or an erring wife!" + +"I'd rather be excused this evening, thanks," Roy answered, with a touch +of brusqueness. "I confess it wouldn't appeal to my sense of +humour--seeing crocodiles gorge, while women and children starve." + +"That is what they call in a book I once read 'little ironies of life.' +Good fortune, at least, for the muggers! Better start to sharpen your +sense of humour, my friend. It is incomparable asset against the slings +and arrows of outrageous contingencies." This time his chuckle had an +undernote of malice; and Roy, considering him thoughtfully--from green +turban to patent-leather shoes--felt an acute desire to take him by the +scruff of his English coat and dust the Jaipur market-place with the +remnant of him. + +Aloud he said coolly: "Thanks for the prescription. Are you stopping +here long?" + +"Oh, I am meteoric visitant. Never very long anywhere. I come and go." + +"Business--eh?" + +"Yes--many kinds of business--for the Mother." He flashed a direct look +at Roy; the first since their encounter; fluttered a foppish hand--the +little finger lifted to display a square uncut emerald--and went his +way.... + +Roy, left standing alone in the leisurely crowd of men and animals--at +once so alien and so familiar--returned to Bishun Singh and Suráj in a +vaguely troubled frame of mind. + +"Which way to the house of Sir Lakshman Singh?" he asked the maker of +chirághs, his foot in the stirrup. + +Enlightened, he set off at a trot, down another vast street, all hazy in +the level light that conjured the dusty air to gold. But contact with +human anguish, naked and unashamed--as he had not seen it since the +war--and that sudden queer encounter with Chandranath, had rubbed the +bloom off delicate films of memory and artistic impressions. These were +the drop-scene, merely: negligible, when Life took the stage. He had an +exciting sense of having stepped straight into a crisis. Things were +going to happen in Jaipur. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 7: Victory to thee, Maharáj!] + +[Footnote 8: Loin-cloth.] + +[Footnote 9: Melted butter.] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "God has a few of us, whom He whispers in the ear; + The rest may reason and welcome...." + --BROWNING. + + "Living still, and the more beautiful for our longing." + + +The house of Sir Lakshman Singh, C.S.I.--like many others in advancing +India--was a house divided against itself. And the cleavage cut deep. +The furnishing of the two rooms, in which he mainly lived, was not more +sharply sundered from that of the Inside, than was the atmosphere of his +large and vigorous mind from the twilight of ignorance and superstition +that shrouded the mind and soul of his wife. More than fifty years +ago--when young India ardently admired the West and all its works--he +had dreamed of educating his spirited girl-bride, so that the way of +companionship might gladden the way of marriage. + +But too soon the spirited girl had hardened into the narrow, tyrannical +woman; her conception of the wifely state limited to the traditional +duties of motherhood and household service. Happily for Sir Lakshman, +his unusual gifts had gained him wide recognition and high service in +the State. He had schooled himself, long since, to forget his early +dreams: and if marriage had failed, fatherhood had made royal amends. +Above all, in Lilámani, daughter of flesh and spirit, he had found--had +in a measure created--the intimate companionship he craved; a woman +skilled in the fine art of loving--finest and least studied of all the +arts that enrich and beautify human life. But the gods, it seemed, were +jealous of a relation too nearly perfect for mortal man. So Rama, eldest +son, and Lilámani, beloved daughter, had been taken, while the +estranged wife was left. Remained the grandchildren, in whom centred all +his hope and pride. So far as the dividing miles and years would permit, +he had managed to keep in close touch with Roy. But the fact remained +that England had first claim on Lilámani's children; and Rama's were +tossed on the troubled waters of transition. + +As for India herself--sacred Mother-land--her distraught soul seemed +more and more at the mercy of the voluble, the half-baked, the +disruptive, at home and abroad. + +Himself, steeped in the threefold culture of his country--Vedantic, +Islamic, and European--he came very near the prevailing ideal of +composite Indian nationality. Yet was he not deceived. In seventy years +of life, he had seen intellectual India pass through many phases, from +ardent admiration of the West and all its works, to no less ardent +denunciation. And in these days he saw too clearly how those same +intellectuals--with catchwords, meaningless to nine-tenths of her +people--were breaking down, stone by stone, their mighty safeguard of +British administration. Useless to protest. Having ears, they heard not. +Having eyes, they saw not. The spirit of destruction seemed abroad in +all the earth. After Germany--Russia. Would it be India next? He knew +her peoples well enough to fear. He also knew them well enough to hope. +But of late, increasingly, fear had prevailed. His shrewd eye discerned, +in every direction, fresh portents of disaster--a weakened executive, +divided counsels, and violence that is the offspring of both. His own +Maharája, he thanked God, was of the old school, loyal and conservative: +his face set like a flint against the sedition-monger in print or +person. And as concessions multiplied and extremists waxed bolder, so +the need for vigilance waxed in proportion.... + +But to-day his mind had room for one thought only--the advent of Roy; +legacy of her, his vanished Jewel of Delight. + +A message from the Residency had told of the boy's arrival, of his hope +to announce himself in person that evening; and now, on a low divan, the +old man sat awaiting him with a more profound emotion at his heart than +the mere impatience of youth. But the impassive face under the +flesh-pink turban betrayed no sign of disturbance within. The +strongly-marked nose and eyebones might have been carved in old ivory. +The snowy beard, parted in the middle, was swept up over his ears; and +the eyes were veiled. An open book lay on his knee. But he was not +reading. He was listening for the sound of hoofs, the sound of a +voice.... + +The two had not met for five years: and in those years the boy had +proved the warrior blood in his veins; had passed through the searching +test of a bitter loss. Together, they could speak of her--gone from +them; yet alive in their hearts for evermore. Seen or unseen, she was +the link that kept them all united, the pivot on which their lives still +turned. There had been none with whom he could talk of her since she +went.... + +Over his writing-table hung the original Antibes portrait--life-size; +Nevil's payment for the high privilege of painting her; a privilege how +reluctantly accorded none but himself had ever known. And behold his +reward: her ever-visible presence--the girl-child who had been +altogether his own. + +Hoofs at last--and the remembered voice; deeper, more commanding; the +embroidered curtain pushed aside. Then--Roy himself, broader, browner; +his father's smile in his eyes; and, permeating all, the spirit of his +mother, clearly discernible to the man who had given it life. + +He was on his feet now, an imposing figure, in loose white raiment and +purple choga. In India, he wisely discarded English dress, deeming it as +unsuitable to the country as English political machinery. Silent, he +held out his arms and folded Roy in a close embrace: then--still +silent--stood away and considered him afresh. Their mutual emotion +affected them sensibly, like the presence of a third person, making them +shy of each other, shy of themselves. + +It was Sir Lakshman who spoke first. "Roy, son of my Heart's Delight, I +have waited many years for this day. It was the hidden wish of her +heart. And her spirit, though withdrawn, still works in our lives. It is +only so with those who love greatly, without base mixture of jealousy or +greed. They pass on--yet they remain; untouched by death, like the +lotus, that blooms in the water, but opens beyond its reach." + +Words and tone so stirred Roy that sudden tears filled his eyes. And +through the mist of his grief, dawned a vision of his mother's face. +Blurred and tremulous, it hovered before him with a startling illusion +of life; then--he knew.... + +Without a word, he went over to the picture and stood before it, drowned +fathoms deep.... + +A slight movement behind roused him; and with an effort he turned away. +"I've not seen a big one since--since my last time at home," he said +simply. "I've only two small ones out here." + +The carven face was not impassive now. "After all, Dilkusha,[10] what +matter pictures when you have--herself?" + +Roy started. "It's true. I _have_--herself. How could you know?" + +Five minutes later, he was sitting beside his grandfather on the deep +divan, telling him all. + +Before setting out, he would not have believed it possible. But +instinctively he knew himself in touch with a quality of love that +matched his own; and the mere telling revived the marvel, the thrill of +that strange and beautiful experience at Chitor.... + +Sir Lakshman had neither moved nor spoken throughout. Now their eyes met +in a look of deep understanding. + +"I am very proud you told me, Roy. It is not easy." + +"No. I've not told any one else. I couldn't. But just now--something +seemed to draw it all out of me. I suppose--something in you----" + +"Or perhaps--herself! It almost seemed--she was here with us, while you +talked." + +"Perhaps--she is here still." + +Their voices were lowered, as in the presence of sacred things. Never, +till now, had Roy so keenly felt his individual link with this wonderful +old man, whose blood ran in his veins. + +"Grandfather," he asked after a pause, "I suppose it doesn't often +happen--that sort of thing? I suppose most common-sense people would +dismiss it all as--sheer delusion?" + +The young simplicity of the question lit a smile in Sir Lakshman's eyes. + +"Quite possible. All that is most beautiful in life, most real to saints +and lovers, must seem delusion to those whose hearts and spirits are +merely vassals to the body and the brain. But those who say of the soul, +'It is not,' have still to _prove_ it is not to those who have felt and +known. Also I grant--the other way about. But they speak in different +languages. Kabir says, 'I disclose my soul in what is hidden.' And +again, 'The bird is beyond seeking, yet it is most clearly visible.' For +us, that is living truth. For those others, a mere tangle of words." + +"I see." Roy's gaze was riveted on the picture above the writing-table. +"You can't explain colours to the colour-blind. And I suppose +experiences like mine only come to those for whom words like that +are--living truth?" + +"Yes--like yours. But there are other kinds; not always true. Because, +in this so sacred matter, clever people, without scruple, have made +capital out of the heart's natural longing; and the dividing line is dim +where falsehood ends and truth begins. So it has all come into suspicion +and contempt. Accept what is freely given, Roy. Do not be tempted to try +and snatch more." + +"No--no. I wouldn't if I could." A pause. "_You_ believe it is time ... +what I feel? That she is often--very near me?" + +Sir Lakshman gravely inclined his head. "As I believe in Brahma, Lord of +all." + +And for both the silence that fell seemed pulsating with her unseen +presence.... + +When they spoke again it was of mundane things. Roy vividly described +his sensations, riding through the City; the culminating incident, and +his recognition of the offender. + +"The queerest thing, running into the beggar again like that! He looks +as sulky and shifty as ever. That's how I knew." + +"Sulky and shifty--and wearing English clothes?" Sir Lakshman's brows +contracted sharply. "What name did you say?" + +"Chandranath, we called him." + +"And you don't know his whereabouts?" + +"No, I'm sorry. I didn't suppose his whereabouts mattered a damn to any +one." + +The stern old Rajput smiled. It did his heart good to hear the familiar +slang phrases again. "Whether it matters a damn--as you say--depends on +whether he is the undesirable I have in mind. Quite young; but much +influence, and a bad record. Mixed up with German agents, before the +War, and the Ghadr party in California; arrested for seditious activity +and deported: but of course, on appeal, allowed to return. Always the +same tale. Always the same result. Worse mischief done. And India--the +true India--must be grateful for these mercies! Sometimes I think the +irony is too sharp between the true gifts given, unnoticed, by +Englishmen working sincerely for the good of our people, and the false +gifts proclaimed from the house-tops, filling loyal Indians with +bewilderment and fear. I have had letters from scores of these, because +I am known to believe that loyal allegiance to British government gives +India the best chance for peaceful progress she is likely to have for +many generations. And from every one comes the same cry, begging to be +saved from this crazy nightmare of Home Rule, not understood and not +desired except by those who invented it. But what appeal is possible to +those who stop their ears? And all the time, by stealthy and open means, +the poison of race-hatred is being poured into India's veins----" + +"But, Grandfather--what about the War--and pulling together--and all +that?" + +Sir Lakshman's smile struck Roy as one of the saddest he had ever seen. +"Four years ago, my dear Boy, we all had many radiant illusions. But +this War has dragged on too long. It is too far away. For our Princes +and warlike races it has had some reality. For the rest it means mostly +news in the papers and rumours in bazaars, high prices, and trouble +about food. No better soil for sowing evil seeds. And friends of +Germany are still working in India--remember that! While the loyal were +fighting, these were talking, plotting, hindering: and now they are +waving, like a flag, the services of others, to gain their own ends, +from which the loyal pray to be delivered! Could irony be more complete? +Indian Princes can keep some cheek on these gentlemen. But it is not +always easy. If this Chandranath should be the same man--he is here, no +doubt, for Dewáli. At sacred feasts they do most of their devil's work. +Did you speak of connection with me?" + +"No. But he seemed to know about Arúna: said you were English mad." + +Sir Lakshman frowned. "English mad! That is their jargon. Too narrow to +understand how I can deeply love both countries, while remaining as +jealous for all true rights of my Motherland as any hot-head who +swallows their fairy-tale of a Golden Age, and England as +Raksha--destroying demon! By help of such inventions, they have deluded +many fine young men, like my poor Dyán, who should be already married +and working to all my place. Such was my hope in sending him to Oxford. +And now--see the result ..." + +On that topic he could not yet trust himself; and Roy, leaning forward +impulsively, laid a hand on his knee. + +"Grandfather, I have promised Arúna--and I promise you--that somehow, I +_will_ get hold of him; and bring him back to his senses." + +Sir Lakshman covered the hand with his own. "True son of Lilámani! But I +fear he may have joined some secret society; and India is a large +haystack in which to seek one human needle!" + +"But Arúna has written again. She is convinced he will answer." + +Sir Lakshman sighed. "Poor Arúna! I am not sure if I was altogether wise +letting her go to the Residency. But I am deeply grateful to Mrs Leigh. +India needs many more such English women. By making friends with +high-born Indian women, it is hardly too much to say they might, +together, mend more than half the blunders made by men on both sides." + +Thus, skilfully, he steered clear of Arúna's problem that was linked +with matters too intimately painful for discussion with a grandson, +however dear. + +So absorbed was Roy in the delight of reunion, that not till he rose to +go did he take in the details of the lofty room. Everywhere Indian +workmanship was in evidence. The pictures were old Rajput paintings; +fine examples of Vaishnava art--pure Hindu, in its mingling of restraint +and exuberance, of tenderness and fury; its hallowing of all life and +idealising of all love. Only the writing-table and swivel-chair were +frankly of the West, and certain shelves full of English books and +reviews. + +"I _like_ your room," Roy announced after leisurely inspection. "But I +don't seem to remember----" + +"You would be a miracle if you did! The room _you_ saw had plush +curtains, gilt mirrors and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct +'English-fashion' guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman. But of +late years I have seen how greatly we were mistaken, making imitation +England to honour our English friends. Some frankly told me how they +were disappointed to find in our houses only caricatures of middle-class +England or France. Such rooms are silent barriers to friendship: +proclaiming that East may go to the West but West cannot come to the +East." + +"In a way that's true, isn't it?" + +"Yes--in a way. This room, of course, is not like my inner apartments. +It is like myself, however; cultivated--but still Indian. It is my way +of preaching true Swadeshi:--Be your own self, even with English guests. +But so far I have few followers. Some are too foolishly fond of their +mirrors and chandeliers and gramophones. Some will not believe such +trifles can affect friendliness. Yet--strange, but true--too much +Anglicising of India instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen +the gulf." + +Roy nodded. "I've heard that. Yet most of us are so keen to be friends. +Queer, perverse things--human beings, aren't they?" + +"And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders of Earth!" +Setting both hands on Roy's shoulders he looked deeply into his eyes. +"Come and see me often, Dilkusha. It lifts my tired heart to have this +very human being so near me again." + + * * * * * + +Ten minutes later, Roy was riding homeward through a changed city; +streets and hills and sky wrapped in the mystery of encroaching dusk. + +South and west the sky flamed, like the heart of a fire opal, through a +veil fine as gauze--dust no longer; but the aura of Jaipur. Seen afar, +through the coloured gloom, familiar shapes took on strange outlines; +moved and swayed, mysteriously detached, in a sea of shadows, scattered, +here and there, by flames of little dinner fires along the pavements. +The brilliant shifting crowd of two hours ago seemed to have sunk into +the earth. For there is no night life in the streets of Jaipur. +Travellers had passed on and out. Merchants had stowed away their +muslins and embroideries, their vessels of brass and copper and +priceless enamels. Only the starving lay in huddled heaps as +before--ominously still; while above them vultures and eagles circled, +expectant, ink-black against the immense radiance beyond. Grey, +deepening to black, were flat roofs, cornices, minarets and massed +foliage, and the flitting shadows, with lifted tails, that careered +along the house-tops; or perched on some jutting angle, skinny elbows +crooked, absorbed in the pursuit of fleas. For sunset is the monkey's +hour, and the eerie jibbering of these imps of darkness struck a bizarre +note in the hush that shrouded the city. + +Roy knew, now, why Thea had stayed his impatience; and he blessed her +sympathetic understanding. But just then--steeped in India at her most +magical hour--it was hard to believe in the Residency household; in +English dinner-tables and English detachment from the medićval medley of +splendour and squalor, of courage and cruelty and dumb endurance, of +arts and crafts and all the paraphernalia of enlightened knowledge that +was Jaipur. It seemed more like a week than a few hours since he had +turned in the saddle to salute Arúna and ridden out into another +world:--her world, which was also in a measure his own.... + +On and on he rode, at a foot's pace, followed by his twin shadows; past +the temples of Maha Deo, still rosy where they faced the west, still +rumbling and throbbing with muffled music; past wayside shrines, mere +alcoves for grotesque images--Shiva, Lord of Death, or Ganesh the +Elephant God--each with his scented garlands and his nickering chirágh; +past shadowy groups round the dinner fires, cooking their evening meal: +on and out through the double fortified gateways into the deserted road, +his whole being drenched in the silence and the deepening dusk. + +Here, outside the city, emptiness loomed almost like a presence. Only +the trees were alive; each with its colony of peacocks and parrots and +birds of prey noisily settling to rest. The peacocks' unearthly cry, and +the far, ghostly laugh of jackals--authentic voice of India at +sundown--sent a chill down Roy's spine. For he, who had scarcely known +fear on the battlefield, was ignominiously at the mercy of imagination +and the eerie spirit of the hour. + +At a flick of the reins, Suráj broke into a smart canter, willingly +enough. What were sunsets or local devils to him compared with stables +and gram? + +And as they sped on, as trees on either side slid by like stealthy +ghosts, the sunset splendour died, only to rise again in a volcanic +afterglow, on which trunks and twigs and battlemented hills were printed +in daguerreotype; and desert voices were drowned in the clamour of +cicadas, grinding their knives in foolish ecstasy; and, at last, he +swerved between the friendly gate-posts of the Residency--the richer for +a spiritual adventure that could neither be imparted, nor repeated, nor +forgotten while he lived. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 10: Joy of my heart.] + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "The deepest thing in our nature is this dumb region of the heart, + where we dwell alone with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses, + our faiths and our fears."--WILLIAM JAMES. + + +Not least among the joys of Arúna's return to the freer life of the +Residency was her very own verandah balcony. Here, secure from +intrusion, she could devote the first and last hours of her day to +meditation or prayer. Oxford studies had confused a little, but not +killed, the faith of her fathers. The real trouble was that too often, +nowadays, that exigent heart of hers would intrude upon her sacred +devotions, transforming them into day-dreams, haloed with a hope the +more frankly formulated because she was of the East. + +For Thea had guessed aright. Roy was the key to her waverings, her +refusals, her eager acceptance of the emergency plan:--welcome in +itself; still more welcome because it permitted her simply to await his +coming. + +They had been very wonderful, those five years in England; in spite of +anxieties and disappointed hopes. But when Dyán departed and +Mesopotamia engulfed Roy, India had won the day. + +How unforgettable that exalted moment of decision, one drenched and +dismal winter evening; the sudden craving for sights and sounds and +smells of her own land. How slow the swiftest steamer to the speed of +her racing thoughts! How bitter, beyond belief, the--how first faint +chill of disappointment; the pang of realising reluctantly--that, within +herself, she belonged whole-heartedly to neither world. + +She had returned qualified for medical work, by experience in a College +hospital at Oxford; yet hampered by innate shrinking from the sick and +maimed, who had been too much with her in those years of war. Not less +innate was the urge of her whole being to fulfil her womanhood through +marriage rather than through work. And in the light of that discovery, +she saw her dilemma plain. Either she must hope to marry an Englishman +and break with India, like Aunt Lilámani; or accept, at the hands of the +matchmaker, an enlightened bridegroom, unseen, unknown, whose family +would overlook--at a price--her advanced age and English adventures. + +Against the last, all that England and Oxford had given her rose up in +revolt ... But the discarded, subconscious Arúna was centuries older +than the half-fledged being who hovered on the rim of the nest, +distrustful of her untried wings and the pathless sky. That Arúna had, +for ally, the spirit of the ages; more formidable, if less assertive, +than the transient spirit of the age. And the fledgling Arúna knew +perfectly well that the Englishman of her alternative was, +confessedly--Roy. His mother being Indian, she innocently supposed there +would be no trouble of prejudice; no stupid talk of the gulf that she +and Dyán had set out to bridge. The fact that Dyán had failed only made +her the more anxious to succeed.... + +Soon after arriving, she had taken up hospital work in the women's ward, +because Miss Hammond was kind; and her educated self had need of +occupation. Her other self--deeply loving her grandfather--had urged her +to try and live at home,--so far as her unregenerate state would permit. + +As out-of-caste, she had been exempt from kitchen work; debarred from +touching any food except the portion set aside for her meals, that were +eaten apart in Sir Lakshman's room--her haven of refuge. In the Inside, +she was at the mercy of women's tongues and the petty tyranny of Mátaji; +antagonistic as ever; sharpened and narrowed with age, even as her +grandfather had mellowed and grown beautiful, with the unearthly beauty +of the old, whose spirit shines visibly through the attenuated veil of +flesh. Arúna, watching him, with clearer understanding, marvelled how he +had preserved his serenity of soul through a lifetime of Mátaji's +dominion. + +And the other women--relations in various degrees--took their tone from +her, if only for the sake of peace:--the widowed sister-in-law, suavely +satirical; a great-aunt, whose tongue clacked like a rice-husker; two +cousins, correctly betrothed to unseen bridegrooms, entitled to look +askance at the abandoned one, who was neither wife nor mother; and two +children of a poor relation--embryo women, who echoed the jeers of their +elders at her English friends, her obstinacy in the matter of caste and +the inevitable husband. _Hai! hai!_ At her age, what did she fear? Had +the English bewitched her with lies? Thus Peru, aged nine, jocosely +proceeding to enlighten her; egged on by giggles and high-pitched +laughter from the prospective brides. For in the zenana reticence is +not, even before children. Arúna herself had heard such talk; but for +years her early knowledge had lain dormant; while fastidiousness had +been engendered by English studies and contact with English youth. +Useless to answer. It simply meant tears or losing her temper; in which +case, Mátaji would retaliate by doctoring her food with red pepper to +sweeten her tongue. + +Meanwhile, sharpened pressure in the matter of caste rites and rumours +of an actually maturing husband, had brought her very near the end of +her tether. Again Thea was right. Her brave impulse of the heart had +only been just in time. And hard upon that unbelievable good fortune +followed the news that Roy was coming. + +Tremulously at first, then with quickening confidence, her happy nature +rose like a sea-bird out of troubled waters, on the wings of a secret +hope.... + + * * * * * + +And now he was here, under this friendly roof that sheltered her from +the tender mercies of her own kind. There were almost daily meetings, +however brief, and the after-glow of them when past; all the +well-remembered tricks of speech and manner; and the twinkle of fun in +his eyes. Lapped in an ecstasy of content, hope scarcely stirred a wing. +Enough that he was there---- + +Great was her joy when Mrs Leigh--after scolding him in the kindest way +over the girl mother and two more starving children, picked up +afterwards--had given her leave to take special charge of them and +lodged them with the dhobi's wife. This also brought her nearer to Roy. +And what could she ask more? + +But with the approach of the Dewáli, thoughts of the future came +flocking like birds at sundown. Because, on Dewáli night, all tried +their luck in some fashion; and Mai Lakshmi's answer failed not. The men +tossed coin or dice. The maidens, at sunset, when the little wind of +evening stirred the waters, carried each her chirágh--lamp of her +life--and set it afloat on tank or stream, praying Mai Lakshmi to guide +it safe across. If the prayer was heard, omens were favourable. If the +lamp should sink, or be shattered, omens were evil. And the +centuries-old Arúna--still at the mercy of dastúr--had secretly bought +her little chirágh; secretly resolved to try her fate on the night of +nights. If the answer were unfavourable--and courage failed her--there +was always one way of escape. The water that put out her lamp would as +carelessly put out the flame of her life--in a little moment--without +pain.... + +A small shiver convulsed her--kneeling there in her balcony; her bare +arms resting on the balustrade. The new Arúna shrank from thought of +death. She craved the fulness of life and love--kisses and rapture and +the clinging arms of little children.... + +For, as she knelt in the moonlight, nominally she was invoking Mai +Lakshmi; actually she was dreaming of Roy; chiding herself for the +foolishness that had kept her from appearing at dinner; hoping he might +wonder, and perhaps think of her a little--wishing her there. And all +the while, perhaps he was simply not noticing--not caring one little +bit----! + +Stung by the thought, she clenched her hands and lifted her bowed head. +Then she started--and caught her breath---- + +Could it be he, down there among the shadows--wandering, dreaming, +thinking of her, or making poems? She knew most of his slim volume by +heart. + +More likely, he was framing bold plans to find Dyán--now the answer to +her letter had come. It was a strange unsatisfying answer; full of +affection, but too full of windy phrases that she was shrewd enough to +recognise as mere echoes from those others, who had ensnared him in a +web of words. + +"Fear not for me, sister of my heart," he wrote. "Rejoice because I am +dedicated to service of the Mother, that she may be released from +political bondage and shine again in her ancient glory--no longer +exploited by foreigners, who imagine that with bricks and stones they +can lock up Veda--eternal truth! The gods have spoken. It is time. Kali +rises in the East, with her necklet of skulls--Giants of evil she has +slain. It is she who speaks through the voice of the patriot: 'Do not +wall up your vision, like frogs in a well.... Rise above the Penal Code +to the rarefied atmosphere of the Gita and consider the actions of +heroic men.' + +"You ask if I still love Roy? Why not? He is of our own blood and a very +fine fellow. But I don't write now because he would not understand my +fervour of soul. So don't you take all his opinions for gospel; like my +grandfather's, they are well meant, but obsolete. If only you had +courage, Arúna-ji, to accept the enlightened husband, who might not keep +you in strict purdah, then we could work together for liberation of the +Mother. Sing _Bande Mátaram_,[11] forty thousand brothers! That is our +battle-cry. And one of those is your own fond brother--Dyán Singh." + +Arúna had read and re-read that bewildering effusion till tears fell and +blotted the words. Could this be the same Dyán who had known and loved +England even as she did? His eloquence somehow failed to carry +conviction. To her, the soul of new India seemed like a book, full of +contradictions, written in many strange languages, hard to read. But +behind that tangle of words beat the heart of Dyán--the brother who was +her all. + +Still no address was given. But Roy had declared the Delhi postmark +sufficient clue. Directly Dewáli was over, he would go. And, by every +right impulse, she ought to be more glad than sad. But the heart, like +the tongue, can no man tame. And sometimes his eagerness to go hurt her +a little. Was he thinking of Delhi down there--or of her----? + +The shadow had turned and was moving towards her. There was a white +splash of shirt-front, the glow of a cigarette. + +Suddenly his pace quickened. He had seen her. Next moment he was +standing under her balcony. His low-pitched voice came distinctly to her +ears. + +"Good evening--Juliet! Quit your dreaming. Come and be sociable down +here." + +Delicious tremors ran through her. Much too bold, going down in the +dark. But how to resist? + +"I think--better not," she faltered, incipient surrender in her tone. +"You see--not coming down to dinner ... Mrs Leigh ..." + +"Bother Mrs Leigh. I've got a ripping inspiration about Delhi---- Hurry +up. I'll be by the steps." + +Then he _had_ been thinking of Delhi. But he wanted her now; and the +note of command extinguished hesitation. Slipping on a cloak, she +reached the verandah without meeting a soul. He put out a hand. Purely +on impulse she gave him her left one; and he conducted her down the +steps with mock ceremony, as if leading her out to tread a measure to +unheard strains of the viola and spinet. + +Happiness ran like wine in her veins: and catching his mood she swept +him a curtsey, English fashion. + +"Fit for the Queen's Drawing-room!" he applauded; and she smiled up at +him under her straight lashes. "Why didn't you appear at dinner? Is it a +whim--hiding your light under a bushel? Or do you get headaches and +heartaches working in the ward, and feel out of tune with our frivol?" + +The solicitude in his tone was worth many headaches and heartaches to +hear again. But with him she could not pretend. + +"No--not that!" she said, treading the grass beside him, as if it were a +moonlit cloud. "Only sometimes ... I am foolish--not inclined for so +many faces; and all the lights and the talk." + +He nodded. "I know the feeling. The same strain in us, I suppose. But, +look here, about Dyán. It suddenly struck me I'd have ten times better +chance if I went as an Indian. I can talk the language to admiration. +What d'you think?" + +She caught her breath. A vision of him so transformed seemed to bring +him surprisingly nearer. "How exciting! How bold!" + +"Yes--but not impossible. And no end of a lark. If I could lodge with +some one who knew, I believe I could pull it through. Grandfather might +arrange that. It would give me a chance to get in among Dyán's set and +hear things. Don't breathe a word to any one. I must talk it all over +with Grandfather." + +"Oh! I would love to see you turned into a Rajput," she breathed. + +"You _shall_ see me. I'll come and make my salaams and ask your blessing +on my venture." + +"And I will make _prasád_ for your journey!" Her unveiled eyes met his +frankly now. "A portion for Dyán too. It may speak to his heart clearer +than words." + +"_Prasad_? What's that?" + +"Food prepared and consecrated by touch of mother or sister or--or +nearest woman relation. And by absence of those others ... it is ... my +privilege----" + +"_My_ privilege. I would not forgo it for a kingdom," Roy interposed, +such patent sincerity in the reverend quiet of his tone that she was +speechless.... + +For less than half an hour they strolled on that moon-enchanted lawn. +Nothing was said by either that the rest might not have heard. Yet it +was a transfigured Arúna who approached the verandah, where Thea stood +awaiting them; having come out to look for Roy and found the clue to his +prolonged meditations. + +"What have you been plotting, you two?" she asked lightly when they +reached her. To Roy her eyes said: "D'you call _this_ being discreet?" +To Arúna her lips said: "Graceless one! I thought you were _purdah +nashin_ this evening!" + +"So she was," Roy answered for her. "I'm the culprit. I insisted. Some +details about my Delhi trip, I wanted to talk over." + +Thea wrinkled her forehead. "Roy--you mustn't. It's a crazy plan----" + +"Pardon me--an inspired plan!" He drew himself up half an inch the +better to look down on her. "Nothing on earth can put me off it--except +Grandfather. And I know he'll back me up." + +"In that case, I won't waste valuable verbal ammunition on you! Come +along in--We're going to have music." + +But as Roy moved forward, Arúna drew back. "Please--I would rather go +to bed now. And--please, forgive, little Mother," she murmured +caressingly. For this great-hearted English woman seemed mother indeed +to her now. + +For answer, Thea took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both +cheeks. "Not guilty this time, _piári_.[12] But don't do it again!" + +Roy's hand closed hard on hers, but he said not a word. And she was +glad. + +Alone again on her balcony, gladness rioted through all her being. +Yet--nothing had really happened. Nothing had been said. +Only--everything felt different inside. Of such are life's supreme +moments. They come without flourish of trumpets; touch the heart or the +lips with fire, and pass on.... + +While undressing, an impulse seized her to break her chirágh and +treasure the pieces--in memory of to-night. Why trouble Mai Lakshmi with +a question already half answered? But, lost in happy thoughts--inwoven +with delicate threads of sound from Thea's violin--she forgot all about +it, till the warmth of her cheek nestled against the cool pillow. Too +lazy and comfortable to stir, she told her foolish heart that to-morrow +morning would do quite as well. + +But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted +assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arrogant +impulse, and the mystic chirágh of destiny was saved--for another fate. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 11: Hail, Mother.] + +[Footnote 12: Darling.] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "The forces that fashion, the hands that mould, + Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;-- + + * * * * * + + They are gods no more, but their spells remain." + --SIR ALFRED LYALL. + + +Dewáli night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown +awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of +miracle.... + +For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning +out clay chirághs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai +Lakshmi--a compound of Minerva and Ceres,--worshipped in the living gold +of fire and the dead gold of minted coin. + +And all day long there ebbed and flowed through the temple doors a +rainbow-coloured stream of worshippers; while the dust-laden air +vibrated with jangle of metal bells, wail of conches and raucous clamour +of crows. Within doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells. +Young or old, none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this +auspicious day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and +plastered with fresh cow dung, in honour of Vishnu's bride; and gayest +among festal shop-fronts was the dazzling array of toys. For the Feast +of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewildering variety; in sugar, in +paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or gorgeously painted with colours such +as never were on ox or elephant, fish or bird. + +What matter? To the uncritical Eastern eye, colour is all. + +And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was spilled abroad +in the wide main streets that are an arresting feature of Jaipur. Men, +women, and children, in gala turbans and gala draperies, laughing and +talking at full pitch of their lungs; gala elephants sheathed in cloth +of gold, their trunks and foreheads patterned in divers colours; scarlet +outriders clearing a pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to +and fro like a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate, and +apricot, copper and flame colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable +harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Lakshman told +Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay. + +Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with his +grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an airy minaret +on the roof top. Then home to the Residency for tea, only to insist on +carrying them all back in the car--Thea, Arúna, Flossie, and the +children, who must have their share of strange sweets and toys, if only +'for luck,' the watchword of Dewáli. + +As for Arúna--to-day everything in the world seemed to hang on the frail +thread of those two words. And what of to-night...? + +All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence on the +cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a private +confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group of maidens +who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate. She was other than +they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a being apart. And for most of +them it was little more than a 'game of play.' For her--but that she +kept to herself--this symbolical act of faith, this childish appeal for +a sign, was a matter of life and death. So--to her chosen angle of the +tank, she would go alone; and there--unwatched, save by Dewáli lights of +earth and heaven--she would confide her lamp to the waters and the +breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness. + +But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewáli crowd. In +Dyán's absence, he claimed the right to accompany her, to be somewhere +within hail. Having shed the Eastern protection of purdah, she must +accept the Western protection of escort. And straightway there sprang an +inspiration: he would wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every +detail, at Sir Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed +on the Delhi adventure--which his grandfather happily approved, with +what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy did not even +dimly guess. + +At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city and finish +up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace. That would be +Arúna's moment for slipping away. Roy--having slipped away in +advance--would rejoin her at a given spot. And then----? + +The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill of his +presence, conjured into one of her own people.... + + * * * * * + +Sundown at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was an ecstasy no +possible after-pain or disappointment could dim. As the flaming tint of +sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck upward into the blue, +buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas seemed to melt into the +landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert dust. + +Then--the first flickering points of fire--primrose-pale, in the half +light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the East, and the +little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own volition, so +skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work. + +From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony they ran: till vanished +Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured: cupolas, arches, +balconies, and temples, palace of the Maharája and lofty Hall of the +Winds--every detail faultlessly traced on darkness, in delicate, +tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there illusion was shattered by +garish globes of electric light, dimming the mellow radiance of +thousands on thousands of modest chirághs. + +Arúna had seen many Dewáli nights in her time; but never at a moment so +charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed, she sat by Thea in +the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite; Phyllis on her mother's knee; the +others in the car on ahead--including a tourist of note--outriders +before and behind, clearing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging +on his feet, was lost in wonder. Roy, like Arúna, said little. Only Thea +kept up a low ripple of talk with her babe.... + +By now, not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills, where +bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coronets twinkled on bastions of +the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve and line of Jai +Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage, the crowd swayed and +hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; intoxicated with the spirit of +festival, that found an echo in Arúna's heart and rioted in her veins. +To-night she felt merged in India, Eastern to the core; capable, almost, +of wondering--could she put it away from her, even at the bidding of +Roy----? + +On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the Mán Sagar Lake, +where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and gleamed, knee deep in the +darkling water; where jackals prowled and cranes nested and muggers +dozed unheeding. At a point of vantage above the Lake, they halted and +sat there awhile in darkness--a group of silent shadows. Words did not +meet the case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered +no sound: for she had fallen asleep. + +Arúna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in a +dream.... + +Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's coat-sleeve. +He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect, and was probably not +aware of his trespassing arm; for he did not shift it till he had gazed +his fill. Then with a long sigh, he leaned back again. But Arúna's dream +was shattered by sensations too startingly real to be ignored.... + +Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she caught +his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he know----? Did +he ever feel--like that? + +Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her. + +"I'll be quick as lightning--don't stir till I come," he said--and +vanished. + + * * * * * + +Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, +awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands. She had +brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed +in a cardboard box. Mrs Leigh--angel of goodness--had lit the wick with +her own hand--'for luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, +she had no idea. But who could resist him,--after all? Waiting alone, +her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a +choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;--so +changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade +her go forward. + +Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they passed: +and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering +threads of light. Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot. A little +farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked. + +"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they were +conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the +mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge--new birth. I am only +afraid it is getting a little too strong. And if anything should hinder +it from crossing, then--there is no answer. Suspense--all the time. +But--we will hope. Now, please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this +building, few will notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But +don't--go too far." + +"Trust me. And--see here, Arúna, don't make too much of it--either way. +Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immortals----" + +"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!" + +Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she plays +up--royally." + +And with a formal salute, he left her. + +Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her cockle-shell +with its blown wisp of light. + +"Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart," she addressed it, just above +her breath, "sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate +awaits me now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?" + +With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the +building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish +incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that +would be best, alike, for her and Roy. + +But curiosity was claimant. She must see.... She must know.... + +Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all +her conscious being centred on the adventuring flame that swayed and +curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The effect of her concentration was +almost hypnotic: as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered +away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at +her very life.... + +Footsteps passed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached her brain. +The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost +capsized her chirágh. It dipped--it vanished.... + +With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and +would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her +arm and pulled her backward--just in time. + +"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water--for the +precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is--safe...!" + +"But what of _you_, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of +your Dewáli lamp?" + +The words were spoken in the vernacular--and not in the voice of Roy. +Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height, +bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the +half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved +beads that hung almost to his waist. + +"I am most grateful, _guru-ji_,"[13] she murmured demurely, also in the +vernacular; and stood so--shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably +disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential +intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little +lamp with your blessing?" + +His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen, +lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic. + +"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus +boldly and alone...." + +The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she +answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, _guru-ji_. I +am--England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste." + +He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for +frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no _guru_; but like yourself, +England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the +Mother----" + +It was her turn to start and scrutinise him--discreetly. "Yet you make +pretence of holiness----?" + +"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of +reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons--and daughters. These +clothes are passports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no +dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near +enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers--just for this +superstition of Dewáli--not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.--Was it +Oxford?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it possible----?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly, +almost boldly. + +"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh Bahádur----?" + +At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him. His look and +tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not call for Roy, who +was playing his part too scrupulously well. + +"Go----! Leave me!" she commanded desperately, louder than she had +spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But--making _pujah_[14]--I wish to be +alone----" + +His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her. + +"Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened--like yourself...?" + +He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure had sauntered +into view. + +Arúna sprang towards it--zenana airs forgotten. "Oh, Roy----!" + +"Did you call, Arúna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you. This fellow +bothering you----? I'll settle him----" Turning, he said politely: "My +cousin is here, under my escort, to make _pujah, guru-ji_. She wishes to +be alone." + +"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this time be +permanently secure from interruption--in the belly of a _mugger_,"[15] +retorted the supposed ascetic--in English. + +Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakable. + +"Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint? _You_ are no _guru_." + +"And _you_ are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading--as a +lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair, with +play-acting--about cousins. In my capacity of _guru_ I feel compelled to +warn this accomplished young lady that her fine cavalier is only a sham +Rajput of British extraction...." + +"_Sham_--curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia--on one side----" The instant +he had spoken, he saw his folly. + +"Oho--half-caste only!" + +An oath and a threatening forward move, impelled the speaker to an +undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that. The fellow was +beneath contempt. + +"I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur in the +conjunction; and I take no insults from any man...." He made another +forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing Chandranath jerk +backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we are grateful to you. But I +told you, she wishes to be alone. So I must ask you to move on +elsewhere." + +"Oh, as to that ... I have no violent predilection for your society." + +And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no one but +himself, Roy kept pace alongside--"For all the world," he thought, "like +Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to go for him; but quite +prepared if need be!" + +When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandranath fired a +parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you can marry her, because +diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your veins. But here in India, you +will find forces too powerful militating against it." + +But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-control. +"The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in the habit of +discussing their womenfolk with strangers," said he--and flattered +himself he had very neatly secured the last word. + + * * * * * + +As for Arúna--left alone--she leaned again on the low abutment, but the +hypnotic spell was broken: only acute anxiety remained. For the lamp of +her life had made scant progress; and now she was aware of a disturbance +in the water, little ominous whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently +there emerged a long shadow, like a black expanse of rock:--unmistakably +a mugger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand +that had seized her in the nick of time. The next--she wrung her own +together with a low, shivering cry. + +For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chirágh rose with it--and so +remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the horny shoulder; +tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its +life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the +wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had +her answer--or no answer. The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; +but it would never, now, reach the farther shore. Mai Lakshmi's face was +turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer +between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so +much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair.... + +She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the +shadow--not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction +from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ... + +It was only a few minutes--though it seemed an age--before she felt +Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender +beneath its surface note of command. + +"Arúna--what the--get up. Don't cry like that--you mustn't...." + +She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, +battling with her sobs. + +"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming to disregard her +effort at control. + +"There--over there. Look ... the mugger!" + +"Mugger?" He sighted it. "Well, I'm--the thieving brute!" Humour lurked +in his voice--more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting. +Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears +trembled into laughter; laughter into tears. The impact unsteadied her +afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs. + +"Arúna--my _dear_--you mustn't, I tell you...." More tenderness now than +command. + +She held her breath--pain shot through with sudden ecstasy. For in +speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with +a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised +nerves. + +"Listen, Arúna--and don't cry," he said, low and urgently. "No answer +always leaves room for hope. And you shall have your Dyán, I promise +you. I won't come back without him. I can't say fairer than that. So +now----" his hand closed on her shoulder. "Give over--breaking your poor +heart!" + +Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only +to-night--I would rather--not the Palace dinner, the fireworks. I would +rather go home with Miss Mills and the children...." + +"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole evening--for us +both. No, you don't. Remember--you are Rajputni: not to be hag-ridden by +a mere chirágh and a thieving mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me +in the face--and promise." + +As usual, he was irresistible. What matter Mai Lakshmi's +indifference--since he cared so much? "Faithfully--I promise, Roy," she +said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into his eyes--that +seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into depths beyond depths. + +For one incredible moment, his face moved a little nearer to +hers--paused, as if irresolute, and withdrew. + +So brief was the instant, so slight the movement, that she almost +doubted her senses. But her inmost being knew--and ached, without +shyness or shame, for the kiss withheld.... + +"You've the grit--I knew it," Roy said at last, in the level voice that +had puzzled her earlier in the evening: and his hand slid from her +shoulder. "Come now--we've been too long. Thea will be wondering...." + +He turned; and she moved beside him, walking in a dream. + +"Did you say much, before I came?" he asked, after a pause, "to that +fellow--Chandranath?" + +"I spoke a little--thinking him a _guru_----" She paused. The name woke +a chord of memory. "Chandranath," she repeated, "that is the name they +said----" + +"_Who_?" Roy asked sharply, coming out of his own dream. + +"Mátaji and the widowed Aunt----" + +"What do they know of him?" + +"How can I tell? I think it was--through our _guru_, he made offer of +marriage--for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was wondering--could +it be the same----?" + +"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious. "If it is--you +can tell them I _won't_ have it. Grandfather would be furious. He ought +to know--and Dyán. Your menfolk don't seem to get a look in." + +"Not much--with marrying arrangements. That is for women and priests. +But--for now, I am safe, with Mrs Leigh----" + +"And you'll stay safe--as far as he's concerned. You see, I know the +fellow. He's the man I slanged in the City that day. Besides--at +school----" + +He unfolded the tale of St Rupert's; and she listened, amazed. + +"So don't worry over that," he commanded, in his kind elder-brotherly +tone. "As for your poor little chirágh, for goodness' sake don't let it +get on your nerves." + +She sighed--knowing it would; yet longing to be worthy of him. It seemed +he understood, for his hand closed lightly on her arm. + +"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding your head +an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life." + +"Is it? I never thought----" she murmured, puzzled, but impressed. And +after that, things somehow seemed easier than she had thought possible +over there, by the tank. + +Secure, under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they were +royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join them at table +without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared--grey-bearded, +courtly and extensively jewelled--supported by Sir Lakshman, the prince, +and a few privileged notables; whereupon they all migrated to the +Palace roof for the grand display of fireworks--fitting climax to the +Feast of Lights. + +Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Arúna's side. They +said little, but his presence wrapped her round with a sense of +companionship more intimate than she had yet felt even in their happiest +times together. While rocket after rocket soared and curved and +blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze reverted persistently to the outline +of a man's head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky.... + +Still later on, when he bade her good-night in the Residency +drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned queen. It +certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when she had crouched +in the shadows praying vain prayers--shedding vain tears.... + +If only one could keep it up----! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 13: Holy man.] + +[Footnote 14: Prayer.] + +[Footnote 15: Crocodile.] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "Thou dost beset the path to every shrine; + + * * * * * + + And if I turn from but one sin, I turn + Unto a smile of thine." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +For Roy himself, no less than Arúna, the passing of those golden October +weeks had been an experience as beautiful as it was unique. The very +beauty and bewilderment of it had blinded him, at first, to the +underlying danger for himself and her. Bewilderment sprang from an eerie +sense--vivid to the verge of illusion--that his mother was with him +again in the person of Arúna:--a fancy enhanced by the fact that his +entire knowledge of Indian womanhood--the turns of thought and phrase, +the charm, at once sensuous and spiritual--was linked indissolubly with +her. And the perilous charm had penetrated insidiously deeper than he +knew. By the time he realised what was happening, the spell was upon +him; his will held captive in silken meshes he had not the heart to +snap. + +As often as not, in that early stage, he craved sight and sound of her +simply because she wore a sari and carried her head and moved her hands +just so; because her mere presence stirred him with a thrill that +blended exquisite pleasure, exquisite pain. There were times he would +contrive to be alone in the room with her; not talking; not even looking +at her--because her face disturbed the illusion; simply letting the feel +of her presence ease that inner ache--subdued, not stilled--for the +mother who had remained more vitally one with him than nine mothers in +ten are able, or willing, to remain with their grown-up sons. + +Thea Leigh, watching unobtrusively, had caught a glimpse of the strange +dual influence at work in him. She had occasionally seen him with his +mother; and had gleaned some idea of their unique relation; partly from +Lance, partly from her intimate link with her own Theo, half a world +away; nearly eighteen now, and eager to join up before all was over. So +her troubled scrutiny was tempered with a measure of understanding. Roy +had always attracted her. And now, unmothered--the wound not yet +healed--she metaphorically gathered him to her heart; would have done so +physically without hesitation; but that Vincent had his dear and foolish +qualms about her promiscuous capacity for affection. But Arúna was her +ewe lamb of the moment; and not even Roy must be allowed to make things +harder for her than they were already.... + +So, after scouting the Delhi idea as preposterous, she suddenly +perceived there might be virtue in it--for Arúna. Possibly it would +glorify him in her eyes; but it would remove the fatal charm of his +presence; give her a chance to pull up before things had gone too far. +Whereat, being Thea, she spun round unashamedly, to Roy's secret +amusement and relief. All the Desmond in her rose to the adventure of +it. A risk, of course; but there must be no question of failure; and +success would justify all. She was entirely at his service; discussed +details by the hour; put him 'on to Vinx' for coaching in the general +situation--underground sedition; reformers, true and false; telling +arguments for the reclaiming of Dyán Singh. + +To crown all--between genuine relief and genuine affection--she +impulsively kissed him on departure under Vincent's very eyes. + +"Just only to give you my blessing!" she explained, laughing and +blushing like a girl at her own audacity. "Words are the stupidest +clumsy things. I'm sure life would be happier and less complicated if we +only had the sense to kiss more and talk less----!" + +This--in the presence of Arúna and her husband and her six-year-old son! + +Roy, deeply moved and a little overcome, nodded assent, while Vincent +took her by the arms and gently removed her from further temptation. + +"Where _you'd_ be, Madam, if talking was rationed----!" + +"I'd take it out in kissing--_Sir_!" she retorted unabashed; while Arúna +glanced a little wistfully at Roy, who was fondling Terry and talking +nonsense to Vernon. For the boy adored him and was on the brink of +tears. + +But if he seemed unheeding, he was by no means unaware. He was fighting +his own battle in his own way; incidentally, he hoped, helping the girl +to fight hers. For he had shaken himself almost free of his delicious +yet disturbing illusion, only to be confronted by a more profoundly +disturbing reality. Loyal to his promise, tacitly given, he had simply +not connected her with the idea of marriage. The queer thrill of her +presence was for him quite another affair. Not until that night of +wandering in the moonlight had it struck him, with a faint shock, that +she might be mistaking his friendliness for--something more. That +contact with her had come at a critical moment for himself, was a detail +he failed to realise. Beyond the sudden bewildering sensations that +prompted his headlong proposal to Tara, he had not felt seriously +perturbed by girl or woman; and, in the past four years, life had been +filled to overflowing with other things---- + +That he should love Arúna, deeply and dearly, seemed as simple and +natural, as loving Tara. But to fall in love was a risk he had no right +to run, either for himself or her. Yet the risk had been run before he +awoke to the fact. And the events and emotions of Dewáli night had drawn +them irresistibly, dangerously close together. For the racial ferment +had been strong in him, as in her. And the darkness, the subtle +influence of his Indian dress--her tears--her danger! How could any man, +frankly loving her, not be carried a little out of himself? That +overmastering impulse to kiss her had startlingly revealed the true +forces at work. + +After all that, what could he do, but sharply apply the curb and remove +himself--for a time--in the devout hope that 'things' had not gone too +far? He had not the assurance to suppose she was already in love with +him; but patently the possibility was there. + +So--like Thea--he had come to see the Delhi inspiration in a new and +surprising light. Setting forth in search of Dyán, he was, in effect, +running away from himself--and Arúna, no less. If not actually in love, +he very soon would be--did he dare to let himself go. + +And why not--why _not_? The old unreasoning rebellion stirred in him +afresh. His mother being gone, temptation tugged the harder. Home, +without the Indian element, was almost unthinkable. If only he could +take back Arúna! But for him there could be no 'if.' He had tacitly +given his word--to _her_. And in any case there was his father--the +Sinclair heritage--So all his fine dreams of helping Arúna amounted to +this--that it was he who might be driven, in the end, to hurt her more +than any of them. Life that looked such a straight-ahead business for +most people, seemed to bristle with pitfalls and obstacles for him; all +on account of the double heritage that was at once his pride, his +inspiration, and his stone of stumbling. + + * * * * * + +Endless wakeful hours of the night journey were peopled with thoughts +and visions of Arúna--her pansy face and velvet-soft eyes, now flashing +delicate raillery, now lifted in troubled appeal. A rainbow +creature--that was the charm of her. Not beautiful--he thanked his +stars; since his weakness for beauty amounted to a snare, but +attractive--perilously so. For, in her case, the very element that drew +him was the barrier that held them apart. The irony of it! + +Was she lying awake too, poor child--missing him a little? Would she +marry an Indian--ever? Would she turn her back on India--even for him? +Unanswerable questions hemmed her in. Could she even answer them +herself? Too well he understood how the scales of her nature hung +balanced between conflicting influences. As he was, racially, so was +she, spiritually, a divided being; yet, in spite of waverings, Rajputni +at the core, with all that word implies to those who know. If she lacked +his mother's high sustained courage, her flashes of spirit shone out the +brighter for her lapses into womanly weakness--as in that poignant +moment by the tank, which had so nearly upset his own equilibrium. +Vividly recalling that moment, it hurt him to realise that weeks might +pass before he could see her again. No denying he wanted her; felt lost +without her. The coveted Delhi adventure seemed suddenly a very lonely +affair; not even a clear inner sense of his mother's presence to bear +him company. No dreams lately; no faint mystical intimation of her +nearness, since the wonderful hour with his grandfather. Only in the +form of that strange and lovely illusion had she seemed vitally near him +since he left Chitor. + +Graceless ingratitude--that 'only.' For now, looking back, he clearly +saw how the beauty and bewilderment of that early phase--so mysteriously +blending Arúna with herself--had held his emotions in cheek, lifted +them, purified them; had saved him, for all he knew, from surrender to +an overwhelming passion that might conceivably have swept everything +before it. Pure fantasy--perhaps. But he felt no inclination to argue +out the unarguable. He preferred simply unquestioningly to believe that, +under God, he owed his salvation to her. And after all--take it +spiritually or psychologically--that was in effect the truth.... + +Towards morning, utter weariness lulled him into a troubled sleep--not +for long. He awoke, chilled and heavy-eyed, to find the unheeded +loveliness of a lemon-yellow dawn stealing over the blank immensity of +earth and sky. + +In a moment he was up, stretching cramped limbs, thanking goodness for a +carriage to himself, leaning out and drinking huge draughts of crisp +clean air, fragrant with the ghost of a whiff of wood smoke--the +inimitable air of a Punjab autumn morning. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things.... + + The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly + poison."--ST JAMES iii 5-8. + + +Roy spent ten days in Delhi--lodging with one Krishna Lal, a jewel +merchant of high standing, well known to Sir Lakshman--and never a word +or a sight of Dyán Singh. The need for constant precautions hampered him +not a little; but if the needle he sought was in this particular +haystack, he would find it yet. + +Meanwhile, at every turn he was imbibing first impressions, a +sufficiently enthralling occupation--in Delhi, of all places on earth: +Delhi, mistress of many victors; very woman, in that she yields to +conquer; and after centuries of romance and tragedy, remains, in +essence, unconquered still. The old saying, 'Who holds Delhi, holds +India,' has its dark counterpart in the unwritten belief that no alien +ruler, enthroned at Delhi, shall endure. Hence the dismay of many loyal +Indians when the British Government deserted Calcutta for the Queen of +the North. And here, already, were her endless, secretive byways +rivalling Calcutta suburbs as hornet-nests of sedition and intrigue. + +Roy was to grow painfully familiar with these before his search ended. +But the city's pandemonium of composite noises and composite smells was +offset by the splendid remnants of Imperial Delhi:--the Pearl Mosque, a +dream in marble, dazzling against the blue: inlaid columns of the +Dewan-i-Khas--every leaf wrought in jade or malachite, every petal a +precious stone; swelling domes and rose-pink minarets of the Jumna +Musjid rising superbly from a network of narrow streets and shabby +toppling houses. For, in India, the sordid and stately rub shoulders +with sublime disregard for effect. In the cool aloofness of tombs and +temples, or among crumbling fragments of them on the plain, or away +beyond the battered Kashmir Gate--ground sacred to heroic memories--he +could wander at will for hours, isolated in body and spirit, yet +strangely content.... + +And there was yet a third Delhi, hard by these two; yet curiously aloof: +official, Anglo-Indian Delhi, of bungalows and clubs and painfully new +Government buildings. Little scope here for imaginative excursions, but +much scope for thought in the queer sensation, that beset him, of seeing +his father's people, as it were, through his mother's eyes. + +New as he was to Anglo-Indian life, these glimpses from the outskirts +were sufficiently illuminating. Once he was present in the crowd at a +big Gymkhana; and more than once he strolled through the Club gardens +where social Delhi pursued tennis-balls and shuttle-cocks--gravely, as +if life hung on the issue; or gaily, with gusts of laughter and chaff, +often noisier than need be. And he saw them all, now, from a new angle +of vision. Discreetly aloof, he observed, in passing, the complete +free-and-easiness of the modern maiden with her modern cavalier; +personalities flying; likewise legs and arms; a banter-wrangle interlude +over a tennis-racquet; flight and pursuit of the offending maiden, +punctuated with shrieks, culminating in collapse and undignified +surrender: while a pair of club peons--also discreetly aloof--exchanged +remarks whose import would have enraged the unsuspecting pair. Roy knew +very well they never gave the matter a thought. They were simply +'rotting' in the approved style of to-day. But, seen from the Eastern +standpoint, the trivial incident troubled him. It recalled a chance +remark of his grandfather's: "With only a little more decorum and +seriousness in their way of life out here, they could do far more to +promote good understanding socially between us all, than by making +premature 'reforms' or tilting at barriers arising from opposite kinds +of civilisation." + +Here was matter for the novel--or novels--to be born of his +errantry:--the 'fruit of his life' that _she_ had so longed to bold in +her hands. Were she only at Home now, what letters-without-end he would +be pouring out to her! What letters he could have poured out to +Arúna--did conscience permit. + +He allowed himself two, in the course of ten days; and the spirit moved +him, after long abstention, to indulge in a rambling screed to Tara +telling of his quest; revealing more than he quite realised of the inner +stress he was trying to ignore. The quest, he emphasised, was a private +affair, confided to her only, because he knew she would understand. It +hurt more than he cared to admit to feel how completely his father would +_not_ understand his present turmoil of heart and brain.... + +Isolated thus, with his hidden thwarted emotion, there resulted a +literary blossoming, the most spontaneous and satisfying since his slow +struggle up from the depths. Alone at night, and in the clear keen +dawns, he wrote and wrote and wrote, as a thirsty man drinks after a +desert march:--poems chiefly; sketches and impressions; his dearest +theme the troubled spirit of India,--or was it the spirit of +Arúna?--poised between crescent light and deepening shadow, looking for +sane clear guidance--and finding none. A prose sketch, in this vein, +stood out from the rest; a fragment of his soul, too intimately +self-revealing for the general gaze: no uncommon dilemma for an artist, +precisely when his work is most intrinsically true. Had he followed the +natural urge of his heart, he would have sent it to Arúna. As it was, he +decided to treasure it a little longer for himself alone. + + * * * * * + +Meantime Dyán--half forgotten--suddenly emerged. It was at a +meeting--exclusively religious and philosophical; but the police had +wind of it; and a friendly inspector mentioned it to Krishna Lal. The +chief speaker would be a Swami of impeccable sanctity. "But if you have +a sensitive palate, you will doubtless detect a spice of political +powder under the jam of religion!" quoth Krishna Lal, who was a man of +humour and no friend of sedition. + +"Thanks for the hint," said Roy--and groaned in spirit. Meetings, at +best, were the abomination of desolation; and his soul was sick of the +Indian variety. For the 'silent East' is never happier than when it is +talking at immense length; denouncing, inaugurating, promoting; and a +prolonged dose of it stirred in Roy a positive craving for men who shot +remarks at each other in 'straight-flung words and true.' But no stone +must be left unturned. So he went;--guided by the friendly policeman, +who knew him for a Sahib bent on some personal quest. + +Their search ended in a windowless inner room; packed to suffocation; +heavy with attar of rose, kerosene, and human bodies; and Roy as usual +clung to a doorway that offered occasional respite. + +The Swami was already in full flow:--a wraith of a man in a +salmon-coloured garment; his eyes, deep in their sockets, gleaming like +black diamonds. And he was holding his audience spellbound:--Hindus of +every calling; students in abundance; a sprinkling of Sikhs and Dogras +from the lines. Some form of hypnotism,--was it? Perhaps. Even Roy could +not listen unmoved, when the spirit shook the frail creature like a gust +of wind and the hollow chest-notes vibrated with appeal or command. Such +men--and India is full of them--are spiritual dynamos. Who can calculate +their effect on an emotional race? And they no longer confine their +influence to things spiritual. They, too, have caught the modern disease +of politics for the million. And the supreme appeal is to youth--plastic +and impressionable, aflame with fervours of the blood that can be +conjured, by heady words, into fervours infinitely more dangerous to +themselves and their country. + +In an atmosphere dense with spilled kerosene, with over-breathed air and +over-charged emotion, that appeal rang out like a trumpet blast. + +"It is to youth the divine message has come in all ages; the call to +martyrdom and dedication. 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' said +the inspired Founder of Christianity. So also I say in this time of +revival, suffer the young to fling themselves into the arms of the +Mother. My sons, she cries, go back to the Vedas. You will find all +wisdom there. Reject this alien gift--however finely gilded--of a +civilisation inferior to your own. Hindu Rishis were old in wisdom when +these were still unclothed savages coloured with blue paint. Shall the +sacred Motherland be inoculated with Western poison? It is for the +young to decide--to act. Nerve your arms with valour. Bring offerings +acceptable, to the shrine of Kali Mai. Does she demand a sheep? A +buffalo? A cocoanut? Ask yourselves. The answer is written in your +hearts----" + +His emaciated arms shot up and outward in a gesture the more impressive +because it was maintained. For a prolonged moment the holy one seemed to +hover above his audience--as it were an eagle poised on outspread +wings.... + +Roy came to himself with a start. His friend the policeman had plucked +his sleeve; and they retreated a step or two through the open door. + +"The Sahib heard?" queried Mán Singh in cautious undertone. + +"There's hearing--and hearing," said Roy, aware of some cryptic message +given and understood. "I take it _they_ all know what he's driving at." + +"True talk. They know. But _he_ has not said. Therefore he goes in +safety when he should be picking oakum in the jail khana. They are +cunning as serpents these holy ones." + +"They have the gift of tongues," said Roy. "May one ask what is Mai +Kali's special taste in sacrifices?" + +The Sikh gave him an odd look. "The blood of white goats--meaning +Sahibs, Hazúr."--Roy's 'click' was Oriental to a nicety.--"'A white goat +for Kali' is an old Bengali catchword. Hark how their tongues wag. But +there is still another--much esteemed by the student-_lóg_; one who can +skilfully flavour a _pillau_[16] of learned talk, as the Swami can +flavour a pillau of religion. Where he comes, there will be trouble +afterwards, and arrests. But no Siri Chandranath. He is off making +trouble elsewhere." + +"Chandranath--_here_?" Roy's heart gave a jerk, half excitement, half +apprehension. + +"Your Honour has heard the man?" + +"No. I'm glad of the chance." + +As they entered, the second speaker stepped on to the platform.... + +True talk, indeed! There stood the boy who had whimpered under Scab +Major's bullying, in the dark coat and turban of the educated Indian; +his back half turned, in confidential talk with a friend, who had set a +carafe and tumbler ready to hand. The light of a wall lamp shone full on +his friend's face--clean-cut, handsome, unmistakable.... + +_Dyán_! Dyán--and Chandranath! It was the conjunction that confounded +Roy and tinged elation with dismay. He could hardly contain himself till +Dyán joined the audience; standing a little apart; not taking a seat. +Something in his face reminded Roy of the strained fervour in his letter +to Arúna. Carefully careless, he edged his way through the outer fringe +of the audience, and volunteered a remark or two in Hindustani. + +"A full meeting, brother. Your friend speaks well?" + +Dyán turned with a start. "Where are _you_ from, that you have not heard +him?" He scrutinised Roy's appearance. "A hill man----?" + +Roy edged nearer and spoke in English under his breath. "Dyán--look at +me. Don't make a scene. I am Roy--from Jaipur." + +In spite of the warning, Dyán drew back sharply. "_What_ are you here +for--spying?" + +"No. Hoping to find you. Because--I care; and Arúna cares----" + +"Better to care less and understand more," Dyán muttered brusquely. "No +time for talk now. Listen. You may learn a few things Oxford could not +teach." + +The implied sneer enraged Roy; but listen he must, perforce: and in the +space of half an hour he learnt a good deal about Chandranath and the +mentality of his type. + +To the outer ear, he was propounding the popular modern doctrine of +'Yoga by action.' To the inner ear he was extolling passion and +rebellion in terms of a creed that enjoins detachment from both; +inciting to political murder, under sanction of the divine dictum, 'Who +kills the body kills naught ... Thy concern is with action alone, never +with results.' And his heady flights of rhetoric, like those of the +Swami, were frankly aimed at the scores of half-fledged youths who hung +upon his utterance. + +"What are the first words of the young child? What are the first words +in your own hearts?" he cried, indicating that organ with a dramatic +forefinger. "_I want_! It is the passionate cry of youth. By indomitably +uttering it, he can dislodge mountains into the sea. And in India to-day +there exist mountains necessary to be hurled into the sea!" His +significant pause was not lost on his hearers--or on Roy. +"'Many-branched and endless are the thoughts of the irresolute.' But to +him who cries ardently, '_I want_,' there is no impediment, except +paucity of courage to snatch the seductive object. Deaf to the anćmic +whisper of compunction, remembering that sin taints only the weak, he +will be translated to that dizzy eminence, where right and wrong, truth +and untruth, become as pigmies, hardly discerned by the naked eye. There +dwells Káli--the shameless and pitiless; and believing our country that +deity incarnate, _her_ needs must be our gods. 'Her image make we in +temple after temple--Bande Mátaram?'" The invocation was flung back to +him in a ragged shout. Here and there a student leapt to his feet +brandishing a clenched fist. "Compose your laudable intoxication, +brothers. I do not say, 'Be violent.' There is a necromancy of the +spirit more potent than weapons of the flesh:--the delusion of +irresistible suggestion that will conquer even truth itself...." + +Abstraction piled on abstraction; perversion on perversion; and that +deluded crowd plainly swallowing it all as gospel truth----! To Roy the +whole exhibition was purely disgustful; as if the man had emptied a +dust-bin under his aristocratic nose. Once or twice he glanced covertly +at Dyán, standing beside him; at the strained intentness of his face, +the nervous clenched hand. Was this the same Dyán who had ridden and +argued and read 'Greats' with him only four years ago--this hypnotised +being who seemed to have forgotten his existence----? + +Thank God! At last it was over! But while applause hummed and fluttered, +there sprang on to the platform, unannounced, a wiry keen-faced man, +with the parted beard of a Sikh. + +"Brothers--I demand a hearing!" he cried aloud; "I who was formerly +hater of the British, preaching all manner of violence--I have been +three years detained in Germany; and I come back now, with my eyes +open, to say all over India--cease your fool's talk about +self-government and tossing mountains into the sea! Cease making +yourselves drunk with words and waving your Vedic flags and stand by the +British--your true friends----" + +At that, cries and counter-cries drowned his voice. Books were hurled; +no other weapon being handy; and Roy noted, with amused contempt, that +Chandranath hastily disappeared from view. + +The Sikh laughed in the face of their opposition. Dexterously catching a +book, he hurled it back; and once more made his strong voice heard above +the clamour. "Fools--and sheep! You may stop your ears now. In the end I +will make you hear----" + +Shouted down again, he vanished through a side exit; and, in the turmoil +that followed, Roy's hand closed securely on Dyán's arm. Throughout the +stormy interlude, he had stood rigidly still: a pained, puzzled frown +contracting his brows. Yet it was plain he would have slipped away +without a word, but for Roy's detaining grasp. + +"You don't go running off--now I've found you," said he good-humouredly. +"I've things to say. Come along to my place and hear them." + +Dyán jerked his imprisoned arm. "Very sorry. I have--important duties." + +"To-morrow night then? I'm lodging with Krishna Lal. And--look here, +_don't_ mention me to your friend the philosopher! I know more about him +than you might suppose. If you still care a damn for me--and the others, +do what I ask--and keep your mouth shut----" + +Dyán's frown was hostile; but his voice was low and troubled. "For God's +sake leave me alone, Roy. Of course--I care. But that kind of caring is +carnal weakness. We, who are dedicated, must rise above such weakness, +above pity and slave-morality, giving all to the Mother----" + +"Dyán--have you forgotten--_my_ mother?" Roy pressed his advantage in +the same low tone. + +"No. Impossible. She was _Dévi_--Goddess; loveliest and kindest----" + +"Well, in her name, I ask you--come to-morrow evening and have a talk." + +Dyán was silent; then, for the first time, he looked Roy straight in the +eyes. "In her name--I will come. Now let me go." + +Roy let him go. He had achieved little enough. But for a start it was +not so bad. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 16: An Indian dish.] + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "When we have fallen through storey after storey of our vanity and + aspiration, it is then that we begin to measure the stature of our + friends."--R.L.S. + + +Next evening Dyán arrived. He stayed for an hour, and did most of the +talking. But his unnatural volubility suggested disturbance deep down. + +Only once Roy had a glimpse of the true Dyán, when he presented Arúna's +'_prasád_,' consecrated by her touch. In silence Dyán set it on the +table; and reverently touched, with his finger-tips, first the small +parcel, then his own forehead. + +"Arúna--sister," he said on an under breath. But he would not be drawn +into talking of her, of his grandfather, or of home affairs: and his +abrupt departure left Roy with a maddening sense of frustration. + +He lay awake half the night; and reached certain conclusions that atoned +for a violent headache next morning. First and best--Dyán was not a +genuine convert. All this ferment and froth did not spell reasoned +conviction. He was simply ensnared; his finer nature warped by the +'delusion of irresistible suggestion,' deadlier than any weapon of War. +His fanatical loyalty savoured of obsession. So much the better. An +obsession could be pricked like an air-ball with the right weapon at the +right moment. That, as Roy saw it, was his task:--in effect, a ghostly +duel between himself and Chandranath for the soul of Dyán Singh; and the +fate of Arúna virtually hung on the issue. + +Should he succeed, Chandranath would doubtless guess at his share in +Dyán's defection; and few men care about courting the enmity of the +unscrupulous. That is the secret power behind the forces of anarchy, +above all in India, where social and spiritual boycott can virtually +slay a man without shedding of blood. For himself, Roy decided the game +was worth the candle. The question remained--how far that natural +shrinking might affect Dyán? And again--how much did he know of +Chandranath's designs on Arúna? + +Roy decided to spring the truth on him next time--and note the effect. +Dyán had said he would come again one evening; and--sooner than Roy +expected--he came. Again he was abnormally voluble, as if holding his +cousin at arm's length by italicising his own fanatical fervour, till +Roy's impatience subsided into weariness and he palpably stifled a yawn. + +Dyán, detecting him, stopped dead, with a pained, puzzled look that went +to Roy's heart. For he loved the real Dyán, even while he was bored to +extinction with the semi-religious verbiage that poured from him like +water from a jug. + +"Awfully sorry," he apologised frankly. "But I've been over-dosed with +that sort of stuff lately; and I'm damned if I can swallow it like you +do. Yet I'm dead keen for India to have the best, all round, that she's +capable of digesting--yet. So's Grandfather. You _can't_ deny it." + +Dyán frowned irritably. "Grandfather's prejudiced and old-fashioned." + +"He's longer-sighted than most of your voluble friends. He doesn't +rhapsodise. He _knows_.--But I'm not old-fashioned. Nor is Arúna." + +"No, poor child; only England-infatuated. She is unwise not taking this +chance of an educated husband----" + +"And _such_ a husband!" Roy struck in so sharply that Dyán stared +open-mouthed. + +"How the devil can _you_ know?" + +"And how the devil can you _not_ know," countered Roy, "when it's your +precious paragon--Chandranath." + +He scored his point clean and true. "Chandranath!" Dyán echoed blankly, +staring into the fire. + +Roy said nothing; simply let the fact sink in. Then, having dealt the +blow, he proffered a crumb of consolation, "Perhaps he prefers to keep +quiet till he's pulled it off. But I warn you, if he persists, I shall +put every feasible spoke in his wheel." + +Dyán faced him squarely. "You seem very intimate with our affairs. Who +told you this?" + +"Arúna--herself." + +"You are also very intimate--with her." + +"As she has lost her brother, her natural protector, I do what I can--to +make up." + +Dyán winced and stole a look at him. "Why not make up for still greater +lack--and marry her yourself?" + +It was he who hit the mark this time. Roy's blood tingled; but voice and +eyes were under control. + +"I've only been there a few weeks. The question has not arisen." + +"Your true meaning is--it _could not arise_. They were glad enough for +her service in England; but whatever her service, or her loving, she +must not marry an Englishman, even with the blood of India in his veins. +That is our reward--both----" + +It was the fierce bitter Dyán of that long ago afternoon in New College +Lane. But Roy was too angry on his own account to heed. He rose +abruptly. + +"I'll trouble you not to talk like that." + +Dyán rose also, confronting him. "I _must_ say what is in mind--or go. +Better accept the fact--it is useless to meet." + +"I refuse to accept the fact." + +"But--there it is. I only make you angry. And you imply evil of the +man--I admire." + +He so plainly boggled over the words that Roy struck without hesitation. + +"Dyán, tell me straight--_do_ you admire him? Would you have Arúna marry +him?" + +"N--no. Impossible. There is--another kind of wife," he blurted out, +averting his eyes; but before Roy could speak, he had pulled himself +together. "However--I mustn't stay talking. Good-night." + +Roy's anger--fierce but transient, always--had faded. "There are some +ties you can't break, Dyán, even with your Bande Mátaram. Come again +soon." + +Impossible to resist the friendly tone. "But," he asked, "how long are +you hanging about Delhi like this?" + +"As long as I choose." + +"But--why?" + +"To see something of you, old chap. It seems the only way--unless I can +persuade you to chuck all this poisonous vapouring, and come back to +Jaipur with me. Arúna's waiting--breaking her heart--longing to see +you...." + +He knew he was rushing his fences; but the mood was on; the chance too +good to lose. + +Dyán's eyes lightened a moment. Then he shook his head. "I am too much +involved." + +"You _will_ come, though, in the end," Roy said quietly. "I can wait. +Sunday, is it? And we'll bar politics--as we did in the good days. Don't +you want to hear of them all at Home?" + +"Sometimes--yes. But perhaps--better not. You are a fine fellow, +Roy--even to quarrel with. Good-night." They shook hands warmly. + +On the threshold, Dyán turned, hesitated; then--in a hurried +murmur--asked: "_Where_ is she--what's she doing now ... Tara?" + +He was obviously unaware of having used her name: and Roy, though +startled, gave no sign. + +"She's still in Serbia. She's been simply splendid. Head over ears in it +all from the start."--He paused--"Shall I tell her--when I write ... +about you?" + +Dyán shrugged his shoulders. "Waste of ink and paper. It would not +interest her." + +"It would. I know Tara. What you are doing now would hurt her--keenly." + +"Tcha!" The sharp sound expressed sheer unbelief. It also expressed +pain. "Good-night," he added, for the third time; and went out--leaving +Roy electrified; a-tingle with the hope of success at last. + +Tara was not forgotten; though Dyán had been trying to pretend she +was--even to himself. Ten chances to one, she was still at the core +everything; even his present incongruous activities.... + +Roy paced the room; his imagination alight; his own recoil from the +conjunction, overborne by immediate concern for Dyán. Unable to forget +her--who could?--he had thrust the pain of remembering into the dark +background of his mind; and there it remained--a hard knot of soreness +and bitterness--as Arúna had said. And all that bottled-up bitterness +had been vented against England--an unconscious symbol of Tara, desired +yet withheld; while the intensity of his thwarted passion sought and +found an outlet in fervent adoration of his country visualised as woman. + +Right or wrong--that was how Roy saw it. And the argument seemed +psychologically sound. Cruel to be kind, he must touch the point of +pain; draw the hidden thing into the open; and so reawaken the old Dyán, +who could arraign the new one far more effectually than could Roy +himself or another. Seized with his idea, he indulged in a more hopeful +letter to Arúna; and had scarcely patience to wait for Sunday. + + * * * * * + +In leisurely course it arrived--that last Sunday of the Great War. The +Chandni Chowk was a-bubble with strange and stirring rumours; but the +day waned and the evening waned--and no Dyán appeared. + +On Monday morning--still no word: but news, so tremendous, flashed half +across the world, that Dyán and his mysterious defection flickered like +a match at midday. + +The War was over--virtually over. From the Vosges to the sea, not the +crack of a rifle nor the moan of a shell; only an abrupt, dramatic +silence--the end! Belief in the utter cessation of all that wonderful +and terrible activity, penetrated slowly. And as it penetrated Roy +realised, with something like dismay, that the right and natural sense +of elation simply was not. He actually felt depressed. Shrink as he +might from the jar of conflict, the sure instinct of a soldier race +warned him that hell holds no fury and earth no danger like a ruthless +enemy not decisively smitten. The psychology of it was beyond +him--shrouded in mystery. + +Not till long afterwards did he know how many, in England and Prance, +had shared his bewildered feeling; how British soldiers in Belgium had +cried like children, had raged almost to the point of mutiny. But one +thing he knew--steeped as he was in the sub-strata of Eastern thought +and feeling. India would never understand. Visible, spectacular victory, +alone could impress the East: and such an impression might have +counteracted many mistakes that had gone before.... + +Tuesday brought no Dyán; only a scrawled note: "Sorry--too much +business. Can't come just now." _If_ one could take that at its face +value----! But it might mean anything. Had Chandranath found out--and +had Dyán not the moral courage to go his own way? + +He knew by now where his cousin lodged; but had never been there. It was +in one of the oldest parts of the city; alive with political intrigue. +If Roy's nationality were suspected, 'things' might happen, and it was +clearly unfair on his father to run needless risks. But this was +different. 'Things' might be happening to Dyán. + +So, after nearly a week of maddening suspense, he resolved--with all due +caution--to take his chance. + + * * * * * + +A silvery twilight was ebbing from the sky when he plunged into a maze +of narrow streets and by-lanes where the stream of Eastern life flows +along immemorial channels scarcely stirred by surface eddies of +'advance.' + +Threading his way through the crowd, he found the street and the +landmark he sought: a doorway, adorned with a faded wreath of marigolds, +indication of some holy presence within; and just beyond it, a +low-browed arch, almost a tunnel. It passed under balconied houses +toppling perilously forward; and as Roy entered it, a figure darkened +the other end. He could only distinguish the long dark coat and turbaned +head: but there flashed instant conviction--Chandranath! + +Alert, rather than alarmed, he hurried forward, hugging the opposite +wall. At the darkest point they crossed. Roy felt the other pause, +scrutinise him--and pass on. The relief of it! And the ignominy of +suddenly feeling the old childish terror, when you had turned your back +on a dark room. It was all he could do not to break into a run.... + +In the open court, set round with tottering houses, a sacred neem tree +made a vast patch of shadow. Near it, a rickety staircase led up to +Dyán's roof room. Roy, mounting cautiously, knocked at the highest door. + +"Are you there? It's Roy," he called softly. + +A pause:--then the door flew open and Dyán stood before him, in loose +white garments; no turban; a farouche look in his eyes. + +"My God--_Roy_! Crazy of you! I never thought----" + +"Well, I got sick of waiting. I suppose I can come in?" Roy's impatience +was the measure of his relief. + +Dyán moved back a pace, and, as Roy stepped on to the roof, he carefully +closed the door. + +"Think--if you had come three minutes earlier! He only left me just +now--Chandranath." + +"And passed me in the archway," added Roy with his touch of bravado. +"I've as much right to be in Delhi--and to vary my costume--as your +mysteriously potent friend. It's a free country." + +"It is fast becoming--not so free." Dyán lowered his voice, as if afraid +he might be overheard. "And you don't consider the trouble it might +make--for me." + +"How about the trouble you've been making for me? What's wrong?" + +Dyán passed a nervous hand across his eyes and forehead. "Come in. It's +getting cold out here," he said, in a repressed voice. Roy followed him +across the roof top, with its low parapet and vault of darkening sky, up +three steps, into an arcaded room, where a log fire burned in the open +hearth. Shabby, unrelated bits of furniture gave the place a comfortless +air. On a corner table strewn with leaflets and pamphlets ("Poisoned +arrows, up to date!" thought Roy), a typewriter reared its hooded head. +The sight struck a shaft of pain through him. Arúna's Dyán--son of kings +and warriors--turning his one skilful hand to such base uses! + +"What's wrong?" he repeated with emphasis. "I want a straight answer, +Dyán. I've risked something to get it." + +Dyán sat down near a small table, and took his head between his hands. +"There is--so much wrong," he said, looking steadily up at Roy. "I am +feeling--like a man who wakes too suddenly after much sleepwalking." + +"Since when?" asked Roy, keeping himself in hand. "What's jerked you +awake? D'you know?" + +"There have been many jerks. Seeing you; Arúna's offering; this news of +the War; and something ... you mentioned last time." + +"What was that ... Tara?" Roy lunged straight to the middle of the +wound. + +Dyán started. "But--how----! I never said...." he stammered, visibly +shaken. + +"It didn't need saying. Arúna told me--the fact; and my own wits told me +the rest. You're not honestly keen--are you?--to shorten the arm of the +British Raj and plunge India into chaos?" + +"No--no." A very different Dyán, this, to the one who had poured out +stock phrases like water only a week ago. + +"Isn't bitterness--about Tara, at the back of it! Face that straight. +And--if it's true, say so without false shame." + +Dyán was silent a long while, staring into the fire. "Very strange. I +had no idea," he said at last. The words came slowly, as if he were +thinking aloud. "I was angry--miserable; hating you all; even--very +nearly--_her_. Then came the War; and I thought--now our countries will +become like one. I will win her by some brave action--she who is the +spirit of courage. From France, after all that praise of Indians in the +papers, I wrote again. No use. After that, I hoped by some brave action, +I might be killed. Instead, through stupid carelessness, I am only +maimed--as you see. I was foolishly angry when Indian troops were sent +away from France: and my heart became hard like a nut."--He had emerged +from his dream now and was frankly addressing Roy----"I knew, if I went +home, they would insist I should marry. Quite natural. But for me--not +thinkable. Yet I _must_ go back to India. And there, in Bombay, I heard +Chandranath speak. He was just back from deportation; and to me his +words were like leaping flames. All the fire of my passion--choked up in +me--could flow freely in service of the Mother. I became intoxicated +with the creed of my new comrades: there is neither truth nor untruth, +right nor wrong; there is only the Mother. I was filled with the joy of +dedication and unquestioning surrender. It gave me visions like opium +dreams. Both kinds of opium I have taken freely,--while walking in my +sleep. I was ready for taking life; any desperate deed. Instead--Tcha! I +have to take money, like a common dacoit, because police must be +bribed, soldiers tempted, meetings multiplied...." + +"It takes more than the blood of white goats to oil the wheels of your +chariot," said Roy, very quiet, but rather grim. "And he's not the man +to do his own dirty work--eh?" + +"No. He is only very clever to dress it up in fine arguments. All money +is the Mother's. Only they are thieves who selfishly hide it in banks +and safes. Those who release it for her use are deliverers ..." he broke +off with a harsh laugh. "In spite of education, we Indians are too +easily played upon, Roy. If you had not spoken--of her, I might have +swallowed--even that. Thieving--bah! Killing is man's work. There is +sanction in the Gita----" + +"Sanction be damned!" Roy cut in sharply. "You might as well say +Shakespeare sanctioned theft because he wrote, 'Who steals my purse +steals trash!' The only sanction worth anything is inside you. And you +didn't seem to find it there. But let's get at the point. Did you +refuse?" + +"No. Only--for the first time, I demurred; and because the need is +urgent, he became very violent--in language. It was almost a quarrel." + +"Clear proof you scored! Did you mention--Arúna?" + +Dyán shook his head. "If _I_ become violent, it is not only +language----" + +"No. You're a _man_. And now you're awake again, I can tell you +things--but I can't stay all night." + +"No. He is coming back. Only gone to Cantonments--on business." + +"What sort of business?" + +Dyán chewed his lip and looked uncomfortable. + +"Never mind, old chap. I can see a church by daylight! He's getting at +the troops. Spreading lies about the Armistice. And after that----?" + +"He is returning--about midnight, hoping to find me in a more reasonable +mind----" + +"And by Jove we won't disappoint him!" cried Roy, who had seen his +God-given chance. Springing up he gripped Dyán by the shoulder. "Your +reasonable mind will take the form of scooting back with me, _jut +put_;[17] and we can slip out of Delhi by the night mail. Time's +precious. So hurry up." + +But Dyán did not stir. He sat there looking so plainly staggered that +Roy burst out laughing. + +"You're not half awake yet. You've messed about so long with men who +merely 'agitate' and 'inaugurate,' that you've forgotten the kind who +act first and talk afterwards. I give you ten minutes to scribble a +tender farewell. Then--we make tracks. It's all I came here for--if you +want to know. And I take it you're willing?" + +Dyán sighed. "I am willing enough. But--there are many complications. +You do not know. They are organising big trouble over the Rowlatt +Bill--and other things. I have not much secret information, or my life +would probably not be worth a pin. But it is all one complicated +network, and there are too easy ways in India for social and spiritual +boycott----" + +He enlarged a little; quoted cases that filled Roy with surprise and +indignation, but no way shook his resolve. + +"We needn't go straight to Jaipur. Quite good fun to knock round a bit. +Throw him off the scent, till he's got over the shock. We can wire our +news; Arúna will be too happy to fret over a little delay. And you won't +be ostracised among your own people. They want you. They want your help. +Grandfather does. The best _I_ could do was to run you to earth--open +your eyes----" + +"And by Indra you've _done_ it, Roy." + +"You'll come then?" + +"Yes, I'll come--and damn the consequences!" + +The Dyán of Oxford days was visibly emerging now: a veritable awakening; +the strained look gone from his face. + +It was Roy's 'good minute': and in the breathless rush that followed, he +swept Dyán along with him--unresisting, exalted, amazed---- + +The farewell letter was written; and Dyán's few belongings stowed into a +basket-box. Then they hurried down, through the dark courtyard into the +darker tunnel; and Roy felt unashamedly glad not to be alone. His feet +would hurry, in spite of him; and that kept him a few paces ahead. + +Passing a dark alcove, he swerved instinctively--and hoped to goodness +Dyán had not seen. + +Just before reaching the next one he tripped over something--taut string +or wire stretched across the passage. It should have sent him headlong +had he been less agile. As it was, he stumbled, cursed and kept his +feet. + +"'Ware man-trap!" he called back to Dyán, under his breath. + +Next instant, from the alcove, a shot rang out: and it was Dyán who +cursed; for the bullet had grazed his arm. + +They both ran now; and made no bones about it. Roy's sensations reminded +him vividly of the night he and Lance fled from the Turks. + +"We seem to have butted in and spoilt somebody's little game!" he +remarked, as they turned into a wider street and slackened speed. "How's +your arm?" + +"Nothing. A mere scratch." Dyán's tone was graver. "But that's most +unusual. I can't make it out----" + +"You're well quit of it all, anyhow," said Roy, and slipped a hand +through his arm. + + * * * * * + +Not till they were settling down for a few hours' sleep in the night +mail, did it dawn on Roy that the little game might possibly have been +connected with himself. Chandranath had seen him in that dress before. +He had just come very near quarrelling with Dyán. If he suspected Roy's +identity, he would suspect his influence.... + +He frankly spoke his thought to Dyán; and found it had occurred to him +already. "Not himself, of course," he added. "The gentleman is not +partial to firearms! But suspecting--he might have arranged; hoping to +catch you coming back--the swine! Naturally after this, he will go +further than suspecting!" + +"He can go to the devil--and welcome; now I've collared _you_!" said +Roy;--and slept soundly upon that satisfying achievement, through all +the rattle and clatter of the express. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 17: At once.] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "God uses us to help each other so." + --BROWNING. + + +It was distinctly one of Roy's great moments when, at last, they four +stood together in Sir Lakshman's room: the old man, outwardly +impassive--as became a Rajput--profoundly moved in the deep places of +his heart; Arúna, in Oxford gown and sari, radiant one moment; the +next--in spite of stoic resolves--crying softly in Dyán's arms. And Roy +understood only too well. The moment he held her hand and met her +eyes--he knew. It was not only joy at Dyán's return that evoked the +veiled blush, the laugh that trembled into tears. Conceit or no conceit, +his intuition was not to be deceived. + +And the conviction did not pass. It was confirmed by every day, every +hour he spent in her company. On the rare occasions, when they were +alone together, the very thing that must be religiously stifled and hid, +emanated from her like fragrance from a flower; sharply reawakening his +own temptation to respond--were it only to ease her pain. And there was +more in it than that--or very soon would be, if he hesitated much longer +to clinch matters by telling her the truth; though every nerve shrank +from the ordeal--for himself and her. Running away from oneself was +plainly a futile experiment. To have so failed with her, disheartened +him badly and dwarfed his proud achievement to an insignificant thing. + +To the rest, unaware, his triumph seemed complete, his risky adventure +justified beyond cavil. They all admitted as much;--even Vincent, who +abjured superlatives and had privately taken failure for granted. Roy, +in a fit of modesty, ascribed it all to 'luck.' By the merest chance he +had caught Dyán, on his own confession, just as the first flickers of +doubt were invading his hypnotised soul; just when it began to dawn on +him that alien hands were pulling the strings. He had already begun to +feel trapped; unwilling to go forward; unable to go back; and the fact +that no inner secrets were confided to him, had galled his Rajput vanity +and pride. In the event, he was thankful enough for the supposed slight; +since it made him feel appreciably safer from the zeal of his discarded +friends. + +Much of this he had confided to Roy, in fragments and jerks, on the +night of their amazing exit from Delhi; already sufficiently himself +again to puzzle frankly over that perverted Dyán; to marvel--with a +simplicity far removed from mere foolishness--"how one man can make a +magic in other men's minds so that he shall appear to them an eagle when +he is only a crow." + +"That particular form of magic," Roy told him, "has made half the +history of the world. We all like to flatter ourselves we're safe from +it--till we get bitten! You've been no more of a fool than the others, +Dyán--if that's any consolation." + +The offending word rankled a little. The truth of it rankled more. "By +Indra, I am no fool now. Perhaps he has discovered that already. I fancy +my letter will administer a shock. I wonder what he will do?" + +"He won't 'do.' You can bank on that. He may fling vitriol over you on +paper. But you won't have the pleasure of his company at Jaipur. He left +his card on us before the Dewáli. And there's been trouble since; +leaflets circulating mysteriously; an exploded attempt to start a +seditious 'rag.' So they're on the _qui vive._ He'll count that one up +against me: but I'll manage to survive." + +And Dyán, in the privacy of his heart, had felt distinctly relieved. Not +that he lacked the courage of his race; but, having seen the man for +years, as it were, through a magnifying lens, he could not, all in a +moment, see him for the thing he was:--dangerous as a snake, yet swift +as a snake to wriggle out of harm's way. + +He had not been backward, however, in awakening his grandfather to +purdah manoeuvres. Strictly in private--he told his cousin--there had +been ungoverned storms of temper, ungoverned abuse of Roy, who was +suspected by 'the Inside' of knowing too much and having undue influence +with the old man. 'The Inside,' he gathered, had from early days been +jealous of the favourite daughter and all her belongings. Naturally, in +Dyán's opinion, his sister ought to marry; and the sooner the better. +Perhaps he had been unwise, after all, insisting on postponement. By now +she would have been settled in her lawful niche instead of making +trouble with this craze for hospital nursing and keeping outside caste. +Not surprising if she shrank from living at home, after all she had been +through. Better for them both, perhaps, to break frankly with orthodox +Hinduism and join the Brahma Samáj. + +As Roy knew precisely how much--or rather, how little--Arúna liked +working in the wards, he suffered a pang at the pathos of her innocent +guile. And if Dyán had his own suspicions, he kept them to himself. He +also kept to himself the vitriolic outpouring which he had duly found +awaiting him at Jaipur. It contained too many lurid allusions to 'that +conceited, imperialistic half-caste cousin of yours'; and Roy might +resent the implied stigma as much as Dyán resented it for him. So he +tore up the effusion, intended for the eye of Roy, merely remarking that +it had enraged him. It was beneath contempt. + +Roy would like to have seen it, all the same; for he knew himself +quicker than Dyán at reading between the lines. The beggar would not hit +back straight. But given the chance, he might try it on some other +way--witness the pistol-shot in the arcade; a side light--or a side +flash--on the pleasant sort of devil he was! + +Back in the Jaipur Residency, in the garden that was 'almost England,' +back in his good familiar tweed coat and breeches, the whole Delhi +interlude seemed strangely theatrical and unreal; more like a vivid +dream than an experience in the flesh. + +But there was Dyán to prove it no dream; and the perilous charm of +Arúna, that must be resisted to the best of his power.... + + * * * * * + +All this stir and ferment within; yet not a surface ripple disturbed +the flow of those uneventful weeks between the return of Roy and the +coming of Lance Desmond for Christmas leave. + +It is thus that drama most often happens in life--a light under a +bushel; set in the midst, yet unseen. Vincent, delving in ethnological +depths, saw little or nothing outside his manuscript and maps. Floss +Eden--engrossed in her own drawing-room comedy with Captain Martin--saw +less than nothing, except that 'Mr Sinclair's other native cousin' came +too often to the house. For she turned up her assertive nose at 'native +gentlemen'; and confided to Martin her private opinion that Aunt Thea +went too far in that line. She bothered too much about other people all +round--which was true. + +She had bothered a good deal more about Floss Eden, in early days, than +that young lady at all realised. And now--in the intervals of organising +Christmas presents and Christmas guests--she was bothering a good deal +over Roy, whose absence had obviously failed to clear the air. + +Not that he was silent or aloof. But his gift of speech overlaid a +reticence deeper than that of the merely silent man; the kind she had +lived with and understood. Once you got past their defences, you were +unmistakably inside:--Vinx, for instance. But with Roy she was aware of +reserves within reserves, which made him the more interesting, but also +the more distracting, when one felt entitled to know the lie of the +land. For, Arúna apart, wasn't he becoming too deeply immersed in his +Indian relations--losing touch, perhaps, with those at home? Did it--or +did it not matter--that, day after day, he was strolling with Arúna, +riding with Dyán, pig-sticking and buck-hunting with the royal cheetahs +and the royal heir to the throne; or plunging neck deep in plans and +possibilities, always in connection with those two? His mail letters +were few and not bulky, as she knew from handling the contents of the +Residency mail-bag. And he very rarely spoke of them all: less than ever +of late. To her ardent nature it seemed inexplicable. Perhaps it was +just part of his peculiar 'inwardness.' She would have liked to feel +sure, however.... + +Vinx would say it was none of her business. But Lance would be a help. +She was counting on him to readjust the scales. Thank goodness for +Lance--giving up the Lahore 'week' and the Polo Tournament to spend +Christmas with her and Roy in the wilds of Rajputana. Just to have him +about the place again--his music, his big laugh, his radiant certainty +that, in any and every circumstance, it was a splendid thing to be +alive--would banish worries and lift her spirits sky-high. After the +still, deep waters of her beloved Vinx--whose strain of remoteness had +not been quite dispelled by marriage--and the starlit mysteries of Arúna +and the intriguing complexities of Roy, a breath of Lance would be tonic +as a breeze from the Hills. He was so clear and sure; not in flashes and +spurts, but continuously, like sunshine; because the clearness and +sureness had his whole personality behind them. And he could be counted +on to deal faithfully with Roy; perhaps lure him back to the Punjab. It +would be sad losing him; but in the distracting circumstances, a clean +cut seemed the only solution. She would just put in a word to that +effect: a weakness she had rarely been known to resist, however complete +her faith in the man of the moment. + +She simply dared not think of Arúna, who trusted her. It seemed like +betrayal--no less. And yet...? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "One made out of the better part of earth, + A man born as at sunrise." + --SWINBURNE. + + +It was all over--the strenuous joy of planning and preparing. Christmas +itself was over. From the adjacent borders of British India, five lonely +ones had been gathered in. There was Mr Mayne, Commissioner of Delhi, +Vincent's old friend of Kohat days, unmarried and alone in camp with a +stray Settlement Officer, whose wife and children were at Home. There +was Mr Bourne--in the Canals--large-boned and cadaverous, with a +sardonic gleam in his eye. Rumour said there had once been a wife and a +friend; now there remained only work and the whisky bottle; and he was +overdoing both. To him Thea devoted herself and her fiddle with +particular zest. The other two lonelies--a Mr and Mrs Nair--were medical +missionaries, fighting the influenza scourge in the Delhi area; +drastically disinfected--because of the babies; more than thankful for a +brief respite from their daily diet of tragedy, and from labours +Hercules' self would not have disdained. For all that, they had needed a +good deal of pressing. They had 'no clothes.' They were very shy. But +Thea had insisted; so they came--clothed chiefly in shyness and +gratitude, which made them shyer than ever. + +Roy, still new to Anglo-India, was amazed at the way these haphazard +humans were thawed into a passing intimacy by the sunshine of Thea's +personality. For himself, it was the nearest approach to the real thing +that he had known since that dear and dreamlike Christmas of 1916. It +warmed his heart, and renewed the well-spring of careless happiness that +had gone from him utterly since the blow fell; gone, so he believed, +for ever. + +Something of this she divined--and was glad. Yet her exigent heart was +not altogether at ease. His reaction to Lance, though unmistakable, fell +short of her confident expectation. He was still squandering far too +much time on the other two. Sometimes she felt almost angry with him: +jealous--for Lance. She knew how deeply he cared underneath; because she +too was a Desmond. And Desmonds could not care by halves. + +This morning, for instance, the wretch was out riding with Dyán; and +there was Lance, alone in the drawing-room strumming the accompaniments +of things they would play to-night: just a wandering succession of +chords in a minor key; but he had his father's gift of touch, that no +training can impart, and the same trick of playing pensively to himself, +almost as if he were thinking aloud. It was five years since she had +seen her father; and those pensive chords brought sudden tears to her +eyes. + +What did Lance mean by it--mooning about the piano like that? Had he +fallen in love? That was one of the few questions she did not dare ask +him. But here was her chance to 'put in a word' about Roy. + +So she strolled into the drawing-room and leaned over the grand piano. +His smile acknowledged her presence, and his pensive chords went +wandering softly away into the bass. + +"Idiot--what _are_ you doing?" she asked briskly, because the music was +creeping down her spine. "Talking to yourself?" + +"More or less." + +"Well--give over. I'm here. And it's a bad habit." + +He shook his head, and went wandering on. "In this form I find it +soothing and companionable." + +"Well, you oughtn't to be needing either at Christmas time under _my_ +roof, with Roy here and all--if he'd only behave. Sometimes I want to +shake him----" + +"Why--what's the matter with Roy?"--That innocent query checked her rush +of protest in mid career. Had he not even noticed? Men were the +queerest, dearest things!----"He looks awfully fit. Better all round. +He's pulling up. _You_ never saw him--you don't realise----" + +"But, my dear boy, do _you_ realise that he's getting rather badly +bitten with all this--Indian problems and Indian cousins----" + +Lance nodded. "I've been afraid of that. But one can't say much." + +"I can't. I was counting on you as the God-given antidote. And there he +is, still fooling round with Dyán, when _you've_ come all this way ... +It makes me wild. It isn't _fair_----" + +Her genuine distress moved Lance to cease strumming and bestow a +friendly pat on her hand. "Don't be giving yourself headaches and +heartaches over Roy and me, darlint. We're going strong, thanks very +much! It would take an earthquake to throw us out of step. If he chose +to chuck his boots at me, I wouldn't trouble--except to return the trees +if they were handy! Strikes me women don't yet begin to understand the +noble art of friendship----" + +"_Which_ is a libel--but let that pass! Besides--hasn't it struck you? +Arúna----" + +"My God!" His hands dropped with a crash on the keyboard. Then, in a low +swift rush: "Thea, you don't _mean_ it--you're pulling my leg." + +"Bible-oath I'm not. It's too safely tucked under the piano!" + +"My God!" he repeated softly, ignoring her incurable frivolity. "Has he +_said_ anything?" + +"No. But it's plain they're both smitten more or less." + +"Smitten be damned." + +"Lance! I won't have Arúna insulted. Let me tell you she's charming and +cultivated; much better company than Floss. And I love her like a +daughter----" + +"Would you have her marry _Roy_?" he flung out wrathfully. + +"Of course not. But still----" + +"_Me_--perhaps?" he queried with such fine scorn that she burst out +laughing. + +"You priceless gem! You are _the_ unadulterated Anglo-Indian!" + +"Well--what _else_ would I be? What else are you, by the same token?" + +"Not adulterated," she denied stoutly. "Perhaps a wee bit less +'prejudiced.' The awful result, I suppose, of failing to keep myself +scrupulously detached from my surroundings. Besides, you couldn't be +married twenty years to that Vinx and not widen out a bit. Of course I'm +quite aware that widening out has its insidious dangers and limitation +its heroic virtues--Hush! Don't fly into a rage. _You're_ not limited, +old boy. You loved--Lady Sinclair." + +"I adored her," Lance said very low; and his fingers strayed over the +keys again. "_But_--she was an accomplished fact. And--she was one in +many thousands. She's gone now, though. And there's poor Sir Nevil----" + +He rose abruptly and strode over to the fireplace. "Tell you what, Thea. +If the bee in Roy's bonnet is buzzing to _that_ tune, some one's got to +stop it----" + +"That's my point!" She swung round confronting him. "Why not whisk him +back to the Punjab? It does seem the only way----" + +Lance nodded again. "Now you talk sense. Mind, I don't believe he'll +come. Roy's a tougher customer than he looks to the naked eye. But I'll +have a shot at it to-night. If needs must, I'll tell him why. I can +swallow half a regiment of his Dyáns; but not--the other thing. I hope +you find us intact in the morning!" + +She flew to him and kissed him with fervour; and she was still in his +arms, when Roy strolled casually into the room. + + * * * * * + +There were only three outsiders that night: the State Engineer and two +British officers in the Maharajah's employ. But they sat down sixteen to +dinner; and, very shortly after, came three others in the persons of +Dyán and Sir Lakshman Singh, with his distinguished friend Mahomed +Inayat Khan, from Hyderabad. Nothing Thea enjoyed better than getting a +mixed batch of men together and hearing them talk--especially shop; for +then she knew their hearts were in it. They were happy. + +And to-night, her chance assortment was amazingly varied, even for +India:--Army, 'Political,' Civil; P.W.D. and Native States; New India, +in the person of Dyán; and not least, the 'medical mish' pair; an +element rich in mute inglorious heroism, as the villagers and 'depressed +classes' of India know. She took keen delight in the racial interplay of +thought and argument, with Roy, as it were, for bridge-builder between. +How he would relish the idea! He seemed very much in the vein this +evening, especially since his grandfather arrived. He was clearly making +an impression on Mr Mayne and Inayat Khan; and a needle-prick of remorse +touched her heart. For Arúna, annexed by Captain Martin's subaltern, was +watching him too, when she fancied no one was looking; and Lance, +attentively silent, was probably laying deep plans for his capture. A +wicked shame--but still...! + +As a matter of fact, Lance, too, was troubled with faint compunction. He +had never seen Roy in this kind of company, nor in this particular vein. +And, reluctantly, he admitted that it did seem rather a waste of his +mentally reviving vigour hauling him back to the common round of tennis +and dances and polo--yes, even sacred polo--when he was so dead keen on +this infernal agitation business, and seemed to know such a deuce of a +lot about it all. + +Lance himself knew far too little; and was anxious to hear more, for the +intimate, practical reason that he was not quite happy about his Sikh +troop. The Pathan lot were all right. But the Sikhs--his pride and +joy--were being 'got at' by those devils in the City. And, if these men +could be believed, 'things' were going to be very much worse; not only +'down country,' but also in the Punjab, India's sure shield against the +invader. To a Desmond, the mere suggestion of the Punjab turning traitor +was as if one impugned the courage of his father or the honour of his +mother; so curiously personal is India's hold upon the hearts of +Englishmen who come under her spell. + +So Lance listened intently, if a little anxiously, to all that Thea's +'mixed biscuits' had to say on that absorbing subject. For to-night shop +held the field: if that could be called shop, which vitally concerned +the fate of England and India, and of British dominion in the East. + +Agitation against the sane measures embodied in the Rowlatt Bills was +already astir, like bubbles round a pot before it boils. And Inayat Khan +had come straight from Bombay, where the National Congress had rejected +with scorn the latest palliative from Home; had demanded the release of +all revolutionaries, and wholesale repeal of laws against sedition. Here +was shop sufficiently ominous to overshadow all other topics: and there +was no _gęne_, no constraint. The Englishmen could talk freely in the +presence of cultured Indians who stood for Jaipur and Hyderabad, since +both States were loyal to the core. + +Dyán, like Lance, spoke little and pondered much on the talk of these +men, whose straight speech and thoughts were refreshing as their own sea +breezes after the fumes of rhetoric, the fog of false values that had +bemused his brain these three years. Strange how all the ugliness and +pain of hate had shrivelled away; how he could even shake hands, +untroubled, with that 'imperialistic bureaucrat' the Commissioner of +Delhi, whom he might have been told off, any day, to 'remove from this +mortal coil.' Strange to sit there, over against him, while he puffed +his cigar and talked, without fear, of increasing antagonism, increasing +danger to himself and his kind. + +"There's no sense in disguising the unpalatable truth that New India +hates us," said he in his gruff, deliberate voice. "Present company +excepted, I hope!" + +He gravely inclined his head towards Dyán, who responded mutely with a +flutter at his heart. Impossible! The man could not suspect----? + +And the man, looking him frankly in the eyes, added: "The spirit of the +Mutiny's not extinct--and we know it, those of us that count." + +Dyán simply sat dumfounded. It was Sir Lakshman who said, in his guarded +tone: "Nevertheless, sir, the bulk of our people are loyal and +peaceable. Only I fear there are some in England who do not count that +fact to their credit." + +"If they ever become anything else, it won't be to _our_ credit," put in +Roy. "If we can't stand up to bluster and sedition with that moral force +at our backs, we shall deserve to go under." + +"Well spoken, Roy," said his grandfather still more quietly. "Let us +hope it is not yet too late. Sadi says, 'The fountain-head of a spring +can be blocked with a stick; but in full flood, it cannot be crossed, +even on an elephant.'" + +They exchanged a glance that stirred Roy's pulses and gave him +confidence to go on: "I don't believe it is too late. But what bothers +me is this--are we treating our moral force as it deserves? Are we +giving them loyalty in return for theirs--the sort they can understand? +With a dumb executive and voluble 'patriots,' persuading or +intimidating, the poor beggars haven't a dog's chance, unless we openly +stand by them; openly smite our enemies--and theirs." + +He boldly addressed himself to Mayne, the sole symbol of authority +present; and the Commissioner listened, with a gleam of amused approval +in his eye. + +"You're young, Mr Sinclair--which doesn't mean you're wrong! Most of us, +in our limited fashion, are trying to do what we can on those lines. +But, after spending half a lifetime in this climate, doing our utmost to +give the peasant--_and_ the devil--his due, we're apt to grow +cynical----" + +"Not to mention suicidal!" grunted the slave of work and whisky. "We +Canal coolies--hardly visible to the naked eye--are adding something +like an Egypt a year to the Empire. But, bless you, England takes no +notice. Only let some underbred planter or raw subaltern bundle an +Indian out of his carriage, or a drunken Tommy kick his servant in the +spleen, and the whole British Constitution comes down about our ears!" + +"Very true, sir--very true!" Inayat Khan leaned forward. His teeth +gleamed in the dark of his beard. His large firm-featured face abounded +in good sense and good humour. "How shall a man see justly if he holds +the telescope wrong way round, as too many do over there. It also +remains true, however, that the manners of certain Anglo-Indians create +a lot of bad feeling. Your so-called reforms do not interest the masses +or touch their imagination. But the boot of the low-class European +touches their backs and their pride and hardens their hearts. That is +only human nature. In the East a few gold grains of courtesy touch the +heart more than a _khillat_[18] of political hotch-potch. I +myself--though it is getting dangerous to say so!--am frankly opposed to +this uncontrolled passion for reform. When all have done their duty in +this great struggle, why such undignified clamour for rewards, which are +now being flung back in the giver's teeth. It has become a vicious +circle. It was British policy in the first place--not so?--that stirred +up this superficial ferment; and now it grows alarming, it is doctored +with larger doses of the same medicine. We Indians who know how little +the bulk of India has really changed, could laugh at the tamasha of +Western fancy-dress, in small matters; but time for laughing has gone +by. Time has come for saying firmly--all rights and aspirations will be +granted, stopping _short_ of actual government--otherwise----!" + +He flung up his hands, looked round at the listening faces, and realised +how completely he had let himself go. "Forgive me, Colonel. I fear I am +talking too much," he said in a changed tone. + +"Indeed no," Colonel Leigh assured him warmly. "In these difficult days, +loyal and courageous friends like yourself are worth their weight in +gold mohurs!" + +Visibly flattered, the Moslem surveyed his own bulky person with a +twinkle of amusement. "If value should go by weight, Inayat Khan would +be worth a king's ransom! But I assure you, Colonel, your country has +many hundreds of friends like myself all over India, if only she would +seek them out and give them encouragement--as Mr Sinclair said--instead +of wasting it on volubles, who will never cease making trouble till +India is in a blaze." + +As the man's patent sincerity had warmed the hearts of his hearers, so +the pointed truth of that last pricked them sharply and probed deep. For +they knew themselves powerless; mere atoms of the whirling dust-cloud, +raised, in passing, by the chariot-wheels of Progress--or perdition? + +The younger men rose briskly, as if to shake off some physical +discomfort. Dyán--very much aware of Arúna and the subaltern--approached +them with a friendly remark. Roy and Lance said, "Play up, Thea! Your +innings," almost in a breath--and crooked little fingers. + +Thea needed no second bidding. While the men talked, an insidious +depression had stolen over her spirit--and brooded there, light and +formless as a river mist. Half an hour with her fiddle, and Lance at his +best, completely charmed it away. But the creepiness of it had been very +real: and the memory remained. + + * * * * * + +When all the others had dispersed, she lingered over the fire with Roy, +while Lance, at the piano, with diplomatic intent, drifted into his +friend's favourite Nocturne--the Twelfth; that inimitable rendering of a +mood, hushed yet exalted, soaring yet brooding, 'the sky and the nest as +well.' The two near the fire knew every bar by heart, but as the liquid +notes stole out into the room, their fitful talk stopped dead. + +Lance was playing superbly, giving every note its true value; the +cadence rising and falling like waves of a still sea; softer and softer; +till the last note faded away, ghostlike--a sigh rather than a sound. + +Roy remained motionless, one elbow on the mantelpiece. Thea's lashes +were wet with the tears of rarefied emotion--tears that neither prick +nor burn. The silence itself seemed part of the music; a silence it were +desecration to break. Without a word to Roy, she crossed the room; +kissed Lance good-night; clung a moment to his hands that had woven the +spell, smiling her thanks, her praise; and slipped away, leaving the two +together. + +Roy subsided into a chair. Lance came over to the fire and stood there +warming his hands. + +It was a minute or two before Roy looked up and nodded his +acknowledgments. + +"You're a magician, old chap. You play that thing a damn sight too +well." + +He did not add that his friend's music had called up a vision of the +Home drawing-room, clear in every detail; Lance at the piano--his last +week-end from Sandhurst--playing the 'thing' by request; himself +lounging on the hearthrug, his head against his mother's knee; the very +feel of her silk skirt against his cheek, of her fingers on his hair.... +Nor did he add that the vision had spurred his reluctant spirit to a +resolve. + +The more practical soul of Lance Desmond had already dropped back to +earth, as a lark drops after pouring out its heart in the blue. In spite +of concern for Roy, he was thinking again of his Sikhs. + +"I suppose one can take it," he remarked thoughtfully, "that Vinx and +Mayne and that good old Moslem johnny know what they're talking about?" + +Roy smiled--having jumped at the connection. "I'm afraid," he said, "one +can." + +"You think big trouble is coming--organised trouble?" + +"I do. That is, unless some 'strong silent man' has the pluck to put his +foot down in time, and chance the consequences to himself. Thank God, +we've another John Lawrence in the Punjab." + +"And it's the Punjab that matters----" + +"Especially a certain P.C. Regiment--eh?" + +Lance was in arms at once:--that meant he had touched the spot. "No +flies on the Regiment. Trust Paul. It's only--I get bothered about a +Sikh here and there." + +"Quite so. The blighters have taken particular pains with the Sikhs. +Realising that they'll need some fighting stuff. And Lahore's a bad +place. I expect they sneak off to meetings in the City." + +"Devil a doubt of it. Mind you, I trust them implicitly. But, outside +their own line, they're credulous as children--_you_ know." + +"Rather. In Delhi, I had a fair sample of it." + +Another pause. It suddenly occurred to Lance that his precious Sikhs +were not supposed to be the topic of the evening. "You're quite fit +again, Roy. And those blooming fools chucked you like a cast horse----" +he broke out in a spurt of vexation. "I wish to God you were back with +your old Squadron." + +And Roy said from his heart, "I wish to God I was." + +"Paul misses you, though he never says much. The new lot from home are +good chaps. Full of brains and theories. But no knowledge. Can't get at +the men. You could still help unofficially in all sorts of ways.--Why +not come along back with me? Haven't you been pottering round here long +enough?" + +Roy shook his head. "Thanks all the same, for the invite. Of course I'd +love it. But--I've things to do. There's a novel taking shape--and +other oddments. I've done precious little writing here. Too much +entangled with human destinies. I _must_ bury myself somewhere and get a +move on. April it is. I won't fail you." + +Lance kicked an unoffending log. "Confound your old novel!"--A +portentous silence. "See here, Roy, I don't want to badger you. +But--well--if I'm to go back in moderate peace of mind, I want--certain +guarantees." + +Roy lifted his eyes. Lance frankly encountered them; and there ensued +one of those intimate pauses in which the unspeakable is said. + +Roy looked away. "Arúna?" He let fall the word barely above his breath. + +"Just that." + +"You're frightened--both of you? Oh yes--I've seen----" He fell silent, +staring into the fire. When he spoke again, it was in the same low, +detached tone. "You two needn't worry. The guarantee you're after was +given ... in July 1914 ... under the beeches ... at Home. _She_ +foresaw--understood. But she couldn't foresee ... the harder tug--now +she's gone. The ... association ... and all that." + +"Is it--only that?" + +"It's mostly that." + +To Lance Desmond, very much a man, it seemed the queerest state of +things; and he knew only a fragment of the truth. + +"Look here, Roy," he urged again. "Wouldn't the Punjab really be best? +Aren't you plunging a bit too deep----? Does your father realise? Thea +feels----" + +"Yes. Thea feels, bless her! But there's a thing or two she doesn't +_know_!" He lifted his head and spoke in an easier voice. "One queer +thing--it may interest you. Those few weeks of living as an Indian among +Indians--amazingly intensified all the other side of me. I never felt +keener on the Sinclair heritage and all it stands for. I never felt +keener on you two than all this time while I've been concentrating every +faculty on--the other two. Sounds odd. But it's a fact." + +"Good. And does--your cousin know ... about the guarantee?" + +"N--no. That's still to come." + +"_When----?_" + +Roy straightly returned his friend's challenging gaze. "Damn you!" he +said softly. Then, in a graver tone: "You're right. I've been shirking +it. Seemed a shame to spoil Christmas. Remains--the New Year. I fixed it +up--while you were playing that thing, to be exact." + +"Did I--contribute?" + +"You did--if that gives you any satisfaction!" He rose, stretched +himself and yawned ostentatiously. "My God, I wish it was over." + +Desmond said nothing. If Roy loved him more for one quality than +another, it was for his admirable gift of silence. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 18: Dress of honour.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of + pain--this gift of thine."--RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +It was the last day of the year; the last moon of the year, almost at +her zenith. Of all the Christmas guests Lance alone remained; and Thea +had promised him before leaving, a moonlight vision of Amber, the +Sleeping Beauty of Rajasthán. The event had been delayed till now, +partly because they waited on the moon; partly because they did not want +it to be a promiscuous affair. + +To Thea's lively imagination--and to Roy's no less--Amber was more than +a mere city of ghosts and marble halls. It was a symbol of Rajput +womanhood--strong and beautiful, withdrawn from the clamour of the +market-place, given over to her dreams and her gods. For though kings +have deserted Amber, the gods remain. There is still life in her temples +and the blood of sacrifice on her altar stones. Therefore she must not +be approached in the spirit of the tourist. And, emphatically, she must +not be approached in a motor-car; at least so far as Thea's guests were +concerned. Of course one knew she _was_ approached by irreverent cars; +also by tourists--unspeakable ones, who made contemptible jokes about 'a +slump in house property.' But for these vandalisms Thea Leigh was not +responsible. + +Her young ones, including Captain Martin, would ride; but, because of +Arúna, she and Vincent must submit to the barouche. So transparent was +the girl's pleasure at being included, that Thea's heart failed +her--knowing what she knew. + +Roy and Lance had ridden on ahead; out through the fortified gates into +the open desert, strewn with tumbled fragments of the glory that was +Rajasthán. There, where courtiers had intrigued and flattered, crows +held conference. On the crumbling arch of a doorway, that opened into +emptiness, a vulture brooded, heavy with feeding on those who had died +for lack of food. Knee-deep in the Mán Sagar Lake, grey cranes sought +their meat from God; every tint and curve of them repeated in the quiet +water. And there, beside a ruined shrine, two dead cactus bushes, with +their stiff distorted limbs, made Roy think suddenly of two dead Germans +he had come upon once--killed so swiftly that they still retained, in +death, the ghastly semblance of life. Why the devil couldn't a man be +rid of them? Dead Germans were not 'in the bond.'... + +"Buck up, Lance," he said abruptly; for Desmond, who saw no ghosts, was +keenly interested. "Let's quit this place of skulls and empty +eye-sockets. Amber's dead; but not utterly decayed." + +He knew. He had ridden out alone one morning, in the light of paling +stars, to watch the dawn steal down through the valley and greet the +sleeping city that would never wake again--half hoping to recapture the +miracle of Chitor. But Amber did not enshrine the soul of his mother's +race. And the dawn had proved merely a dawn. Moonlight, with its eerie +enchantment, would be oven more beautiful and fitting; but the pleasure +of anticipation was shadowed by his resolve. + +He had spoken of it only to Thea; asking her, when tea was over, to give +him a chance:--and now he was heartily wishing he had chosen any other +place and time than this.... + +The brisk canter to the foothills was a relief. Thence the road climbed, +between low, reddish-grey spurs, to the narrow pass, barred by a +formidable gate, that swung open at command, with a screech of rusty +hinges, as if in querulous protest against intrusion. + +Another gateway,--and yet another: then they were through the triple +wall that guards the dead city from the invader who will never come, +while both races honour the pact that alone saved desperate, stubborn +Rajputana from extinction. + +Up on the heights, it was still day; but in the valley it was almost +evening. And there--among deepening shadows and tumbled fragments of +hills--lay Amber: her palace and temples and broken houses crowding +round their sacred Lake, like Queens and their handmaids round the +shield of a dead King. + +Descending at a foot's pace, the chill of emptiness and of oncoming +twilight seemed to close like icy fingers on Roy's heart; though the +death of Amber was as nothing to the death of Chitor--the warrior-queen, +ravished and violently slain by Akbar's legions. Amber had, as it were, +died peacefully in her sleep. But there remained the all-pervading +silence and emptiness:--her sorrowful houses, cleft from roof to +roadway; no longer homes of men, but of the rock-pigeon, the peacock, +and the wild boar; stones of her crumbling arches thrust apart by roots +of acacia and neem; her streets choked with cactus and brushwood; her +beauty--disfigured but not erased--reflected in the unchanging mirror of +the Lake. + +If Roy and Lance had talked little before, they talked less now. From +the Lake-side they rode up, by stone pathways, to the Palace of stone +and marble, set upon a jutting rock and commanding the whole valley. +There, in the quadrangle, they left the horses with their grooms, who +were skilled in cutting corners and had trotted most of the way. + +Close to the gate stood a temple of fretted marble--neither ruined nor +deserted; for within were the priests of Kali, and the faint, sickly +smell of blood. Daybreak after daybreak, for centuries, the severed head +of a goat had been set before her, the warm blood offered in a bronze +bowl.... + +"Pah! Beastly!" muttered Lance. "I'd sooner have no religion at all." + +Roy smiled at him, sidelong--and said nothing. It _was_ beastly: but it +matched the rest. It was in keeping with the dusky rooms, all +damp-incrusted, the narrow passages and screens of marble tracery; the +cloistered hanging garden, beyond the women's rooms, their baths +chiselled out of naked rock. And the beastliness was off-set by the +beauty of inlay and carving and colour; by the splendour of bronze gates +and marble pillars, and slabs of carven granite that served as +balustrade to the terraced roof, where daylight still lingered and +azure-necked peacocks strutted, serenely immune. + +Seated on a carven slab, they looked downward into the heart of +desolation; upward, at creeping battlements and a little temple of Shiva +printed sharply on the light-filled sky. + +"Can't you _feel_ the ghosts of them all round you?" whispered Roy. + +"No, thank God, I can't," said practical Lance, taking out a cigarette. +But a rustle of falling stones made him start--the merest fraction. +"Perhaps smoke'll keep 'em off--like mosquitoes!" he added hopefully. + +But Roy paid no heed. He was looking down into the hollow shell of that +which had been Amber. Not a human sound anywhere; nor any stir of life, +but the soft ceaseless kuru-kooing doves, that nested and mated in those +dusky inner rooms, where Queens had mated with Kings. + +"'Thou hast made of a city an heap, of a defencéd city a ruin ...Their +houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, +and satyrs shall dance there,'" he quoted softly; adding after a pause, +"Mother had a great weakness for old Isaiah. She used to say he and the +minor prophets knew all about Rajasthán. The owls of Amber are blue +pigeons. But I hope she's spared the satyrs." + +"Globe-trotters!" suggested Lance. + +"Or 'Piffers' devoid of reverence!" retorted Roy. "Hullo! Here come the +others." + +Footsteps and voices in the quadrangle waked hollow echoes as when a +stone drops into a well. Presently they sounded on the stairs near by: +Flossie's rather boisterous laugh; Martin chaffing her in his husky +tones. + +"Great sport! Let's rent it off H.H. and gather 'em all in from the +highways and hedges for a masked fancy ball!" + +Roy stood up and squared his shoulders. "Satyrs dancing, with a +vengeance!" said he; but the gleam of Arúna's sari smote him silent. A +band seemed to tighten round his heart.... + + * * * * * + +Before tea was over, peacocks and pigeons had gone to roost among the +trees that shadowed the Lake; and the light behind the hills had passed +swiftly from gold to flame-colour, from flame-colour to rose. For the +sun, that had already departed in effect, was now setting in fact. + +"Hush--it's coming," murmured Thea:--and it came. + +Hollow thuds, quickening to a vibrant roar, swelled up from the temple +in the courtyard below. The Brahmins were beating the great tom-tom +before Kali's Shrine. + +It was the signal. It startlingly waked the dead city to discordant +life. Groanings and howlings and clashings, as of Tophet, were echoed +and re-echoed from every temple, every shrine; an orgy of demoniac +sounds; blurred in transit through the empty rooms beneath; pierced at +intervals by the undulating wail of ram's horns; the two reiterate notes +wandering, like lost souls, through a confused blare of cymbals and +bagpipes and all kinds of music. + +Flossie, with a bewitching grimace at Martin, clapped both hands over +her ears. Roy--standing by the balustrade with Arúna--was aware of an +answering echo somewhere in subconscious depths, as the discords rose +and fell above the throbbing undernote of the drum. It was as if the +claimant voices of the East cried out to the blood in his veins: 'You +are of us--do what you will; go where you will.' And all the while his +eyes never left Arúna's half-averted face. + +Sudden and clear from the heights came a ringing peal of bells, as it +were the voices of angels answering the wail of devils in torment. It +was from the little Shrine of Shiva close against the ramparts, etched +in outline, above the dark of the hills. + +Arúna turned and looked up at him. "Too beautiful!" she whispered. + +He nodded, and flung out an arm. "Look there!" + +Low and immense--pale in the pallor of the eastern sky--the moon hung +poised above massed shadows, like a wraith escaped from the city of +death. Moment by moment, she drew light from the vanished sun. Moment by +moment, under their watching eyes, she conjured the formless dark into a +new heaven, a new earth.... + +"Would you be afraid--to stroll round a little ... with me?" he asked. + +"Afraid? I would love it--if Thea will allow." This time she did not +look up. + +Vincent and Thea were sitting a little farther along the balustrade; +Lance beside them, imbibing tales of Rajasthán. Flossie and her Captain +had already disappeared. + +"_I'm_ going to be frankly a Goth and flash my electric torch into holes +and corners," Lance announced as the other two came up. "I bar being +intimidated by ghosts." + +"We're not going to be intimidated either," said Roy, addressing himself +to Thea. "And I guarantee not to let Arúna be spirited away." + +Vincent shot a look at his wife. "Don't wander too far," said he. + +"And don't hang about too long," she added. "It'll be cold going home." + +Though he was standing close to her, she could say no more. But, under +cover of the dusk, her hand found his and closed on it hard. + +The characteristic impulse heartened him amazingly, as he followed Arúna +down the ghostly stairway, through marble cloisters into the hanging +garden, misted with moonlight, fragrant with orange trees. + +And now there was more than Thea's hand-clasp to uphold him. Gradually +there dawned on him a faint yet sure intimation of his mother's +presence, of her tenderly approving love--dim to his brain, yet as +sensible to his spirit as light and warmth to his body. + +It did not last many moments; but--as in all contact with her--the clear +after-certainty remained.... + +Exactly what he intended to say he did not know even now. To speak the +cruel truth, yet by some means to soften the edge of it, seemed almost +impossible. But nerved by this vivid, exalted sense of her nearness, the +right moment, the right words could be trusted to come of themselves.... + +And Arúna, walking beside him in a hushed expectancy, was remembering +that other night, so strangely far away, when they had walked alone +under the same moon, and assurance of his love had so possessed her, +that she had very nearly broken her little chirágh. And to-night--how +different! Her very love for him, though the same, was not quite the +same. It seemed to depend not at all on nearness or response. Starved of +both, it had grown not less, but more. + +From a primitive passion it had become a rarefied emotional atmosphere +in which she lived and moved. And this garden of eerie lights and +shadows was saturated with it; thronged, to her fancy, with ghosts of +dead passions and intrigues, of dead Queens, in whom the twin flames of +love and courage could be quenched only by flames of the funeral pyre. +Their blood ran in her veins--and in his too. _That_ closeness of +belonging none could snatch from her. About the other, she was growing +woefully uncertain, as day followed day, and still no word. Was there +trouble after all! Would he speak to-night...? + +They had reached a dark doorway, and he was trying the handle. It opened +inwards. + +"I'm keen to go a little way up the hillside," he said, forcing himself +to break a silence that was growing oppressive. "To get a sight of the +Palace with the moon full on it. We'll be cautious--not go too far." + +"I am ready to go anywhere," she answered; and the fervour of that +simple statement told him she was not thinking of hillsides any more +than he was--at the back of his mind. + +Silence was unkinder than speech; and as they passed out into the open, +he scanned the near prospect for a convenient spot. Not far above them a +fragment of ruined wall, overhung by trees, ended in a broken arch; its +lingering keystone threatened by a bird-borne acacia. A fallen slab of +stone, half under it, offered a not too distant seat. Slab and arch were +in full light; the space beyond, engulfed in shadow. + +Far up the hillside a jackal laughed. Across the valley another answered +it. A monkey swung from a branch on to the slab, and sat there engaged +in his toilet--a very imp of darkness. + +"Not be-creeped--are you?" Roy asked. + +"Just the littlest bit! Nice kind of creeps. I feel quite safe--with +you." + +The path was rough in parts. Once she stumbled and his hand closed +lightly on her arm under the cloak. She felt safe with him--and he must +turn and smite her----! + +At their approach, the monkey fled with a gibbering squeak: and Roy +loosened his hold. Between them and the lake loomed the noble bulk of +the palace; roof-terraces and façades bathed in silver, splashed with +indigo shadow; but for them--mere man and woman--its imperishable +strength and beauty had suddenly become a very little thing. They +scarcely noticed it even. + +"There--sit," Roy said softly, and she obeyed. + +Her smile mutely invited him; but he could not trust himself--yet. He +might have known the moonlight would go to his head. + +"Arúna--my dear----" he plunged without preamble. "I took you away from +them all because--well--we can't pretend any more ... you and I. It's +fate--and there we are. I love you--dearly--truly. But...." + +How could one go on? + +"Oh, _Roy_!" + +Her lifted gaze, her low impassioned cry told all; and before that too +clear revealing his hard-won resolution quailed. + +"No--not that. I don't deserve it," he broke out, lashing himself and +startling her. "I've been a rank coward--letting things drift. But +honestly I hadn't the conceit--we were cousins ... it seemed natural. +And now ... _this_!" + +A stupid catch in his throat arrested him. She sat motionless; never a +word. + +Impulsively he dropped on one knee, to be nearer, yet not too near. +"Arúna--I don't know how to say it. The fact is ... they were afraid, at +Home, if I came out here, I might--it might ... Well, just what's come +to us," he blurted out in desperation. "And Mother told me frankly--it +mustn't be, twice running ... like that." Her stillness dismayed him. +"Dear," he urged tenderly, "you see their difficulty--you understand?" + +"I am trying--to understand." Her voice was small and contained. The +courage and control of it unsteadied him more than any passionate +protest. Yet he hurried on in the same low tone. + +"Of course, I ought to have thought. But, as I say, it seemed +natural.... Only--on Dewáli night----" + +She caught her breath. "Yes--Dewáli night. Mai Lakshmi knew. _Why_ did +you not say it _then_?" + +"Well ... so soon--I wasn't sure ... I hoped going away might give us +both a chance. It seemed the best I could do," he pleaded. "And--there +was Dyán. I'm not vamping up excuses, Arúna. If you hate me for hurting +you so----" + +"Roy--you _shall_ not say it!" she cried, roused at last. "Could I hate +... the heart in my own body!" + +"Better for us both perhaps if you could!" he jerked out, rising +abruptly, not daring to let the full force of her confession sink in. +"But--because of my father, I promised. No getting over that." + +She was silent:--a silence more moving, more compelling than speech. Was +she wondering--had he not promised...? Was he certain himself? Near +enough to swear by; and the impulse to comfort her was overwhelming. + +"If--if things had been different, Arúna," he added with grave +tenderness, "of course I would be asking you now ... to be my wife." + +At that, the tension of her control seemed to snap; and hiding her face, +she sat there shaken all through with muffled, broken-hearted sobs. + +"Don't--oh, _don't_!" he cried low, his own nerves quivering with her +pain. + +"How can I _not_" she wailed, battling with fresh sobs. "Because of your +Indian mother--I hoped.... But for me--England-returned--no hope +anywhere: no true country now; no true belief; no true home; everything +divided in two; only my heart--not divided. And that you cannot have, +even if you would----" + +Tears threatened again. It was all he could do not to take her in his +arms. + +"If--if they would only leave me alone," she went on, clenching her +small hands to steady herself. "But impossible to change all the laws of +our religion for one worthless me. They will insist I shall marry--even +Dyán; and I cannot--I _cannot_----!" + +Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the chance and +the hour and the grave tenderness of his assurance. No time for +shrinking or doubt. Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her +cloak--that had come unlinked--dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a +slim strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds. + +"Roy--_Dilkusha_!" Involuntarily her hands went out to him. "If it is +true ... you are caring--and if I must not belong to you, there is a way +_you_ can belong to me without trouble for any one. If--if we make +pledge of betrothal ... for this one night, if you hold me this one hour +... I am safe. For me that pledge would be sacred--as marriage, because +I am still Hindu. Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins--not worthy to +be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always _Swami +Bakht_--worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my heart." + +And Roy stood before her--motionless; stirred all through by the thrill +of her exalted passion, of her strange appeal. The pathos--the nobility +of it--swept him a little off his feet. It seemed as if, till to-night, +he had scarcely known her. The Eastern in him said, 'Accept.' The +Englishman demurred--'Unfair on her.' + +"My dear----" he said--"I can refuse you nothing. But--is it right? You +_should_ marry----" + +"Don't trouble your mind for me," she murmured; and her eyes never left +his face. "If I keep out of purdah, becoming Brahmo Samaj ... +perhaps----" She drew in her full lower lip to steady it. "But the +marriage of arrangement--I cannot. I have read too many English books, +thought too many English thoughts. And I know in here"--one clenched +hand smote her breast--"that now I could _not_ give my body and life to +any man, unless heart and mind are given too. And for me.... Must I tell +all? It is not only these few weeks. It is years and years...." Her +voice broke. + +"Arúna! Dearest one----" + +He opened his arms to her--and she was on his breast. Close and tenderly +he held her, putting a strong constraint on himself lest her ecstasy of +surrender should bear down all his defences. To fail her like this was a +bitter thing: and as her arms stole up round his neck, he instinctively +tightened his hold. So yielding she was, so unsubstantial.... + +And suddenly a rush of memory wafted him from the moonlit hillside to +the drawing-room at Home. It was his mother he held against his +breast:--the silken draperies, the clinging arms, the yielding softness, +the unyielding courage at the core.... + +So vivid, so poignant was the lightning gleam of illusion, that when it +passed he felt dizzy, as if his body had been swept in the wake of his +spirit, a thousand leagues and back: dizzy, yet, in some mysterious +fashion, reinforced--assured.... + +He knew now that his defences would hold.... + +And Arúna, utterly at rest in his arms, knew it also. He loved her--oh +yes, truly--as much as he said and more; but instinct told her there +lacked ... just something; something that would have set him--and +her--on fire, and perhaps have made renunciation unthinkable. Her acute, +instinctive sense of it, hurt like the edge of a knife pressed on her +heart; yet just enabled her to bear the unbearable. Had it been +..._that_ way, to lose him were utter loss. This way--there would be no +losing. What she had now, she would keep--whether his bodily presence +were with her or no---- + +Next minute, she dropped from the heights. Fire ran in her veins. His +lips were on her forehead. + +"The seal of betrothal," he whispered. "My brave Arúna----" + +Without a word she put up her face like a child; but it was very woman +who yielded her lips to his.... + +For her, in that supreme moment, the years that were past and the years +that were to come seemed gathered into a burnt-offering--laid on his +shrine. For her, that long kiss held much of passion--confessed yet +transcended; more of sacredness, inexpressible, because it would never +come again--with him or any other man. She vowed it silently to her own +heart.... + +Again far up the hillside a jackal laughed; another and another--as if +in derision. She shivered; and he loosed his hold, still keeping an arm +round her. To-night they were betrothed. He owed her all he had the +right to give. + +"Your cloak. You'll catch your death...." He stopped short--and flung up +his head. "What was that? There--again--in those trees----" + +"Some monkey perhaps," she whispered, startled by his look and tone. + +"Hush--listen!" His grip tightened and they stood rigidly still, Roy +straining every nerve to locate those stealthy sounds. They were almost +under the arch; strong mellow light on one side, nethermost darkness on +the other. And from all sides the large unheeded night seemed to close +in on them--threatening, full of hidden danger. + +Presently the sounds came again, unmistakably nearer; faint rustlings +and creakings, then a distinct crumbling, as of loosened earth and +stones. The shadowy plumes of acacia that crowned the arch stirred +perceptibly, though no breeze was abroad:--and not the acacia only. To +Arúna's excited fancy it seemed that the loose upper stones of the arch +itself moved ever so slightly. But _was_ it fancy? No--there again----! + +And before the truth dawned on Roy, she had pushed him with all her +force, so vehemently that he stumbled backward and let go of her. + +Before he recovered himself, down crashed two large stones and a shower +of small ones--on Arúna, not on him. With a stifled scream she tottered +and fell, knocking her head against the slab of rock. + +Instantly he was on his knees beside her; stanching the cut on her +forehead, binding it with his handkerchief; consumed with rage and +concern;--rage at himself and the dastardly intruder,--no monkey, that +was certain. + +His quick ear caught the stealthy rustling again, lower down; and, +yes--unmistakably--a human sound, like a stifled exclamation of dismay. + +"Arúna--I _must_ get at that devil," he whispered. "Does your head feel +better? Dare I leave you a moment?" + +"Yes--oh yes," she whispered back. "Nothing will harm me. Only take +care--please take care." + +Hastily he made a pillow of his overcoat and covered her with the cloak; +then, stooping down, he kissed her fervently--and was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + "Then was I rapt away by the impulse, one + Immeasurable ... wave of a need + To abolish that detested life." + --BROWNING. + + +Lithe and noiseless as a cat, Roy crept through the archway into outer +darkness. It was hateful leaving Arúna; but rage at her hurt and the +primitive instinct of pursuit were not to be denied. And she _might_ +have been killed. And she had done it for him:--coals of fire, indeed! +Also, the others would be getting anxious. Let him only catch that +mysterious skulker, and he could shout across to the Palace roof. They +would hear. + +Close under the wall he waited, all the scout in him alert. The cautious +rustlings drew stealthily nearer; ceased, for a few tantalising seconds; +then, out of the massed shadows, there crept a moving shadow. + +Roy's spring was calculated to a nicety; but the thing swerved sharply +and fled up the rough hillside. There followed a ghostly chase, unreal +as a nightmare, lit up by the moon's deceptive brilliance; the earth, an +unstable welter of light and darkness, shifting under his feet. + +The fleeing shade was agile; and plainly familiar with the ground. +Baulked, and lured steadily farther from Arúna, all the Rajput flamed in +Roy. During those mad moments he was capable of murdering the unknown +with his hands.... + +Suddenly, blessedly, the thing stumbled and dropped to its knees. With +the spring of a panther, he was on it, his angers at its throat, pinning +it to earth. The choking cry moved him not at all:--and suddenly the +moonlight showed him the face of Chandranath, mingled hate and terror in +the starting eyes.... + +Amazed beyond measure, he unconsciously relaxed his grip. "_You_--is +it?--you devil!" + +There was no answer. Chandranath had had the wit to wriggle almost clear +of him;--almost, not quite. Roy's pounce was worthy of his Rajput +ancestors; and next moment they were locked in a silent, purposeful +embrace.... + +But Roy's brain was cooler now. Sanity had returned. He could still have +choked the life out of the man, without compunction. But he did not +choose to embroil himself, or his people, on account of anything so +contemptible as the creature that was writhing and scratching in his +grasp. He simply wanted to secure him and hand him over to the Jaipur +authorities, who had several scores up against him. + +But Chandranath, though not skilled, had the ready cunning of the lesser +breeds. With a swift unexpected move, he tripped Roy up so that he +nearly fell backward; and, in a supreme effort to keep his balance, +unconsciously loosened his hold. This time, Chandranath slipped free of +him; and, in the act, pushed him so violently that he staggered and came +down among sharp broken stones with one foot twisted under him. When he +would have sprung up, a stab of pain in his ankle told him he was done +for.... + +The sheer ignominy of it enraged him; and he was still further enraged +by the proceedings of the victor, who sprang nimbly out of reach on to a +fragment of buttressed wall, whence he let fly a string of abusive +epithets nicely calculated to touch up Roy's pride and temper and goad +him to helpless fury. + +But if his ankle was crippled, his brain was not. While Chandranath +indulged his pent-up spite, Roy was feeling stealthily, purposefully, in +the semi-darkness, for the sharpest chunk of stone he could lay hands +on; a chunk warranted to hurt badly, if nothing more. The strip of +shadow against the sky made an admirable target; and Roy's move, when it +came, was swift, his aim unerring. + +Somewhere about the head or shoulders it took effect: a yell of rage and +pain assured him of that, as his target vanished on the far side of the +wall. + +Had he jumped or fallen? And what did the damage amount to? Roy would +have given a good deal to know; but he had neither time nor power to +investigate. Nothing for it but to crawl back, and shout to Arúna, when +he got within hail. + +It was an undignified performance. His twisted ankle stabbed like a +knife, and never failed to claim acquaintance with every obstacle in its +path. Presently, to his immense relief, the darkness ahead was raked by +a restless light, zigzagging like a giant glow-worm. + +"Lance--ahoy!" he shouted. + +"Righto!" Lance sang out; and the glow-worm waggled a welcome. + +Another shout from the Palace roof, answered in concert; and the mad, +bad dream was over. He was back in the world of realities; on his feet +again--one foot, to be exact--supported by Desmond's arm; pouring out +his tale. + +Lance already knew part of it. He had found Arúna and was hurrying on to +find Roy. "Your cousin's got the pluck of a Rajput," he concluded. "But +she seems a bit damaged. The left arm's broken, I'm afraid." + +Roy cursed freely. "Wish to God I could make sure if I've sent that +skunk to blazes." + +"Just as well you can't, perhaps. If your shot took effect, he won't be +off in a hurry. The police can nip out when we get back." + +"Look here--keep it dark till I've seen Dyán. If Chandranath's nabbed, +he'll want to be in it. Only fair!" + +Lance chuckled. "What an unholy pair you are!--By the way, I fancy +Martin's pulled it off with Miss Flossie. I tumbled across them in the +hanging garden. You left that door open. Gave me the tip you might be +out on the loose." + + * * * * * + +Desmond's surmise proved correct. Arúna's left arm was broken above the +elbow: a simple fracture, but it hurt a good deal. Thea, in charge of +'the wounded,' eased them both as best she could, during the long drive +home. But Arúna, still in her exalted mood, counted mere pain a little +thing, when Roy, under cover of the cloak, found her cold right hand +and cherished it in his warm one nearly all the way. + +No one paid much heed to Martin and Flossie, who felt privately annoyed +with 'the native cousin' for putting her nose out of joint. Defrauded of +her due importance, she told her complacent lover they must 'save up the +news till to-morrow.' Meantime, they rode, very much at leisure, behind +the barouche;--and no one troubled about them at all. + +Lance and Vincent, having cantered on ahead, called in for Miss Hammond +and left word at Sir Lakshman's house that Arúna had met with a slight +accident; and would he and her brother come out to the Residency after +dinner? + +Before the meal was over, they arrived. Miss Hammond was upstairs +attending to Arúna; and Sir Lakshman joined them without ceremony, +leaving Dyán alone with Roy, who was nursing his ankle in an arm-chair +near the drawing-room fire. + +In ten minutes of intimate talk he heard the essential facts, with +reservations; and Roy had never felt more closely akin to him than on +that evening. Rajput chivalry is no mere tradition. It is vital and +active as ever it was. Insult or injury to a woman is sternly avenged; +and the offender is lucky if he escapes the extreme penalty. Roy frankly +hoped he had inflicted it himself. But for Dyán surmise was not enough. +He would not eat nor sleep till he had left his own mark on the man who +had come near killing his sister--most sacred being to him, who had +neither wife nor mother. + +"The delicate attention was meant for me, you know," Roy reminded him; +simply from a British impulse to give the devil his due. + +"Tcha!" Dyán's thumb and finger snapped like a toy pistol. "No +law-courts talk for me. You were so close together. He took the risk. By +Indra, he won't take any more such risks if I get at him! You said we +would not see him here. But no doubt he has been hanging round Amber, +making what mischief he can. He must have heard your party was coming, +and got sneaking round for a chance to score off you. Young Ramanund, +priest of Kali's shrine, is one of those he has made his tool, the way +he made me. If he is in Amber, I shall find him. You can take your oath +on that." He stood up, straight and virile, instinct with purpose as a +drawn sword. "I am going now, Roy. But not _one word_ to any soul. +Grandfather and Arúna only need to know I am trying to find who toppled +those stones. I shall not succeed. That is all:--except for you and me. +Bijli, Son of Lightning, will take me full gallop to Amber. First thing +in the morning, I will come--and make my report." + +"But look here--Lance knows----" + +"Well, your Lance can suppose he got away. We could trust him, I don't +doubt. But what is known to more than two, will in time be known to a +hundred. For myself, I don't trouble. Among Rajputs the penalty would be +slight. But this thing must be kept between you and me--because of +Arúna." + +Roy held out his hand. Dyán's fingers closed on it like taut strips of +steel. Unmistakably the real Dyán Singh had shed the husks of +scholarship and politics and come into his own again. + +"I wouldn't care to have those at my throat!" remarked Roy, pensively +considering the streaks on his own hand. + +"Some Germans didn't care for it--in France," said Dyán coolly. "But +now----" He scowled at his offending left arm. "I hope--very soon ... +never mind. No more talking ... poison gas!" And with a flash of white +teeth--he was gone. + +Roy, left staring into the fire, followed him in imagination, speeding +through the silent city out into the region of skulls and eye-sockets--a +flying shadow in the moonlight with murder in its heart.... + + * * * * * + +Within an hour, that flying shadow was outside the gateway of Amber, +startling the doorkeepers from sleep; murder, not only in its heart, but +tucked securely in its belt. No 'law-courts talk' for one of his breed; +no nice adjustment of penalty to offence; no concern as to possible +consequences. The Rajput, with his blood up, is daring to the point of +recklessness; deaf to puerile promptings of prudence or mercy; a sword, +seeking its victim; insatiate till the thrust has gone home. + +And, in justice to Dyán Singh, it should be added that there was more +than Arúna in his mind. There was India--increasingly at the mercy of +Chandranath and his kind. The very blindness of his earlier obsession +had intensified the effect of his awakening. Roy's devoted daring, his +grandfather's mellow wisdom, had worked in his fiery soul more +profoundly than they knew: and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, +an act of expiation. At the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would +unhesitatingly have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi--the sane, +strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on the few +occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law of God or man, +then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this snake under his heel? + +One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind. The son of a +jackal should know who struck him. He should taste fear, before he +tasted death. And then--the Lake, that would never give up its secret or +its dead. Siri Chandranath would disappear from his world, like a stone +flung into a river; and India would be a cleaner place without him. + +He knew himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But--tcha! the man +was a coward. Let the gods but deliver his victim into that one +purposeful hand of his--and the end was sure. + +Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered him +securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted creature +nuzzled against him, as who should say, 'What need of speech between me +and thee'? Then--following Roy's directions--he made his way cautiously +up the hillside, where the arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath +had been injured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far. + +His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed. The +guardian gods of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For there, on the +fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its head in its hands. + +"Must have been stunned," he thought. Patently the gods were with him. +Had he been an Englishman, the man's hurt would probably have baulked +him of his purpose. But Dyán Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the +sportman's code of morals. He was frankly out to kill. His brain worked +swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed.... + +Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on its prey: +the long knife gripped securely in his teeth. Before Chandranath came to +his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his throat, stifling the yell +of terror at Roy's supposed return.... + +The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes Dyán had his man +down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful knees, that his one +available hand might be free to strike. Then, in a low fierce rush, he +spoke: "Yes--it is I--Dyán Singh. You told me often--strike, for the +Mother. 'Who kills the body kills naught.' I strike for the Mother +_now_." + +Once--twice--the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing between his +knees was still. + +He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the shore of the +Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp burden slung over his +shoulder. But his imagination did not run riot, like Roy's: and no +qualms of conscience perturbed his soul. He had avenged, tenfold, +Arúna's injury. He had expiated, in drastic fashion, his own aberration +from sanity. It was enough. + +The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted with +stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur, the Lake would +utter no sound.... + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + "So let him journey through his earthly day: + 'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way; + Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride-- + He, every moment, still unsatisfied." + --FAUST. + + +Next morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on the edge +of his bed; cautiously, circumstantially, telling him all. Roy, as he +listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer impetus of the +thing; and again he felt--as once or twice in Delhi--what centuries +apart they were, though related, and almost of an age. + +"This will be only between you and me, Roy--for always," Dyán concluded +gravely. "Not because I have any shame for killing that snake; but--as I +said ... because of Arúna----" + +"Trust me," said Roy. "Amber Lake and I don't blab. There'll be a nine +days' mystery over his disappearance. Then his lot will set up some +other tin god--and promptly forget all about him." + +"Let us follow their example, in that at least!" Grim humour nickered in +Dyán's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the proffered case. "You +gave me my chance. I have taken it--like a Rajput. Now we have other +things to do." + +Roy smiled. "That's about the size of it--from your sane, barbaric +standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do. As soon as this +blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to get at some of the +thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay; educated Indian men and +women, who honestly believe that India is moving towards a national +unity that will transcend all antagonism of race and creed. I can't see +it myself; but I've an open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur--'last, +loneliest, loveliest, apart'--to knock my novel into shape before I go +North. And _you_----?" He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin. +"Sure you're safe not to erupt again?" + +"Safe as houses--thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can be orthodox +Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I would like to join +'Servants of India' Society; and work for the Mother among those who +accept British connection as India's God-given destiny. In no other way +will I work again--to 'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps----" +he hesitated, averting his eyes--"to take vows of celibacy----" + +"_Dyán_!" Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had almost +forgotten that side of things. Right or wrong--a tribute to Tara indeed! +It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed him. + +"Unfair on Grandfather," he said with decision. "For every reason, you +ought to marry--an enlightened wife. Think--of Arúna." + +"I _do_ think of her. It is _she_ who ought to marry." + +The emphasis was not lost on Roy:--and it hurt. Last night's poignant +scene was intimately with him still. "I'm afraid you won't persuade her +to," he said in a contained voice. + +"I am quite aware of _that_. And the reason--even a blind man could not +fail to see." + +They looked straight at one another for a long moment. Roy did not +swerve from the implied accusation. + +"Well, it's no fault of mine, Dyán," he said, recalling Arúna's +confession that tacitly freed him from blame. "_She_ +understands--there's a bigger thing between us than our mere selves. +Whatever I'm free to do for her, I'll gladly do--always. It was chiefly +to ease her poor heart that I risked the Delhi adventure. I felt I had +lost the link with _you_." + +"Not surprising." Dyán smoked for a few minutes in silence. He was +clearly moved by the fine frankness of Roy's attitude. "All the same," +he said at last, "it was not quite broken. You have given me new life; +and because you did it--for her, I swear to you, as long as she needs +me, I will not fail her." He held out his hand. Roy's closed on it +hard. + +"Later in the morning I will come back and see her," Dyán added, in a +changed voice--and went out. + + * * * * * + +Later in the morning, Roy himself was allowed to see her. With the help +of his stick he limped to her verandah balcony, where she lay in a long +chair, with cushions and rugs, the poor arm in a sling. Thea was with +her. She had heard as much of last night's doings as any one would ever +know. So she felt justified in letting the poor dears have half an hour +together. + +Her withdrawal was tactfully achieved; but there followed an awkward +silence. For the space of several minutes it seemed that neither of the +'poor dears' knew quite what to make of their privilege, though they +were appreciating it from their hearts. + +Roy found himself too persistently aware of the arm that had been broken +to save him; of the new bond between them, signed and sealed by that one +unforgettable kiss. + +As for Arúna--while pain anchored her body to earth, her unstable heart +swayed disconcertingly from heights of rarefied content, to depths of +shyness. Things she had said and done, on that far-away hillside, seemed +unbelievable, remembered in her familiar balcony with a daylight mind: +and fear lest he might be 'thinking it that way too' increased shyness +tenfold. Yet it was she who spoke first, after all. + +"Oh, it makes me angry ... to see you--like that," she said, indicating +his ankle with a faint movement of her hand. + +Roy quietly took possession of the hand and pressed it to his lips. + +"How do you suppose _I_ feel, seeing _you_ like that!" Words and act +dispelled her foolish fears. "Did you sleep? Does it hurt much?" + +"Only if I forget and try to move. But what matter? Every time it hurts, +I feel proud because that feeble arm was able to push you out of the +way." + +"You've every right to feel proud. You nearly knocked me over!" + +A mischievous smile crept into her eyes. "I am afraid ... I was very +rude!" + +"That's _one_ way of putting it!" His grave tenderness warmed her like +sunshine. He leaned nearer; his hand grasped the arm of her long chair. +"You were a very wonderful Arúna last night. And--you are going to be +more wonderful still. Working with Dyán, you are going to help make my +dream come true--of India finding herself again by her own genius, along +her own lines----" + +He had struck the right note. Her face lit up as he had hoped to see it. +"Oh, Roy--can I really----? Will Dyán help? Will he _let_ me----" + +"Of course he will. And I'll be helping too--in my own fashion. We'll +never lose touch, Arúna; though India's your destiny and England's mine. +Never say again you have no true country. Like me, you have two +countries--one very dear; one supreme. I'm afraid there are terrible +days coming out here. And in those days every one of you who honestly +loves England--every one of _us_ who honestly loves India--will count in +the scale ..." + +He paused; and she drew a deep breath. "Oh--how you _see_ things! It is +you who are wonderful, Roy. I can think and feel the big things in my +heart. But for doing them--I am, after all, only a woman...." + +"An _Indian_ woman," he emphasised, his eyes on hers. "I know--and you +know--what that means. You have not yet bartered away your magical +influence for a mess of pottage. Because of one Indian woman--supreme +for me; and now ... because of another, they all have a special claim on +my heart. If India has not gone too far down the wrong road, it is by +the _true_ Swadeshi spirit of her women she may yet be saved. _They_, at +any rate, don't reckon progress by counting factory chimneys or seats on +councils. And every seed--good or bad--is sown first in the home. Get at +the women, Arúna--the home ones--and tell them that. It's not only _my_ +dream; it was--my mother's. You don't know how she loved and believed in +you all. I think she never _quite_ understood the other kind. The longer +she lived among them, the more she craved for all of you to remain true +women--in the full sense, not the narrow one----" + +He had never yet spoken so frankly and freely of that dear lost mother; +and Arúna knew it for the highest compliment he could pay her. Truly his +generous heart was giving her all that his jealous household gods would +permit.... + +Thea--stepping softly through the inner room--caught a sentence or two; +caught a glimpse of Roy's finely-cut profile; of Arúna's eyes intent on +his face; and she smiled very tenderly to herself. It was so exactly +like Roy; and such constancy of devotion went straight to her +mother-heart. So too--with a sharper pang--did the love hunger in +Arúna's eyes. + +The puzzle of these increasing race complications----! The tragedy and +the pity of it...! + + * * * * * + +Lance travelled North that night with a mind at ease. Roy had assured +him that the moment his ankle permitted he would leave Jaipur and 'give +the bee in his bonnet an airing' elsewhere. That assurance proved easier +to give than to act upon, when the moment came. The Jaipur Residency had +come to seem almost like home. And the magnet of home drew all that was +Eastern in Roy. It was the British blood in his veins that drove him +afield. Though India was his objective, England was the impelling force. +His true home seemed hundreds of miles away, in more senses than one. +His union with Rajputana--set with the seal of that sacred and beautiful +experience at Chitor--seemed, in his present mood, the more vital of the +two. + +And there was Lance up in the Punjab--a magnet as strong as any, when +the masculine element prevailed. Yet again, some inner irresistible +impulse obliged him to break away from them all. It was one of those +inevitable moments when the dual forces within pulled two ways; when he +felt envious exceedingly of Lance Desmond's sane and single-minded +attitude towards men and things. One couldn't picture Lance a prey to +the ignominious sensation that half of him wanted to go one way and half +of him another way. At this juncture, half of himself felt a confounded +fool for not going back to the Punjab and enjoying a friendly sociable +cold weather among his father's people. The other half felt impelled to +probe deeper into the complexities of changing India, to confirm and +impart his belief that the destinies of England and India were one and +indivisible. After all, India stood where she did to-day by virtue of +what England had made her. He refused to believe that even the insidious +disintegrating process of democracy could dissolve--in a brief fever of +unrest--links forged and welded in the course of a hundred years. + +In that case, argued his practical half, why this absurd inner sense of +responsibility for great issues over which he could have no shadow of +control? What was the earthly use of it--this large window in his soul, +opening on to the world's complexities and conflicts; not allowing him +to say comfortably, 'They are not.' His opal-tinted dreams of +interpreting East to West had suffered a change of complexion since +Oxford days. His large vague aspirations of service had narrowed down, +inevitably, to a few definite personal issues. Action involves +limitation--as the picture involves the frame. Dreams must descend to +earth--or remain unfruitful. It might be a little, or a great matter, +that he had managed to set two human fragments of changing India on the +right path--so far as he could discern it. The fruits of that modest +beginning only the years could reveal.... + +Then there was this precious novel simmering at the back of things; his +increasing desire to get away alone with the ghostly company that +haunted his brain. As the mother-to-be feels the new life mysteriously +moving within her, so he began to feel within him the first stirrings of +his own creative power. Already his poems and essays had raised +expectations and secured attention for other things he wanted to say. +And there seemed no end to them. He had hardly yet begun his mental +adventures. Pressing forward, through sense, to the limitless regions of +mind and spirit, new vistas would open, new paths lure him on.... + +That first bewildering, intoxicating sense of power is good--while it +lasts; none the less, because, in the nature of things, it is foredoomed +to disillusion--greater or less, according to the authenticity of the +god within. + +Whatever the outcome for Roy, that passing exaltation eased appreciably +the pang of parting from them all. And it was responsible for a happy +inspiration. Rummaging among his papers, on the eve of departure, he +came upon the sketch of India that he had written in Delhi and refrained +from sending to Arúna. Intrinsically it was hers; inspired by her. +Also--intrinsically it was good: and straightway he decided she should +have it for a parting gift. + +Beautifully copied out, and tied up with carnation-pink ribbons, he +reserved it for their last few moments together. She was still such a +child in some ways. The small surprise of his gift might ease the pang +of parting. It was a woman's thought. But the woman-strain of tenderness +was strong in Roy, as in all true artists. + +She was standing near the fire in her own sitting-room, wearing the pink +dress and sari, her arm still in a sling. Last words, those desperate +inanities--buffers between the heart and its own emotion--are difficult +things to bring off in any case; peculiarly difficult for these two, +with that unreal, yet intensely actual, bond between them; and Roy felt +more than grateful to the inspiration that gave him something definite +to say. + +Instantly her eyes were on it--wondering ... guessing.... + +"It's a little thing I wrote in Delhi," he said simply. "I couldn't send +it to Jeffers. It seemed--to belong to you. So I thought----" He +proffered it, feeling absurdly shy of it--and of her. + +"Oh--but it is too much!" Holding it with her sling hand, she opened it +with the other and devoured it eagerly under his watching eyes. By the +changes that flitted across her face, by the tremor of her lips and her +hands, as she pressed it to her heart, he knew he could have given her +no dearer treasure than that fragment of himself. And because he knew +it, he felt tongue-tied; tempted beyond measure to kiss her once again. + +If she divined his thought, she kept her lashes lowered and gave no +sign. + +He hoped she knew.... + +But before either could break the spell of silence that held them, Thea +returned; and their moment--their idyll--was over.... + + +END OF PHASE III. + + + + +PHASE IV. + +DUST OF THE ACTUAL + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "It's no use trying to keep out of things. The moment they want to + put you in--you're in. The moment you're born, you're done + for."--HUGH WALPOLE. + + +The middle of March found Roy back in the Punjab, sharing a ramshackle +bungalow with Lance and two of his brother officers; good fellows, both, +in their diametrically opposite fashions; but superfluous--from Roy's +point of view. When he wanted a quiet 'confab' with Lance, one or both +were sure to come strolling in and hang round, jerking out aimless +remarks. When he wanted a still quieter 'confab' with his maturing +novel, their voices and footsteps echoed too clearly in the verandahs +and the scantily furnished rooms. But did he venture to grumble at these +minor drawbacks, Lance would declare he was demoralised by floating +loose in an Earthly Paradise and becoming a mere appendage to a pencil. + +There was a measure of truth in the last. As a matter of fact, after two +months of uninterrupted work at Udaipur, Roy had unwarily hinted at a +risk of becoming embedded in his too congenial surroundings;--and that +careless admission had sealed his fate. + +Lance Desmond, with his pointed phrase, had virtually dug him out of his +chosen retreat; had written temptingly of the 'last of the polo,' of +prime pig-sticking at Kapurthala, of the big Gymkhana that was to wind +up the season:--a rare chance for Roy to exhibit his horsemanship. And +again, in more serious mood, he had written of increasing anxiety over +his Sikhs with that 'infernal agitation business' on the increase, and +an unbridled native press shouting sedition from the house-tops. A nice +state of chaos India was coming to! He hoped to goodness they wouldn't +be swindled out of their leave; but Roy had better 'roll up' soon, so +as to be on the spot, in case of ructions; not packed away in +cotton-wool down there. + +A few letters in this vein had effectually rent the veil of illusion +that shielded Roy from aggressive actualities. In Udaipur there had been +no hysterical press; no sedition flaunting on the house-tops. One hadn't +arrived at the twentieth century, even. Except for a flourishing +hospital, a few hideous modern interiors, and a Resident--who was very +good friends with Vinx--one stepped straight back into the leisurely, +colourful, frankly brutal life of the middle ages. And Roy had fallen a +willing victim to the charms of Udaipur:--her white palaces, white +temples, and white landing-stages, flanked with marble elephants, +embosomed in wooded hills, and reflected in the blue untroubled depths +of the Pichóla Lake. Immersed in his novel, he had not known a dull or +lonely hour in that enchanted backwater of Rajasthán. + +His large vague plans for getting in touch with the thoughtful elements +of Calcutta and Bombay had yielded to the stronger magnetism of beauty +and art. Like his father, he hated politics; and Westernised India is +nothing if not political. It was a true instinct that warned him to keep +clear of that muddy stream, and render his mite of service to India in +the exercise of his individual gift. That would be in accord with one of +his mother's wise and tender sayings: (his memory was jewelled with +them) "Look always first at your own gifts. They are sign-posts, +pointing the road to your true line of service." Could he but +immortalise the measure of her spirit that was in him, that were true +service to India--and more than India. There are men created for action. +There are men created to inspire action. And the world has equal need of +both. + +He had things to say on paper that would take him all his time; and +Udaipur had metaphorically opened her arms to him. The Resident and his +wife had been more than kind. He had his books; his cool, lofty rooms in +the Guest House; his own private boat on the Lake; and freedom to go his +own unfettered way at all hours of the day or night. There the simmering +novel had begun to move with a life of its own; and while that state of +being endured, nothing else mattered much in earth or heaven. + +For seven weeks he had worked at it without interruption; and for seven +weeks he had been happy: companioned by the vivid creatures of his +brain; and, better still, by a quickened undersense of his mother's +vital share in the 'blossom and fruit of his life.' The danger of +becoming embedded had been no myth: and at the back of his brain there +had lurked a superstitious reluctance to break the spell. + +But Lance was Lance: no one like him. Moreover, he had known well enough +that anticipation of breakers ahead was no fanciful nightmare; but a +sane corrective to the ostrich policy of those who had sown the evil +seed and were trying to say of the fruit--'It is not.' Letters from +Dyán, and spasmodic devouring of newspapers, kept him alive to the +sinister activities of the larger world outside. News from Bombay grew +steadily more disquieting:--strikes and riots, fomented by agitators, +who lied shamelessly about the nature of the new Bills--; hostile crowds +and insults to Englishwomen. Dyán more than hinted that if the +threatened outbreak were not resolutely crushed at the start, it might +prove a far-reaching affair; and Roy had not the slightest desire to +find himself 'packed away in cotton-wool,' miles from the scene of +action. Clearly Lance wanted him. He might be useful on the spot. And +that settled the matter. + +Impossible to leave so much loveliness, such large drafts of peace and +leisure, without a pang; but--the wrench over--he was well content to +find himself established in this ramshackle bachelor bungalow, back +again with Lance and his music--very much in evidence just now--and the +two superfluous good fellows, whom he liked well enough in homoeopathic +doses. Especially he liked Jack Meredith, cousin of the Desmonds;--a +large and simple soul, gravely absorbed in pursuing balls and tent-pegs +and 'pig'; impervious to feminine lures; equally impervious to the +caustic wit of his diametrical opposite, Captain James Barnard, who +eased his private envy by christening him 'Don Juan.' For Meredith +fatally attracted women; and Barnard--cultured, cynical, Cambridge--was +as fatally susceptible to them as a trout to a May-fly; but, for some +unfathomable reason they would not; and in Anglo-India a man could not +hide his failures under a bushel. Lance classified him comprehensively +as 'one of the War lot'; liked him, and was sorry for him, +although--perhaps because--he was 'no soldier.' + +Roy also liked him; and enjoyed verbal fencing-bouts with him when the +mood was on. Still he would have preferred, beyond measure, the Kohat +arrangement, with the Colonel for an unobtrusive third. + +But the Colonel, these days, had a bungalow to himself; a bungalow in +process of being furnished by no means on bachelor lines. For the +unbelievable had come to pass----! And the whole affair had been carried +through in his own inimitable fashion, without so much as a tell-tale +ripple on the surface of things. Quite unobtrusively, at Kohat, he had +made friends with the General's daughter--a dark-haired slip of a girl, +with the blood of distinguished Frontier soldiers in her veins. Quite +unobtrusively--during Christmas week--he had laid his heart and the +Regiment at her feet. Quite unobtrusively, he proposed to marry her in +April, when the leave season opened, and carry her off to Kashmir. + +"_That's_ the way it goes with _some_ people," said Lance, the first +time he spoke of it; and Roy fancied he detected a wistful note in his +voice. + +"That's the way it'll go with you, old man," he had retorted. "I'm the +one that will have to look out for squalls!" + +Lance had merely smiled and said nothing:--the reception he usually +accorded to personal remarks. And, at the moment, Roy thought no more of +the matter. + +Their first good week of polo and riding and generally fooling round +together had quickened his old allegiance to Lance, his newer allegiance +to the brotherhood of action. He possessed no more enviable talent than +his many-sided zest for life. + +Lance himself seemed in an unusually social mood. So of course Roy must +submit to being bowled round in the new dog-cart and introduced to +special friends, in cantonments and Lahore, including the Deputy +Commissioner's wife and good-looking eldest daughter; the best dancer in +the station and an extra special friend, he gathered from Lance's best +offhand manner. + +Roy found her more than good-looking; beautiful, almost, with her +twofold grace of carriage and feature and her low-toned harmony of +colouring:--ivory-white skin, ash-blond hair and hazel eyes, clear as a +Highland river; the pupils abnormally large, the short thick lashes very +black, like a smudge round her lids. She was tall, in fine, and carried +her beauty like a brimming chalice; very completely mistress of herself; +and very completely detached from her florid, effusive, worldly-wise +mother. Unquestionably, a young woman to be reckoned with. + +But Roy did not feel disposed, just then, to reckon seriously with any +young woman, however alluring. The memory of Arúna--the exquisite +remoteness from everyday life of their whole relation--did not easily +fade. And the creatures of his brain were still clamant, in spite of +broken threads and drastic change of surroundings. Lance had presented +him with a spacious writing-table; and most days he would stick to it +for hours, sooner than drive out in pursuit of tennis or afternoon +dancing in Lahore. + +He was sitting at it now; flinging down a dramatic episode, roughly, +rapidly, as it came. The polished surface was strewn with an untidy +array of papers; the only ornaments a bit of old brass-work and two +ivory elephants; a photograph of his father and a large one of his +mother taken from the portrait at Jaipur. The table was set almost at +right angles to his open door, and the chick rolled up. He had a +weakness for being able to 'see out,' if it was only the corner of a +barren 'compound' and a few dusty oleanders. He had forgotten the +others; forgotten the time. All he asked, while the spate lasted, was to +be left alone.... + +He almost jumped when the latch clicked behind him and Lance strolled +in, faultlessly attired in the latest suit from home; a golden-brown tie +and a silk handkerchief, the same shade, emerging from his breast +pocket. By nature, Lance was no dandy; but Roy had not failed to note +that he was apt to be scrupulously well turned out on certain occasions. +And, at sight of him, he promptly 'remembered he had forgotten' the +very particular nature of to-day's occasion: the marriage of Miss Gladys +Elton--step-sister of Rose--to a rising civilian some eighteen years +older than his bride. It was an open secret, in the station, that the +wedding was Mrs Elton's private and personal triumph, that she, not her +unassuming daughter, was the acknowledged heroine of the day. + +"Not ready yet--you unmitigated slacker?" Lance exclaimed with an +impatient frown. "Buck up. Time we were moving." + +"Awfully sorry. I clean forgot." Roy's tone was not conspicuously +penitent. + +"Tell us another! The whole Mess was talking of it at tiffin." + +"I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about tiffin." + +It was so patently the truth that Lance looked mollified. "You and your +confounded novel! Now then--double. I don't want to be glaringly late." + +Roy looked pathetic. "But I'm simply up to the eyes. The truth is, I +can't be bothered. I'll turn up for the dancing at the Hall." + +"And I'm to make your giddy excuses?" + +"If any one happens to notice my absence, you can say something +pretty----" + +He was interrupted by the appearance of Barnard at the verandah door. +"Dog-cart's ready and waiting, Major. What's the hitch?" + +"Sinclair's discovered he's too busy to come!" + +"What--the favoured one? The fair Rose won't relish _that_ touching mark +of attention. On whom she smiles, from him she expects gold, +frankincense, and myrrh----" + +"Drop it, Barnard," Desmond cut in imperatively; and Roy remarked almost +in the same breath, "Thanks for the tip. I'll write to Bombay for the +best brand of all three against another occasion." + +"But this is _the_ occasion! Copy--my dear chap, copy! Anglo-India in +excelsis and 'Oh 'Ell' in all her glory!" + +It may be mentioned that Mrs Elton's name was Olive; that she saw +soldiers as trees walking. And subalterns retaliated--strictly behind +her back. + +But Roy remained unmoved. "If you two are in such a fluster over your +precious wedding, I vote you get out--and let _me_ get on." + +Barnard asked nothing better. Miss Arden was his May-fly of the moment. +"Come along, Major," he cried, and vanished forthwith. + +As Lance moved away, Roy remarked casually: "Be a good chap and ask Miss +Arden, with my best salaams, to save me a dance or two, in case I'm late +turning up!" + +Lance gave him a straight look. "Not I. My pockets will be bulging with +your apologies. You can get some one else to do your commissions in the +other line." + +Sheer astonishment silenced Roy; and Desmond, from the threshold, added +more seriously, "Don't let the women here give you a swelled head, Roy. +They'll do their damnedest between them." + +When he had gone, Roy sat staring idly at the patch of sunlight outside +his door. What the devil did Lance mean by it? Moods were not in his +line. To make a half-joking request, and find Lance taking it seriously, +wasn't in the natural order of things. And the way he jumped on Barnard, +too. Could there possibly have been a rebuff in that quarter? He +couldn't picture any girl in her senses refusing Lance. Besides, they +seemed on quite friendly terms. Nothing beyond that--so far as Roy could +see. He would very much like to feel sure. But, for all their intimacy, +he knew precisely how far one could go with Lance: and one couldn't go +as far as that. + +As for the remark about a swelled head, Lance must have been rotting. +_He_ wasn't troubling about women or girls--except for tennis and +dancing; and Miss Arden was a superlative performer; in fact, rather +superlative all round. As a new experience, she seemed distinctly worth +cultivating, so long as that process did not seriously hamper the +novel,--that was unashamedly his first consideration, at the moment. + +He loved every phase of the work; from the initial thrill of inception +to the nice balance of a phrase and the very look of his favourite +words. His childish love of them for their own sake still prevailed. For +him, they were still live things, possessing a character and charm all +their own. + +And now, the house being blessedly empty, his pencil sped off again on +its wild career. The men and women he had loved into life were thronging +his brain. Everything else was forgotten--Lance and Miss Arden and the +wedding and the afternoon dancing at the Hall.... + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Which is the more perilous, to meet the temptings of Eve, or to + pique her?"--GEORGE MEREDITH. + + +Of course he reached the Lawrence Hall egregiously late, to find the +afternoon dancing, that Lahore prescribes three times a week, in full +swing. + +The lofty pillared Hall--an aristocrat among Station Clubs--was more +crowded than usual. Half the polished floor was uncovered; the rest +carpeted and furnished, for lookers-on. Here Mrs Elton still diffused +her exuberant air of patronage; sailing majestically from group to group +of her recent guests, and looking more than life size in lavender satin +besprinkled with old lace. + +Roy hurried past, lest she discover him; and, from the security of an +arched alcove, scanned the more interesting half of the Hall. There went +little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, a fluffy pussy-cat person, with soft eyes and +soft manners--and claws. She was one of those disconnected wives whom he +was beginning to recognise as a feature of the country: unobtrusively +owned by a dyspeptic-looking Divisional Judge; hospitable and lively, +and an infallible authority on other people's private affairs. Like too +many modern Anglo-Indians, she prided herself on keeping airily apart +from the country of her exile. Natives gave her 'the creeps.' Useless to +argue. Her retort was unvarying and unanswerable. "East is East--and I'm +_not_. It's a country of horrors, under a thin layer of tinsel. Don't +talk to _me_----!" Lance Desmond had achieved fame among the subalterns +by christening her the Banter-Wrangle; but he liked her well enough, on +the whole, to hope she would never find him out. + +She whirled past now, on the arm of Talbot Hayes, senior Assistant +Commissioner; an exceedingly superior person who shared her views about +'the country.' Catching Roy's eye, she feigned exaggerated surprise and +fluttered a friendly hand. + +His response was automatic. He had just discovered Miss Arden--with +Lance, of course--looking supreme in a moon-coloured gown with a dull +gold sash carelessly knotted on one side. Her graceful hat was of gold +tissue, unadorned. Near the edge of the brim lay one yellow rose; and a +rope of amber beads hung well below her waist. + +Roy--son of Lilámani--had an artist's eye for details of dress, for +harmony of tone and line, which this girl probably achieved by mere +feminine instinct. The fool he was, to have come so late. When they +stopped, he would catch her and plead for an extra, at least. + +Meantime, a pity to waste this one; and there was poor little Miss +Delawny sitting out, as usual, in her skimpy pink frock and black hat, +trying so hard not to look forlorn that he felt sorry for her. She was +tacitly barred by most of the men because she was 'café au lait';--a +delicate allusion to the precise amount of Indian blood in her veins. + +He had not, so far, come across many specimens of these pathetic +half-and-halfs, who seemed to inhabit a racial No-Man's-Land. But Lahore +was full of them; minor officials in the Railway and the Post Office; +living, more or less, in a substratum of their own kind. He gathered +that they were regarded as a 'problem' by the thoughtful few, and simply +turned down by the rest. He felt an acute sympathy for them: also--in +hidden depths--a vague distaste. Most of those he had encountered were +so obviously of no particular caste, in either country's estimate of the +word, that he had never associated them with himself. He saw himself, +rather, as of double caste; a fusion of the best in both races. The +writer of that wonderful letter had said he was different; and +presumably she knew. Whether the average Anglo-Indian would see any +difference, he had not the remotest idea; and, so far, he had scarcely +given the matter a thought. + +Here, however, it was thrust upon his attention; nor had he failed to +notice that Lance never mentioned the Jaipur cousins except when they +were alone:--whether by chance or design, he did not choose to ask. And +if either of the other fellows had noticed his mother's photograph, or +felt a glimmer of curiosity, no word had been said. + +After all, what concern was it of these chance-met folk? He was nothing +to them; and to him they were mainly a pleasant change from the +absorbing business of his novel and the problems of India in transition. + +And the poor little girl in the skimpy frock was an unconscious fragment +of that problem. Too pathetic to see how she tried not to look round +hopefully whenever masculine footsteps came her way. Why shouldn't he +give her a pleasant surprise? + +She succeeded, this time, in not looking round; so the surprise came off +to his satisfaction. She was nervous and unpractised, and he constantly +found her feet where they had no business to be. But sooner than hurt +her feelings, he piloted her twice round the room before stopping; and +found himself next to Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who 'snuggled up' to him (the +phrase was Barnard's) and proffered consolation after her kind. + +"Bad boy! You missed the cream of the afternoon, but you're not _quite_ +too late. I'm free for the next." + +Roy, fairly cornered, could only bow and smile his acceptance. And after +his arduous prelude, Mrs Ranyard's dancing was an effortless delight--if +only she would not spoil it by her unceasing ripple of talk. His lack of +response troubled her no whit. She was bubbling over with caustic +comment on Mrs Elton's latest adventure in matrimony. + +"She's a mighty hunter, before the Lord! She marked down poor Hilton +last cold weather," cooed the silken voice in Roy's inattentive ear. "Of +course you know he's one of our coming men! And I've a shrewd idea he +_was_ intended for Rose. But in Miss Rose the matchmaker has met her +match! She's clever--that girl; and she's reduced the tactics of +non-resistance to a fine art. I don't believe she ever stands up to her +mother. She smiles and smiles--and goes her own way. She likes playing +with soldiers; partly because they're good company; partly, I'll swear, +because she knows it keeps her mother on tenter-hooks. But when it +comes to business, she'll choose as shrewdly----" + +Roy stopped dancing and confronted her, half laughing, half irate. "If +you're keen on talking--let's talk. I can't do both." He stated the fact +politely, but with decision. "And--frankly, I hate hearing a girl pulled +to pieces, just because she's charming and good-looking and----" + +"Oh, my _dear_ boy," she interrupted unfailingly--sweet solicitude in +her lifted gaze. "_Did_ I trample on your chivalrous toes? Or is +it----?" + +"No, it _isn't_." He resented the barefaced implication. "Naturally--I +admire her----" + +"Oh, naturally! You can't help yourselves, any of you! She's 'sooner +caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad.' No use +looking daggers! It's a fact. I don't say she flirts outrageously--like +I do! She simply expects homage--and gets it. She expects men to fall in +love with her--and they topple over like ninepins. Sometimes--when I'm +feeling magnanimous--I catch a ninepin as it falls! Look at her now, +with that R.E. boy--plainly in the toils!" + +Roy declined to look. If she was trying to put him off Miss Arden, she +was on the wrong tack. Besides--he wanted to dance. + +"One more turn?" he suggested, nipping a fresh outbreak in the bud. +"But, please--no talking." + +She laughed and shook her fan at him. "Epicure!" But after all, it was +an indirect compliment to her dancing: and for the space of two minutes, +she held her peace. + +Throughout the brief pause, she rippled on, with negligible interludes; +but not till they re-entered the Hall did she revert to the theme that +had so exasperated Roy. There she espied Desmond, standing under an +archway, staring straight before him, apparently lost in thought. + +She indicated him, discreetly, with her fan. "The Happy Warrior (that's +my private name for him) seems to have something on his mind. Can he +have proposed--at last? I confess I'm curious. But of course _you_ know +all about it, Mr Sinclair. Don't tell _me_!" + +"I won't!" said Roy gravely. "You probably know more than I do." + +"But I thought you were such _intimate_ friends? How superbly +masculine!" + +"Well--he is." + +"Oh, he is! He's so firmly planted on his feet that he tacitly invites +one to tilt at him! I confess I've already tried my hand--and failed. So +it soothes my vanity to observe that even the Rose of Sharon isn't +visibly upsetting his balance. Frankly, I'm more than a little intrigued +over that affair. It seems to have reached a certain point and stuck +there. At one time--I thought----" + +Her thought remained unuttered. Roy was patently not attending. Miss +Arden and the 'R.E. boy' had just entered the Hall. + +"Don't let me keep you," she added sweetly. "It's evident _she's_ the +next!" + +Roy collected himself with a jerk. "You're wiser than I am! I've not +asked her yet." + +"Then you can save yourself the trouble and go on dancing with me! She's +always booked up ahead----" + +Her blue eyes challenged him laughingly; but he caught the undernote of +rivalry. For half a second the scales hung even between courtesy and +inclination; then, from the tail of his eye, he saw Hayes bearing down +upon the other pair. That decided him. He had conceived an unreasoning +dislike of Talbot Hayes. + +"I'm awfully sorry," he said politely. "But--I sent word I was coming in +for the dancing; and----" + +"Oh, go along then and get your fingers burnt, as you deserve. But never +say _I_ didn't try and save them!" + +Roy laughed. "They aren't in any danger, thanks very much!" + +Just as he reached Miss Arden, the R.E. boy left her, and Lance, +forsaking his pillar, strolled casually to her side. + +She greeted Roy with a faint lift of her brows. + +"Was I unspeakable----? I apologise," he said impulsively; and her smile +absolved him. + +"You were wiser than you knew. You escaped an infliction. It was +insufferably dull. We all smiled and smiled, till there were 'miles and +miles of smiles'; and we were all bored to extinction! Ask Major +Desmond!" + +She acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance. He returned it +with a quick look that told Roy he had been touched on the raw. + +"As I spent most of the time talking to you--and as you've just recorded +your sensations, I'd rather be excused," he said with a touch of +stiffness. "Your innings, I suppose, old man?" And, with a friendly nod, +he moved away. + +Roy, watching him go, felt almost angry with the girl, and impetuously +spoke his thought. + +"Poor old Desmond! What did you give him a knock for? _He_ couldn't be +dull, if he tried." + +"N-no," she agreed, without removing her eyes from his retreating +figure. "But sometimes--he can be aggressive." + +"I've never noticed it." + +"How long have you known him?" + +"A trifle of fifteen years." + +"Quite a romantic friendship?" + +Roy nodded. He did not choose to discuss his feeling for Lance with this +cool, compelling young woman. Yet her very coolness goaded him to add: +"I suppose men see more clearly than women that--he's one in a +thousand." + +"I'm--not so sure----" + +"Yet you snub him as if he was a tin-pot 'sub.'" + +His resentment would out; but the smile in her eyes disarmed him. + +"Was it as bad as that? What a pair you are! Don't worry. We know each +other's little ways by now." + +It was scarcely convincing; but Lance would not thank him for +interfering; and the band had struck up. No sign of a partner. It seemed +the luck was 'in'. + +"Did Desmond give you my message?" he asked. + +"No--what?" + +"Only--that I hoped you'd be magnanimous.... Is there a chance----?" + +Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of resentment +flickered out. "More than you deserve! But this one does happen to be +free...." + +"Well, we won't waste any of it," said he:--and they danced without a +break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their circling and +swaying ceased with the last notes of the valse. + +That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for compliments; +and they merely exchanged a smile. He had felt the pleasure was mutual. +Now he knew it. + +Out through the portico they passed into the cool green gardens, freshly +watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of unnumbered +roses--a very whiff of Home: bushes, standards, ramblers; and +everywhere--flaunting its supremacy--the Maréchal Niel; sprawling over +hedges, scrambling up evergreens and falling again, in cascades of +moon-yellow blossoms and glossy leaves. + +Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour and +evening lights--was still more alive to the silent girl at his side, who +seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antagonism of sex--in +itself an inverted form of fascination. + +They had strolled half round the empty bandstand before she remarked, in +her cool, low-pitched voice: "You really are a flagrantly casual person, +Mr Sinclair. I sometimes wonder--is it _quite_ spontaneous? Or--do you +find it effective?" + +Roy frankly turned and stared at her. "Effective? _What_ a question?" + +Her smile puzzled and disconcerted him. + +"Well, you've answered it with your usual pristine frankness! I see--it +was not intentional." + +"Why should it be?" + +"Oh, if you don't know--I don't! I merely wondered--You did say +definitely you would come to the reception. So of course--I expected +you. Then you never turned up. And--naturally----!" + +A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence. + +"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't flatter myself you'd notice----" Roy said +simply. There were moments when she made him feel vexatiously young. +"You see--it was my novel--got me by the hair. And when that happens, +I'm rather apt to let things slide. Anyway, you got the better man. And +if you found _him_ dull, I'd have been nowhere." + +She was silent a moment. Then: "I think--if you don't mind--we'll leave +Major Desmond out of it," she said; adding, with a distinct change of +tone: "What's the hidden charm in that common little Miss Delawny? I +saw you dancing with her again to-day." + +The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect, had it not +followed on her perplexing remark about Lance. As it was, he resented +it. + +"Why not? She's quite a nice little person." + +"I daresay. But we've plenty of nice girls in our own set." + +"Oh, plenty. But I rather bar set mania. I've a catholic taste in human +beings!" + +"And I've an ultra fastidious one!" Look and tone gave her statement a +delicately personal flavour. "Besides, out here ... there are +limits----" + +"And I must respect them, on penalty of your displeasure?" His tone was +airily defiant. "Well--make me out a list of irreproachables, and I'll +work them off in rotation--between whiles!" + +The implication of that last subtly made amends: and she had a taste for +the minor subtleties of intercourse. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind! You're perfectly graceless this +evening! I suspect all that scribbling goes to your head sometimes. +Sitting on Olympian heights, controlling destinies! I suppose we +earthworms down below all look pretty much alike? To discriminate +between mere partners--is human. To embrace them +indiscriminately--divine!" + +Roy laughed. "Oh, if it came to embracing----" + +"Even an Olympian might be a shade less catholic?" she queried with one +of her looks, that stirred in Roy sensations far removed from Olympian. +Random talk did not flourish in Miss Arden's company: delicately, +insistently she steered it back to the focal point of interest--herself +and the man of the moment. + +From the circular drive they wandered on, unheeding; and when they +re-entered the Hall a fresh dance had begun. Under the arch they paused. +Miss Arden's glance scanned the room and reverted to Roy. The last ten +minutes had appreciably advanced their intimacy. + +"Shall we?" he asked, returning her look with interest. "Is the luck in +again?" + +Her eyes assented. He slipped an arm round her--and once more they +danced.... + +Roy had been Olympian indeed had he not perceived the delicate flattery +implied in his apparent luck. Lance had not given his message. Yet two +dances were available. The inference was not without its insidious +effect on a man temperamentally incapable of conceit. + +The valse was nearly half over, when the least little drag on his arm so +surprised him that he stopped almost opposite the main archway;--and +caught sight of Lance, evidently looking for some one. + +"Oh--there he is!" Miss Arden's low tone was almost flurried--for her. + +"D'you want him?" + +"Well--I suppose he wants me. This was his dance." + +"Good Lord! What a mean shame," Roy flashed out. "Why on earth didn't +you tell me? Wouldn't for the world...." + +Her colour rose under his heated protest. "I never hang about for +unpunctual partners. If they don't turn up in time--it's their loss." + +Roy, intent on Lance, was scarcely listening. "He's seen us now. Come +along. Let's explain." + +It was Miss Arden who did the explaining in a manner all her own. + +"Well--what became of you?" she asked, smiling in response to Desmond's +look of interrogation. "As you didn't appear, I concluded you'd either +forgotten or been caught in a rubber." + +"Bad shots,--both," Desmond retorted with a direct look. + +"I'm awfully sorry ... I hadn't a notion----" Roy began--and checked +himself, perceiving that he could not say much without implicating his +partner. + +This time Desmond's smile had quite another quality. "You're very +welcome. Carry on. Don't mind me. It's half over." + +"A model of generosity!" Miss Arden applauded him. "I'm free for the +next--if you'd care to have it instead." + +"Thanks very much; but I'm not," Desmond answered serenely. + +"The great little Banter-Wrangle--is it? You could plead a +misunderstanding and bribe Mr Sinclair to save the situation!" + +"Hard luck on Sinclair. But it's not Mrs Ranyard. I'm sorry----" + +"Don't apologise. If you're satisfied, I am." + +For all her careless tone, Roy had never seen her so nearly put out of +countenance. Desmond said nothing; and for a moment--the briefest--there +fell an awkward silence. Then with an air of marked graciousness she +turned to Roy. + +"We are generously permitted to go on, with a clear conscience!" + +But for Roy the charm was broken. Her cavalier treatment of Lance +annoyed him; and beneath the surface play of looks and words he had +detected the flash of steel. It was some satisfaction that Lance had +given as good as he received. But he felt troubled and curious. And he +was likely to remain so. Lance, he very well knew, would say precisely +nothing. + +The girl, as if divining his thoughts, combated them with the delicately +pointed weapons of her kind--and prevailed. + +Again they wandered in the darkening garden and returned to find the +Boston in full swing. Again Miss Arden's glance travelled casually round +the room. And Roy saw her start; just enough to swear by.... + +Desmond was dancing with Miss Delawny----! + +The frivolous comment on Roy's lips was checked by the look in his +partner's eyes. Impossible not to wonder if Lance had actually been +engaged; or if----? + +In any case--a knock for Miss Arden's vanity. A shade too severe, +perhaps; yet sympathy for her was tinged with exultation that Lance had +held his own. Mrs Ranyard was right. Here was a man set firmly on his +feet.... + +Miss Arden's voice drew his wandering attention back to herself. "We may +as well finish this. Or are you also--engaged?" + +Her light stress on the word held a significance he did not miss. + +"To you--if you will!" he answered gallantly, hand on heart. "More than +I deserve--as you said; but still----" + +"It's just possible for a woman to be magnanimous!" she capped him, +smiling. "And it's just possible for a man to be--the other thing! +Remember that--when you get back to your eternal scribbling!" + +An hour later he rode homeward with a fine confusion of sensations and +impressions, doubts and desires seething in his brain. Miss Arden was +delightful, but a trifle unsettling. She must not be allowed to distract +him from the work he loved. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Shall I cool desire + By looking at those lovely eyes of hers, + That passionate love prefers + To his own brand, for setting hearts on fire." + --EDMUND GOSSE. + + + +But neither the work he loved, nor his budding intimacy with Miss Arden, +deterred him from accepting a week-end invitation from the Maharajah of +Kapurthala--the friendly, hospitable ruler of a neighbouring Sikh State. +The Colonel was going, and Lance, and half a dozen other good sportsmen. +They set out on Thursday, the military holiday, in a state of high +good-humour with themselves and their host; to return on Sunday evening, +renewed in body and mind by the pursuit of pig and the spirit of Shikar, +that keeps a man sane and virile, and tempers the insidious effect, on +the white races, of life and work in the climate of India. It draws men +away from the rather cramping station atmosphere. It sets their feet in +a large room. And in this case it did not fail to dispel the light cloud +that had hovered between Lance and Roy since the day of the wedding. + +In the friendly rivalries of sport, it was possible to forget woman +complications; even to feel it a trifle derogatory that one should be so +ignominiously at the mercy of the thing. Thus Roy, indulging in a +spasmodic declaration of independence; glorying in the virile excitement +of pig-sticking, and the triumph of getting first spear. + +But returning on Saturday, from a day after snipe and teal, he found +himself instinctively allotting the pick of his 'bag' to Miss Arden; +just a complimentary attention; the sort of thing she would appreciate. +Having refused a ride with her because of this outing, it seemed the +least he could do. + +Apparently the same strikingly original idea had occurred to Lance; and +by the merest fluke they found one another out. To Roy's relief, Lance +greeted the embarrassing discovery with a gust of laughter. + +"I say--this won't do. You give over. It's too much of a joke. +Besides--cheek on your part." + +Though he spoke lightly, the hint of command in his tone promptly put +Roy on the defensive. + +"Rot! Why shouldn't I? But--the _two_ of them...! A bit overwhelming!" +And suddenly he remembered his declaration of independence. "After +all--why should either of us? Can't we let be, just for four days? Look +here, Lance. You give over too. Don't send yours. And I won't send +mine." + +Lance--having considered that inspired proposal--turned a speculative +eye on Roy. + +"Lord, what a kid you are, still!" + +"Well, I mean it. Out here, we're clear of all that. Over there, the +women call the tune--we dance. Sport's the God-given antidote! Though it +won't be so much longer--the way things are going. We shall soon have +'em after pig and on the polo ground----" + +"God forbid!" It came out with such fervour that Roy laughed. + +"He doesn't--that's the trouble! He gives us all the rope we want. And +the women may be trusted to take every available inch. I'm not sure +there isn't a grain of wisdom in the Eastern plan; keeping them, so to +speak, in a separate compartment. Once you open a chink, they flow in +and swamp everything." + +Up went Lance's eyebrows. "That--from you?" And Roy made haste to add: +"I wasn't thinking of mothers and sisters; but the kind you play round +with ... before you marry. They've a big pull out here. Very good fun of +course. And if a man's keen on marrying----" + +"Aren't you keen?" Lance cut in with a quick look. + +"N-no. Not just yet, anyway. It's a plunge. And I'm too full up with +other things.--But what about the birds?" + +"Oh, we'll let be--as you sagely suggest!" + +And they did. + +More pig-sticking next morning, with two tuskers for trophies; and +thereafter, they travelled reluctantly back to harness, by an afternoon +train, feeling--without exception--healthier, happier men. + +None of them, perhaps, was more conscious of that inner renewal than +Lance and Roy. The incident of the game seemed in some way to have +cleared the air between them; and throughout the return journey, both +were in the maddest spirits, keeping the whole carriage in an uproar. +Afterwards, driving homeward, Roy registered a resolve to spend more of +his time on masculine society and the novel; less of it dancing and +fooling about in Lahore.... + + * * * * * + +A vision of his table, with its inviting disarray, and the picture of +his mother for presiding genius, gave his heart a lift. He promised +himself a week of uninterrupted evenings, alone with Terry and his +thronging thoughts; when the whole house was still and the reading-lamp +made a magic circle of light in the surrounding gloom.... + +Meantime, there were letters: one from his father, one from Jeffers; and +beneath them a too familiar envelope. + +At sight of it, he felt a faint tug inside him; as it were a whispered +reminder that, away at Kapurthala, he had been about as free as a bird +with a string round its leg. He resented the aptness of that degrading +simile. It was a new sensation; and he did not relish it. The few women +he intimately loved had counted for so much in his life that he scarcely +realised his abysmal ignorance of the power that is in woman--the mere +opposite of man; the implicit challenge, the potent lure. Partly from +temperament, partly from principle, he had kept more or less clear of +'all that'. Now, weaponless, he had rashly entered the lists. + +He opened Miss Arden's note feeling antagonistic. But its friendliness +disarmed him. She hoped they had enjoyed themselves immensely and slain +enough creatures to satisfy their primitive instincts. And her mother +hoped Mr Sinclair would dine with them on Wednesday evening: quite a +small affair. + +His first impulse was to refuse; but her allusion to the slain creatures +touched up his conscience. To cap the omission by refusing her +invitation might annoy her. No sense in that. So he decided to accept; +and sat down to enjoy his home letters at leisure. + +Lance, it transpired, had not been asked. He and Barnard were the +favoured ones,--and, on the appointed evening, they drove in together. +Roy had been writing nearly all day. He had reached a point in his +chapter at which a break was distracting. Yet here he was, driving +Barnard to Lahore, cursing his luck, and--yes--trying to ignore a +flutter of anticipation in the region of his heart.... + +As far as mere lust of the eye went--and it went a good way with Roy--he +had his reward the moment he entered Mrs Elton's overloaded +drawing-room. Rose Arden excelled herself in evening dress. The carriage +of her head, the curve of her throat, and the admirable line from ear to +shoulder made a picture supremely satisfying to his artist's eye. + +Her negligible bodice was a filmy affair--ivory white with glints of +gold. Her gauzy gold wedding-sash, swathed round her hips, fell in a +fringed knot below her knee. Filmy sleeves floated from her shoulders, +leaving the arms bare and unadorned, except for one gold bangle, high +up--the latest note from Home. For the rest, her rope of amber beads and +long earrings only a few tones lighter than her astonishing hazel eyes. + +Face to face with her beauty, and her discreetly veiled pleasure at +sight of him, he could not be ungracious enough to curse his luck. But +his satisfaction cooled at sight of Talbot Hayes by the mantelpiece, +inclining his polished angularity to catch some confidential tit-bit +from little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. Of course that fellow would take her in. +He, Roy, had no official position now; and without it one was negligible +in Anglo-India. Besides, Mrs Elton openly favoured Talbot Hayes. Failing +Rose, there were two more prospective brides at Home--twins; and Hayes +was fatally endowed with all the surface symptoms of the 'coming man': +the supple alertness and self-assurance; the instinct for the right +thing; and--supreme asset in these days--a studious detachment from the +people and the country. In consequence, needless to say, he remained +obstinately sceptical as regards the rising storm. + +Very early, Roy had put out feelers to discover how much he understood +or cared; and Hayes had blandly assured him: "Bengal may bluster and +the D.C. may pessimise, but you can take it from me, there will be no +serious upheaval in the North. If ever these people are fools enough to +manoeuvre us out of India, so much the worse for them; so much the +better for us. It's a beastly country." + +Nevertheless Roy observed that he appeared to extract out of the beastly +country every available ounce of enjoyment. In affable moments, he could +even manage to forget his career--and unbend. He was unbending now. + +A few paces off, the dyspeptic Judge was discussing 'the situation' with +his host--a large unwieldy man, so nervous of his own bulk and unready +wit that only the discerning few discovered the sensitive, friendly +spirit very completely hidden under a bushel. Roy, who had liked him at +sight, felt vaguely sorry for him. He seemed a fish out of water in his +own home; overwhelmed by the florid, assured personality of his wife. + +They were the last, of course; nearly five minutes late. Trust Roy. Only +four other guests; Dr Ethel Wemyss, M.B., lively and clever and new to +the country; Major and Mrs Garten of the Sikhs, with a stolid +good-humoured daughter, who unfailingly wore the same frock and the same +disarming smile. + +The Deputy Commissioner's wife permitted herself few military intimates. +But she had come in touch with Mrs Garten over a _dhobi's_[19] chit and +a recipe for pumelo gin. Both women were consumedly Anglo-Indian. All +their values were social;--pay, promotion, prestige. All their +lamentations pitched in the same key:--everything dearer, servants +'impossible,' hospitality extinct, with every one saving and scraping to +get Home. Both were deeply versed in bazaar prices and the sins of +native servants. Hence, in due course, a friendship (according to Mrs +Ranyard) 'broad based on _jharrons_[20] and charcoal and kerosene'! + +The two were lifting up their voices in unison over the mysterious +shortage of kerosene (that arch-sinner Mool Chand said none was coming +into the country) when dinner was announced; and Talbot +Hayes--inevitably--offered his arm to Miss Arden. + +Roy, consigned to Dr Wemyss, could only pray heaven for the next best +thing--Miss Arden on his left. Instead, amazedly, he found himself +promoted to a seat beside her mother, who still further amazed him by +treating him to a much larger share of her attention than the law of the +dinner-table prescribed. Her talk, in the main, was local and personal; +and Roy simply let it flow; his eyes flagrantly straying down the table +towards Miss Arden and Hayes, who seemed very intimate this evening. + +Suddenly he found himself talking about Home. It began with gardens. Mrs +Elton had a passion for them, as her _mális_[21] knew to their cost; and +the other day a friend had told her that somebody said Mr Sinclair had a +lovely place at Home, with a _wonderful_ old garden----? + +Mr Sinclair admitted as much, with masculine brevity. + +Undeterred, she drew out the sentimental stop:--the charm of a _real_ +old English garden! Out here, one only used the word by courtesy. +Laborites, of course, were specially favoured; but do what one would, it +was never _quite_ the same thing--was it...? + +Not quite, Roy agreed amicably--and wondered what the joke was down +there. He supposed Miss Arden must have had some say in the geography of +the table.... + +Her mother, meantime, had tacked sail and was probing him, indirectly, +about his reasons for remaining in India. Was he going in for politics, +or the life of a country gentleman in his beautiful home? Her remarks +implied that she took him for the eldest son. And Roy, who had not been +attending, realised with a jar that, in vulgar parlance, he was being +discreetly pumped. Whereat, politely but decisively, he sheered off and +stuck to his partner till the meal was over. + +The men seemed to linger interminably over their wine and cigars. But he +managed to engage the D.C. on the one subject that put shyness to +flight--the problems of changing India. With more than twenty years of +work and observation behind him, he saw the widening gulf between rulers +and ruled as an almost equal disaster for both. He knew, none better, +all that had been achieved, in his own Province alone, for the peasant +and the loyal landowner. He had made many friends among the Indians of +his district; and from these he had received repeated warnings of +widespread, organised rebellion. Yet he was helpless; tied hand and foot +in yards of red tape.... + +It was not the first time that Roy had enjoyed a talk with him; a sense +of doors opening on to larger spaces. But this evening restlessness +nagged at him; and at the first hint of a move he was on his feet, +determined to forestall Hayes. + +He succeeded; and Miss Arden welcomed him with the lift of her brows +that he was growing to watch for when they met. It seemed to imply a +certain intimacy. + +"Very brown and vigorous, you're looking. Was it--great fun?" + +"It was topping," he answered with simple fervour. "Rare sport. +Everything in style." + +"And no leisure to miss partners left lamenting? I hope our stars shone +the brighter, glorified by distance?" + +Her eyes challenged him with smiling deliberation. His own met them +full; and a little tingling shock ran through him, as at the touch of an +electric needle. + +"_Some_ stars are dazzling enough at close quarters," he said boldly. + +"But surely--'distance lends enchantment'----?" + +"It depends a good deal on the view!" + +At that moment, up came Hayes, with his ineffable air of giving a cachet +to any one he honoured with his favour. And Miss Arden hailed him, as if +they had not met for a week. + +Thus encouraged, of course he clung like a limpet; and reverted to some +subject they had been discussing, tacitly isolating Roy. + +For a few exasperating moments, he stood his ground, counting on bridge +to remove the limpet. But when Hayes refused a pressing invitation to +join Mrs Ranyard's table, Roy gave it up, and deliberately walked away. + +Only Mr Elton remained sitting near the fireplace. His look of +undisguised pleasure, at Roy's approach, atoned for a good deal; and +they renewed their talk where it had broken off. Roy almost forgot he +was speaking to a senior official; freely expressed his own thoughts; +and even ventured to comment on the strange detachment of Anglo-Indians, +in general, from a land full of such vast and varied interests, lying at +their very doors. + +"Perhaps--I misjudge them," he added with the unfailing touch of modesty +that was not least among his charms. "But to me it sometimes seems as if +a curtain hung between their eyes and India. And--it's catching. In some +subtle way this little concentrated world, within a world, seems to draw +one's receptiveness away from it all. Is that very sweeping, sir?" + +A smile dawned in Mr Elton's rather mournful eyes. "In a sense--it's +painfully true. But the fact is--Anglo-Indian life can't be fairly +judged from the outside. It has to be lived before its insidiousness can +be suspected." He moistened his lips and caressed his chin with a large, +sensitive hand. "Happily--there are a good many exceptions." + +"If I wasn't talking to one of them, sir--I wouldn't have ventured!" +said Roy; and the friendly smile deepened. + +"All the same," Elton went on, "there are those who assert that it is +half the secret of our success; that India conquered the conquerors, who +lived _with_ her and so lost their virility. Yet in our earlier days, +when the personal touch was a reality, we _did_ achieve a better +relation all round. Of course the present state of affairs is the +inevitable fruit of our whole system. By the Anglicising process, we +have spread all over India a vast layer of minor officials some six +million persons deep! Consider, my dear young man, the significance of +those figures. We reduce the European staff. We increase the drudgery of +their office work--and we wonder why the Sahib and the peasant are no +longer personal friends----!" + +Stirred by his subject, and warmed by Roy's intelligent interest, the +man's nervous tricks disappeared. He spoke eagerly, earnestly, as to an +equal in experience; a compliment Roy would have been quicker to +appreciate had not half his attention been centred on that exasperating +pair, who had retired to a cushioned alcove and looked like remaining +there for good. + +What the devil had the girl invited him for? If she wished to +disillusion him, she was succeeding to admiration. If she fancied he was +one of her infernal ninepins, she was very much mistaken. And all the +while he found himself growing steadily more distracted, more +insistently conscious of her.... + +Voices and laughter heralded an influx of bridge players; Mrs Ranyard, +with Barnard, Miss Garten, and Dr Wemyss. A table of three women and one +man did not suit the little lady's taste. + +"We're a very scratch lot. And we want fresh blood!" she announced +carnivorously, as the pair in the alcove rose and came forward. + +The two men rose also, but went on with their talk. They knew it was not +their blood Mrs Ranyard was seeking. Roy kept his back turned and +studiously refrained from hoping.... + +"If you two have _quite_ finished breaking up the Empire...?" said Miss +Arden's voice at his elbow. She had approached so quietly that he +started. Worse still, he knew she had seen. "I was terrified of being +caught,"--she turned affectionately to her stepfather--"so I flung Mr +Hayes to the wolves--and fled. You're sanctuary!" + +Her fingers caressed his sleeve. Words and touch waked a smile in his +mournful eyes. They seemed to understand one another, these two. To Roy +she had never seemed more charming; and his own abrupt volte-face was +unsteadying, to say the least of it. + +"Hayes would prove a tough mouthful--even for wolves," Elton remarked +pensively. + +"He _would_! He's so securely lacquered over with--well--we won't be +unkind. _But_--strictly between ourselves, Pater--wouldn't you love to +swop him for Mr Sinclair, these days?" + +"My _dear_!" Elton reproached her, nervously shifting his large hands. +"Hayes is a model--of efficiency! But--well, well--if Mr Sinclair will +forgive flattery to his face--I should say he has many fine qualities +for an Indian career, should he be inclined that way----" + +"Thank you, sir. I'd no notion----" Roy murmured, overwhelmed, as +Elton--seeing Miss Garten stranded--moved dutifully to her rescue. + +Miss Arden glanced again at Roy. "_Are_ you inclining that way?" + +The question took him aback. + +"Me? No. Of course I'd love it--for some things." + +"You're well out of it, in my opinion. It'll soon be no country for a +white man. He's already little more than a futile superfluity----" + +"On the contrary," Roy struck in warmly, "the Englishman--of the +rightest sort, is more than ever needed in India to-day." + +Her slight shrug conceded the point. "I never argue! And if you start on +_that_ subject--I'm nowhere! You can save it all up for the Pater. He's +rather a dear--don't you think?" + +"He's splendid." + +Her smile had its caressing quality. "That's the last adjective any one +else would apply to him! But it's true. There's a fine streak in +him--very carefully hidden away. People don't see it, because he's shy +and clumsy and hasn't an ounce of push. But he understands the natives. +Loves them. Goodness knows why. And he's got the right touch. I could +tell you a tale----" + +"Do!" he urged. "Tales are my pet weakness." + +She subsided into the empty chair and looked up invitingly. "Sit," she +commanded--and he obeyed. + +He was neither saying nor doing the things he had meant to say or do. +But the mere beauty of her enthralled him; the alluring grace of her +pose, leaning forward a little, bare arms resting on her knees. No vivid +colour anywhere except her lips. Those lips, thought Roy, were +responsible for a good deal. Their flexible softness discounted more +than a little the deliberation of her eyes; and to-night, her charming +attitude to Elton appreciably quickened his interest in her and her +tale. + +"It happened out in the district. I heard it from a friend." She leaned +nearer and spoke in a confidential undertone. "He got news that some +neighbouring town was in a ferment. Only a handful of Europeans there; +an American mission; and no troops. So the 'mish' people begged him to +come in and politely wave his official wand. You must be very polite to +_badmashes_[22] these days, if you're a mere Sahib; or you hear of it +from some little Tin God sitting safe in his office, hundreds of miles +away. Well, off he went--a twenty-mile drive; found the mission in a +flutter--I don't blame them--armed with rifles and revolvers; +expecting-every-moment-to-be-their-next sort of thing; and the town in +an uproar. Some religious tamasha. He talked like a father to the +headmen; and assured the 'mish' people it would be all right. + +"They begged him to stay and see them through. So he said he would sleep +at the dák bungalow. 'All alone?' they asked. 'No one to guard you?' +'Quite unnecessary,' he said:--and they were simply amazed! + +"It was rather hot; so he had his bed put in the garden. Then he sent +for the leading men and said: 'I hear there's a disturbance going on. I +don't intimate you have anything to do with it. But you are responsible; +and I expect you to keep the people in hand. I'm sleeping here to-night. +If there is trouble, you can report to me. But it is for _you_ to keep +order in your own town.' + +"They salaamed and departed. No one came near him. And he drove off next +morning, leaving those Americans, with their rifles and revolvers, more +amazed than ever! I was told it made a great impression on the natives, +his sleeping alone in the garden, without so much as a sentry. And the +cream of it is," she added--her eyes on Elton's unheroic figure--"the +man who could do that is terrified of walking across a ballroom or +saying polite things to a woman!" + +Distinctly, to-night, she was in a new vein, more attractive to Roy than +all her feminine crafts and lures. Sitting, friendly and at ease over +the fire, they discussed human idiosyncrasies--a pet subject with him. + +Then, suddenly, she looked him in the eyes;--and he was aware of her +again, in the old disturbing way. + +Yet she was merely remarking, with a small sigh, "You can't think how +refreshing it is to get a little real talk sometimes with a cultivated +man who is neither a soldier nor a civilian. Even in a big station, +we're so boxed in with 'shop' and personalities. The men are luckier. +They can escape now and then; shake off the women as one shakes off +burrs----!" + +Another glance here; half sceptical, wholly captivating. + +"It's easier said than done," admitted Roy, recalling his own partial +failure. + +"Charming of you to confess it! Dare I confess that I've found the Hall +and the tennis rather flat these few days--without imperilling your +phenomenal modesty?" + +"I think you dare." It was he who looked full at her now. "My modesty +badly needs bucking up--this evening." + +Her feigned surprise was delicately done. "What a shame! Who's been +snubbing you? Our clever M.B.?" + +"Not at all. You've got the initials wrong." + +"_Did_ it hurt your feelings--as much as all that?" She dropped the +flimsy pretence and her eyes proffered apology. + +"Well--you invited me." + +"And mother invited Mr Hayes! The fact is--he's been rather in evidence +these few days. And one can't flick _him_ off like an ordinary mortal. +He's a 'coming man'!" She folded hands and lips and looked deliciously +demure. "All the same--it _was_ unkind. You were so unhappy at dinner. I +could feel it all that way off. Be magnanimous and come for a ride +to-morrow--do." + +And Roy--the detached, the disillusioned--accepted with alacrity. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 19: Washerman.] + +[Footnote 20: Dusters.] + +[Footnote 21: Gardener.] + +[Footnote 22: Bad characters.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "For every power, a man pays toll in a corresponding weakness; and + probably the artist pays heaviest of all."--M.P. WILLCOCKS. + + +It was the morning of the great Gymkhana, to be followed by the +Bachelors' Ball. For Lahore's unfailing social energy was not yet spent; +though Depot troops had gone to the Hills, and the leave season was +open, releasing a fortunate few; leaving the rest to fretful or stoical +endurance of the stealthy, stoking-up process of a Punjab hot-weather. +And the true inwardness of those three words must be burned into body +and brain, season after season, to be even remotely understood. + +Already earth and air were full of whispered warnings. Roses and +sweet-peas were fading. Social life was virtually suspended between +twelve and two, the 'calling hours' of the cold weather; and at sunset +the tree-crickets shrilled louder than ever--careless heralds of doom. +Human tempers were shorter; and even the night did not now bring +unfailing relief. + +Roy had been sleeping badly again; partly the heat, partly the clash of +sensations within him. This morning, after hours of tossing and dozing +and dreaming--not the right kind of dreams at all,--he was up and out +before sunrise, forsaking the bed that betrayed him for the saddle that +never failed to bring a measure of respite from the fever of body and +mind that was stultifying, insidiously, his reason and his will. + +Still immersed in his novel, he had come up to Lahore heart-free, +purpose-free; vaguely aware that virtue had gone out of him; looking +forward to a few weeks of careless enjoyment, between spells of work; +and above all, to the 'high old time' he and Lance would have together +beyond Kashmir. Women and marriage were simply not in the picture. His +attitude to that inevitable event was, on his own confession--'not yet.' +Possibly, when he got Home, he might discover it was Tara, after all. It +would need some courage to propose again. For the memory of that +juvenile fiasco still pricked his sensitive pride. A touch of the Rajput +came out there. Letters from Serbia seemed to dawdle unconscionably by +the way. But, in leisurely course, he had received an answer to his +screed about Dyán and the quest; a letter alive with all he loved best +in her--enthusiasm, humour, vivid sympathy, deepened and enlarged by +experiences that could not yet be told. But Tara was far and Miss Arden +was near; and, in the mysterious workings of sex magnetism, mere +propinquity too often prevails. + +And all the others seemed farther still. They wrote regularly, +affectionately. Yet their letters--especially his father's--seemed to +tell precious little of the things he really wanted to know. Perhaps his +own had been more reserved than he realised. There had been so much at +Jaipur and Delhi that he could not very well enlarge upon. No use +worrying the dear old man; and she, who had linked them, unfailingly, +was now seldom mentioned between them. + +So there grew up in Roy a disconsolate feeling that none of them cared +very much whether he came Home or not. Jerry--after three years in a +German prison--was a nervous wreck; still undergoing treatment; humanly +lost, for the time being. Tiny was absorbed in her husband and an even +Tinier baby, called Nevil Le Roy, after himself. Tara was not yet home; +but coming before long, because Aunt Helen had broken down, between war +work and the shock of Atholl's death. + +A queer thing--separation, mused Roy, as Suráj slowed down to a walk and +the glare of morning flamed along the sky. There were they--and here was +he: close relations, in effect; almost strangers in fact. There was more +between him and them than several hundred miles of sea. There was the +bottomless gulf of the War; the gulf of his bitter grief and the slow +climb up from the depths to Pisgah heights of revelation. Impossible to +communicate--even had he willed--those inner, vital experiences at +Chitor and Jaipur. And he had certainly neither will nor power to +enlarge on his present turmoil of heart and mind. + +Since his ride with Rose Arden, after the dinner-party, things seemed to +have taken a new turn. Their relation was no longer tentative. She +seemed tacitly to regard him as her chosen cavalier; and he, as tacitly, +fell in with the arrangement. No denying he felt flattered a little; +subjugated increasingly by a spell he could neither analyse nor resist, +because he had known nothing quite like it before. He was, in truth, +paying the penalty for those rare and beautiful years of early manhood +inspired by worship of his mother. For every virtue, every gift, the +gods exact a price. And he was paying it now. Deep down within him, +something tugged against that potent spell. Yet increasingly it +prevailed and lured him from his work. The vivid beings of his brain +were fading into bloodless unrealities; in which state he could do +nothing with them. Yet Broome's encouragement, and his father's critical +appreciation of fragments lately sent Home, had fired him to +fulfil--more than fulfil--their expectations. And now--here he was +tripped up again by his all-too-human capacity for emotion--as at +Jaipur. + +The comparison jerked him. The two experiences, like the two women, had +almost nothing in common. The charm of Arúna--with its Eastern mingling +of the sensuous and spiritual--was a charm he intimately understood. It +combined a touch of the earth with a rarefied touch of the stars. In +Rose Arden, so far, he had discovered no touch of the stars. She +suggested, rather, a day in early summer, when warmth and fragrance and +colour permeate soul and body; keeping them delectably in thrall; wooing +the brain from irksome queries--why, whence, whither? + +By now, the sheer fascination of her had entered in and saturated his +being to a degree that he vaguely resented. Always one face, one voice, +intruding on him unsought. No respite from thought of her, from desire +of her; the exquisite intolerable ache, at times, when she was present +with him; the still more intolerable ache when she was not. + +The fluidity of his own dual nature, and recoil from the Arúna +temptation, inclined him peculiarly to idealise the clear-eyed, +self-poised Western qualities so diversely personified in Lance and this +compelling girl. Yet emphatically he did not love her. He knew the great +reality too well to delude himself on that score. Were these the +authentic signs of falling 'in love'? If so--in spite of rapturous +moments--it was a confoundedly uncomfortable state of being.... + +Where was she leading him--this beautiful, distracting girl, who said so +little, yet whose smiles and silences implied so much? There was no +forwardness or free-and-easiness about her; yet instinctively he +recognised her as the active agent in the whole affair. Twice, lately, +he had resolved not to go near her again; and both times he had failed +ignominiously--he who prided himself on control of unruly emotions...! + +Had Lance, he wondered, made the same resolve and managed to keep +it--being Lance? Or was the Gymkhana momentarily the stronger magnet of +the two? He and Paul, with a Major in the Monmouths, were chief +organisers; and much practice was afoot at tent-pegging, bare-back +horsemanship, and the like. For a week Lance had scarcely been into +Lahore. When Roy pressed him, he said it was getting too hot for +afternoon dancing. But as he still affected far more violent forms of +exercise, that excuse was not particularly convincing. + +By way of retort, he had rallied Roy on overdoing the tame-cat touch and +neglecting the important novel. And Roy--wincing at the truth of that +friendly flick--had replied no less truthfully: "Well, if it hangs fire, +old chap, you're the sinner. _You_ dug me out of Paradise by twitting me +with becoming an appendage to a pencil! Another month at Udaipur would +have nearly pulled me through it--in the rough, at least." + +It was lightly spoken; but Lance had set his lips in a fashion Roy knew +well; and said no more. + +Altogether, he seemed to have retired into a shell out of which he +refused to be drawn. They were friendly as ever, but distinctly less +intimate; and Roy felt vaguely responsible, yet powerless to put things +straight. For intimacy--in its essence a mutual impulse--cannot be +induced to order. If one spoke of Miss Arden, or doings in Lahore, Lance +would respond without enthusiasm, and unobtrusively change the subject. +Roy could only infer that his interest in the girl had never gone very +deep and had now fizzled out altogether. But he would have given a good +deal to feel sure that the fizzling out had no connection with his own +appearance on the scene. It bothered him to remember that, at first, in +an odd, repressed fashion Lance had seemed unmistakably keen. But if he +would persist in playing the Trappist monk, what the devil was a fellow +to do? + +Even over the Gymkhana programme, there had been an undercurrent of +friction. Lance--in his new vein--had wanted to keep the women out of +it; while Roy--in his new vein--couldn't keep at least one of them out, +if he tried. In particular, both were keen about the Cockade Tournament: +a glorified version of fencing on horseback: the wire masks adorned with +a small coloured feather for plume. He was victor whose fencing-stick +detached his opponent's feather. The prize--Bachelor's Purse--had been +well subscribed for and supplemented by Gymkhana funds. So, on all +accounts, it was a popular event. There were twenty-two names down; and +Roy, in a romantic impulse, had proposed making a real joust of it; each +knight to wear a lady's favour; a Queen of Beauty and Love to be chosen +for the prize-giving, as in the days of chivalry. + +Lance had rather hotly objected; and a few inveterate bachelors had +backed him up. But the bulk of men are sentimental at heart; none more +than the soldier. So Roy's idea had caught on, and the matter was +settled. There was little doubt who would be chosen for prize-giver; and +scarcely less doubt whose favour Roy would wear. + +Desmond's flash of annoyance had been brief; but he had stipulated that +favours should not be compulsory. If they were, he for one would +'scratch.' This time he had a larger backing; and, amid a good deal of +chaff and laughter, had carried his point. + +That open clash between them--slight though it was--had jarred Roy a +good deal. Lance, characteristically, had ignored the whole thing. + +But not even the inner jar could blunt Roy's keen anticipation of the +whole affair. Miss Arden was his partner in one of the few mixed events. +He was to wear her favour for the Tournament--a Maréchal Mel rose; and, +infatuated as he was, he saw it for a guarantee of victory.... + +In view of that intoxicating possibility, nothing else mattered +inordinately, at the moment: though there reposed in his pocket a letter +from Dyán--with a Delhi post-mark--giving a detailed account of serious +trouble caused by the recent _hartal_:[23] all shops closed; tram-cars +and gharris held up by threatening crowds; helpless passengers forced to +proceed on foot in the blazing heat and dust; troops and police +violently assaulted; till a few rounds of buckshot cooled the ardour of +ignorant masses, doubtless worked up to concert pitch by wandering +agitators of the Chandranath persuasion. + +"There were certain Swamis," he concluded, "trying to keep things +peaceful. But they ought to know resistance cannot be passive or +peaceful; and excitement without understanding is a fire difficult to +quench. I believe this explosion was premature; but there is lots more +gunpowder lying about, only waiting for the match. I am taking Arúna +into the Hills for a pilgrimage. It is possible Grandfather may come +too; we are hoping to start soon after the fifteenth, if things keep +quiet. Write to me, Roy, telling all you know. Lahore is a hotbed for +trouble; Amritsar, worse; but I hope your authorities are keeping well +on their guard." + +From all Roy heard, there seemed good reason to believe they were;--in +so far as a Home policy of Government by concession would permit. But +well he knew that--in the East--if the ruling power discards action for +argument, and uses the sceptre for a walking-stick--things happen to men +and women and children on the spot. He also knew that, to England's +great good fortune, there were usually men on the spot who could be +relied on, in an emergency, to think and act and dare in accordance with +the high tradition of their race. + +He hoped devoutly it might not come to that; but at the core of hope +lurked a flicker of fear.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 23: Abstention as sign of mourning.] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Her best is bettered with a more delight."--SHAKSPERE. + + +The great Gymkhana was almost over. The last event--bare-back feats of +horsemanship--had been an exciting affair; a close contest between Lance +and Roy and an Indian Cavalry officer. But it was Roy who had carried +the day, by his daring and dexterity in the test of swooping down and +snatching a handkerchief from the ground at full gallop. The ovation he +received went to his head like champagne. But praise from Lance went to +his heart; for Lance, like himself, had been 'dead keen' on this +particular event. He had carried off a tent-pegging cup, however; and +appropriately won the V.C. race. So Roy considered he had a right to his +triumph; especially as the handkerchief in question had been proffered +by Miss Arden. It was reposing in his breast pocket now; and he had a +good mind not to part with it. He was feeling in the mood to dare, +simply for the excitement of the thing. He and she had won the Gretna +Green race--hands down. He further intended--for her honour and his own +glory--to come off victor in the Cockade Tournament, in spite of the +fact that fencing on horseback was one of Lance's specialities. He had +taught Roy in Mesopotamia, during those barren, plague-ridden stretches +of time when the war seemed hung up indefinitely and it took every ounce +of surplus optimism to keep going at all. + +Roy's hope was that some other man might knock Lance out; or--as teams +would be decided by lot--that luck might cast them together. For the +ache of compunction was rather pronounced this afternoon; perhaps +because the good fellow's aloofness from the grand _shamiánah_[24] was +also rather pronounced, considering.... + +He seemed always to be either out in the open, directing events, or very +much engaged in the refreshment tent--an earthly Paradise, on this +blazing day of early April, to scores of dusty, thirsty, indefatigable +men. + +Between events, as now, the place was thronged. Every moment, fresh +arrivals shouting for 'drinks.' Every moment the swish of a syphon, the +popping of corks; ginger-beer and lemonade for Indian officers, seated +just outside, and permitted by caste rules to refresh themselves +'English-fashion,' provided they drank from the pure source of the +bottle. Not a Sikh or Rajput of them all would have sullied his +caste-purity by drinking from the tumbler used by some admired Sahib, +for whom on service he would cheerfully lay down his life. Within the +tent were a few--very few--more advanced beings, who had discarded all +irksome restrictions and would sooner be shot than address a white man +as 'Sahib.' Such is India in transition; a welter of incongruities, of +shifting perilous uncertainties, of subterranean ferment beneath a +surface that still appears very much as it has always been. + +Roy--observant and interested as usual--saw, in the brilliant gathering, +all the outward and visible signs of security, stability, power. Let +those signs be shaken never so little, thought he--and the heavens would +fall. But, in spite of grave news from Delhi--that might prove a prelude +to eruption--not a ripple stirred on the face of the waters. The grand +_shamiánah_ was thronged with lively groups of women and men in the +lightest of light attire. A British band was enlivening the interlude +with musical comedy airs. Stewards were striding about looking +important, issuing orders for the next event. And around them all--as +close as boundary flags and police would allow--thronged the solid mass +of onlookers: soldiers, sepoys, and sowars from every regiment in +cantonments; minor officials with their families; ponies and _saises_ +and dogs without number; all wedged in by a sea of brown faces and +bobbing turbans, thousands of them twenty or thirty deep. + +Roy's eyes, travelling from that vast outer ring to the crowded tent, +suddenly saw the whole scene as typical of Anglo-Indian life: the little +concentrated world of British men and women, pursuing their own ends, +magnificently unmindful of alien eyes--watching, speculating, +misunderstanding at every turn; the whole heterogeneous mass drawn and +held together by the love of hazard and sport, the spirit of competition +without strife that is the corner-stone of British character and the +British Empire. + +He had just been talking to a C.I.D.[25] man, who had things to say +about subterranean rumblings that might have startled those laughing, +chaffing groups of men and women. Too vividly his imagination pictured +the scenes at Delhi, while his eyes scanned the formidable depths of +alien humanity hemming them in, outnumbering them by thousands to one. +What if all those friendly faces became suddenly hostile--if the +laughter and high-pitched talk changed to the roar of an angry crowd...? + +He shook off the nightmare feeling, rating himself for a coward. Yet he +knew it was not fantastical, not even improbable; though most of the +people around him, till they saw with their own eyes, and heard with +their own ears, would not believe.... + +But thoughts so unsettling were out of place, in the midst of a Gymkhana +with the grand climax imminent. So--having washed the dust out of his +throat--he sauntered across to the other tent to snatch a few words with +Miss Arden and secure his rose. It had been given to one of the +'_kits_,' who would put it in water and produce it on demand. For the +affair of the favours was to be a private affair. Miss Arden, however, +in choosing a Maréchal Niel, tacitly avowed him her knight. Lance would +know. All their set would know. He supposed she realised that. She was +not an accidental kind of person. And she had a natural gift for +flattery of the delicate, indirect order. + +No easy matter to get near her again, once you left her side. As usual, +she was surrounded by men; easily the Queen of Beauty and of Love. In +honour of that high compliment, she wore her loveliest race gown; soft +shades of blue and green skilfully blended; and a close-fitting hat +bewitchingly framed her face. Nearing the tent, Roy felt a sudden twinge +of apprehension. Where were they drifting to--he and she? Was he +prepared to bid her good-bye in a week or ten days, and possibly not set +eyes on her again? Would she let him go without a pang, and start afresh +with some chance-met fellow in Simla? The idea was detestable; and +yet...? + +Half irritably he dismissed the intrusive thought. The glamour of her so +dazzled him that he could see nothing else clearly. + +Perhaps that was why he failed to escape Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who +skilfully annexed him in passing, and rained compliments on his +embarrassed head. Fine horsemanship was common enough in India; but +anything more superb----! Wide blue eyes and extravagant gesture +expressively filled the blank. + +"My heart was in my mouth! That handkerchief trick is _so_ thrilling. +You all looked as if you _must_ have your brains knocked out the next +moment----" + +"And if we had, I suppose the thrill would have gone one better!" Roy +wickedly suggested. He was annoyed at being delayed. + +"You deserve 'yes' to that! But if I said what I _really_ thought, your +head would be turned. And it's quite sufficiently turned already!" She +beamed on him with arch significance, enjoying his impatience without a +tinge of malice. There was little of it in her; and the little there +was, she reserved for her own sex. + +"I suppose it's a _dead_ secret ... whose favour you are going to wear?" + +"That's the ruling," said Roy; but he felt his blood tingling, and hoped +to goodness it didn't show through. + +"Well, I've got big bets on about guessing right; and the biggest bet's +on yours! Major Desmond's a good second." + +"Oh, he bars the whole idea." + +"I'm relieved to hear it. I was angelic enough to offer him mine, +thinking he might be feeling out in the cold!" (another arch look) +"and--he refused. My 'Happy Warrior' doesn't seem quite so happy as he +used to be----" + +The light thrust struck home, but Roy ignored it. If Lance barred +wearing favours, he barred discussing Lance with women. Driven into a +corner, he managed somehow to escape, and hurried away in search of his +rose. + +Mrs Ranyard, looking after him, with frankly affectionate concern, found +herself wondering--was he really quite so transparent as he seemed? That +queer visionary look in his eyes, now and then, suggested spiritual +depths, or heights, that might baffle even the all-appropriating Rose? +Did she seriously intend to appropriate him? There were vague rumours of +a title. But no one knew anything about him, really, except the two +Desmonds; and she would be a brave woman who tried to squeeze family +details out of them. The boy was too good for her; but still.... + +Roy, reappearing, felt idiotically convinced that every eye was on the +little spot of yellow in his button-hole that linked him publicly with +the girl who wore a cluster of its fellows at her belt. + +Time was nearly up. She had moved to the front now, and was free of men, +standing very still, gazing intently.... + +Roy, following her gaze, saw Lance--actually in the tent--discussing +some detail with the Colonel. + +"What makes her look at him like that?" he wondered; and it was as if +the tip of a red-hot needle touched his heart. + +Next moment she saw him, and beckoned him with her eyes. He came, +instinctively obedient; and her welcoming glance included the rosebud. +"You found it?" she said, very low, mindful of feminine ears. "And--you +deserve it, after that marvellous exhibition. You went such a pace. +It--frightened me." + +It frightened him, a little, the exceeding softness of her look and +tone; and she added, more softly still, "My handkerchief, please." + +"_My_ handkerchief!" he retorted. "I won it fairly. You've admitted as +much." + +"But it wasn't meant--for a prize." + +"I risked something to win it anyway," said he, "and now----" + +The blare of the megaphone--a poor substitute for heralds' +trumpets--called the knights of the wire-mask and fencing-stick into the +lists. + +"Go in and win the rosebud too!" said she, when the shouting ceased. +"Keep cool. Don't lose your head--or your feather!" + +He had lost his head already. She had seen to that. And turning to leave +her, he found Lance almost at his elbow. + +"Come along, Roy," he said, an imperative note in his voice; and if +_his_ glance included the rosebud, it gave no sign. + +As they neared the gathering group of combatants, he turned with one of +his quick looks. + +"You're in luck, old man. Every inducement to come out top!" he +remarked, only half in joke. "I've none, except my own credit. But +you'll have a tough job if you knock up against _me_." + +"Right you are," Roy answered, jarred by the look and tone more than the +words. "If you're so dead keen, I'll take you on." + +After that, Roy hoped exceedingly that luck might cast them in the same +team. + +But it fell out otherwise. + +Lance drew red; Roy, blue. Lance and Major Devines, of the Monmouths, +were chosen as leaders. They were the only two on the ground who wore no +favours: and they fronted each other with smiles of approval, their +respective teams--ten a side--drawn up in two long lines; heads caged in +wire-masks, tufted, with curly feathers, red and blue; ponies champing +and pawing the air. Not precisely a picturesque array; but if the plumes +and trappings of chivalry were lacking, the spirit of it still nickered +within; and will continue to flicker, just so long as modern woman will +permit. + +At the crack of a pistol they were off, full tilt; but there was no +shock of lance on shield, no crash and clang of armour that 'could be +heard at a mile's distance,' as in the days of Ivanhoe. There was only +the sharp rattle of fencing-sticks against each other and the masks, the +clatter of eighty-eight hooves on hard ground; a lively confusion of +horses and men, advancing, backing, 'turning on a sixpence' to meet a +sudden attack; voices, Indian and English, shouting or cheering; and +the intermittent call of the umpire declaring a player knocked out as +his feather fluttered into the dust. Clouds of dust enveloped them in a +shifting haze. They breathed dust. It gritted between their teeth. What +matter? They were having at each other in furious yet friendly combat; +and, being Englishmen, they were perfectly happy; keen to win, ready to +lose with a good grace and cheer the better man. + +In none of them, perhaps, did the desire to win burn quite so fiercely +as in Lance and Roy. But more than ever, now, Roy shrank from a final +tussle between them. Surely there was one man of them all good enough to +put Lance out of court. + +For a time Major Devines kept him occupied. While Roy accounted for two +red feathers, the well-matched pair were making a fine fight of it up +and down the field, to the tune of cheers and counter-cheers. + +But it was the blue feather that fell; and Lance, swinging round, +charged into the melée--seven reds now, to six blue. + +Twice, in the scrimmage, Roy came up against him, but managed to shift +ground, leaving another man to tackle him. Both times it was the blue +feather that fell. Steadily the numbers thinned. Roy's wrist and arm +were tiring, a trifle; but resolve to win burned fiercely as ever. By +now it was clear to all who were the two best men in the field, and +excitement rose as the numbers dwindled.... + +Four to three; blues leading. Two all. And at last--an empty dusty +arena; and they two alone in the midst, ringed in by thousands of faces, +thousands of eyes.... + +Till that moment, the spectators had simply not existed for Roy. Now, of +a sudden, they crowded in on him--tightly-wedged wall of +humanity--expectant, terrifying.... + +The two had drawn rein, facing each other; and for that mere moment Roy +felt as if his nerve was gone. A glance at the crowded tent, the gleam +of a blue-green figure leaning forward.... + +Then Lance's voice, low and peremptory, 'Come on.' + +In the same breath he himself came on, with formidable élan. Their +sticks rattled sharply. Roy parried a high slicing stroke--only just in +time. + +Thank God, he was himself again; so much himself that he was beset by a +sneaking desire to let Lance win. It was his weakness in games, just +when the goal seemed in sight. Tara used to scold him fiercely.... + +But there was Miss Arden, the rosebud.... + +And suddenly, startlingly, Roy became aware that for Lance this was no +game. He was fencing like a man inspired. There was more than mere skill +in his feints and shrewd blows; more in it than a feather. + +Two cuts over the arm and shoulder, a good deal sharper than need be, +fairly roused Roy. Next moment they were literally fighting, at closest +range, for all they were worth, to the accompaniment of yell on yell, +cheer on cheer.... + +As the issue hung doubtful and excitement intensified, it became clear +that Lance was losing his temper. Roy, hurt and angry, tried to keep +cool. Against an antagonist so skilled and relentless, it was his only +chance. Their names were shouted. _"Shahbash[26] Sinkin, Sahib,"_ from +the men of Roy's old squadron; and from Lance's men, _"Desmin Sahib ki +jai!"_[27] + +Twice Roy's slicing stroke almost came off--almost, not quite. The +maddening little feather still held its own; and Lance, by way of +rejoinder, caught him a blow on his mask that made his head ache for an +hour after. + +Up went his arm to return the blow with interest. Lance, instead of +parrying, lunged--and the head of a yellow bud dropped in the dust. + +At that Roy saw red. His lifted hand shook visibly; and with the +moment's loss of control went his last hope of victory.... + +Next instant his feather had joined the rosebud; the crowd were roaring +themselves hoarse; and Roy was riding off the ground--shorn of plume and +favour, furiously disappointed, and feeling a good deal more bruised +about the arms and shoulders than anything on earth would have induced +him to admit. + +Of course he ought to go up and congratulate Lance; but just then it +seemed a physical impossibility. Mercifully he was surrounded and borne +off to the refreshment tent; sped on his way by a rousing ovation as he +passed the _shamiánah_. + +Roy, following after, had his full share of praise, and a salvo of +applause from the main tent. + +Saluting and looking round, he dared not meet Miss Arden's eye. Had he +won, she might have owned him. As it was, he had better keep his +distance. But the glimpse he got of her face startled him. It looked +curiously white and strained. His own imagination, perhaps. It was only +a flash. But it haunted him. He felt responsible. She had been so +radiantly sure.... + +Arrived in the other tent--feeling stupidly giddy and in pain--he sank +down on the first available chair. Friendly spirits ordered drinks, and +soothed him with compliments. A thundering good fight. To be so narrowly +beaten by Desmond was an achievement in itself; and so forth. + +Lance and Paul, still surrounded, were at the other end of the long +table; and a very fair wedge of thirsty, perspiring manhood filled the +intervening space. Roy did not feel like stirring. He felt more like +drinking half a dozen 'pegs' in succession. But soon he was aware of a +move going on. The prizes, of course; and he had two to collect. By a +special decree, the Tournament prize would be given first. So he need +not hurry. The tent was emptying swiftly. He _must_ screw himself up to +congratulations.... + +The screwing was still in process when Lance crossed the tent--nearly +empty now--and stopped in front of him. + +"See here, Roy--I apologise," he said hurriedly, in a low tone. "I lost +my temper. Not fair play----" + +Instantly Roy was on his feet, shoulders squared, the last spark of +antagonism extinct. + +"If it comes to that, I lost mine too," he admitted, and Lance smiled. + +"You _did_! But--I began it." There was an instant of painful +hesitation, then, "It--it was an accident--the favour----" + +"Oh, that's all right," Roy muttered, embarrassed and overcome. + +"It's not all right. It put you off." Another pause. "Will you take half +the Purse?" + +"Not I." Glory apart, he knew very well how badly Lance needed the +money. "It's yours. And you deserve it." + +They both spoke low and rapidly, as if on a matter of business, for +there were still some men at the other end of the tent. But at that, to +Roy's amazement, Lance held out his hand. + +"Thanks, old man. Shake hands--here, where the women can see us. You bet +... they twigged.... And they chatter so infernally.... Unfair--on Miss +Arden----" + +Roy felt himself reddening. It was Lance all over--that chivalrous +impulse. So they shook hands publicly, to the astonishment of interested +_kitmutgars_, who had been betting freely, and were marvelling afresh at +the strange ways of Sahibs. + +"I'll doctor your bruises to-night!" said Lance. "And I accept, +gratefully, _your_ share of the purse. She won't relish--giving it to +the wrong 'un." The last, barely audible, came out in a rush, with a +jerk of the head that Roy knew well. "Come along and see how prettily +she does it." + +To Roy's infatuated eyes, she did it inimitably. Standing there, tall +and serene, in her pale-coloured gown and bewitching hat, instinct with +the mysterious authority of beauty, she handed the prize to Desmond with +a little gracious speech of congratulation, adding, "It was a close +fight; but you won it--fairly." + +Roy started. Did Lance notice the lightest imaginable stress on the +word? + +"Thanks very much," he said; and saluted, looking her straight in the +eyes. + +Roy, watching intently, fancied he saw a ghost of a blush stir under the +even pallor of her skin. She had told him once, in joke, that she never +blushed; it was not one of her accomplishments. But for half a second +she came perilously near it; and although it enhanced her beauty +tenfold, it troubled Roy. + +Then--as the cheering died down--he saw her turn to the Colonel, who was +supporting her, and heard her clear deliberate tones, that carried with +so little effort: "I think, Colonel Desmond, every one must agree that +the honours are almost equally divided----" + +More applause; and Roy--scarcely crediting his ears or eyes--saw her +pick a rose from her cluster. + +The moment speech was possible, she leaned forward, smiling frankly at +him before them all. + +"Mr Sinclair, will you accept a mere token by way of consolation prize? +We are all agreed you put up a splendid fight; and it was no dishonour +to be defeated by--such an adversary." + +Fresh clapping and shouting; while Roy--elated and overwhelmed--went +forward like a man walking in a dream. + +It was a dream-woman who pinned the rosebud in his empty button-hole, +patting it into shape with the lightest touch of her finger-tips, +saying, "Well done indeed," and smiling at him again.... + +Without a word he saluted and walked away. + +She had done it prettily, past question; and in a fashion all her own. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 24: Marquee tent.] + +[Footnote 25: Criminal Investigation Department.] + +[Footnote 26: Well done.] + +[Footnote 27: Victory to Desmond Sahib.] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Blood and brain and spirit, three-- + Join for true felicity. + Are they parted, then expect + Someone sailing will be wrecked." + --GEORGE MEREDITH. + + +On the night after the Gymkhana the great little world of Lahore was +again disporting itself, with unabated vigour, in the pillared ballroom +of the Lawrence Hall. They could tell tales worth inditing, those +pillars and galleries that have witnessed all the major festivities of +Punjab Anglo-India--its loves and jealousies and high-hearted +courage--from the day of crinolines and whiskers, to this day of the +tooth-brush moustache, the retiring skirts and still more retiring +bodices of after-war economy. And there are those who believe they will +witness the revelry of Anglo-Indian generations yet to be. + +Had Lance Desmond shared Roy's gift for visions, he might have seen, in +spirit, the ghosts of his mother and father, in the pride of their +youth, and that first legendary girl-wife, of whom Thea had once told +him all she knew, and whose grave he had seen in Kohat cemetery with a +queer mingling of pity and resentment in his heart. There should have +been no one except his own splendid mother--first, last, and all the +time. + +But Lance, though no scoffer, had small intimacy with ghosts; and Roy's +frequented other regions; nor was he in the frame of mind to induce +spiritual visitations. Soul and body were enmeshed, as in a network of +sunbeams, holding him close to earth. + +For weeks part of him had been fighting, subconsciously, against the +compelling power that is woman; now, consciously, he was alive to it, +swept along by it, as by a tidal wave. Since that amazing moment at the +prize-giving, all his repressed ferment had welled up and overflowed; +and when an imaginative, emotional nature loses grip on the reins, the +pace is apt to be headlong, the course perilous.... + +He had dined at the Eltons'--a lively party; chaff and laughter and +champagne; and Miss Arden--after yesterday's graciousness--in a +tantalising, elusive mood. But he had his dances secure--six out of +twenty, not to mention the cotillon, after supper, which they were to +lead. She was wearing what he called her 'Undine frock'--a clinging +affair, fringed profusely with silver and palest green, that suggested +to his fancy Undine emerging from the stream in a dripping garment of +water-weeds. Her arms and shoulders emerged from it a little too +noticeably for his taste; but to-night his critical brain was in +abeyance. + +Look where he would, talk to whom he would, he was persistently, +distractingly aware of her; and she could not elude him the whole +evening long.... + + * * * * * + +Supper was over. The cotillon itself was almost over; the maypole figure +adding a flutter of bright ribbons to the array of flags and bunting, +evening dresses, and uniforms. Twice, in the earlier figures, she had +chosen him; but this time, the chance issue of pairing by colours gave +her to Desmond. Roy saw a curious look pass between them. Then Lance put +his arm round her, and they danced without a break. + +When it was over, Roy went in search of iced coffee. In a few seconds +those two appeared on the same errand, and merged themselves in a lively +group. Roy, irresistibly, followed suit; and when the music struck up, +Lance handed her over with a formal bow. + +"Your partner, I think, old man. Thanks for the loan," he said; and his +smile was for Roy as he turned and walked leisurely away. + +Roy looked after him, feeling pained and puzzled; the more so, because +Lance clearly had the whip-hand. It was she who seemed the less assured +of the two; and he caught himself wishing he possessed the power so to +upset her equanimity. Was it even remotely possible that--she cared +seriously, and Lance would not...? + +"Brown studies aren't permitted in ballrooms, Mr Sinclair!" she rallied +him in her gentlest voice--and Lance was forgotten. "Come and tie an +extra big choc. on to my fishing-rod." + +Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to masculine +dignity. Six brief-skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood on chairs, each +dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of bamboo and coloured +ribbon. Before them, on six cushions, knelt six men; heads tilted back, +bobbing this way and that, at the caprice of the angler; occasionally +losing balance, and half toppling over amid shouts and cheers. + +How did that kind of fooling strike the '_kits_' and the Indian bandsman +up aloft, wondered Roy. A pity they never gave a thought to that side of +the picture. He determined not to be drawn in. Lance, he noticed, +studiously refrained. Miss Arden--having tantalised three aspirants--was +looking round for a fourth victim. Their eyes met--and he was done +for.... + +Directly his knee touched the cushion, the recoil came sharply--too +late. And she--as if aware of his reluctance--played him mercilessly, +smiling down on him with her astonishing hazel eyes.... + +Roy's patience and temper gave out. Tingling with mortification, he rose +and walked away, to be greeted with a volley of good-natured chaff. + +He was followed by Lister, 'the R.E. boy,' who at once secured the +elusive bait, clearly by favour rather than skill. The rest had already +paired. The band struck up; and Roy, partnerless, stood looking on, the +film of the East over his face masking the clash of forces within. The +fool he was to have given way! And _this_--before them all--after +yesterday...! + +His essential masculinity stood confounded; blind to the instinct of the +essential coquette--allurement by flight. He resolved to take no part in +the final figure--the mirror and handkerchief; would not even look at +her, lest she catch his eye. + +Her choice fell on Hayes; and Roy--elaborately indifferent--carried +Lance off to the buffet for champagne cup. It was a thirsty evening; a +relief to be quit of the ballroom and get a breath of masculine fresh +air. The fencing-bout and its aftermath had consciously quickened his +feeling for Lance. In the fury of that fight they seemed to have worked +off the hidden friction of the past few weeks that had dimmed the steady +radiance of their friendship. It was as if a storm-cloud had burst and +the sun shone out again. + +They said nothing intimate, nothing worthy of note. They were simply +content. + +Yet, when music struck up, Roy was in a fever to be with her again. + +Her welcoming smile revived his reckless mood. "Ours--_this_ time, +anyway," he said, in an odd repressed voice. + +"Yes--ours." + +Her answering look vanquished him utterly. As his arm encircled her, he +fancied she leaned ever so little towards him, as if admitting that she +too felt the thrill of coming together again. Fancy or no, it was like a +lighted match dropped in a powder magazine.... + +For Roy that single valse, out of scores they had danced together, was +an experience by itself. + +While the music plays, a man encircles one woman and another, from +habit, without a flicker of emotion. But to-night volcanic forces in Roy +were rising like champagne when the cork begins to move. Never had he +been so disturbingly aware that he was holding her in his arms; that he +wanted tremendously to go on holding her when the music stopped. To this +danger-point he had been brought by the unconscious effect of delicate +approaches and strategic retreats. And the man who has most firmly kept +the cork on his emotions is often the most unaccountable when it flies +off.... + +The music ceased. They were merely partners again. He led her out into +starry darkness, velvet soft; very quiet and contained to the outer eye; +inwardly, of a sudden, afraid of himself, still more afraid of the +serenely beautiful girl at his side. + +He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do; but not at all what he +wanted to say. For him, as his mother's son, marriage had a sacredness, +an apartness from random emotions, however overwhelming; and it went +against the grain to approach that supreme subject in his present fine +confusion of heart and body and brain. + +They wandered on a little. Like himself, she seemed smitten dumb; and +with every moment of silence, he became more acutely aware of her. He +had discovered that this was one of her most potent spells. Never for +long could a man be unaware of her, of the fact that she was before +everything--a woman. + +In a sense--how different!--it had been the same with Arúna. But with +Arúna it was primitive, instinctive. This exotic flower of Western +girlhood wielded her power with conscious, consummate skill.... + +Near a seat well away from the Hall she stopped. "We don't want any more +exercise, do we?" she said softly. + +"I've had enough for the present," he answered. And they sat down. + +Silence again. He didn't know what to say to her. He only craved +overwhelmingly to take her in his arms. Had she a glimmering +idea--sitting there, so close ... so alluring...? + +And suddenly, to his immense relief, she spoke. + +"It was splendid. A pity it's over. That's the litany of Anglo-India. +It's over. Change the scene. Shuffle the puppets--and begin again. I've +been doing it for six years----" + +"And--it doesn't pall?" His voice sounded quite natural, quite composed, +which was also a relief. + +"Pall?--You try it!" For the first time he detected a faint note of +bitterness. "But still--a cotillon's a cotillon!"--She seemed to pull +herself together.--"There's an exciting element in it that keeps its +freshness. And I flatter myself we carried it through brilliantly--you +and I." The pause before the linked pronouns gave him an odd little +thrill. "But--what put you off ... at the end?" + +Her amazing directness took him aback. "I--oh, well--I thought ... one +way and another, you'd been having enough of me." + +"That's not true!" She glanced at him sidelong. "You were vexed because +I chose the Lister boy. And he was all over himself, poor dear! As a +matter of fact, I'd meant to have you. If you'd only looked at me ...! +But you stared fiercely the other way. However, perhaps we've been +flagrant enough for to-night----" + +"Flagrant--have we?" + +Daring, passionate words thronged his brain; and through his inner +turmoil, he heard her answer lightly: "Don't ask me! Ask the +Banter-Wrangle. She knows to an inch the degrees of flagrance officially +permitted to the attached and the unattached! You see, in India, we're +allowed ... a certain latitude." + +"Yes--I've noticed. It's a pity...." Words simply would not come, on +this theme of all others. Was she indirectly ... telling him ...? + +"And you disapprove--tooth and nail?" she queried gently. "I hoped you +were different. You don't know _how_ tired we are of eternal disapproval +from people who simply know nothing--nothing----" + +"But I don't disapprove," he blurted out vehemently. "It always strikes +me as a rather middle-class, puritanical attitude. I only think--it's a +thousand pities to take the bloom off ... the big thing--the real thing, +by playing at it (you can see they do) like lawn tennis, just to pass +the time----" + +"Well, Heaven knows, we've _got_ to pass the time out here--_some_how!" +she retorted, with a sudden warmth that startled him: it was so unlike +her. "All very fine for people at home to turn up superior noses at us; +to say we live in blinkers, that we've no intellectual pursuits, no +interest in 'this wonderful country.' I confess, to some of us, India +and its people are holy terrors. As for art and music and +theatres--where _are_ they, except what we make for ourselves, in our +indefatigable, amateurish way. Can't _you_ see--you, with your +imaginative insight--that we have virtually nothing but each other? If +we spent our days bowing and scraping and dining and dancing with due +decorum, there'd be a boom in suicides and the people in clover at Home +would placidly wonder why----?" + +"But do listen. I'm not blaming--any of you," he exclaimed, distracted +by her complete misreading of his mood. + +"Well, you're criticising--in your heart. And your opinion's worth +something--to some of us. Even if we _do_ occasionally--play at being in +love, there's always the offchance it may turn out to be ... the real +thing." She drew an audible breath and added, in her lighter vein: "You +know, you're a very fair hand at it yourself--in your restrained, +fakirish fashion----" + +"But I don't--I'm not----" he stammered desperately. "And why d'you call +me a fakir? It's not the first time. And it's not true. I believe in +life--and the fulness of life." + +"I'm glad. I'm not keen on fakirs. But I only meant--one can't picture +you playing round, the way heaps of men do with girls ... who allow them +..." + +"No. That's true. I never----" + +"What--never? Or is it 'hardly ever'?" + +She leaned a shade nearer, her beautiful pale face etherealised by +starshine. And that infinitesimal movement, her low tone, the sheer +magnetism of her, swept him from his moorings. Words low and passionate +came all in a rush. + +"What _are_, you doing with me? Why d'you tantalise me. Whether you're +there or not there, your face haunts me--your voice. It may be play for +you--it isn't for me----" + +"I've never said--I've never implied--it was play ... for _me_----" + +This time perceptibly she leaned nearer, mute confession in her look, +her tone; and delicate fire ran in his veins.... + +Next moment his arms were round her; trembling, yet vehement; crushing +her against him almost roughly. No mistaking the response of her lips; +yet she never stirred; only the fingers of her right hand closed sharply +on his arm. Having hold of her at last, after all that inner tumult and +resistance, he could hardly let her go. Yet--strangely--even in the +white heat of fervour, some detached fragment, at the core of him, +seemed to be hating the whole thing, hating himself--and her---- + +Instantly he released her ... looked at her ... realised.... In those +few tempestuous moments he had burnt his boats indeed ... + +She met his eyes now, found them too eloquent, and veiled her own. + +"No. You are not altogether--a fakir," she said softly. + +"I'd no business. I'm sorry ..." he began, answering his own swift +compunction, not her remark. + +"_I'm_ not--unless you really mean--_you_ are?" Faint raillery gleamed +in her eyes. "You did rather overwhelmingly take things for granted. +But still ... after that...." + +"Yes--after that ... if _you_ really mean it?" + +"Well ... what do you think?" + +"I simply _can't_ think," he confessed, with transparent honesty. "I +hardly know if I'm on my head or my heels. I only know you've bewitched +me. I'm infatuated--intoxicated with you. But ... if you _do_ care +enough ... to marry me----" + +"My dear--Roy--can you doubt it?" + +He had never heard her voice so charged with emotion. For all answer, he +held her close--with less assurance now--and kissed her again.... + + * * * * * + +In course of time they remembered that a pause only lasts five minutes; +that there were other partners. + +"If we're not to be too flagrant, even for India," she said, rising with +unperturbed deliberation, "I suggest we go in. Goodness knows where +they've got to by now!" + +He stood up also. "It matters a good deal more ... where _we_'ve got to. +I'll come over to-morrow and see ... your people...." + +"No. You'll come over--and see me! We'll descend from the dream ... to +the business; and have everything clear to our own satisfaction before +we let in all the others. I always vowed I wouldn't accept a proposal +after supper! If you're ... intoxicated, you might wake +sober--disillusioned!" + +"But I--I've kissed you," he stammered, suddenly overcome with shyness. + +"So you have--a few times! I'm afraid we didn't keep count! I'm not +really doubting either of us--Roy. But still.... Shall we say tea and a +ride?" + +He hesitated. "Sorry--I'm booked. I promised Lance----" + +"Very well--dinner? Mother has some bridge people. Only one table. We +can escape into the garden. Now--come along." + +He drew a deep breath. More and more the detached part of him was +realising.... + +They walked back rather briskly, not speaking; nor did he touch her +again. + +They found Lahore still dancing, sublimely unconcerned. Instinctively, +Roy looked round for Lance. No sign of him in the ballroom or the +card-room. And the crowded place seemed empty without him. It was queer. + +Later on, he ran up against Barnard, who told him that Lance had gone +home. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Of the unspoken word thou art master. The spoken word is master of + thee."--_Arab Proverb_. + + +Roy drove home with Barnard in the small hours, still too overwrought +for clear thinking, and too exhausted all through to lie awake for five +minutes after his head touched the pillow. For the inner stress and +combat had been sharper than he knew. + +He woke late to find Terry curled up against his legs, and the bungalow +empty of human sounds. The other three were up long since, and gone to +early parade. His head was throbbing. He felt limp, as if all the vigour +had been drained out of him. And suddenly ... he remembered.... + +Not in a lover's rush of exaltation, but with a sharp reaction almost +amounting to fear, the truth dawned on him that he was no longer his own +man. In a passionate impulse, he had virtually surrendered himself and +his future into the hands of a girl whom he scarcely knew. He still saw +the whole thing as mainly her doing--and it frightened him. Looking +backward over the past weeks, reviewing the steps by which he had +arrived at last night's involuntary culmination, he felt more frightened +than ever. + +And yet--there sprang a vision of her, pale and gracious in the +starshine, when she leaned to him at parting.... + +She was wonderful and beautiful--and she was his. Any man worth his salt +would feel proud. And he did feel proud--in the intervals of feeling +horribly afraid of himself and her. Especially her. Girls were amazing +things. You seized hold of one and spoke mad words, and nearly crushed +the life out of her, and she took it almost as calmly as if you had +asked for an extra dance. Was it a protective layer of insensibility--or +super-normal self-control? Would she, Rose, have despised him had she +guessed that even at the height of his exultation he had felt ashamed of +having let himself go so completely; and that before there had been any +word of marriage--any clear desire of it even in the deep of his heart? + +That was really the root of his trouble. The passing recoil from an +ardent avowal is no uncommon experience with the finer types of men. +But, to Roy, it seemed peculiarly unfitting that the son of his mother +should, as it were, stumble into marriage in a headlong impulse of +passion, on a superficial six weeks' acquaintance; and the shy, +spiritual side of him felt alarmed, restive, even a little repelled. + +In a measure, Rose was right when she dubbed him fakir. Artist though he +was, and all too human, there lurked in him a nascent streak of the +ascetic, accentuated by his mother's bidding, and his own strong desire +to keep in touch with her and with things not seen. + +And there, on his writing-table, stood her picture mutely reproaching +him. With a pang he realised how completely she had been crowded out of +his thoughts during those weeks of ferment. What would she think of it +all? The question--what would Rose think of her simply did not arise. +She was still supreme, she who had once said, "So long as you are +thinking first of me, you may be sure That Other has not yet arrived". + +Was Rose Arden--for all her beauty and witchery--genuinely That Other? + +Beguiled by her visible perfections, he had taken her spiritually for +granted. And he knew well enough that it is not through the senses a man +first approaches love--if he is capable of that high and complex +emotion; but rather through imagination and admiration, sympathy and +humour. As it was, he had not a glimmering idea how she would consort +with his very individual inner self. Yet matters were virtually +settled.... + +And suddenly, like a javelin, one word pierced his brain--Lance! +Whatever there was between them, he felt sure his news would not please +Lance, to say the least of it. And, as for their Kashmir plan...? + +Why the devil was life such a confoundedly complex affair? By rights, he +ought to be 'all over himself', having won such a wife. Was it something +wrong with him? Or did all accepted lovers feel like this--the morning +after? A greater number, perhaps, than poets or novelists or lovers +themselves are ever likely to admit. Very certainly he would not admit +his present sensations to any living soul. + +Springing out of bed, he shouted for _chota hazri_[28] and shaving +water; drank thirstily; ate hungrily; and had just cleared his face of +lather when Lance came in, booted and spurred, bringing with him his +magnetic atmosphere of vitality and vigour. + +Standing behind Roy, he ran his left hand lightly up the back of his +hair, gripped the extra thickness at the top, and gave it a distinct +tug; friendly, but sharp enough to make Roy wince. + +"Slacker! Waster! You ought to have been out riding off the effects. You +were jolly well going it last night. And you jolly well _look_ it this +morning. Good thing I'm free on the fifteenth to haul you away from all +this". + +Perhaps because they had first met at an age when eighteen months seemed +an immense gap between them, Lance had never quite dropped the +elder-brotherly attitude of St Rupert days. + +"Yes--a rare good thing----" Roy echoed, and stopped with a visible +jerk. + +"Well, what's the hitch? Hit out, man. Don't mind me." + +There was a flash of impatience, an undernote of foreknowledge, in his +tone, that made confession at once easier and harder for Roy. + +"I suppose it was--pretty glaring", he admitted, twitching his head away +from those strong friendly fingers. "The fact is--we're ... as good as +engaged----" + +Again he broke off, arrested by the mask-like stillness of Desmond's +face. + +"Congrats, old man", he said at last, in a level tone. "I got the +impression ... a few weeks ago, you were not ready for the plunge. But +you've done it--in record time." A pause. Roy sat there +tongue-tied--unreasonably angry with himself and Rose. "Why 'as good +as...?' Is it to be ... not official?" + +"Only till to-morrow. You see, it all came ... rather in a rush. She +thought ... we thought ... better talk things over first between +ourselves. After all...." + +"Yes--after all," Lance took him up. "You do know a precious lot about +each other! How much ... does _she_ know ... about _you_?" + +"Oh, my dancing and riding, my temperament and the colour of my +eyes--four very important items!" said Roy, affecting a lightness he was +far from feeling. + +Lance ignored his untimely flippancy. "Have you ever ... happened to +mention ... your mother?" + +"Not yet. Why----?" The question startled him. + +"It occurred to me. I merely wondered----" + +"Well, of course, I shall--to-night." + +Lance nodded, pensively fingered his riding-crop, and remarked, "D'you +imagine now she's going to let you bury yourself up Gilgit way--with me? +Besides--you'll hardly care ... shall we call it 'off'?" + +"Well you _are_----! Of course I'll care. I'm damned if we call it +'off.'" + +At that the mask vanished from Desmond's face. His hand closed +vigorously on Roy's shoulder. "Good man," he said in his normal voice. +"I'll count on you. That's a bargain." Their eyes met in the glass, and +a look of understanding passed between them. "Feeling a bit above +yourself, are you?" + +Roy drew a great breath. "It's amazing. I don't yet seem to take it in." + +"Oh--you _will_." The hand closed again on his shoulder. "Now I'll clear +out. Time you were clothed and in your right mind." + +And they had not so much as mentioned her name! + + * * * * * + +But even when clothed, Roy did not feel altogether in his right mind. He +was downright thankful to be helping Lance with some sports for the men, +designed to counteract the infectious state of ferment prevailing in the +city, on account of to-morrow's deferred _hartal_. For the voice of +Mahatma Ghandi--saint, fanatic, revolutionary, which you will--had gone +forth, proclaiming the sixth of April a day of universal mourning and +non-co-operation, by way of protest against the Rowlatt Act. For that +sane measure--framed to safeguard India from her wilder elements--had +been twisted, by skilled weavers of words, into a plot against the +liberty of the individual. And Ghandi must be obeyed. + +Flamboyant posters in the city bewailed 'the mountain of calamity about +to fall on the Motherland', and consigned their souls to hell who +failed, that day, to close their business and keep a fast. To spiritual +threats were added terrorism and coercion, that paralysis of the city +might be complete. + +It was understood that, so long there was no disorder, the authorities +would make no move. But, by Saturday, all emergency plans were complete: +the Fort garrison strengthened; cavalry and armoured cars told off to be +available. + +Roy had no notion of being a mere onlooker, if things happened; and he +felt sure they would. Directly he was dressed he waited on the Colonel, +and had the honour to offer his services in case of need; +further--unofficially--to beg that he might be attached, as extra +officer, to Lance's squadron. The Colonel--also unofficially--expressed +his keen appreciation; and Roy might rest assured the matter would be +arranged. + +So he went off in high feather to report himself to Lance, and discuss +the afternoon's programme. + +Lance was full of a thorough good fellow he had stumbled on, a Sikh--and +a sometime revolutionary--whose eyes had been opened by three years' +polite detention in Germany. The man had been speaking all over the +place, showing up the Home Rule crowd, with a courage none too common in +these days of intimidation. After the sports, he would address the men; +talk to them, encourage them to ask questions. + +It occurred to Roy that he had heard something of the sort in a former +life; and--arrived on the ground--he recognised the very same man who +had been howled down at Delhi. + +He greeted him warmly; spoke of the meeting; listened with unmoved +countenance to lurid speculations about the disappearance of +Chandranath; spoke, himself, to the men, who gave him an ovation; and, +by the time it was over, had almost forgotten the astounding fact that +he was virtually engaged to be married.... + + * * * * * + +Driving out five miles to Lahore, he had leisure to remember, to realise +how innately he shrank from speaking to Rose of his mother. Though in +effect his promised wife, she was still almost a stranger; and the +sacredness of the subject--the uncertainty of her attitude--intensified +his shrinking to a painful degree. + +She had asked him to come early, that they might have a few minutes to +themselves; and for once he was not unpunctual. He found her alone; and, +at first sight, painful shyness overwhelmed him. + +She was wearing the cream-and-gold frock of the evening that had turned +the scale; and she came forward a trifle eagerly, holding out her hands. + +"Wonderful! It's not a dream?" + +He took her hands and kissed her, almost awkwardly. "It still feels +rather like a dream," was all he could find to say--and fancied he +caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Was she thinking him an odd +kind of lover? Even last night, he had not achieved a single term of +endearment, or spoken her name. + +With a graceful gesture, she indicated the sofa--and they sat down. + +"Well, what have you been doing with yourself--Roy?" she asked, palpably +to put him at ease. "It's a delightful name--Royal?" + +"No--Le Roy. Some Norman ancestor." + +"The King!" She saluted, sitting upright, laughter and tenderness in +her eyes. + +At that, he slipped an arm round her, and pressed her close. Then he +plunged into fluent talk about the afternoon's events, and his accepted +offer of service, till Mrs Elton, resplendent in flame-coloured brocade, +surged into the room. + +It was a purely civil dinner; not Hayes, to Roy's relief. Directly it +was over the bridge players disappeared; Mr Elton was called away--an +Indian gentleman to see him on urgent business; and they two, left alone +again, wandered out into the verandah. + +By now, her beauty and his possessive instinct had more or less righted +things; and her nearness, in the rose-scented dark, rekindled his +fervour of last night. + +Without a word he turned and took her in his arms, kissing her again and +again. "'Rose of all roses! Rose of all the world!'" he said in her ear. + +Whereat, she kissed him of her own accord, at the same time lightly +pressing him back. + +"Have mercy--a little! If you crush roses too hard their petals drop +off!" + +"Darling--I'm sorry!" The great word was out at last; and he felt +quaintly relieved. + +"You needn't be! It's only--you're such a vehement lover. And vehemence +is said--not to last!" + +The words startled him. "You try me." + +"How? An extra long engagement?" + +"N-no. I wasn't thinking of that." + +"Well, we've got to think, haven't we? To talk practical politics!" + +"Rather not. I bar politics--practical or Utopian." + +She laughed. There was happiness in her laugh, and tenderness and an +undernote of triumph. + +"You're delicious! So ardent, yet so absurdly detached from the dull +plodding things that make up common life. Come--let's stroll. The +verandah breathes heat like a benevolent dragon!" + +They strolled in the cool darkness under drooping boughs, through which +a star flickered here and there. He refrained from putting an arm round +her, and was rewarded by her slipping a hand under his elbow. + +"Shall it be--a Simla wedding?" she asked in her caressing voice. "About +the middle of the season? June?" + +"June? Yes. When I get back from Gilgit?" + +"But--my dear! You're not going to disappear for two whole months?" + +"I'm afraid so. I'm awfully sorry. But I can't go back on Lance." + +"Oh--Lance!" + +He heard her teeth click on the word. Perhaps she had merely echoed it. + +"Yes; a very old engagement. And--frankly--I'm keen." + +"Oh--very well". Her hand slipped from his arm. "And when you've +fulfilled your _prior_ engagement, you can perhaps find time--to marry +me?" + +"Darling--don't take it that way," he pleaded. + +"Well, I _did_ suppose I was going to be a shade more important to you +than--your Lance. But we won't spoil things by squabbling." + +Impulsively he drew her forward and kissed her; and this time he kept an +arm round her as they moved on. He must speak--soon. But he wanted a +natural opening, not to drag it in by the hair. + +"And after the honeymoon--Home?" she asked, following up her +all-absorbing train of thought. + +"Yes--I think so. It's about time." + +She let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "I'm glad it's not India. And +yet--the life out here gets a hold, like dram-drinking. One feels as if +perpetual, unadulterated England might be just a trifle--dull. But, of +course, I know nothing about your home, Roy, except a vague rumour that +your father is a Baronet with a lovely place in Sussex." + +"No--Surrey," said Roy, and his throat contracted. Clearly the moment +had come. "My father's not only a Baronet. He's a rather famous +artist--Sir Nevil Sinclair. Perhaps you've heard the name?" + +She wrinkled her brows. "N-no.--You see, we do live in blinkers! What's +his line?" + +"Mostly Indian subjects----" + +"Oh, the Ramayána man? I remember--I _did_ see a lovely thing of his +before I came out here. But then----?" She stood still and drew away +from him. "One heard he had married...." + +"Yes. He married a beautiful high-caste Indian girl," said Roy, low and +steadily. "My mother----" + +"Your--_mother_----?" + +He could scarcely see her face; but he felt all through him the shock of +the disclosure; realised, with a sudden furious resentment, that she was +seeing his adored mother simply as a stumbling-block.... + +It was as if a chasm had opened between them--a chasm as wide as the +East is from the West. + +Those few seconds of eloquent silence seemed interminable. It was she +who spoke. + +"Didn't it strike you that I had--the right to know this ... before...?" + +The implied reproach smote him sharply; but how could he confess to +her--standing there in her queenly assurance--the impromptu nature of +last night's proceedings? + +"Well I--I'm telling you now," he stammered. "Last night I +simply--didn't think. And before ... the fact is ... I _can't_ talk of +her, except to those who knew her ... who understand...." + +"You mean--is she--not alive?" + +"No. The War killed her--instead of killing _me_." + +Her hand closed on his with a mute assurance of sympathy. If they could +only leave it so! But--her people...? + +"You must try and talk of her--to me, Roy," she urged, gently but +inexorably. "Was it--out here?" + +"No. In France. They came out for a visit, when I was six. I've known +nothing of India till now--except through her." + +"But--since you came out ... hasn't it struck you that ... Anglo-Indians +feel rather strongly...?" + +"I don't know--and I didn't care a rap what they felt," he flung out +with sudden warmth. "Now, of course--I do care. But ... to suppose _she_ +could ... stand in my way, seems an insult to her. If _you_'re one of +the people who feel strongly, of course ... there's an end of it. You're +free." + +"_Free?_ Roy--don't you realise ... I care. You've made me care." + +"I--made you?" + +"Yes; simply by being what you are--so gifted, so detached ... so +different from the others ... the service pattern...." + +"Oh yes--in a way ... I'm different."--Strange, how little it moved him, +just then, her frank avowal, her praise.--"And now you know--why. I'm +sorry if it upsets you. But I can't have ... that side of me accepted +... on sufferance----" + +To his greater amazement, she leaned forward and kissed him, +deliberately, on the mouth. + +"Will _that_ stop you--saying such things?" There was repressed passion +in her low tone, "I'm not accepting ... any of you on sufferance. And, +really, you're not a bit like ... not the same...." + +"_No!_" She smiled at the fierce monosyllable. "All that lot--the poor +devils you despise--are mostly made from the wrong sort of both +races--in point of breeding, I mean. And that's a supreme point, in +spite of the twaddle that's talked about equality. Women of good family, +East or West, don't intermarry much. And quite right too. I'm proud of +my share of India. But I think, on principle, it's a great mistake...." + +"Yes--yes. That's how _I_ feel. I'm not rabid. It's not my way. But ... +I suppose you know, Roy, that ... on this subject, many Anglo-Indians +are." + +"You mean--your people?" + +"Well--I don't know about Pater. He's built on large lines, outside and +in. But mother's only large to the naked eye; and she's Anglo-Indian to +the bone." + +"You think ... she'll raise objections?" + +"She won't get the chance. It's my affair--not hers. There'd be +arguments, at the very least. She tramples tactlessly. And it's plain +you're abnormally sensitive; and rather fierce under your +gentleness----!" + +"But, Rose--I must speak. I refuse to treat--my mother as if she was--a +family skeleton----" + +"No--not that," she soothed him with voice and gesture. "Of course they +shall know--later on. It's only ... I couldn't bear any jar at the +start. You might, Roy--out of consideration for me. It would be quite +simple. You need only say, just now, that your father is a widower. It +isn't as if--she was alive----" + +The words staggered him like a blow. With an incoherent exclamation, he +swung round and walked quickly away from her towards the house, his +blood tingling in a manner altogether different from last night. Had she +not been a woman, he could have knocked her down. + +Dismayed and startled, she hurried after him. "Roy, my dear--dearest," +she called softly. But he did not heed. + +She overtook him, however, and caught his arm with both hands, forcing +him to stop. + +"Darling--forgive me," she murmured, her face appealingly close to his. +"I didn't mean--I was only trying to ease things for you, a little--you +quiver-full of sensibilities." + +He had been a fakir, past saving, could he have withstood her in that +vein. Her nearness, her tenderness, revived the mood of sheer +bewitchment, when he could think of nothing, desire nothing but her. She +had a genius for inducing that mood in men; and Roy's virginal passion, +once roused, was stronger than he knew. With his arms round her, his +heart against hers, it was humanly impossible to wish her other than she +was--other than his own. + +Words failed. He simply clung to her, in a kind of dumb desperation to +which she had not the key. + +"To-morrow," he said at last, "I'll tell you more--show you her +picture." + +And, unlike Arúna, she had no inkling of all that those few words +implied. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 28: Early tea.] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "The patience of the British is as long as a summer's day; but the + arm of the British is as long as a winter's night."--_Pathan + Saying._ + + +They parted on the understanding that Roy would come in to tiffin on +Sunday. Instead, to his shameless relief, he found the squadron detailed +to bivouac all day in the Gol Bagh, and be available at short notice. + +It gave him a curious thrill to open his camphor-drenched uniform +case--left behind with Lance--and unearth the familiar khaki of Kohat +and Mespot days; to ride out with his men in the cool of early morning +to the gardens at the far end of Lahore. The familiar words of commands, +the rhythmic clatter of hoofs, were music in his ears. A thousand pities +he was not free to join the Indian Army. But, in any case, there was +Rose. There would always be Rose now. And he had an inkling that their +angle of vision was by no means identical.... + +The voice of Lance, shouting an order, dispelled his brown study; and +Rose--beautiful, desirable, but profoundly disturbing--did not intrude +again. + +Arrived in the gardens, they picketed the horses, and disposed +themselves under the trees to await events. The heat increased and the +flies, and the eternal clamour of crows; and it was nearing noon before +their ears caught a far-off sound--an unmistakable hum rising to a roar. + +"Thought so," said Lance, and flung a word of command to his men. + +A clatter of hoofs heralded arrivals--Elton and the Superintendent of +Police with orders for an immediate advance. A huge mob, headed by +students, was pouring along the Circular Road. The police were powerless +to hold them; and at all costs they must be prevented from debouching +on to the Mall. It was brisk work; but the squadron reached the critical +corner just in time. + +A sight to catch the breath and quicken the pulses--that surging sea of +black heads, uncovered in token of mourning; that forest of arms beating +the air to a deafening chorus of orthodox lamentation; while a portrait +of Ghandi, on a black banner, swayed uncertainly in the midst. + +A handful of police, shouting and struggling with the foremost ranks, +were being swept resistlessly back towards the Mall--the main artery of +Lahore; and a British police officer on horseback was sharing the same +fate. Clearly nothing would check them save that formidable barrier of +cavalry and armoured cars. + +At sight of it they halted; but disperse and return they would not. They +haggled; they imposed impossible conditions; they drowned official +parleyings in shouts and yells. + +For close on two hours, in the blazing sun, Lance Desmond and his men +sat patiently in their saddles--machine-guns ready in the cars behind +them--while the Civil Arm, derided and defied, peacefully persuaded +those passively resisting thousands that the Mall was not deemed a +suitable promenade for Lahore citizens in a highly processional mood. + +For two hours the human tide swayed to and fro; the clamour rose and +fell; till a local leader, after much vain speaking, begged the loan of +a horse, and headed them off to a mass meeting at the Bradlaugh Hall. + +The cavalry, dismissed, trotted back to the gardens, to remain at hand +in case of need. + +What the Indian officers and men thought of it all, who shall guess? +What Lance Desmond thought, he frankly imparted to Roy. + +"A fine exhibition of the masterly inactivity touch!" said he, with a +twitch of his humorous lips. "But not exactly an edifying show for our +men. Wonder what my old Dad would think of it all? You bet there'll be a +holy rumpus in the city to-night." + +"And then----?" mused Roy, his imagination leaping ahead. "This isn't +the last of it." + +"The last of it--will be bullets, not buckshot," said Lance in his +soldierly wisdom. "It's the only argument for crowds. The soft-sawder +lot may howl 'militarism.' But they're jolly grateful for a dash of it +when their skins are touched. It takes a soldier of the right sort to +know just when a dash of cruelty is kindness--and the reverse--in +dealing with backward peoples; and crowds, of any colour, are the +backwardest peoples going! It would be just as well to get the women +safely off the scene." + +He looked very straight at Roy, whose sensitive soul winced, at the +impact of his thought. Since their brief talk, the fact of the +engagement had been tacitly accepted--tacitly ignored. Lance had a +positive genius for that sort of thing; and in this case it was a +godsend to Roy. + +"Quite so," he agreed, returning the look. + +"Well--you're in a position to suggest it." + +"I'm not sure if it would be exactly appreciated. But I'll have a shot +at it to-morrow." + + * * * * * + +The city, that night, duly enjoyed its 'holy rumpus.' But on Monday +morning shops were open again; everything as normal as you please; and +the cheerful prophets congratulated themselves that the explosion had +proved a damp squib after all. + +Foremost among these was Mr Talbot Hayes, whose ineffable air of being +in the confidence of the Almighty--not to mention the whole Hindu +Pantheon--was balm to Mrs Elton at this terrifying juncture. For her +mountain of flesh hid a mouse of a soul, and her childhood had been +shadowed by tales of Mutiny horrors. With her it was almost an +obsession. The least unusual uproar at a railway station, or holiday +excitement in the bazaar, sufficed to convince her that the hour had +struck for which, subconsciously, she had been waiting all her life. + +So, throughout Sunday morning, she had been a quivering jelly of fear; +positively annoyed with Rose for her serene assurance that 'the Pater +would pull it off all right.' She had never quite fathomed her +daughter's faith in the shy, undistinguished man for whom she cherished +an affection secretly tinged with contempt. In this case it was +justified. He had returned to tiffin quite unruffled; had vouchsafed no +details; simply assured her she need not worry. Thank God, they had a +strong L.G. That was all. + +But authority, in the person of Talbot Hayes, was more communicative--in +a flatteringly confidential undertone. A long talk with him had cheered +her considerably; and on Monday she was still further cheered by a piece +of news her daughter casually let fall at breakfast, between the poached +eggs and the marmalade. + +Rose--at last! And even Gladys' achievement thrown into the shade! Here +was compensation for all she had suffered from the girl's distracting +habit of going just so far with the wrong man as to give her +palpitations. She had felt downright nervous about Major Desmond. For +Rose never gave one her confidence. And she had suffered qualms about +this new unknown young man. But what matter now? To your right-minded +mother, all's well that ends in the Wedding March--and Debrett! Most +satisfactory to find that the father _was_ a Baronet; and Mr Sinclair +_was_ the eldest son! Could anything be more gratifying to her maternal +pride in this beautiful, difficult daughter of hers? + +Consequently, when the eldest son came in to report himself, all that +inner complacency welled up and flowed over him in a volume of maternal +effusion, trying enough in any case; and to Roy intolerable, almost, in +view of that enforced reservation that might altogether change her tone. + +After nearly an hour of it, he felt so battered internally that he +reached the haven of his own room feeling thoroughly out of tune with +the whole affair. Yet--there it was. And no man could lightly break with +a girl of that quality. Besides, his feeling for her--infatuation +apart--had received a distinct stimulus from their talk about his mother +and the impression made on her by the photograph he had brought with +him, as promised. And if Mrs Elton was a Brobdingnagian thorn on the +stem of his Rose, the D.C.'s patent pleasure and affectionate allusions +to the girl atoned for a good deal. + +So, instead of executing a 'wobble' of the first magnitude, he proceeded +to clinch matters by writing first to his father, then to a Calcutta +firm of jewellers for a selection of rings. + +But he wavered badly over facing the ordeal of wholesale +congratulations--the chaff of the men, the reiterate inanities of the +women. + +On Tuesday, Rose warned him that her mother was dying to give a dinner, +to invite certain rival mothers, and announce her news with due éclat. + +"Hand us round, in fact," she added serenely, "with the chocs and Elvas +plums!--No! Don't flare up!" Her fingers caressed the back of his hand. +"In mercy to you, I diplomatically sat down upon the idea, and remained +seated till it was extinct. So you're saved--by your affianced wife, +whom you don't seem in a frantic hurry to acknowledge...!" + +He caught her to him, and kissed her passionately. "You _know_ it's not +that----" + +"Yes, _I_ know ... you're just terror-struck of all those women. But if +you will do these things, you must stand up to the consequences--like a +man." + +He jerked up his head. "No fear. We'll say to-morrow, or Thursday." + +"I'll be merciful, and say Thursday. It's to be announced this +afternoon. Have you mentioned it--to any one?" + +"Only to Lance." + +A small sound between her teeth made him turn quickly. + +"Anything hurt you?" + +"You've quick ears! Only a pin-prick." She explored her blouse for the +offending pin. "Do you tell each other everything--you two?" + +"Pretty well--as men go." + +"You're a wonderful pair." + +She sighed and was silent a moment. Then, "Shall it be a ride on +Thursday?" she asked, giving his arm a small squeeze. + +"Rather. There are Brigade Sports; but I could cry off. We'll take our +tea out to Shadera, have a peaceful time there, and finish up at the +Hall." + +So it was arranged, and so it befell, though not exactly according to +design. + + * * * * * + +On Thursday they rode leisurely out through the heat and dusty haze, +away from bungalows and the watered Mall, through a village alive with +shrill women, naked babies, and officious pariahs, who kept Terry +furiously occupied: on past the city, over the bridge of boats that +spans the Ravi, till they came to the green secluded garden where the +Emperor Jehangir sleeps, heedless of infidels who, generation after +generation, have picnicked and made love in the sacred precincts of his +tomb. + +Arrived at the gardens, they tethered the horses, drank thermos tea and +ate sugared cakes, sitting on the wide wall that looked across the river +and the plain to the dim huddled city beyond. And Roy talked of +Bramleigh Beeches in April, till he felt home-sick for primroses and the +cuckoo and the smell of mown grass; while, before his actual eyes, the +terrible sun of India hung suspended in the haze, like a platter of +molten brass, till the turning earth, settling to sleep, shouldered it +almost out of sight. + +That brought them back to realities. + +"We must scoot," said Roy. "It'll be dark, and there's only a slip of a +moon." + +"It's been delicious!" she sighed; and they kissed mutually--a lingering +kiss. + +Then they were off, racing the swift-footed dusk.... + +Skirting the city, they noticed scurrying groups of figures, shouting to +each other as they ran; and the next instant, Roy's ear caught the +ominous hum of Sunday morning. + +"Good God! They're out again. Hi--You! What's the _tamasha_?" he called +to the nearest group. + +They responded with wild gestures, and fled on. But one lagged a little, +being fat and scant of breath; and Roy shouted again. This time the note +of command took effect. + +"Where are you all running? Is there trouble?" he asked. + +"Big trouble, Sahib--Amritsar," answered the fleshly one, wiping the +dusty sweat from his forehead, and shaking it unceremoniously from his +finger-tips. "Word comes that our leaders are taken. Mahatma Ghandi, +also. The people are burning and looting; Bank-_ghar_,[29] Town +Hall-_ghar_; killing many Sahibs and one Mem-sahib. _Hai! hai_! Now +there will be _hartal_ again; Committee _ki ráj_. No food; no work. +_Hai! hai!_[30] Ghandi _ki jai_!" + +"Confound the man!" muttered Roy, not referring to the woebegone one. +"Look here, Rose, if they're wedged up near Anarkali, we must change our +route. I expect the squadron's out; and I ought to be with it----" + +"Thank God, you're _not_. It's quite bad enough----" She set her teeth. +"Oh, _come_ on." + +Back they sped, at a hand-gallop, past the Fort and the Badshahi Mosque; +then, neck and neck down the long straight road, that vibrant roar +growing louder with every stride. + +Near the Church they slackened speed. The noise had become terrific, +like a hundred electric engines; and there was more than excitement in +it--there was fury. + +"Sunday was a treat to this," remarked Roy. "We shan't get on to the +Mall." + +"We can go through Mozung," said Rose coolly. "But I want to _see_--as +far as one can. The Pater's bound to be there." + +Roy, while admiring her coolness, detected beneath it a repressed +intensity, very unlike her. But his own urgent sensations left no room +for curiosity; and round the next swerve they drew rein in full view of +a sight that neither would forget while they lived. + +The wide road, stretching away to the Lahori gate, was thronged with a +shouting, gesticulating human barrier; bobbing heads and lifted arms, +hurling any missile that came to hand--stones, bricks, lumps of +refuse--at the courageous few who held them in check. + +Cavalry and police, as on Sunday, blocked the turning into the Mall; and +Roy instantly recognised the silhouette of Lance, sitting erect and +rigid, doubtless thinking unutterable things. + +Low roofs of buildings, near the road, were alive with shadowy figures, +running, yelling, hurling bricks and mud from a half-demolished shop +near by. Two mounted police officers made abortive attempts to get a +hearing; and a solitary Indian, perched on an electric standard, well +above the congested mass, vainly harangued and fluttered a white scarf +as signal of pacific intentions. Doubtless one of their 'leaders,' again +making frantic, belated efforts to stem the torrent that he and his kind +had let loose. + +And the nightmare effect of the scene was intensified by the oncoming +dusk, by the flare of a single torch hoisted on a pole. It waved +purposefully; and its objective was clear to Roy--the electric supply +wires. + +"That brute there's trying to cut off the light!" he exclaimed, turning +sharply in the saddle, only to find that Rose had not even heard him. + +She sat stone-still, her face set and strained, as he had seen it after +the tournament. "_There_ he is," she murmured--the words a mere movement +of her lips. + +He hated to see her look like that; and putting out a hand, he touched +her arm. + +"I don't see him," he said, answering her murmur. "He'll be coming, +though. Not nervous, are you?" + +She started at his touch--shrank from it almost; or so he fancied. +"Nervous? No--furious!" Her low tone was as tense as her whole attitude. +"Mud and stones! Good heavens! Why don't they _shoot_?" + +"They will--at a pinch," Roy assured her, feeling oddly rebuffed, and as +if he were addressing a stranger. "Stay here. Don't stir. I'll glean a +few details from one of our outlying sowars." + +The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan. Recognising Roy, he +saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes. + +"_Wah, wah!_ Sahib! This is not man's work, to sit staring while these +throw words to a pack of mad jackals. On the Border we say, _páili láth; +pechi bhát_.[31] That would soon make an end of this devil's noise." + +"True talk," said Roy, secretly approving the man's rough wisdom. "How +long has it been going on?" + +"We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have been nearly +one hour. Once the police-_lóg_ gave buckshot to those on the roofs. How +much use--the Sahib can see. Now they have sent a sowar for the Dep'ty +Sahib. But these would not hear the Lát Sahib himself. One match will +light such a bonfire; but a hundred buckets will not put it out." + +Roy assented, ruefully enough. "Is it true there has been big trouble at +Amritsar--burning and killing?" + +"_Wah, wah! Shurrum ki bhát._[32] Because he who made all the trouble +may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no concern--are +killed----" + +An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob. + +It was swaying ominously forward, with yellings and prancings, with +renewed showers of bricks and stones. + +"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher Khan with grim +irony. + +It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback, alone in the +forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make himself heard. Still he +pressed forward, urging, commanding; missiles hurtling round him. +Luckily the aim was poor; and only one took effect. + +A voice shouted, "You had better come back, sir." + +He halted. There was a fierce forward rush. Large groups of people sat +down in flat defiance. + +Again Rose broke out with her repressed intensity, "It's madness! Why on +_earth_ don't they shoot?" + +"The notion is--to give the beggars every chance," urged Roy. "After +all, they've been artificially worked up. It's the men behind--pulling +the strings--who are to blame----" + +"I don't care _who's_ to blame. They're as dangerous as wild beasts." +She did not even look at him. Her eyes, her mind were centred on that +weird, unforgettable scene. "And _our_ people simply sitting there being +pelted with bricks and stones ... the Pater ... Lance...." + +She drew in her lip. Roy gave her a quick look. That was the second +time; and she did not even seem aware of it. + +"Yes. It's a detestable position, but it's not of their making," he +agreed; adding briskly: "Come along, now, Rose. It's getting dark; and I +ought to be in Cantonments. There'll be pickets all over the +place--after this. I'll see you safe to the Hall, then gallop on." + +Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Shirking congrats again?" + +"Oh, drop it! I'd clean forgotten. I'll conduct you _right in_--and +chance congrats. But they'll be too full of other things to-night. +Scared to death, some of them." + +"Mother, for one. I never thought of her. We must hurry." + +For new-made lovers, their tone and bearing was oddly detached, almost +brusque. They had gone some distance before they heard shots behind +them. + +"Thank goodness! At last! I hope it hurt some of them badly," Rose broke +out with unusual warmth. She was rather unusual altogether this evening. +"Really, it would serve them right--as Mr Hayes says--if we _did_ clear +out, lock, stock, and barrel, and leave their precious country to be +scrambled for by others of a very different _ját_[33] from the stupid, +splendid British. I'm glad _I'm_ going, anyway. I've never felt in +sympathy. And now, after all this ... and Amritsar ... I simply +couldn't...." + +She broke off in mid-career, flicked her pony's flanks, and set off at a +brisk canter. + +Pause and action could have but one meaning. "She's realising," thought +Roy, cantering after, pain and anger mingled in his heart. At such a +moment, he admitted, her outburst was not unnatural. But to him it was, +none the less, intolerable. The trouble was, he could say nothing, lest +he say too much. + +At the Lawrence Hall they found half a company of British soldiers on +guard,--producing, by their mere presence, that sense of security which +radiates from the policeman and the soldier when the solid ground fails +underfoot. + +Within doors, the atmosphere was electrical with excitement and +uncertainty. Orders had been received that, in case of matters taking a +serious turn, the hundred or so of English women and children gathered +at the Club would be removed under escort to Government House. No one +was dancing. Every one was talking. The wildest rumours were current. + +At a crisis the curtains of convention are rent and the inner self peers +through, sometimes revealing the face of a stranger. While the imposing +Mrs Elton quivered inwardly, Mrs Ranyard--for all her 'creeps' and her +fluffiness--knew no flicker of fear. In any case, there were few who +would confess to it, though it gnawed at their vitals; and Roy's quick +eye noted that, among the women, as a whole, the light-hearted courage +of Anglo-India prevailed. It gave him a sharp inner tweak to look at +them all and remember that nightmare of seething, yelling rebels at +Anarkalli. He wished to God Rose had not seen it too. It was the kind of +thing that would stick in the memory. + +On their appearance in the Hall, Mrs Elton deserted a voluble group and +bore down upon them, flustered and perspiring. + +"My darling girl--thank God! I've been in a fever!" she cried, and would +have engulfed her stately daughter before them all, but that Rose put +out a deterring hand. + +"I was afraid you'd be upset--so we hurried," she said serenely; not the +Rose of Anarkalli, by any means. "But we were all right along the Mozung +road." + +That 'we,' and a possessive glance--the merest--at her lover, brought +down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations. Every one had +foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to _know_.... + +After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, "I say, I can't +stand any more. And it's high time I was off." + +"Poor dear! 'When duty calls...?'" Her cool tone was not unsympathetic. +"I'll let you off the rest." + +She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in the darkness +under the portico. + +"I shall dream to-night, Roy," she said gravely. "And we may not even +see the Pater. He's taken up his abode in the Telegraph Office. Mother +will want to bolt. I can see it in her eye!" + +"Well, she's right. You ought all to be cleared out of this, instanter." + +"Are you--so keen?" + +"Of course not." His tone was more impatient than loverly. "I'm only +keen to feel--you're safe." + +"Oh--safe!" she sighed. "_Is_ one--anywhere--ever?" + +"No," he countered with unexpected vigour, "or life wouldn't be worth +living. There are degrees of unsafeness, that's all. It's natural--isn't +it, darling?--I should want to feel you're out of reach of that crowd. +If it had pushed on here, and to Government House, Amritsar doings would +have been thrown into the shade." + +She shivered. "It's horrible--incredible! I suppose one has to be a +lifelong Anglo-Indian to realise quite _how_ incredible it feels--to +us." + +He put his arms round her, as if to shield her from the memory of it +all. + +"I'll see you to-morrow?" she asked. + +"Of course. If I can square it. But we shall be snowed under with +emergency orders. I'll send a note in any case." + +"Take care of yourself--on my account," she commanded softly; and they +kissed. + +But--whether fancy or fact--Roy had an under sense of mutual constraint. +It was not the same thing at all as that last kiss at Shadara. + +There they had come closer, in spirit, than ever yet. Now--not two hours +later--the thin end of an unseen wedge seemed to be stealthily pressing +them apart. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 29: House.] + +[Footnote 30: Alas, alas!] + +[Footnote 31: First a blow, then a word.] + +[Footnote 32: True talk. Shameful talk.] + +[Footnote 33: Caste.] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "It has long been a grave question whether any Government not too + strong for the liberties of the people, can be strong enough to + maintain its existence in great emergencies."--ABRAHAM LINCOLN. + + +Back in Cantonments, Roy found strong detachments being rushed to all +vital points, and Brigade Headquarters moving into Lahore. + +It was late before Lance returned, tired and monosyllabic. He admitted +they had mopped things up a bit--outside; and left a detachment, in +support of the police, guarding the Mall. But--the city was in open +rebellion. No white man could safely show his face there. The +anti-British poison, instilled without let or hindrance, was taking +violent effect. He'd seen enough of it for one day. He wanted things to +eat and drink--especially drink. 'Things' were produced; and +afterwards--alone with Roy in their bungalow--he talked more freely, in +no optimistic vein, sworn foe of pessimism though he was. + +"Sporadic trouble? Not a bit of it! Look at the way they're going for +lines of communication. And look at these choice fragments from one of +their posters I pinched off a police inspector. 'The English are the +worst lot and are like monkeys, whose deceit and cunning are obvious to +high and low.... Do not lose courage, but try your utmost to turn these +men away from your holy country.' Pretty sentiments--eh? Fact is, we're +up against organised rebellion." + +Roy nodded. "I had that from Dyán, long ago. Paralysis of movement and +Government is their game. We may have a job to regain control of the +city." + +"Not if we declare Martial Law," said the son of Theo Desmond with a +kindling eye. "Of course, I'm only a soldier--and proud of it! But I've +more than a nodding acquaintance with the Punjabi. He's no word-monger; +handier with his _láthi_ than his tongue. If you stir him up, he hits +out. And I don't blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't +realise the inflammable stuff they're playing with----" + +"Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy. + +"M-yes--perhaps. But the one on the electric standard this evening +didn't exactly achieve a star turn!--You saw him, eh?" He looked very +straight at Roy. "I noticed you--hanging round on the edge of things. +You ought to have gone straight on." + +Roy winced. "We'd heard wild rumours. She was anxious about the D.C." + +Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe. "When does--Mrs Elton +make a move?" + +"The first possible instant I should say, from the look of her." + +"Good. She's on the right tack, for once! The D.C. deserves a +first-class Birthday Honour--and may possibly wangle an O.B.E.! I'm told +that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of police, pretty well saved the +station before we came on the scene. It's been a nearer shave than one +cares to think about. And it's not over." + +They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation, that +looked blacker every hour. And, till long after midnight, an uproarious +mob raged through the city and Anarkalli, only kept from breaking all +bounds by the tact and good-humour of a handful of cavalry and police; +men of their own race, unshaken by open or covert attempts to suborn +their loyalty--a minor detail worth putting on record. + + * * * * * + +Friday was a day of rumours. While the city continued furiously to rage, +reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides: further terrible +details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army and the police were being +tampered with and expected to join the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad +and Lyallpur, where seventy British women and children were herded, in +one bungalow, till they could safely be removed. Everywhere the same +tale: stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut. Fresh stories +constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger in the +blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women, longing to get +away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with natives, manned by +natives, who might be perfectly harmless; but, on the other hand, might +not.... + +It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these things, +one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other India, in the +good days when peaceful loyal masses had not been galvanised into +disaffection; when an Englishwoman, of average nerve, thought nothing of +travelling alone up and down the country, or spending a week alone in +camp--if needs must--secure in the knowledge that--even in a disturbed +Frontier district--no woman would ever be touched or treated with other +than unfailing respect. + +Yet a good many were preparing to flit: and to the men their departure +would spell relief; not least, to Roy--the new-made lover. Parting would +be a wrench; but at this critical moment--for England and India--the tug +two ways was distinctly a strain; and the less she saw of it all, the +better for their future chance of happiness. He felt by no means sure it +had not been imperilled already. + +But the exigencies of the hour left no room for vague forebodings. +Emergency orders, that morning, detailed Lance with a detachment for the +Railway Workshops, where passive resisters were actively on the +war-path. Roy, after early stables, was dispatched with another party, +to strengthen a cavalry picket near the Badshahi Mosque, on the +outskirts of the city, where things might be lively in the course of the +day. + +Passing through Lahore, he sent his _sais_ with a note to Rose; and, on +reaching the Mosque, he found things lively enough already. The iron +railings, round the main gate of the Fort, were besieged by a hooting, +roaring mob, belabouring the air with _láthis_ and axes on bamboo poles; +rending it with shouts of abuse and one reiterate cry, "Kill the white +pigs, brothers! Kill! Kill!" + +Again and again they stormed the railings, frantically trying to bear +them down by sheer weight of numbers--yelling ceaselessly the while. + +"How the devil can they keep it up?" thought Roy; and sickened to think +how few of his own kind there were to stand between the English women +and children in Lahore and those hostile thousands. Thank God, there +remained loyal Indians, hundreds of them--as in Mutiny days; but surely +a few rounds from the Fort just then would have heartened them and been +distinctly comforting into the bargain. + +The walls were manned with rifles and Lewis guns, and at times things +looked distinctly alarming; but not a shot was fired. The mob was left +to exhaust itself with its own fury. Part melted away, and part was +drawn away by the attraction of a mass meeting in the Mosque, where +thirty-five thousand citizens were gathered to hear Hindu agitators +preaching open rebellion from Mahommedan pulpits; and a handful of +British police officers--present on duty--were being hissed and hooted, +amid shouts of "_Hindu-Mussalman ki jai!_" + +From the city all police pickets had been withdrawn, since their +presence would only provoke disturbance and bloodshed. And the bazaar +people were parading the streets, headed by an impromptu army of young +hotheads, carrying _láthis_, crying their eternal '_Hai!_' and '_Jai!_' +with extra special '_Jai's_' for the 'King of Germany' and the Afghan +Amir. + +Portraits of Their Majesties were battered down and trampled in the mud; +and over the fragments the crowd swept on, shouting: '_Hai! hai! Jarge +Margya!_'[34] And the air was full of the craziest rumours, passed on, +with embellishments, from mouth to mouth.... + +Roy, on reaching Cantonments, was relieved to find that the decision had +already been taken to regain control of the city by a military +demonstration in force; eight hundred troops and police, under the +officer commanding Lahore civil area. Desmond's squadron was included; +and, sitting down straightway, Roy dashed off a note to Rose. + + "MY DARLING,-- + + "I'm sorry, but it looks like 'no go' to-morrow. You'll hear all + from the Pater. I might look in for tiffin, if things go smoothly, + and if _you_'ll put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the + fray! From what I saw and heard to-day, we're not likely to be + greeted with marigold wreaths and benedictions! Of course hundreds + will be thankful to see us. But I doubt if they'll dare betray the + fact. I needn't tell you to keep cool. You're simply splendid. + + "Your loving and admiring, + ROY." + +It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when that mixed +force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes acting in concert +with them, halted outside the Delhi Gate of Lahore City, while an order +was read out to the assembled leaders that, if shots were fired or bombs +flung, those aeroplanes would make things unpleasant. Then--at last they +were on the move; through the Gate, inside the City, aeroplanes flying +low, cavalry bringing up the rear. + +Here normal life and activity were completely suspended--hence more than +half the trouble. Groups of idlers, sauntering about, stared, spat, or +shook clenched fists, shouting, "Give us Ghandi--and we will open!" +"Repeal Rowlatt Bill and we will open." + +And, at every turn, posters exhorted true patriots--in terms often as +ludicrous as they were hostile--to leave off all dealings with the +'English monkeys,' to 'kill and be killed.' + +And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points--pausing that Mr +Elton might exhort the people to resume work--mere groups swelled to +crowds, increasing in number and virulence; their cries and contortions +more savage than anything Roy had yet seen. + +But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable market, +fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began. Here were +large excited crowds streaming to and fro between the Mosque and the +Mundi--material inflammable as gunpowder. Here, too, were the hotheads +armed with leaded sticks, hostile and defiant, shouting their eternal +cries. And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly the +centre of trouble. Exhortations to disperse peacefully were unheeded or +unheard. All over the open space they swarmed like locusts. Their +wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment. And the mosque acted as a +stronghold. Crowds packed away in there could neither be dealt with nor +dispersed. So an order was given that it should be cleared and the doors +guarded. + +Meantime, to loosen the congested mass, it was cavalry to the +front--thankful for movement at last. + +There was a rush and a scuffle. Scattered groups bolted into the city. +Others broke away and streamed down from the high ground into the open +plain, sowars in pursuit; rounding them up, shepherding them back to +their by-lanes and rabbit-warrens. + +"How does it feel to be a sheep-dog?" Lance asked Roy, as he cantered +up, dusty and perspiring. "A word from the aeroplanes would do the +trick. Good God! _Look_ at them----!" + +Roy looked--and swore under his breath. For the half-dispersed thousands +were flowing together again like quicksilver. The whole Hira Mundi +region was packed with a seething dangerous mob, completely out of hand, +amenable to nothing but force. + +And now from the doors of the Mosque fresh thousands, inflamed by +fanatical speeches, were swarming across the open plain to join them, +flourishing their _láthis_ with threatening gestures and cries.... + +It was a sight to shake the stoutest heart. Armed, they were not; but +the _láthi_ is a deadly weapon at close quarters; and their mere numbers +were overwhelming. Roy, by this time, was sick of their everlasting +yells; their distorted faces full of hate and fury; their senseless +abuse of 'tyrants,' who were exercising a patience almost superhuman. + +An order was shouted for the troops to turn and hold them. Carnegie, of +the police, dashed off to the head of the column that was nearing the +gate of exit; and the cavalry lined up in support of Mr Elton, who still +exhorted, still tried to make himself heard by those who were determined +not to hear. + +Directly they moved forward, there was a fierce, concerted rush; +_láthis_ in the forefront, bricks and stones hurtling, as at Anarkalli, +but with fiercer intent. + +A large stone whizzed past the ear of an impassive Sikh Ressaldar; half +a brick caught Roy on the shoulder; another struck Suráj on the flank +and slightly disturbed his equanimity. + +While Roy was soothing him, came a renewed rush, the crowd pushing +boldly in on all sides with evident intent to cut them off from the +rest. + +The line broke. There was a moment of sickening confusion. A howling +man, brandishing a _láthi_, made a dash at Roy, a grab at his charger's +rein.... + +One instant his heart stood still; the next, Lance dashed in between, +riding-crop lifted, unceremoniously hustling Roy, and nearly oversetting +his assailant--but not quite---- + +Down came the leaded stick on the back of his bridle hand, cutting it +open, grazing and bruising the flesh. With an oath he dropped the reins +and seized them in his right hand. + +"Rather neatly done!" he remarked, smiling at the dismay in Roy's eyes. +"Ought to have floored him, though--the murdering brute!" + +"Lance, you'd no business----" + +"Oh, drop it. This isn't polo. It's a game of Aunt Sally. No charge for +a shy----!" As he spoke, a sharp fragment of brick struck his cheek and +drew blood. "Damn them. Getting above themselves. If it rested with me +I'd charge. We can hold 'em, though. Straighten the line." + +"But your hand----" + +"My hand can wait. I've got another." And he rode on leaving Roy with a +burning inner sense as of actual coals of fire heaped on his unworthy +self. + +But urgent need for action left no leisure for thought. Somehow the line +was straightened; somehow they extricated themselves from the +embarrassing attentions of the mob. Carnegie returned with armed police; +and four files were lined up in front of the troops; the warning clearly +given; the response--fresh uproar, fresh showers of stones.... + +Then eight shots rang out--and it sufficed. + +At the voice of the rifle, the sting of buckshot, valour and fury +evaporated like smoke. And directly the crowd broke, firing ceased. A +few were wounded; one was killed--and carried off with loud +lamentations. An ordered advance, with fixed bayonets, completed the +effect that nothing else on earth could have produced:--and the Grand +Processional was over. + +It emerged from the Báthi Gate a shadow of itself, having left more than +half its numbers on guard at vital points along the route. + +"Scotched--not killed," was Lance's pithy verdict on the proceedings. +"As a bit of mere police work--excellent. As to the result--we shall +see. The C.O. must have been thankful his force wasn't a shade weaker." + +This, unofficially, to Roy, who had secured leave off for tiffin at the +Eltons', and had ridden forward to report his departure and inquire +after the damaged hand, that concerned him more than anything else just +then--not even excepting Rose. + +It had been roughly wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and Lance +pooh-poohed concern. + +"Hurts a bit, of course. But it's no harm. I'll have it scientifically +cleaned up by Collins. Don't look pathetic about nothing, old man. My +silly fault for failing to ride the beggar down. Just as well it isn't +your hand, you know. Unpleasant--for the women." + +"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in that vein had +him at a disadvantage, always. + +"Don't be too late," he added, as Roy turned to go. "We may be needed. +Those operatic performers in the City aren't going to sit twiddling +their thumbs by the look of them. When's ... the departure?" + +"To-morrow or next day, I think." + +"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't make a tale over +my hand." + +"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll be back +about six." + +He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love to Rose +damped by the fact that he had not been able to look Lance in the eyes. + +Things couldn't go on like this. And yet...? Impossible to ask Rose +outright whether there had been anything definite between them. If she +said "No," he would not believe her:--detestable, but true. If she--well +... if in any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find +it hard to control himself--or forgive her: equally detestable and +equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still.... + +He found the household ready for immediate flitting, and Mrs Elton in a +fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news from Kasur. + +"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up! Two of our +officers wounded and two warrant officers _beaten_ to _death_ with those +horrible láthis!" She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy +could even get near Rose. "It's official. Mr Haynes has just been +telling us. An English woman and three tiny children--miraculously saved +by two N.C.O.'s and a friendly native Inspector. Did you _ever_----! And +I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the +bodies of those poor men at Amritsar. So _now_ we know why the price ran +up and why 'none was coming into the country!' Yet they say this isn't +another Mutiny,--don't tell _me_! I was so thankful to be getting away; +and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it happened to _us_--to-morrow!" + +"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's cool tones had a +tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the trains. And Fakir Ali wouldn't +let any one lay a finger on us." + +Mrs Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well, _I_ don't +believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut--or worse," +she declared with settled conviction. + +"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!" Rose quizzed her cruelly, but +sweetly. "And now _perhaps_ I may get at Roy, who's probably tired and +thirsty after all those hours in the sun." + +The Jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but directly it +was over Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir--her own corner; its +atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl herself, after all the strife +and heat and noise of the city. + +They spent a peaceful two hours together. Roy detected no shadow of +constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday had passed off. For +himself--all inner perturbations were charmed away by her tender concern +for the bruised shoulder--a big bruise; she could feel it under his +coat--and the look in her eyes while he told the story of Lance; not +colouring it up, because of what he had said; yet not concealing its +effect on himself. + +"He's quite a splendid sort of person," she said, with a little tug at +the string of her circular fan. "But _you_ know all about that." + +"Rather." + +She drew in her lip and was silent. If he could speak now. In this mood, +he might believe her--might even forgive her.... + +But it was she who spoke. + +"What about--the Kashmir plan?" + +"God knows. It's all in abeyance. The Colonel's wedding too." + +"Will you be _allowed_--I wonder--to pay me a little visit first?" Her +smile and the manner of her request were irresistible. + +"It's just possible!" he returned, in the same vein. "I fancy Lance +would understand." + +"Oh--he _would_. And to-morrow--the night train? Can you be there?" + +He looked doubtful. "It depends--how things go. And--I rather bar +station partings." + +"So do I. But still ... Mother's been clamouring for you to come up with +us and guard the hairs of our heads! But I deftly squashed the idea." + +"Bless you, darling!" He drew her close, and she leaned her cheek +against him with a sigh, in which present content and prospective +sadness were strangely mingled. It was in these gentle, pensive moods +that Roy came near to loving her as he had dreamed of loving the girl he +would make his wife. + +"I'm still jealous of the Gilgit plan," she murmured. "And, of course, I +wish you were coming up to-morrow--even more than Mother does! But at +least I've the grace to be glad you're not--which is rather an advance +for me!" + +Their parting, if less passionate, was more tender than usual; and Roy +rode away with a distinct ache in his heart at thought of losing her; a +nascent reluctance to make mountains out of molehills in respect of her +and Lance.... + +Riding back along the Mall, he noticed absently an approaching +horsewoman, and recognised--too late for escape--Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. By +timely flight on Thursday, he had evaded her congratulations. Intuition +told him she would say things that jarred. Now he flicked Suráj with +the base intent of merely greeting her as he passed. + +But she was a woman of experience and resource. She beckoned him airily +with her riding-crop. + +"Mr Sinclair? What luck! I'm dying to hear how the 'March Past' went +off. Did you get thunders of applause?" + +"Oh, thunders. The Monsoon variety!" + +"I saw you all in the distance, coming in from my early ride. You looked +very imposing with your attendant aeroplanes!--May I?" She turned her +pony's head without awaiting permission, and rode beside him at a foot's +pace, clamouring for details. + +He supplied them fluently, in the hope of heading her off personalities. +A vain hope: for personalities were her daily bread. + +She took advantage of the first pause to ask, with an ineffable look: +"Are you still feeling _very_ shy of being engaged? You bolted on +Thursday. I hadn't a chance. And I'm rather _specially_ interested." The +look became almost caressing. "Did it ever occur to your exquisite +modesty, I wonder, that I rather wanted, you for _my_ cavalier. You +seemed so young--in experience, that I thought a little innocuous +education might be an advantage before you plunged. But she +snatched--oh, she did!--without seeming to lift an eyebrow, in her +inimitable way. Very clever. In fact, she's been distinctly clever all +round. She's eluded her 'coming man' on one side; and ructions over her +soldier man on the other----" + +"Look here--I'm engaged to her," Roy protested, trying not to be aware +of a sick sensation inside. "And you know I hate that sort of talk----" + +"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic eyes at him. +"But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry, Sir Galahad! You've won +the Kohinoor; and although you seem to live in the clouds, you've had +the sense to make things _pukka_ straightaway. 'Understandings' and +private engagements are the root of all evil!" + +"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out, his temper +rising. + +But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-whip at +him. + +"_Souvent femme varie!_ Have you ever heard that, you blessed innocent? +And the general impression is--there's already been one private +engagement--if not more. I was trying to tell you that afternoon to save +your poor fingers----" + +"It's all rot--spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing conviction made Roy +careless of his manners. "The women are jealous of her beauty, so they +invent any tale that's likely to be swallowed----" + +"Possibly, my dear boy. But I can't tell my neighbours to their faces +that they lie! After all, if you win a beautiful girl of six-and-twenty +you've got to swallow the fact, with a good grace, that there must have +been others; and thank God you're IT--if not the only IT that ever was +on land or sea!--After that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate +you. I've already congratulated her, _de mon plein coeur_!" + +"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only half mollified. +"But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond asked me not to be late." + +"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he rode away. + +Mrs Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his peaceful two +hours with Rose. After that--clash or no clash--he must have the thing +out with Lance, at the first available moment. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 34: "Hai! Hai! George is dead."] + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "In you I most discern, in your brave spirit, + Erect and certain, flashing deeds of light, + A pure jet from the fountain of all Being; + A scripture clearer than all else to read." + --J.C. SQUIRE. + + +Roy returned to an empty bungalow. + +On inquiry, he learnt that the Major Sahib had gone over to see the +Colonel Sahib; and Wazir Khan--Desmond's bearer--abused, in lurid terms, +the bastard son of a pig who had dared to assault the first Sahib in +creation. + +Roy, sitting down at his table, pushed aside a half-written page of his +novel, and his pen raced over the paper in a headlong letter to +Jeffers:--an outlet, merely, for his pent-up sensations; and a salve to +his conscience. He had neglected Jeffers lately, as well as his novel. +He had been demoralised, utterly, these last few weeks: and to-day, by +way of crowning demoralisation, he felt by no means certain what the end +would be--for himself; still less, for India. + +The damaged Major Sahib--untroubled by animosity--appeared only just in +time to change for Mess; his cheek unbecomingly plastered, his hand in a +sling. + +"Beastly nuisance; _Hukm hai_,"[35] he explained in response to Roy's +glance of inquiry. "Collins says it's a bit inflamed. I've been +confabbing with Paul over the deferred wedding. But, of course, there's +no chance of things settling down, unless we declare martial law. The +police are played out; and as for the impression we made this +morning--the D.C.'s just telephoned in for a hundred British troops and +armoured cars to picket and patrol bungalows in Lahore. Seems he's +received an authentic report that the city people are planning to rush +civil lines, loot the bungalows, and assault our women--damn them. So, +by way of precaution, he has very wisely asked for troops.--Are they +off--those two?" + +"To-morrow night," said Roy, feeling so horribly constrained that the +influx of Barnard and Meredith was, for once, almost a relief. + +Then there was Mess; fresh speculations, fresh tales, and a certain +amount of chaff over Desmond having 'stopped a brick'; Barnard, in +satirical vein, regretting to report a bloody encounter: one casualty: +enemy sprinkled with buckshot, retired according to plan. + +Before the meal was over, Roy fancied he detected a change in Lance; his +talk and laughter seemed a trifle strained; his lips set, now and then, +as if he were in pain. + +Later on he came up and remarked casually: "I'm not feeling very bright. +I think I'll turn in. Perhaps the sun touched me up a bit." Clearly +Roy's face betrayed him; for Lance added in an imperative undertone: +"_Don't_ look at me like that. I'm going to slip off quietly--not to +worry Paul." + +"Well, I'm going to slip off too," Roy retorted with decision. "I feel +used up; and my beast of a bruise hurts like blazes." + +"Drive me home, then," said Lance; and his changed tone, no less than +the surprising request, told Roy he would be glad of his company. + +They said little during the drive; Roy, because he felt vaguely anxious, +and knew it would annoy Lance if he betrayed concern, or inquired after +symptoms. It seemed a shame to worry the poor fellow in this state; but +silence had now become impossible. + +"Are you for bed, old man?" he asked when they got in. + +"Rather not. I just felt a bit queer. Wanted to get away from them all +and be quiet." + +His normal manner eased Roy's anxiety a little. Without more ado, they +settled into long veranda chairs and called for 'pegs.' The night was +utterly still. A red distorted moon hung just above the tree-tops. +Yelling and spitting crowds seemed to belong to another world. + +Lance leaned back in the shadow, the tip of his cigar glowing like a +fierce planet. Roy sat forward, tense and purposeful: hating what he had +to say; yet goaded by the knowledge that he could have no peace of mind +till it was said. + +He was silent a few moments, pulling at his cigar: then, "Look here, +Lance," he said. "I've got a question to ask. You won't like it. I don't +either. But the truth is ... I'm bothered to know what is ... or has +been ... between you and...." + +"Drop it, Roy." There was pain and impatience in Desmond's tone. "I'm +not going to talk about _that_." + +Flat opposition gave Roy precisely the spur he needed. + +"I'm afraid _I_'ve got to, though." The statement was placable but +decisive. "I can't go on this way. It's getting on my nerves----" + +"Devil take your nerves," said Lance politely. Then--with an obvious +effort--"Has she--said anything?" + +"No." + +"Then why the hell can't you let be!" + +"I _shall_ let be--altogether, if this goes on;--this infernal +awkwardness between us; and the things she says--the way she looks ... +almost as if she cares." + +"Well, I give you my oath--she doesn't. I suppose I ought to know?" + +"That depends how things were before I came up. She's twice let your +name slip out, unawares. And at Anarkalli she was extraordinarily upset. +And to-day--about your hand. Then, riding home, I met Mrs Ranyard. And +she started talking ... hinting at a private engagement----" + +"Mrs Ranyard deserves to have her tongue removed. She'd tell any lie +about another woman." + +"Quito so. But is it a lie? It fits in too neatly with--the other +things----" + +Lance gave him a sidelong look. Their faces were just visible in the +moonlight. + +"Jealous--are you?"--His tone was almost tender.--"You damned lucky +devil--you've no cause to be." + +That natural inference startlingly revealed to Roy that jealousy had +little or nothing to do with his trouble; and so great was the relief +of open speech between them, that instinctively he told truth. + +"N-no. I'm bothered about _you_." + +"Good God!" Desmond's abrupt laugh had no mirth in it. "_Me?_" + +"Yes--naturally. If it amounted to ... an engagement, and I charged in +and upset everything ... I can't forgive myself ... or her----" + +At that Desmond sat forward, obstructive no longer. "If you're going so +badly off the rails, you must have it straight. And ... confound you!... +it hurts----" + +"I can see that. And it's more or less my doing----" + +"On the contrary ... it was primarily _my_ doing ... as you justly +pointed out to me a week or two ago." + +Roy groaned. The irony of the situation stung like a whip-lash. "_Did_ +it amount to an engagement?" he persisted. + +"There or thereabouts." Lance paused and took a long pull at his cigar. +"_But_--it was quite between ourselves--in fact, conditional on ... the +headway I could manage to make. She--cared, in a way. Not--as I do. That +was one hitch. The other was Oh 'Ell's antipathy to soldiers, as +husbands for her precious family. She--Rose--knew there would be +ructions; a downright tussle, in fact. Well--she'll go almost any length +to avoid ructions; specially with her mother. I don't blame her. The +woman's a caution. So--she shirked facing the music ... till she felt +quite sure of herself...." + +"_Till_ she felt sure of herself, there should have been _no_ +engagement," Roy decreed, amazed at his own rising anger. "Unfair on +you." + +Desmond's smile was the ghost of its normal self. "You always were a bit +of a purist, Roy! Besides--it was my doing again. I pressed the point. +And I think ... she liked me ... loving her. She really seemed to be +coming my way--till _you_ turned up----" He clenched his hand and leaned +back again, drawing a deep breath. "I'm forcing myself to tell you all +this--since you've asked for it--because I won't have you blaming +_her_----" + +Roy said nothing. Remembering how, throughout, the initiative had been +hers, how hard he had striven against being ensnared, he did blame her, +a good deal more than he could very well admit to this friend, whose +single-hearted devotion made his own mere mingling of infatuation and +passion seem artificial as gaslight in the blaze of dawn.--But knowing +so much, he must know all. + +"How long--was it on?" + +"Oh, about three weeks before you came. _I_ was on a long while. Before +Christmas." + +"Since when has it been--off?" + +Lance hesitated. "Well--things became shaky after Kapurthala. That +day--the wedding, you remember?--I spoke rather straight ... about you. +I saw you were getting keen. And I didn't want you to come a +cropper----" + +"Why the devil didn't you tell me the _truth_?" + +Lance set his lips. "Of course I wanted to. But--it was difficult. She +said--not any one. Made a point of it. Not even Paul. And I was keen for +her to feel quite free; no slur on her--if things fell through. So--as I +couldn't warn you, I spoke to her. Perhaps I was a fool. Women are +queer. You can never be sure ... and it seemed to have quite the wrong +effect. Then I saw she was really losing her head over you---- Natural +enough. So I simply stood by. If she really wanted _you_--not me, that +was another affair. And it's plain ... she did." + +"But when--did she _make_ it plain?" Roy insisted, feeling more and more +as if the ground were giving way under his feet. + +"Just before the Gym. That ... was why...." He looked full at Roy now. +His eyes darkened with pain. "I felt like murdering you that day, Roy. +Afterwards ... well--one managed to carry on somehow. One always can--at +a pinch ... _you_ know." + +"My God! It's the bitterest, ironical tangle!" Roy burst out with a +smothered vehemence that told its own tale. "You _ought_ to have +insisted about me, Lance. I wouldn't for fifty worlds...." + +"Of course you wouldn't. Don't fret, old man. And don't blame _her_." + +"Blame or no, I can't pretend it doesn't alter things ... spoil things, +badly...." + +He broke off, startled by the change in Desmond. His face was drawn. He +was shivering violently. + +"Lance--_what_ is it? Fever? Have you been feeling bad?" + +Desmond set his lips to steady them. "On and off--at Mess. Touch of the +sun, perhaps. I'll get to bed and souse myself with quinine." + +But he was so obviously ill that Roy paid no heed. "Well, I'm going to +send for Collins instanter." + +"Don't make an ass of yourself, Roy," Lance flashed out: but his hands +were shaking: his lips were shaking. He was no longer in command of +affairs.... + +While the message sped on its way, Roy got him to bed somehow; eased +things a little with hot bottles and brandy; nameless terrors knocking +at his heart.... + +In less than no time Collins appeared, with the Colonel; and their faces +told Roy that his terror was only too well founded.... + +Within an hour he knew the worst--acute blood-poisoning from the _láthi_ +wound. + +"Any hope----?" he asked the genial doctor, while Paul Desmond knelt by +the bed speaking to his brother in low tones. + +"Too early to give an opinion," was the cautious answer. But the caution +and the man's whole manner told Roy the incredible, unbearable truth. + +Something inside him seemed to snap. In that moment of bewildered agony, +he felt like a murderer.... + + * * * * * + +Looking back afterwards, Roy marvelled how he had lived through the +waking nightmare of those two days--while the doctor did all that was +humanly possible, and Lance pitted all the clean strength of his manhood +against the swift deadly progress of the poison in his veins. It was +simply a question of hours; of fighting the devil to the last on +principle, rather than from any likelihood of victory. With heart and +hope broken, superhumanly they struggled on. + +For Roy, the world outside that dim whitewashed bedroom ceased to exist. +The loss of his mother had been anguish unalloyed; but he had not _seen_ +her go.... + +Now, he saw--and heard, which was worse than all. + +For Lance, towards the end, was constantly delirious; and, in delirium, +he raved of Rose--always of Rose. He, the soul of reserve, poured out +incontinently his passion, his worship, his fury of jealousy--till Roy +grew almost to hate the sound of her name. + +Worse--he was constrained to tell the Colonel the meaning of it all: to +see anger flash through the haunting pain in his eyes. + +Only twice, during the final struggle, the real Lance emerged; and on +the second occasion they happened to be alone. Their eyes met in the old +intimate understanding. Lance flung out his undamaged hand, and grasped +Roy's with all the force still left him. + +"Don't fret your heart out, Roy ... if I can't pull through," he said in +his normal voice. "Carry on. And--_don't_ blame Rose. It'll hurt her--a +bit. Don't hurt her more--because of me. And--look here, stand by Paul +for a time. He'll need you." + +Roy's "Trust me, dear old man," applied, mentally, to the last. Even at +that supreme moment he was dimly thankful it came last. + +Then the Colonel returned; and they could say no more; nor could Roy +find it in his heart to grudge him a moment of that brief blessed +interlude of real contact with the man they loved.... + +There could be no question of going to Lahore station on Sunday evening. +He was ill himself, though he did not know it; and his soul was centred +on Lance--the gallant spirit inwoven with almost every act and thought +and inspiration of his life. By comparison, Rose was nothing to him; +less than nothing; a mushroom growth--sudden and violent--with no deep +roots; only fibres. + +So he sent her, by an orderly, a few hurried lines of explanation and +farewell. + + "MY DEAR,-- + + "I'm sorry, but I _can't_ come to-night. We are all in dreadful + grief. Lance down with acute blood-poisoning. Collins evidently + fears the worst. I can't write of it. I do trust you get up safely. + I'll write again, when it's possible. + + "Yours, + ROY." + +Yes, he was still hers--so far. More than that he could not honestly +add. Beyond this awful hour he could not look. It was as if one stood on +the edge of a precipice, and the next step would be a drop into black +darkness.... + + * * * * * + +By Monday night it was over. After forty-eight hours of fever and +struggle and pain, Lance Desmond lay at rest--serene and noble in death, +as he had been in life. And Roy--having achieved one long, slow climb +out of the depths--was flung back again, deeper than ever.... + +It was near midnight when the end came. Utterly weary and broken, he had +sunk into Lance's chair, leaning forward, his face hidden, his frame +shaken all through with hard dry sobs that would not be stilled. + +Through the fog of his misery, he felt the Colonel's hand on his +shoulder; heard the familiar voice, deep and kindly: "My dear Roy, get +to bed. We can't have you on the sick-list. There's work to do; a great +gap to be filled--somehow. I'll stay--with him." + +At that, he pulled himself together and stood up. "I'll do my best, +Colonel," was all he could say. The face he had so rarely seen perturbed +was haggard with grief. They looked straight at one another; and the +thought flashed on Roy, 'I must tell him.' Not easy; but it had to be +done. + +"There's something, sir," he began, "I feel you ought to know. By +rights, it--it should have been _me_. That brute with the _láthi_ was +right on me; and he--Lance--dashed in between ... rode him off--and got +the knock intended for me. It--it haunts me." + +Paul Desmond was silent a moment. Pain and exaltation contended +strangely in his tired eyes. Then: "I--don't wonder," he said slowly. +"It--was like him. Thank you for telling me. It will be--some small +comfort ... to all of them. Now--try and get a little sleep." + +Roy shook his head. "Impossible.--Good-night, Colonel. It's a relief to +feel you know. For God's sake, let me do any mortal thing I can for any +of you." + +There was another moment of silence, of palpable hesitation; then once +again Paul Desmond put his hand on Roy's shoulder. + +"Look here, Roy," he said. "Drop calling me Colonel. You two--were like +brothers. And--as Thea's included, why should I be out of it. Let me--be +'Paul.'" + +It was hard to do. It was inimitably done. It gave Roy the very lift he +needed in that hour when he felt as if they must almost hate him, and +never wish to set eyes on him again. + +"I--I shall be proud," he said; and, turning away to hide his emotion, +went back to the bed that drew him like a magnet. + +There he knelt a long while, in a torment of mute, passionate protest +against the power of so trivial an injury to rob the world of so much +gallantry and charm. Resignation was far from him. With all the +vehemence that was in him, he raged against his loss.... + + * * * * * + +Next morning, they awoke, as from a prolonged and terrible dream, to +find Lahore practically isolated; all wires down, but one; the _hartal_ +continuing in defiance of orders and exhortations; more stations +demolished; more trains derailed and looted; all available British +troops recalled from the Hills. But for five sets of wireless plant, +urgently asked for, isolation would have been complete. + +By the fourteenth, the position was desperate. Civil authority flatly +defied; the police--lacking reserves--fairly played out; the temperature +chart of rebellion at its highest point. The inference was plain. + +Organised revolt is amenable only to the ultimate argument of force. +Nothing, now, would serve but strong action, and the compelling power of +Martial Law. + +Happily for India, the men who had striven their utmost to avoid both +did not falter in that critical hour. + +At Amritsar strong action had already been taken; and the sobering +effect of it spread, in widening circles, bringing relief to thousands +of both races; not least to men whose nerve and resource had been +strained almost to the limit of endurance. + +In Lahore, notices of Martial Law were issued. The suspended life of +the city tentatively revived. Law-abiding men of all ranks breathed more +freely; and for the moment it seemed the worst was over.... + +Roy, having slept off a measure of his utter fatigue, took up the dead +weight of life again, with the old sick sensation, of three years ago, +that nothing mattered in earth or heaven. But then, there had been Lance +to uphold and cheer him. Now there was only the hard unfailing mercy of +work to be pulled through somehow. + +There was also Rose--and the problem of letting her know that he knew. +And--their marriage? All that seemed to have suffered shipwreck with the +rest of him. He was still too dazed and blinded with grief to see an +inch ahead. He only knew he could not bear to see her, who had made +Lance suffer so, till the first anguish had been dulled a little--on the +surface at least. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 35: It is an order.] + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + "Why did'st thou promise such a beauteous day, + + * * * * * + + To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, + Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke!" + --SHAKSPERE. + + +And away up in Simla, Rose Arden was enduring her own minor form of +purgatory. The news of Lance Desmond's sudden death had startled and +saddened her; had pierced through her surface serenity to the deep +places of a nature that was not altogether shallow under its veneer of +egotism and coquetry. + +On a morning, near the end of April, she sat alone in the garden under +deodar boughs tasselled with tips of young green. In a border, beyond +the lawn, spring flowers were awake; the bank was starred with white +violets and wild-strawberry blossoms; and through a gap in the ilex +trees beyond, she had a vision of far hills and flashing snow-peaks, +blue-white in the sun, cobalt in shadow. Overhead, among the higher +branches, a bird was trilling out an ecstatic love-song. + +But the year's renewal, the familiar flutter of Simla's awakening, +sharpened, rather, that new ache at her heart; the haunting, incredible +thought that down there, in the stifling dusty plains, Lance Desmond lay +dead in the springtime of his splendid manhood; dead of his own generous +impulse to save Roy from hurt. + +Since the news came, she had avoided sociabilities and, unobtrusively, +worn no colours. Foolish and fatuous, was it? Perhaps. She only knew +that--Lance being gone--she could not make _no_ difference in her daily +round, whatever others might think or say. + +And the mere fact of his being gone seemed strangely to revive the +memory of his love for her, of her own genuine, if inadequate, +response. For she had been more nearly in love with him than with any of +his predecessors (and there had been several), who had been admitted to +the privileged intimacies of the half-accepted lover. More: he had +commanded her admiration; and she had not been woman could she have held +out indefinitely against his passionate, whole-hearted devotion. + +After months of patient wooing--and he by nature impatient--he had +insisted that matters be settled, one way or the other, before he went +on leave; and she had almost reached the point of decision, when Roy, +with his careless charm and challenging detachment, appeared on the +scene.... + +And now--Lance was gone; Roy was hers; Bramleigh Beeches and a +prospective title were hers; but still.... + +The shock of Roy's revelation had upset her a good deal more than she +dared let him guess. And the effect did not pass--in spite of determined +efforts to be unaware of it. She knew, now, that her vaunted tolerance +sprang chiefly from having ignored the whole subject. Half-castes she +instinctively despised. For India and the Indians she had little real +sympathy; and the rising tide of unrest, the increasing antagonism, had +sharpened her negative attitude to a positive dislike and distrust, +acutely intensified since that evening at Anarkalli, when the sight of +Lance and her stepfather, sitting there at the mercy of any chance-flung +missile, had stirred the slumbering passion in her to fury. For one +bewildering moment she had scarcely been able to endure Roy's touch or +look, because he was even remotely linked with those creatures, who +mouthed and yelled and would have murdered them all without compunction. + +The impression of those few nerve-wracking days had struck deep. Yet, in +spite of all, Roy's hold on her was strong; the stronger perhaps because +she had been aware of his inner resistance, and had never felt quite +sure of him. She did not feel fundamentally sure of him, even now. His +letters had been few and brief; heart-broken, naturally; yet scarcely +the letters of an ardent lover. The longest of the four had given her a +poignant picture of Lance's funeral; almost as if he knew, and had +written with intent to hurt her. In addition to half the British +officers of the station, the cemetery had been thronged with the men of +his squadron, Sikhs and Pathans--a form of homage very rare in India. +Many of them had cried like children; and for himself, Roy confessed, it +had broken him all to bits. He hardly knew how to write of it; but he +felt she would care to know. + +She cared so intensely that, for the moment, she had almost hated him +for probing so deep, for stamping on her memory a picture that would not +fade. + +His next letter had been no more than half a sheet. That was three days +ago. Another was overdue; and the post was overdue also. + +Ah--at last! A flash of scarlet in the verandah and Fazl Ali presenting +an envelope on a salver, as though she were a goddess and the letter an +offering at her shrine. + +It was a shade thicker than usual. Well, it ought to be. She had been +very patient with his brevity. This time it seemed he had something to +say. + +Her heart stirred perceptibly as she opened it and read:-- + + "DEAREST GIRL,-- + + "I'm afraid my letters have been very poor things. Part of the + reason you know and understand--as far as any one can. I'm still + dazed. Everything's out of perspective. I suppose I shall take it + in some day. + + "But there's another reason--connected with _him_. Perhaps you can + guess. I've been puzzled all along about you two. And now I _know_. + I wonder--does that hurt you? It hurts me horribly. I need hardly + say _he_ didn't give you away. It was things you said--and Mrs + Ranyard. Anyhow, that last evening, I insisted on having the truth. + But I couldn't write about it sooner--for fear of saying things I'd + regret afterwards. + + "Rose--what _possessed_ you? A man worth fifty of me! Of course, I + know loving doesn't go by merit. But to keep him on tenterhooks, + eating his heart out with jealousy, while you frankly encouraged + me--you _know_ you did. And I--never dreaming; only puzzled at the + way he sheered off after the first. Between us, we made his last + month of life a torment, though he never let me guess it. I don't + know how to forgive myself. And, to be honest, it's no easy job + forgiving you. If that makes you angry, if you think me a prig, I + can't help it. If _you'd_ heard him--all those hours of + delirium--you might understand. + + "When he wasn't raving, he had only one thought--mustn't blame + _you_, or hurt you, on account of him. I'm trying not to. But if I + know you at all, _that_ will hurt more than anything _I_ could say. + And it's only right I should tell it you. + + "My dearest Girl, you can't think how difficult--how strange it + feels writing to you like this. I meant to wait till I came up. But + I couldn't write naturally, and I was afraid you mightn't + understand. + + "I'm coming, after all, sooner than I thought, for my fool of a + body has given out, and Collins won't let me hang on, though _I_ + feel the work just keeps me going. It must be Kohat first, because + of Paul. Now things are calming down, he is getting away to be + married. The quietest possible affair, of course; but he's keen I + should be best man in place of Lance. And I needn't say how I value + the compliment. + + "No more trouble here or Amritsar, thank God--and a few courageous + men. Martial Law arrangements are being carried through to + admiration. The Lahore C.O. seems to get the right side of every + one. He has a gift for the personal touch that is everything out + here; and in no time the poor deluded beggars in the City were + shouting 'Martial Law _ki jai_' as fervently as ever they shouted + for Ghandi and Co. + + "One of my fellows said to me: 'Our people don't understand this + new talk of "Committee Ki Raj" and "Dyarchy Raj." Too many orders + make confusion. But they understand "_Hukm Ki raj_."'[36] In fact, + it's the general opinion that prompt action in the Punjab has + fairly well steadied India--for the present at least. + + "Well, I won't write more. We'll meet soon; and I don't doubt + you'll explain a good deal that still puzzles and hurts me. If I + seem changed, you must make allowances. I can't yet see my way in + a world empty of Lance. But we must help each other, Rose--not pull + two ways. Don't bother to write long explanations. Things will be + easier face to face. + + "Yours ever, + ROY." + +"Yours ever," ... Did he mean that? He certainly meant the rest. Her +hands dropped in her lap; and she sat there, staring before +her--startled, angry, more profoundly disturbed and unsure of herself +than she had felt in all her days. Though Roy had tried to write with +moderation, there were sentences that struck at her vanity, her +conscience, her heart. Her first overwhelming impulse was to write back +at once telling him he need not trouble to come up, as the engagement +was off. Accustomed to unquestioning homage, she took criticism badly; +also--undeniably--she was jealous of his absorption in Lance. The +impulse to dismiss him was mere hurt vanity. + +And the queer thing was, that deep down under the vanity and the +jealousy, her old feeling for Lance seemed again to be stirring in its +sleep. + +The love of such a man leaves no light impress on any woman; and Lance +had unwittingly achieved two master-strokes calculated to deepen that +impress on one of her nature. In the first place, he had fronted +squarely the shock of her defection--patently on account of Roy. She +could see him now--standing near her mantelpiece, his eyes sombre with +passion and pain; no word of reproach or pleading, though there +smouldered beneath his silence the fire of his formidable temper. And +just because he had neither pleaded nor stormed, she had come perilously +near to an ignominious _volte-face_, from which she had only been saved +by something in him, not in herself. If she did not know it then, she +knew it now. In the second place, he had died gallantly--again on +account of Roy. Snatched utterly out of reach, out of sight, his value +was enhanced tenfold; and now, to crown all, came Roy's revelation of +his amazing magnanimity.... + +Strange, what a complicated affair it was, for some people, this simple +natural business of getting married. Was it part of the price one had +to pay for being beautiful? Half the girls one knew slipped into it with +much the same sort of thrill as they slipped into a new frock. But those +were mostly the nice plain little things, who subsided gratefully into +the first pair of arms held out to them. And probably they had their +reward. + +In chastened moods, Rose did not quite care to remember how many times +she had succumbed, experimentally, to that supreme temptation. Good +heavens! What would her precious pair think of her--if they knew! At +least, she had the grace to feel proud that the tale of her conquests +included two such men. + +But Lance was gone--on account of Roy--where no spell of hers could +touch him any more; and Roy--was he going too ... on account of +Lance...? Not if she could prevent him; and yet ... goodness knew! + +The sigh that shivered through her sprang from a deeper source than mere +self-pity. + +Rattle of rickshaw wheels, puffing and grunting of _jhampannis_, +heralded the return of her mother, who had been out paying a round of +preliminary calls. It took eight stalwart men and a rickshaw of special +dimensions to convey her formidable bulk up and down Simla roads; and +affectionate friends hinted that the men demanded extra pay for extra +weight! + +A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in the air. + +"Oh, Rose--_there_ you are. I've had the shock of my life!" Waving away +her _jhampannis_, she sank into an adjacent cane chair that creaked and +swayed ominously under the assault. "It was at Mrs Tait's. My +dear--would you _believe_ it? That fine fiancé of yours--after worming +himself into our good graces--turns out to be practically a +_half-caste_. A superior one, it seems. But still--the deceitfulness of +the man! Going about looking like everybody else too! And grey-blue eyes +into the bargain!" + +At that Rose fatally smiled--in spite of genuine dismay. + +"I can't see anything _funny_ in it!" snapped her mother. "I thought +you'd be furious. Did you ever notice----? Had you the least suspicion?" + +"Not the least," Rose answered, with unruffled calm. "I knew." + +"You _knew_? Yet you were fool enough to accept him--and wilfully +deceive your own mother! I suppose he insisted, and you----" + +"No. _I_ insisted. I knew my own mind. And I wasn't going to have him +upset----" + +"But if _I'm_ upset it doesn't matter a brass farthing?" + +"It does matter. I'm very sorry you've had such a jar." Rose had some +ado to maintain her coolness; but she knew it for her one unfailing +weapon. "Of course, I meant to tell you later; in fact, as soon as he +came up to settle things finally----" + +"Most con_sider_ate of you! And when he _does_ come up, _I_ propose to +settle things finally----" She choked, gulped, and glared. She was +realising.... "The _position_ you've put me in! It's detestable!" + +Rose sighed. It struck her that her own position was not exactly +enviable. "I've said I'm sorry. And really--it didn't seem the least +likely.... Who _was_ the officious instrument of Fate?" + +"Young Joe Bradley, of the Forests. We were talking of the riots and +poor Major Desmond, and Mrs Tait happened to mention Roy Sinclair. Mr +Bradley asked--was he the artist's son; and told how he once went to tea +there--when his mother was staying with Lady Despard--and had a stand-up +fight with Roy. He said Roy's mother was rather a swell native woman--a +_pucca_ native; and Roy went for him like a wild thing, because he +called her an ayah----" + +Again Rose smiled in spite of herself. "He would!" + +"Would he, indeed! That's all _you_ think of--though you know I've got a +weak heart. And I nearly fainted--if _that's_ any interest to you! The +Bradley boy doesn't know--about us. But Mrs Tait's a perfect little +sieve. It'll be all over Simla to-morrow. And I was so pleased and +proud----" Her voice shook. Tears threatened. "And it's so awkward--so +undignified ... backing out----" + +"My dear mother, I've no intention whatever of backing out." + +"And I've no intention what_ever_ of having a half-caste for a +son-in-law." + +Rose winced at that, and drew in a steadying breath. For now, at last, +the cards were on the table. She was committed to flat opposition or +retreat--an impasse she had skilfully avoided hitherto. But for Roy's +sake she stood her ground. + +"It was--rather a jar when he told me," she admitted, by way of +concession. "But truly, he _is_ different--if you'll only listen, +without fuming! His mother's a Rajput of the highest caste. Her father +educated her almost like an English girl. She was only seventeen when +she married Sir Nevil; and she lived altogether in England after that. +In everything but being her son, Roy is practically an Englishman. You +can't class him with the kind of people we associate with--the other +word out here----" + +Very patiently and tactfully she put forward every redeeming argument in +his favour--without avail. Mrs Elton--broadly--had the right on her +side; and the gods had denied her the gift of discrimination. She saw +India as a vast, confused jumble of Rajahs and _bunnias_ and servants +and coolies--all steeped in varying depths of dirt and dishonesty, greed +and shameless ingratitude. It did not occur to her that sharp +distinctions of character, tradition, and culture underlay the more or +less uniform tint of skin. And beneath her instinctive antipathy, burned +furious anger with Roy for placing her, by his deceitfulness (it _must_ +have been his) in the ironic position of having to repudiate the +engagement she had announced with such éclat only three weeks ago.... + +The moment she had recovered her breath, she returned unshaken to the +charge. + +"That's very fine talk, my dear, for two people in love. But Roy's a +half-caste: that's flat. You can't wriggle away from the damning fact by +splitting hairs about education and breeding. Besides--_you_ only think +of the man. But are you prepared for your precious first baby to be as +dark as a native? It's more than likely. I know it for a fact----" + +"Really, Mother! You're a trifle previous." Rose was cool no longer; a +slow, unwilling blush flooded her face. Her mother had struck at her +more shrewdly than she knew. + +"Well, if you _will_ be obstinate, it's my duty to open your eyes; or, +of course, I wouldn't talk so to an unmarried girl. There's another +thing--any doctor will tell you--a particular form of consumption +carries off half the wretched children of these mixed marriages. A +mercy, perhaps; but think of it----! Your own! And you know perfectly +well the moral deterioration----" + +"There's none of that about _Roy_." Rose grew warmer still. "And _you_ +know perfectly well most of it comes from the circumstances, the stigma, +the type of parent. But you can say what you please. I'm of age. I love +him. I intend to marry him." + +"Well, you won't do it from _my_ house. I wash my hands of the whole +affair." + +She rose, upon her ultimatum, a-quiver with righteous anger, even to the +realistic cherries in her hat. The girl rose also, outwardly composed, +inwardly dismayed. + +"Thank you. Now I know where I stand. And _you_ won't say a word to Roy. +You _mustn't_--really----" She almost pleaded. "He worships his mother +in quite the old-fashioned way. He simply couldn't see--the other point +of view. Besides--he's ill ... unhappy. Whatever _your_ attitude forces +one to say, can only be said by me." + +"I don't take orders from my own daughter," Mrs Elton retorted +ungraciously. She was in no humour for bargaining or dictation. "But I'm +sure _I've_ no wish to talk to him. I'll give you a week or ten days to +make your plans. But whenever you have him here, I shall be out. And if +you come to your senses--you can let me know." + +On that she departed, leaving Rose feeling battered and shaken, and +horribly uncertain what--in the face of that bombshell--she intended to +do: she, who had made Lance suffer cruelly, and evoked a tragic +situation between him and Roy, largely in order to avoid a clash that +would have been as nothing compared with this...! + +Her sensations were in a whirl. But somehow--she _must_ pull it through. +Home life was becoming intolerable. And--for several cogent reasons--she +wanted Roy. If need be, she would tell him, diplomatically; dissociating +herself from her mother's attitude. + +And yet--her mother had said things that would stick; hateful things, +that might be true.... + +Decidedly, she could not write him a long letter: only enough to bring +him back to her in a relenting mood. Sitting down again, she unearthed +from her black-and-silver bag a fountain pen and half a sheet of paper. + + "MY DARLING ROY" (she wrote),-- + + "Your letter _did_ hurt--badly. Perhaps I deserved it. All I can + say till we meet, is--forgive me, if you can, because of Lance. + It's rather odd--though you _are_ my lover, and I suppose you do + care still--I can think of no stronger appeal than that. He cared + so for us both, in his big splendid way. Can't we stand by each + other? + + "You ask me to make allowances. Will you be generous, and do the + same on a larger scale for your sincerely loving (and not + altogether worthless) + + ROSE?" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 36: Government by order.] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "She had a step that walked unheard, + It made the stones like grass; + Yet that light step had crushed a heart + As light as that step was." + --W.H. DAVIES. + + +At last, Roy was actually coming. The critical moment was upon them; and +Rose sat alone in the drawing-room awaiting him. + +Her mother was out; had arranged to be out for the evening also. The +strain between them still continued; and it told most on Rose. The +cat-like element in her loved comfort; and an undercurrent of clash was +peculiarly irritating in her present sore, uncertain state of heart. +Weeks of it, she knew, would scarcely leave a dent on her mother's +leathern temperament. When it came to a tug the tougher nature scored, +which was one reason why she had so skilfully avoided tugs hitherto. + +True, she was of age; and her father's small legacy gave her a measure +of independence. But how could one set about getting married in the face +of open opposition? And--how keep the truth from Roy? Or tone it down, +so that he would not go off at a tangent straightaway? + +Assuredly the Fates had conspired to strip her headlong romance of its +gilded trappings. But her moment for marriage had come. She was sick to +death of the Anglo-Indian round--from the unattached standpoint, at +least. Roy fascinated her as few men had done; and she had been +deliberately trying to ignore the effect of her mother's brutal +frankness. Their coming together again, in these changed conditions, +would be the ultimate test. Such a chasm of distance seemed to yawn +between that tender parting in her boudoir and this critical +reunion--in another world.... + +Sounds of arrival brought her to her feet; but she checked the natural +impulse to welcome him in the verandah. Her innate sense of drama shrank +from possible awkwardness, a false step, at the start. + +And now he appeared in the doorway--very straight and slim in his grey +suit, with the sorrowful black band on his arm. + +"Rose!" he cried--and stood gazing at her, pulses hammering, brain +dizzy. The mere sight of her brought back too vividly the memory of +those April days that he had been resolutely shutting out of his mind. + +His pause--the shock of his changed aspect--held her motionless also. He +looked older, more sallow; his sensitive mouth compressed; no lurking +gleam in his eyes. He seemed actually less good-looking than she +remembered; for anguish is no beautifier. + +So standing, they mutely confronted the change in themselves--in each +other; then Rose swept forward, both hands held out. + +"Roy--my darling--_what_ you must have been through! Can you--will +you--in spite of all----?" + +Next moment, in his silent, vehement fashion, he was straining her to +him; kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips; not in simple lover's +ecstasy, but in a fervour of repressed passion, touched with tragedy, +with pain.... + +Then he held her from him, to refresh his tired eyes with the sheer +beauty of her; and was struck at once by the absence of colour; the wide +black sash, the black velvet round her throat and hair. + +He touched the velvet, looking his question. She nodded, drawing in her +lip to steady it. + +"I felt--I must. You don't mind?" + +"_Mind_----?--Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever really _mind_ things +any more." + +His face worked. That queer dizziness took him again. With an incoherent +apology, he sat down rather abruptly, and leaned forward, his head +between his hands, hiding the emotion he could not altogether control. + +Rose stood beside him, feeling helpless and vaguely aggrieved. He had +just got back to her, after a two weeks' parting, and he sat there lost +in an access of grief that left her quite out of account. Inadvertently +there flashed the thought, "Whatever Lance might have suffered, he would +not succumb." It startled her. She had never so compared them before.... + +Then, looking down at his bowed head, compunction seized her, and +tenderness, that rarely entered into her feeling for men. She could +think of nothing to say that would not sound idiotically commonplace. So +she laid her hand on his hair, and moved it caressingly now and then. + +She felt a tremor go through him. He half withdrew his head, checked +himself, and capturing her hand, pressed it to his lips, that were hot +and feverish. + +"Roy--what is it? What went wrong?" she asked softly. + +He looked up now with a fair imitation of a smile. "Just--an old memory. +It was dear of you. Ungracious of me."--Pain and perplexity went from +her. She slipped to her knees beside him, and his arm enclosed her. +"Sorry to behave like this. But I'm not very fit. And--seeing you, +brought it all back so sharply! It's been--a bit of a strain, this last +week. A letter from Thea--brave, of course; but broken utterly. The +wedding too: and that beast of a journey fairly finished me." + +She leaned closer, comforting him by the feel of her nearness. Then her +practical brain suggested needs more pedestrian, none the less +essential. + +"Dearest--you're simply exhausted. How about tea--or a peg?" + +He pleaded for a peg, if permissible. She fetched it herself; made tea; +plied him with sandwiches and sugared cakes, for which he still retained +his boyish weakness. + +But talking proved difficult. There were uncomfortable gaps. In their +first uplifted moment all had seemed well. Love-making was simple, +elemental, satisfying. Beyond the initial glamour and passion of +courtship they had scarcely adventured, when the fabric of their world +was shattered by the startling events of those four days. Both were +realising--as they stepped cautiously among the fragments--that, for all +their surface intimacy, they were still strangers underneath. + +Roy took refuge in talk about Lahore; the high tribute paid to the +conduct of all troops--British and Indian--and police, under peculiarly +exasperating circumstances, the C.O.'s conviction that unless sterner +measures were taken--and adhered to--there would be more outbreaks, at +shorter intervals, better organised.... + +He hoped her charming air of interest was genuine, but felt by no means +sure. And all the while, he was craving to know what she had to say for +herself; yet doubting whether he could stand the lightest touch on his +open wound. Lance had begged him not to hurt her. Had it ever occurred +to that devout lover how sharply she might hurt him? + +Tea and a restful hour in an arm-chair eased the strain a little. Then +Rose suggested the garden, knowing him susceptible to the large healing +influences of earth and sky; also with diplomatic intent to draw him +away from the house before her mother's meteoric visitation. + +And she was only just in time. The rattle of rickshaw wheels came up the +main path two minutes after they had turned out of it towards a +favourite nook, which she had strangely grown to love in the last two +weeks. + +"Poor darling! You've just missed Mother!" She condoled with him, +smiling sidelong under her lashes; and she almost blessed her maternal +enemy for bringing back the familiar gleam into his eyes. + +"Bad luck! Ought we to go in again?" + +"Gracious, no. She's only tearing home to change for an early dinner at +Penshurst and the theatre. Anyway, please note, you're immune from the +formalities. We're going to have a peaceful time, quite independent of +Simla rushings. Just ourselves to ourselves." + +"Good." + +It was an asset with men--second only to her beauty--this gift for +creating a restful atmosphere. + +Her nook, in an angle above the narrow path, was a grassy bank, looking +across crumpled ranges--velvet-soft in the level light--to the still +purity of the snows. + +"Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning out of +doors; but I've spent several evenings here ... lately." + +"It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was tinged with +apprehension. Flinging off his hat, he reclined full length on the +gentle slope, hands under his head, and let the healing rays flow into +the deeps of his troubled being. + +Rose sat upright beside him, her fingers locked loosely round one raised +knee. She was troubled too, and quite at a loss how to begin. + +"So you've not been going out much?" he asked, after a prolonged pause. + +"No--how could I--with you, so unhappy, down there--and...."--She +deliberately met his eyes; and the look in them impelled her to ask: +"_What_ is it, Roy--lurking in your mind?" + +"Am I--to be frank?" + +She shivered. "It sounds--rather chilly. But I suppose we'd better take +our cold plunge--and get it over!" + +"Well"--he hesitated palpably. "It was only a natural wonder--if you +care ... all that ... now he's gone, how could you deliberately hurt him +so--while he lived?" + +She drew in her lip. It was going to be more unsteadying than she had +foreseen. + +"How _can_ a woman explain to a man the simple fact that she is +incurably--perhaps unforgivably--a woman?" + +"I don't know. I hoped you could--up to a point," said Roy, looking away +to the snows and remembering, suddenly, _that_ was where he ought to be +now--with Lance--always Lance: no other thought or presence seemed vital +to him, these days. Yet Rose remained beautiful and desirable--and +clearly she loved him. + +"It doesn't make things easier, you know," she was saying, in her cool, +low voice, "to feel you are patently regretting events that, unhappily, +did hurt--him; but also--gave me to you...." + +Her beauty, her evident pain, penetrated the settled misery that +enveloped him like an atmosphere. + +"Darling--forgive me!" He reached out, pulling her hands apart, and his +fingers closed hard on hers. "I'm only trying--clumsily--to +understand...." + +"And goodness knows I'm willing to help you," she sighed, returning his +pressure. "But--I'm afraid the little I can say for myself won't do much +to regild my halo--if there's any of it left! I gather you aren't very +well up in women, or girls, Roy?" + +"No--I'm not. Perhaps it makes me seem to you a bit of a fool?" + +"Quite the reverse. It's all along been a part of your charm." + +"My--charm?" + +There was more of tenderness than amusement in her low laugh. +"Precisely! If you didn't possess--_some_ magnetic quality, could I have +been drawn away from a man--like Lance, when I'd nearly made up my +mind--to face the music." + +For answer, he kissed her captured hand. + +Then: "Roy, if it doesn't hurt too much," she urged, "will you tell me +first--just--what Lance said?" + +It would hurt, horridly. But it was as well she should know; and not a +word need he withhold. Could there be a finer tribute to his friend? It +was his own share in their last unforgettable talk that could not be +reproduced. + +"Yes--I'll tell you," he said. And, his half-closed eyes resting on the +sunlit hills, he told her, in a voice from which all feeling was +carefully expunged. Only so could he achieve the telling; and she +listened without interruption, for which he felt grateful, +exceedingly.... + +When it was over he merely moved his head and looked up at her; and she +returned his look, her eyes heavy with tears. Mutually their fingers +tightened. + +"Thank you," she said. "It makes me ... ashamed, but it makes me proud." + +"It made _me_ angry and bewildered," said Roy. "If you really were ... +coming his way, what the devil did _I_ do to upset it all? Of course I +admired you; and I was interested--on his account. But--I had no +thought--I was absorbed in other things----" + +She nodded slowly, not looking at him. "Quite so. And I suppose--being +me--I didn't choose that a man should dance with me, ride with me, +obviously admire me, and yet remain absorbed in other things. And--being +you--of course it never struck you that, for my kind of girl, your +provocatively casual attitude almost amounted to a challenge. +Besides--as I said--you were charming; you were different. Perhaps--if +I'd felt a shade less sure--of Lance, if he'd had the wit even to +_seem_ keen on some one else ... he might have saved himself. As it +was--you were irresistible." + +She heard him grit his teeth; and turned with swift compunction. + +"My poor Roy! Am I jarring you badly? I suppose, if I talked till +midnight, I'd never succeed in making a man like you understand how +purely instinctive it all is. Analysed, like this, it sounds +cold-blooded. But, it's just--second nature. He--Lance--understood up to +a point. That's why he was aggressive that day: oh--furiously angry; all +because of you. The pair you are! He said if I fooled you, and didn't +play fair, he'd back out, or insist on a _pucca_ engagement. +And--yes--it did have the wrong effect. It made me wonder--if I _could_ +marry a man, however splendid, who owned such exacting standards and +such a hot temper. And there were you--an unknown quantity, with the +Banter-Wrangle discreetly in pursuit. A supreme inducement in +itself!--Yes, distinctly, that afternoon was a turning-point. Just Lance +losing his temper, and you coolly forgetting an arrangement with me----" + +She paused, looking back over it all; felt Roy's hold slacken and +unobtrusively withdrew her hand. + +"Soon after Kapurthala, he was angry again. And that time, I'm afraid I +reminded him that our engagement was only 'on' conditionally; that if he +started worrying at me, it would soon be unconditionally off----" + +"So it _should_ have been!" Roy jerked up on to his elbow, and +confronted her with challenging directness. "Once you could speak like +that, feel like that, you'd no _right_ to keep him hanging on--hoping +when there was practically no hope. It wasn't playing the game----" + +This time she kept her eyes averted, and a slow colour invaded her face. +There was a point beyond which feminine frankness could not go. She +could not--would not--tell this unflatteringly critical lover of hers +that it was not in her nature to let the one man go till she felt +morally sure of the other. + +Roy had only a profile view of her warm cheek, her sensitive nostril +a-quiver, her lip drawn in. And when she spoke, it was in the tense, +passionate tone of that evening at Anarkalli. + +"Oh yes--it's easy work sitting in judgment on other people. I told you +I hadn't much of a case--I asked you to make allowances. You clearly +can't. _He_ asked you--not to hurt me. You clearly feel you must. +Yet--in justice to you both--I'm doing what I can. I've never before +condescended to explain myself--almost excuse myself--to _any_ man; and +I certainly never shall again. It strikes me you'd better apply your own +indictment ... to your own case. If _you_ can think and feel ... as you +seem to do, better face the fact and be done with it----" + +But Roy, startled and penitent, was sitting upright by now; and, when +she would have risen, he seized her, crushing her to him, would she or +no. In her pain and anger she more than ever drew him. In his utter +heart-loneliness, he more than ever needed her. And the reminder of +Lance crowned all. + +"My darling--don't go off at a tangent, that way," he implored her, his +lips against her hair. "For me--it's a sacred bond. It can't be snapped +in a fit of temper--like a bit of knotted thread. I'll accept ... what I +can't see clear. We'll stand by each other, as you said. Learn one +another--Rose...! My dearest girl--_don't_----!" + +He strained her closer, in mingled bewilderment and distress. For +Rose--who trod lightly on the hearts of men, Rose--the serene and +self-assured--was sobbing brokenly in his arms.... + +Before the end of the evening, they were more or less themselves again; +the threatened storm averted; the trouble patched up and summarily +dismissed, as only lovers can dismiss a cloud that intrudes upon their +heaven of blue. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "Le pire douleur est de ne pas, pleurer ce qu'on a perdu." + --DE COULEVAIN. + + +But as days passed, both grew increasingly aware of the patch; and both +very carefully concealed the fact. They spent a week of peaceful +seclusion from Simla and her restless activities. Roy scarcely set eyes +on Mrs Elton; but--Rose having skilfully prepared the ground--he merely +gave her credit for her mother's unusual display of tact. + +Neither was in the vein for dances or tennis parties. They rode out to +Mashobra and Fagu. They spent long days, picnicking in the Glen. Roy +discovered, with satisfaction, that Rose had a weakness for being read +to and a fair taste in literature, so long as it was not poetry. He also +discovered--with a twinge of dismay--that if they were many hours +together, he found reading easier than talking. + +On the whole, they spent a week that should, by rights, have been ideal +for new-made lovers; yet, at heart, both felt vaguely troubled and +disillusioned. + +Pain and parting and harsh realities seemed to have rubbed the bloom off +their exotic romance. And for Rose the trouble struck deep. She had +deliberately willed to put aside her own innate shrinking from the +Indian strain in Roy. But she reckoned without the haunting effect of +her mother's plain speaking. At first she had flatly ignored it; then +she fortified her secret qualms by devising a practical plan for getting +away to a friend in Kashmir. There was a sister in Simla going to join +her. They could travel together. Roy could follow on. And there they two +could be quietly married without fuss or audible comment from their +talkative little world. + +It was not precisely her idea of the manner in which she--Rose +Arden--should be given in marriage. But the main point was that--if she +could help it--her mother should not score in the matter of Roy. _Could_ +she help it? That was the question persistently knocking at her heart. + +And she was only a degree less troubled by the perverse revival of her +feeling for Lance. Vanished--his hold on her deeper nature seemed +mysteriously to strengthen. Memories crowded in, unbidden, of their +golden time together just before Roy appeared on the scene; till she +almost arrived at blaming her deliberately chosen lover for having come +between them and landed her in her present distracting position. For now +it was the ghost of Lance that threatened to come between her and Roy; +and the irony of it cut her to the quick. If she had dealt unfairly by +these two men, whose standards were leagues above her own, she was not, +it seemed, to escape her share of suffering.... + +For Roy's heart also knew the chill of secret disillusion. The ardour +and thrill of his courtship seemed fatally to have suffered eclipse. +When they were together, the lure of her was potent still. It was in the +gaps between that he felt irked, more and more, by incipient criticism. +In the course of that first talk, she had unwittingly stripped herself +of the glamour that was more than half her charm; and at bottom his +Eastern subconsciousness was jarred by her casual attitude to the +sanctities of the man and woman relation, as instilled into him by his +mother. When he quarrelled with her treatment of Lance, she saw it +merely as a rather exaggerated concern for his friend. There was that in +it, of course; but there was more. + +Yet undeniably Desmond's urgent plea influenced his own effort to ignore +the still small voice within him, that protested against the whole +affair. At another time he would have taken it for a clear intimation +from his mother; but she seemed to have lost, or deserted him, these +days. All he could firmly hold on to, at present, was his loyalty to +Lance, his duty to Rose; and both seemed to point in the same +direction. + +It struck him as strange that she did not mention the wedding; and she +had been so full of it that very first evening. Once, when he casually +asked if any fixtures were decided on yet, she had smiled and answered, +"No; not yet." And some other topic had intervened. + +It was only a degree less strange that she spoke so often of Lance, +without attempting to disguise her admiration--and something more. And +in himself--strangest of all--this surprising manifestation stirred no +flicker of jealousy. It seemed a link, rather, drawing, them nearer +together. She frankly encouraged talk of their school-days that involved +fresh revealings of Lance at every turn: talk that was anodyne or +anguish according to his mood. + +She also encouraged him to unearth his deserted novel and read her the +opening chapters. In Lahore, he had longed for that moment; now he +feared lest it too sharply emphasise their inner apartness. For the +Indian atmosphere was strong in the book; and the Indian atmosphere +jarred. The effect of the riots had merely been repressed. It still +simmered underneath. + +Only once she had broken out on the subject; and had been distinctly +restive when he demurred at the injustice of sweeping indictments +against the whole country, because a handful of extremists were trying +to wreck the ship. Personally he blamed England for virtually assisting +in the process. It had come near to an altercation--very rare event with +Rose; and it had left Roy feeling more unsettled than ever. + +A few readings of his novel made him feel more uncomfortable still. Like +all true artists, he listened, as he read, with the mind of his +audience; and intuitively, he felt her antagonism to the Indian element +in his characters, his writing, his theme. + +For three days he persisted. Then he gave it up. + +They were sitting in their nook; Rose leaning back, her eyes half +closed, gazing across the valley. In the middle of a flagrantly Indian +chapter, he broke off: determined to take it lightly; not to make a +grievance of it: equally determined she should hear no more. + +For a few seconds she did not realise. Then she turned and looked up at +him. "Well----? Is that all?" + +"Yes. That's all--so far as you're concerned!" + +Her brows went up in the old beguiling way. He felt her trying to hide +her thought, and held up a warning finger. + +"Now, don't put it on! Frankly--isn't she relieved? Hasn't she borne the +infliction like a saint?" + +The blood stirred visibly under her pallor. "It was _not_ an infliction. +Your writing's wonderful. Quite uncanny--the way you get inside people +and things. If there's more--go on." + +"There's a lot more. But I'm not going on--even at her Majesty's express +command!--Look here, Rose ... let be." He suddenly changed his tone. "I +can feel how it bothers you. So--why pretend...?" + +She looked down; twisting her opal ring, making the delicate colours +flash and change. + +"It's a pity--isn't it?"--she seemed to muse aloud--"that more than half +of life is made up of pretending. It becomes rather a delicate +problem--fixing boundary lines. I _do_ admire your gift, Roy. And you're +so intensely human. But I confess, I--I _am_ jerked by parts of your +theme. Doesn't all this animosity and open vilification affect your own +feeling about--things, the least bit?" + +"Yes. It does. Only--not in your way. It makes me unhappy, because the +real India--snowed under with specious talk and bitter invective--has +less chance now than ever of being understood by those who can't see +below the surface." + +"Me--for instance?" + +He sighed. "Oh, scores and scores of you, here and at Home. And scores +of others, who have far less excuse. That's why one feels bound to do +what one can...." + +His thoughts on that score went too deep for utterance. + +But Rose was engaged in her own purely personal deliberations. + +"You might want to come out again ... afterwards?" + +"Yes--I should hope to. Besides ... there are my cousins...." + +"Indian ones----?" + +"Yes. Very clever. Very charming. Rose ... you've been six years in +India. Have you ever met, in a friendly way, a cultivated, well-born +Indian--man or woman?" + +"N-no. Not worth mentioning." + +"And ... you haven't wanted to?" + +He felt her shrink from the direct question. + +"Why press the point, Roy? It needn't make any real difference--need +it--between you and me?" + +Her counter-question was still more direct, more searching. + +"Perhaps not--now," he said. "It might ... make a lot ... +afterwards----" + +At that critical juncture their talk was interrupted by a peon with a +note that required immediate attention: and Roy, left alone, felt +increasingly disillusioned and dismayed. + +Later on, to his relief, Rose suggested a ride. She seemed suddenly in a +more elusive mood than he had experienced since their engagement. She +did not refer again to his novel, or to the thorny topic of India; and +their parting embrace was chilled by a shadow of constraint. + +"_How_ would it be--afterwards?" he wondered, riding back to the Club, +at a foot's pace, feeling tired and feverish and gravely puzzled as to +whether it might not--on all counts--be the greater wrong to make a +fetish of a bond so rashly forged. + +To-day, very distinctly he was aware of the inner tug he had been trying +to ignore. And to-day it was more imperative; less easily stilled. Could +it be ... veritably, his mother, trying to reach him--and failing, for +the first time? + +That thought prompted the test question--if _she_ were alive, how would +he feel about bringing Rose home as daughter-in-law, as mother of her +grandson ... the gift of gifts? If she were alive, could Rose herself +have faced the conjunction? And to him she was still verily alive--or +had been, till his infatuate passion had blinded him to everything but +one face, one form, one desire. + +That night there came to him--on the verge of sleep--the old thrilling +sensation that she was there--yearning to him across an impassable +barrier. And this time he knew--with a bitter certainty--that the +barrier was within himself. Every nerve in him craved--as he had not +craved this long while--the unmistakable _sense_ of her that seemed gone +past recall. Desperately, he strained every faculty to penetrate the +resistant medium that withheld her from him--in vain. + +Wearied out, with disappointment and futile effort, he fell +asleep--praying for a dream visitation to revive his shaken faith. None +came; and conviction seized him that none would come, until.... + +One could not, simultaneously, live on intimate terms with earth and +heaven. And Rose was earth in its most alluring guise. More: she had +awakened in him sensations and needs that, at the moment, she alone +could satisfy. But if it amounted to a choice; for him, there could be +no question.... + + * * * * * + +Next day and the day after, a sharp return of fever kept him in bed: and +a touch of his father in him tempted him to write, sooner than face the +strain of a final scene. But moral cowardice was not among his failings; +also unquestionably--if irrationally--he wanted to see her, to hold her +in his arms once again.... + +On the third morning he sent her a note saying he was better; he would +be round for tea; and received a verbal answer. Miss Sahib sent her +salaam. She would be at home. + +So, about half-past three, he rode out to the house on Elysium Hill, +wondering how--and, at moments, whether--he was going to pull it +through.... + +Her smile of welcome almost unmanned him. He simply did not feel fit for +the strain. It would be so much easier and more restful to yield to her +spell. + +"I'm so sorry. Idiotic of me," was all he said; and went forward to take +her in his arms. + +But she, without a word, laid both hands on him, holding him back. + +"_Rose!_ What's the matter?" he cried, genuinely upset. Nothing +undermines a resolve like finding it forestalled. + +"Simply--it's all over. We're beaten, Roy," she said in a queer, +repressed voice. "We can't go on with this. And--you know it." + +"But--darling!" He took her by the arms. + +"No ... _no_!" The passionate protest was addressed to herself as much +as to him. "Listen, Roy. I've never hated saying anything more--but it's +true. You said, last time,--'Why pretend?' And that struck home. I knew +I had been pretending hard--because I wanted to--for more than a week. +You made me realise ... one couldn't go on at it all one's married +life.--But, my dear, what a wretch I am! You're not fit...." + +"Oh, I'm just wobbly ... stupid," he muttered, half dazed, as she +pressed him down into a corner of the Chesterfield. + +"Poor old boy. When you've had some tea, you'll be able to face things." + +He said nothing; merely leaned back against the cushion and closed his +eyes--part of him rebelling furiously against her quiet yet summary +proceedings--while she attended to the sputtering kettle. + +How prosaic, after all, are even the great moments of life! They had +been ardent lovers. They had come to the parting of the ways. But a +kettle on the boil would wait for no man; and, till the body was served, +the troubles of the heart must stand aside. + +She drew the table nearer to him; carefully poured out tea; carefully +avoided his eyes. And--in the intervals between her mechanical +occupations--she told him as much of the truth as she felt he could bear +to hear, or she to speak. Among other things, unavoidably, she explained +how--and through whom--her mother had come to know about their +reservation---- + +"_That_ young sweep!" Roy muttered, so suddenly half-alert and fierce +that amused tenderness tripped up her studied composure. + +"You'd go for him now, just the same, I believe!" + +"I would--and a bit extra. Because--of you." + +She sighed. "Oh yes, it was a _mauvais quart d'heure_ of the first +order. And coming on the top of your crushing letter----" + +He captured her hand. Their eyes met--and softened. + +"No, Roy," she said, gently but inexorably releasing her fingers. "We've +got to keep our heads to-day, somehow." + +"Has yours so completely taken command of affairs?" + +"I'm afraid--it has." + +"Yet--you stood up to your mother?" + +"Oh, I did--as I've never done yet. But afterwards I realised--it was +only skin deep. She said ... things I can't repeat; but equally ... I +can't forget; things about ... possible children...." + +The blood flamed in Roy's sallow face. "Confound her! What does _she_ +know about possible children?" + +"More than I do, I suppose," Rose admitted, with a pathetic half smile. +"Anyway, after that, she refused to countenance the engagement--the +wedding----" + +Roy sat suddenly forward, scorn and anger in his eyes. + +"_Refused_----! After the infernal fuss she made over me, because my +father happened to have a title and a garden. And now----" his hand +closed on the edge of the table. "I'm considered a pariah--am I?--simply +on account of my lovely little mother--the guardian angel of us all!" + +His blaze of wrath, his low passionate tone, startled her to silence. He +had spoken so seldom of his mother since the first occasion, +that--although she knew--she had far from plumbed the height and depth +of his worship. And instinctively she thought, 'I should have been +jealous into the bargain.' + +But Roy had room just then for one consideration only. + +"Here have I been coming to her house on sufferance ... polluting her +precious drawing-room, while she's been avoiding me as if I was a leper, +all because I'm the son of a sainted woman, whose shoe she wouldn't have +been worthy ... oh, I beg your pardon----" He checked himself sharply. +"After all--she's _your_ mother." + +Rose felt her cheeks growing uncomfortably warm. "I did warn you, in +Lahore, some people felt ... that way." + +"Well, I never dreamed they would _behave_ that way. It's not as if I'd +been born and reared in India and might claim relations in her +compound." + +"My dear--one can't make her see the difference," Rose urged +desperately. + +"Well, I _won't_ stay any longer in her house. I won't eat her food----" + +He pushed aside his plate so impatiently that Rose felt almost angry. +But she saw his hand tremble; and covered it with her own. + +"Roy--my dear! You're ill; and you're being rather exaggerated over +things----" + +"Well, you put me in such a false position. You ought to have told me." + +She winced at that and let fall her hand. + +"That's all one's reward for trying to save you from jars when you were +knocked up and unhappy. And I told you ... I defied her ... I ... I +would have married you...." + +He looked at her, and his heart contracted sharply. + +"Poor Rose--poor darling!" He was his normal self again. "What a beast +of a time you must have had! But--how _did_ you propose to accomplish +it----?" + +She told him, haltingly, of the Kashmir plan; and he listened, half +incredulous, leaning back again; thinking: "She's plucky; but still, all +she troubled about really was to save her face." + +And she, noting his impatient frown, was thinking: "He's like a +sensitive plant charged with gunpowder. Is it the touchiness of----?" + +"I'm afraid I'd have kicked at that." His voice broke in upon her +thought. "Such a hole-and-corner business. Hardly fair on my father...." + +"Well, there's no question of it now," she reminded him, with a touch of +asperity. "I've told you--the whole thing's defunct. Later--we'll be +glad, perhaps, that I discovered in time that part of me could not be +coerced--by the other part, which still wants you as much as ever. We +should have been landed in disaster--soon or late. Better soon--before +the roots have struck too deep. But you're so furiously angry with the +_reason_--that you seem almost to forget ... the fact." + +His eyes brooded on her, full of pain and the old, half-unwilling +infatuation. He could not so hurt her pride as to confess that their +discovery had been mutual. Let her glean what satisfaction she could +from having taken the lead--first and last. Part of him, also, still +wanted her; though in the depths, he felt a glimmer of relief that the +thing was done--and by her. + +"No," he said, "I don't forget the fact. But--the reason cuts deep. I +want to know----" he hesitated--"is all this ... antipathy you can't get +over--you and your mother--the ordinary average attitude? Or is it ... +exceptionally acute?" + +She drew in her lip. Why _would_ he force her to hurt him more? For they +had got beyond polite evasion. Clearly he wanted the truth. + +"Mother's is acute," she said, not looking at him. "Mine--I'm afraid--is +... the ordinary average feeling against it. The exception would be to +find a girl--especially out here--who could honestly ... get over +it----" + +"_Unless_--she cared in the real big way," Roy interposed; his own pain +goading him to an unfair hit at her. "To be blunt, I suppose it's the +case--of Lance over again. You've found ... you don't love me +enough----?" + +"And _you_----?" she struck back, turning on him the cool deliberate +look of early days. "Do _you_ love me enough? Do you care--as he did?" + +"No--not as he did. I've cared blindly, passionately--somehow we didn't +seem to meet on any other plane. In fact, it ... it was realising how +magnificently Lance cared ... and how little you seemed able to +appreciate the fact, that made me feel--as I did, down there. In a +sense, he's been barring the way ... ever since...." + +"_Roy!_ How strange!" She faced him now, the mask of repression flung +aside. "It's been the same--with me!" + +"With _you_?" + +"Yes. Ever since I heard ... he was gone, he has haunted me to +distraction. I've seemed to see him and feel him in quite a different +way." + +"Good Lord!" Roy murmured--incredulous, amazed. "Human beings _are_ the +queerest things. If only ... you'd felt like that ... sooner----?" + +"Yes--if only I had----!" she lamented frankly, looking straight before +her. + +"I'm glad--you told me," said her unaccountable lover. + +"I nearly--didn't. But when you said that, I felt it might--ease things. +And that was his great wish--wasn't it?--to ease things ... for us both. +Oh--was there ever any one ... _quite_ like him?" + +Tears stood in her eyes, and Roy contemplating her--seeing, for the +first time, something beyond her beauty--felt drawn to her in an +altogether new way; and sitting there they talked of him quietly, like +friends, rather than lovers on the verge of parting for good. + +As real to them, almost, as themselves, was the spirit of the man who +had loved both more greatly than they were capable of loving one +another; who, in life, had refused to stand between them; yet, in death, +had subtly thrust them apart.... + +Then there came a pause. They remembered.... + +"We're rather a strange pair--of lovers," she murmured shakily. "I feel, +now, as if I can't bear letting you go. And yet ... it wouldn't +last.--Dearest, _will_ you be sensible ... and finish your tea?" + +"No. It would choke me," he said with smothered passion. "If I've got to +go--I'm going." + +He stood up, bracing his shoulders. She stood up also, confronting him. +Neither could see the other's face quite clear. + +Then: "Only six weeks!" she said very low. "Roy--we ought to be ashamed +of ourselves." + +"I am--heartily," he confessed. "I was never more so." + +She was looking down now, twisting her ring. "I'm afraid ... I'm not +talented in that line. Somehow ... except for Lance, I can't regret it." +She slid the ring over her knuckle. + +"Oh, _keep_ the beastly thing!" he flung out in an access of pain. "Or +throw it down the khud. I said it would bring bad luck." + +She sighed. "All the same--poor thing! It's too lovely...." + +"Well then, don't wear it; but keep it"--his tone changed--"as a +reminder. We have been something to one another ... if it couldn't be +everything." + +Her eyes were still lowered, her lips not quite steady. + +"You've been ... very near it to me. Yet--it seemed, the more ... I +cared, the less I could get over ... that. And I felt as if +you--wouldn't get over.. Lance." + +"My God! It's been a bitter, contrary business all round! I can't bear +hurting you. And--the talk and all that----" She nodded. For her that +was not the least bitter part of it all. "And you----? Oh, Lord--will +it be Hayes to the fore again?" + +"_No!_" Reproach underlay her vehemence. "Mother may rage. I shall go +with Dolly Smyth to Kashmir.--And you----?" + +"Oh, I'll go out to Narkhanda." + +"Alone? But you're ill. You want looking after." + +"Can't be helped. Azim Khan's a treasure. And really I don't care a damn +what comes to me." + +"Oh, but _I_ do----!" + +It was a cry from her heart. The strain of repression snapped. She +swayed, just perceptibly---- + +In a moment his arms were round her; and they clung together a long +while, in the only complete form of nearness they had known.... + +For Roy, that last passionate kiss was dead-sea fruit. For Rose, it was +her moment of completest surrender to an elemental force she had +deliberately played with only to find herself the sport of it at +last.... + +When it was over--all was over. Words were impertinent. He held her +hands close, a moment, looking into her tear-filled eyes. Then he took +up hat and stick and stumbled blindly down the verandah steps.... + + * * * * * + +Back in his bachelor room at the Club, he realised that fever was on him +again: his eyeballs burning; little hammers beating all over his head. +Mechanically, he picked up two letters that lay awaiting him: one from +his father, one from Jeffers, congratulating him, in rather guarded +phrases, on his engagement to Miss Arden. + +It was the last straw. + + +END OF PHASE IV. + + + + +PHASE V. + + +A STAR IN DARKNESS + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Thou art with life + Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; + Service still craving service, love for love ... + Nor yet thy human task is done." + --R.L.S. + + +In the verandah of Narkhanda dák bungalow Roy lay alone, languidly at +ease, assisted by rugs and pillows and a Madeira cane lounge at an +invalid angle; walls and arches splashed with sunshine; and a table +beside him littered with convalescent accessories. There were home +papers; there were books; there was fruit and a syphon, cut lemons and +crushed ice--everything thoughtfulness could suggest set within easy +reach. But the nameless depression of convalescence hung heavy on his +spirit and his limbs. + +He was thirsty; he was lonely; he was mentally hungry in a negative kind +of way. Yet it simply did not seem worth the trivial effort of will to +decide whether he wanted to pick up a book or an orange or to press the +syphon handle. So he lay there, inert, impassive, staring across the +valley at the snows--peak beyond soaring peak, ethereal in the level +light. + +The beauty of them, the pellucid clearness and stillness of early +evening, stirred no answering echo within him. His brain was travelling +back over a timeless interval; wandering uncertainly among sensations, +apparitions, and dreams, presumably of semi-delirium: for Lance was in +them and his mother and Rose and Dyán, saying and doing impossible +things.... + +And in clearer intervals, there hovered the bearded face of Azim Khan, +pressing upon his refractory Sahib this infallible medicine, that +'chikken bráth' or jelly. And occasionally there was another bearded +face: vaguely familiar, though he could not put a name to it. + +Between them the two had brought out a doctor from Simla. He remembered +a sharp altercation over that. He wanted no confounded doctor messing +round. But Azim Khan, for love of his master, had flatly defied orders: +and the forbidden doctor had appeared--involving further exhausting +argument. For on no account would Roy be moved back to Simla. Azim Khan +understood his ways and his needs. He was damned if he would have any +one else near him. + +And this time he had prevailed. For the doctor, who happened to be a +wise man, knew when acquiescence was medically sounder than insistence. +There had, however, been a brief intrusion of a strange woman, in cap +and apron, who had made a nuisance of herself over food and washing, and +was infernally in the way. When the fever abated, she melted into the +landscape; and Roy had just enough of his old spirit left in him to +murmur, '_Shahbash!_' in a husky voice: and Azim Khan, inflated with +pride, became more autocratic than ever. + +The other bearded face had resolved itself into the Delhi Sikh, Jiwán +Singh. He had been on a tramp among the Hills, combating insidious +Home-Rule fairy-tales among the villagers: and finding the Sahib very +ill, had stayed on to help. + +This morning they had told him it was the third of June:--barely three +weeks since that strange, poignant parting with Rose. Not seven weeks +since the infinitely more poignant and terrible parting with Lance. Yet, +as his mind stirred unwillingly, picking up threads, he seemed to be +looking back across a measureless gulf into another life.... + +"The Sahib has slept? His countenance has been more favourable since +these few days?" + +It was the voice of Jiwán Singh; and the man himself followed it--taut +and wiry, instinct with a degree of energy and purpose almost irritating +to one who was feeling emptied of both; aimless as a jelly-fish stranded +by the tide. + +"Not smoking, _Hazúr_? Has that scoundrel Azim Khan forgotten the +cigarettes?" + +Roy unearthed his case, and held it up, smiling. + +"The scoundrel forgets nothing," said he, knowing very well how the two +of them had vied with one another in forestalling his needs. "Sit down, +my friend--and tell me news. I am too lazy to read." He touched an +unopened 'Civil and Military Gazette.' "Too lazy even to cast out the +devil of laziness. But very ready to listen. Are things all quiet now? +Any more tamashas?" + +"Only a very little one across the frontier," said the Sikh with his +grim smile: and proceeded to explain that the Indian Government had +lately become entangled in a sort of a war with Afghanistan; a rather +'_kutcha bandobast_'[37] in Jiwán Singh's estimation; and not quite up +to time; but a war, for all that. + +"You mean----" asked Roy, his numbed interest faintly astir, "that it +was to have been part of the same game as the trouble down there?" + +"God has given me ears--and wits, _Hazúr_," was the cautious answer. +"_That_ would be _pukka bundobast_,[38] for war and trouble to come at +one stroke in the hot season, when so many of the white soldier-_lóg_ +are in the Hills. Does your Honour suppose that merely by _chance_ the +Amir read in his paper of riots in India, and said in his heart, 'Wah! +Now is the time for lighting little fires along the Border'?" + +"N-no--I don't suppose----" + +"Does your Honour suppose Hindus and Moslems--outside a highly educated +few--are truly falling on each other's necks, without one thought of +political motive?" + +"No, my friend--I do not suppose." + +"Yet these things are said openly among our people: and too few, now, +have courage to speak their thought. For it is the loyal who +suffer--_shurrum ki bhát_![39] Is it surprising, _Hazúr_, if we, who +distrust this new madness, begin to ask ourselves, 'Has the British Raj +lost the will--or the power--of former days to protect friends and smite +enemies'? If the noisy few clamouring for _Swaráj_ make India once more +a battlefield, _your_ people can go. We Sikhs must remain, with Pathans +and Afghans--as of old--hammering at our doors----" + +At sight of the young Englishman's pained frown, he checked his +expansive mood. "To the Sahib I can freely speak the thoughts of my +heart; but this is not talk to make a sick man well. God is merciful. +Before all is lost--the British Raj may yet arise with power, as in the +great days...." + +But his talk, if unpalatable, was more tonic than he knew; because Roy's +love for India went deeper than he knew. The justice of Jiwán Singh's +reproach; the hint at tragic severance of the two countries mingled +within him, waked him effectually from semi-torpor; and the process was +as painful as the tingling renewal of life in a frozen limb. By timely +courage, on the spot, the threat to India had been staved off: but it +was there still--sinister, unsleeping, virtually unchecked. + +'Scotched--not killed.' The voice of Lance sounded too clearly in Roy's +brain; and the more intimate pain, deadened a little by illness, struck +at his heart like a sword.... + + * * * * * + +Within a week, care and feeding and inimitable air, straight from the +snowfields, had made him, physically, a new man. Mentally, it had +brought him face to face with actualities, and the staggering question, +'What next'? + +At the back of his mind he had been dreading it, evading it, because it +would force him to look deep into his own heart; and to make decisions, +when the effort of making them was anathema, beclouded as he was by the +depression that still brooded over him like a fog. The doctor had +prescribed a tonic and a whiff of Simla frivolity; but Roy paid no heed. +He knew his malady was mainly of the heart and the spirit. The true +curative touch could only come from some arrowy shaft that would pierce +to the core of one or the other. + +This morning, by way of reasserting his normal self, he had risen very +early with intent to walk out and spend the day at Baghi dák bungalow, +ten miles on. Taking things easily, he believed it could be done. He +would look through his manuscript; try and pick up threads. Suráj could +follow later; and he would ride home over the pass in the cool of the +evening. + +He set out under a clear heaven, misted with the promise of heat: the +air rather ominously still. But the thread of a path winding through +the dimness and vastness of Narkhanda Forest was ice-cool with the +breath of night. Pines, ilex, and deodars clung miraculously to a +hillside of massive rock, that jutted above him at +intervals--threatening, immense; and often, on the _khud_ side, dropped +abruptly into nothingness. When the road curved outward, splashes of +sunlight patterned it; and intermittent gaps revealed the flash of +snow-peaks, incredibly serene and far. + +Normally the scene--the desolate grandeur of it--would have intoxicated +Roy. But the stranger he was carrying about with him, and called by his +own name, reacted in quite another fashion to the shadowed majesty of +looming rocks and forest aisles. The immensity of it dwarfed one mere +suffering man to the dimensions of a pebble on the path. And the pebble +had the advantage of insensibility. The stillness and chillness made him +feel overwhelmingly alone. A sudden craving for Lance grew almost +intolerable.... + +But Lance was gone. Paul, with his bride, had vanished from human ken; +Rose, a shattered illusion, gone too. Better so--of course; though, +intermittently, the man she had roused in him still ached for the sight +and feel of her. She gave a distinct thrill to life: and, if he could +not forgive her, neither could he instantly forget her. + +Still less could he forget the significance of the shock she had dealt +him on their day of parting. Patently she loved him, in her passionate, +egotistical fashion--as he had never loved her; patently she had +combated her shrinking in defiance of her mother: and yet...! + +Rage as he might, his Rajput pride, and pride in his Rajput heritage, +were wounded to the quick. If all English girls felt that way, he would +see them further, before he would propose to another one, or 'confess' +to his adored Mother, as if she were a family skeleton or a secret vice. +Instantly there sprang the thought of Arúna--her adoration, her exalted +passion; Arúna, whom he might have loved, yet was constrained to put +aside because of his English heritage; only to find himself put aside by +an English girl on account of his Indian blood. A pleasant predicament +for a man who must needs marry in common duty to his father and +himself. + +And what of Tara? Was it possible...? Could that be the meaning of her +final desperate, 'I _can't_ do it, Roy--even for you'! Was it +conceivable--she who loved his mother to the point of worship? Still +smarting from his recent rebuff, he simply could not tell. Thea and +Lance loved her too; yet, in Lance especially, he had been aware of a +tacit tendency to ignore the Indian connection. + +The whole complication touched him too nearly, hurt and bewildered him +too bitterly, for cool consideration. He only saw that which had been +his pride converted into a reproach, a two-edged sword barring the way +to marriage: and in the bitterness of his heart he found it hard to +forgive his parents--mainly his father--for putting him in so cruel a +position, with no word of warning to soften the blow. + +Perhaps people felt differently in England. If so, India was no place +for him. How blatantly juvenile--to his clouded, tormented brain--seemed +his arrogant dreams of Oxford days! What could such as he do for her, in +this time of tragic upheaval. And how could all the Indias he had +seen--not to mention the many he had not seen--be jumbled together under +that one misleading name? That was the root fallacy of dreamers and +'reformers.' They spoke of her as one, when in truth she was +many--bewilderingly many. The semblance of unity sprang mainly from +England's unparalleled achievement--her Pax Britannica, that held the +scales even between rival chiefs and races and creeds; that had wrought, +in miniature, the very inter-racial stability which Europe had vainly +fought and striven to achieve. Yet now, some malign power seemed +constraining her, in the name of progress, to undo the work of her own +hands.... + +All his thronging thoughts were tinged with the gloom of his unhopeful +mood; and his body sagged with his sagging spirit. Before he had walked +four miles, his legs refused to carry him any farther. + +He had emerged into the open, into full view of the vastness beyond. +Naked rock and stone, jewelled with moss and young green, fell straight +from the path's edge; and one ragged pine, springing from a group of +boulders, was roughly stencilled on blue distances empurpled with +shadows of thunderous cloud. + +A flattened boulder proved irresistible; and Roy sat down, leaning his +head against the trunk, sniffing luxuriously--whiffs of resin and +sun-warmed pine-needles. Oh, to be at home, in his own beech-wood! But +the journey in this weather would be purgatorial. Meantime, there was +his walk; and he decided, prosaically, to fortify himself with a slab of +chocolate. Instead--still more prosaically, he fell sound asleep.... + +But sleep, in an unnatural position, begets dreams. And Roy dreamed of +Lance; of that last awful day when he raved incessantly of Rose. But in +the dream he was conscious; and before his distracted gaze Roy held Rose +in his arms; craving her, yet hating her; because she clung to him, +heedless of entreaties from Lance, and would not be shaken off.... + +In a frantic effort to free himself, he woke--with the anguish of his +loss fresh upon him--to find the sky heavily overcast, the +breathlessness of imminent storm in the air. Away to the North there +were blue spaces, sun-splashed leagues of snow. But from the South and +West rolled up the big battalions--heralds of the monsoon. + +He concluded apathetically that Baghi was 'off.' He was in for a +drenching. Lucky he had brought his burberry.... + +Yet he did not stir. A ton weight seemed to hang on his limbs, his +spirit, his heart. He simply sat there, in a carven stillness, staring +down, down, into abysmal depths.... + +And startlingly, sharply, the temptation assailed him. The tug of it was +almost physical.... How simple to yield--to cut his many tangles at one +stroke! + +In that jaundiced moment he saw himself a failure foreordained; debarred +from marriage by evils supposed to spring from the dual strain in him; +his cherished hopes of closer union between the two countries he loved +threatened with shipwreck by an England complacently experimental, an +India at war with the British connection and with her many selves. He +seemed fated to bring unhappiness on those he cared for--Arúna, Lance, +even Rose. And what of his father--if he failed to marry? He hadn't even +the grit to finish his wretched novel.... + +He rose at last, mechanically, and moved forward to the unrailed edge of +all things. The magnetism of the depths drew him. The fatalistic strain +in his blood drew him.... + +He stood--though he did not know it--as his mother had once stood, +hovering on the verge; his own life--that she bore within her--hanging +in the balance. From the fatal tilt, she had been saved by the voice of +her husband--the voice of the West. And now, at Roy's critical moment, +it was the voice of the West--of Lance--that sounded in his brain: +"Don't fret your heart out, Roy. Carry on." + +Having carried on, somehow, through four years of war, he knew precisely +how much of casual, dogged pluck was enshrined in that soldierly phrase. +It struck the note of courage and command. It was Lance incarnate. It +steadied him, automatically, at a crisis when his shaken nerves might +not have responded to any abstract ethical appeal. He closed his eyes a +moment to collect himself; swayed, the merest fraction--then +deliberately stepped back a pace.... + +The danger had passed. + +Through his lids he felt the glare of lightning: the first flash of the +storm. + +And as the heel of his retreating boot came firmly down on the path +behind, there rose an injured yelp that jerked him very completely out +of the clouds. + +"Poor Terry--poor old man!" he murmured, caressing the faithful +creature; always too close by, always getting trodden on--the common +guerdon of the faithful. And the whimsical thought intruded, "If I'd +gone over, the good little beggar would have jumped after me. Not fair +play." + +The fact that Terry had been saved from involuntary suicide seemed +somehow the more important consideration of the two. + +A rumbling growl overhead reminded him that there were other +considerations--urgent ones. + +"You're not hurt, you little hypocrite. Come on. We must leg it." + +And they legged it to some purpose; Terry--idiotically +vociferous--leaping on before.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 37: Crude arrangement.] + +[Footnote 38: Sound arrangement.] + +[Footnote 39: Shameful talk.] + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "I seek what I cannot get; + I get what I do not seek." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Then the storm broke in earnest.... + +Crash on flash, crash on flash--at ever-lessening intervals--the +tearless heavens raged and clattered round his unprotected head. Thunder +toppled about him like falling timber stacks. Fiery serpents darted all +ways at once among black boughs that swayed and moaned funereally. The +gloom of the forest enhanced the weird magnificence of it all: and +Roy--who had just been within an ace of flinging away his life--felt +irrationally anxious on account of thronging trees and the absence of +rain. + +He had recovered sufficiently to chuckle at the ignominious anti-climax. +But, as usual, it was the creepsomeness rather than the danger that got +on his nerves and forced his legs to hurry of their own accord.... + +In the deep of a gloomy indent, the thought assailed him--"Why do I know +it all so well? Where...? When...?" + +An inner flash lit the dim recesses of memory. Of course--it was that +other day of summer, in the far beginning of things; the day of the +Golden Tusks and the gloom and the growling thunder; his legs, as now, +in a fearful hurry of their own accord; and Tara waiting for him--his +High-Tower Princess. With a pang he recalled how she had seemed the +point of safety--because she was never afraid. + +No Tara waiting now. No point of safety, except a very prosaic dák +bungalow and good old Azim, who would fuss like the devil if rain came +on and he got a wetting. + +Ah--here it was, at last! Buckets of it. Lashing his face, running down +his neck, saturating him below his flapping burberry. Buffeted +mercilessly, he broke into a trot. Thunder and lightning were less +virulent now; and he found himself actually enjoying it all. + +Tired----? Not a bit. The miasma of depression seemed blown clean away +by the horseplay of the elements. He had been within an ace of taking +unwarranted liberties with Nature. Now she retaliated by taking +liberties with him; and her buffeting proved a finer restorative than +all the drugs in creation. Electricity, her 'fierce angel of the air,' +set every nerve tingling. A queer sensation: but it was _life_. And he +had been feeling more than half dead.... + +Azim Khan, however--being innocent of 'nerves'--took quite another view +of the matter. + +Arrived at the point of safety, Roy found a log fire burning; and a +brazier alight under a contrivance like a huge cane hen-coop, for drying +his clothes. Vainly protesting, he was made to change every garment; was +installed by the fire, with steaming brandy-and-water at his elbow, and +lemons and sugar--and letters ... quite a little pile of them. + +"_Belaiti dák, Hazúr_,"[40] Azim Khan superfluously informed him, with +an air of personal pride in the whole _bundobast_--including the timely +arrival of the English mail. + +There were parcels also--a biggish one, from his father; another from +Jeffers, obviously a book. And suddenly it dawned on him--this must be +the tenth of June. Yesterday was his twenty-sixth birthday; and he had +never thought of it; never realised the date! But _they_ had thought of +it weeks ahead: while he--graceless and ungrateful--had deemed himself +half forgotten. + +He ran the envelopes through his fingers--Tiny, Tara. (His heart jerked. +Was it congratulations? He had never felt he could write of it to her.) +Arúna; a black-edged one from Thea; and--his heart jerked in quite +another fashion--Rose! + +Amazing! What did it mean? She wasn't--going back on things...? + +Curiosity--sharpened by a prick of fear--impelled him to open her letter +first. And the moment he had read the opening line, compunction smote +him. + + "Roy--my Dear, I couldn't help remembering the ninth. So I feel I + must write and wish you 'many happy returns' of it--happier than + this one--with all my heart. I have worried over you a good deal. + For I'm sure you must have been ill. Do go home soon and be + properly taken care of, by your own people. I'm going in the autumn + with my friend, Mrs Hilton. Some day you will surely find a wife + worthier of you than I would have been. When your good day comes, + let me know and I'll do the same by you. Good luck to you + always.--ROSE." + +Roy slipped the note into his pocket and sat staring at the fire, deeply +moved. A vision of her--too alluring for comfort--was flashed upon his +brain. She was confoundedly attractive. She had no end of good points: +but ... with a very big B.... + +His gaze rested absently on the parcel from his father. What the deuce +could it be? To the imaginative, an unopened parcel never quite loses +its intriguing air of mystery. The shape suggested a picture. His +mother...? + +With a luxury of deliberation he cut the strings; removed wrapper after +wrapper to the last layer of tissue.... + +Then he drew a great breath--and sat spellbound; gazing--endlessly +gazing--at Tara's face:--the wild roses in her cheeks faded a little; +the glory of her hair undimmed; the familiar way it rippled back from +her low, wide brow; a hint of hidden pain about the sensitive lips and +in the hyacinth blue of her eyes. Only his father could have wrought a +vision so appealingly alive. And the effect on Roy was instantaneous ... +overwhelming.... + +Tara--dearest and loveliest! Of course it was her--always had been, down +in the uttermost depths. The treasure he had been far to seek had +blossomed beside him since the beginning of things: and he, with his +eyes always on the horizon, had missed the one incomparable flower at +his feet.... + +_Had_ he missed it? Had there ever been a chance? What, precisely, had +she meant by her young, vehement refusal of him? And--if it were not the +dreaded reason--was there still hope? Would she ever understand ... ever +forgive ... the inglorious episode of Rose? If, at heart, he could plead +the excuse of Adam, he could not plead it to her. + +Reverently he took that miracle of a picture between his hands and set +it on the broad mantelpiece, that distance might quicken the illusion of +life. + +Then the spell was on him again. Her sweetness and light seemed to +illumine the unbeautiful room. Of a truth he knew, now, what it meant to +love and be in love with every faculty of soul and body; knew it for a +miracle of renewal, the elixir of life. And--the light of that knowledge +revealed how secondary a part of it was the craving with which he had +craved possession of Rose. Steeped in poetry as he was, there stole into +his mind a fragment of Tagore--'She who had ever remained in the depths +of my being, in the twilight of gleams and glimpses ... I have roamed +from country to country, keeping her in the core of my heart.' + +All the jangle of jarred nerves and shaken faith; all the confusion of +shattered hopes and ideals would resolve itself into coherence at +last--if only ... if only----! + +And dropping suddenly from the clouds, he remembered his letters ... +_her_ letter. + +A sealed envelope had fallen unheeded from his father's parcel: but it +was hers he seized--and half hesitated to open. What if she were +announcing her own engagement to some infernal fellow at home? There +must be scores and scores of them.... + +His hand was not quite steady as he unfolded the two sheets that bore +his father's crest and the home stamp, 'Bramleigh Beeches.' + + "My Dear Roy (he read), + + "_Many_ happy returns of June the Ninth. It was one of our great + days--wasn't it?--once upon a time. All your best and dearest + wishes we are wishing for you--over here. And of course I've heard + your tremendous news; though you never wrote and told me--why? You + say she is beautiful. I hope she is a lot more besides. You would + need a lot more, Roy, unless you've changed very much from the boy + I used to know. + + "It is _cruel_ having to write--in the same breath--about Lance. + From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became. To + me it seems almost like half of you gone. And I'm sure it must seem + so to you--my _poor_ Roy. I don't wonder you felt bad about the way + of it; but it was the essence of him--that kind of thing. A verse + of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head ever since I heard it:-- + + 'Surely we knew it long before; + Knew all along that he was made + For a swift radiant morning; for + A sacrificing swift night shade.' + + "I _can't_ write all I feel about it. Besides, I'm hoping your pain + may be eased a little now; and I don't want to wake it up again. + + "But not even these two big things--not even your Birthday--are my + reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my + Bracelet-Bound Brother. _Do_ you remember? Have you kept it, Roy? + Does it still mean anything to you? It does to me--though I've + never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. _But_--I'm + going to, now. Not for myself. Don't be afraid! It's for Uncle + Nevil--and I ask it in Aunt Lilámani's name. + + "Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable. He's + never really got over losing her. And you've been sort of lost + too--for the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out + with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And + you--out there, probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite. I + _know_ you--and your ways. Also I know him--which is my ragged + shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think + better of it! + + "He has been an angel to me ever since I got back; and it seems to + cheer him up when I run round here. So I do--pretty often. But I'm + not Roy! And perhaps you'll forgive my bold demand, when I tell you + Aunt Jane's looming--positively _looming_! She's becoming a perfect + ogre of sisterly solicitude. As he won't go to London, she's + threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her + headquarters after the season! And he--poor darling--with not + enough spirit in him to kick against the pricks. If _you_ were + coming, he would have an excuse. Alone--he's helpless in her + conscientious talons! + + "If _that_ won't bring you, nothing will--not even my bracelet + command. + + "I _know_ the journey in June will be a nightmare. And you won't + like leaving Indian friends or Miss Arden. But think--here he is + alone, wanting what only you can give him. And the bangle I sent + you That Day--_if_ you've kept it--gives me the right to say + 'Come--_quickly_.' It may be a wrench. But I promise you won't + regret it. Wire, if you can. + + "Always your loving + TARA." + +By the time he had finished reading that so characteristic and endearing +letter his plans were cut and dried. Her irresistible appeal--and the no +less irresistible urge within him--left no room for the deliberations of +his sensitive complex nature. It flung open all the floodgates of +memory; set every nerve aching for Home--and Tara, late discovered; but +not too late, he passionately prayed.... + +The nightmare journey had no terrors for him now. In every sense he was +'hers to command.' + +He drew out his old, old letter-case--her gift--and opened it. There lay +the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish note; the 'ribbin' from +her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands of her hair. The sight of it +brought tears of which he felt not the least ashamed. + +It also brought a vision of himself standing before his mother, +demurring at possible obligations involved in their 'game of play.' And +across the years came back to him her very words, her very look and +tone: 'Remember, Roy, it is for always. If she shall ask from you any +service, you must not refuse--ever.... By keeping the bracelet you are +bound ...' + +Wire? Of course he would. + +Before the day was out his message was speeding to her: "Engagement off. +Coming first possible boat. Yours to command--ROY." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 40: English mail.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Did you not know that people hide their love, + Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?" + --WU-TI. + + +Sanctuary--at last! The garden of his dreams--of the world before the +deluge--in the quiet--coloured end of a July evening; the garden vitally +inwoven with his fate--since it was responsible for the coming of Joe +Bradley and his 'beaky mother.' + +Such gardens bear more than trees and flowers and fruit. Human lives and +characters are growth of their soil. With the wholesale demolishing of +boundaries and hedges, their influence may wane; and it is an +influence--like the unobtrusive influence of the gentleman--that human +nature, especially English nature, can ill afford to fling away. + +Roy, poet and fighter--with the lure of the desert and the horizon in +his blood--knew himself, also, for a spiritual product of this +particular garden--of the vast lawn (not quite so vast as he +remembered), the rose-beds and the beeches in the full glory of their +incomparable leafage; all steeped in the delicate clarity of rain-washed +air--the very aura of England, as dust was the aura of Jaipur. + +Dinner was over. They were sitting out on the lawn, he and his father; a +small table beside them, with glass coffee-machine and chocolates in a +silver dish; the smoke of their cigars hovering, drifting, unstirred by +any breeze. No Terry at his feet. The faithful creature--vision of +abject misery--had been carried off to eat his heart out in quarantine. +Tangled among tree-tops hung the ghost of a moon, almost full. +Somewhere, in the far quiet of the shrubberies, a nightingale was +communing with its own heart in liquid undertones; and in Roy's heart +there dwelt an iridescence of peace and pain and longing shot through +with hope---- + +That very morning, at an unearthly hour, he had landed in England, after +an absence of three and a half years: and precisely what that means in +the way of complex emotions, only they know who have been there. The +purgatorial journey had eclipsed expectation. Between recurrent fever +and sea-sickness, there had been days when it seemed doubtful if he +would ever reach Home at all. But a wiry constitution and the will to +live had triumphed: and, in spite of the early hour, his father had not +failed to be on the quay. + +The first sight of him had given Roy a shock for which--in spite of +Tara's letter--he was unprepared. This was not the father he +remembered--humorous, unruffled, perennially young; but a man so changed +and tired-looking that he seemed almost a stranger, with his empty +coat-sleeve and hair touched with silver at the temples. + +The actual moment of meeting had been difficult; the joy of it so deeply +tinged with pain that they had clung desperately to surface +commonplaces, because they were Englishmen, and could not relieve the +inner stress by falling on one another's necks. + +And there had been a secret pang (for which Roy sharply reproached +himself) that Tara was not there too. Idiotic to expect it, when he knew +Sir James had gone to Scotland for fishing. But to be idiotic is the +lover's privilege; and his not phenomenal gift of patience had been +unduly strained by the letter awaiting him at Port Said. + +They were coming back to-night; but he would not see her till +to-morrow.... + +In his pocket reposed a brief Tara-like note, bidding her 'faithful +Knight of the Bracelet' welcome Home. Vainly he delved between the lines +of her sisterly affection. Nothing could still the doubt that consumed +him, but contact with her hands, her eyes. + +For that, and other reasons, the difficult meeting had been followed by +a difficult day. They had wandered through the house and garden, very +carefully veiling their emotions. They had lounged and smoked in the +studio, looking through his father's latest pictures. They had talked +of the family. Jeffers would be down to-morrow night, for the week-end; +Tiny on Tuesday with the precious Baby; Jerry, distinctly coming round, +and eager to see Roy. Even Aunt Jane sounded a shade keen. And he, +undeserving, had scarcely expected them to 'turn a hair.' Then they +discussed the Indian situation; and Roy--forgetting to be shy--raged at +finding how little those at Home had been allowed to realise, to +understand. + +Not a question, so far, about his rapid on-and-off engagement, for which +mercy he was duly grateful. And of her, who dwelt in the foreground and +background of their thoughts--not a word. + +It would take a little time, Roy supposed, to build their bridge across +the chasm of three and a half eventful years. You couldn't hustle a +lapsed intimacy. To-morrow things would go better, especially if.... + +Yet, throughout, he had been touched inexpressibly by his father's +unobtrusive tokens of pleasure and affection: and now--sitting together +with their cigars, in the last of the daylight--things felt easier. + +"Dad," he said suddenly, turning his eyes from the garden to the man +beside him, who was also its spiritual product. "If I seem a bit +stupefied, it's because I'm still walking and talking in a dream; +terrified I may wake up and find it's not true! I can't, in a twinkling, +adjust the beautiful, incredible _sameness_ of all this, with the +staggering changes inside me." + +His father's smile had its friendly, understanding quality. + +"No hurry, Boy. All your deep roots are here. Change as much as you +please, you still remain--her son." + +"Yes--that's it. The place is full of her," Roy said very low; and at +present they could not trust themselves to say more. + +It had not escaped Sir Nevil's notice that the boy had avoided the +drawing-room, and had not once been under the twin beeches, his +favourite summer retreat. No hammock was slung there now. + +After a considerable gap, Roy remarked carelessly: "I suppose they must +have got home by now?" + +"About an hour ago, to be exact," said Sir Nevil; and Roy's involuntary +start moved him to add: "You're not running round there to-night, old +man. They'll be tired. So are you. And it's only fair I should have +first innings. I've waited a long time for it, Roy." + +"_Dads!_" Roy looked at once penitent and reproachful--an engaging trick +of schoolroom days, when he felt a scolding in the air. "You never +said--you never gave me an idea." + +"_You_ never sounded as if the idea would be acceptable." + +"Didn't I? Letters are the devil," murmured Roy--all penitence now. "And +if it hadn't been for Tara----" He stopped awkwardly. Their eyes met, +and they smiled. "Did you know ... she wrote? And that's why I'm here?" + +"Well done, Tara! I didn't know. I had dim suspicions. I also had a dim +hope that--my picture might tempt you----" + +"Oh, it _would_ have--letter or no. It's an inspired thing."--He had +already written at length on that score.--"You were mightily clever--the +two of you!" + +His father twinkled. "That as may be. We had the trifling advantage of +knowing our Roy!" + +They sat on till all the light had ebbed from the sky and the moon had +come into her own. It was still early; but time is the least ingredient +of such a day; and Sir Nevil rose on the stroke of ten. + +"You look fagged out, old boy. And the sooner you're asleep--the sooner +it will be to-morrow! A pet axiom of yours. D'you remember?" + +Did he not remember? + +They went upstairs together; the great house seemed oppressively empty +and silent. On the threshold of Roy's room they said good-night. There +was an instant of palpable awkwardness; then Roy--overcoming it--leaned +forward and kissed the patch of white hair on his father's temple. + +"God bless you," Sir Nevil said rather huskily. "You ought to sleep +sound in there. Don't dream." + +"But I love to dream," said Roy; and his father laughed. + +"You're not so staggeringly changed inside! As sure as a gun, you'll be +late for breakfast!" + +And he did dream. The moment his lids fell--she was there with him, +under the beeches, their sanctuary--she who all day had hovered on the +confines of his spirit, like a light, felt not seen. There were no words +between them, nor any need of words; only the ineffable peace of +understanding, of reunion.... + +Dream--or visitation--who could say? To him it seemed that only +afterwards sleep came--the dreamless sleep of renewal.... + + * * * * * + +He woke egregiously early: such an awakening as he had not known for +months on end. And out there in the garden it was a miracle of a +morning: divinely clear, with the mellow clearness of England; massed +trees, brooding darkly; the lawn all silver-grey with dew; everywhere +blurred outlines and tender shadows; pure balm to eye and spirit after +the hard brilliance and contrasts of the East. + +Madness to get up; yet impossible to lie there waiting. He tried it, for +what seemed an endless age: then succumbed to the inevitable. + +While he was dressing, clouds drifted across the blue. A spurt of rain +whipped his open casement; threatening him in playful mood. But before +he had crept down and let himself out through one of the drawing-room +windows, the sky was clear again, with the tremulous radiance of +happiness struck sharp on months of sorrow and stress. + +Striding, hatless, across the drenched lawn, and resisting the pull of +his beech-wood, he pressed on and up to the open moor; craving its +sweeps of space and colour unbosomed to the friendly sky that seemed so +much nearer earth than the passionate blue vault of India. + +It was five years since he had seen heather in bloom--or was it five +decades? The sight of it recalled that other July day, when he had +tramped the length of the ridge with his head full of dreams and the +ache of parting in his heart. + +To him, that far-off being seemed almost another Roy in another life. +Only--as his father had feelingly reminded him--the first Roy and the +last were alike informed by the spirit of one woman; visible then, +invisible now; yet sensibly present in every haunt she had made her own. +The house was full of her; the wood was full of her. But the pangs of +reminder he had so dreaded resolved themselves, rather, into a sense of +indescribable, ethereal reunion. He asked nothing better than that his +life and work should be fulfilled with her always: her and Tara--if she +so decreed.... + +Thought of Tara revived impatience, and drew his steps homeward again. + +Strolling back through the wood, he came suddenly upon the open space +where he had found the Golden Tusks, and lingered there a +little--remembering the storm and the terror and the fight; Tara and her +bracelet; and the deep unrealised significance of that childish impulse, +inspired by _her_, whose was the source of all their inspirations. And +now--seventeen years afterwards, the bracelet had drawn him back to them +both; saved him, perhaps, from the unforgiveable sin of throwing up the +game. + +On he walked, along the same mossy path, almost in a dream. He had found +the Tusks. His High-Tower Princess was waiting--his 'Star far-seen.' + +Again, as on that day--he came unexpectedly in view of their tree: +and--wonder of wonders (or was it the most natural thing on earth?), +there was Tara herself, approaching it by another path that linked the +wood with the grounds of the black-and-white house, which was part of +the estate. + +Instantly he stepped back a pace and stood still, that he might realise +her before she became aware of him:--her remembered loveliness, her new +dearness. + +Loveliness was the quintessence of her. With his innate feeling for +words, he had never--even accidentally--applied it to Rose. Had she, +too, felt impatient? Was she coming over to breakfast for a 'surprise'? + +At this distance, she looked not a day older than on that critical +occasion, when he had realised her for the first time; only more +fragile--a shade too fragile. It hurt him. He felt responsible. And +again, to-day--very clever of her--she was wearing a delphinium blue +frock; a shady hat that drooped half over her face. No pink rose, +however--and he was thankful. Roses had still a too baleful association. +He doubted if he could ever tolerate a Maréchal Niel again--as much on +account of Lance, as on account of the other. + +Tara was wearing his flower--sweet-peas, palest pink and lavender. And, +at sight of her, every shred of doubt seemed burnt up in the clear flame +of his love for her:--no heady confusion of heart and senses, but a +rarefied intensity of both, touched with a coal from the altar of +creative life. The knowledge was like a light hand reining in his +impatience. Poet, no less than lover, he wanted to go slowly through the +golden mist.... + +But the moment he stirred, she heard him; saw him.... + +No imperious gesture, as before; but a lightning gleam of recognition, +of welcome and--something more----? + +He hurried now.... + +Next instant, they were together, hands locked, eyes deep in eyes. The +surface sense of strangeness between them, the undersense of intimate +nearness--thrilling as it was--made speech astonishingly difficult. + +"Tara," he said, just above his breath. + +Her sensitive lips parted, trembled--and closed again. + +"_Tara!_" he repeated, dizzily incredulous, where a moment earlier he +had been arrogantly certain. "_Is_ it true ... what your eyes are +telling me? Can you forgive ... my madness out there? Half across the +world you called to me; and I've come home to _you_ ... with every atom +of me ... I'm loving you; and I'm still ... bracelet-bound...." + +This time her lips trembled into a smile. "And it's not one of the +Prayer-book affinities!" she reminded him, a gleam of that other Tara in +her eyes. + +"No, thank God--it's not! But you haven't answered me, you know...." + +"Roy, what a story! When you know I really said it first!" Her eyes were +saying it again now; and he, bereft of words, mutely held out his arms. + +If she paused an instant, it was because she felt even dizzier than he. +But the power of his longing drew her like a physical force--and, as his +lips claimed hers, the terror of love and its truth caught her and swept +her from known shores into uncharted seas.... + +This was a Roy she scarcely knew. But her heart knew; every pulse of her +awakened womanhood knew.... + +Presently it became possible to think. Very gently she pushed him back a +little. + +"O-oh--I never knew ... you were ... like _that_! And you've crushed my +poor sweet-peas to smithereens! Now--behave! Let me _look_ at you ... +properly, and see what India's done to you. Give me a chance!" + +He gave her a chance, still keeping hold of her--to make sure she was +real. + +"High-Tower Princess, are we truly US? Or is it a 'bewitchery'?" he +asked, only half in joke. "Will you go turning into a butterfly +presently----?" + +"Promise I won't!" Her low laugh was not quite steady. "We're US--truly. +And we've got to Farthest-End, where your dreams come true. D'you +remember--I always said they couldn't. They were too crazy. So I don't +deserve----" + +"It's _I_ that don't deserve," he broke out with sudden passion. "And to +find you under our very own tree! Have you forgotten--that day? Of +course _you_ went to the 'tipmost top; and I didn't. It's queer--isn't +it?--how _bits_ of life get printed so sharply on your brain; and great +spaces, on either side, utterly blotted out. That day's one of my bits. +Is it so clear--to you?" + +"To _me_----?" She could scarcely believe he did not know.... +Unashamedly, she wanted him to know. But part of him was strange to +her--thrillingly strange: which made things not quite so simple. + +"Roy," she went on, after a luminous pause, twisting the top button of +his coat. "I'm going to tell you a secret. A big one. For me that Day +was ... the beginning of everything.--Hush--listen!"--Her fingers just +touched his lips. "I'm feeling--rather shy. And if you don't keep quiet, +I can't tell. Of course I always ... loved you, next to Atholl. But +after that ... after the fight, I simply ... adored you. And ... and ... +it's never left off since...." + +"Tara! My loveliest!" he cried, between ecstasy and dismay; and +gathering her close again, he kissed her softly, repeatedly, murmuring +broken endearments. "And there was _I_...!" + +"Yes. There were you ... with your poems and Aunt Lila and your dreams +about India--always with your head among the stars..." + +"In plain English, a spoilt boy--as you once told me--wrapped up in +myself." + +"No, you weren't. I won't _have_ it!" she contradicted him in her old +imperious way. "You were wrapped up in all kinds of wonderful things. So +you just ... didn't see me. You looked clean over my head. Of course it +often made me unhappy. But--it made me love you more. That's the way we +women are. It's not the men who run after us; it's the other kind...! I +expect you looked clean over poor Arúna's head. And if I asked her, +privately, she'd confess that was partly why ... and the other girl too +... if ..." + +"Darling--_don't_!" he pleaded. "I'm ashamed, beyond words. I'll tell +you every atom of it truthfully ... my Tara. But this is _our_ moment. I +want more--about you.--Sit. It's full early. Then we'll go in (of course +you're coming to breakfast) and give Dad the surprise of his life.... +Bother your old hat! It gets in the way. And I want to see your hair." + +With a shyness new to him--and to Tara, poignantly dear--he drew out her +pins; discarded the offending hat, and took her head between his hands, +lightly caressing the thick coils that shaded from true gold to warm +delicate tones of brown. + +Then he set her on the mossy seat near the trunk; and flung himself down +before her in the old way, propped on his elbows--rapt, lost in love; +divinely without self-consciousness. + +"I'm _not_ looking over your head now," he said, his eyes deep in +hers:--deep and deeper, till the wild-rose flush invaded the delicate +hollows of her temples; and leaning forward she laid a hand across those +too eloquent eyes. + +"Don't blind me altogether--darling. When people have been shut away +from the sun a long time----" + +"But, Tara--why _were_ you...?" He removed the hand and kept hold of it. +"I begged you to come. I wanted you. Why _did_ you...?" + +She shook her head, smiling half wistfully. "That's a bit of my old Roy! +But you're man enough to know--now, without telling. And I was woman +enough to know--then. At least, by instinct, I knew...." + +"Then it wasn't because ... because--I'm half ... Rajput?" + +"_Roy!_" But for all her surprise and reproach, intuition told him the +idea was not altogether new to her. "What made you think--of _that_?" + +"Well--because it partly ... broke things off--out there. That startled +me. And when Dad's miracle of a picture woke me up with a vengeance ... +it terrified me. I began wondering.... Beloved, are you _quite_ sure +about Aunt Helen ... Sir James...?" + +She paused--a mere breathing-space; her free hand caressed his hair. +(This time, he did not shift his head.) "I'm utterly sure about Mother. +You see ... she knows ... we've talked about it. We're like sisters, +almost. As for Father ... well, we're less intimate. I did fancy he +seemed the wee-est bit relieved when ... your news came...." The pain in +his eyes checked her. "My blessed one, I won't have you _daring_ to +worry about it. I'm feeling simply beyond myself with happiness and +pride. Mother will be overjoyed. She realises ... a _little_ ... what +I've been through. Of course--in our talks, she has told me frankly what +tragedies often come from mixing such 'mighty opposites.' But she said +all of you were quite exceptional. And she knows about such things. And +_she's_ the point. She can always square Father if--there's any need. So +just be quiet--inside!" + +"But ... that day," he persisted, Roy-like, "_you_ didn't think of +it----?" + +"Faithfully, I didn't. I only felt your heart was too full up with Aunt +Lila and India to have room enough for me. And I wanted _all_ the +room--or nothing. Vaguely, I knew it was _her_ dream. But my wicked +pride insisted it should be _your_ dream. It wasn't till long after, +that Mother told me how--from the very first--Aunt Lila had planned and +prayed, because she knew marriage might be your one big difficulty; and +she could only speak of it to Mummy. It was their great link; the idea +behind everything--the lessons and all. So you see, all the time, she +was sort of creating me ... for you. And the bitter disappointment it +must have been to her! If I'd had a glimmering ... of all that--I don't +believe I could have held out against you----" + +"Then I wish to heaven you'd had a glimmering--because of her and +because of _us_. Look at all the good years we've wasted----" + +"We've not--we've _not_!" she protested vehemently. "If it had happened +then, it wouldn't have come within miles--of this. You simply hadn't it +_in_ you, Roy, to give me ... all I can feel you giving me now. As for +me--well, that's for you to find out! Of course, the minute I'd done it, +I was miserable: furious with myself. For I couldn't stop ... loving +you. My heart had no shame, in spite of my important pride. Only ... +after _she_ went--and Mother told me all--something in me seemed to know +her free spirit would be near you--and bring you back to me ... somehow: +_till_ ... your news came. And--_look_! The Bracelet! I hesitated a long +time. If you hadn't been engaged, I'm not sure if I would have ventured. +But I did--and you're here. It's all been her doing, Roy, first and +last. Don't let's spoil any of it with regrets." + +He could only bow his head upon her hand in mute adoration. The courage, +the crystal-clear wisdom of her--his eager Tara, who could never wait +five minutes for the particular sweet or the particular tale she craved. +Yet she had waited five years for him--and counted it a little thing. Of +a truth his mother had builded better than she knew. + +"You see," Tara added softly. "There wouldn't have been ... the deeps. +And it takes the deeps to make you realise the heights----" + + * * * * * + +Lost in one another--in the wonder of mutual self-revealing--they were +lost, no less, to impertinent trivialities of place and time; till the +very trivial pang of hunger reminded Roy that he had been wandering for +hours without food. + +"Tara--it's a come down--but I'm fairly starving!" he cried +suddenly--and consulted his watch. "Nine o'clock. The wretch I am! Dad's +final remark was, 'Sure as a gun, you'll be late for breakfast.' And it +seemed impossible. But sure as guns we _will_ be! Put on the precious +hat. We must jolly well run for it." + +And taking hands, like a pair of children, they ran.... + + + + +CHAPTER THE LAST. + + "Who shall allot the praise, and guess + What part is yours--what part is ours?" + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + "Perhaps a dreamer's day will come ... when judgment will be + pronounced on all the wise men, who always prophesied evil--and + were always right."--JOHAN BOJER. + + +Two hours later Roy and his father sat together in the cushioned window +seat of the studio, smoking industriously; not troubling to say +much--though there was much to be said--because the mist of constraint +that brooded between them yesterday had been blown clean away by Roy's +news. + +If it had not given Sir Nevil 'the surprise of his life,' it had given +him the deepest, most abiding gratification he had known since his inner +light had gone out, with the passing of her who had been his inspiration +and his all. Dear though his children were to him, they had remained +secondary, always. Roy came nearest--as his heir, and as the one in whom +her spirit most clearly lived again. Since she went, he had longed for +the boy; but remembering her plea on that summer day of decision--her +mountain-top of philosophy, 'to take by leaving, to hold by letting +go'--he had studiously refrained from pressing Roy's return. Now, at a +word from Tara, he had sped home in the hot season; and--hard on the +heels of a mysteriously broken engagement--had claimed her at sight. + +Yesterday their sense of strangeness had made silence feel +uncomfortable. Now that they slipped back into the old intimacy, it felt +companionable. Yet neither was thinking directly of the other. Each was +thinking of the woman he loved. + +By chance their eyes encountered in a friendly smile, and Roy spoke. + +"Daddums--you've come alive! I believe you're _almost_ as happy over +it--as I am?" + +"You're not far out. You see"--his eyes grew graver--"I'm feeling ... +Mother's share, too. Did you ever realise...?" + +"Partly. Not all--till just now. Tara told me." + +There was a pause. Then Sir Nevil looked full at his son. + +"Roy--_I've_ got something to tell you--to show you ... if you can +detach your mind for an hour----?" + +"Why, of course. _What_ is it--where?" + +He looked round the room. Instinctively, he knew it concerned his +mother. + +"Not here. Upstairs--in her House of Gods." He saw Roy flinch. "If _I_ +can bear it, old boy, you can. And there's a reason--you'll understand." + +The little room above the studio had been sacred to Lilámani ever since +her home-coming as a bride of eighteen; sacred to her prayers and +meditations; to the sandalwood casket that held her 'private god'; for +the Indian wife has always one god chosen for special worship--not to be +named to any one, even her husband. And although a Christian Lilámani +had discontinued that form of devotion, the tiny blue image of the +Baby-god, Krishna, had been a sacred treasure always, shown, on rare +occasions only, to Roy. To enter that room was to enter her soul. And +Roy, shrinking apart, felt himself unworthy--because of Rose. + +On the threshold there met him the faint scent of sandalwood that +pervaded her. For there, in an alcove, stood Krishna's casket. In larger +boxes, lined with sandalwood, her many-tinted silks and saris lay +lovingly folded. Another casket held her jewels, and arranged on a row +of shelves stood her dainty array of shoes--gold and silver and pale +brocades: an intimate touch that pierced his heart. + +Near the Krishna alcove, hung a portrait he had not seen: a thing of +fragile, almost unearthly beauty, painted when her husband came +home--and realised.... + +An aching lump in Roy's throat cut like a knife; but his father's remark +put him on his mettle. And, the next instant, he saw.... + +"_Dad!_" he breathed, in awed amazement. + +For there, on the small round table stood a model in dull red clay: +unmistakably, unbelievably--the rock fortress of Chitor: the walls +scarped and bastioned; Khumba Rána's tower; and the City itself--no +ruin, but a miniature presentment of Chitor, as she might have been in +her day of ancient glory, as Roy had been dimly aware of her in the +course of his own amazing ride. Temples, palaces, huddled houses--not +detailed, but skilfully suggested--stirred the old thrill in his veins, +the old certainty that he knew.... + +"Well----?" asked Sir Nevil, whose eyes had not left his face. + +"_Well!_" echoed Roy, emerging from his trance of wonder. "I'm +dumfounded. A few mistakes, here and there; but--as a whole ... Dad--how +in the world ... could you know?" + +"I don't know. I hoped you would. I ... saw it clearly, just like +that----" + +"How? In a dream?" + +"I suppose so. I couldn't swear, in a court of law, that I was awake. It +happened--one evening, as I lay there, on her couch--remembering ... +going back over things. And suddenly, out of the darkness, +blossomed--that. Asleep or awake, my mind was alert enough to seize and +hold the impression, without a glimmer of surprise ... _till_ I came to, +or woke up--which you will. Then my normal, sceptical self didn't know +what to make of it. I've always dismissed that sort of thing as mere +brain-trickery. But--a vivid, personal experience makes it ... not so +easy. Of course, from reading and a few old photographs, I knew it was +Chitor: and my chief concern was to record the vision in its first +freshness. For three days I worked at it: only emerging now and then to +snatch a meal. I began with those and that----" + +He indicated a set of rough sketches and an impression in oils; a ghost +of a city full of suggested beauty and mystery. "No joke, trying to +model with one hand; but you wouldn't believe ... the swiftness ... the +sureness ... as if my fingers knew...." + +Roy could believe. Occasionally his own fingers behaved so. + +"When it was done, I put it in here," his father went on, masking, with +studied quietness, his elation at the effect on Roy. "I've shown it to +no one--not even Aunt Helen. I couldn't write of it. I felt it would +sound crazy----" + +"Not to me," said Roy. + +"Well, I couldn't tell that. And I've been waiting--for _you_." + +"Since--when?" + +"Since the third of March, this year." + +Roy drew an audible breath. It was the anniversary of her passing. "All +that time! How could you----? Why didn't you----?" + +"Well--_you_ know. You were obviously submerged--your novel, Udaipur, +Lance.... You wouldn't have forgone all that ... if I know you, for a +mere father. But you're here, at last, thank God. And--I want to know. +You've seen Chitor, as it is to-day...." + +"I've seen more than that," said Roy. "I can tell you, now. I +couldn't--before. Let's sit." + +And sitting there, on her couch, in her House of Gods, he told the story +of his moonlit ride and its culmination; told it in low tones, in swift +vivid phrases that came of themselves.... + +Throughout the telling--and for many minutes afterwards--his father sat +motionless; his head on his hand, half shielding his face from view.... + +"I've only spoken of it to Grandfather," Roy said at last. "And with all +my heart, I wish he could see ... that." + +Sir Nevil looked up now, and the subdued exaltation in his eyes was +wholly new to Roy. + +"_I've_ gone a good way beyond wishing," he said. "But again--I was +waiting for you. I want to go out there, Roy--with you two, when you're +married--and see it all for myself. With care, one could take the thing +along, to verify and improve it on the spot. Then--what do you say?--you +and I might achieve a larger reproduction--for Grandfather: a gift to +Rajputana--my source of inspiration; a tribute ... to her memory, who +still lights our lives ... with the inextinguishable lamp of her +spirit----" + +The last words--almost inaudible--were a revelation to Roy; an +illumining glimpse of the true self, that a man hides very carefully +from his fellows; and shows--at supreme moments only--to 'a woman when +he loves her.' + +Shy of their mutual emotion, he laid a hand on his father's arm. + +"You can count on me, Dad," he said in the same low tone. "Who +knows--one day it might inspire the Rajputs to rebuild their Queen of +Cities, in white marble, that she may rise again, immortal through the +ages...." + +When they stood up to leave the shrine their eyes met in a steadfast +look; and there was the same thought behind it. She had given them to +each other in a new way; in a fashion all her own. + + * * * * * + +For that brief space, Roy had almost forgotten Tara. Now the wonder of +her flashed back on him like a dazzle of sunlight after the dim sanctity +of cathedral aisles. + +And down in the studio it was possible to discuss practical issues of +his father's inspiration--or rather his mother's; for they both felt it +as such. + +Roy would marry Tara in September; and in November they three would go +out together. There were bad days coming out there; but, as Roy had once +said, every man and woman of goodwill--British or Indian--would count in +the scale, were it only a grain here, a grain there. The insignificance +of the human unit--a mere fragment of star-dust on sidereal shores--is +off-set by the incalculable significance of the individual in the +history of man's efforts to be more than man. In that faith these two +could not be found wanting; debtors as they were to the genius, +devotion, and high courage of one fragile woman, who had lived little +more than half her allotted span. + +They at least would not give up hope of the lasting unity vital to both +races, because political errors and poisonous influences and tragic +events had roused a mutual spirit of bitterness difficult to quell.... + +Conceivably, it _might_ touch the imagination of their India--Rajputana +(Roy was chary, now, of the all-embracing word), that an Englishman +should so love an Indian woman as to immortalise her memory in a form +peculiar to the East. For a Christian Lilámani, neither temple, nor +tomb, but the vision of a waste city rebuilded--the city whose name was +written on her heart. In their uplifted moment, it seemed not quite +unthinkable. + +"And it's India's imagination we have most of us signally failed to +touch--if not done a good deal to quench," said Roy, his eyes brooding +on a bank of purple-grey cloud, his own imagination astir.... + +It was his turn now to catch a flitting inspiration on the wing. + +Would it be utterly impossible----? Could they spend a wander-year in +Rajputana--the cities, the desert, the Aravallis: his father +painting--he writing? The result--a combined book, dedicated to her +memory; an attempt to achieve something in the nature of +interpretation--his arrogant dream of Oxford days; a vindication of his +young faith in the arts as the true medium of mutual understanding. In +any case, it would be a unique achievement. And they would feel they had +contributed their mite of goodwill, had followed 'the gleam.'... + +"Besides--out there, other chances might crop up. Thea, Grandfather, +Dyán.... And Tara would be in in it all, heart and soul," he +concluded--remembering, with a twinge, a certain talk with Rose. "And it +would do _you_ all the good on earth--which isn't the least of its +virtues, in my eyes!" + +The look on his father's face was reward enough--for the moment. + +"Well done, Roy," said Sir Nevil very quietly. "That year in Rajputana +shall be my wedding present--to you two----" + + * * * * * + +Later on the 'inspired plan' was expounded to Tara--with amplifications. +She had merely run home--escorted, of course, through the perils of the +wood--to impart her great news and bring her mother back to lunch, which +Roy persistently called 'tiffin.' Food disposed of, they stepped +straight out of the house into a world of their own--the world of their +'Game-without-an-End'; the rose garden, the wood, the regal splendours +of the moor, gleaming and glooming under shadows of drifting cloud: on +and on, in a golden haze of content, talking, endlessly talking.... + +The reserve and infrequency of their letters had left whole tracts, +outer and inner, unexplored. Here, thought Roy--in his mother's +beautiful phrase--was 'the comrade of body and spirit' that his +subconsciousness had been seeking all along: while he looked over the +heads of one and another, lured by the far, yet emotionally susceptible +to the near. Once--unbidden--the thought intruded: "How different! How +unutterably different!" + +Reading aloud to Tara would seem pure waste of her; except when it came +to the novel, of which he had told her next to nothing, so far.... + +And Tara carried her happiness proudly, like a banner. The deliciousness +of being loved; the intoxication of it, after the last spark of hope had +been quenched by that excruciating engagement! Her volcanic heart held a +capacity for happiness as tremendous as her capacity for daring and +suffering. But the first had so long eluded her, that now she dared +scarcely let herself go. + +She listened half incredulous, wholly entranced, while Roy drew rapid +word-pictures of the cities they would see together--Udaipur, Chitor, +Ajmir; and, not least, Komulmir, the hill fortress crowned with the +'cloud-palace' of Prithvi Raj and that distant Tara, her namesake. +Together, they would seek out the little shrine--Roy knew all about +it--near the Temple of the Mother of the Gods, that held the mingled +ashes of those great lovers who were pleasant in their lives and in +death were not divided.... + + * * * * * + +It was much later on, in the evening, when they sat alone near the twin +beeches, under a new-lighted moon, that Roy at last managed to speak of +Rose. In the dimness it was easier, though difficult at best. But all +day he had been aware of Tara longing to hear; unable to ask; too +sensitive on his account; too proud on her own. + +Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event: and if Sir +James had needed 'squaring' no one heard of it. Jeffers had arrived, +large and genial--his thatch of hair thinned a little and white as +driven snow. Healths had been drunk. It was long since the Beeches had +known so hilarious a meal. Yet the graceless pair had made haste to +escape, and blessed Lady Despard for remaining with the men. + +Tara was leaning back in a low chair; Roy on a floor cushion, very +close; a hand slipped behind her, his cheek against her arm; yet, in a +deeper sense, she wanted him closer still. Surely he knew.... + +He did know. + +"Tara--my loveliest--shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly. "Are you +badly wanting to hear?" + +"Craving to," she confessed. "It's like a bit of blank space inside me. +And I don't want blank spaces--about you. It's the house swept and +garnished that attracts the seven devils. And one of my devils is +jealousy! I've hated her _so_, poor thing. I can't hate her more, +whatever you tell----" + +"Try hating her less," suggested Roy. + +"Try and make me!" she challenged him. "Are you--half afraid? Were you +... fearfully smitten?" + +"Wonderful Tara! 'Smitten' is the very word." He looked up at her +moonlit face, its appealing charm, its mingling of delicacy and +strength. "I would never dream of saying I was 'smitten'--with _you_." + +For reward, her lips caressed his hair. "What a Roy you are--with your +words! Tell me--tell from the beginning." + +And from the beginning he told her: first in broken, spasmodic +sentences, with breaks and jars; then more fluently, more unreservedly, +as he felt her leaning closer--more and more understanding; more and +more forgiving, where understanding faltered, where gaps came--on +account of Lance, and of pain that went too deep for words. She had +endured her own share of that. She knew.... + +When all had been said, it was she who could not speak; and he gathered +her to him, kissing with a passion of tenderness her wet lashes, her +trembling lips---- + +At last: "Beloved--_has_ the blank space gone?" he asked. "Are you +content now?" + +"Content! I'm lifted to the skies." + +"To the tipmost top of them?" he queried in her ear; and mutely she +clung to him, returning his kisses, with the confidence of a child, with +the intensity of a woman.... + + * * * * * + +All too soon it was over--their one mere day: the walk back through the +wood--never more enchanted than on a night of full moon: Tara, dropped +from the skies, lost to everything but the sound of Roy's voice in the +darkness, deep and soft, like the voice of her own heart heard in a +dream. It seemed incredible that there would be to-morrow--and +to-morrow--and to-morrow, world without end.... + +Back in the garden, Jeffers--a miracle of tact--wandered away to commune +with an idea, leaving father and son alone together. + +Sir Nevil offered Roy a cigarette, and they sat down in two of the six +empty chairs near the beeches and smoked steadily without exchanging a +remark. + +But this time they were thinking of one woman. For at parting Tara had +said again, "It's all been her doing--first and last." And Roy--with +every faculty sensitised to catch ethereal vibrations above and below +the human octave--divined that identical thought in his father's +silence. Her doing indeed! None of them--not even his father--knew it +better than himself. + +And now, while he sat there utterly still in the midst of stillness--no +stir in the tree-tops, no movement anywhere but the restless glow of +Broome's cigar--the inexpressible sense of her stole in upon him, +flooding his spirit like a distillation from the summer night. Moment by +moment the impression deepened and glowed within him. Never, since that +morning at Chitor, had it so uplifted and fulfilled him.... + +Surely, now, his father could feel it too? Deliberately he set himself +to transmit, if might be, the thrill of her nearness--the intimacy, the +intensity of it. + +Then, craving certainty, he put out a hand and touched his father's +knee. + +"Dad," the word was a mere breath. "Can you feel...? She is here." + +His father's hand closed sharply on his own. + +For one measureless moment they sat so. Then the sense of her presence +faded as a light dies out. The garden was empty. The restless red planet +was moving towards them. + +On a mutual impulse they rose. Once again, as in her shrine, they +exchanged a steadfast look. And Roy had his answer. + +He slipped a possessive hand through his father's arm; and without a +word, they walked back into the house.... + + +_Parkstone, February_ 1920. + +_Parkstone, March_ 27, 1921. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Far to Seek, by Maud Diver + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + +***** This file should be named 15704-8.txt or 15704-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/7/0/15704/ + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Far to Seek + A Romance of England and India + +Author: Maud Diver + +Release Date: April 25, 2005 [EBook #15704] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + + + + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><a name="Page_-3" id="Page_-3"></a></p> +<h1>FAR TO SEEK</h1> + +<h2>A Romance of England and India</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>MAUD DIVER</h2> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF 'CAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C.,' 'LILÁMANI,' +'DESMOND'S DAUGHTER,' ETC.<br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Opening Quotes"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"I am athirst for far-away things.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My soul goes out in longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance....</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O Far-to-Seek! O the keen call of thy flute...!"</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore</span>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br /><br /><br />"His hidden meaning dwells in our endeavours;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Our valours are our best gods."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>John Fletcher</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p class="center">William Blackwood & Sons Ltd.</p> + +<p class="center">Edinburgh and London</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><a name="Page_-2" id="Page_-2"></a></p> + +<p class='center'><i>TO<br /> +MY BLUE BIRD,<br /> +<br /> +BRINGER OF HAPPINESS TO MYSELF<br /> +AND OTHERS,<br /> +<br /> +I DEDICATE THIS IDYLL OF<br /> +A MOTHER AND SON.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>M.D.</i></span><br /></p> + + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The dawn sleeps"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">"The dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">The stars hold their breath, counting the hours....</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bird, oh my Bird, listen to me—do not close your wings."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore.</span></td></tr> +</table></div><p><a name="Page_-1" id="Page_-1"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AUTHOR'S NOTE.</h2> + + +<p>As part of my book is set in Lahore, at the time of the outbreak, in +April 1919, I wish to state clearly that, while the main events are true +to fact, the characters concerned, both English and Indian, are purely +imaginary. At the same time, the opinions expressed by my Indian +characters on the present outlook are all based on the written or spoken +opinions of actual Indians—loyal or disaffected, as the case may be.</p> + +<p>There were no serious British casualties in Lahore, though there were +many elsewhere. I have imagined one locally, for purposes of my story. +In all other respects I have kept close to recorded facts.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">M.D.</span><br /> +<a name="Page_0" id="Page_0"></a></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHASE_I"><b>PHASE I.</b></a></td><td align='left'><b>THE GLORY AND THE DREAM</b></td><td align='left'>1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHASE_II"><b>PHASE II.</b></a></td><td align='left'><b>THE VISIONARY GLEAM</b></td><td align='left'>65</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IB"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIB"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIB"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IVB"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VB"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIB"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIB"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIB"><b>CHAPTER VIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHASE_III"><b>PHASE III.</b></a></td><td +align='left'><b>PISGAH HEIGHTS</b></td><td align='left'>135</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IC"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIC"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIC"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IVC"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VC"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIC"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIC"><b>CHAPTER VII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIC"><b>CHAPTER VIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IXC"><b>CHAPTER IX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XC"><b>CHAPTER X.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIC"><b>CHAPTER XI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIC"><b>CHAPTER XII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIIC"><b>CHAPTER XIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIVC"><b>CHAPTER XIV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVC"><b>CHAPTER XV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIC"><b>CHAPTER XVI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHASE_IV"><b>PHASE IV.</b></a></td><td align='left'><b>DUST OF THE ACTUAL</b></td><td align='left'>283</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_ID"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IID"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIID"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IVD"><b>CHAPTER IV.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VD"><b>CHAPTER V.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VID"><b>CHAPTER VI.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIID"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIID"><b>CHAPTER VIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IXD"><b>CHAPTER IX.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XD"><b>CHAPTER X.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XID"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIID"><b>CHAPTER XII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIID"><b>CHAPTER XIII.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PHASE_V"><b>PHASE V.</b></a></td><td align='left'><b>A STAR IN DARKNESS</b></td><td align='left'>417</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IE"><b>CHAPTER I.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIE"><b>CHAPTER II.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIE"><b>CHAPTER III.</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_THE_LAST"><b>CHAPTER THE LAST.</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHASE_I" id="PHASE_I"></a>PHASE I.</h2> + +<h2>THE GLORY AND THE DREAM</h2> + + +<p><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a></p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Thou art the sky"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Thou art the sky, and thou art the nest as well."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Tagore.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>By the shimmer of blue under the beeches Roy knew that summer—"really +truly summer!"—had come back at last. And summer meant picnics and +strawberries and out-of-door lessons, and the lovely hot smell of +pine-needles in the pine-wood, and the lovelier cool smell of moss +cushions in the beech-wood—home of squirrels and birds and bluebells; +unfailing wonderland of discovery and adventure.</p> + +<p>Roy was an imaginative creature, isolated a little by the fact of being +three and a half years older than Christine, and "miles older" than +Jerry and George, mere babies, for whom the magic word adventure held no +meaning at all.</p> + +<p>Luckily, there was Tara, from the black-and-white house: Tara, who +shared his lessons and, in spite of the drawback of being a girl, had +long ago won her way into his private world of knight-errantry and +romance. Tara was eight years and five weeks old; quite a reasonable age +in the eyes of Roy, whose full name was Nevil Le Roy Sinclair, and who +would be nine in June. With the exception of grown-ups, who didn't +count, there was no one older than nine in his immediate neighbourhood. +Tara came nearest: but <i>she</i> wouldn't be nine till next year; and by +that time, he would be ten. The point was, she couldn't catch him up if +she tried ever so.</p> + +<p>It was Tara's mother, Lady Despard, who had the happy idea of sharing +lessons, that would otherwise be rather a lonely affair for both. But it +was Roy's mother who had the still happier idea of teaching them +herself. Tara's mother joined in now and then; but Roy's mother—who +loved it beyond everything—secured the <a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>lion's share. And Roy was old +enough by now to be proudly aware of his own good fortune. Most other +children of his acquaintance were afflicted with tiresome governesses, +who wore ugly jackets and hats, who said "Don't drink with your mouth +full," and "Don't argue the point!"—Roy's favourite sin—and always +told you to "Look in the dictionary" when you found a scrumptious new +word and wanted to hear all about it. The dictionary, indeed! Roy +privately regarded it as one of the many mean evasions to which +grown-ups were addicted.</p> + +<p>His ripe experience on the subject was gleaned partly from neighbouring +families, partly from infrequent visits to "Aunt Jane"—whom he hated +with a deep unreasoned hate—and "Uncle George," who had a kind, stupid +face, but anyhow tried to be funny and made futile bids for favour with +pen-knives and half-crowns. Possibly it was these uncongenial visits +that quickened in him very early the consciousness that his own +beautiful home was, in some special way, different from other boys' +homes, and his mother—in a still more special way—different from other +boys' mothers....</p> + +<p>And that proud conviction was no mere myth born of his young adoration. +In all the County, perhaps in all the Kingdom, there could be found no +mother in the least like Lilámani Sinclair, descendant of Rajput chiefs +and wife of an English Baronet, who, in the face of formidable barriers, +had dared to accept all risks and follow the promptings of his heart. +One of these days there would dawn on Roy the knowledge that he was the +child of a unique romance, of a mutual love and courage that had run the +gauntlet of prejudices and antagonisms, of fightings without and fears +within; yet, in the end, had triumphed as they triumph who will not +admit defeat. All this initial blending of ecstasy and pain, of +spiritual striving and mastery, had gone to the making of Roy, who in +the fulness of time would realise—perhaps with pride, perhaps with +secret trouble and misgiving—the high and complex heritage that was +his.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Meanwhile he only knew that he was fearfully happy, especially in summer +time; that his father—who had <a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>smiling eyes and loved messing with +paints like a boy—was kinder than anyone else's, so long as you didn't +tell bad fibs or meddle with his brushes; that his idolised mother, in +her soft coloured silks and saris, her bangles and silver shoes, was the +"very most beautiful" being in the whole world. And Roy's response to +the appeal of beauty was abnormally quick and keen. It could hardly be +otherwise with the son of these two. He loved, with a fervour beyond his +years, the clear pale oval of his mother's face; the coils of her dark +hair, seen always through a film of softest muslin—moon-yellow or +apple-blossom pink, or deep dark blue like the sky out of his window at +night spangled with stars. He loved the glimmer of her jewels, the sheen +and feel of her wonderful Indian silks, that seemed to smell like the +big sandalwood box in the drawing-room. And beyond everything he loved +her smile and the touch of her hand, and her voice that could charm away +all nightmare terrors, all questionings and rebellions, of his excitable +brain.</p> + +<p>Yet, in outward bearing, he was not a sentimental boy. The Sinclairs did +not run to sentiment; and the blood of two virile races—English and +Rajput—was mingled in his veins. Already his budding masculinity bade +him keep the feelings of 'that other Roy' locked in the most secret +corner of his heart. Only his mother, and sometimes Tara, caught a +glimpse of him now and then. Lady Sinclair, herself, never guessed that, +in the vivid imaginations of both children, she herself was the +ever-varying incarnation of the fairy princesses and Rajputni heroines +of her own tales. Their appetite for these was insatiable; and her store +of them seemed never ending: folk tales of East and West; true tales of +Crusaders, of Arthur and his knights; of Rajput Kings and Queens, in the +far-off days when Rajasthán—a word like a trumpet call—was holding her +desert cities against hordes of invaders, and heroes scorned to die in +their beds. Much of it all was frankly beyond them; but the colour and +the movement, the atmosphere of heroism and high endeavour quickened +imagination and fellow-feeling, and left an impress on both children +that would not pass with the years.</p> + +<p>To their great good fortune, these tales and talks were <a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>a part of her +simple, individual plan of education. An even greater good fortune—in +their eyes—was her instinctive response to the seasons. She shared to +the full their clear conviction that schoolroom lessons and a radiant +day of summer were a glaring misfit; and she trimmed her sails, or +rather her time-table, accordingly.</p> + +<p>"Sentimental folly and thoroughly demoralising," was the verdict of Aunt +Jane, overheard by Roy, who was not supposed to understand. "They will +grow up without an inch of moral backbone. And you can't say I didn't +warn you. Lady Despard's a crank, of course; but Nevil is a fool to +allow it. Goodness knows <i>he</i> was bad enough, though he was reared on +the good old lines. And you are not giving his son a chance. The sooner +the boy's packed off to school the better. I shall tell him so."</p> + +<p>And his mother had answered with her dignified unruffled sweetness—that +made her so beautifully different from ordinary people, who got red and +excited and made foolish faces: "He will not agree. He shares my +believing that children are in love with life. It is their first love. +Pity to crush it too soon; putting their minds in tight boxes with no +chink for Nature to creep in. If they first find knowledge by their +young life-love, afterwards, they will perhaps give up their life-love +to gain it."</p> + +<p>Roy could not follow all that; but the music of the words, matched with +the music of his mother's voice, convinced him that her victory over +horrid interfering Aunt Jane was complete. And it was comforting to know +that his father agreed about not putting their minds in tight boxes. For +Aunt Jane's drastic prescription alarmed him. Of course school would +have to come some day; but his was not the temperament that hankers for +it at an early age. As to a moral backbone—whatever sort of an +affliction that might be—if it meant growing up ugly and +'disagreeable,' like Aunt Jane or the Aunt Jane cousins, he fervently +hoped he would never have one—or Tara either....</p> + +<p>But on this particular morning he feared no manner of bogey—not even +school or a moral backbone—because the bluebells were alight under his +beeches—hundreds and hundreds of them—and 'really truly' summer had +come back at last!<a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></p> + +<p>Roy knew it the moment he sprang out of bed and stood barefoot on the +warm patch of carpet near the window, stretching his slim shapely body, +instinctively responsive to the sun's caress. No less instinctive was +his profound conviction that nothing possibly could go wrong on a day +like this.</p> + +<p>In the first place it meant lessons under their favourite tree. In the +second, it was history and poetry day; and Roy's delight in both made +them hardly seem lessons at all. He thought it very clever of his +mother, having them together. The depth of her wisdom he did not yet +discern. She allowed them within reason, to choose their own poems: and +Roy, exploring her bookcase, had lighted on Shelley's 'Cloud'—the +musical flow of words, the more entrancing because only half understood. +He had straightway learnt the first three verses for a surprise. He +crooned them now, his head flung back a little, his gaze intent on a +gossamer film that floated just above the pine tops—'still as a +brooding dove.' ...</p> + +<p>Standing there, in full sunlight—the modelling of his young limbs +veiled, yet not hidden, by his silk night-suit; the carriage of head and +shoulders betraying innate pride of race—he looked, on every count, no +unworthy heir to the House of Sinclair and its simple honourable +traditions: one that might conceivably live to challenge family +prejudices and qualms. The thick dark hair, ruffled from sleep, was his +mother's; and hers the semi-opaque ivory tint of his skin. The clean-cut +forehead and nose, the blue-grey eyes, with the lurking smile in them, +were Nevil Sinclair's own. In him, at least, it would seem that love was +justified of her children.</p> + +<p>But of family features, as of family qualms, he was, as yet, radiantly +unaware. Snatching his towel, he scampered barefoot down the passage to +the nursery bathroom, where the tap was already running.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, dressed, but hatless and still barefoot, he was +racing over the vast dew-drenched lawn, leaving a trail of grey-green +smudges on its silvered surface, chanting the opening lines of Shelley's +'Cloud' to breakfast-hunting birds.<a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Those first affections"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Those first affections,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Those shadowy recollections,...</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Are yet the fountain-light of all our day;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Are yet the master-light of all our seeing."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Wordsworth.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>The blue rug under Roy's beech-tree was splashed with freckles of +sunshine; freckles that were never still, because a fussy little wind +kept swaying the top-most branches, where the youngest beech-leaves +flickered, like golden-green butterflies bewitched by some malicious +fairy, so that they could never fly into the sky till summer was over, +and all the leaf butterflies in the world would be free to scamper with +the wind.</p> + +<p>That was Roy's foolish fancy as he lay full length, to the obvious +detriment of his moral backbone—chin cupped in the hollow of his hands. +Close beside him lay Prince, his golden retriever; so close that he +could feel the dog's warm body through his thin shirt. At the foot of +the tree, in a nest of pale cushions, sat his mother, in her +apple-blossom sari and a silk dress like the lining of a shell. No +jewels in the morning, except the star that fastened her sari on one +shoulder and a slender gold bangle—never removed—the wedding-ring of +her own land. The boy, mutely adoring, could, in some dim way, feel the +harmony of those pale tones with the olive skin, faintly aglow, and the +delicate arch of her eyebrows poised like outspread wings above the +brown, limpid depths of her eyes. He could not tell that she was still +little more than a girl; barely eight-and-twenty. For him she was +ageless:—protector and playfellow, essence of all that was most real, +yet most magical, in the home that was his world. Unknown to him, the<a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a> +Eastern mother in her was evoking, already, the Eastern spirit of +worship in her son.</p> + +<p>Very close to her nestled Tara, a vivid, eager slip of a girl, with +wild-rose petals in her cheeks and blue hyacinths in her eyes and +sunbeams tangled in her hair, that rippled to her waist in a mass almost +too abundant for the small head and elfin face it framed. In +temperament, she suggested a flame rather than a flower, this singularly +vital child. She loved and she hated, she played and she quarrelled with +an intensity, a singleness of aim, surprising and a little disquieting +in a creature not yet nine. She was the despair of nurses and had never +crossed swords with a governess, which was a merciful escape—for the +governess. Juvenile fiction and fairy tales she frankly scorned. Legends +of Asgard and Arthur, the virile tales of Rajputana and her warrior +chiefs, she drank in as the earth drinks dew. Roy had a secret weakness +for a happy ending—in his own phrase, "a beautiful marry." Tara's rebel +spirit rose to tragedy as a flame leaps to the stars; and there was no +lack of high tragedy in the records of Chitor—Queen of cities—thrice +sacked by Moslem invaders; deserted at last, and left in ruins—a sacred +relic of great days gone by.</p> + +<p>This morning Rajputana held the field. Lilámani, with a thrill in her +low voice, was half reading, half telling the adventures of Prithvi Raj +(King of the Earth) and his Amazon Princess, Tara—the Star of Bednore: +verily a star among women for beauty, wisdom, and courage. Many princes +were rivals for her hand; but none would she call "lord" save the man +who restored to her father the Kingdom snatched from him by an Afghan +marauder. "On the faith of a Rajput, <i>I</i> will restore it," said Prithvi +Raj. So, in the faith of a Rajputni, she married him:—and together, by +a daring device, they fulfilled her vow.</p> + +<p>Here, indeed, was Roy's 'beautiful marry,' fit prelude for the tale of +that heroic pair. For in life—Lilámani told them—marriage is the +beginning, not the end. That is only for fairy tales.</p> + +<p>And close against her shoulder, listening entranced, sat the child Tara, +with her wild-flower face and the flickering star in her heart—a +creature born out of time <a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>into an unromantic world; hands clasped round +her upraised knees, her wide eyes gazing past the bluebells and the +beech-leaves at some fanciful inner vision of it all; lost in it, as Roy +was lost in contemplation of his Mother's face....</p> + +<p>And this unorthodox fashion of imbibing knowledge in the very lap of the +Earth Mother, was Lilámani Sinclair's impracticable idea of 'giving +lessons'! Shades of Aunt Jane! Of governess and copy-books and rulers!</p> + +<p>Happily for all three, Lady Roscoe never desecrated their paradise in +the flesh. She was aware that her very regrettable sister-in-law had +'queer notions' and had flatly refused to engage a governess of high +qualifications chosen by herself; but the half was not told her. It +never is told to those who condemn on principle what they cannot +understand. At their coming all the little private gateways into the +delectable Garden of Intimacy shut with a gentle, decisive click. So it +was with Jane Roscoe, as worthy and unlikeable a woman as ever organised +a household to perfection and alienated every member of her family.</p> + +<p>The trouble was that she could not rest satisfied with this achievement. +She was afflicted with a vehement desire—she called it a sense of +duty—to organise the homes of her less capable relations. If they +resented, they were written down ungrateful. And Nevil's ingratitude had +become a byword. For Nevil Sinclair was that unaccountable, +uncomfortable thing—an artist; which is to say he was no true Sinclair, +but the son of his mother whose name he bore. No one, not even Jane, had +succeeded in organising him—nor ever would.</p> + +<p>So Lilámani carried on, unmolested, her miniature attempt at the forest +school of an earlier day. Her simple programme included a good deal more +than tales of heroism and adventure. This morning there had been +rhythmical exercises, a lively interlude of 'sums without slates' and +their poems—a great moment for Roy. Only by a superhuman effort he had +kept his treasure locked inside him for two whole days. And his mother's +surprise was genuine: not the acted surprise of grown-ups, that was so +patent and so irritating and made them look so silly. The smile in <a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>her +eyes as she listened had sent a warm tingly feeling all through him, as +if the spring sunshine itself ran in his veins. Naturally he could not +express it so; but he felt it so. And now, as he lay looking and +listening, he felt it still. The wonder of her face and her voice, and +all the many wonders that made her so beautiful, had hitherto been as +much a part of him as the air he breathed. But this morning, in some dim +way, things were different—and he could not tell why....</p> + +<p>His own puzzled thoughts and her face and her voice became entangled +with the chivalrous story of Prithvi Raj holding court in his hill +fortress with Tara—fit wife for a hero, since she could ride and fling +a lance and bend a bow with the best of them. When Roy caught him up, he +was in the midst of a great battle with his uncle, who had broken out in +rebellion against the old Rana of Chitor.</p> + +<p>"All day long they were fighting, and all night long they were lying +awake beside great watch-fires, waiting till there came dawn to fight +again...."</p> + +<p>His mother was telling, not reading now. He knew it at once from the +change in her tone.</p> + +<p>"And when evening came, what did Prithvi Raj? He was carelessly +strolling over to the enemy's camp, carelessly walking into his Uncle's +tent to ask if he is well, in spite of many wounds. And his uncle, full +of surprise, made answer: 'Quite well, my child, since I have the +pleasure to see you.' And when he heard that Prithvi had come even +before eating any dinner, he gave orders for food: and they two, who +were all day seeking each other's life, sat there together eating from +one plate.</p> + +<p>"'In the morning we will end our battle, Uncle,' said Prithvi Raj, when +time came to go.</p> + +<p>"'Very well, child, come early,' said Surájmul.</p> + +<p>"So Prithvi Raj came early and put his Uncle's whole army to flight. But +that was not enough. He must be driven from the kingdom. So when Prithvi +heard that broken army was hiding in the depths of a mighty forest, +there he went with his bravest horsemen, and suddenly, on a dark night, +sprang into their midst. Then there was great shouting and fighting; and +soon they came together, uncle and nephew, striking at each <a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>other, yet +never hating, though they must make battle because of Chitor and the +Kingdom of Mewar.</p> + +<p>"To none would Suráj yield, but only to Prithvi, bravest of the brave. +So suddenly in a loud voice he cried—'Stay the fight, nephew. If I am +killed, no great matter. But if <i>you</i> are killed, what will become of +Chitor? I would bear shame for ever.'</p> + +<p>"By those generous words he made submission greater than victory. Uncle +and nephew embraced, heart to heart, and all those who had been fighting +each other sat down together in peace, because Surájmul, true Rajput, +could not bring harm, even in anger, upon the sacred city of Chitor."</p> + +<p>She paused—her eyes on Roy, who had lost his own puzzling sensations in +the clash of the fight and its chivalrous climax.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I love it," he said. "Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"No, there is more."</p> + +<p>"Is it sad?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head at him—smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Roy. It is sad."</p> + +<p>He wrinkled his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! I like it to end the nice way."</p> + +<p>"But I am not making tales, Sonling. I am telling history."</p> + +<p>Tara's head nudged her shoulder. "<i>Go</i> on—please," she murmured, +resenting interruptions.</p> + +<p>So Lilámani—still looking at Roy—told how Prithvi Raj went on his last +quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief, who had married his sister and +was ill-treating her.</p> + +<p>"In answer to her cry he went; and climbing her palace walls in the +night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving prince. But when +penance was over, his noble nature was ready, like before, to embrace +and be friends. Only that mean one, not able to kill him in battle, put +poison in the sweets he gave at parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking +no harm. So when he came on the hill near his palace the evil work was +done. Helpless he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might +see her before death. But even that could not be. And she, loyal wife, +had only one thought in her heart. 'Can the blossom live when the tree +is cut <a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>down?' Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping warriors build +up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her own hand. Then, before +them all, she climbed on that couch of fire and went through the leaping +scorching flames to meet her lord——"</p> + +<p>The low clear voice fell silent—and the silence stayed. The vague +thrill of a tragedy they could hardly grasp laid a spell upon the +children. It made Roy feel as he did in Church, when the deepest notes +of the organ quivered through him; and it brought a lump in his throat, +which must be manfully swallowed down on account of being a boy....</p> + +<p>And suddenly the spell was broken by the voice of Roger the footman, who +had approached noiselessly along the mossy track.</p> + +<p>"If you please, m'lady, Sir Nevil sent word as Lord and Lady Roscoe 'ave +arrived unexpected; and if convenient, can you come in?"</p> + +<p>They all started visibly and their dream-world of desert and rose-red +mountains and battle-fields and leaping flames shivered like a +soap-bubble at the touch of a careless hand.</p> + +<p>Lilámani rose, gentle and dignified. "Thank you, Roger. Tell Sir Nevil I +am coming."</p> + +<p>Roy suppressed a groan. The mere mention of Aunt Jane made one feel +vaguely guilty. To his nimble fancy it was almost as if her very person +had invaded their sanctuary, in her neat hard coat and skirt and her +neat hard summer hat with its one fierce wing, that, disdaining the +tenderness of curves, seemed to stab the air, as her eyes so often +seemed to stab Roy's hyper-sensitive brain.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" he sighed. "Will they stop for lunch?"</p> + +<p>"I expect so."</p> + +<p>He wrinkled his nose in a wicked grimace.</p> + +<p>"Bad boy!" said Lilámani's lips, but her eyes said other things. He +knew, and she knew that he knew how, in her heart, she shared his innate +antagonism. Was it not of her own bestowing—a heritage of certain +memories—ineffaceable, unforgiveable—during her early days of +marriage? But in spite of that mutual knowledge, Roy was never allowed +to speak disrespectfully of his formidable aunt.<a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a></p> + +<p>"You can stay out and play till half-past twelve, not one minute later," +she said—and left them to their own delectable devices.</p> + +<p>Roy had been promoted to a silver watch on his eighth birthday, so he +could be relied on; and he still enjoyed a private sense of importance +when the fact was recognised.</p> + +<p>Left alone they had only to pick up the threads of their game; a sort of +interminable serial story, in which they lived and moved and had their +being. But first Tara—in her own person—had a piece of news to impart. +Hunching up her knees, she tilted back her head till it touched the +satin-grey hole of the tree and all her hair lay shimmering against it +like a stream of pale sunshine.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" she nodded at Roy with her elfin smile. "We've got +a Boy-on-a-visit and his mother, from India. They came last night. He's +rather a large boy."</p> + +<p>"Is he nine?" Roy asked, standing up very straight and slim, a defensive +gleam in his eye.</p> + +<p>"He's ten and a half. And he looks bigger'n that. He goes to school. And +he's been quite a lot in India."</p> + +<p>"Not my India."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. He called it 'Mballa. That letter I brought from Mummy +was asking if she could bring them for tea."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't want him for tea. I don't like your Boy-on-a-visit. I'll +tell Mummy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roy—you mustn't." She made reproachful eyes at him. "Coz then <i>I</i> +couldn't come. And he's quite nice—only rather lumpy. And you can't not +like someb'dy you've never seen."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> can, I often do." The possibility had only just occurred to him. He +saw it as a distinction and made the most of it. "Course if you're going +to make a fuss——"</p> + +<p>Tara's eyes opened wider still. "Oh, Roy, you <i>are</i>——! 'Tisn't me +that's making fusses."</p> + +<p>Though Roy knew nothing as yet about woman and the last word, he +instinctively took refuge in the masculine dignity that spurns descent +to the dusty arena when it feels defeat in the air.</p> + +<p>"Girls don't never fuss—do they?" he queried <a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>suavely. "Let's get on +with the Game and not bother about your Boy-of-ten."</p> + +<p>"And a half," Tara insisted tactlessly, with her sweetest smile. But +when Roy chose to be impassive pin-pricks were thrown away on him.</p> + +<p>"Where'd we stop?" he mused, ignoring her remark. "Oh—I know. The +Knight was going forth to quest the Elephant with golden tusks for the +High Tower Princess who wanted them in her crown. Why <i>do</i> Princesses +always want what the knights can't find?"</p> + +<p>Tara's feminine intuition leaped at a solution.</p> + +<p>"I 'spec it's just to show off they are Princesses and to keep the +Knights from bothering round.—So away he went and the Princess climbed +up to her highest tower and waved her lily hand——"</p> + +<p>In the same breath she, Tara, sprang to her feet and swung herself +astride a downward sweeping branch just above Roy's head. There she +perched like a slim blue flower, dangling her tan-stockinged legs and +shaking her hair at him like golden rain. She was in one of her impish +moods; reaction, perhaps,—though she knew it not—from the high tragedy +of that other Tara, her namesake, and the great greatest-possible +grandmother of her adored 'Aunt Lila.' Suddenly a fresh impulse seized +her. Clutching her bough, she leaned down and lightly ruffled his hair.</p> + +<p>He started and looked reproachful. "Don't rumple me. I'm going."</p> + +<p>"You needn't, if you don't want to," she cooed caressingly. "<i>I</i>'m going +to the tipmost top to see out over the world. And the Princess doesn't +care a bean about the Golden Tusks—truly."</p> + +<p>"She's jolly pleased with the knight that finds them," said Roy with a +deeper wisdom than he knew. "And you can't be stopped off quests that +way. Come on, Prince."</p> + +<p>At a bend in the mossy path, he looked back and she waved her lily hand.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To be alone in the deep of the wood in bluebell time was, for Roy, a +sensation by itself. In a moment, you stepped through some unseen door +straight into fairy-land—or was it a looking-glass world? For here the +<a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>sky lay all around your feet in a shimmer of bluebells: and high +overhead were domes of cool green light, where the sun came flickering +and filtering through millions of leaves. Always, as far as he could +remember, the magical feeling had been there. But this morning it came +over him in a queer way. This morning—though he could not quite make it +out—there was the Roy that felt and the Roy that knew he felt, just as +there had suddenly been when he was watching his mother's face. And this +magical world was his kingdom. In some far-off time, it would all be his +very own. That uplifting thought eclipsed every other....</p> + +<p>Lost in one of his dreaming moods, he wandered on and on, with Prince at +his heels. He forgot all about Tara and his knighthood and his quest; +till suddenly—where the trees fell apart—his eye was arrested by twin +shafts of sunlight that struck downward through the green gloom.</p> + +<p>He caught his breath and stood still. "I've <i>found</i> them! The Golden +Tusks!" he murmured ecstatically.</p> + +<p>The pity was he couldn't carry them back with him as trophies. He could +only watch them fascinated, wondering how you could explain what you +didn't understand yourself. All he knew was that they made him feel +'dazzled inside,' and he wanted to watch them more.</p> + +<p>It was beautiful out in the open with the sunshine pouring down and a +big lazy white cloud tangled in tree-tops. So he flung himself on the +moss, hands under his head, and lay there, Prince beside him, looking +up, up into the far blue, listening to the swish and rustle of the wind +talking secrets to the leaves, and all the tiny mysterious noises that +make up the silence of a wood in summer.</p> + +<p>And again he forgot about Tara and the Game and the silver watch that +made him reliable. He simply lay there in a trance-like stillness, that +was not of the West, absorbing it all, with his eyes and his dazzled +brain and with every sentient nerve in his body. And again—as when his +mother smiled her praise—the Spring sunshine itself seemed to flow +through his veins....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Suddenly he came alive and sat upright. Something <a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>was happening. The +Golden Tusks had disappeared, and the domes of cool green light and the +far blue sky and the lazy white cloud. Under the beeches it was almost +twilight—a creepy twilight, as if a giant had blown out the sun. Was it +really evening? Had he been asleep? Only his watch could answer that, +and never had he loved it more dearly. No—it was daytime. Twenty past +twelve—and he would be late——</p> + +<p>A long rumbling growl, that seemed to shudder through the wood, so +startled him that it set little hammers beating all over his body. Then +the wind grew angrier—not whispering secrets now, but tearing at the +tree-tops and lashing the branches this way and that. And every minute +the wood grew darker, and the sky overhead was darkest of all—the +colour of spilled ink. And there was Tara—his forgotten +Princess—waiting for him in her high tower; or perhaps she had given up +waiting and gone home.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Prince," he said, "we must run!"</p> + +<p>The sound of his own voice was vaguely comforting: but the moment he +began to run, he felt as if some one—or Something—was running after +him. He knew there was nothing. He knew it was babyish. But what could +you do if your legs were in a fearful hurry of their own accord? +Besides, Tara was waiting. Somehow Tara seemed the point of safety. He +didn't believe she was ever afraid——</p> + +<p>All in a moment the eerie darkness quivered and broke into startling +light. Twigs and leaves and bluebell spears and tiny patterns of moss +seemed to leap at him and vanish as he ran: and two minutes after, high +above the agitated tree-tops, the thunder spoke. No mere growl now; but +crash on crash that seemed to be tearing the sky in two and set the +little hammers inside him beating faster than ever.</p> + +<p>He had often watched storms from a window: but to be out in the very +middle of one all alone was an adventure of the first magnitude. The +grandeur and terror of it clutched at his heart and thrilled along his +nerves as the thunder went rumbling and grumbling off to the other end +of the world, leaving the wood so quiet and still that the little +hammers inside seemed almost as loud as the plop-plop of the first big +rain<a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>drops on the leaves. But, in spite of secret tremors, he wanted +tremendously to hear the thunder speak again. The childish feeling of +pursuit was gone. His legs that had been in such a fearful hurry, came +to a sudden standstill; and he discovered, to his immense surprise, that +he was back again——</p> + +<p>There lay the rug and the cushions under the downward sweeping branches +with their cascades of bright new leaves. No sign of Tara—and the heavy +drops came faster, though they hardly amounted to a shower.</p> + +<p>Flinging down bow and arrows, he ran under the tree and peered up into a +maze of silver grey and young green. Still no sign.</p> + +<p>"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?"</p> + +<p>"'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph. "I'm at the +tipmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous. Come up—quick!"</p> + +<p>Craning his neck he could just see one leg and the edge of her frock. +Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to disobey his +mother—not because it was naughty, but it was her.</p> + +<p>"I can't—now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining. You <i>must</i> +come down."</p> + +<p>"I will—if you come up."</p> + +<p>"I tell you, I can't!"</p> + +<p>"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away. I can see miles +and miles—to Farthest End."</p> + +<p>Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argument with one tan +shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock, and he wanted badly to +tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he go on alone, or should he climb +up and fetch her——?</p> + +<p>The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a rustle and +a shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down faster than she cared +about.</p> + +<p>Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!"</p> + +<p>Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that had caught +in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously—his High Tower +Princess—her hair floating like seaweed, her hands clutching at the +nearest branches that were too pliable for support. If her skirt should +tear, or the bough should break——</p> + +<p>"<i>Keep</i> stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and <a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>like a squirrel he sped +up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to him as the ground +he walked on.</p> + +<p>But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust himself on +the jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight. It looked +rather a dead one, and its sharp end was sticking through a hole in +Tara's frock. He set foot on it cautiously and proffered a hand.</p> + +<p>"Now—catch hold!" he said.</p> + +<p>Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him with both +hands. The half-dead bough, resenting these gymnastics, cracked +ominously. There was a gasp, a scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly, dragging +her nearer for a firmer foothold.</p> + +<p>And suddenly down below Prince began to bark—a deep, booming note of +welcome.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Roy!" It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering Tara up +there? Come out of it!"</p> + +<p>Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down—or to +disobey: and they proceeded to come out of it, with rather more haste +than dignity.</p> + +<p>Roy, swinging from a high branch for his final jump—a bit of pure +bravado because he felt nervous inside—discovered, with mingled terror +and joy, that his vagrant foot had narrowly shaved Aunt Jane's neat hard +summer hat: Aunt Jane—of all people—at such a moment, when you +couldn't properly explain. He half wished he <i>had</i> kicked the fierce +little feather and broken its back——</p> + +<p>He was on the ground now, shaking hands with her, his sensitive +clean-cut face a mask of mere politeness: and Tara was standing by +him—a jagged hole in her blue frock, a scratch across her cheek, and +her hair ribbon gone—looking suspiciously as if he had been trying to +murder her instead of doing her a knightly service.</p> + +<p>She couldn't help it, of course. But still—it was a distinct score for +Aunt Jane, who, as usual, went straight to the point.</p> + +<p>"You nearly kicked my head just now. A little gentleman would +apologise."</p> + +<p>He did apologise—not with the best grace.</p> + +<p>"My turn next," his father struck in. "What the dickens were you up +to—tearing slices out of my finest tree!" His twinkly eyes were almost +grave and his <a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>voice was almost stern. ("Just because of Aunt Jane!" +thought Roy.)</p> + +<p>Aloud he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. It was only ... Tara got in a +muddle. I had to help her."</p> + +<p>The twinkle came back to his father's eyes.</p> + +<p>"The woman tempted me!" was all he said; and Roy, hopelessly mystified, +wondered how he could possibly know. It was very clever of him. But Aunt +Jane seemed shocked.</p> + +<p>"Nevil, be quiet!" she commanded in a crisp undertone; and Roy, simply +hating her, pulled out his watch.</p> + +<p>"We've got to hurry, Daddy. Mother said 'not later than half-past.' And +it is later."</p> + +<p>"Scoot, then. She'll be anxious because of the storm."</p> + +<p>But though Roy, grasping Tara's hand, faithfully hurried ahead because +of mother, he managed to keep just within earshot; and he listened +shamelessly, because of Aunt Jane. You couldn't trust her. She didn't +play fair. She would bite you behind your back. That's the kind of woman +she was.</p> + +<p>And this is what he heard.</p> + +<p>"Nevil, it's perfectly disgraceful. Letting them run wild like that; +damaging the trees and scaring the birds."</p> + +<p>She meant the pheasants of course. No other winged beings were sacred in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, old girl. But they appear to survive it." (The cool good-humour +of his father's tone was balm to Roy's heart.) "And frankly, with us, if +it's a case of the children or the birds, the children win, hands down."</p> + +<p>Aunt Jane snorted. You could call it nothing else. It was a sound +peculiarly her own, and it implied unutterable things. Roy would have +gloried had he known what a score for his father was that delicately +implied identity with his wife.</p> + +<p>But the snort was no admission of defeat.</p> + +<p>"In <i>my</i> opinion—if it counts for anything," she persisted, "this +harum-scarum state of things is quite as bad for the children as for the +birds. I suppose you <i>have</i> a glimmering concern for the boy's future, +as heir to the old place?"<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a></p> + +<p>Nevil Sinclair chuckled.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! That's quite a bright idea. Really, Jane, you've a positive +flair for the obvious."</p> + +<p>(Roy hugely wanted to know what a "flair for the obvious" might be. His +eager brain pounced on new words as a dog pounces on a bone.)</p> + +<p>"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted unabashed. +"The obvious, in this case—though you can't or won't see it—is that +the boy is thoroughly spoilt, and in September he ought to go to school. +You couldn't do better than Coombe Friars."</p> + +<p>His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't catch +Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no more. What he had +heard was bad enough.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth—which +looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the spoiling.</p> + +<p>"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame. And they +hurried on in earnest.</p> + +<p>"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest. "I <i>found</i> the +Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roy, you are a wonder!" She gave his hand a convulsive squeeze and +they broke into a run.</p> + +<p>The "bits of blue" had spread half over the sky. The thunder still +grumbled to itself at intervals and a sharp little shower whipped out of +a passing cloud. Then the sun flashed through it and the shadows crept +round the great twin beeches on the lawn—and the day was as lovely as +ever again.</p> + +<p>And yet—for Roy, it was not the same loveliness. Aunt Jane's repeated +threat of school brooded over his sensitive spirit, like the +thundercloud in the wood that was the colour of spilled ink. And the +Boy-of-ten—a potential enemy—was coming to tea....</p> + +<p>Yet this morning he had felt so beautifully sure that nothing could go +wrong on a day like this! It was his first lesson, and not by any means +his last, that Fate—unmoved by 'light of smiles or tears'—is no +respecter of profound convictions or of beautiful days.<a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Man I am grown"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Man am I grown; a man's work I must do."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Tennyson</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Tara was right. The Boy-of-ten (Roy persistently ignored the half) was +rather a large boy: also rather lumpy. He had little eyes and freckles +and what Christine called a "turnip nose." He wore a very new school +blazer and real cricket trousers, with a flannel shirt and school tie +that gave Roy's tussore shirt and soft brown bow almost a girlish air. +Something in his manner and the way he aired his school slang, made +Roy—who never shone with strangers—feel "miles younger," which did not +help to put him at ease.</p> + +<p>His name was Joe Bradley. He had been in India till he was nearly eight; +and he talked about India, as he talked about school, in a rather +important voice, as befitted the only person present who knew anything +of either.</p> + +<p>Roy was quite convinced he knew nothing at all about Rajputana or Chitor +or Prithvi Raj or the sacred peacocks of Jaipur. But somehow he could +not make himself talk about these things simply for "show off," because +a strange boy, with bad manners, was putting on airs.</p> + +<p>Besides, he never much wanted to talk when he was eating, though he +could not have explained why. So he devoted his attention chiefly to a +plate of chocolate cakes, leaving the Boy-of-ten conversationally in +command of the field.</p> + +<p>He was full of a recent cricket match, and his talk bristled with such +unknown phrases as "square leg," "cover point" and "caught out." But for +some reason—pure perversity perhaps—they stirred in Roy <a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>no flicker of +curiosity, like his father's "flair for the obvious." He didn't know +what they meant—and he didn't care, which was not the least like Roy. +Tara, who owned big brothers, seemed to know all about it, or looked as +if she did; and to show you didn't understand what a girl understood, +would be the last indignity.</p> + +<p>When the cricket show-off was finished, Joe talked India and ragged +Tara, in a big-brotherly way, ignored Christine, as if five and a half +simply didn't count. That roused Roy; and by way of tacit rebuke, he +bestowed such marked attention on his small sister, that Christine (who +adored him, and was feeling miserably shy) sparkled like a dewdrop when +the sun flashes out.</p> + +<p>She was a tiny creature, exquisitely proportioned; fair, like her +father, yet in essence a replica of her mother, with the same wing-like +brows and dark limpid eyes. Dimly jealous of Tara, she was the only one +of the three who relished the presence of the intruder and wished +strange boys oftener came to tea.</p> + +<p>Millicent, the nursery-maid, presided. She was tall and smiling and +obviously a lady. She watched and listened and said little during the +meal.</p> + +<p>Once, in the course of it, Lilámani came in and hovered round them, +filling Roy's tea-cup, spreading Christine's honey—extra thick. Her +Eastern birthright of service, her joy in waiting on those she loved, +had survived ten years of English marriage, and would survive ten more. +It was as much an essential part of her as the rhythm of her pulses and +the blood in her veins.</p> + +<p>She was no longer the apple-blossom vision of the morning. She wore her +mother-o'-pearl sari with its narrow gold border. Her dress, that was +the colour of a dove's wing, shimmered changefully as she moved, and her +aquamarine pendant gleamed like drops of sea water on its silver chain.</p> + +<p>Roy loved her in the mother-o'-pearl mood best of all; and he saw, with +a throb of pride, how the important Boy-from-India seemed too absorbed +in watching her even to show off. She did not stay many minutes and she +said very little. She was still, by preference, quiet during a meal; and +it gave her a secret thrill of pleasure to see the habit of her own race +reappearing as an instinct in Roy. So, with merely a word or two, she +just smiled <a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>at them and gave them things and patted their heads. And +when she was gone, Roy felt better. The scales had swung even again. +What was a school blazer and twenty runs at cricket, compared with the +glory of having a mother like that?</p> + +<p>But if tea was not much fun, after tea was worse.</p> + +<p>They were told to run and play in the garden; and obediently they ran +out, dog and all. But what <i>could</i> you play at with a superior being who +had made twenty runs not out, in a House Match—whatever that might be? +They showed him their ring-doves and their rabbits; but he didn't even +pretend to be interested, though Tara did her best, because it was she +who had brought this infliction on Roy.</p> + +<p>"How about the summer-house?" she suggested, hopefully. For the +summer-house locker contained an assortment of old tennis-bats, mallets +and balls, that might prove more stimulating than rabbits and doves. Roy +offered no objection; so they straggled across a corner of the lawn to a +narrower strip behind the tall yew hedge.</p> + +<p>The grown-ups were gathered under the twin beeches; and away at the far +end of the lawn Roy's mother and Tara's mother were strolling up and +down in the sun.</p> + +<p>Again Roy noticed how Joe Bradley stared: and as they rounded the corner +of the hedge he remarked suddenly "I say! There's that swagger ayah of +yours walking with Lady Despard. She's jolly smart, for an ayah. Did you +bring her from India? You never said you'd been there."</p> + +<p>Roy started and went hot all over. "Well, I <i>have</i>—just on a visit. And +she's <i>not</i> an ayah. She's my Mummy!"</p> + +<p>Joe Bradley opened his mouth as well as his eyes, which made him look +plainer than ever.</p> + +<p>"Golly! what a tale! White people don't have ayahs for Mothers—not in +my India. I s'pose your Pater married her out there?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't. And I tell you she's <i>not</i> an ayah."</p> + +<p>Roy's low voice quivered with anger. It was as if ten thousand little +flames had come alight inside him. But you had to try and be polite to +visitors; so he added <a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>with a virtuous effort: "She's a really and truly +Princess—so there!"</p> + +<p>But that unspeakable boy, instead of being impressed, laughed in the +rudest way.</p> + +<p>"Don't excite, you silly kid. I'm not as green as you are. Besides—who +cares——?"</p> + +<p>It flashed on Roy, through the blur of his bewildered rage, that perhaps +the Boy-from-India was jealous. He tried to speak. Something clutched at +his throat; but instinct told him he had a pair of hands....</p> + +<p>To the utter amazement of Tara, and of the enemy, he silently sprang at +the bigger boy; grabbed him unscientifically by the knot of his superior +neck-tie and hit out, with more fury than precision, at cheeks and eyes +and nose——</p> + +<p>For a few exciting seconds he had it all his own way. Then the +enemy—recovered from the first shock of surprise—spluttered wrathfully +and hit out in return. He had weight in his favour. He tried to bend Roy +backwards; and failing began to kick viciously wherever he could get at +him. It hurt rather badly and made Roy angrier than ever. In a white +heat of rage, he shook and pummelled, regardless of choking sounds and +fingers clutching at his hair....</p> + +<p>Tara, half excited and half frightened, could only grab Prince's collar, +to keep him from rushing into the fray; and when Joe started kicking, it +was all she could do not to let him go. But she knew Athol—her dearest +brother—would say it wasn't fair play. So she tugged, and Prince +tugged; while the boys, fiercely silent, rocked to and fro; and +Christine sobbed piteously—"He's hurting Roy—he's <i>killing</i> Roy!"</p> + +<p>Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out: "Don't be a baby, +Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine simply didn't +believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It mightn't be his, but +still——</p> + +<p>It made even Tara feel rather sick; and when a young gardener appeared +on the scene she called out: "Oh, Mudford, do stop them—or something'll +happen."</p> + +<p>But Mudford—British to the bone—would do nothing of the kind. He saw +at once that Roy was getting the better of an opponent nearly twice his +weight; and <a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>setting down his barrow he shamelessly applauded his young +master.</p> + +<p>By now, the enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the brand-new +blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you little beast!" But Roy, +fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder.</p> + +<p>"'Pologise—'pologise! Say she isn't!"</p> + +<p>His forward jerk on the words took Joe unawares. The edge of the lawn +tripped him up and they rolled on the grass, Joe undermost in a close +embrace——</p> + +<p>And at that critical moment there came strolling round the corner of the +hedge a group of grown-ups—Sir Nevil Sinclair with Mrs Bradley, Lady +Roscoe, Lady Despard and Roy's godfather, the distinguished novelist, +Cuthbert Broome.</p> + +<p>Mudford and his barrow departed; and Tara looked appealingly at her +mother.</p> + +<p>Roy—intent on the prostrate foe—suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder +and heard his father's voice say sharply: "Get up, Roy, and explain +yourself!"</p> + +<p>They got up, both of them—and stood there, looking shy and stupefied +and very much the worse for wear:—hair ruffled, faces discoloured, +shirts torn open. One of Roy's stockings was slipping down; and, in the +midst of his confused sensations, he heard the excited voice of Mrs +Bradley urgently demanding to know what her "poor dear boy" could have +done to be treated like that.</p> + +<p>No one seemed to answer her; and the poor dear boy was too busy +comforting his nose to take much interest in the proceedings.</p> + +<p>Lady Despard (you could tell at a glance she was Tara's mother) was on +her knees comforting Christine; and as Roy's senses cleared, he saw with +a throb of relief that his mother was not there. But Aunt Jane was—and +Uncle Cuthbert——</p> + +<p>He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless silence, full +of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving him a few seconds to +recover himself.</p> + +<p>Then: "What do you mean by it, Roy?" he asked; and this time his voice +was really stern. It hurt more than the bruises. "Gentlemen don't hammer +their guests." This was an unexpected blow. And it wasn't <a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>fair. How +could he explain before "all those"? His cheeks were burning, his head +was aching; and tears, that must not be allowed to fall, were pricking +like needles under his lids.</p> + +<p>It was Tara who spoke—still clutching Prince, lest he overwhelm Roy and +upset his hardly maintained dignity.</p> + +<p>"Joe made him angry—he <i>did</i>," she thrust in with feminine +officiousness; and was checked by her mother's warning finger.</p> + +<p>Mrs Bradley—long and thin and beaky—bore down upon her battered son, +who edged away sullenly from proffered caresses.</p> + +<p>Sir Nevil, not daring to meet the humorous eye of Cuthbert Broome—still +contemplated the dishevelled dignity of his own small son—half puzzled, +half vexed.</p> + +<p>"You've done it now, Roy. Say you're sorry," he prompted; his voice a +shade less stern than he intended.</p> + +<p>Roy shook his head.</p> + +<p>"It's him to say—not me."</p> + +<p>"Did he begin it?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Of course he didn't," snapped the injured mother. "He's been properly +brought up," which was not exactly polite, but she was beside +herself—simply an irate mother-creature, all beak and ruffled feathers. +"You deserve to be whipped. You've hurt him badly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up, mother," Joe murmured behind his sanguinary handkerchief, +edging still further away from maternal fussings and possible catechism.</p> + +<p>Nevil Sinclair saw clearly that his son would neither apologise nor +explain. At heart he suspected young Bradley, if only on account of his +insufferable mother, but the laws of hospitality must be upheld.</p> + +<p>"Go to your own room, Roy," he said with creditable severity, "and stay +there till I come."</p> + +<p>Roy gave him one look—mutely reproachful. Then—to every one's surprise +and Tara's delight—he walked straight up to the Enemy.</p> + +<p>"I <i>did</i> hammer hardest. 'Pologise!"</p> + +<p>The older boy mumbled something suspiciously like the fatal word: a +suspicion confirmed by Roy's next <a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>remark: "I'm sorry your blazer's +spoilt. But you made me."</p> + +<p>And the elders, watching with amused approbation, had no inkling that +the words were spoken not by Roy Sinclair but by Prithvi Raj.</p> + +<p>The Enemy, twice humbled, answered nothing; and Roy,—his dignity +unimpaired by such trifles as a lump on his cheek, a dishevelled tie and +one stocking curled lovingly round his ankle—walked leisurely away, +with never a glance in the direction of the "grown-ups," who had no +concern whatever with this—the most important event of his life——</p> + +<p>Tara—torn between wrath and admiration—watched him go. In her eyes he +was a hero, a victim of injustice and the density of grown-ups.</p> + +<p>She promptly released Prince, who bounded after his master. She wanted +to go too. It was all her fault, bringing that horrid boy to tea. She +did hope Roy would explain things properly. But boys were stupid +sometimes and she wanted to make sure. While her mother was tactfully +suggesting a homeward move, she slipped up to Sir Nevil and insinuated a +small hand into his.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Nevil, <i>do</i> believe," she whispered urgently. "Truly it isn't +fair——"</p> + +<p>His quick frown warned her to say no more; but the pressure of his hand +comforted her a little.</p> + +<p>All the same she hated going home. She hated 'that putrid boy'—a +forbidden adjective; but what else <i>could</i> you call him? She was glad he +would be gone the day after to-morrow. She was even more glad his nose +was bleeding and his eye bunged up and his important blazer all +bloodied. Girl though she was, there ran a fiercer strain in her than in +Roy.</p> + +<p>As they moved off, she had an inspiration. She was given that way.</p> + +<p>"Mummy darling," she said in her small clear voice, "mayn't I stay back +a little and play with Chris. She's <i>so</i> unhappy. Alice could fetch +me—couldn't she? Please."</p> + +<p>The innocent request was underlined by an unmistakable glance through +her lashes at Joe. She wanted him to hear; and she didn't care if he +understood—him and <a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>his beaky mother! Clearly her own Mummy understood. +She was nibbling her lips, trying not to smile.</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear," she said. "I'll send Alice at half-past six. Run +along."</p> + +<p>Tara gave her hand a grateful little squeeze—and ran.</p> + +<p>She would have hated the "beaky mother" worse than ever could she have +heard her remark to Lady Despard, when they were alone.</p> + +<p>"Really, a most obstinate, ungoverned child. His mother, of course—a +very pretty creature—but what can you expect? Natives always ruin +boys."</p> + +<p>Lady Despard—Lilámani Sinclair's earliest champion and friend—could be +trusted to deal effectually with a remark of that quality.</p> + +<p>As for Tara—once "the creatures" were out of sight they were extinct. +All the embryo mother in her was centred on Roy. It was a shame sending +him to his room, like a naughty boy, when he was really a champion, a +King-Arthur's-Knight. But if only he properly explained, Uncle Nevil +would surely understand——</p> + +<p>And suddenly there sprang a dilemma. How could Roy make himself repeat +to Uncle Nevil the rude remarks of that abominable boy? And if not—how +was he going <a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>to properly explain——?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="What a great day came"> +<tr><td align='left'>"What a great day came and passed;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Unknown then, but known at last."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>That very problem was puzzling Roy as he lay on his bed, with Prince's +head against his shoulder, aching a a good deal, exulting at thought of +his new-born knighthood, wondering how long he was to be treated like a +sinner,—and, through it all, simply longing for his mother....</p> + +<p>It was the conscious craving for her sympathy, her applause, that +awakened him to his dilemma.</p> + +<p>He had championed her with all his might against that lumpy +Boy-of-ten,—who kicked in the meanest way; and he couldn't explain why, +so she couldn't know ever. The memory of those insulting words hurt him +so that he shrank from repeating them to anyone—least of all to her. +Yet how could he see her and feel her and not tell her everything? She +would surely ask—she would want to know—and then—when he tried to +think beyond that point he felt simply lost.</p> + +<p>It was an <i>impasse</i> none the less tragic because he was only nine. To +tell her every little thing was as simple a necessity of life as eating +or sleeping; and—till this bewildering moment—as much a matter of +course. For Lilámani Sinclair, with her Eastern mother-genius, had +forged between herself and her first-born a link woven of the tenderest, +most subtle fibres of heart and spirit; a link so vital, yet so +unassertive, that it bid fair to stand the strain of absence, the test +of time. So close a link with any human heart, while it makes for +beauty, makes also for pain and perplexity,—as Roy was just realising +to his dismay.<a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a></p> + +<p>At the sound of footsteps he sat up, suddenly very much aware of his +unheroic dishevelment. He tugged at the fallen stocking and made hasty +dabs at his hair. But it was only Esther the housemaid with an envelope +on a tray. Envelopes, however, were always mysterious and exciting.</p> + +<p>His name was scribbled on this one in Tara's hand; and as Esther +retreated he opened it, wondering....</p> + +<p>It contained a half-sheet of note-paper, and between the folds lay a +circle of narrow blue ribbon plaited in three strands. But only two of +the strands were ribbon; the third was a tress of her gleaming hair. Roy +gazed at it a moment, lost in admiration, still wondering; then he +glanced at Tara's letter—not scrawled, but written with laboured +neatness and precision.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class='smcap'>Dear Roy</span>,—It was splendid. You are Prithvi Raj. I am + sending you the bangel like Aunt Lila told us. It can't be gold or + jewels. But I pulled the ribbin out of my petticote and put in sum + of my hair to make it spangly. So now you are Braselet Bound + Brother. Don't forget. From <span class='smcap'>Tara</span>."</p> + +<p> "I hope you aren't hurting much. Do splain to Uncle Nevil properly + and come down soon. I am hear playing with Chris. <span class='smcap'>Tara.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>Roy sat looking from the letter to the bangle with a distinctly pleasant +kind of mixed-up feeling inside. He was so surprised, so comforted, so +elated by this tribute from his High Tower Princess, who was an exacting +person in the matter of heroes. Now—besides being a Knight and a +champion he was Bracelet-Bound Brother as well.</p> + +<p>Only the other day his mother had told them a tale about this old custom +of bracelet-sending in Rajputana:—how, on a certain holy day, any +woman—married or not married—may send her bracelet token to any man. +If he accepts it, and sends in return an embroidered bodice, he becomes +from that hour her bracelet brother, vowed to her service, like a +Christian Knight in the days of chivalry. The bracelet may be of gold or +jewels or even of silk interwoven with spangles—like Tara's impromptu +token. The two who are bracelet-bound <a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>might possibly never meet face to +face. Yet she, who sends, may ask of him who accepts, any service she +pleases; and he may not deny it—even though it involve the risk of his +life.</p> + +<p>The ancient custom, she told them, still holds good, though it has +declined in use, like all things chivalrous, in an age deafened by the +clamour of industrial strife; an age grown blind to the beauty of +service, that, in defiance of "progress," still remains the keynote of +an Indian woman's life.</p> + +<p>So these privileged children had heard much of it, through the medium of +Lilámani's Indian tales; and this particular one had made a deeper +impression on Tara than on Roy; perhaps because the budding woman in her +relished the power of choice and command it conferred on her own sex. +Certainly no thought of possible future commands dawned on Roy. It was +her pride in his achievement, so characteristically expressed that +flattered his incipient masculine vanity and added a cubit to his +stature. He knew now what he meant to be when he grew up. Not a painter, +or a soldier or a gardener—but a Bracelet-Bound Brother....</p> + +<p>Gingerly, almost shyly, he slipped over his hand the deftly woven, +trifle of ribbon and gleaming hair. As the first glow of pleasure +subsided, there sprang the instinctive thought—"Won't Mummy be +pleased!" And straightway he was caught afresh in the toils of his +dilemma—How could he possibly explain——?</p> + +<p>What was she doing? Why didn't she come——?</p> + +<p>There——! His ear caught far-off footsteps—too heavy for hers. He +slipped off the Bracelet, folded it in Tara's letter and tucked it away +inside his shirt.</p> + +<p>Hurriedly—a little nervously—he tied his brown bow and got upon his +feet, just as the door opened and his father came in.</p> + +<p>"<i>Well</i>, Roy!" he said, and for a few seconds he steadily regarded his +small son with eyes that tried very hard to be grave and judicial. +Scoldings and assertions of authority were not in his line: and the tug +at his heart-strings was peculiarly strong in the case of Roy. Fair +himself, as the boy was dark, their intrinsic likeness of form and +feature was yet so striking that there were moments—as now—when it +gave Nevil<a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a> Sinclair an eerie sense of looking into his own eyes,—which +was awkward, as he had come steeled for chastisement, if needs must, +though his every instinct revolted from the mutual indignity. He had +only once inflicted it on Roy for open defiance in one of his stormy +ebullitions of temper; and, at this moment, he did not seem to see a +humble penitent before him.</p> + +<p>"What have you got to say for yourself?" he went on, hoping the pause +had been impressive; strongly suspecting it had been nothing of the +kind. "Gentlemen, as I told you, don't hammer their guests. It was +rather a bad hammering, to judge from his handkerchief. And you don't +look particularly sorry about it either."</p> + +<p>"I'm not—not one littlest bit."</p> + +<p>This was disconcerting; but Nevil held his ground.</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose I've got to whack you. If boys aren't sorry for their +sins, it's the only way."</p> + +<p>Roy's eyelids flickered a little.</p> + +<p>"You better not," he said with the same impersonal air of conviction. +"You see, it wouldn't make me sorry. And you don't hurt badly. Not half +as much as Joe did. He was mean. He kicked. I wouldn't have stopped, all +the same—if <i>you</i> hadn't come."</p> + +<p>The note of reproach was more disconcerting than ever.</p> + +<p>"Well, if whacking's no use, what am I to do with you? Shut you up here +till bedtime—eh?"</p> + +<p>Roy considered that dismal proposition, with his eyes on the summer +world outside.</p> + +<p>"Well—you can if you like. But it wouldn't be fair." A pause. "You +don't know what a horrid boy he was, Daddy. <i>You'd</i> have hit him +harder—even if he <i>was</i> a guest."</p> + +<p>"I wonder!" Nevil fatally admitted. "Of course it would all depend on +the provocation."</p> + +<p>"What's 'provication'?"</p> + +<p>The instant alertness, over a new word, brought back the smile to +Nevil's eyes.</p> + +<p>"It means—saying or doing something bad enough to make it right for you +to be angry."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was bad enough. It was"—a portentous pause—"about Mummy."</p> + +<p>"About Mummy?" The sharp change in his father's tone was at once +startling and comforting. "Look here,<a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a> Roy. No more mysteries. This is +my affair as much as yours. Come here."</p> + +<p>Pulling a bedside chair near the window, he sat down and drew Roy close +to him, taking his shoulders between his hands.</p> + +<p>"Now then, old boy, tell me just exactly what happened—as man to man."</p> + +<p>The appeal was irresistible. But—how could he——? The very change in +his father's manner made the telling at once more difficult and more +urgent.</p> + +<p>"Daddy—it hurts too much. I don't know how to say it——" he faltered, +and the blood tingled in his cheeks.</p> + +<p>If Nevil Sinclair was not a stern father, neither was he a very +demonstrative one. Even his closest relations were tinged with something +of the artist's detachment, and innate respect for the individual even +in embryo. But at sight of Roy's distress and delicacy of feeling, his +heart melted in him. Without a word, he slipped an arm round the boy's +shoulder and drew him closer still.</p> + +<p>"That better, eh? You've got to pull it through, somehow," he said +gently, so holding him that Roy could, if he chose, nestle against him. +He did choose. It might be babyish; but he hated telling: and it was a +wee bit easier with his face hidden. So, in broken phrases and in a +small voice that quivered with anger revived—he told.</p> + +<p>While he was telling, his father said nothing; and when it was over, he +still said nothing. He seemed to be looking out of the window, and Roy +felt him draw one big breath.</p> + +<p>"Have you got to whack me—now, Daddy?" he asked, still in his small +voice.</p> + +<p>His father's hand closed on his arm. "No. You were right, Roy," he said. +"I would have hit harder. Ill-mannered little beast! All the same——"</p> + +<p>A pause. He, no less than Roy, found speech difficult. He had fancied +himself, by now, inured to this kind of jar—so frequent in the early +years of his daringly unconventional marriage. It seemed he was +mistaken. He had been vaguely on edge all the afternoon. What young Joe +had rudely blurted out, Mrs Bradley's manner had tacitly expressed. He +had succeeded in smothering his <a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>own sensations, only to be confronted +with the effect of it all on Roy—who must somehow be made to +understand.</p> + +<p>"The fact is, old man," he went on, trying to speak in his normal voice, +"young Bradley and a good many of his betters spend years in India +without coming to know very much about the real people over there. +You'll understand why when you're older. They all have Indians for +servants, and they see Indians working in shops and villages, just like +plenty of our people do here. But they don't often meet many of the +other sort—like Mummy and Grandfather and Uncle Rama—except sometimes +in England. And then—they make stupid mistakes—just because they don't +know better. But they needn't be rude about it, like Joe; and I'm glad +you punched him—hard."</p> + +<p>"So'm I. Fearfully glad." He stood upright now, his head erect:—proud +of his father's approval, and being treated as "man to man." "But, +Daddy—what are we going to do ... about Mummy? I <i>do</i> want her to know +... it was for her. But I <i>couldn't</i> tell—what Joe said. Could you?"</p> + +<p>Nevil shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Then—what?"</p> + +<p>"You leave it to me, Roy. I'll make things clear without repeating Joe's +rude remarks. She'd have been up before this; but <i>I</i> had to see you +first—because of the whacking!" His eye twinkled. "She's longing to get +at your bruises——"</p> + +<p>"Oh nev' mind my bruises. They're all right now."</p> + +<p>"And beautiful to behold!" He lightly touched the lump on Roy's cheek. +"I'd let her dab them, though. Women love fussing over us when we're +hurt—especially if we've been fighting for them!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—they do," Roy agreed gravely; and to his surprise, his father drew +him close and kissed his forehead.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>His mother did not keep him waiting long. First the quick flutter of her +footsteps; then the door gently opened—and she flew to him, her sari +blowing out in beautiful curves. Then he was in her arms, gathered <a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>into +her silken softness and the faint scent of sandalwood; while her lips, +light as butterfly wings, caressed the bruise on his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a bad, wicked Sonling!" she murmured, gathering him close.</p> + +<p>He loved her upside-down fashion of praise and endearment; never +guessing its Eastern significance—to avert the watchfulness of jealous +gods swift to spy out our dearest treasures, that hinder detachment, and +snatch them from us. "Such a big rude boy—and you tried to kill him +only because he did not understand your queer kind of mother! That you +will find often, Roy; because it is not custom. Everywhere it is the +same. For some kind of people not to be like custom is much worse than +not to be good. And that boy has a mother too much like custom. Not +surprising if he didn't understand."</p> + +<p>"I made him though—I did," Roy exulted shamelessly, marvelling at his +father's cleverness, wondering how much he had told. "I hammered hard. +And I'm not sorry a bit. Nor Daddy isn't either."</p> + +<p>For answer she gave him a convulsive little squeeze—and felt the +crackle of paper under his shirt. "Something hidden there! What is it, +Sonling?" she asked with laughing eyes: and suddenly shyness overwhelmed +him. For the moment he had forgotten his treasure; and now he was +wondering if he could show it—even to her.</p> + +<p>"It is Tara—I think it's rather a secret——" he began.</p> + +<p>"But I may see?" Then as he still hesitated, she added with grave +tenderness: "Only if you are wishing it, son of my heart. To-day—you +are a man."</p> + +<p>From his father that recognition had been sufficiently uplifting. And +now—from her...! The subtle flattery of it and the deeper prompting of +his own heart demolished his budding attempt at reserve.</p> + +<p>"I am—truly," he said: and she, sitting where his father had sat, +unfolded Tara's letter—and the bangle lay revealed.</p> + +<p>Roy had not guessed how surprised she would be—and how pleased! She +gave a little quick gasp and murmured something he could not catch. Then +she looked at him <a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>with shining eyes, and her voice had its low serious +note that stirred him like music.</p> + +<p>"Now—you are Bracelet-Bound, my son. So young!"</p> + +<p>Roy felt a throb of pride. It was clearly a fine thing to be.</p> + +<p>"Must I give a 'broidered bodice'?"</p> + +<p>"I will broider a bodice—the most beautiful; and you shall give it. +Remember, Roy, it is not a little matter. It is for always."</p> + +<p>"Even when I'm a grown-up man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, even then. If she shall ask from you any service, you must not +refuse—ever."</p> + +<p>Roy wrinkled his forehead. He had forgotten that part of it. Tara might +ask anything. You couldn't tell with girls. He had a moment of +apprehension.</p> + +<p>"But, Mummy, I don't think—Tara didn't mean all that. It's only—our +sort of game of play——"</p> + +<p>Unerringly she read his thoughts, and shook her head at him with smiling +eyes, as when he made naughty faces about Aunt Jane.</p> + +<p>"Too sacred thing for only game of play, Roy. By keeping the bracelet, +you are bound." Her smile deepened. "You were not afraid of the big rude +boy. Yet you are just <i>so</i> much afraid—for Tara." She indicated the +amount with the rose-pink tip of her smallest finger. "Tara—almost like +sister—would never ask anything that could be wrong to do."</p> + +<p>At this gentle rebuke he flushed and held his head a shade higher.</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid, Mummy. And I will keep the bracelet—and I <i>am</i> bound."</p> + +<p>"That is my brave son."</p> + +<p>"She said—I am Prithvi Raj."</p> + +<p>"She said true." Her hand caressed his hair. "Now you can run down and +tell you are forgiven."</p> + +<p>"You too, Mummy?"</p> + +<p>"In a little time. Not just now. But see——" Her brows flew up. "I was +coming to mend your poor bruises!"</p> + +<p>"I haven't got any bruises."</p> + +<p>The engaging touch of swagger delighted her. A man to-day—in very deed. +Her gaze dwelt upon him. It <a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>was as if she looked through the eyes of +her husband into the heart of her son.</p> + +<p>Gravely she entered into his mood.</p> + +<p>"That is good. Then we will just make you tidy—and one littlest dab for +this not-bruise on your cheek."</p> + +<p>So much he graciously permitted: then he ran off to receive the ovation +awaiting him from Tara and Chris.<a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The bosom is endeared"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Thy bosom is endearéd with all hearts,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">For there reigns love, and all love's loving parts."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Shakspere</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Women are not only deities of the household fire, but the flame of + the soul itself."—<span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Left to herself, Lilámani moved back to the window with her innate, +deliberate grace. There she sat down again, very still, resting her +cheek on her hand; drinking in the serenity, the translucent stillness +of clear green spaces robed in early evening light, like a bride arrayed +for the coming of her lord. The higher tree-tops were haloed with glory. +Young leaves of beeches and poplars gleamed like minted gold; and on the +lawn, the great twin beeches cast a stealthily encroaching continent of +shadow. Among the shrubs, under her window, birds were trilling out +their ecstasy of welcome to the sun, in his Hour of Union with +Earth—the Divine Mother, of whom every human mother is, in Eastern +eyes, a part, a symbol, however imperfect.</p> + +<p>Yet, beneath her carven tranquillity, heart and spirit were deeply +stirred. For all Nevil's skill in editing the tale of Roy's +championship, she had read his hidden thoughts as unerringly as she had +divined Mrs Bradley's curiosity and faint hostility beneath the veneer +of good manners, not yet imparted to her son.</p> + +<p>Helen Despard—wife of a retired Lieut.-Governor—had scores of +Anglo-Indian friends; but not all of them shared her enthusiasm for +India,—her sympathetic understanding of its peoples. Lilámani had too +soon discovered that the ardent declaration, "I love India," was apt to +mean merely that the speaker loved riding and dancing and sunshine and +vast spaces, with 'the <a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>real India' for a dim effective background. And +by now, she could almost tell at a glance which were the right and which +the wrong kind of Anglo-Indian, so far as she and Nevil were concerned. +It was not like Helen to inflict the wrong kind on her; but it had all +been Mrs Bradley's doing. She had been tactlessly insistent in her +demand to see the beautiful old garden and the famous artist-Baronet, +who had so boldly flouted tradition. Helen's lame excuses had been +airily dismissed, and the discourtesy of a point-blank refusal was +beyond her.</p> + +<p>She had frankly explained matters to her beloved Lilámani as they +strolled together on the lawn, while Roy was enlightening Joe on the +farther side of the yew hedge.</p> + +<p>His championship had moved her more profoundly than she dared let him +see without revealing all she knew. For the same reason, she could not +show Nevil her full appreciation of his tact and delicacy. How +useless—trying to hide his thoughts—he ought to know by now: but how +beautiful—how endearing!</p> + +<p>That she, who had boldly defied all gods and godlings, all claims of +caste and family, should have reaped so rich a harvest——! For +her—high priestess of the inner life—that was the miracle of miracles: +scarcely less so to-day than in that crowning hour when she had placed, +her first man-child in the arms of her husband—still, at heart, lord of +her being. For the tale of her inner life might almost be told in two +words—she loved.</p> + +<p>Even now—so many years after—she thrilled to remember how, in that one +magical moment, without nearness or speech or touch, the floating +strands of their destinies had become so miraculously entangled, that +neither gods nor godlings, nor household despots of East or West, had +power to sever them. From one swift pencil sketch, stolen without +leave—he sitting on the path below, she dreaming on the Hotel balcony +above—had blossomed the twin flower of their love: the deeper revealing +of marriage—its living texture woven of joy and pain; and the wonder of +their after-life together—a wonder that, to her ardent, sensitive +spirit, still seemed new every morning, like the coming of the sun. A +poet in essence, she shared with all true poets that sense <a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>of eternal +freshness in familiar things that, perhaps, more than any other gift of +God, keeps the bloom on every phase and every relation of life. By her +temperament of genius, she had quickened in her husband the flickering +spark that might else have been smothered under opposing influences. +Each, in a quite unusual degree, had fulfilled the life of the other, +and so wrought harmony from conflicting elements of race and religion +that seemed fated to wreck their brave adventure. To gain all, they had +risked all: and events had amazingly justified them.</p> + +<p>Within a year of his ill-considered marriage Sir Nevil had astonished +all who knew him with the unique Exhibition of the now famous Ramayána +pictures, inspired by his wife: a series of arresting canvases, setting +forth the story of India's great epic, her confession of faith in the +two supreme loyalties—of the Queen to her husband, of the King to his +people. His daring venture had proved successful beyond hope. Artistic +and critical London had hailed him as a newcomer of promise, amounting +to genius: and Lilámani Sinclair, daughter of Rajputs, had only escaped +becoming the craze of the moment by her precipitate withdrawal to +Antibes, where she had come within an ace of losing all, largely through +the malign influence of Jane—her evil genius during those wonderful, +difficult, early months of marriage.</p> + +<p>Nevil had returned to find himself a man of note; a prophet, even in his +own county, where feathers had been ruffled a little by his erratic +proceedings. Hence a discreetly changed attitude in the neighbourhood, +when Lilámani, barely nineteen, had presented her husband with a son.</p> + +<p>But—for all the gracious condescension of the elderly, and the frank +curiosity of the young—only a discerning few had made any real headway +with this attractive, oddly disconcerting child of another continent; +this creature of queer reserves and aloofness and passionate pride of +race. The friendliest were baffled by her incomprehensible lack of +social instinct, the fruit of India's purdah system. Loyal wives and +mothers who 'adored' their children—yet spent most of their day in +pursuit of other interests—were nonplussed by her complete <a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>absorption +in the joys and sanctities of home. Yet, in course of time, her patent +simplicity and sincerity had disarmed prejudice. The least perceptive +could not choose but see that she was genuinely, intrinsically +different, not merely in the matter of iridescent silks and saris, but +in the very colour of her soul.</p> + +<p>Not that they would have expressed it so. To talk about the soul and its +colour savoured of being psychic or morbid—which Heaven forbid! The +soul of the right-minded Bramleigh matron was a neutral-tinted, decently +veiled phantom, officially recognised morning and evening, also on +Sundays, but by no means permitted to interfere with the realities of +life.</p> + +<p>The soul of Lilámani Sinclair—tremulous, passionate and aspiring—was a +living flame, that lighted her thoughts, her prayers, her desires; and +burned with clearer intensity because her religion had been stripped of +all feastings and forms and ceremonies by a marriage that set her for +ever outside caste. The inner Reality—free of earth-born mists and +clouds—none could take from her.</p> + +<p>God manifest through Nature, the Divine Mother, must surely accept her +incense and sacrifice of the spirit, since no other was permitted. Her +father had given her that assurance; and to it she clung, as a child in +a crowd clings confidingly to the one familiar hand.</p> + +<p>She was none the less eager to glean all she could assimilate of the +religion to which her husband conformed, but in which, it seemed, he did +not ardently believe. Her secret pangs on this score had been eased a +little by later knowledge that it was he who shielded her from tacit +pressure to make the change of faith expected of her by certain members +of his family. Jane—out of regard for his wishes—had refrained from +frontal attacks; but more than one flank movement had been executed by +means of the Vicar (a second cousin) and of Aunt Julia—a mild elder +Sinclair, addicted to foreign missions.</p> + +<p>She had not told Nevil of these tentative fishings for her soul, lest +they annoy him and he put a final veto on them. Being well versed in +their Holy Book, she wanted to try and fathom their strange illogical +way of believing. The Christianity of Christ she could accept. It was a +<a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>faith of the heart and the life. But its crystallised forms and dogmas +proved a stumbling-block to this embarrassing slip of a Hindu girl, who +calmly reminded the Reverend Jeffrey Sale that the creed of his Church +had not really been inspired by Christ, but dictated by Constantine and +the Council of Nicea; who wanted to know why, in so great a religion, +was there no true worship of woman—no recognising, in the creative +principle, the Divine Motherhood of God? Finally, she had scandalised +them both by quarrelling with their exclusive belief in one single +instance, through endless ages, of the All-embracing, and All-creating +revealed in terms of human life. Was not that same idea a part of her +own religion—a world-wide doctrine of Indo-Aryan origin? Was every +other revealing false, except that one made to an unbelieving race only +two thousand years ago? To her—unregenerate but not unbelieving—the +message of Krishna seemed to strike a deeper note of promise. "Wherever +irreligion prevails and true religion declines, there I manifest myself +in a human form to establish righteousness and to destroy evil."</p> + +<p>So she questioned and argued, in no spirit of irreverence, but simply +with the logic of her race, and the sweet reasonableness that is a vital +element of the Hindu faith at its best. But, after that final +confession, Aunt Julia, pained and bewildered, had retired from the +field. And Lilámani, flung back on the God within, had evolved a private +creed of her own;—shedding the husks of Christian dogmas and the +grosser superstitions of her own faith, and weaving together the +mystical elements that are the life-blood of all religious beliefs.</p> + +<p>For the lamps are many, but the flame is one....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Not till the consummation of motherhood had lifted her status—in her +own eyes at least—did she venture to speak intimately with Nevil on +this vital matter. Though debarred from sharing of sacred ceremonies, +she could still aspire to be true <i>Sahardamini</i>—'spiritual helpmate.' +But to that end he also must co-operate; he must feel the deeper +need....</p> + +<p>For many weeks after the coming of Roy she had hesitated, before she +found courage to adventure farther <a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>into the misty region of his faith +or unfaith, in things not seen.</p> + +<p>"If I am bothering you with troublesome questions—forgive. But, in our +Indian way of marriage, it is taught that without sharing spiritual life +there cannot arrive true union," she had explained, not without secret +tremors lest she fail to evoke full response. And what such failure +would mean, for her, she could hardly expect him to understand.</p> + +<p>But—by the blessing of Sarasvati, Giver of Wisdom—she had succeeded, +beyond hope, in dispelling the shy reluctance of his race to talk of the +'big little things.' Even to-day she could recall the thrill of that +moment:—he, kneeling beside the great chair in his studio—their +sanctuary; she holding the warm bundle of new life against her breast.</p> + +<p>In one long look his eyes had answered her. "Nothing <i>short</i> of 'true +union' will satisfy me," he had said with a quiet seriousness more +impressive than any lovers' fervour. "God knows if I'm worthy to enter +your inner shrine. But unwilling—never. In the 'big little things' you +are pre-eminent. I am simply your extra child—mother of my son."</p> + +<p>That tribute was her charter of wifehood. It linked love with life; it +set her, once for all, beyond the lurking fear of Jane; and gave her +courage to face the promised visit to India, when Roy was six months +old, to present him to his grandfather, Sir Lakshman Singh.</p> + +<p>They had stayed nearly a year; a wonderful year of increasing knowledge, +of fuller awakening ... and yet!</p> + +<p>The ache of anticipation had been too poignant. The foolish half-hope +that Mátaji might relent and sanctify this first grandchild with her +blessing, was—in the nature of things Oriental—foredoomed to failure. +And not till she found herself back among sights and sounds hauntingly +familiar, did she fully awake to the changes wrought in her by marriage +with one of another race. For, if she had profoundly affected Nevil's +personality, he had no less profoundly influenced her sense of values +both in art and life.</p> + +<p>She had also to reckon with the insidious process of idealising the +absent. Indian to the core, she was deeply imbued with the higher tenets +of Hindu philo<a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>sophy—that lofty spiritual fabric woven of moonlight and +mysticism, of logic and dreams. But the new Lilámani, of Nevil's making, +could not shut her eyes to debasing forms of worship, to subterranean +caverns of gross superstition, and lurking demons of cruelty and +despair. While Nevil was imbibing impressions of Indian Art, Lilámani +was secretly weighing and probing the Indian spirit that inspired it; +sifting the grain from the chaff—a process closely linked with her +personal life; because, for India, religion and life are one.</p> + +<p>But no shadow had clouded the joy of reunion with her father; for both +were adepts in the fine art of loving, the touchstone of every human +relation. And in talk with him she could straighten out her tangle of +impressions, her secret doubts and fears.</p> + +<p>Also there had been Rama, elder brother, studying at college and loving +as ever to the sister transformed into English-wife—yet sister still. +And there had been fuller revelation of the wonders of India, in their +travels northward, even to the Himalayas, abode of Shiva, where Nevil +must go to escape the heat and paint more pictures—always more +pictures. Travelling did not suit her. She was too innately a creature +of shrines and sanctities. And in India—home of her spirit—there +seemed no true home for her any more....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Five years later, when Roy was six and Christine two and a half, they +had been tempted to repeat their visit, even in the teeth of stern +protests from Jane, who regarded the least contact with India as fatal +to the children they had been misguided enough to bring into the world. +That second time, things had been easier; and there had been the added +delight of Roy's eager interest; his increasing devotion to the +grandfather, whose pride and joy in him rivalled her own.</p> + +<p>"In this little man we have the hope of England and India!" he would +say, only half in joke. "With East and West in his soul—the best of +each—he will cast out the devils of conflict and suspicion and draw the +two into closer understanding of one another."</p> + +<p>And, in secret, Lilámani dreamed and prayed that some day ... possibly +... who could tell——?</p> + +<p>Yet, still there had persisted the sense of a widening <a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>gulf between her +and her own people, leaving her doubtful if she ever wanted to see India +again. The spiritual link would be there always; for the rest—was she +not wife of Nevil, mother of Roy? Ungrateful to grieve if a price must +be paid for such supreme good fortune.</p> + +<p>For herself she paid it willingly. But—must Roy pay also? And in what +fashion? How could she fail to imbue him with the finest ideals of her +race? But how if the magnet of India proved too strong——? To hold the +scales even was a hard task for human frailty. And the time of her +absolute dominion was so swiftly slipping away from her. Always, in the +back of her mind, loomed the dread shadow of school; and her Eastern +soul could not accept it without a struggle. Only yesterday, Nevil had +spoken of it again—no doubt because Jane made trouble—saying too long +delay would be unfair for Roy. So it must be not later than September +next year. Just only fifteen months! Nevil had told her, laughing, it +would not banish him to another planet. But it would plunge him into a +world apart—utterly foreign to her. Of its dangers, its ideals, its +mysterious influences, she knew herself abysmally ignorant. She must +read. She must try and understand. She must believe Nevil knew +best—she, who had not enough knowledge and too much love. But she was +upheld by no sustaining faith in this English fashion of school, with +its decree of too early separation from the supreme influences of mother +and father—and home....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Later on, that evening, when she knelt by Roy's bed for good-night talk +and prayer, his arms round her neck, his cool cheek against hers, the +rebellion she could not altogether stifle surged up in her afresh. But +she said not a word.</p> + +<p>It was Roy who spoke, as if he had read her heart.</p> + +<p>"Mummy, Aunt Jane's been talking to Daddy again about school. Oh, I do +<i>hate</i> her!" (This in fervent parenthesis.)</p> + +<p>She only tightened her hold and felt a small quiver run through him.</p> + +<p>"Will it be fearfully soon? Has Daddy told you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling. But not too fearfully soon, because he knows I don't +wish that."<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a></p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"Not till next year, in the autumn. September."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you good—<i>goodest</i> Mummy!"</p> + +<p>He clutched her in an ecstasy of relief. For him a year's respite was a +lifetime. For her it would pass like a watch in the night.<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Thou knowest how, alike, to give and take gentleness in due season + ... the noble temper of thy sires shineth forth in + thee."—<span class='smcap'>Pindar</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>It was a clear mild Sunday afternoon of November;—pale sunlight, pale +sky, long films of laminated cloud. From the base of orange-tawny +cliffs, the sands swept out with the tide, shining like rippled silk, +where the sea had uncovered them; and sunlight was spilled in pools and +tiny furrows: the sea itself grey-green and very still, with streaks and +blotches of purple shadow flung by no visible cloud. The beauty and the +mystery of them fascinated Roy, who was irresistibly attracted by the +thing he could not understand.</p> + +<p>He was sitting alone, near the edge of a wooded cliff; troubles +forgotten for the moment; imbibing it all....</p> + +<p>His fifteen months of reprieve had flown faster than anyone could have +believed. It was over—everything was over. No more lessons with Tara +under their beech-tree. No more happy hours in the studio, exploring the +mysteries of 'maths' and Homer, of form and colour, with his father, who +seemed to know the 'Why' of everything. Worse than all—no more Mummy, +to make the whole world beautiful with the colours of her saris and the +loveliness and the dearness of her face, and her laugh and her voice.</p> + +<p>It was all over. He was at school: not Coombe Friars, decreed by Aunt +Jane; but St Rupert's, because the Head was an artist friend of his +father, and would take a personal interest in Roy.</p> + +<p>But the Head, however kind, was a distant being; and the boys, who could +not exactly be called kind, hemmed him in on every side. His shy +sensitive spirit shrank <a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>fastidiously from the strange faces and bodies +that herded round him, at meals, at bedtime, in the schoolroom, on the +playground; some curious and friendly; others curious and hostile:—a +very nightmare of boys, who would not let him be. And the more they +hemmed him in, the more he felt utterly, miserably alone.</p> + +<p>As the endless weeks dragged on, there were interesting, even exciting +moments—when you hardly felt the ache. But other times—evenings and +Sundays—it came back sharper than ever. And in the course of those +weeks he had learnt a number of things not included in the school +curriculum. He had learnt that it was better to clench your teeth and +not cry out when your ears were tweaked or your arm twisted, or an +unexpected pin stuck into the soft part of your leg. But, inside him, +there burned a fire of rage and hate unsuspected by his tormentors. It +was not so much the pain, as the fact that they seemed to enjoy hurting +him, that he could neither understand nor forgive.</p> + +<p>And by now he felt more than half ashamed of those early letters to his +mother, pouring out his misery of loneliness and longing; of frantic +threats to run away or jump off the cliff, that had so strangely failed +to soften his father's heart. It seemed, he knew all about it. He had +been through it himself. But Mummy did not know; so she got upset. And +Mummy must not be upset, whatever happened to Roy, who was advised to +'shut his teeth and play the man' and he would feel the happier for it. +That hard counsel had done more than hurt and shame him. It had steadied +him at the moment when he needed it most. He <i>had</i> somehow managed to +shut his teeth and play the man; and he <i>was</i> the happier for it +already.</p> + +<p>So his faith in the father who wouldn't have Mummy upset, had increased +ten-fold: and the letter he had nearly torn into little bits was +treasured, like a talisman, in his letter-case—Tara's parting gift.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was on the Sunday of the frantic threats that he had wandered off +alone and discovered the little wood on the cliff in all its autumn +glory. It was a very ordinary wood of mixed trees with a group of tall +pines at one end. But for Roy any wood was a place of enchantment; and +<a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>this one had trees all leaning one way, with an air of crouching and +hurrying that made them seem almost alive; and the moment they closed on +him he was back in his old familiar world of fancy, where nothing that +happened in houses mattered at all....</p> + +<p>Strolling on, careless and content, he had reached a gap where the trees +fell apart, framing blue deeps and distances of sea and sky. For some +reason they looked more blue, more beautiful so framed than seen from +the open shore; and there—sitting alone at the edge of all things, he +had felt strangely comforted; had resolved to keep his discovery a +profound secret; and to come there every Sunday for 'sanctuary'; to +think stories, or write poetry—a very private joy.</p> + +<p>And this afternoon was the loveliest of all. If only the sheltering +leaves would not fall so fast!</p> + +<p>He had been sitting a long time, pencil in hand, waiting for words to +come; when suddenly there came instead the very sounds he had fled +from—the talk and laughter of boys.</p> + +<p>They seemed horribly close, right under the jutting cliff; and their +laughter and volleys of chaff had the jeering note he knew too well. +Presently his ear caught a high-pitched voice of defiance, that broke +off and fell to whimpering—a sound that made Roy's heart beat in quick +jerks. He could not catch what they were saying, nor see what they were +doing. He did not want to see. He hated them all.</p> + +<p>Listening—yet dreading to hear—he recognised the voice of Bennet Ma., +known—strictly out of earshot—as Scab Major. Is any school, at any +period, quite free of the type? It sounded more like a rough than an +ill-natured rag; but the whimpering unseen victim seemed to have no kick +in him: and Roy could only sit there wondering helplessly what people +were made of who found it amusing to hurt and frighten other people, who +had done them no harm....</p> + +<p>And now the voice of Scab Major rang out distinctly: "After <i>that</i> +exhibition, he'll jolly well salaam to the lot of us, turn about. If +he's never learnt, we'll show him how."</p> + +<p>The word salaam enlightened Roy. Yesterday there had been a buzz of +curiosity over the belated arrival <a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>of a new boy—an +Indian—weedy-looking and noticeably dark, with a sullen mouth and +shifty eyes. Roy, though keenly interested, had not felt drawn to him; +and a new self-protective shrinking had withheld him from proferring +advances that might only embroil them both. He had never imagined the +boy's colour would tell against him. Was <i>that</i> what it meant—making +him salaam?</p> + +<p>At the bare suspicion, shrinking gave place to rage. Beasts, they were! +If only he could take a flying leap on to them, or roll a few stones +down and scare them out of their wits. But he could not stir without +giving away his secret. And while he hesitated, his eye absently +followed a moving speck far off on the shining sand.</p> + +<p>It was a boy on a bicycle—hatless, head in air, sitting very erect. +There was only one boy at St Rupert's who carried his head that way and +sat his bicycle just so. From the first Roy had watched him covertly, +with devout admiration; longing to know him, too shy to ask his name. +But so far the godlike one, surrounded by friends, had hardly seemed +aware of his existence.</p> + +<p>Swiftly he came nearer; and with a sudden leap of his pulses, Roy knew +he had seen——</p> + +<p>Springing off his bicycle, he flung himself into the little group of +tormentors, hitting out vigorously right and left. Sheer surprise and +the fury of his onslaught gave him the advantage; and the guilty +consciences of the less aggressive were his allies....</p> + +<p>This was not cruelty, but championship: and Roy, determined to see all, +lay flat on his front—danger of discovery forgotten—grabbing the edge +of the cliff, that curved inward, exulting in the triumph of the +deliverer and the scattering of the foe.</p> + +<p>Bennet Major, one of the first to break away, saw and seized the +prostrate bicycle. At that Roy lost his head; leaned perilously over and +shouted a warning, "Hi! Look out!"</p> + +<p>But the Scab was off like the wind: and the rest, startled by a voice +from nowhere, hurriedly followed suit.</p> + +<p>Roy, raising himself on his hands, gave a convulsive wriggle of +joy—that changed midway, into a backward <a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>jerk ... too late!</p> + +<p>The crumbling edge was giving way under his hands, under his body. No +time for terror. His jerk gave the finishing touch....</p> + +<p>Down he went—over and over; his Sunday hat bouncing gaily on before; +nothing to clutch anywhere; but by good luck, no stones——</p> + +<p>The thought flashed through him, "I'm killed!" And five seconds later he +rolled—breathless and sputtering—to the feet of the two remaining +boys, who had sprung back just in time to escape the dusty avalanche.</p> + +<p>There he lay—shaken and stupefied—his eyes and mouth full of sand; and +his pockets and boots and the inside of his shirt. Nothing seemed to be +broken. And he wasn't killed!</p> + +<p>Some one was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his eyes to +find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and concerned.</p> + +<p>"I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark were you +up to? Are you hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it +startled you. I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's minions a jolly +sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good riddance—eh, +Chandranath?"</p> + +<p>To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered assent. He +stood a little apart, looking sullen, irresolute, and thoroughly +uncomfortable, the marks of tears still on his face.</p> + +<p>"Thanks veree much. I am going now," he blurted out abruptly; and Roy +felt quite cross with him. Pity had evaporated. But the other boy's +good-humour seemed unassailable.</p> + +<p>"If you're not in a frantic hurry, we can go back together."</p> + +<p>Chandranath shook his head. "I don't wish—to go back. I would +rather—be by myself."</p> + +<p>"As you please. Those cads won't bother you again."</p> + +<p>"If they do—I will <i>kill</i> them."</p> + +<p>He made that surprising announcement in a fierce whisper. It was the +voice of another race.</p> + +<p>And the English boy's answer was equally true to type. "Right you are. +Give me fair warning and I'll lend a hand."<a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a></p> + +<p>Chandranath stared blankly. "But—they are of <i>your</i> country," he said; +and turning, walked off in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"A queer fish," Roy's new friend remarked. "Quite out of water here. +Awfully stupid sending him to an English school."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Roy. He was sitting up and dusting himself generally.</p> + +<p>"Oh, because——" the boy frowned pensively at the horizon. "That takes +some explaining, if you don't know India."</p> + +<p>"D'<i>you</i> know India?" Roy could not keep the eagerness out of his tone.</p> + +<p>"Rather. I was born there. North-West Frontier. My name's Desmond. We +all belong there. I was out till seven and a half, and I'll go back like +a bird directly I'm through with Marlborough."</p> + +<p>He spoke very quietly; but under the quietness Roy guessed there was +purpose—there was fire. This boy knew exactly what he meant to do in +his grown-up life—that large, vague word crowded with exciting +possibilities. He stood there, straight as an arrow, looking out to sea; +and straight as an arrow he would make for his target when school and +college let go their hold. Something of this Roy dimly apprehended: and +his interest was tinged with envy. If they all 'belonged,' were they +Indians, he wondered; and decided not, because of Desmond's coppery +brown hair. He wanted to understand—to hear more. He almost forgot he +was at school.</p> + +<p>"We belong too——" he ventured shyly; and Desmond turned with a +kindling eye.</p> + +<p>"Good egg! What Province?"</p> + +<p>"Rajputana."</p> + +<p>"Oh—miles away. Which service?"</p> + +<p>Roy looked puzzled. "I—don't know You see—it's my mother—that +belongs. My grandfather's a Minister in a big Native State out there."</p> + +<p>"Oh—I say!"</p> + +<p>There was a shadow of change in his tone. His direct look was a little +embarrassing. He seemed to be considering Roy in a new light.</p> + +<p>"I—I wouldn't have thought it," he said; and <a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>added a shade too +quickly: "<i>We</i> don't belong—that way. We're all Anglo-Indians—Frontier +Force." (Clearly a fine thing to be, thought Roy, mystified, but +impressed.) "Is your father in the Political?"</p> + +<p>More conundrums! But, warmed by Desmond's friendliness, Roy grew bolder.</p> + +<p>"No. He hates politics. He's just—just a gentleman."</p> + +<p>Desmond burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>"Top hole! He couldn't do better than that. But—if your mother—he must +have been in India?"</p> + +<p>"Afterwards—they went. I've been too. He found Mother in France. He +painted her. He's a rather famous painter."</p> + +<p>"What name?"</p> + +<p>"Sinclair."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've heard of him.—And your people are always at home. Lucky +beggar!" He was silent a moment watching Roy unlace his boot. Then he +asked suddenly, in a voice that tried to sound casual: "I say—have you +told any of the other boys—about India—and your Mother?"</p> + +<p>"No—why? Is there any harm?" Roy was on the defensive at once.</p> + +<p>"Well—no. With the right sort, it wouldn't make a scrap of difference. +But you can see what some of 'em are like—Bennet Ma. and his crew. +Making a dead set at that poor blighter, just because he isn't their +colour——"</p> + +<p>Roy started. "Was it only because of <i>that?</i>" he asked with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"'Course it was. Plain as a pike-staff. I suppose they'd bullied him +into cheeking them. And they were hacking him on to his knees—forcing +him to salaam." Twin sparks sprang alight in his eyes. "That sort of +thing—makes me feel like a kettle on the boil. Wish I'd <i>had</i> a boiling +kettle to empty over Bennet."</p> + +<p>"So do I—the mean Scab! And he's pinched your bicycle."</p> + +<p>"No fear! You bet we'll find it round the corner. He wouldn't have the +spunk to go right off with it. But look here—what I mean is"—hesitant, +yet resolute, he harked back to the main point—"if any of that lot +<a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>came to know—about India and—your mother, well—they're proper +skunks, some of them. They might say things that would make <i>you</i> feel +like a kettle on the boil."</p> + +<p>"If they did—I would kill them."</p> + +<p>Roy stated the fact with quiet deliberation, and without noticing that +he had repeated the very words of the vanished victim.</p> + +<p>This time Desmond did not treat it as a joke.</p> + +<p>"'Course you would," he agreed gravely. "And that sort of shindy's no +good for the school. So I thought—better give you the tip——"</p> + +<p>"I—see," Roy said in a low voice, without looking up. He did not see; +but he began dimly to guess at a so far unknown and unsuspected state of +mind.</p> + +<p>Desmond sat silent while he shook the sand out of his boots. Then he +remarked in an easier tone: "Quite sure there's no damage?"</p> + +<p>Roy, now on his feet, found his left leg uncomfortably stiff—and said +so.</p> + +<p>"Bad luck! We must walk it off. I'll knead it first, if you like. I've +seen them do it on the Border."</p> + +<p>His unskilled manipulation hurt a good deal; but Roy, overcome with +gratitude, gave no sign.</p> + +<p>When it was over they set out for their homeward tramp, and found the +bicycle, as Desmond had prophesied. He refused to ride on; and Roy +limped beside him, feeling absurdly elated. The godlike one had come to +earth indeed! Only the remark about his mother still rankled; but he +felt shy of returning to the subject. The change in Desmond's manner had +puzzled him. Roy glanced admiringly at his profile—the straight nose, +the long mouth that smiled so readily, the resolute chin, a little in +the air. A clear case of love at sight, schoolboy love; a passing phase +of human efflorescence; yet, in passing, it will sometimes leave a mark +for life. Roy, instinctively a hero-worshipper, registered a new +ambition—to become Desmond's friend.</p> + +<p>Presently, as if aware of his thought, Desmond spoke.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sinclair, how old are you? You seem less of a kid than most of +the new lot."</p> + +<p>"I'm ten and a half," said Roy, wishing it was eleven.</p> + +<p>"Bit late for starting. I'm twelve. Going on to Marlborough next year."<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a></p> + +<p>Roy felt crushed. In a year he would be gone! Still—there were three +more terms: and <i>he</i> would go on to Marlborough too. He would insist.</p> + +<p>"Does Scab Ma. bother you much?" Desmond asked with a friendly twinkle.</p> + +<p>"Now and then—nothing to fuss about."</p> + +<p>Roy's nonchalance, though plucky, was not quite convincing.</p> + +<p>"Righto! I'll head him off. He isn't keen to knock up against me." A +pause. "How about sitting down my way at meals? You don't look awfully +gay at your end."</p> + +<p>"I'm not. It would be ripping."</p> + +<p>"Good. We'll hang together, eh? Because of India; because we both +belong—in a different way. And we'll stick up for that miserable little +devil Chandranath."</p> + +<p>"Yes—we will." (The glory of that 'we.') "All the same,—I don't much +like the look of him"</p> + +<p>"No more don't I. He's the wrong 'ját.' He won't stay long—you'll see. +But still—he shan't be bullied by Scabs, because he's not the same +colour outside. You see that sort of thing in India too. My father's +fearfully down on it, because it makes more bad blood than anything; +I've heard him say that it's just the blighters who buck about the +superior race who do all the damage with their inferior manners. Rather +neat—eh?"</p> + +<p>Roy glowed. "Your father must be a splendid sort. Is he a soldier?"</p> + +<p>"Rath<i>er!</i> He's a V.C. He got it saving a Jemadar—a Native Officer."</p> + +<p>Roy caught his breath.</p> + +<p>"I would awfully like to hear how——"</p> + +<p>Desmond told him how....</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful walk. By the end of it Roy no longer felt a lonely +atom in a strange world. He had found something better than his +Sanctuary—he had found a friend.</p> + +<p>Looking back, long afterwards, he recognised that Sunday as the +turning-point....</p> + +<p>Later in the evening he poured it all out to his mother in four +closely-written sheets.</p> + +<p>But not a word about herself, or Desmond's friendly <a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>warning, which +still puzzled him. He worried over it a little before he fell asleep. It +was the very first hint—given, in all friendliness—that the mere fact +of having an Indian mother might go against you, in some people's eyes. +Not the right ones, of course; but still—in the nature of things,—he +couldn't make it out. That would come later.</p> + +<p>At the time its only effect was to deepen his private satisfaction at +having hammered Joe Bradley; to quicken his attitude of championship +towards his mother and towards India, till ultimately the glow of his +fervent devotion fused them both into one dominant idea.<a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"He it is—the innermost one who awakens my being with his deep + hidden touches."—<span class='smcap'>Tagore</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Lilámani read and re-read that letter curled among her cushions in the +deep window-seat of the studio, a tower room with tall windows looking +north, over jagged pine tops, to the open moor.</p> + +<p>And while she read, Nevil stood at his easel, seizing and recording, the +unconscious grace of her pose, the rapt stillness of her face. He was +never weary of painting her—never quite satisfied with the result; +always within an ace of achieving the one perfect picture that should +immortalise a gleam from her inner uncaptured loveliness—the essence of +personality that eternally foils the sense, while it sways the spirit. +Impossible, of course. One might as well try and catch the fragrance of +a rose, the bloom of an April dawn, or any other fragment of the world's +unseizable beauty But there remained the joy of pursuing—and pursuing, +not achieving, is the salt of life.</p> + +<p>Something in her pose, her absorption—lips just parted, shadow of +lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the green velvet +curtain—had fired him, lit a spark of inspiration....</p> + +<p>If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a companion to +the Antibes pastel: her two aspects—wife of Nevil; mother of Roy. Later +on, the boy would understand. His star stood higher than usual, just +then. For Nevil had detested writing that letter of rebuke; had not +dared show it to his wife; and Roy had taken it like a man. No more +lamentations, so far. Certainly not on this occasion, judging by her +rapt look, her complete absorption that gave him the chance of catching +her unawares.<a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a></p> + +<p>For, in truth, she was unaware; lost to everything but the joy of +contact with her son. The pang of parting had been dulled to a hidden +ache; but always the blank was there, however amply filled with other +claims on heart and spirit. A larger schoolroom now: and Nevil, with his +new Eastern picture on hand, making constant demands on her—as +usual—in the initial stages; till the subject of the moment eclipsed +everything, every one—sometimes even herself. Her early twinges of +jealousy, during that phase, rarely troubled her now. As wife and +mother, she better understood the dual allegiance—the twofold strain of +the creative process, whether in spirit or flesh. Now she knew that, +when art seemed most exclusively to claim him, his need was greater, not +less, for her woman's gift of self-effacing tenderness, of personal +physical service. And through deeper love, came clearer insight. She saw +Nevil—the artist—as a veritable Yogi, impelled to ceaseless striving +for mastery of himself, his atmosphere, his medium: saw her wifely love +and service as the life-giving impetus without which he might flag and +never reach the heights.</p> + +<p>Women of wide social and intellectual activities might raise perplexed +eyebrows over her secluded life, still instinct with the 'spirit of +purdah.' She found the daily pattern of it woven with threads so richly +varied that to cherish a hidden grief seemed base ingratitude. Yet +always—at the back of things—lurked her foolish mother-anxieties, her +deep unuttered longing. And letters were cold comfort. In the first few +weeks she had come to dread opening them. Always the bitter cry of +loneliness and longing for home. What was it Nevil had said to make so +surprising a change? Craving to know, she feared to ask; and more than +suspected that he blessed her for refraining.</p> + +<p>And now came this long, exultant letter, written in the first flush of +his great discovery——</p> + +<p>And as she read on, she became aware of a new sensation. This was +another kind of Roy. On the first page he was pouring out his heart in +careless unformed phrases. By the end of the second, his tale had hold +of him; he was enjoying—perhaps unaware—the exercise of a +newly-awakened gift. And, looking up, at last, to share <a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>it with Nevil, +she caught him in the act of tracing a curve of her sari in mid-air.</p> + +<p>With a playful movement—pure Eastern—she drew it half over her face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nevil—you wicked! I never guessed——"</p> + +<p>"That was the beauty of it. I make my salaams to Roy! What's he been up +to that it takes four sheets to confess?"</p> + +<p>"Not confessing. Telling a tale. It will surprise you."</p> + +<p>"Let's have a look."</p> + +<p>She gave him the letter; and while he read it, she intently watched his +face. "The boy'll write—I shouldn't wonder," was his verdict, handing +back her treasure, with an odd half-smile in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"And you were hoping—he would paint?" she said, answering his thought.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—scarcely expecting. Sons are a perverse generation. I'm glad +he's tumbled on his feet and found a pal."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is good."</p> + +<p>"We'll invite young Desmond here and inspect him, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—we will."</p> + +<p>He was silent a moment, considering her profile—humanly, not +artistically. "Jealous, is she? The hundredth part of a fraction?"</p> + +<p>"Just so much!" she admitted in her small voice. "But underneath—I am +glad. A fine fellow. We will ask him—later."</p> + +<p>The projected invitation proved superfluous. Roy's next letter informed +them that after Christmas Desmond was coming for ten whole days. He had +promised.</p> + +<p>He kept his promise. After Christmas he came and saw—and conquered. At +first they were all inclined to be secretly critical of the new element +that looked as if it had come to stay. For Roy's discreetly repressed +admiration was clear as print to those who could read him like an open +page. And, on the whole, it was not surprising, as they were gradually +persuaded to admit. There was more in Lance Desmond than mere grace and +good looks, manliness and a ready <a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>humour. In him two remarkable +personalities were blended with a peculiarly happy result.</p> + +<p>They discovered, incidentally, his wonderful gift of music. "Got it off +my mother," was his modest disclaimer. "She and my sister are simply +top-hole. We do lots of it together."</p> + +<p>His intelligent delight in pictures and books commended him to Nevil; +but, at twelve and a half, skating, tramping, and hockey matches held +the field. Sometimes—when it was skating—Tara and Chris went with +them. But they made it clear, quite unaggressively, that the real point +was to go alone.</p> + +<p>Day after day, from her window, Lilámani watched them go, across the +radiant sweep of snow-covered lawn; and, for the first time, where Roy +was concerned, she knew the prick of jealousy,—a foretaste of the day +when her love would no longer fill his life. Ashamed of her own +weakness, she kept it hid—or fancied she did so; but the little +stabbing ache persisted, in spite of shame and stoic resolves.</p> + +<p>Tara and Christine also knew the horrid pang; but they knew neither +shame not stoic resolves. Roy mustn't suspect, of course; but they told +each other, in strictest confidence, that they hated Desmond; firmly +believing they spoke the truth. So it was particularly vexatious to find +that the moment he favoured them with the most casual attention, they +were at his feet.</p> + +<p>But that was their own private affair. Whether they resented, or whether +they adored, the boys remained entirely unconcerned, entirely absorbed +in each other. It was Desmond's opinion of them that mattered supremely +to Roy; in particular—Desmond's opinion of his mother. After those +first puzzling remarks and silences, Roy had held his peace; had not +even shown Desmond her picture. His invitation accepted, he had simply +waited, in transcendent faith, for the moment of revelation. And now he +had his reward. After a prelude of mutual embarrassment, Lance had +succumbed frankly to Lady Sinclair's unexpected charm and her shy +irresistible overtures to friendship:—so frankly, that he was able, +now, to hint at his earlier perplexity.<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></p> + +<p>He had seen no Indian women, he explained, except in bazaars or in +service; so he couldn't quite understand, until his own mother made +things clearer to him and recommended him to go and see for himself. Now +he had seen—and succumbed: and Roy's very private triumph was +unalloyed. Second only to that triumph, the really important outcome of +their glorious Ten Days was that, with Desmond's help, Roy fought the +battle of going on to Marlborough when he was twelve—and won....</p> + +<p>It was horrid leaving them all again; but it did make a wonderful +difference knowing there was Desmond at the other end; and together they +would champion that doubtfully grateful victim—Chandranath. Their zeal +proved superfluous. Chandranath never reappeared at St Rupert's. Perhaps +his people had arrived at Desmond's conclusion, that he was not the +right "ját" for an English school. In any case, his disappearance was a +relief—and Roy promptly forgot all about him.</p> + +<p>Years later—many years later—he was to remember.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After St Rupert's—Marlborough:—and just at first he hated it, as he +had hated St Rupert's, though in a different fashion. Here it was not so +much the longing for home, as a vague yet deepening sense that, in some +vital way—not yet fully understood—he was different from his fellows +But once he reached the haven of Desmond's study, the good days began in +earnest. He could read and dream along his own lines. He could scribble +verse or prose, when he ought to have been preparing quite other things; +and the results, good or bad, went straight to his mother.</p> + +<p>Needless to say, she found them all radiant with promise; here and there +a flicker of the divine spark: and, throughout the years of transition, +the locked and treasured book that held them was the sheet-anchor to +which she clung, till the new Roy should be forged out of the +backslidings and renewals incidental to that time of stress and +becoming. What matter their young imperfections, when—for her—it was +as if Roy's spirit reached out across the dividing distance and touched +her own. In the days when he seemed most withdrawn, that dear illusion +was her secret bread.<a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a></p> + +<p>And all the while, subconsciously, she was drawing nearer to the given +moment of religious surrender that would complete the spiritual link +with husband and children. As the babies grew older, she saw, with +increasing clearness, the increasing difficulty of her position. +Frankly, she had tried not to see it. Her free spirit, having reached +the Reality that transcends all forms, shrank from returning to the +dogmas, the limitations of a definite creed. In her eyes, it seemed a +step backward. Belief in a personal God, above and beyond the Universe, +was reckoned by her own faith a primitive conception; a stage on the way +to that ultima Thule where the soul of man perceives its own inherent +divinity, and the knower becomes the Known, as notes become music, as +the river becomes the sea. It was this that troubled her logical mind +and delayed decision.</p> + +<p>But the final deciding factor—though he knew it not—was Roy. By reason +of her own share in him, religion would probably mean more to him than +to Nevil. For his sake—for the sake of Christine and Tara and the +babies, fast sprouting into boys—she felt at last irresistibly +constrained to accept, with certain mental reservations, the tenets of +her husband's creed; and so qualify herself to share with them all its +outward and visible forms, as already she shared its inward and +spiritual grace.</p> + +<p>The conviction sprang from no mere sentimental impulse. It was the +unhurried work of years. So—when there arose the question of Roy's +confirmation, and Tara's, at the same Easter-tide, conviction blossomed +into decision, as simply and naturally as the bud of a flower opens to +the sun. That is the supreme virtue of changes not imposed from without. +When the given moment came—the inner resolve was there.</p> + +<p>Quite simply she spoke of it to Nevil, one evening over the studio fire. +And behold a surprise awaited her. She had rarely seen him more deeply +moved. From the time of Roy's coming, he told her, he had cherished the +hidden hope.</p> + +<p>"Yet too seldom you have spoken of such things—why?" she asked, moved +in her turn and amazed.</p> + +<p>"Because from the first I made up my mind I would <a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>not have it, except +in your own way and in your own time. I knew the essence of it was in +you. For the rest—I preferred to wait till you were ready—Sita Devi."</p> + +<p>"Nevil—lord of me!" She slipped to her knees beside him. "I <i>am</i> ready. +But oh, you wicked, how <i>could</i> I know that all the time you were caring +that much in your secret heart."</p> + +<p>He gathered her close and said not a word.</p> + +<p>So the great matter was settled, with no outward fuss or formalities. +She would be baptized before Roy came home for the Easter holidays and +his confirmation.</p> + +<p>"But not here—not Mr Sale," she pleaded. "Let us go away quietly to +London—we two. Let it be in that great Church, where first the thought +was born in my heart that some day ... this might be."</p> + +<p>He could refuse her nothing. Jeffrey might feel aggrieved when he knew. +But after all—this was their own affair. Time enough afterwards to let +in the world and its thronging notes of exclamation.</p> + +<p>Roy was told when he came home. For imparting such intimate news, she +craved the response of his living self. And if Nevil's satisfaction +struck a deeper note, it was simply that Roy was very young and had +always included her Hindu-ness in the natural order of things.</p> + +<p>Wonderful days! Preparing the children, with Helen's help; preparing +herself, in the quiet of her "House of Gods"—a tiny room above the +studio—in much the same spirit as she had prepared for the great +consecration of marriage, with vigil and meditation and unobtrusive +fasting—noted by Nevil, though he said no word.</p> + +<p>Crowning wonder of all, that golden Easter morning of her first +Communion with Roy and Tara, with Nevil and Helen:—unfolding of heart +and spirit, of leaf and blossom; dual miracle of a world new made....</p> + + +<h4>END OF PHASE I.</h4> +<p><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHASE_II" id="PHASE_II"></a>PHASE II.</h2> + +<h2>THE VISIONARY GLEAM</h2> + +<p><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IB" id="CHAPTER_IB"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Youth is lifted on Wings of his strong hope and soaring valour; + for his thoughts are above riches."—<span class='smcap'>Pindar</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Oxford on a clear, still evening of June: silver reaches of Isis and +Cher; meadows pied with moon daisies and clover, and the rose madder +bloom of ripe grasses; the trill of unseen birds tuning up for evensong; +the passing and repassing of boats and canoes and punts, gay with +cushions and summer frocks; all bathed in the level radiance that steals +over earth like a presence in the last hours of a summer day....</p> + +<p>Oxford—shrine of the oldest creeds and the newest fads—given over, for +one hilarious week, to the yearly invasion of mothers and sisters and +cousins, and girls that were neither; especially girls that were +neither....</p> + +<p>Two of the punts, clearly containing one party, kept close enough +together for the occupants to exchange sallies of wit, or any blissful +foolishness in keeping with the blissfully foolish mood of a moonlight +picnic up the river in 'Commem.'</p> + +<p>Roy Sinclair's party boasted the distinction of including one mother, +Lady Despard; and one grandfather, Cuthbert Broome; and Roy himself—a +slender, virile figure in flannels, and New College tie—was poling the +first punt.</p> + +<p>As in boyhood, so now, his bearing and features were Nevil incarnate. +But to the shrewd eye of Broome the last seemed subtly overlaid with the +spirit of the East—a brooding stillness wrought from the clash of +opposing forces within. When he laughed and talked it vanished. When he +fell silent, and drifted away from his surroundings, it reappeared.</p> + +<p>It was precisely this hidden quality, so finely balanced, <a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>that +intrigued the brain of the novelist, as distinct from the heart of the +godfather. Which was the real Roy? Which would prove the decisive factor +at the critical corners of his destiny? To what heights would it carry +him—into what abyss might it plunge him—that gleam from the ancient +soul of things? Would India—and his young glorification of India—be, +for him, a spark of inspiration or a stone of stumbling?</p> + +<p>Broome had not seen much of the boy, intimately, since the New Year; and +he did not need spectacles to discern some inner ferment at work. Roy +was more talkative and less communicative than usual; and Broome let him +talk, reading between the lines. He knew to a nicety the moment when a +chance question will kill confidence—or evoke it. He suspected one of +those critical corners. He also suspected one of those Indian cousins of +his: delightful, both of them; but still....</p> + +<p>The question remained, which was it—the girl or the boy?</p> + +<p>The girl, Arúna—student at Somerville College—was reclining among vast +blue and pink cushions in the bows, pensively twirling a Japanese +parasol, one arm flung round the shoulders of her companion—a +fellow-student; fair and stolid and good-humoured. Broome summed her up +mentally: "Tactless but trustworthy. Anglo-Saxon to the last button on +her ready-made Shantung coat and the blunted toe of her white suède +shoe."</p> + +<p>Arúna—in plain English, Dawn—was quite arrestingly otherwise. Not +beautiful, like Lilámani, nor quite so fair of skin; but what the face +lacked in symmetry was redeemed by lively play of expression, piquante +tilt of nose and chin, large eyes, velvet-dark like brown pansies. The +modelling of the face—its breadth and roundness and upturned +aspect—gave it a pansy-like air. Over her simple summer frock of +carnation pink she wore a paler sari flecked with gold; and two ropes of +coral beads enhanced the deeper coral of her full lower lip. Not yet +eighteen, she was studying "pedagogy" for the benefit of her less +adventurous sisters in Jaipur.</p> + +<p>Clearly a factor to be reckoned with, this creature of girlish laughter +and high purpose; a woman to the tips <a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>of her polished finger nails. Yet +Broome had by no means decided that it <i>was</i> the girl——</p> + +<p>After Desmond—Dyán Singh: each, in his turn and type, own brother to +Roy's complex soul. Broome—in no insular spirit—preferred the earlier +influence. But Desmond had sped like an arrow to the Border, where his +eldest brother commanded their father's old regiment; and Dyán +Singh—handsome and fiery, young India at its best—reigned in his +stead. The two were of the same college. Dyán, twelve months younger, +looked the older by a year or more. Face and form bore the Rajput stamp +of virility, of a racial pride, verging on arrogance; and the Rajput +insignia of breeding—noticeably small hands and feet.</p> + +<p>He was poling the second punt with less skill and assurance than Roy. +His attention was palpably distracted by a vision of Tara among the +cushions in the bows; an arm linked through her mother's, as though +defending her against the implication of being older than any one else, +or in the least degree out of it because of that trifling +detail—tacitly admitted, while hotly denied; which was Tara all over.</p> + +<p>Certainly Lady Despard still looked amazingly young; still emanated the +vital charm she had transmitted to her child. And Tara at twenty, in +soft butter-coloured frock with roses in her hat, was a vision alluring +enough to distract any young man from concentration on a punt pole. +Vivid, eager and venturesome, singularly free from the bane of +self-consciousness; not least among her graces—and rare enough to be +notable—was the grace of her chivalrous affection for the older +generation. In Tara's eyes, girls who patronised their mothers and +tolerated their fathers were anathema. It was a trait certain to impress +Roy's Rajput cousin; and Broome wondered whether Helen was alive to the +disturbing possibility; whether, for all her genuine love of the East, +she would acquiesce....</p> + +<p>Only the other day, it seemed, he and she had sat together among the +rocks of the dear old Cap, listening to Nevil's amazing news. She it was +who had championed his choice of a bride: and Lilámani had justified her +championship to the full. But then—Lilámani was one in many thousands; +and this affair would be the <a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>other way about:—Tara, the apple of their +eye; Tara, with her wild-flower face and her temperament of clear +flame——?</p> + +<p>How sharply they tugged at his middle-aged heart, these casual and +opinionated young things, with their follies and fanaticisms, their +Jacob's ladders hitched perilously to the stars; with their triumphs and +failures and disillusions all ahead of them; airily impervious to +proffered help and advice from those who would agonise to serve them if +they could....</p> + +<p>A jarring bump in the small of his back cut short his flagrantly +Victorian musings. Dyán's punt was the offender; and Dyán himself, +clutching the pole that had betrayed him, was almost pitched into the +river.</p> + +<p>His achievement was greeted by a shout of laughter, and an ironic +"Played indeed!" from Cuthbert Gordon—Broome's grandson. Roy, tumbled +from some starry dream of his own, flashed out imperiously: "Look alive, +you blithering idiot. 'Who are you a-shoving'?"</p> + +<p>The Rajput's face darkened; but before he could retort, Tara had risen +and stepped swiftly to his side. Her fingers closed on the pole; and she +smiled straight into his clouded eyes.</p> + +<p>"Let <i>me</i>, please. I'm sick of lazing and fearfully keen. And I can't +allow my Mother to be drownded by anyone <i>but</i> me. I'd be obliged to +murder the other body, which would be awkward—for us both!"</p> + +<p>"Miss Despard—there is no danger——" he muttered—impervious to +humour; and—as if by chance—one of his hands half covered hers.</p> + +<p>"Let go," she commanded, so low that no one else knew she had spoken; so +sternly that Dyán's fingers unclosed as if they had touched fire.</p> + +<p>"Now, don't fuss. Go and sit down," she added, in her lighter vein. +"You've done your share. And you're jolly grateful to me, really. But +too proud to own it!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Not</i> too proud to obey you," he muttered.</p> + +<p>She saw the words rather than heard them; and he turned away without +daring to meet her eyes.</p> + +<p>It all passed in a few seconds, but it left him tingling with repressed +rage. He had made a fool of himself in her eyes; had probably given away +his secret to the whole party. After all, what matter? He could not +<a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>much longer have kept it hidden. By the touch of hands and his daring +words he had practically told her....</p> + +<p>As he settled himself, her clear voice rang out: "Wake up, Roy! I'll +race you to the backwater."</p> + +<p>They raced to the backwater; and Tara won by half a length, amid cheers +from the men.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, I <i>had</i> to let you," Roy explained, as she confronted +him, flushed with triumph. "Seemed a shame to cut you out. Not as if you +were a giddy suffragette!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Qui s'excuse—s'accuse!</i>" she retorted. "Anyway—<i>I'm</i> the winner."</p> + +<p>"Right you are. The way of girls was ever so. No matter what line you +take, it's safe to be the wrong one."</p> + +<p>"Hark at the Cynic!" jeered young Cuthbert. "Were you forty on the 9th, +or was it forty-five?"</p> + +<p>Roy grinned. "Good old Cuthers! Don't exhaust yourself trying to be +funny! Fish out the drinks. We've earned them, haven't we—High Tower +Princess?" The last, confidentially, for Tara's ear alone.</p> + +<p>And Dyán, seeing the smile in her eyes, felt jealousy pierce him like a +red-hot wire.</p> + +<p>The supper, provided by Roy and Dyán, was no scratch wayside meal, but +an ambrosial affair:—salmon mayonnaise, ready mixed; glazed joints of +chicken; strawberries and cream; lordly chocolate boxes; sparkling +moselle—and syphons for the abstemious.</p> + +<p>It was a lively meal: Roy, dropped from the clouds, the film of the East +gone from his face, was simply Nevil again; even as young Cuthbert, with +his large build and thatch of tawny hair, was a juvenile edition of +Broome. And the older man, watching them, bandying chaff with them, +renewed his youth for one careless golden hour.</p> + +<p>The punts were ranged alongside; and they all ate together, English and +Indian. No irksome caste rules on this side of the water; no hint of +condescension in the friendly attitude of young Oxford. Nothing to jar +the over-sensibility of young India—prone to suspect slight where no +thought of it exists; too often, also, treated to exhibitions of +ill-bred arrogance that undo in an hour the harmonising work of years.<a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></p> + +<p>Dyán sat by Tara, anticipating her lightest need; courage rising by +leaps and bounds. Arúna, from her nest of cushions, exchanged lively +sallies with Roy. Petted by a college full of friendly English girls, +she had very soon lost what little shyness she ever possessed. Now and +again, when his eyes challenged hers, she would veil them and watch him +surreptitiously; one moment approving his masculine grace; the next, +boldly asking herself: "Does he see how I am wearing the favourite +sari—and how my coral beads make my lips look red?" And again: "Why do +they make foolish talk of a gulf between East and West?"</p> + +<p>To that profound question came no answer in words; only in hidden +stirrings, that she preferred to ignore. Both brother and sister had +persuaded themselves that talk of a gulf was exaggerated by unfriendly +spirits. They, at all events, having built their bridge, took its +stability for granted. Children of an emotional race, it sufficed to +discover that they loved the cool green freshness of England, the +careless kindly freedom of her life and ways; the hum of her restless, +smoky, all-embracing London; her miles and miles of books and pictures. +Above everything they loved Oxford, where all were brothers in +spirit—with a proper sense of difference between the brothers of one's +own college and the mere outsider:—Oxford, at this particular hour of +this particular June evening. And at this actual moment, they loved +salmon mayonnaise and crushed strawberries fully as much as any other +manifestation of the delectable land.</p> + +<p>And down in subconscious depths—untroubled by the play of surface +emotions—burned their passionate, unreasoned love of India that any +chance breath might rekindle to a flame.</p> + +<p>Presently, as the sun drew down to earth, trees and meadows swam in a +golden haze. Arrows of gold, stealing through alders and willows, +conjured mere leaves into discs of pure green light. Clouds of pollen +brightened to dust of gold. In the near haze midges flickered; and, +black against the brightness, swallows wheeled and dipped, uttering thin +cries in the ecstasy of their evening flight.</p> + +<p>On the two punts in the backwater a great peace <a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>descended after the +hilarity of their feast. Clouds of cigarette smoke kept midges at bay. +In the deepening stillness small sounds asserted themselves—piping of +gnats, the trill of happy birds, snatches of disembodied laughter and +talk from other parties in other punts, somewhere out of sight....</p> + +<p>Only Arúna did not smoke; and Emily Barnard, her fanatic devotee, +retired with her to the bank, where they made a lazy pretence of +"washing up." But Arúna's eyes <i>would</i> stray toward the recumbent figure +of Roy, when she fancied Emmie was not looking. And Emmie—who could see +very well without looking—wished him at the bottom of the river.</p> + +<p>Propped on an elbow, he lay among Arúna's cushions, his senses stirred +by the faint carnation scent she used, enlarging on his latest +enthusiasm—Rabindranath Tagore, the first of India's poet-saints to +challenge the ethics of the withdrawn life. When the mood was on, the +veil of reserve swept aside, he could pour out his ardours, his +protests, his theories, in an eloquent rush of words. And +Arúna—absently wiping spoons and forks—listened entranced. He seemed +to be addressing no one in particular; but as often as not his gaze +rested on Broome, as though he were indirectly conveying to him thoughts +he felt shy of airing when they were alone.</p> + +<p>A pause in the flow of his talk left a space of silence into which the +encompassing peace and radiance stole like an inflowing tide. None loved +better than Roy the ghostly music of silence; but to-night his brain was +filled with the music of words—not his own.</p> + +<p>"Just listen to this," he said, without preamble. His eyes took on their +far-away look; his voice dropped a tone.</p> + +<p>"The night is night of mid-May; the breeze is the breeze of the South.</p> + +<p>"From my heart comes out and dances the image of my Desire.</p> + +<p>"The gleaming vision flits on.</p> + +<p>"I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray.</p> + +<p>"I seek what I cannot get; I get what I do not seek."</p> + +<p>To that shining fragment of truth and beauty, his <a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>audience paid the +fitting tribute of silence; and his gaze—returning to earth—caught, in +Tara's eyes, a reflection of his exalted mood. Dyán saw it also; and +once more that red-hot wire pierced his heart.</p> + +<p>It passed in a second; and Roy was speaking again—not to Tara, but to +her mother.</p> + +<p>"Is there any poet, East or West, who can <i>quite</i> so exquisitely capture +the essence of a mood, hold it lightly, like a fluttering bird, and as +lightly let it go?"</p> + +<p>Lady Despard smiled approval at the simile. "In that one," she said, "he +has captured more than a mood—the very essence of life.—Have you met +him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, once—after a lecture. We had a talk—I'll never forget. There's +wonderful stuff in the new volume. I know most of it by heart."</p> + +<p>"Spare us, good Lord," muttered Cuthbert—neither prejudiced nor +perverse, but British to the core. "If you start again, I'll retaliate +with Job and the Psalms!"</p> + +<p>Roy retorted with the stump of an extinct cigarette. It smote the +offender between the eyebrows, leaving a caste-mark of warm ash to +attest the accuracy of his aim.</p> + +<p>"Bull's eye!" Tara scored softly; and Roy, turning on his elbow, +appealed to Broome. "Jeffers, please extinguish him!" ("Jeffers" being a +corruption of G.F., alias Godfather).</p> + +<p>Broome laughed. "I had a hazy notion he was your show candidate for the +Indian Civil!"</p> + +<p>"He's supposed to be. That's the scandal of it. A mighty lot of interest +he's cultivating in the people and the country he aspires to +administer."</p> + +<p>"High art and sloppy sentiment are not in the bond," Cuthbert retorted, +with a wink at Dyán Singh.</p> + +<p>That roused Lady Despard. "Insight and sympathy <i>must</i> be in the bond, +unless England and India are to drift apart altogether. The Indian +Civilian should be caught early, like the sailor, and trained on the +spot. Exams make character a side issue. And one might almost say +there's no <i>other</i> issue in the Indian services."</p> + +<p>Cuthbert nodded. "Glorious farce, isn't it? They simply cram us like +Christmas turkeys. Efficiency's the war-cry, these enlightened days."</p> + +<p>"Too <i>much</i> efficiency," Dyán struck in, with a kindling <a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>eye. "Already +turning our ancient cities into nightmares like Manchester and +Birmingham, killing the true sense of beauty, giving us instead the +poison of money and luxury worship. And what result? Just now, when the +West at last begins to notice our genius of colour and design—even to +learn from it—we find it slipping out of our own fingers. Nearly all +the homes of the English educated are like caricatures of your +villas—the worst kind. Yet there are still many on both sides who wish +to make life—not so ugly, to escape a little from gross superstition of +<i>facts</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" Broome applauded him. "But I'm afraid, my dear boy, the +Time Spirit is out to make tradesmen and politicians of us all. Thank +God, the soul of a race lives in its books, its philosophy and art."</p> + +<p>"Very well then"—Roy was the speaker,—"the obvious remedy lies in +getting the souls of both races into closer touch—philosophy, art, and +all that—eh, Jeffers? That's what we're after—Dyán and I—on the lines +of that society Dad belongs to."</p> + +<p>Broome looked thoughtfully from one to the other. "A tall order," said +he.</p> + +<p>"A vision splendid!" said Lady Despard.</p> + +<p>Roy leaned eagerly towards her. "<i>You</i> don't sneer at dreams, Aunt +Helen."</p> + +<p>"Nor do I, my son. Dreamers are our strictly unpaid torch-bearers. They +light the path for us; and we murmur 'Poor fools!' with a kind of +sneaking self-satisfaction, when they come a cropper."</p> + +<p>"'Which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me!'" quoted Roy, cheered by Lady +Despard's approval. "Anyway, we're keen to speed up the better +understanding move—on the principle that Art unites and politics +divide."</p> + +<p>"Very pithy—and approximately true! May I be allowed to proffer a sound +working maxim for youth on the war-path? 'Freedom and courage in +thought—obedience in act.' When I say obedience, I don't mean slavish +conformity. When I say freedom, I don't mean licence. Only the bond are +free."</p> + +<p>"Jeffers, you're a Daniel! I'll pinch that pearl of wisdom! But what +about democracy—Cuthers' pet panacea? Isn't it making for +<i>dis</i>obedience in act—rebellion; and enslavement in thought—every man +<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>reared on the same catch-words, minted with the same hall-mark?"</p> + +<p>That roused the much-enduring British Lion—in the person of Cuthbert +Gordon.</p> + +<p>"Confound you, Roy! This is a picnic, not a bally Union debate. You +can't argue for nuts; and when you start spouting you're the limit. But +two can play at that game!" He flourished a half-empty syphon of +lemonade, threatening the handle with a very square thumb.</p> + +<p>"Fire away, old bean." Roy opened his mouth by way of invitation. +Cuthbert promptly pressed the trigger—and missed his mark.</p> + +<p>There was a small shriek from Tara and from the girls on the bank: then +the opponents proceeded to deal with one another in earnest....</p> + +<p>Dyán soon lost interest when India was not the theme; and, as the elders +fell into an undercurrent of talk, his eyes sought Tara's face. Her +answering smile spurred him to a bold move; and he leaned towards her, +over the edge of the boat. "Miss Despard," he said under his breath, +"won't you come for a stroll in the field?—Do."</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I'm too lazy! We've had enough exercise. And +there's the walk home."</p> + +<p>Her refusal jarred him; but desire overruled pride. "You couldn't call +it exercise. Do come."</p> + +<p>"Truly—I'm tired," she insisted gently, looking away from him towards +her mother.</p> + +<p>It was Lady Despard's boast that she could listen to three conversations +at once; but even Tara was surprised when she casually put out a hand +and patted her knee. "Wise child. Better keep quiet till we start home."</p> + +<p>The hand was not removed. Tara covered it with her own, and further +maddened the discomfited Dyán by saying, with her very kindest smile: +"I'm so sorry. Don't be vexed."</p> + +<p>Vexed! The bloodless word was insult piled on injury. All the pride and +passion of his race flamed in him. Without answering her smile or her +plea, he drew abruptly away from her; stepped out of the punt and went +for his stroll alone.<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIB" id="CHAPTER_IIB"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Who knows what days"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Who knows what days I answer for to-day...?</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Thoughts yet unripe in me, I bend one way...."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>While Broome and Lady Despard were concerned over indications of a +critical corner for Roy, there was none—save perhaps Arúna—to be +concerned for the dilemma of Dyán Singh, Rajput—half savage, half +chivalrous gentleman; idealist in the grain; lover of England and India; +and now—fiercely, consumedly—lover of Tara Despard, with her Indian +name and her pearl-white English skin and the benign sunshine of England +in her hair.</p> + +<p>It is the danger-point for the young Indian overseas, unused to free +intercourse with women other than his own; saddled, very often, with a +girl-wife in the background—the last by no means a matter of course in +these enlightened days. In Dyán Singh's case the safeguard was lacking. +His mother being dead, he had held his own against a rigidly +conventional grandmother, and insisted on delaying the inevitable till +his education was complete. Waxing bolder still, he had demanded the +same respite for Arúna; a far more serious affair. For months they had +waged a battle of tongues and temper and tears, with +Mátaji—high-priestess of the Inside—with the family matchmaker and the +family <i>guru</i>, whom to offend was the unforgiveable sin. Had he not +power to call down upon an entire household the curse of the gods?</p> + +<p>More than once Arúna had been goaded to the brink of surrender; till her +brother grew impatient and spurned her as a weakling. Yet her ordeal had +been sharper than his own. For him, mere moral suasion and threats <a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>of +ostracism. For her, the immemorial methods of the Inside; forbidden by +Sir Lakshman, but secretly applied, when flagrant obstinacy demanded +drastic measures. So neither Dyán nor his grandfather had suspected that +Arúna, for days together, had suffered the torment of Tantalus—food set +before her so mercilessly peppered that a morsel would raise blisters on +her lips and tongue; water steeped in salt; the touch of the +'fire-stick' applied where her skin was tenderest; not to mention the +more subtle torment of jibes and threats and vile insinuations that +suffused her with shame and rage. A word to the menfolk, threatened +Mátaji, and worse would befall. If <i>men</i> cared nothing for family +honour, the women must vindicate it in their own fashion. For the two +were doing their duty, up to their lights. Only the knowledge that Dyán +was fighting her battle, as well as his own, had kept the girl unbroken +in spirit, even when her body cried out for respite at any price....</p> + +<p>All this she had confided to him when, at last, they were safe on the +great ship, with miles of turbulent water between them and the ruthless +dominion of <i>dastúr</i>. That confession—with its unconscious revealing of +the Rajput spirit hidden in her laughter-loving heart—had drawn them +into closest union and filled Dyán with self-reproach. Small wonder if +Oxford seemed to both a paradise of knowledge and of friendly freedom. +Small wonder if they believed that, in one bold leap, they had bridged +the gulf between East and West.</p> + +<p>At Bramleigh Beeches, Lilámani—who knew all without telling—had +welcomed them with open arms: and Lady Despard no less. It was here that +Dyán met Tara, who had 'no use' for colleges—and, in the course of a +few vacation visits, the damage had been done.</p> + +<p>At first he had felt startled, even a little dismayed. English education +and delayed marriage had involved no dream of a possible English wife. +With the Indian Civil in view, he had hoped to meet some girl student of +his own race, sufficiently advanced to remain outside purdah and to +realise that a modern Indian husband might crave companionship from his +wife no less than motherhood, worship, and service.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>And now ... <i>this</i>——!</p> + +<p>Striding across the field, in the glimmer of a moon just beginning to +take colour, he alternately raged at her light rebuff, and applauded her +maidenly hesitation. As a Hindu and a man of breeding, his natural +instinct had been to approach her parents; but he knew enough of modern +youth, by now, to realise that English parents were a side issue in +these little affairs. For himself, the primitive lover flamed in him. He +wanted to kneel and worship her. In the same breath, he wanted simply to +possess her, would she or no....</p> + +<p>And in saner moods, uncertainty racked him. What did they amount to, her +smiles and flashes of sympathy, her kind, cousinly ways? What did Roy's +cousinly kindness amount to, with Arúna? If in India they suffered from +too much restriction, it dawned on him that in England trouble might +arise from too much freedom. Always, by some cause, there would be +suffering. The gods would see to it. But not through loss of her—he +mutely implored them. Any way but that!</p> + +<p>Everything hung on the walk home. Those two must have finished their +sparring match by now....</p> + +<p>They had. Roy was on the bank, helping Arúna pack the basket; and +Cuthbert in possession of Tara—not for long.</p> + +<p>He was called upon to punt back; and at the boat-house, where a taxi +removed the elders and the picnic impedimenta, he essayed a futile +manœuvre to recapture Tara and saddle Dyán with the solid Emily. +Failing, he consoled himself by keeping in touch with Arúna and Roy.</p> + +<p>Dyán patently delayed starting, patently lagged behind. Unskilled and +desperately in earnest, he could not lead up to his moment. He was +laboriously framing the essential words when Tara scattered them with a +light remark, rallying him on his snail's pace.</p> + +<p>"You <i>would</i> go for that stroll; and you strolled so violently——!"</p> + +<p>"Because my heart in me was raging—aching, violently!" he blurted out +with such unexpected vehemence, that she started and stepped back a +pace.</p> + +<p>"Of course I knew—there must be difficulties—so I have been waiting +and hoping ..." An idiotic catch <a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>in his throat brought a sudden hot +wave of self-consciousness. He flung out both hands. "Tara——!"</p> + +<p>Instinctively, she drew her own out of reach. A ghost of a shiver ran +through her. "No—no. I don't ... I never have.... If I've misled you, +I'm ever so sorry."</p> + +<p>"If you are sorry—<i>give me hope</i>," his voice, his eyes implored her. +"You come so near—then you draw back; like offering a thirsty man a cup +of water he must not drink. Give me only a little time—a little +chance——"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Please believe me. I'm <i>not</i> the wavering kind. I'm +keen to go on being friends—because of Roy. But, truthfully, it's no +use hoping for anything more—ever."</p> + +<p>Her patent sincerity, the sweet seriousness of her face, carried +conviction. And conviction turned his ardour to bitterness.</p> + +<p>"Why no use—<i>ever?</i>" he flung out, maddened by her emphasis on the +word.</p> + +<p>"I suppose—because I know my own mind."</p> + +<p>"No. Because—<i>I</i> am Indian." His voice was changed and harsh. "We are +all British subjects—oh yes—when convenient! But the door is opened +only—so far. If we make bold to ask for the best, it is slammed in our +faces."</p> + +<p>"Dyán Singh, if I have hurt you, it was quite unintentional. You know +that. But now, <i>with</i> intention, you are hurting me." Her dignity and +gentleness, the justice of her reproof, smote him silent; and she went +on: "You forget, it is the same among your own people. Aunt Lila was +cast out—for always. With an English girl that could never be."</p> + +<p>Too distraught for argument, he harked back to the personal issue. "With +<i>you</i> there would be no need. I would live altogether like an +Englishman——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>stop!</i>" she broke out desperately. "Don't start all over +again——"</p> + +<p>"Look alive, you two slackers," shouted Roy, from the far corner of the +road. "I'm responsible for keeping the team together."</p> + +<p>"Coming!" called Tara, and turned on Dyán a final glance of appeal. "I'm +<i>sorry</i> from the bottom of my <a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>heart. I can't say more."—And setting +the pace, she hurried forward.</p> + +<p>For the fraction of a second, he hesitated. An overmastering impulse +seized him to walk off in the opposite direction. His eager love for +them all had suddenly turned to gall. But pride forbade. He would not +for the world have them guess at his rebuff—not even Arúna....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He slept little that night; and it was not Dyán Singh of New College who +awoke next morning. It was Dyán Singh, Rajput, Descendant of the Sun. +Yet the foolish round of life must go on as if no vital change had come +to pass.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, he was going with Roy to a select drawing-room meeting. +A certain Mr Ramji Lal had been asked to read a paper on the revival of +Indian arts and crafts. Dyán had been looking forward to it keenly; but +now, sore and miserable as he was—all sense of purpose and direction +gone—he felt out of tune with the whole thing.</p> + +<p>He would have been thankful to cry off. Roy, however, must not suspect +the truth—Roy, who himself might be the stumbling-block. The suspicion +stung like a scorpion; though it soothed a little his hurt pride of +race.</p> + +<p>Embittered and antagonistic, he listened only with half his mind to his +own countryman's impassioned appeal for renewal of the true Swadeshi<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +spirit in India; renewal of her own innate artistic culture, her faith +in the creative power of thought and ideas. That spirit—said the +speaker—has no war-cries, no shoutings in the market-place. It is a way +of looking at life. Its true genesis and inspiration is in the home. +Like flame, newly-lit, it needs cherishing. Instead, it is in danger of +being stamped out by false Swadeshi—an imitation product of the West; +noisy and political, crying out for more factories, more councils; +caring nothing for true Indian traditions of art and life. It will not +buy goods from Birmingham and Manchester; but it will create Birmingham +and Manchester in India. In effect, it is <a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>the age-old argument whether +the greatness of a nation comes from the dominion of men or +machinery....</p> + +<p>For all this, Dyán had cared intensely twenty-four hours ago. Now it +seemed little better than a rhapsody of fine phrases—'sounding brass +and tinkling cymbals.'</p> + +<p>Could the mere word of a woman so swiftly and violently transform the +mind of a man? His innate masculinity resented the idea. It succumbed, +nevertheless. He was too deeply hurt in his pride and his passionate +heart to think or feel sanely while the wound was still so fresh. He was +scarcely stirred even by the allusion to Rajputana in Mr Ramji Lal's +peroration.</p> + +<p>"I ask you to consider, in conclusion—my dear and honoured English +friends—the words of a veteran lover of India, who is also a son of +England. It was his conviction—it is also mine—that 'the still living +art of India, the still living chivalry of Rajputana, the still living +religion of the Hindus, are the only three points on which there is any +possibility of regenerating the national life of India—the India of the +Hindus....'"</p> + +<p>Very fine; doubtless very true; but what use—after all—their eternal +talk? By blowing volumes of air from their lungs, did they shift the +mountains of difficulty one single inch?</p> + +<p>More talk followed; tea and attentions that would have flattered him +yesterday. To-day it all passed clean over his head. They were ready +enough to pamper him, like a lap-dog, these good ladies; forgetting he +was a man, with a man's heart and brain, making demand for something +more than carefully chosen sugar-plums.</p> + +<p>He had never been so thankful to get away from that hospitable house, +where he had imagined himself so happy....</p> + +<p>They were out in the street again, striding back to New College: +Roy—not yet alive to the change in him—full of it all; talking +nineteen to the dozen. But Dyán's urgent heart spoke louder than his +cousin's voice. And all the while he kept wondering consumedly—<i>Was</i> it +Roy?</p> + +<p>He could not bring himself to ask outright. The answer would madden him +either way. And Goodness—or Badness—knew he was miserable enough: +hurt, angry with Fate, with England, even with Tara—<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>lovely and +unattainable! She had spoilt everything: his relation with her, with her +people, with Roy. She had quenched his zeal for their joint crusade. All +the same, he would hold Roy to the India plan; since there was just a +chance—and it would take him away from her. He hated himself for the +thought; but jealousy, in the East, is a consuming fire....</p> + +<p>Roy's monologue ceased abruptly. "Your innings, old chap, I think!" he +said. "You're mum as a fish this afternoon. I noticed it in there—I +thought you'd have lots to say to Ramji Lal."</p> + +<p>Dyán frowned. He could not for long play at pretences with Roy.</p> + +<p>"Those ladies did all the saying. They would not have liked it at all if +I had spoken my true thought,"—he paused and added deliberately—"that +we are all cracking our skulls against stone walls."</p> + +<p>"My dear chap——!" Roy stared in frank bewilderment. "What's gone +wrong? Your liver touched up? Too much salmon mayonnaise and cream?"</p> + +<p>His light tone goaded Dyán to exasperation. "Quite likely," he retorted, +a sneer lurking in his tone. "Plenty of mayonnaise and cream, for all +parties. But when we make bold to ask for more satisfying things, we +find 'No Indians need apply.'"</p> + +<p>"But—my good Dyán——!"</p> + +<p>"Well—it's true. Suppose I wish to promote that closer union we all +chatter about by marrying an English girl—what then?"</p> + +<p>Up went Roy's eyebrows. "Are <i>you</i> after an English wife?"</p> + +<p>"I am submitting a case—that might easily occur." He spoke with a touch +of irritation; and fearing self-betrayal, swerved from the main issue. +"Would <i>you</i> marry an Indian girl?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so. If I was keen. I'm not at all sure, though, if it's +sound—in principle—mixing such opposite strains. And in your +case—hypothetical, I suppose——?"</p> + +<p>Dyán's grunt confessed nothing and denied nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well—from what one hears, an English wife, out there, might make a bit +of complication, if you get the 'Civil.'"<a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a></p> + +<p>Dyán started. "I shan't go up for it. I've changed my mind."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! And you've been sweating all this time."</p> + +<p>Dyán's smile was tinged with bitterness.</p> + +<p>"Well—one lives and learns. I can make good use of my knowledge without +turning myself into an imitation Englishman. An Indian wife might make +equal difficulty. So—with all my zeal—I am between two grindstones. My +father joined the Civil. He was keen. He did well. But—no promotion; +and little friendliness, except from very few. I believe he was never +happy. I believe—it killed him. I was cherishing a hope that, now, +things might be better. But I am beginning to see—I may be wrong. Safer +to see it in time——"</p> + +<p>Roy looked genuinely distressed. "Poor old Dyán. Perhaps you're right. I +don't know much about British India. But it does seem hard lines—and +bad policy—to choke off men like you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. They might consider <i>that</i> more, if they heard some of our +fire-eaters. One was at me last week. He gave the British ten years to +survive. Said their lot could raise a revolution to-morrow if they had +money—a trifle of five millions! He was swearing the Indian princes are +not loyal, in spite of talk and subscriptions; that the Army will join +whichever side gives best pay. We who <i>are</i> loyal need <i>some</i> +encouragement—some recognition. We are only human——!"</p> + +<p>"Rather. But <i>you</i> won't go back on our little show, old chap. Just when +I'm dead keen—laying my plans for India——"</p> + +<p>He took hold of Dyán's upper arm and gave it a friendly shake.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll stick to that. But are you sure you can work it—with your +people? If <i>you</i> back out, I swear, by the sin of the sack of Chitor, +I'll join the beastly crowd who are learning to make bombs in Berlin."</p> + +<p>At that—the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of a Rajput—Roy +looked startled. Then he laughed.</p> + +<p>"'Commem' seems to have disagreed with you all round! But I won't be +intimidated. Likewise—I won't back out. I intend opening diplomatic +conversations <a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>with Jeffers to-night. Recherché dinner for two in my +room. All his little weaknesses! He'd be a strong ally. Wish me luck."</p> + +<p>Dyán wished him luck in a rather perfunctory tone, considering his +vehemence of a moment earlier. All the fire seemed suddenly to have gone +out of him.</p> + +<p>They had just entered the college gate; and a few yards ahead, they +caught sight of Lady Despard and Tara—the girl's hand linked through +her mother's arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I clean forgot," remarked Roy. "I said they could look in."<a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Own country.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIB" id="CHAPTER_IIIB"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is the spirit of the quest which helps. I am the slave of + this spirit of the quest."—<span class='smcap'>Kabir</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Roy's recherché little dinner proved an unqualified success. With sole +and chicken sauté, with trifle and savoury, he mutely pleaded his cause; +feeling vaguely guilty, the while, of belittling his childhood's idol, +whom he increasingly admired and loved. But this India business was +tremendously important, and the dear old boy would never suspect——</p> + +<p>Roy watched him savouring the chicken and peas; discussing the decay of +falling in love, its reasons and remedies; and thought, for the +hundredth time, what a splendid old boy he was; so big and breezy, +nothing bookish or newspapery about him. Quite a masterpiece of +modelling, on Nature's part; the breadth and bulk of him; the massive +head, with its thatch of tawny-grey hair that retreated up the sides of +his forehead, making corners; the nose, rugged and full of character; +the beard and the sea-blue eyes that gave him the sailor aspect Roy had +so loved in nursery days. Now he appraised it consciously, with the +artist's eye. A vigorous bust of his godfather was his acknowledged +masterpiece, so far, in the modelling line, which he preferred to brush +or pencil. But first and foremost, literature claimed him: poetry, +essays, and the despised novel—truest and most plastic medium for +interpreting man to man and race to race: the most entirely obvious +medium, thought Roy, for promoting the cause he had at heart.</p> + +<p>Though his brain was overflowing with the one subject, he was reserving +it diplomatically for the more intimate atmosphere of port wine, coffee +and cigars.<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a> Meantime they always had plenty to talk about, these two. +Broome held the unorthodox view that he probably had quite as much to +learn from the young as they from him; and at the moment, the question +whether Roy should take up literature in earnest was very much to the +fore.</p> + +<p>Once or twice during a pause, he caught the shrewd blue eye watching him +from under shaggy brows; but each kept his own counsel till the scout +had removed all superfluities. Then Broome chose a cigar, sniffed it, +and beheaded it.</p> + +<p>"My particular weakness!" he remarked pensively, while Roy filled his +glass. "What an attentive godson it is! And after this intriguing +prelude—what of the main plot? India?"</p> + +<p>Under a glance as direct as the question Roy reddened furiously. The +'dear old boy' had done more than suspect; he had seen through the whole +show—the indignity of all others that youth can least abide.</p> + +<p>At sight of his crestfallen countenance, Broome laughed outright. "Bear +up, old man! Don't grudge me a fraction of the wits I live by. Weren't +you trying to give me an inkling yesterday?"</p> + +<p>Roy nodded, mollified a little. But his self-confidence wilted under the +false start. "How about arm-chairs?" he remarked tentatively, very much +engaged with a cigarette.</p> + +<p>They removed their coffee-cups, and sipped once or twice in silence. +"I'm waiting," said Broome, encouragement in his tone.</p> + +<p>But Roy still hesitated. "You see——" he temporised, "I'm so fearfully +keen, I feel shy of gassing about it. Might seem to you mere soppy +sentiment."</p> + +<p>Broome's sailor eyes twinkled. "You pay me the compliment, my son, of +treating me as if I were a fellow-undergrad! It's only the 'teens and +the twenties of this very new century that are so mortally afraid of +sentiment—the main factor in human happiness. If you had <i>not</i> a strong +sentiment for India, you would be unworthy of your mother. You want to +go out there—is that the rub?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. With Dyán."</p> + +<p>"In what capacity?"<a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></p> + +<p>"A lover and a learner. Also—by way of—a budding author. I was hoping +you might back me up with a few commissions for my preliminary stuff."</p> + +<p>"You selected your godfather with unerring foresight! And preliminaries +over—a book, or books, would be the end in view?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and other things. Whatever one can do—in a small way—to inspire +a friendlier feeling all round; a clearer conviction that the destinies +of England and India are humanly bound up together. I'm sure those +cursed politics are responsible for most of the friction. It's art and +literature, the emotional and spiritual forces that draw men together, +isn't it, Jeffers? <i>You</i> know that——"</p> + +<p>He leaned forward, warming to his subject; the false start forgotten; +shyness dispelled....</p> + +<p>And, once started, none was more skilful than Broome in luring him on to +fuller, unconscious self-revealing. He knew very well that, on this +topic, and on many others, Roy could enlarge more freely to him than to +his father. Youth is made that way. In his opinion, it was all to the +good that Roy should aspire to use his double heritage, for the +legitimate and noble purpose of interpreting—as far as might be—East +to West, and West to East: not least, because he would probably learn a +good deal more than he was qualified to teach. It was in the process of +qualifying himself, by closer acquaintance with India, that the lurking +danger reared its head. But some outlet there must be for the Eastern +spirit in him; and his early efforts pointed clearly to literary +expression, if Broome knew anything of the creative gift. Himself a +devotee, he agreed with Lafcadio Hearne that 'a man may do quite as +great a service to his country by writing a book as by winning a +battle'; and just so much of these thoughts as seemed fit he imparted to +Roy, who—in response to the last—glowed visibly.</p> + +<p>"Priceless old Jeffers! I knew I could reckon on you to back me up—and +buck me up! Of course one will be hugely encouraged by the bleating of +the practical crowd—Aunt Jane and Co. '<i>Why</i> waste your time writing +silly novels?' And if you try to explain that novels <i>have</i> a real +function, they merely think <i>you've</i> got a swelled head."<a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a></p> + +<p>"Never mind, Roy. 'The quest is a noble one and the hope great.' And we +scribblers have our glorious compensations. As for Aunt Jane——" He +looked very straight at her nephew—and winked deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course—she's <i>the</i> unlimited limit," Roy agreed without shame. +"I suppose if Dad plays up, she'll give him hell?"</p> + +<p>"Good measure, pressed down.—By the way—have you spoken to <i>him</i> yet +of all this——?"</p> + +<p>"No. Mother probably guesses. But you're the first. I made sure <i>you'd</i> +understand——"</p> + +<p>"You feel doubtful—about Father?"</p> + +<p>"M-yes. I don't quite know why."</p> + +<p>Broome was silent a moment. "After all—it's natural. Put yourself in +his place, Roy.—He sees India taking a stronger hold of you each year. +He knows you've a deal of your mother and grandfather in your make-up. +He may very well be afraid of the magnet proving too strong at close +quarters. And I suspect he's jealous—for England. He'd like to see your +soul centred on Bramleigh Beeches: and I more than suspect they'd both +prefer to keep you nearer home."</p> + +<p>Roy looked distressed. "Hard lines. I hadn't got to that yet. But it +wouldn't be for always. And—there's George and Jerry sprouting up."</p> + +<p>"I gather that George and Jerry are not precisely—Roy——"</p> + +<p>"Jeffers—you old sinner! I can't flatter myself——!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be blatantly British, Roy! You can flatter yourself—you know as +well as I do!"</p> + +<p>"I know it's undiplomatic to contradict my elders!" countered Roy, +lunging after pipe and pouch.</p> + +<p>"Especially convenient godfathers, with press connections?"</p> + +<p>Roy fronted him squarely, laughter lurking in his eyes. "Are you <i>going</i> +to be convenient—that's the rub! <i>Will</i> you give Dad a notion I may +turn out something decent when I've scraped up some crumbs of +knowledge——?"</p> + +<p>Broome leaned forward and laid a large reassuring hand on his knee. +"Trust me to pull it off, old man—provided Mother approves. We couldn't +press it against <i>her</i> wish—either of us."<a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a></p> + +<p>"No—we couldn't." There was a new gravity in Roy's tone. "As I said, +she probably knows all about it. That's her way. She understandeth one's +thoughts long before." The last in a lower tone—his eyes dwelling on +her portrait above the mantelpiece: the one in the studio window-seat.</p> + +<p>And Broome thought: "With all his brains, the man's hardly astir in him +yet; and the boy's still in love with her. This notion may be an +unconscious outlet. A healthy one—if Nevil can be got to see it that +way."</p> + +<p>After a perceptible pause, he said quietly: "Remember, Roy, just because +she's unique, she can't be taken as representative. She naturally stands +for India in your eyes. But no country can produce beings of her quality +by the score——"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not." Roy reluctantly shifted his gaze. "But she does +represent what's best in the Indian spirit: the spirit that people over +here might take more pains to understand."</p> + +<p>"And you are peculiarly well fitted to assist them, I admit—if Father's +willing to bear the cost of your trip. It's a compact between us. The +snare of your A1 dinner shall not have been laid in vain!"</p> + +<p>They sat on together for more than an hour. Then Broome departed, +leaving Roy to dream—in a blue mist of tobacco smoke—the opal-tinted +ego-centric dreams of one-and-twenty.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And to-night one dream eclipsed them all.</p> + +<p>For years the germ of it had lived in him like a seed in +darkness—growing with him as he grew. All incidents and impressions +that struck deep had served to vitalise it: that early championship of +his mother; her tales of Rajputana; his friendship with Desmond and +Dyán; and, not least, his father's Ramayána pictures in the long gallery +at home, that had seized his imagination in very early days, when their +appeal was simply to his innate sense of colour, and the reiterate +wonder and beauty of his mother's face in those moving scenes from the +story of Sita—India's crown of womanhood....</p> + +<p>Then there was the vivid memory of a room in his <a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>grandfather's house; +the stately old man, with his deep voice, speaking words that he only +came to understand years after; and the look in his mother's eyes, as +she clapped her hands without sound, in the young fashion he loved....</p> + +<p>And Chandranath—another glimpse of India; the ugly side ...And stories +from Tod's 'Rajasthán'—that grim and stirring panorama of romance and +chivalry, of cruelty and cunning; orgies of slaughter and miracles of +high-hearted devotion....</p> + +<p>Barbaric; utterly foreign to life, as he had lived it, those tales of +ancient India most strangely awakened in him a vague, thrilling sense of +familiarity ... He <i>knew</i>...! Most clearly he knew the spirit that fired +them all, when Akbar's legions broke, wave on wave, against the mighty +rock-fortress of Chitor—far-famed capital of Mewar, thrice sacked by +Islam and deserted by her royal house; so that only the ghost of her +glory remains—a protest, a challenge, an inspiration....</p> + +<p>Sometimes he dreamed it all, with amazing vividness. And in the dreams +there was always the feeling that he knew ...It was a very queer, very +exciting sensation. He had spoken of it to no one but his mother and +Tara; except once at Marlborough, when he had been moved to try whether +Lance would understand.</p> + +<p>Priceless old Desmond! It had been killing to watch his +face—interested, sceptical, faintly alarmed, when he discovered that it +was not an elaborate attempt to pull his leg. By way of reassuring him, +Roy had confessed it was a family failing. When things went wrong his +mother nearly always knew: and sometimes she came to him, in dreams that +were not exactly dreams. What harm?</p> + +<p>Desmond, puzzled and sceptical, was not prepared to hazard an opinion. +If Roy was made that way, of course he couldn't help it. And Roy, half +indignant, had declared he wouldn't for worlds be made any other way....</p> + +<p>To-night, by some freak of memory, it all came back to him through the +dream-inducing haze of tobacco smoke. And there, on his writing-table, +stood a full-length photograph of Lance in Punjab cavalry uniform. +Soldiering on the Indian Border, fulfilling himself in <a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>his own splendid +fashion, he was clearly in his element; attached to his father's old +regiment, with Paul for second-in-command; proud of his strapping Sikhs +and Pathans; watched over, revered and implicitly obeyed by the sons of +men who had served with his father—men for whom the mere name Desmond +was a talisman. For that is India's way.</p> + +<p>And here was he, Roy, still at his old trick of scribbling poems and +dreaming dreams. For a fleeting moment, Desmond was out of the picture; +but when time was ripe he would be in it again. The link between them +was indestructible—elemental. Poet and Warrior; the eternal +complements. In the Rig Veda<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> both are one; both <i>Agni Kula</i>—'born of +fire'; no fulness of life for the one without the other.</p> + +<p>The years dominated by Desmond had been supreme. They had left school +together, when Roy was seventeen; and, at the time, their parting had +seemed like the end of everything. Yet, very soon after, he had found +himself in the thick of fresh delights—a wander-year in Italy, Greece, +the Mediterranean, with the parents and Christine——</p> + +<p>And now, here he was, nearing the end of the Oxford interlude—dominated +by Dyán and India; and, not least, by Oxford herself, who counts her +lovers by the million; holds them for the space of three or four years +and sets her impress for life on their minds and hearts. For all his +dreamings and scribblings, he had played hard and worked hard. In the +course of reading for Greats, he had imbibed large draughts of the +classics; had browsed widely on later literature, East and West; won the +Newcastle, and filled a vellum-bound volume—his mother's gift—with +verse and sketches in prose, some of which had appeared in the more +exclusive weeklies. He had also picked up Hindustani from Dyán, and +looked forward to tackling Sanskrit. In the Schools, he had taken a +First in Mods; and, with reasonable luck, hoped for a First in the +Finals. Once again, parting would be a wrench, but India glowed like a +planet on the horizon; and he fully intended to make that interlude the +pick of them all....<a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a></p> + +<p>What novels he would write! Not modern impressionist stuff; not mean +streets and the photographic touch. No—his adventuring soul, with its +tinge of Eastern mysticism, craved colour and warmth and light;—not the +mere trappings of romance, but the essence of it that imparts a deeper +sense of the significance and mystery of life; that probes to the +mainsprings of personality, the veiled yet vital world of spiritual +adventure ... Pain and conflict; powers of evil, of doubt and +indecision:—no evading these. But in any imaginative work he essayed, +beauty must be the prevailing element—if only as a star in darkness. +And nowadays Beauty had become almost suspect. Cleverness, cynicism, sex +and sensation—all had their votaries and their vogue. Mere Beauty, like +Cinderella, was left sitting among the ashes of the past; and +Roy—prince or no—was her devout lover.</p> + +<p>To the son of Nevil and Lilámani, her clear call could never seem either +a puritanical snare of the flesh or a delusion of the senses; but +rather, a grace of the spirit, the joy of things seen detached from +self-interest: the visible proof that love, not power, is the last word +of Creation. Happily for him, its outward form and inward essence had +been his daily bread ever since he had first consciously looked upon his +mother's face, consciously delighted in his father's pictures. They +lived it, those two: and the life lived transcends argument.</p> + +<p>At this uplifted moment—whatever might come later—he blessed them for +his double heritage; for the perfect accord between them that inspired +his hope of ultimate harmony between England and India, in spite of +barriers and complexities and fomenters of discord; a harmony that could +never arrive by veiled condescension out of servile imitation. Intimacy +with Dyán and his mother had made that quite clear. Each must honestly +will to understand the other; each holding fast the essence of +individuality, while respecting in the other precisely those baffling +qualities that strengthen their union and make it vital to the welfare +of both. Instinctively he pictured them as man and woman; and on general +lines the analogy seemed to hold good. He had yet to discover that +analogies are often deceptive <a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>things; peculiarly so, in this case, +since India is many, not one. Yet there lurked a germ of truth in his +seedling idea: and he was at the age when ideas and tremendous impulses +stir in the blood like sap in spring-time; an age to be a reformer, a +fanatic or a sensualist.</p> + +<p>Too often, alas, before the years bring power of adjustment, the live +spark of enthusiasm is extinct....</p> + +<p>To-night it burned in Roy with a steady flame. If only he could enthuse +his father——!</p> + +<p>He supposed he would go in any case: but he lacked the rebel instinct of +modern youth. He wanted to share, to impart his hidden treasure; not to +argue the bloom off it. And his father seemed tacitly to discourage +rhapsodies over Indian literature and art. You couldn't say he was not +keen: only the least little bit unresponsive to outbursts of keenness in +his son; so that Roy never felt quite at ease on the subject. If only he +could walk into the room now, while Roy's brain was seething with it +all, high on the upward curve of a wave....<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Ancient Hindu Scriptures.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVB" id="CHAPTER_IVB"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="You could humble"> +<tr><td align='left'>"You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">But it is your loved ones ... whom you choose to worship.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Therefore I worship you."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>Roy, after due consideration, decided that he would speak first to his +father—the one doubtful element in the home circle. But habit and the +obsession of the moment proved too strong, when his mother came to 'tuck +him up,' as she had never failed to do since nursery days.</p> + +<p>Seated on the edge of his bed, in the shaded light, she looked like some +rare, pale moth in her moon-coloured sari flecked and bordered with +gold; amber earrings and a rope of amber beads—his own gift; first +fruits of poetic earnings. The years between had simply ripened and +embellished her; rounded a little the oval of her cheek; lent an added +dignity to her grace of bearing and enriched her wisdom of the heart.</p> + +<p>It was as he supposed. She had understood his thoughts long before. He +flung out his hand—a fine, nervous hand—and laid it on her knee.</p> + +<p>"You're a miracle. I believe you know all about it."</p> + +<p>"I believe—I do," she answered, letting her own hand rest on his; +moving her fingers, now and then, in the ghost of a caress:—an +endearing way she had. "You are wishing—to go out there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I simply must. <i>You</i> understand?"</p> + +<p>She inclined her head and, for a moment, veiled her eyes. "I am proud. +But you cannot understand how difficult ... for us ... letting you go. +And Dad...."</p> + +<p>She paused.</p> + +<p>"You think he'll hate it—want to keep me here?"<a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a></p> + +<p>"My darling—'hate' is too strong. He cares very much for all that makes +friendship between England and India. But—is it wonder if he cares more +for his own son? You will speak to him soon?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow. Unless—a word or two, first, from you——"</p> + +<p>"No, not that!" She smiled at his old boyish faith in her. "Better to +keep me outside. You see—I <i>am</i> India. So I am already too much in it +that way."</p> + +<p>"You are in it up to the hilt!" he declared with sudden fervour: +and—his tongue unloosed—he poured out to her a measure of his pent up +feeling; how they had inspired him—she and his father; how he naturally +hoped they would back him up; and a good deal more that was for her +private ear alone....</p> + +<p>Her immense capacity for listening, her eloquent silence and gentle +flashes of raillery, her occasional caress—all were balm to him in his +electrical mood.</p> + +<p>Were ever two beings quite so perfectly in tune——?</p> + +<p>Could he possibly leave her? Could he face the final wrench?</p> + +<p>When at last she stooped to kiss him, the faint clear whiff of +sandalwood waked a hundred memories; and he held her close a long time, +her cheek against his hair.</p> + +<p>"Bad boy! Let me go," she pleaded; and, with phenomenal obedience, he +unclasped his hands.</p> + +<p>"See if you <i>can</i> go now!"</p> + +<p>It was his old childish game. The moment she stirred, his hands were +locked again.</p> + +<p>"Son of my heart—I must!"</p> + +<p>"One more kiss then—for luck!"</p> + +<p>So she kissed him, for luck, and left him to his midnight browsings....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Next morning she sat among her cushions in the studio, ostensibly +reading a long letter from her father. Actually, her mind was intent on +Nevil, who stood at his easel absorbed in fragmentary studies for a new +picture—flying draperies; a man's face cleverly fore-shortened.</p> + +<p>Though nearing fifty, he looked more like five-and-thirty; his face +singularly free of lines; his fair hair scarcely showing the intrusion +of grey. To her he seemed <a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>perennially young; and dearer than ever—if +that could be—as the years mellowed and deepened the love on which they +had boldly staked everything that counted most for them both. Yet, for +all her skill in divination, she could not tell precisely how he would +take the things Roy had to say; nor whether Roy himself would say them +in just the right way. With Nevil, so much depended on that.</p> + +<p>Till this morning, she had scarcely realised how unobtrusively she had +been, as it were, their connecting link in all difficult or delicate +matters, where their natures were not quite in tune. But now, Roy being +a man, they must come to terms in their own fashion....</p> + +<p>At the first far-off sound of his step on the stairs, she rose and came +over to the easel, and stood there a few moments—fascinated always by +the swift sure strokes.</p> + +<p>"Good—eh?" he asked, smiling into her serious eyes.</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Quite evident—you are in the mood!" Her fingers lightly +caressed the back of his hand. "I will come back later. <i>Such</i> a tray of +vases waiting for me in the drawing-room!"</p> + +<p>As Roy entered, she passed him and they exchanged a smile. Her eyes, +mutely blessing him, besought him not to let his eager tongue run away +with itself. Then she went out, leaving them together—the two who were +her world.</p> + +<p>Down in the drawing-room, roses and sweet-peas, cut by Christine—her +fairy daughter—lay ready to hand. Between them they filled the lofty +room with fragrance and harmonies of delicate colour. Then Christine +flew to her beloved piano; and Lilámani wandered away to her no less +beloved rose-garden. Body and mind were restless. She could settle to +nothing till she knew what had passed between Nevil and Roy. His boyish +confidences and adorations of the night before had filled her cup to +overflowing. She felt glad and proud that her first-born should have set +his heart on the high project of trying to promote deeper sympathy +between his father's great country and her own people, in this time of +dangerous antagonism and unrest.</p> + +<p>But beneath her pride and gladness, stirred a fear lest the scales she +had tried to hold even, should be inclining <a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>to tilt the wrong way. For +duty to his father's house was paramount. Too strong a leaning towards +India—no matter for what high purpose—would still be a tilt the wrong +way. She had seen the same fear lurking in Nevil's heart also; and now, +unerringly, she divined the cause of that hidden trouble which baffled +Roy. Nevil feared that—if Roy went to India—history might repeat +itself. She admitted the danger was real; and she knew his fear implied +no reflection on herself or her country. Best of all, she knew +that—because of his chivalrous loyalty that had never failed her—he +would not speak of it, even to his son.</p> + +<p>Clearly then, if Roy insisted on going to India, and if a word of +warning must be spoken to ease Nevil's mind, only one person in the +world could speak it—herself. For all her sensitive shrinking she could +not, at this critical turning-point, stand outside. She was "in it"—as +Roy dramatically assured her—up to the hilt....</p> + +<p>Time passed—and he did not come. Troubled, she wandered back towards +the house; caught sight of him, lonely and abstracted, pacing the lawn: +saw him stop near the great twin beeches—that embowered a hammock, +chairs and rugs—and disappear inside. Then she knew her moment had +come....</p> + +<p>She found him prone in the hammock: not even smoking: staring up into +the cool green dome, fretted with graceful convolutions of trunk and +branches. One lightly clenched hand hung over the edge. Attitude and +abstraction alike suggested a listless dejection that sharply caught at +her heart.</p> + +<p>He started at sight of her. "Blessed little Mummy—no hiding from +<i>you!</i>"</p> + +<p>He flung out his left hand. She took it and laid it against her cheek: a +form of caress all her own.</p> + +<p>"Were you wishing to hide? I was waiting among the roses, to show you +the new sweet-peas."</p> + +<p>"And I never came. Proper beast I am! And sprawling here——" He swung +his long legs over the side and stood up, tall and straight—taller than +Nevil—smiling down at her. "I wasn't exactly hiding. I was shirking—a +little bit. But now you've found me, you won't escape!"<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a></p> + +<p>Pressing down the edge of the hammock, he half lifted her into it and +settled her among the cushions, deftly tucking in her silks and muslins.</p> + +<p>"Comfy?" he asked, surveying her, with Nevil's own smile in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Comfy," she sighed, wishing discreet warnings at the bottom of the sea. +Just to be foolish with him—the bliss of it! To chime in with his +moods, his enthusiasms, his nonsense—she asked nothing better of life, +when he came home. "Very clever, Sonling. But no,"—she lifted a +finger—"that won't do. You are twenty-one. Too big for the small name +now. So far away up there!"</p> + +<p>"If I shot up as high as a lamp-post, my heart would still be down +there—at your feet."</p> + +<p>He said it lightly—that was the Englishman. But he said it—that was +the Rajput. And she knew not which she loved the best. Strange to love +two such opposites with equal fervour.</p> + +<p>She blew him a kiss from her finger-tips. "Very well. We will not be +unkind to the small name and throw him on the rubbish-heap. But now sit, +please—Sonling. You have been talking—you and Dad? Not any decision? +Is he not wishing you should—work for India?"</p> + +<p>"Mummy, I don't know." He secured a chair and sat down facing her. "He +insists that I'm officially free to kick over the traces, that he's not +the kind of father who 'thunders vetos from the family hearthrug!'"</p> + +<p>Lilámani smiled very tenderly at that so characteristic touch; but she +said nothing. And Roy went on: "All the same, I gathered that he's +distinctly not keen on my going out there. So—what the devil am I to +do? He rubbed it in that I'm full young, and no hurry—but I feel +there's something else at the back of his mind."</p> + +<p>He paused—and she could hesitate no longer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Roy—there is something else——"</p> + +<p>"Then <i>why</i> can't he speak out?"</p> + +<p>"Not to be so impatient," she rebuked him gently. "It is because he so +beautifully remains—my lover, he cannot put in words—any thought that +might give——" She flung out an appealing hand. "Oh, Roy—can you not +guess the trouble? He is afraid—for your marriage——"</p> + +<p>"My marriage!" It was clear he did not yet grasp <a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>the truth. "Really, +Mummy, that's a trifle previous. I'm not even thinking of marriage."</p> + +<p>"No, Stupid One! But out there you might come to think of it! No man can +tell when Kama, godling of the arrows, will throw magic dust in his +eyes. You might meet other cousins—like Arúna, and there would come +trouble, because"—she faced him steadily and he saw the veiled blush +creep into her cheeks—"that kind of marriage—for you—must not be."</p> + +<p>Now he understood; and, for all her high resolve, she thrilled at the +swift flash of anger in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Who says—it must not be?" he demanded with a touch of heat. "Aunt +Jane—confound her! When I do marry, it will be to please myself—not +<i>her!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, Roy—and listen! You run away too fast. It is not Aunt +Jane—it is <i>I</i> who am saying must not, because I know—the difficult +thought in Dad's heart. And I know it is right——"</p> + +<p>"Why is it right?" He was up in arms again. Obstinate—but how +lovable!—"Why mayn't I have the same luck as he had—if it comes my +way? I've never met a girl or woman that could hold a candle to you for +all-round loveliness. And it's the East that gives you—inside and +out—a quality, a bloom—unseizable—like moonlight——"</p> + +<p>"But, my darling! You make me blush!" She drew her sari across her face, +hiding, under a veil of lightness, her joy at his outspoken praise.</p> + +<p>"Well, you made me say it. And I'm not sentimentalising. I'm telling a +home truth!"</p> + +<p>His vehemence was guarantee of that. Very gently he drew back the sari +and looked deep into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why should we only tell the ugly ones, like Aunt Jane? Anyway, I've +told you my truest one now—and I'm not ashamed of it."</p> + +<p>"No need. It is a jewel I will treasure in my heart."</p> + +<p>She dropped the veil of lightness, giving him sincerity for sincerity as +he deserved. "But—Ancient one, have you seen so many girls and women in +your long life——?"</p> + +<p>"I've seen a pretty good mixture of all sorts—Oxford, London, and round +here," he insisted unabashed. "And I've had my wits about me. Of course +they're most of them jolly and straight. Good fellows in fact; talking +<a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>our slang; playing our games. No harm, of course. But it kills the +charm of contrast—the supreme charm. They understand <i>that</i> in India +better than we do here."</p> + +<p>The truth of that last Lilámani could not deny. Too clearly she saw in +the violent upheaval of Western womanhood the hidden germs of tragedy, +for women themselves, for the race.</p> + +<p>"You are right, Roy," she said, smiling into his serious face. "From +our—from Hindu point of view, greatest richness of life come from +greatest possible difference between men and women. And most of all it +is so in Rajputana. But over here...." She sighed, a small shivering +sigh. The puzzle and pain of it went too deep with her. "All this +screaming and snatching and scratching for wrong kind of things hurts my +heart; because—I am woman and they are women—desecrating that in us +which is a symbol of God. Nature made women for ministering to Life and +Love. Are they not believing, or not caring, that by struggling to +imitate man (while saying with their lips how they despise him!) they +are losing their own secret, beautiful differences, so important for +happiness—for the race. But marriage in the West seems more for +convenience of lovers than for the race——"</p> + +<p>"Yet your son, though he <i>is</i> of the West—must not consider his own +inclination or convenience——"</p> + +<p>"My son," she interposed, gently inflexible, "because he is <i>also</i> of +the East, must consider this matter of the race; must try and think it +with his father's mind."</p> + +<p>"All the same—making such a point of it seems like an insult—to +you——"</p> + +<p>"No, Roy. <i>Not</i> to say that——" The flash in her eyes, that was almost +anger, startled and impressed him more than any spoken word. "No thought +that ever came in your father's mind could be—like insult to me. Oh, my +dear, have you not sense to know that for an old English family like +his, with roots down deep in English soil and history, it is not good +that mixture of race should come twice over in two generations. To +you—our kind of marriage appears a simple affair. You see only how +close we are now, in love and understanding. You cannot imagine all the +difficulties that went before.<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a> We know them—and we are proud, because +they became like dust under our feet. Only to you—Dilkusha, I could +tell ... a little, if you wish—for helping you to understand."</p> + +<p>"Please tell," he said, and his hand closed on hers.</p> + +<p>So, leaning back among her cushions—speaking very simply in the low +voice that was music to his ears—she told....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The telling—fragmentary, yet vivid—lasted less than half an hour. But +in that half-hour Roy gleaned a jewel of memory that the years would not +dim. The very words would remain....</p> + +<p>For Lilámani—wandering backward in fancy through the Garden of +Remembrance—revealed more than she realised of the man she loved and of +her own passionate spirit, compact of fire and dew, the sublimated +essence of the Eastern woman at her best.</p> + +<p>Yet in spite of that revealing—or rather because of it—rebellion +stirred afresh. And, as if divining his thoughts, she impulsively raised +her hand. "Now, Roy, you must promise. Only so, I can speak to Dad and +rest his mind."</p> + +<p>Seizing her hand, he kissed it fervently.</p> + +<p>"Darling—after all that, a mere promise would be a fatuous superfluity. +If you say 'No Indian wife,' that's enough for me. I suppose I must rest +content with the high privilege of possessing an Indian mother."</p> + +<p>Her radiant surprise was a beautiful thing to see. Leaning forward, she +took his head in her hands and kissed him between his eyebrows where the +caste-mark should be.</p> + +<p>"Must it be October—so soon?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He told her of Dyán, and she sighed. "Poor Dyán! I wonder? It is so +difficult—even with the best kind—this mixing of English education and +Indian life. I hope it will make no harm for those two——"</p> + +<p>Then they started, almost like lovers; for the drooping branches rustled +and Tara stood before them—a very vision of June; in her straight frock +of Delphinium blue; one shell-pink rose in her hat and its counterpart +in her waist-belt. Canvas shoes and tennis-racquet betrayed her fell +design on Roy.<a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a></p> + +<p>"Am I despritly superfluous?" she queried, smiling from one to the +other.</p> + +<p>"Quite too despritly," Roy assured her with emphasis.</p> + +<p>She wrinkled her nose at him, so far as its delicate aquiline would +permit. "Speak for yourself, spoilt boy!"</p> + +<p>But she favoured him with her left hand, which he retained, while she +stooped over the hammock and kissed Lilámani on both cheeks. Then she +stood up and gently disengaged her hand.</p> + +<p>"Christine's to blame. She guessed you were here. I came over in hopes +of tennis. It's just perfect. Not too hot."</p> + +<p>"Still more perfect in here, lazing with Mummy," said graceless Roy.</p> + +<p>"I disown you, I am ashamed!" Lilámani rebuked him only half in jest. +"No more lazing now. I have done with you. Only you have to get me out +of this."</p> + +<p>They got her out, between them; fussed over her and laughed at her; and +then went off together for Roy's racquet.</p> + +<p>She stood in the silvery sunlight watching them till they disappeared +round the corner of the house. Not surprising that Nevil said—"No +hurry!" If he would only wait...! He was still too young, too much in +love with India—with herself. Yet, had he already begun inditing +sonnets, even to the most acceptable eyebrow, her perverse heart would +doubtless have known the prick of jealousy—as in Desmond's day.</p> + +<p>Instead she suddenly knew the first insidious prick of middle age; felt +dazed, for a mere moment, by the careless radiance of their youth; to +them an unconsidered thing: but to those who feel it relentlessly +slipping through their fingers ...</p> + +<p>Her small fine hands clenched in unconscious response to her thought. +She was nearing forty. In her own land she would be reckoned almost an +old woman. But some magic in the air and way of life in this cool green +England seemed to keep age at bay: and there remained within a +flame-like youth of the spirit—not so easy, even for the Arch-Thief to +steal away....<a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VB" id="CHAPTER_VB"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The bow saith"> +<tr><td align='left'>"The bow saith to the arrow, 'Thy freedom is mine.'"</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>And while Lilámani reasoned with the son—whose twofold nature they had +themselves bestowed and inspired—Nevil was pacing his shrine of all the +harmonies, heart and brain disturbed, as they had not been for years.</p> + +<p>Out of the troubled waters of family friction and delicate adjustments, +this adventurous pair had slid into a haven of peace and mutual +understanding. And now behold, fresh portent of trouble arising from the +dual strain in Roy—the focal point of their life and love.</p> + +<p>Turning in his stride, his eye encountered a head and shoulders portrait +of his father, Sir George Sinclair: an honest, bluff, unimaginative +face: yet suddenly, arrestingly, it commanded his attention. Checking +his walk, he stood regarding it: and his heart went out to the kindly +old man in a quite unusual wave of sympathetic understanding. He saw +himself—the "damned unsatisfactory son," Bohemian and dilettante, +frankly at odds with the Sinclair tradition—now standing, more or less, +in that father's shoes; his heart centred on the old place and on the +boy for whom he held it in trust; and the irony of it twisted his lips +into a rueful smile. By his own over-concentration on Roy, and his +secret dread of the Indian obsession, he could gauge what his own father +must have suffered in an aggravated form, blind as he was to any point +of view save his own. And there was Roy—like himself in the twenties, +but how much more purposeful!—drawn irresistibly by the lure of the +horizon; a lure bristling with dangers the <a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>more insidious because they +sprang from the blood in his veins.</p> + +<p>Yet a word of warning, spoken at the wrong moment, in the wrong tone, +might be disastrously misunderstood; and the distracting sense of being +purely responsible for his own trouble, stung him to renewed irritation. +All capacity for work had been dispelled by that vexatiously engaging +son of his, with his heart in India and his head among the stars....</p> + +<p>Weary of pacing, he took out his pipe and sat down in the window-seat to +fill it. He was interrupted by the sound of an unmistakable footstep; +and the response of his whole being justified to admiration Lilámani's +assurance that his hidden trouble implied no lightest reflection on +herself. Lilámani and irritation simply could not co-exist within him; +and he was on his feet when she opened the door.</p> + +<p>She did not come forward at once. Pushing it shut with both hands, she +stood so—a hovering question in her eyes. It recalled, with a tender +pang, the earlier days of worshipful aloofness, when only by special +invitation would she intimately approach her lord.</p> + +<p>That she might guess his thought he held out his arms. "Come +along—English wife!"</p> + +<p>It had been their private password. But her small teeth imprisoned her +lip.</p> + +<p>"No—King of me—Indian wife: making too much trouble again!"</p> + +<p>"Lilámani! How dare you! Come here."</p> + +<p>His attempt at sternness took effect. In one swift rush—sari blown +backward—she came: and he, smitten with self-reproach, folded her +close; while she clung to him in mute passionate response.</p> + +<p>"Beloved," she whispered. "Not to worry any more in your secret heart. I +told—he understands."</p> + +<p>"Roy——? My darling! But <i>what</i>——?" His incoherence was a shameless +admission of relief. "You couldn't—you haven't told him——?"</p> + +<p>"Nevil, I have told him all. I saw lately this trouble in your thoughts: +and to-day it came in my mind that only I could speak—could give +command that—one kind of marriage must <i>not</i> be."</p> + +<p>He drew her closer, and she suppressed a small sigh.<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a></p> + +<p>"Wasn't the boy angry?"</p> + +<p>"Only at first—on account of me. He is—so very darling, so +worshipping—his foolish little Mother."</p> + +<p>"A weakness he shares with his father," Nevil assured her: and in that +whispered confession she had her reward. For after twenty-three years of +marriage, the note of loverly extravagance is as rare as the note of the +cuckoo in July.</p> + +<p>"Sit, little woman." He drew her down to the window-seat, keeping an arm +round her. "The relief it is to feel I can talk it all over with you +freely. Where the dickens would we be, Roy and I, without our +interpreter? And she does it all unbeknownst; like a Brownie. I <i>have</i> +been worrying lately. The boy's clean gone on his blessed idea. No +reasoning with him; and the modern father doesn't venture to command! +It's as much as his place is worth! Yet <i>we</i> see the hidden dangers +clearer than he can. Wouldn't it be wiser to apply the curb discreetly +before he slips off into an atmosphere where all the influences will tug +one way?"</p> + +<p>It was the sane masculine wisdom of the West. But hers—that was +feminine and of the East—went deeper.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is mother-weakness," she said, leaning against him and +looking away at a purple cloud that hung low over the moor. "But it +seems to me, by putting on the curb, you keep only his body from those +influences. They would tug all the stronger in his soul. Not healthy and +alive with joy of action, but cramped up and aching, like your legs when +there is no room to stretch them. Then there would come impatience, +turning his heart more to India, more away from you. Father had that +kind of thwarting when young—so I know. Dearest one, am I too foolish?"</p> + +<p>"You are my Wisest of Wise.—Is there more?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is this. Perhaps, through being young and eager, he will make +mistakes; wander too far. But even if he should wander to farthest end, +all influence will <i>not</i> tug one way. He will carry in his heart the +star of you and the star of me. These will shine brighter if he knows +how we longed—for ourselves—to keep him here; yet, for himself, we let +him go. I have remembered always one line of poetry you showed me at +Como. 'To <a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>take by leaving, To hold by letting go.' That is true truth +for many things. But for parents truest of all."</p> + +<p>High counsel indeed! Good to hear; hard to act upon. Nevil +Sinclair—knowing they would act upon it—let out an involuntary sigh +and tightened his hold of the gentle, adoring woman, whose spirit +towered so far above his own.</p> + +<p>"Lilámani—you've won," he said, after a perceptible pause. "You deserve +to win—and Roy will bless you. It's the high privilege of Mothers, I +suppose, to conjure the moon out of heaven for their sons."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, by doing so, they nearly break their hearts," she answered +very low.</p> + +<p>He stooped and kissed her. "Keep yours intact—for me. I shall need it." +Her fingers closed convulsively on his—"England will seem sort of +empty—without Roy. Is he dead keen on going this autumn?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I am afraid. A little because of young impatience. A little +because he is troubled over Dyán; and he has much influence. There are +so many now in India dragged two ways."</p> + +<p>Nevil sighed again. "Bless the boy! It's an undeniable risk. And what +the family will say to our Midsummer madness, God knows! Jane can be +trusted to make the deuce of a row. And we can't even smooth matters by +telling her of our private precaution——"</p> + +<p>"No—not one little <i>word</i>."</p> + +<p>Lilámani sat upright, a gleam of primitive hate in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Nevil smiled, in spite of secret dismay. "You implacable little sinner! +Can't you ever forgive her like a Christian?"</p> + +<p>"No—not ever." The tense quiet of her tone carried conviction. "Not +only far-off things, I can never forget—nearly killing me and—and Roy. +But because she is always stabbing at me with sharp words and ugly +thoughts. She cannot ever forgive that I am here—that I make you happy, +which she could not believe. She is angry to be put in the wrong by mere +Hindu wife——" She paused in her vehement rush of speech: saw the look +in Nevil's face that recalled an earlier day; and anger vanished like a +light blown out. "King of me—I am sorry. Only—it is true. And <i>she</i> is +Christian born.<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a> But I—down in my deepest places I am still—Rajputni. +Just the same as after twenty-three years of English wife, I am still in +my heart—like the 'Queen who stood erect!'"</p> + +<p>On the word she rose and confronted him, smiling into his troubled eyes; +grace of girlhood and dignity of womanhood adorably mingled in her pose.</p> + +<p>"Who was she?" Nevil asked, willingly lured from thoughts of Jane.</p> + +<p>"Careless one! Have you forgotten the story of my Wonder-Woman—how a +King, loving his Queen with all his soul, bowed himself in ecstasy, and +'took the dust off her feet' in presence of other wives who, from +jealousy, cried: 'Shameless one, lift up the hands of the King to your +head.' But the Queen stood erect, smiling gladly. 'Not so: for both feet +and head are my Lord's. Can I have aught that is mine?'"</p> + +<p>The swiftness of transition, the laughing tenderness of her eyes so +moved him—and so potent in her was the magical essence of +womanhood—that he, Sir Nevil Sinclair, Baronet, of Bramleigh Beeches, +came near to taking the dust of her feet in very deed.<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIB" id="CHAPTER_VIB"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class='center'> +"Qui n'accepte pas le regret, n'accepte pas la vie."<br /> +</p> + + +<p>Nevil's fears were justified to the full. Lady Roscoe was one of those +exasperating people of whom one can predict, almost to a word, a look, +what their attitude will be on any given occasion. So Nevil, who shirked +a "scene"—above all when conducted by Jane—put off telling her the +unwelcome news as long as he dared, without running the dire risk of its +reaching her "round the corner."</p> + +<p>Meantime he was fortified and cheered by a letter from Cuthbert +Broome—a shrewd, practical letter amounting to a sober confession of +faith in Roy the embryo writer, as in Roy the budding man.</p> + +<p>"I don't minimise the risk," he concluded, with his accustomed frankness +(no relation to the engaging candour that dances a war-dance on other +people's toes), "but, on broad lines, I hereby record my conviction that +the son of you two and the grandson of Sir Lakshman Singh can be trusted +to go far—to keep his head as well as his feet, even in slippery +places. He is eager for knowledge, for work along his own lines. If you +dam up this strong current, it may find other outlets, possibly less +desirable. I came on a jewel the other day. As it's distinctly +applicable, I pass it on.</p> + +<p>"'The sole wisdom for man or boy who is haunted with the hovering of +unseen wings, with the scent of unseen roses, and the subtle enticement +of melodies unheard, is <i>work</i>. If he follow any of these, they vanish. +If he work, they will come unsought ..."</p> + +<p>"Well, when Roy goes out, I undertake to provide him with work that will +keep his brain alert and his pen busy. That's my proposed contribution +to his start <a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>in life; and—though I say it!—not to be despised. Tell +him I'll bear down upon the Beeches the first available week-end, and +talk both your heads off!—Yours ever, C.B."</p> + +<p>"After <i>that</i>," was Nevil's heroic conclusion, "Jane can say what she +damn well pleases."</p> + +<p>He broke the news to her forthwith—by post; the usual expedient of +those who shirk "scenes." He furthermore took the precaution to add that +the matter was finally settled.</p> + +<p>She replied next morning—by wire. "Cannot understand. Coming down at +once."</p> + +<p>And, in record time, on the wings of her new travelling car—she came.</p> + +<p>As head of the Sinclair clan—in years and worldly wisdom at least—she +could do no less. From her point of view, it was Nevil's clear duty to +discourage the Indian strain in the boy, as far as that sentimental, +headstrong wife of his would permit. But Nevil's sense of duty needed +constant galvanising, lest it die of inanition. It was her sacred +mission in life to galvanise it, especially in the matter of Roy; and no +one should ever say <i>she</i> shirked a disagreeable obligation. It may +safely be added that no one ever did!</p> + +<p>Nevil—who would have given a good deal to be elsewhere—awaited her in +the library: and at the first shock of their encountering glances, he +stiffened all through. He was apt to be restive under advice, and +rebellious under dictation; facts none knew better than Jane, who throve +on advice and dictation—given, not received! She still affected the +neat hard coat and skirt and the neat hard summer hat that had so +distressed the awakening beauty-sense of nine-year-old Roy: only, in +place of the fierce wing there uprose in majesty a severely wired bow. +Jane was so unvarying, outside and in; a worse failing, almost, in the +eyes of this hopelessly artistic household, than her talent for +pouncing, or advising or making up other people's minds.</p> + +<p>But to-day, as she glanced round the familiar room, her sigh—half +anger, half bitterness of heart—was genuine. She did care intensely, in +her own way, for the brother whom she hectored without mercy. And he +<a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>too cared—in his own way—more than he chose to reveal. But their love +was a dumb thing, rooted in ancestral mysteries. Their surface clash of +temperament was more loquacious.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we're fairly safe from interruption?" she asked, with ominous +emphasis; and Nevil gravely indicated the largest leather chair.</p> + +<p>"I believe the others are out," he said, half sitting on the edge of the +writing-table and proceeding to light a cigarette. "But, upon my soul, I +don't know <i>why</i> you put yourself out to come down all this way when I +told you plainly everything was fixed up."</p> + +<p>"You thought I'd swallow that—and keep my mouth shut?" she retorted, +bristling visibly. "<i>I'm</i> no fool, Nevil, if <i>you</i> are. I <i>told</i> you how +it would be, when you went out in '99. You wouldn't listen then. Perhaps +you'll at least have the sense to listen <i>now?</i>"</p> + +<p>Nevil shrugged. "As you've come all this way for the satisfaction of +airing your views—I've not much choice in the matter."</p> + +<p>And the latitude, thus casually given, she took in full measure. For +twenty minutes, by the clock, she aired her views in a stream of +vigorous colloquial English, lapsing into ready-made phrases of +melodrama, common to the normally inexpressive, in moments of +excitement....</p> + +<p>To the familiar tuning-up process, Nevil listened unmoved. But his anger +rose with her rising eloquence:—the unwilling anger of a cool man, more +formidable than mere temper.</p> + +<p>Such fine distinctions, however, were unknown to Jane. If you were in a +temper, you were in a temper. That was flat. And she rather wanted to +rouse Nevil's. Heated opposition would stiffen her own....</p> + +<p>"India of all countries in the world!" she culminated—a desperate note +invading her wrath. "The one place where he should <i>not</i> be allowed to +sow his wild oats—if the modern anæmic young man has enough red blood +in his veins—for that sort of thing. And it's your obvious duty to be +quite frank with him on the subject. If you had an ounce of common-sense +in your make-up, you'd see it for yourself. But I always say the clever +people are the biggest fools. And Roy's in the same boat—being your +son. No ballast. All in the <a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>clouds. <i>That's</i> the fruits of Lil's fancy +education. And you can't say I didn't warn you. What he needs is +discipline—a tight hand. Why not one of the Services? If he gets bitten +with India—at his age, it's quite on the cards that he may go turning +Hindu—or even repeat <i>your</i> folly——"</p> + +<p>She paused, simply for lack of breath—and became suddenly alive to the +set stillness of her brother's face.</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> folly—as you are pleased to call it," he said with concentrated +scorn, "has incidentally made our name famous, and cleared the old place +of mortgage. For that reason alone, you might have the grace to refrain +from insulting my wife."</p> + +<p>She flung up her head, like a horse at a touch of the curb.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it's an insult to speak the simple truth, I'm <i>quite</i> out of it. +I never could call spades agricultural instruments: and I can't start +new habits at my time of life. I don't deny you've made a good thing out +of your pictures. But no one in their senses <i>could</i> call your marriage +an act of wisdom."</p> + +<p>Nevil winced visibly. "I married for the only defensible reason," he +said, in a low controlled voice. "And events have more than justified +me."</p> + +<p>"Possibly—so far as <i>you're</i> concerned. But you can't get over the fact +that—even if Roy marries the best blood of England—his son may revert +to type. Dr Simons tells me——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you hold your tongue!" Nevil blazed out, in a white fury. "I'll +thank you <i>not</i> to discuss my affairs—or Roy's—with your damned +Doctor. And the subject's barred between us—as you're very well aware."</p> + +<p>She blenched at the force and fire of his unexpected onslaught, never +dreaming how deeply her thrust had gone home.</p> + +<p>"Goodness knows it's as painful for me as it is for you——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say it was painful. I said it was barred."</p> + +<p>"Well, you goad me into it, with your unspeakable folly; too much under +Lil's thumb to check Roy, even for his own good. For heaven's sake, +Nevil, put your foot down firmly, for once, and reverse your crazy +decision."<a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></p> + +<p>He gave her a long, direct look. "Sorry to disappoint, after all the +trouble you've taken," he said in a level tone, "but I've already told +you the matter's settled. My foot is down on that as firmly as even +<i>you</i> could wish."</p> + +<p>"You <i>mean</i> it?" she gasped, too incredulous for wrath.</p> + +<p>"I mean it."</p> + +<p>"Yet you see the danger?"</p> + +<p>"I see the danger."</p> + +<p>The fact that he would not condescend to lie to her eased a little her +bitter sense of defeat.</p> + +<p>She rose awkwardly—all of a piece.</p> + +<p>"Then I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you all. Until you come +to your senses, I don't cross this threshold again."</p> + +<p>In spite of the threadbare phrases, genuine pain vibrated in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't rant, old thing. You know you'll never keep it up," Nevil urged +more gently than he had spoken yet.</p> + +<p>But anger still dominated pain.</p> + +<p>"When <i>I</i> say a thing, I mean it," she retorted stiffly, "as you will +find to your cost." Without troubling to answer, he lunged for the door +handle; but she waved him aside. "All humbug—playing at +politeness—when you've spurned my advice."</p> + +<p>"As you please." He stood back for her to pass. "Sorry it's upset you +so. But we'll see you here again—when you've got over it."</p> + +<p>"The <i>boy</i> would have got over it in no time," she flung back at him +from the threshold. "Mark my words, disaster will come of it. Then +perhaps you'll admit I was right."</p> + +<p>He felt no call to argue that point. She was gone.... And she had +carefully refrained from slamming the door. Somehow that trifling act of +restraint impressed him with a sense of finality oddly lacking in her +dramatic asseveration.</p> + +<p>He stood a few moments staring at the polished oak panels. Then he +turned back and sat down in the chair she had occupied; and all the +inner tension of the last hour went suddenly, completely to pieces....<a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a></p> + +<p>It was the penalty of his artist nature, this sharp nervous reaction +from strain; and with it came crowding back all the insidious doubts and +anxieties that even Lilámani's wisdom had not entirely charmed away. He +felt torn at the moment between anger with Roy for causing all this +pother; and anger with Jane, who, for all her lack of tenderness and +tact, was right—up to a point. It was just Family Herald heroics about +"not crossing the threshold." At least—rather to his surprise—he found +himself half hoping it was. Roy and Lilámani could frankly detest +her—and there an end. Nevil—in spite of unforgiveable interludes—was +liable to be tripped up by the fact that, after all, she was his sister; +and her aggression was proof that, in her own queer fashion, she loved +him. Half the trouble was that the love of each for the other took +precisely the form that other could least appreciate or understand: no +uncommon dilemma in family life. At all events, he had achieved his +declaration of independence. And he had not failed to evoke the "deuce +of a row."</p> + +<p>With a sigh of smothered exasperation, he leaned forward and hid his +face in his hands....</p> + +<p>The door opened softly. He started and looked up. It was Roy—in +flannels and blazer, his dark hair slightly ruffled: considered +dispassionately (and Nevil believed he so considered him) a singularly +individual and attractive figure of youth.</p> + +<p>At the look in his father's face, he hesitated, wrinkling his brows in a +way that recalled his mother.</p> + +<p>"Anything wrong, Daddums? I'm fearfully sorry. I came for a book. Is +it"—still further hesitation—"Aunt Jane?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Have you seen her?" Nevil asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Was it a meteoric visitation? As I came up the path, she was +getting into her car.—And she cut me dead!" He seemed more amused than +impressed. Then the truth dawned on him. "Dad—<i>have</i> you been telling +her? <i>Is</i> she 'as frantic as a skit'?"</p> + +<p>Their favourite Hardy quotation moved Nevil to a smile. "She's +angry—naturally—because she wasn't consulted," he said (a happy idea). +"And—well, she doesn't understand."<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a></p> + +<p>"'Course she doesn't. Can she ever?" retorted impertinent youth. "She +lacks the supreme faculty—imagination." Which was disrespectful, but +unanswerable.</p> + +<p>Nevil had long ago recognised the futility of rebuke in the matter of +"Aunt Jane"; and it was a relief to find the boy took it that way. So he +smiled, merely—or fancied he did. But Roy was quick-sighted; and his +first impression had dismayed him.</p> + +<p>No hesitation now. He came forward and laid a hand on his father's +shoulder. "Dads, don't get worrying over me—out there," he said with +shy tenderness that was balm after the lacerating scene Nevil had just +passed through. "That'll be all right. Mother explained—beautifully."</p> + +<p>But louder than Roy's comfortable assurance sounded within him the +parting threat of Jane: "Disaster will come of it. <i>Then</i> perhaps you'll +admit I was right." It shook the foundations of courage. He simply could +not stand up to the conjunction of disaster—and Roy. With an effort he +freed himself of the insidious thing,—and just then, to his immense +surprise, Roy stooped and kissed the top of his head.</p> + +<p>"Confound Aunt Jane! She's been bludgeoning you. And you <i>are</i> worrying. +You mustn't—I tell you. Bad for your work. Look here"—a portentous +pause. "Shall I chuck it—for the present, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>The parental attitude of the modern child has its touching aspect. Nevil +looked up to see if Roy were chaffing; and there smote him the queer +illusion (rarer now, but not extinct) of looking into his own eyes.</p> + +<p>Roy had spoken on impulse—a noble impulse. But he patently meant what +he said, this boy stigmatised by Jane as "all in the clouds," and +needing a "tight hand." Here was one of those "whimsical and perilous +moments of daily life" that pass in a breath; light as thistledown, +heavy with complex issues. To Nevil it seemed as if the gods, with +ironical gesture, handed him the wish of his heart, saying: "It is +yours—if you are fool enough to take it." Stress of thought so warred +in him that he came to himself with a fear of having hurt the boy by +ungracious silence.</p> + +<p>The pause, in fact, had been so brief that Roy had <a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>only just become +aware that his cherished dream was actually trembling in the +balance—when Nevil stood up and faced him, flatly defying Jane and +Olympian irony.</p> + +<p>"My dear old boy, you shall <i>not</i> chuck it," he said with smiling +decision. "I've never believed in the older generation being a drag on +the wheel. And now it's my turn, I must play up. What's life worth +without a spice of risk? I took my own—a big one—family or no——"</p> + +<p>He broke off—and Roy filled the gap. "You mean—marrying Mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—just that," he admitted frankly. "The greatest bit of luck in my +life. She shared the risk—a bigger one for her. And I'm damned if we'll +cheat you of yours. There's a hidden key somewhere that most of us have +to find. Yours may be in India—who knows?"</p> + +<p>He spoke rapidly, as if anxious to convince himself no less than the +boy. And he had his reward.</p> + +<p>"Dad—you're simply stunning—you two," Roy said quietly, but with clear +conviction.</p> + +<p>At that moment the purring of the gong vibrated through the house, and +he slipped a hand through his father's arm. "That reminds me—I'm +<i>starving</i> hungry! If they're still out, let's be bold, and propitiate +the teapot on our own!"</p> + +<p>Lady Roscoe was, after all, a benefactor in her own despite. Her +meteoric visitation had drawn these two closer together than they had +been since schoolroom days.<a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIB" id="CHAPTER_VIIB"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Ce que nous quittons c'est une partie de nous même. II faut mourir + à une vie, pour entrer dans une autre."—<span class='smcap'>Anatole France</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>After all, human perversity decreed it should be Roy himself who shrank +most acutely from the wrench of parting, when it loomed near enough to +bring him down from Pisgah heights to the dust of the actual.</p> + +<p>Dyán was overjoyed, of course, and untroubled by qualms. Towards the end +of July, he and Arúna came for a brief visit. His excuses for its +brevity struck Roy as a trifle 'thin'; but Dyán kept his secret and paid +Tara Despard the compliment of taking her answer as final.</p> + +<p>It was during his visit that Roy suffered the first incipient qualms; +the first sharp contact with practical details:—date of sailing, +details of outfit, the need for engaging a passage betimes. As regards +his destination, matters were simplified by the fact that the new +Resident of Jaipur, Colonel Vincent Leigh, C.S.I., D.S.O., very +considerately happened to be the husband of Desmond's delightful sister +Thea. The schoolboy link between Lance and Roy had created a lasting +friendship between their respective families; and it was General Sir +Theo Desmond—now retired—who had invited Roy, in the name of his +'Twin,' to start with an unlimited visit to the Leighs; the sort of +casual elastic visit that no one would dream of proposing outside +India,—unless it were Ireland, of an earlier, happier day. The prospect +was a secret consolation to Roy. It was also a secret jar to find he +needed every ounce of consolation available.</p> + +<p>Very carefully he hid his ignominious frame of mind—even from his +mother; though she probably suspected <a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>it and would not fail to +understand. What, precisely, would life be worth without that dear, +daily intimacy—life uncoloured by the rainbow-tinted charm of her +gentle, passionate, humorous, delicately-poised personality? Relations +of such rare quality exact their own pitiless price; and the woman +influence would always be, for Roy—as for most men of genuine gifts and +high purpose—his danger point or salvation. The dim and distant +prospect of parting was thinkable—though perturbing. But all this talk +of steamers and outfits startlingly illumined the fact that in October +he was actually going—to the other end of the earth.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>With Dyán's departure, realisation pounced upon his heart and brain. +Vaguely, and quite unjustly, he felt as if his cousin were in some way +to blame; and for the moment, he was not sorry to be rid of him. +Partings over, he went off for a lone prowl—hatless, as usual—to quiet +his jangling sensations and tell that inner, irresolute Roy not to be a +treble-distilled fool....</p> + +<p>Nothing like the open moor to clear away cobwebs. The sweeps of heady +colour and blue distances could be trusted to revive the winged impulse +that lured him irresistibly away from the tangible and assured. Is there +no hidden link—he wondered—between the wander-instinct of the +home-loving Scot and the vast spaces of moor and sky that lie about him +in his infancy...?</p> + +<p>But first he must traverse the enchanted green gloom of his beech-wood, +memory-haunted at every turn. Under his favourite tree, a wooden cross, +carved by Tara and himself, marked the grave of Prince, dead these three +years of sheer old age. And at sight of it there sprang to memory that +unforgotten day of May,—the fight with Joe; Tara's bracelet, still +treasured in his letter-case, even as Tara treasured the "broidered +bodice," in a lavender-scented sachet, set apart from mere blouses and +scarves....</p> + +<p>And again that troublesome voice within urged—"What an utter fool you +are—running away from them all."</p> + +<p>To him had fallen the privilege of knowing family life at its best—the +finest and happiest on earth; and <a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>he could not escape the price +exacted, when the call comes to act and decide and suffer alone. +Associations that grow up with us are more or less taken for granted +while their roots lie deep in the heart. Only when the threat of parting +disturbs the delicate fibres, their depth and tenacity are revealed. And +so it was with Roy. Hurrying through his wood of knightly adventures he +felt besieged, in spirit, by the many loves that had hitherto simply +been a part of his life; yet to-day pressed urgently, individually, upon +his consciousness, his heart....</p> + +<p>And over against them was the counter-pull of deep ancestral stirrings; +large vague forces of the outer world; the sense of ferment everywhere; +of storm-clouds on the greater horizon, big with dramas that might rock +the spheres....</p> + +<p>All these challenging forces seemed to dwarf his juvenile agitations; +even to arraign his own beautiful surroundings as almost too peaceful, +too perfect. Life could not be altogether made up of goodness and +sweetness and poetry and philosophy. Somewhere—remote, unseen, +implacable—there must lurk strong things, big things, perhaps inimical +things, waiting to pounce on him, to be tackled and overcome. Anyhow +there could be no question, after all his vapourings, of playing the +fool and backing out——</p> + +<p>He was on the ridge now; clear space all about him, heather underfoot; +his stride keeping pace with the march of his thoughts. Risks...? Of +course there were risks. He recognised that more frankly now; and the +talk with his mother had revealed a big one that had not so much as +occurred to him. For Broome was right. Concentration on her had, in a +sense, delayed his emotional development; had kept him—for all his +artistry and his First in Greats—very much a boy at heart. Certainly, +Arúna's grace and gaiety had struck him more consciously during this +last visit. No denying, the Eastern element had its perilous +fascination. And the Eastern element was barred. As for Tara—sister and +friend and High Tower Princess in one—she was as much a part of home as +his mother and Christine. He had simply not seen her yet as a budding +woman. He had, in fact, been too deeply absorbed in Oxford and <a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>writing +and his dream, and the general deliciousness of life, to challenge the +future definitely, except in the matter of going to India, somewhen, +somehow....</p> + +<p>Lost in the swirl of his thoughts and the exhilaration of light and +colour, he forgot all about tea-time....</p> + +<p>It was after five when, at last, he swung round the yew hedge on to the +long lawn; and there, at the far end, was Tara, evidently sent out to +find him. She was wearing her delphinium frock and the big blue hat with +its single La France rose. She walked pensively, her head bowed; and, in +that moment, by some trick of sense or spirit, he saw her vividly, as +she was. He saw the grace of her young slenderness, the wild-flower +colouring, the delicate aquiline of her nose that revealed breeding and +character; the mouth that even in repose seemed to quiver with +sensibility. And he thought: "Good Lord! How lovely she is!"</p> + +<p>Of course he had known it always—at the back of his mind. The odd thing +was, he had never thought it, in so many words, before. And from the +thought sprang an inspiration. If only <i>she</i> could come out with +them—for a time, at least. So imbued was he with a sense of their +brother and sister relation, that the idea seemed as natural as if it +had concerned Christine. He had certainly been aware, the last year or +so, of a gossamer veil dropped between them. He attributed this to mere +grown-up-ness; but it made him feel appreciably shy at thought of +broaching his brilliant idea.</p> + +<p>She raised her head at that point; saw him, and waved a commanding hand. +Impelled by eagerness, he condescended to hurry.</p> + +<p>"Casual demon—what <i>have</i> you been up to?" she greeted him with mock +severity.</p> + +<p>"Prowling on the ridge. It was gorgeous up there," he answered, noticing +in detail the curve of her eyelid and thick dark lashes.</p> + +<p>"Well, tea's half cold and most of it eaten; and Aunt Lila seemed +wondering a little. So I offered to go and unearth you."</p> + +<p>"How could you tell?"<a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a></p> + +<p>A dimple dipped in one cheek. "I couldn't! I was going to the wood, on +chance. Come along."</p> + +<p>"No hurry. If tea's half cold, it can wait a bit longer." He drew a +breath, nerving himself; then: "Tara—I've got a proposal to make."</p> + +<p>"Roy!" Her lips quivered, just perceptibly, and were still.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's this. Wouldn't it be splendid if <i>you</i> came along out—with +us three?"</p> + +<p>"Roy!" It was a changed intonation. "That's <i>not</i> a subject for a +practical joke."</p> + +<p>"But I'm in earnest. High Tower Princess, wouldn't you love to come?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I would." Was it his fancy, or did the blood stir ever so +little in her cheeks? "But it's utterly, crazily impossible. The sort of +thing only <i>you</i> would suggest. So please let be—and come along in."</p> + +<p>"Not till you promise. I'm dead set on this. And I'm going to have it +out with you."</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't have <i>me</i> out with you—if you talk till midnight."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>Her smile had its delicious tremulous quality. "Were you twenty-one last +birthday—or twelve? If you think you'll be lonely, ask for Christine. +She's your sister—I'm not!"</p> + +<p>The emphasis and faint inflection of the last words had their intended +effect. Roy's face fell. "O-oh, I see. But you've always been my sort of +sister. Thea would understand. And nowadays girls do all sorts of +things."</p> + +<p>"Yes—they do!" Tara agreed demurely. "They scratch faces and burn down +beautiful harmless houses. But they don't happen to belong to mother. +Roy—it's what I said—crazily—utterly—— If it wasn't, d'you suppose +I'd say No?"</p> + +<p>Then Roy knew he was beaten. Also he knew she was right and that he had +been an impulsive fool—depressing convictions both. For a moment he +stood nonplussed while Tara fingered a long chain he had given her, and +absently studied a daisy-plant that had dared to invade the oldest, +loveliest lawn in that part of the country.<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a></p> + +<p>But Roy was little used to being thwarted—by home elements, at least: +and when an idea seized him he could be pertinacious, even to the point +of folly. He was determined Tara should come with him. And Tara wanted +to come. Add her permanent dearness and her newly-found loveliness, and +there sprang from the conjunction a second inspiration, even bolder than +the first.</p> + +<p>"Tara—dear," he ventured, in a changed tone that halted between +tenderness and appeal. "I'm going to say—something tremendous."</p> + +<p>She deserted the daisy and faced him, blue eyes wide; her tell-tale +lower lip drawn in.</p> + +<p>"Would it be—quite so 'crazily—utterly'—if ... well, if we were +engaged?"</p> + +<p>The tremendous word was out; and the effect on her was unmistakable. +Colour stirred visibly in her face. She straightened herself with an air +that seemed physically to increase the distance between them.</p> + +<p>"Really, Roy—have you <i>quite</i> lost your senses to-day?"</p> + +<p>He looked—and felt—crestfallen. "But, Tara," he urged, "it's such a +supreme idea. Wouldn't you—think of it, ever? We'd fit like a pair of +gloves. Mummy would love it—extravagantly. And we've been kind +of—caring all these years. At least"—sudden doubt assailed him—"I +suppose you <i>do</i> care still—a little bit?"</p> + +<p>"Silly boy! Of course I—care ... a lot."</p> + +<p>That was more like the Tara he knew. "Very well. <i>Why</i> accuse me of +incipient lunacy? I care, too. Always have done. Think how topping it +would be, you and I together, exploring all the wonderland of our Game +and Mummy's tales—Udaipur, Amber, Chitor, perhaps the shrine of the +real Tara——"</p> + +<p>Still demurely distant, she thought "how topping it would be"; and the +thought kept her silent so long that he grew impatient.</p> + +<p>"High Tower Princess—do give over. Your grown-up airs are awfully +sweet—but not to the point. You are coming? It'll spoil everything now, +if you don't."</p> + +<p>She shook her head with a small wise smile that seemed to push him away +from her, gently yet inexorably; <a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>to make him feel little more than a +schoolboy confronted by a woman; very young in her new shyness and +dignity, but still—a woman.</p> + +<p>"No, Roy—I'm not coming. It's—dear of you to want me. But I can't—for +lots of reasons. So please understand, once for all. And don't fuss."</p> + +<p>"But you said—you cared," Roy murmured blankly.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. Only—there's caring—and caring ... since you make me +say it. You must know that by now. Anyway, I know we simply can't get +married just because we're very fond of each other and it would please +'Mummy' and be convenient for India."</p> + +<p>Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger and younger +with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It was all so unlike +his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered a little his genuine +dismay.</p> + +<p>"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'm fearfully +disappointed."</p> + +<p>"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying time for +you—yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go out to India and do +them. Then—when the time really comes, you'll understand—and you'll be +grateful to me—for understanding now. There, what a lecture! But the +point is—we can't: and I won't be badgered about it. <i>I'm</i> going back +to tea; and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila—why?"</p> + +<p>He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would you mind?"</p> + +<p>"N-no, she'll understand."</p> + +<p>"Bet she won't."</p> + +<p>"She will. You're not the only person the darling understands, though +you <i>are</i> her spoilt boy."</p> + +<p>She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal +self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with +her. He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and +emotion. A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like +mountain peaks out of a mist. He knew she was all of a sudden +distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had +thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his +unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she <a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>didn't utterly despise +him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever....</p> + +<p>Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a +lot to say.</p> + +<p>"Tara—why <i>are</i> you sprinting like this?" he broke out, reproachfully. +"Are you angry with me?"</p> + +<p>She vouchsafed him a small smile.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. But I soon will be, if you don't take care. And I'm dangerous +in a temper!"</p> + +<p>"Don't I know that? I once had a scratch that didn't heal for a month. +But do walk slower. You're not chucking me—for good—eh?"</p> + +<p>She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and +hopelessly intractable Roy.</p> + +<p>"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour +before. You must have drunk some potion up on the moor! Have you +forgotten you're my Bracelet-bound Brother?"</p> + +<p>"But that doesn't bar—the other thing. It's not one of the Prayer-book +affinities! I say, Tara—you might promise to think it over. If you +can't do that much, I won't believe you care a bean about me, for all +you say——"</p> + +<p>Her blue eyes flashed at that—genuine fire; and she stood still again, +confronting him.</p> + +<p>"Roy—be <i>quiet!</i> You make me furious. I want to slap you. First you +suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by +behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for an answer."</p> + +<p>Roy straightened himself sharply. "I'm not spoilt—and I'm not a boy. +I'm a man."</p> + +<p>"Well then, try and <i>behave</i> like one."</p> + +<p>The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had +hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung +out a hand. He held it hard. And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips +tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile.</p> + +<p>"Roy—darling," she murmured, barely above her breath. "You are +really—a little bit of all three. That's part of your deliciousness and +troublesomeness. And it's not your fault—the spoiling. We've all +helped. I've been as bad as the others. But this time—please believe—I +simply, utterly can't—even for you."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand.</p> + +<p>But with a deft movement she freed herself—and fled round the corner of +the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek +his mother and the outraged teapot—alone.</p> + +<p>He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths of her +great arm-chair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of elaborate +embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son.</p> + +<p>Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room—as recreated by Sir Nevil Sinclair for +his Indian bride—was a setting worthy of its mistress: lofty and +spacious, light filled by three tall French windows, long gold curtains +shot through with bronze; gold and cream colour the prevailing tone; +ivory, brass, and bronze the prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and +flowers in profusion—roses, lilies, sweet-peas. Yet, in the midst of it +all, the spirit of Lilámani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of +whom, too soon, both she and her home would be bereft——</p> + +<p>At the sound of his step she looked up.</p> + +<p>"Wicked one! What came to you?"</p> + +<p>Impossible to hide from her the disarray of his emotions. So he spoke +the simple truth.</p> + +<p>"Tara came to me——! I'd been prowling on the moor, and forgetting the +time. I met her on the lawn——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—where is she?—And you——?"</p> + +<p>He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was kneeling by her +chair, confessing all.</p> + +<p>"Mummy, I've just asked her—to marry me. And she simply ... won't hear +of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going out together—that it +would please you so——"</p> + +<p>The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it that way—to +her, my darling?"</p> + +<p>"No—not exactly. Naturally I did mention you—and India. She admits +she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry. I can't make her out."</p> + +<p>A faintly aggrieved note in his voice, implied expectation of sympathy. +To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if to herself: +"Such a wise Tara!"<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a></p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I</i> don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered a trifle +disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day perhaps when your eyes are not too +dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth—of yourself—you will +see—many surprises. You are not yet ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart +is reaching out to far-away things. That—<i>she</i> has been woman enough to +guess."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, I'm not so sure. She seemed—not a bit like herself, part of +the time." He looked pensively at a slim vase overflowing with sprays of +blush rambler, that, for some reason, evoked a tantalising vision of the +girl who had so suddenly blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking +thought found utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she +be—in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?"</p> + +<p>Lilámani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question! Hard to tell. +At this kind of age, when girls have so much character—like my +Tara—they have a natural instinct for hiding the thoughts of their +hearts." She dropped her needlework now and lightly took his head +between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you think <i>you</i> are +yet—in love with her, Roy? Honest answer."</p> + +<p>The touch of her hands stirred him all through. The question in her eyes +probed deep.</p> + +<p>"Honest answer, Mummy—I'm blest if I know," he said slowly. "I don't +think I've ever been so near it before; beyond thrills at dances ... and +all that. She somehow churned me up just now and made me want her +tremendously. But I truly hadn't thought of it—that way, before. And—I +did feel it might ease you and Dad about ... the other thing, if I went +out fixed up."</p> + +<p>She drew his head to her and kissed him, then let her hands fall in her +lap. "Wonderful Sonling! Indeed it <i>would</i> ease me and please me—if +coming from the true motive. Only remember, so long as you are thinking +first of me, you can be sure That Other has not yet arrived."</p> + +<p>"But I shall always think first of you," he declared, catching at her +hands. "There's no one like you. There never will be."<a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a></p> + +<p>"No—not like, but different—in clearness and nearness. Love is one big +impulse, but many forms. Like white light made from many colours. No +rival for me, That Other; but daughter-in-law—best gift a son can bring +to his father's house. Just now there is room inside you only for one +big thing—India."</p> + +<p>"And you——"</p> + +<p>"But I am India."</p> + +<p>"Sublimated essence of it, according to Jeffers."</p> + +<p>"Jeffers says many foolish things!" But she did not disguise her +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I've noticed occasional flashes of wisdom!—But, I say, Motherling, +what price tea?"</p> + +<p>"Tea?" She feigned exaggerated surprise. "I thought you were much too +far in the clouds!"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary. I'm simply famished!"</p> + +<p>And forthwith he fell upon a plate of sugar cakes; while she rang for +the fresh teapot, so often in requisition for 'Mr Roy.'<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIB" id="CHAPTER_VIIIB"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Comfort, content, delight"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Comfort, content, delight, the ages' slow-bought gain,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">They shrivelled in a night. Only ourselves remain</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">To face the naked days in silent fortitude.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Through perils and dismays renewed and re-renewed."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Kipling</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Nevil was up in town on business; not returning till next day. The +papers were seething with rumours; but the majority of everyday people, +immersed in their all-important affairs, continued cheerfully to hope +against hope. Sir Nevil Sinclair was not of these; but he kept his worst +qualms to himself. Neither his wife nor his son were keen newspaper +readers; which, in his opinion, was just as well.</p> + +<p>Certainly it did not occur to Lilámani that any trouble in Europe could +invade the sanctities of her home, or affect the shining destiny of Roy. +That he was destined to shine, her mother's heart knew beyond all doubt. +And round that knowledge, like an aura, glimmered a dreamlike hope that +perhaps his shining might some day, in some way, strengthen the bond +between Nevil's people and her own. For the problem of India's changing +relation to England lay intimately near her heart. Her poetic brain saw +England always as "husband of India"; while misguided or malicious +meddlers—who would "make the Mother a widow"—were fancifully +incorporated in the person of Jane. And, in this matter of India, Roy +had triumphed over Jane:—surely good omens, for bigger things:—for at +heart she was still susceptible to omens; more so than she cared to +admit. Crazy mother-arrogance, Nevil would say. But she seemed to feel +the spirit of his grandfather at work in Roy; and well she knew that the +old man's wisdom <a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>would guide and temper his young zeal. Beyond that, no +human eyes could see; only the too-human heart of a mother could dream +and hope....</p> + +<p>Long ago her father had told her that nations had always been renewed by +individuals; that India—aristocratic to the deeps of her Brahmin-ridden +soul—would never acknowledge the crowd's unstable sway. For her it must +always be the <i>man</i>—ruler, soldier, or saint.</p> + +<p>Not that she had breathed a word of her 'arrogance' to Nevil, or even to +Roy. Nor had she shown to either a certain letter from a distinguished +Indian woman; pure Indian by birth; also by birth a Christian; her +sympathy with East and West as evenly poised as Lilámani's own. The +letter lived in a slim blue bag, lovingly embroidered. Lilámani—foolish +and fanciful—wore it like a talisman, next her heart; and at night +slipped it under her pillow with her gold watch and wisp of scented +lawn.</p> + +<p>To-night, being alone, and her mind very full of Roy, she drew it out +and re-read it for the hundredth time; lingering, as always, on its +arresting finale.</p> + +<p>"I have seen much and grieved more over the problem of the Eurasian, as +multiplied in our beloved country—the fruit, most often, of promiscuous +unions between low-caste types on both sides, with sense of stigma added +to drag them lower still. But where the crossing is of highest caste—as +with you and your 'Nevil'—I can see no stigma; perhaps even spiritual +gain to your children. For I love both countries with my whole heart. +And to my love God has given the vision that India may some day be saved +by the son of just such a union as your own. He will have the strength +of his handicap; the soul of the East; the forceful mind and character +of the West. He will bring to the task of uniting them such twofold love +and understanding that the world must needs take infection. What if the +ultimate meaning of British occupation of India be just this—that the +successor of Buddha should be a man born of high-caste, high-minded +British and Indian parents; a fusion of the finest that East and West +can give. That vision may inspire you in your first flush of happy +motherhood. So I feel impelled to pass it on ..."</p> + +<p>Such a vision—whether fantasy or prophecy—could <a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>not fail to stir +Lilámani Sinclair's Eastern heart to its depths. But she shrank from +sceptical comment; and sceptical Nevil would surely be. As for Roy, +intuition warned her it was too heady an idea to implant in his ardent +brain. So she treasured it secretly, and read it at intervals, and +prayed that, some day, it might be fulfilled—if not through her, then +through some other Lilámani, who should find courage to link her life +with England. Above all, she prayed he who should achieve India's +renewal might spring from Rajasthán....</p> + +<p>In the midst of her thinking and praying, she fell sound asleep—to +dream of Roy tossed out of reach on the waves of some large vague +upheaval. The 'how' and 'why' of it all eluded her. Only the vivid +impression remained....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And before the week was out, an upheaval, actual and terrible, burst +upon a startled, unheeding world; a world lulled into a false sense of +security; and too strenuously engaged in rushing headlong round a +centrifugal point called 'progress,' to concern itself with a mythical +peril across the North Sea.</p> + +<p>But at the first clear note of danger, devotees of pleasure and progress +and the franchise were transformed, as by magic, into a crowd of +bewildered, curious and resentful human beings, who had suddenly lost +their bearings; who snatched at newspapers; confided in perfect +strangers; protested that a European War was unspeakable, unthinkable, +and all the while could speak and think of nothing else....</p> + +<p>It was the nightmare terror of earthquake, when the solid ground +underfoot turns traitor. And it shook even the stoutest nerves in the +opening weeks of the Great War, destined to shatter their dear and +familiar world for months, years, decades perhaps....</p> + +<p>But underlying all the froth and fume of the earlier restlessness, of +the later fear and futility, the strong, kindly, imperturbable heart of +the land still beat, sanely—if inconspicuously—in the home life of her +cottages and her great country houses. Twentieth-century England could +not be called degenerate while she counted among her hidden treasures +homes of such charm and culture and mutual confidence as those that +<a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>produced the Grenfells, the Charltons, a Lord Elcho, an Edward Tennant +and a Charles Sorley—to pick a few names at random from that galaxy of +'golden boys' who ungrudgingly gave their lives—for what?</p> + +<p>The answer to that staggering question is not yet. But the splendour of +their gift remains: a splendour no after-failure can tarnish or dim ...</p> + +<p>To the inmates of Bramleigh Beeches—Nevil excepted—the crash came with +startling abruptness; dwarfing all personal problems, heart-searchings +and high decisions. Even Lady Roscoe forgot Family Herald heroics, and +'crossed the threshold' without comment from Nevil or herself. The +weightiest matters became suddenly trivial beside the tremendous +questions that hovered in every mind and on every tongue: 'Can We hold +Them?' 'Can They invade Us?' 'Can it be true—this whispered horror, +that rumoured disaster?' And the test question—most tremendous of all, +for the mere unit—'Where do <i>I</i> come in?'</p> + +<p>Nevil came in automatically through years of casual connection with the +Artists' Rifles. He was a Colonel by now; and would join up as a matter +of course—to his wife's secret amazement and far from secret pride. +Without an ounce of the soldier in him, he acted on instinct like most +Englishmen; not troubling to analyse motives; simply in the spirit of +<i>Noblesse oblige</i>; or, in the more casual modern equivalent—'one just +does.'</p> + +<p>Roy—poet and dreamer—became electrically alive to his double heritage +of the soldier spirit. From age to age the primeval link between poet +and warrior is reaffirmed in time of war: and the Rajput in him +recognised only one way of fighting worthy the name—the triune +conjunction of man and horse and sword. Disillusion, strange and +terrible, awaited him on that score: and as for India—what need of his +young activities, when the whole Empire was being welded into one +resistant mass by the triple hammer-strokes of a common danger, a common +enemy, a common aim?</p> + +<p>It was perhaps this sense of a clear call in an age of intellectual +ferment, of sex problems and political friction, that sent so many +unlikely types of manhood straight as arrows to that universal +target—the Front. The War offered a high and practical outlet for their +<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>dumb idealism; to their realism, it offered the 'terrific verities of +fatigue, suffering, bodily danger—beloved life and staggering death.'</p> + +<p>For Roy, Cavalry was a matter of course. In the saddle, even Jane could +find no fault with him; little guessing that, in his genius for +horsemanship, he was Rajput to the marrow. His compact, nervous make, +strong thigh and light hand, marked him as the inevitable centaur; and +he had already gained a measure of distinction in the cavalry arm of the +Officers' Training Corps. But a great wish to keep in touch with his +father led him to fall in with Sir Nevil's suggestion that he should +start in the Artists' Rifles and apply for a transfer later on—when one +could see more clearly how this terrific business was likely to develop. +George and Jerry—aged fifteen and sixteen and a half—raged at their +own futile juvenility—which, in happier circumstances, nothing would +have induced them to admit. Jerry—a gay and reckless being—had fell +designs on the Flying Corps, the very first moment he could 'wangle it.' +George—the truest Sinclair of them all—sagely voted for the Navy, +because it took you young. But no one heeded them very much. They were +all too absorbed in newspapers and their own immediate plans.</p> + +<p>And Lilámani, also, found her niche, when the King's stirring +proclamation announced the coming of Indian troops. There was to be a +camp on the estate. Later on, there would be convalescents. Meantime, +there was wholesale need of 'comforts' to occupy her and Helen and +Christine.</p> + +<p>Tara's soaring ambition would carry her farther afield. Her spirit of +flame—that rose instinctively to tragic issues and heroic +demands—could be at peace nowhere but in the splendid, terrible, +unorganised thick of it all. Without making any ado, she proposed to get +there in the shortest possible time; and, in the shortest possible time, +by sheer concentration and hard work, she achieved her desire. Before +Roy left England, before her best-loved brother—a man of brilliant +promise—had finished learning to fly, she was driving her car in +Belgium, besieged in Antwerp, doing and enduring terrible things ...</p> + +<p>After Tara, Nevil—for the Artists' Rifles were early <a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>in the field. +After Nevil, Roy—his exchange effected—very slim and soldierly in +cavalry uniform; his grey-blue eyes, with the lurking gleam in them, +more than ever noticeable in his sunburnt face.</p> + +<p>The last day, the last hour were at once sad and glad beyond belief; so +that Lilámani's coward heart was thankful for urgent trifles that helped +to divert attention from the waiting shadow. Even to-day, as always, +dress and sari were instinctively chosen to express her mood:—the +mother-of-pearl mood; iridescence of glad and sad: glad to give; yet +aching to keep. Daughter of Rajputs though she was, she had her moment +of very human shrinking when the sharp actuality of parting was upon +them; when he held her so close and long that she felt as if the +tightened cord round her heart must snap—and there an end....</p> + +<p>But, by some miracle, some power not her own, courage held; though, when +he released her, she was half blinded with tears.</p> + +<p>Her last words—entirely like herself though they were—surprised him.</p> + +<p>"Son of my heart—live for ever," she whispered, laying light hands on +his breast. "And when you go into the battle, always keep strongly in +your mind that They must <i>not</i> win, because no sacred or beautiful thing +would be left clean from their touch. And when you go into the battle +always remember—Chitor."</p> + +<p>"It is <i>you</i> I shall always remember—looking like this," he answered +under his breath. But he never forgot her injunctions; and through years +of fighting, he obeyed them to the letter....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That was in April, after Neuve Chapelle, when even optimists admitted +that the War might last a year.</p> + +<p>At Christmas time he came home on short leave—a changed Roy; his skin +browner; his sensitive lips more closely set under the shadow line of +his moustache; the fibre of body and spirit hardened, without loss of +fineness or flexibility. Livelier on the surface, he was graver, more +reticent, underneath—even with her. By the look in his eyes she knew he +had seen things that could never be put into words. Some of them she too +had seen, through his mind; so close was the spiritual <a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>link between +them. In that respect at least, he was beautifully, unaffectedly the +same....</p> + +<p>Nevil was home too, for that wonderful Christmas; and Tara, changed +also, in her own vivid way; frank and friendly with Roy; though the +grown-up veil between them was seldom lifted now. For the War held them +both in its unrelaxing grip; satisfied, in terrible and tremendous +fashion, the hidden desire—not uncommon in young things, though +concealed like a vice—to suffer for others. Everything else, for the +time being, seemed a side issue. Personal affairs could wait....</p> + +<p>When it came to letting Nevil and Roy go again, after their brief, +beautiful interlude together, Lilámani discovered how those fifteen +months of ceaseless anxiety and ceaseless service had shaken her nerve. +Gladness of giving could now scarce hold its own against dread of +losing; till she felt as if her heart must break under the strain. It +did not break, however. It endured—as the hearts of a million mothers +and wives have endured in all ages—to breaking-point ... and beyond. +The immensity of the whole world's anguish at once crushed and upheld +her, making her individual pain seem almost a little thing——</p> + +<p>They left her. And the War went on—disastrously, gloriously, +stubbornly, inconclusively; would go on, it seemed, to the end of Time. +One came to feel as if life free from the shadow of War had never been. +As if it would never be again——</p> + +<h4>END OF PHASE II.</h4> +<p><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHASE_III" id="PHASE_III"></a>PHASE III.</h2> + +<h2>PISGAH HEIGHTS</h2> + +<p><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IC" id="CHAPTER_IC"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="center">"No receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend."—<span class='smcap'>Francis + Bacon</span>.</div> + + +<p>As early as 1819 there had been a Desmond in India; a +soldier-administrator of mark, in his day. During the Sikh Wars there +had been a Desmond in the Punjab; and at the time of the Great Mutiny +there was a Punjab Cavalry Desmond at Kohat; a notable fighter, with a +flowing beard and an easy-going uniform that would not commend itself to +the modern military eye. In the year of the second Afghan War, there was +yet another Desmond at Kohat; one that earned the cross 'For Valour,' +married the daughter of Sir John Meredith, and rose to high distinction. +Later still, in the year of grace 1918, his two sons were stationed +there, in the self-same Punjab Cavalry Regiment. There was also by now, +a certain bungalow in Kohat known as 'Desmond's bungalow,' occupied at +present by Colonel Paul Desmond, now in Command.</p> + +<p>That is no uncommon story in India. She has laid her spell on certain +families; and they have followed one another through the generations, as +homing birds follow in line across the sunset sky. And their name +becomes a legend that passes from father to son; because India does not +forget. There is perhaps nothing quite like it in the tale of any other +land. It makes for continuity; for a fine tradition of service and +devotion; a tradition that will not be broken till agitators and +theorists make an end of Britain in India. But that day is not yet; and +the best elements of both races still believe it will never be.</p> + +<p>Certainly neither Paul nor Lance Desmond, riding home together from kit +inspection, on a morning of early September, entertained the dimmest +idea of a <a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>break with the family tradition. Lance, at +seven-and-twenty—spare and soldierly, alive to the finger-tips—was his +father in replica, even to the V.C. after his name, which he had +'snaffled out of the War,' together with a Croix de Guerre and a +brevet-Majority. Though Cavalry had been at a discount in France, +Mesopotamia and Palestine had given the Regiment its chance—with fever +and dysentery and all the plagues of Egypt thrown in to keep things +going.</p> + +<p>It was in the process of filling up his woeful gaps that Colonel Desmond +had applied for Roy Sinclair, and so fulfilled the desire of his +brother's heart: also, incidentally, Roy's craving to serve with Indian +Cavalry. To that end, his knowledge of the language, his horsemanship, +his daring and resource in scout work, had stood him in good stead. +Paul—who scarcely knew him at the time—very soon discovered that he +had secured an asset for the Regiment—the great Fetish, that claimed +his paramount allegiance, and began to look like claiming it for life.</p> + +<p>"He's just John over again," Lady Desmond would say, referring to a +brother who had served the great Fetish from subaltern to Colonel and +left his name on a cross in Kohat cemetery.</p> + +<p>Certainly, in form and feature, Paul was very much a Meredith:—the +coppery tone of his hair, the straight nose and steadfast grey-blue +eyes, the height and breadth and suggestion of power in reserve. It was +one of the most serious problems of his life to keep his big frame under +weight for polo, without impairing his immense capacity for work. Apart +from this important detail, he was singularly unaware of his striking +personal appearance, except when others chaffed him about his look of +Lord Kitchener, and were usually snubbed for their pains; though, at +heart, he was inordinately proud of the fact. He had only one quarrel +with the hero of his boyhood;—the decree that officially extinguished +the Frontier Force; though the spirit of it survives, and will survive, +for decades to come. Like his brother, he had 'snaffled' a few +decorations out of the War: but to be in Command of the Regiment, with +Lance in charge of his pet squadron, was better than all.</p> + +<p>The strong bond of affection between these two—first <a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>and last of a +family of six—was enhanced by their very unlikeness. Lance had the élan +of a torrent; Paul the stillness and depth of a mountain lake. Lance was +a rapier; Paul a claymore—slow to smite, formidable when roused. Both +were natural leaders of men; both, it need hardly be added, 'Piffers'<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> +in the grain. They had only returned in March from active service, with +the Regiment very much the worse for wear; heartily sorry to be out of +the biggest show on record; yet heartily glad to be back in India, a +sadly changing India though it was.</p> + +<p>Two urgent questions were troubling the mind of Lance as they rode at a +foot's pace up the slope leading to the Blue Bungalow. Would the board +of doctors, at that moment 'sitting' on Roy, give him another chance? +Would the impending reliefs condemn them to a 'down-country' station? +For they had only been posted to Kohat till these came out.</p> + +<p>To one of those questions Colonel Desmond already knew the answer.</p> + +<p>"I had a line from the General this morning," he remarked, after +studying his brother's profile and shrewdly gauging his thoughts.</p> + +<p>True enough—his start betrayed him. "The General?—Reliefs?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." A pause. "We're for—Lahore Cantonments."</p> + +<p>"Damn!"</p> + +<p>"I've made that inspired remark already. You needn't flatter yourself +it's original!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not in the mood to flatter myself or any one else. I'm in a +towering rage. And if dear old Roy is to be turned down into the +bargain——!" Words failed him. He had his father's genius for making +friends; and among them all Roy Sinclair reigned supreme.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he will be if I know anything of medical boards."</p> + +<p>"Why the <i>devil</i>——?" Lance flashed out. "It's not as if A1 officers +were tumbling over each other in the service. If Roy was a Tommy they'd +jolly soon think of something better than leave and futile tonics."<a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a></p> + +<p>Colonel Desmond smiled at the characteristic outburst.</p> + +<p>"Certainly their tinkering isn't up to much. But I'm afraid there's more +wrong with Roy than mere doctoring can touch. Still—he doesn't seem +keen on going Home."</p> + +<p>Lance shook his head. "Naturally—poor old chap. Feels he can't face +things, yet. It's not only the delights of Mespot that have knocked him +off his centre. It's losing—that jewel of a mother." His eyes darkened +with feeling. "You can't wonder. If anything was to happen——" He broke +off abruptly.</p> + +<p>Paul Desmond set his teeth and was silent. In the deep of his heart, the +Regiment had one rival—and Lady Desmond knew it....</p> + +<p>They found the bungalow empty. No sign of Roy.</p> + +<p>"Getting round 'em," suggested Paul optimistically, and passed on into +his dufter.</p> + +<p>Lance lit a cigar, flung himself into a verandah chair and picked up the +'Civil and Military.' He had just scanned the war telegrams when Roy +came up at a round trot.</p> + +<p>Lance sat forward and discarded the paper. An exchange of glances +sufficed. Roy's determination to 'bluff the board' had failed.</p> + +<p>He looked sallow in spite of sunburn; tired and disheartened; no lurking +smile in his eyes. He fondled the velvet nose of his beloved Suráj—a +graceful creature, half Arab, half Waler; and absently acknowledged the +frantic jubilations of his Irish terrier puppy, christened by Lance the +Holy Terror—Terry for short. Then he mounted the steps, subsided into +the other chair and dropped his cap and whip on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Damn the doctors," said Lance, questions being superfluous.</p> + +<p>That so characteristic form of sympathy moved Roy to a rueful smile. +"Obstinate devils. I bluffed 'em all I knew. Overdid it, perhaps. Anyway +they weren't impressed. They've dispensed with my valuable services. +Anæmia, mild neurasthenia, cardiac symptoms—and a few other +pusillanimous ailments. Wonder they didn't throw in housemaid's knee! +Oh, confound 'em all!" He converted a sigh into a prolonged yawn.<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a> +"Let's make merry over a peg, Lance. Doctors are exhausting to argue +with. And Cuthers always said I couldn't argue for nuts! Now then—how +about pegs?"</p> + +<p>"A bit demoralising—at midday," Lance murmured without conviction.</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>am</i> demoralised; dead—damned—done for. I'm about to be +honoured with a blooming medical certificate to that effect. As a +soldier, I'm extinct—from this time forth for evermore. You see before +you the wraith of a Might-Have-Been. After <i>that</i> gold-medal exhibition +of inanity, kindly produce said pegs!"</p> + +<p>Lance Desmond listened with a grave smile, and a sharp contraction of +heart, to the absurdities of this first-best friend, who for three years +had shared with him the high and horrible and ludicrous vicissitudes of +war. He knew only too well that trick of talking at random to drown some +inner stress. With every word of nonsense he uttered, Roy was implicitly +confessing how acutely he felt the blow; and to parade his own bitter +disappointment seemed an egotistical superfluity. So he merely remarked +with due gravity: "I admit you've made out an overwhelming case for +'said pegs'!" And he shouted his orders accordingly.</p> + +<p>They filled their tumblers in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Every +moment emphasised increasingly all that the detested verdict implied. No +more polo together. No more sharing of books and jokes and enthusiasms +and violent antipathies, to which both were prone. No more 'shoots' in +the Hills beyond Kashmir.</p> + +<p>From the first of these they had lately returned—sick leave, in Roy's +case; and the programme was to be repeated next April, if they could +'wangle' first leave. Each knew the other was thinking of these things. +But they seemed entirely occupied in quenching their thirst, and their +disappointment, in deep draughts of sizzling ice-cool whisky-and-soda. +Moreover—ignominious, but true—when the tumblers were emptied, things +did begin to look a shade less blue. It became more possible to discuss +plans. And Desmond was feeling distinctly anxious on that score.</p> + +<p>"You won't be shunted instanter," he remarked; and Roy smiled at the +relief in his tone.<a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a></p> + +<p>"Next month, I suppose. We must make the most of these few weeks, old +man."</p> + +<p>"And then—what?... Home?"</p> + +<p>Roy did not answer at once. He was lying back again, staring out at the +respectable imitation of a lawn, at rose beds, carpeted with over-blown +mignonette, and a lone untidy tamarisk that flung a spiky shadow on the +grass. And the eye of his mind was picturing the loveliest lawn of his +acquaintance, with its noble twin beeches and a hammock slung +between—an empty casket; the jewel gone. It was picturing the +drawing-room; the restful simplicity of its cream and gold: but no dear +and lovely figure, in gold-flecked sari, lost in the great arm-chair. +Her window-seat in the studio—empty. No one in a 'mother-o'-pearl mood' +to come and tuck him up and exchange confidences, the last thing. His +father, also invalided out; his left coat sleeve half empty, where the +forearm had been removed.</p> + +<p>"N—no," he said at last, still staring at the unblinking sunshine. "Not +Home. Not yet—anyway."</p> + +<p>Then, having confessed, he turned and looked straight into the eyes of +his friend—the hazel-grey eyes he had so admired, as a small boy, +because of the way they darkened with anger or strong feeling. And he +admired them still. "A coward—am I? It's not a flattering conclusion. +But I suppose it's the cold truth."</p> + +<p>"It hasn't struck <i>me</i> that way." Desmond frankly returned his look.</p> + +<p>"That's a mercy. But—if one's name happened to be Lance Desmond, one +would go—anyhow."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it. The place must be simply alive—with memories. We +Anglo-Indians, jogged from pillar to post, know precious little about +homes like yours. A man—can't judge——"</p> + +<p>"You're a generous soul, Lance!" Roy broke out with sudden warmth. +"Anyway—coward or no—I simply <i>can't</i> face—the ordeal, yet awhile. I +believe my father will understand. After all—here I am in India, as +planned, before the Great Interruption. So—given the chance, I might as +well take it. The dear old place is mostly empty, these days—with Tiny +married and Dad's Air Force job pinning him to Town. <i>So</i>—as I remarked +<a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>before——!"</p> + +<p>"You'll hang on out here for the present? Thank God for that much."</p> + +<p>Desmond's pious gratitude was so fervent that they both burst out +laughing; and their laughter cleared the air of ghosts.</p> + +<p>"Jaipur it is, I suppose, as planned. Thea will be overjoyed. Whether +Jaipur's precisely a health resort——?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not after health resorts. I'm after knowledge—and a few other +things. Not Jaipur first, anyway. The moment I get the official order of +the boot—I'm for Chitor."</p> + +<p>"Chitor?" Faint incredulity lurked in Desmond's tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes—the casket that enshrines the soul of a race; buried in the wilds +of Rajasthán. Ever heard tell of it, you arrant Punjabi? Or does nothing +exist for <i>you</i> south of Delhi?"</p> + +<p>"Just a thing or two—not to mention Thea!"</p> + +<p>"Of course—I beg her pardon! <i>She</i> would appreciate Chitor."</p> + +<p>"Rather. They went there—and Udaipur, last year. She's death on getting +Vincent transferred. And the Burra Sahibs are as wax in her hands. If +they happen to be musical, and she applies the fiddle, they haven't an +earthly——!"</p> + +<p>Roy's eyes took on their far-away look.</p> + +<p>"It'll be truly uplifting to see her—and hear her fiddle once more, if +she's game for an indefinite dose of my society. Anyway, there's my +grandfather——"</p> + +<p>"Quite superfluous," Desmond interposed a shade too promptly. "If I know +Thea, she'll hang on to you for the cold weather; and ensure you a <i>pied +à terre</i> if you want to prowl round Rajputana and give the bee in your +bonnet an airing! You'll be in clover. The Residency's a sort of palace. +Not precisely Thea's ideal of bliss. She's a Piffer at heart; and her +social talents don't get much scope down there. Only half a dozen +whites; and old Vinx buried fathoms deep in ethnology, writing a book. +But, being Thea, she has pitched herself head foremost, into it all. Got +very keen on Indian women. She's mixed up in some sort of a romance now. +A girl who's been educated at home.<a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a> It seems an unfailing prescription +for trouble. I rather fancy she's a cousin of yours."</p> + +<p>Roy started. "What—Arúna?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't mention the name. Only ructions—and Thea to the rescue!"</p> + +<p>"Poor Arúna!—She stayed in England a goodish time, because of the +War—and Dyán. I've not heard of Dyán for an age; and I don't believe +they have either. He was knocked out in 1915. Lost his left arm. Said he +was going to study art in Calcutta.—I wonder——?" Desmond—who had +chiefly been talking to divert the current of his thoughts—noted, with +satisfaction, how his simple tactics had taken effect.</p> + +<p>"We'll write to-morrow—eh?" said he. "Better still—happy +thought!—I'll bear down on Jaipur myself, for Christmas leave. Rare +fine pig-sticking in those parts."</p> + +<p>The happy thought proved a masterstroke. In the discussion of plans and +projects Roy became almost his radiant self again: forgot, for one +merciful hour, that he was dead, damned, and done for—the wraith of a +'Might-Have-Been.'<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Punjab Irregular Frontier Force.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIC" id="CHAPTER_IIC"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Oh, not more subtly"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Oh, not more subtly silence strays</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amongst the winds, between the voices...</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Than thou art present in my days.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;"><br /><br />My silence, life returns to thee</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">In all the pauses of her breath.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">And thou, wake ever, wake for me!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Some five weeks later, Roy sat alone—very completely and desolately +alone—in a whitewashed, unhomely room that everywhere bore the stamp of +dák bungalow; from the wobbly teapoy<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> at his elbow to the board of +printed rules that adorned the empty mantelpiece. The only cheering +thing in the room was the log fire that made companionable noises and +danced shadow-dances on the dingy white walls. But the optimism of the +fire was discounted by the pessimism of the lamp that seemed specially +constructed to produce a minimum of light with a maximum of smell—and +rank kerosene at that.</p> + +<p>Dák bungalows had seemed good fun in the days of his leave, when he and +Lance made merry over their well-worn failings. But it was quite another +affair to smoke the pipe of compulsory solitude, on the outskirts of +Chitor, hundreds of miles away from Kohat and the Regiment; to feel +oneself the only living being in a succession of empty rooms—for the +servants were housed in their own little colony apart. Solitude, in the +right mood and the right place, was bread and wine to his soul; but +acute loneliness of the dák bungalow order was not in the bond. For four +years he had felt<a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a> himself part of a huge incarnate purpose; intimately +part of his regiment—a closely-knit brotherhood of action. Now, the +mere fact of being an unattached human fragment oddly intensified his +feeling of isolation. With all his individuality, he was no egoist; and +very much a lover of his kind. Imbued with the spirit of the quest, yet +averse by temperament to ploughing the lonely furrow.</p> + +<p>It had been his own choice—if you could call it so,—starting this way, +instead of in the friendly atmosphere of the Jaipur Residency. But was +there really such a thing as choice? The fact was, he had simply obeyed +an irresistible impulse,—and to-morrow he would be glad of it. +To-night, after that interminable journey, his head ached atrociously. +He felt limp as a wet dish-clout; his nerves all out of gear ... Perhaps +those confounded doctors were not such fools as they seemed. He cursed +himself for a spineless ineffectual—messing about with nerves when he +had been lucky enough to come through four years of war with his full +complement of limbs and faculties unimpaired. Two slight wounds, a +passing collapse, from utter fatigue and misery, soon after his mother's +death; a spell of chronic dysentery, during which he had somehow managed +to keep more or less fit for duty;—that was his record of physical +damage, in a War that had broken its tens of thousands for life.</p> + +<p>But there are wounds of the mind; and the healing of them is a slow, +complex affair. Roy, with his fastidious sense of beauty, his almost +morbid shrinking from inflicted pain, had suffered acutely, where more +robust natures scarcely suffered at all. Yet it was the robust that went +to pieces—which was one of the many surprises of a War that shattered +convictions wholesale, and challenged modern man to the fiercest trial +of faith at a moment when Science had almost stripped him bare of belief +in anything outside himself.</p> + +<p>Roy, happily for him, had not been stripped of belief; and his receptive +mind, had been ceaselessly occupied registering impressions, to be flung +off, later, in prose and verse, that <i>She</i> might share them to the full. +A slim volume—published, at her wish, in 1916—had attracted no small +attention in the critical world. At <a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>the time, he had deprecated +premature rushings into print; but afterwards it was a blessed thing to +remember the joy he had given her that last Christmas—the very last....</p> + +<p>On the battlefield, if there had been nerve-shattering moments, these +had their counterpart in moments when the spirit of his Rajput ancestors +lived again in him, when he knew neither shrinking nor horror nor pity: +and in moments of pure pleasure, during some quiet interlude, when larks +rained music out of the blue; when he found himself alone with the eerie +wonder of dawn over the scarred and riven fields of death; or when he +discovered his Oriental genius for scout work that had rapidly earned +him distinction and sated his love of adventure to the full.</p> + +<p>And always, unfailingly he had obeyed his mother's parting injunction. +As a British officer, he had fought for the Empire. As Roy Sinclair—son +of Lilámani—he had fought for the sanctities of Home and +Beauty—intrinsic beauty of mind and body and soul—against hideousness +and licence and the unclean spirit that could defile the very +sanctuaries of God.</p> + +<p>And always, when he went into battle, he remembered Chitor. Mentally, he +put on the saffron robe, insignia of 'no surrender.' To be taken +prisoner was the one fate he could not bring himself to contemplate: yet +that very fate had befallen him and Lance, in Mesopotamia—the sequel of +a daring and successful raid.</p> + +<p>Returning, in the teeth of unexpected difficulties, they had found +themselves ambushed, with their handful of men—outnumbered, no loophole +for escape.</p> + +<p>For three months, that seemed more like years, they had lost all sense +of personal liberty—the oxygen of the soul. They had endured misery, +semi-starvation, and occasionally other things, such as a man cannot +bring himself to speak about or consciously recall: not least, the awful +sense of being powerless—and hated. From the beginning, they had kept +their minds occupied with ingenious plans for escape, that, at times, +seemed like base desertion of their men, whom they could neither help +nor save. But when—as by a miracle—the coveted chance came, no power +on earth could have stayed them....<a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a></p> + +<p>It had been a breathless affair, demanding all they possessed of bodily +fleetness and suppleness, of cool, yet reckless, courage. And it had +been crowned with success; the good news wired home to mothers who +waited and prayed. But Roy's nerves had suffered more severely than +Desmond's. A sharp attack of fever had completed his prostration. And it +was then, in the moment of his passing weakness, that Fate turned and +smote him with the sharpest weapon in her armoury....</p> + +<p>He had not even heard his mother was ill. He had just received her +ecstatic response to his wire—and that very night she came to him, +vividly, as he hovered on the confines of sleep.</p> + +<p>There she stood by his bed, in her mother-o'-pearl gown and sari; clear +in every detail; lips just parted; a hovering smile in her eyes. And +round about her a shimmering radiance, as of moonbeams, heightened her +loveliness, yet seemed to set her apart; so that he could neither touch +her nor utter a word of welcome. He could only gaze and gaze, while his +heart beat in long slow hammer-strokes, with a double throb between.</p> + +<p>With a gesture of mute yearning her hands went out to him. She stooped +low and lower. A faint breeze seemed to flit across his forehead as if +her lips, lightly brushing it, had breathed a blessing.</p> + +<p>Then, darkness fell abruptly—and a deep sleep....</p> + +<p>He woke late next morning: woke to a startling, terrible certainty that +his vision had been no dream; that her very self had come to him—that +she was gone....</p> + +<p>When the bitter truth reached him, he learnt, without surprise, that on +the night of his vision, her spirit passed....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a sharp attack of pneumonia that gave her the <i>coup de grâce</i>. +But, in effect, the War had killed her, as it killed many another +hyper-sensitive woman, who could not become inured to horror on horror, +tragedy on tragedy, whose heart ached for the sorrows of others as if +they were her own. And her personal share had sufficiently taxed her +endurance, without added pangs for others, unseen and unknown. +George—her baby—had gone down in the Queen Mary. Jerry, too early sent +out to France, had crashed behind the German <a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>lines; and after months of +uncertainty they had heard he was alive, wounded—in German hands. Tara, +faithful to the Women's Hospital in Serbia, had been constantly in +danger, living and moving among unimaginable horrors. Nevil, threatened +with septic poisoning, had only been saved at the cost of his left +forearm. Not till he was invalided out, near the close of 1916, had he +realised—too late—that she was killing herself by inches, with work +that alone could leaven anxiety—up to a point.</p> + +<p>But it was the shock of Roy's imprisonment and the agony of suspense +that finally stretched her nerve to breaking-point; so that the sudden +onslaught of pneumonia had slain her in the space of a week. And Roy, +knowing her too well, had guessed the truth, in spite of his father's +gallant attempt to shield him from it.</p> + +<p>His first letter from that bereft father had been little short of a +revelation to the son, who had ventured to suppose he knew him: a rash +supposition where any human being is concerned. There had been more than +one such revelation in the scores of letters that at once uplifted and +overwhelmed him, and increased tenfold his pride in being her son. But +outshining all, and utterly unexpected, was a letter from herself, +written in those last days, when the others still hoped, against hope, +but she knew——</p> + +<p>It had come, with his father's, in a small, gold-embroidered bag—scent +and colour and exquisite needlework all eloquent of her: and with it +came the other, her talisman since he was born. Reaching him while brain +and body still reeled under the bewildering sense of loss, it had +soothed his agony of pain and rebellion like the touch of her fingers on +his forehead; had taken the sting from death and robbed the grave of +victory....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To-night, in his loneliness, he drew the slim bag out of an inner +pocket, and re-read with his eyes the words that were imprinted on his +memory.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class='smcap'>Roy, son of my heart</span>,—This is good-bye—but not + altogether good-bye. Between you and me that word can never be + spoken. So I am writing this, in my foolish weakness, to beg of + you—by the love between <a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>us, too deep for words—not to let heart + and courage be <i>quite</i> broken because of this big sorrow. You were + brave in battle, my Prithvi Raj. Be still more brave for me. + Remember I am Lilámani—Jewel of Delight. <i>That</i> I have tried to be + in my life, for every one of you. That I wish to be always. So I + ask you, my darling, not to make me a Jewel of Sorrow because I + have passed into the Next Door House too soon. Though not seen, I + will never for long be far from you. That is my faith; and you must + share it; helping your dear father, because for him the way of + belief is hard.</p> + +<p> "Never forget those beautiful words of Fouquet in which you made + dedication of your poems to me: 'How blessed is the son to whom it + is allowed to gladden his mother's heart with the blossom and fruit + of his life!' And you will still gladden it, Dilkusha.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> I will + still share your work, though in different fashion than we hoped. + Only keep your manhood pure and the windows of your spirit clear, + so the Light can shine through. Then you will know if I speak + truth, and you will not feel altogether alone.</p> + +<p> "Oh, Roy, I could write and write till the pen drops. My heart is + too full, but my hand is too feeble for more. Only this, when your + time comes for marriage, I pray you will be to your wife all that + your splendid father has been for me—king and lover and companion + of body and spirit. Draw nearer than ever, you two, because of your + so beautiful love for me—unseen now, but with you always. God + bless you. I can write no more.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Your devoted</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">M</span><span class='smcap'>Mother."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The last lines wavered and ran together. In spite of her injunction, +tears <i>would</i> come. Chill and unheeded, they slipped down his cheeks, +while he folded his treasure, and put it away with the other, that went +to his head, a little, as she had foreseen; though in the event, it had +been overshadowed by her own, than which she could have left him no +dearer legacy. In life she had been an angel of God. In death, she was +still his angel of<a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a> comfort and healing. She had bidden him share her +belief; and he never <i>had</i> felt altogether alone. Sustained by that +inner conviction, he had somehow adapted himself to the strangeness of a +life empty of her physical presence. The human being, in a world of +pain, like the insect in a world of danger, lives mainly by that same +ceaseless, unconscious miracle of adaptation. Dearly though he craved a +sight of his father and Christine, he had not asked for leave home. +There were bad moments when he wondered if he could ever bring himself +to face the ordeal. He sincerely hoped they understood. Their letters +left an impression that it was so. Jeffers obviously did.</p> + +<p>And Tara——? Her belated letter, from the wilds of Serbia, had +revealed, in every line, that she understood only too well. For Tara, +not long before, had passed through her own ordeal—the death, in a +brilliant air fight, of her second brother Atholl, her devotee and hero +from nursery days. So when Roy's turn came, her fulness of sympathy and +understanding were outstretched like wings to shield him, if might be, +from the worst, as she had known it.</p> + +<p>For that once, she flung aside the veil of grown-up reserves and wrote +straight from her eager passionate heart to the Bracelet-bound Brother, +unseen for years, yet linked with her by an imperishable memory; and now +linked closer still by a mutual grief.</p> + +<p>The comfort to Roy of that spontaneous, Tara-like outpouring had been +greater than she knew—than he could ever let her know. For the old +intimacy had never been quite re-established between them since the day +of his tactless juvenile proposal—for so he saw it now. They had only +met that once, when he was home for Christmas. On the second occasion, +they had missed. Throughout the War they had corresponded fitfully; but +her letters, though affectionate and sisterly, lacked an unseizable +something that affected the tone of his response. He had been rash +enough, once, to presume on their special relation. But he was no longer +a boy; and he had his pride.</p> + +<p>He wondered sometimes how it would be if they met again. Would he fall +in love with her? She was supreme. No one like her. But he knew now—as +she had in<a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>stinctively known then—that his conviction on that score did +not amount to being in love. Conviction must be lit and warmed with the +fire of passion. And you couldn't very well fall in love across six +thousand miles of sea. Certainly none of the girls he had danced with +and ridden with since his arrival in India had affected him that way. +And for him marriage was an important consideration. Some day he +supposed it would confront him as an urgent personal issue. But there +was a tremendous lot to be done first; and girls were kittle cattle.</p> + +<p>Unsuspected by him, the ultimate relation with his mother—while it +quickened his need for woman's enveloping tenderness and sympathy—held +his heart in leash by setting up a standard, to which the modern girl +rarely aspired, much less attained.</p> + +<p>And now she was gone, in some strange, enthralling way, she held him +still. At rare intervals, she came again to him in dreams; or when he +hovered on the verge of sleep. Dreams, or visions—they persisted as +clearly in memory as any waking act; and unfailingly left a vivid +after-sense of having been in touch with her very self. More and more +conviction deepened in him that she still had joy in 'the blossom and +fruit of his life'; that even in death she was nearer to him than many +living mothers to their sons.</p> + +<p>A strange experience: strangest of all, perhaps, the simplicity with +which he came to accept it as part of the natural order of things. The +intuitive brain is rarely analytical. Moreover, he had seen; he had +felt; he knew. It is the invincible argument of the mystic. Against +belief born of vivid, reiterate experience, the loquacity of logic, the +formulæ of pure intellect break like waves upon a rock—and with as +little result. The intensity and persistence of Roy's experience simply +left no room for insidious whispers of doubt; nor could he have +tolerated such scepticism in others, natural though it might be, if one +had not seen, nor felt, nor known.</p> + +<p>So he neither wrote nor spoke of it to any one. He could scarce have +kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had shared all his thoughts and +dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too remote in every sense <a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>for +a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To his father he would fain have +confided everything, remembering her last command; but Sir Nevil's later +letters—though unfailingly sympathetic—were not calculated to evoke +filial outpourings. For the time being, he seemed to have shut himself +in with his grief. Perhaps he, of all others, had been least able to +understand Roy's failure to press for short leave home. He had said very +little on the subject. And Roy—with the instinct of sensitive natures +to take their tone from others—had also said little: too little, +perhaps. Least said may be soonest mended; but there are times when it +may widen a rift to a gulf.</p> + +<p>In the end, he had felt impelled at least to mention his dream +experiences, and let it rest with his father whether he said any more.</p> + +<p>And by return mail came a brief but poignant answer: "Thank you, my +dearest Boy, for telling me what you did. It is a relief to know you +have some sort of comfort—if only in dreams. You are fortunate to be so +made. After all, for purposes of comfort and guidance, one's capacity to +believe in such communion is the measure of its reality. As for me, I am +still utterly, desolately alone. Perhaps some day she will reach me in +spite of my little faith. People who resort to mediums and the automatic +writing craze are beyond me: though the temptation I understand. You may +remember a sentence of Maeterlinck——' We have to grope timidly and +make sure of every footstep, as we cross the threshold. And even when +the threshold is crossed, where shall certainty be found——? One cannot +speak of these things—the solitude is too great.' That is my own +feeling about it—at present."</p> + +<p>The last had given Roy an impression that his solitude, however +desolating, was a sort of sanctuary, not to be shared as yet, even with +his son. And, in the face of such loneliness, it seemed almost cruel to +enlarge on his own clear sense of intimate communion with her who had +been unfailingly their Jewel of Delight.</p> + +<p>So, by degrees—in the long months of separation from them all—his +ethereal link with her had come to feel closer and more real than his +link with those others, still in the flesh, yet strangely remote from +his inner life.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>To-night—after reading both letters—that sense of nearness seemed +stronger than ever. Could it be that the magnetism of India was in the +nature of an intimation from her that for the present his work lay here? +By the hidden forces that mould men's lives, he had been drawn to the +land of heart's desire; and at home, neither his family nor his country +seemed to have any particular need of him. Whether or no India had need +of him, he assuredly had need of her. And it was the very strength of +that feeling which had given him pause.</p> + +<p>But now, at last, he knew beyond cavil that, for all his mind—or was it +his conscience?—might haver and split straws, he had been drawn to +Rajputana, as irresistibly as if that vast desert region were the moon +and he a wavelet on the tidal shore.</p> + +<p>With a great sigh he rose, yawned cavernously and shivered. Better get +to bed and to sleep:—a bed that didn't clank and jolt and batter your +brains to a pulp. Things would look amazingly different in the morning.<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Tripod table.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Joy of my Heart.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIC" id="CHAPTER_IIIC"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Darkness and solitude shine for me"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Darkness and solitude shine for me:</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">For life's fair outward part, are rife</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">The silver noises: let them be.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">It is the very soul of life</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Listens for thee, listens for thee."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The depressingly bare, whitewashed bedroom owned a French bedstead, with +brass rails;—a welcome 'find' in a dák bungalow, especially after three +very broken nights in an Indian train. Tired to the point of +stupefaction, Roy promised himself he would sleep the clock round; eat a +three-decker Anglo-Indian breakfast, and thereafter be his own man +again. In that faith he laid his head on the least lumpy portion of the +pillow—and in less than five minutes found himself quite intolerably +wide awake.</p> + +<p>Though the bedstead neither repudiated him, nor took liberties with his +person, ghostly clankings and vibrations still jarred his nerves and +played devil's tunes in his brain. Though he kept his eyelids severely +closed, sleep—the coveted anodyne—seemed to hover on the misty edge of +things, always just out of reach. His body was over-tired, his brain +abnormally alert. Each change of position, that was to be positively the +last, lost its virtue in the space of three minutes, till the +sheet—that was too narrow for the mattress—became ruckled into hills +and valleys and made things worse than ever. Having started like this, +he knew himself capable of keeping it up gaily till the small hours; and +to-night, of all nights——!</p> + +<p>Even through his closed eyelids, he was still aware that his verandah +doorway framed a wide panel of moonlight—the almost incredible +moonlight of India.<a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a> He had flung it open as usual and rolled up the +chick. A bedroom hermetically sealed made him feel suffocated, +imprisoned; so he must, perforce, put up with the moon; and when the +world was drowned in her radiance, sleep seemed almost a sin. But +to-night, moon or no, he craved sleep as an opium-eater craves his magic +pellets,—because he wanted to dream. It was many weeks since he last +had sight of his mother. But surely she must be near him in his +loneliness; aware, in some mysterious fashion, of the deep longing with +which he longed for sight or sense of her, to assure him that—in spite +of qualms and indecisions—he had chosen aright. Conviction grew that +directly the veil of sleep fell he would see her. It magnified his +insomnia from mere discomfort to a baffling inimical presence +withholding him from her:—till utter weariness blotted out everything; +and even as he hovered on the verge of sleep, she was there....</p> + +<p>She was lying in her hammock under the beeches, in her apple-blossom +sari, sunlight flickering through the leaves. And he saw his own figure +moving towards her, without the least surprise, that he could see and +hear himself as another being, while still remaining inside himself.</p> + +<p>He heard his own voice say, low and fervently, "Beloved little Mother—I +am here. Always in the battle I remembered Chitor. Now—turned out of +the battle—I have come to Chitor."</p> + +<p>Then he was on his knees beside her; and her fingers, light as +thistledown, strayed over his hair, in the ghost of a caress that so +unfailingly stilled his excitable spirit. Without actual words, by some +miracle of interpenetration, she seemed to know all that was in his +heart—the perplexities and indecisions; the magnetism of Home and the +dread of it; the difficulty of making things clear to his father. And +the magic of her touch charmed away all inner confusions, all headache +and heartache. But when he rose impulsively, and would have taken her in +his arms—she was gone; everything was gone; ... the hammock, the +beeches, the sunbeams....</p> + +<p>He was standing alone on a moonlit plain, blotched and streaked with +shadows of dák-jungle and date-<a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>palm; and rising out of it abruptly—as +he had seen it last night—loomed the black bulk of Chitor; the sacred, +solitary ghost of a city, linked with his happiest days of childhood and +his mother's heroic tales. The great rock was scarped and bastioned, +every line of it. The walls, ruined in parts, showed ghostly shades of +ruins beyond; and soaring high above all, Khumba Rána's nine-storied +Tower of Victory lifted a giant finger to the unheeding heavens. +Watching it, fascinated, trying in vain to make out details, he was +startlingly beset by the strangest among many strange sensations that +had visited his imaginative brain: nothing less than a revival of the +long-ago dream-feeling, the strange sense of familiarity—he knew! +Beyond all cavil, he knew every line of that looming shadow, every curve +of the hills. He knew the exact position of the old bridge over the +Gamberi river. From the spot where he stood, he could find his way +unerringly to the Padal Pol—the fortified entrance to the road of Seven +Gates;—the road that had witnessed, three times in three hundred years, +that heroic alternative to surrender, the terrible rite of Johur:—the +final down-rush of every male defender, wearing the saffron robe and +coronet of him who embraces death as a bride; the awful slaughter at the +lowest gate, where they fell, every man of them, before the victors +entered in....</p> + +<p>The horror and savage exaltation of it all stirred, so sensibly, in his +veins that he caught himself dimly wondering—was it he, Roy Sinclair, +who stood there remembering these things—or another...?</p> + +<p>And before that crazy question could resolve itself—behold he was lying +wide awake again in his ruckled bed, on the lumpy pillow, staring at the +wide patch of moonlight framed by his open door.</p> + +<p>Not morning <i>yet</i>, confound it all! But the tiredness and loneliness +were clean gone. It was always so when she came to him thus. Tacitly, he +knew it, and she knew it, for a visitation. There was no delusion of +having got her back again; only the comforting assurance that she was +near him still. There was also, on this occasion, a consuming curiosity +and impatience not to be denied.</p> + +<p>Switching on his electric torch, he consulted his watch. Nearly +half-past four—why not ...? It was <a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>no distance to the lower gate, and +only a mile of zigzag road up to the city.</p> + +<p>Thought and action were almost simultaneous. He was out of bed, standing +in the doorway. The moon's unclouded brilliance seemed to flood his +brain; to clear it of cobwebs and dispel all desire of sleep. For he +loved the veiled spirit of night as most men love the unveiled face of +morning; and in no way, perhaps, was he more clearly of the East. In a +land where the sun slays his thousands, the moon comes triumphantly to +her own: and Roy decided, there and then, that in the glamour of her +light he would take his first look at Chitor. Whether or no it really +was his first look, he might possibly find out when he got there.</p> + +<p>His train-basket provided him with a hurried cup of tea, biscuits and a +providential hard-boiled egg. He had no qualms about rousing Bishun +Singh to saddle Suráj, or disturbing the soldiery quartered at the +gates. His grandfather had written of him to the Maharana of Udaipur—a +cousin in the third degree: and he had leave to go in and out, during +his stay, at what hour he pleased. He would remain on the rock till +dawn; and from the ninth storey of Khumba Rána's Tower he would see the +sun rise over Chitor....</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, he was in the saddle trotting along the empty road; +Terry, a scurrying shadow in his wake; Bishun Singh left to finish his +night's rest. Eight before him loomed the magnet that had dragged him +out of bed at this unearthly hour—the great rock-fortress, three miles +long, less than a mile broad, aptly likened to a battleship ploughing +through the disturbed sea of bush-grown hills at its base.</p> + +<p>Riding quickly through new Chitor—a dirty little town, fast asleep—he +reached the fortified gateway: was challenged by sleepy soldiery; gave +his name and passed on—into another world; a world that grew +increasingly familiar with every hundred yards of ascent.</p> + +<p>At one point he halted abreast of two rough monuments, graves of the +valiant pair who had fought and died, like Rajputs, in that last +terrible onslaught when the hosts of Akbar entered in, over the bodies +of eight thousand saffron-robed warriors, and made Chitor a place of +desolation for ever. One—a mere boy of six<a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>teen—was the only son of +his house. Beside him, lance in hand, fought his widowed mother and girl +wife; and in death they were not divided. The other, Jaimul of Bednore, +was a far-away ancestor of his own mother. How often she had told him +the tale—adding proudly that, while Rajasthán endured, the names of +those two would shine clear in the firmament of time, as stars in the +firmament of space.</p> + +<p>Through gateway after gateway—under the lee of a twenty-foot wall, +pierced for musketry,—he passed, a silent shadow. And gradually there +stole over him afresh the confused wonder of his dream,—was it he +himself who rode—or was it—that other, returning to the sacred city +after long absence? For the moment he could hardly tell. But—what +matter? The astonishing thrill of recognition was all....</p> + +<p>Round about the seventh gateway clustered the semblance of a village; +shrouded, slumbering forms strewn around in the open;—ghosts all. The +only instant realities were himself and Suráj and Chitor, and the +silence of the sleeping earth, watched over by unsleeping stars. Within, +and about him, hovered a stirring consciousness of ancient, unchanging +India; utterly impervious to mere birds of passage from the West; +veiled, elusive, yet almost hideously real. So real, just then, to Roy, +that—for a few amazing moments—he was unaware that he rode through a +city forsaken by man. Ghosts of houses and temples slid by on either +side of him, as he spurred Suráj to a canter and made unerringly for the +main palace. There was news for the Rana—news of Akbar's army—that did +not brook delay....</p> + +<p>Not till Suráj stopped dead—there where the Palace had once stood in +its glory—did he come to himself, as abruptly as when he waked in the +French bedstead an hour ago.</p> + +<p>Gone was the populous city through which he had ridden in fancy; gone +the confusion of himself with that other self—how many centuries old? +But the familiar look of the palace was no dream; nor the fact that he +had instinctively made his way there at full speed. Bastioned and +sharply domed, it stood before him in clear outline; but within sides it +was hollow as a skull; <a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>a place of ghosts. Suddenly there came over him +the old childish dread of dark, that he had never quite outgrown. But +dread or no, explore it he must....</p> + +<p>As his foot touched earth, a low hiss warned him he was trespassing, and +clutching Terry's collar, he stood rigid, while the whip-like shadow of +death writhed across a strip of moonlight—and disappeared. There was +life,—of a sort, in Chitor. So Roy trod warily as he passed from room +to room; dread of dark forgotten in the weird fascination of +foreknowledge verified without fail.</p> + +<p>Through riven walls and roofs, moonlight streamed: its spectral +brightness intensifying every patch or streak of shadow. And there, +where Kings and Princes had held audience—watched by their womenfolk +through fretted screens—was neither roof nor walls; only a group of +marble pillars, as it were assembled in ghostly conference. The stark +silence and emptiness—not of yesterday, but of centuries—smote him +with a personal pang. From end to end of the rock it brooded; a haunting +presence,—tutelary goddess of Chitor. There is an emptiness of the open +desert, of an untrodden snowfield that lifts the soul and sets it face +to face with God; but the emptiness of a city forsaken is that of a body +with the spark of life extinct:—'the silver cord loosed, the golden +bowl broken, and the pitcher broken at the fountain ...'</p> + +<p>Terry's sharp bark, a squawk and a scuffle of wings, made him start +violently and jarred him all through. It seemed almost profane—as if +one were in a cathedral. Calling the marauder to heel, he mounted and +rode on toward the Tower of Victory. For the moon was dipping westward; +and he must see that vast view bathed in moonlight. Then the dawn....</p> + +<p>Once more deserting Suráj; he confronted Khumba's Tower; scatheless as +the builder's hand left it four centuries ago. Massive and arrogant, it +loomed above him; scarcely a foot of stone uncarven, so far as he could +see—exploring the four-square base of it with the aid of the moon and +his torch. Figures, in high relief, everywhere—animal, human and +divine; a riot of impossible forms, impossibly intertwined; ghoulish in +any aspect, and in moonlight hideously so:—bewilder<a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>ing, repellent, +frankly obscene. But even while his cultured eye rejected it all, some +infinitesimal fragment of himself knew there was symbolic meaning in +that orgy of sculpture, could one but find the key.</p> + +<p>Up and up, round and round the inner spiral staircase he climbed, in a +creepsome darkness, invaded by moonbeams, hardly less creepsome, +admitted through window-like openings set in every face of every storey. +With each inrush of light, each flash of his torch, in deepest darkness, +those thronging figures, weirdly distorted, sprang at him afresh, +sending ignominious trickles down his spine. Walls, window slabs, door +beams—the vast building was encrusted with them from base to summit; a +nightmare of prancing, writhing, gesticulating unrest; only one still +face repeated at intervals—the Great God holding the wheel of Law....</p> + +<p>Never had Roy more keenly appreciated the company of Terry, who, in +spite of a Celtic pedigree, was not enjoying this prolonged practical +joke.</p> + +<p>It was relief unspeakable to emerge at last, into full light and clean +sweet morning air. For the ninth storey, under the dome, was arcaded on +all four sides and refreshingly innocent of decoration. Not a posturing +figure to be seen. Nothing but restful slabs of polished stone. There +was meaning in this also—could one catch the trend of the builder's +thought.</p> + +<p>On a slab near an arcaded opening Roy sat gratefully down; while Terry, +bored to extinction with the whole affair, curled himself up in a +shadowed corner and went fast asleep. "Unfriendly little beast," thought +Roy; and promptly forgot his existence.</p> + +<p>For below him, in the silvery moonlight of morning, lay Chitor; her +shattered arches and battlements, her temples and palaces dwarfed to +mere footstools for the gods. And beyond, and again beyond, lay the +naked strength and desolation of northern Rajputana—white with +poppy-fields, velvet-dark with scrub, jagged with outcrops of volcanic +rock; the gaunt warrior country, battered by centuries of struggle and +slaughter; making calamity a whetstone for courage; saying, in effect, +to friend and enemy, 'Take me or leave me. You cannot change me.'</p> + +<p>The Border had fascinated Roy. The Himalayas had <a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>subjugated him. But +this strong unlovely region of rock and sand, of horses and swords, of +chivalry and cruelty and daring, irresistibly laid siege to his heart; +gave him the authentic sense of being one with it all.</p> + +<p>On a day, in that summer of blessed memory, his mother had almost +promised him that, once again she would revisit India if only for the +joy of making a pilgrimage with him to Chitor. And here he sat on the +summit of Khumba Rána's Tower—alone. That was the way of life....</p> + +<p>Gradually there stole over him a great weariness of body and spirit; +pure reaction from the uplift of his strange adventure. His lids drooped +heavily. In another moment he would have fallen sound asleep; but he +saved himself, just in time. When he craved the thing, it eluded him; +now, undesired, it assailed him. But it would never do. He might sleep +for hours. And at the back of his mind lurked a clear conviction that he +was waiting for more than the dawn....</p> + +<p>To shake off drowsiness he rose, stretched himself, paced to and fro +several times—and did not sit down again. Folding his arms, he leaned +his shoulders against the stone embrasure; and stood so, a long while, +absorbing—with every faculty of flesh and spirit—the stillness, the +mystery, the pearl-grey light and bottomless gulfs of shadow; his mind +emptied of articulate thought ... his soul poised motionless, as it were +a bird on outspread wings....</p> + +<p>Was it fantasy, this gradual intensifying of his uplifted mood, this +breathless stir in the region of his heart, till some vital part of him +seemed gradually withdrawn—up into the vastness and the silence...?</p> + +<p>And suddenly, in every nerve, he knew—he was not alone. In the seeming +emptiness of the place, something, some one hovered near him. Amazed, +yet exultant, he held his breath; and an answering leap of the heart set +him tingling from head to foot.</p> + +<p>It was more than a vague 'sense of presence.' Fused in the central +happiness that flooded him—as the moonlight flooded the desert—was an +almost startling awareness; not the mere emotional effect of music or a +poem; but sure knowledge that she was there with him in that upper room; +her disembodied tenderness yearning <a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>towards him across a barrier of +empty space that neither she nor he could traverse, for all their +nearness, for all their longing....</p> + +<p>If Lance himself had come audibly up those endless stairs and stood +beside him, he could not have felt more certain of his presence than he +felt, at this moment, of her companionship, her unspoken assurance that +he <i>had</i> chosen aright. He felt himself, if possible, the less real of +the two.</p> + +<p>For that brief space, his world seemed empty of everything, every one, +but they two—so irrevocably sundered, so mysteriously united.</p> + +<p>Could he only have sight of her to complete the marvel of it! But +although he kept his eyes on the spot whence the 'feel of her' seemed to +come, not the shadow of a shade could he see; only—was it fancy?—a +hint of brighter radiance than mere moonbeams—there, near the opposite +archway?</p> + +<p>He dared not move a finger lest he break the spell. Yet he could not +restrain altogether the emotion that surged in him, that filled his ears +with a soft roar as of breaking waves.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, little Mother!" he murmured, barely above his +breath—and waited; expecting he knew not what.</p> + +<p>A ghost of a breeze passed close to him;—truly a ghost, for the night +was dead still. Almost he could have sworn that if he put out a hand he +would have touched her. But reverence withheld him, rather than fear.</p> + +<p>And the next moment, the place was empty. He was alone....</p> + +<p>He felt the emptiness as unmistakably as he had felt her presence. But +the pang of her going was shot through with elation that at last his +waking brain had knowledge of her—a knowledge that no man could wrest +from him, even if she never so came again. He had done her bidding. He +had kept his manhood pure and the windows of his soul clear—and, +behold, the Light <i>had</i> shone through....</p> + +<p>* * * *</p> + +<p>Impossible to tell how long he stood there. In those few moments of +intensified life, time was not. The <a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>ordinary sense of his surroundings +faded. The inner sense of reality quickened in like measure; the reality +of her presence, all the more felt, because it was unseen....</p> + +<p>When he came clearly to himself again, the moon had vanished. Eastward, +the sky was full of primrose light. It deepened and blazed; till, all in +a moment, the sun leaped from the scabbard of the hills, keen and +radiant as a drawn sword.</p> + +<p>A full minute Roy stood there, eyes and brain blinded with brilliance. +Then he knelt down and covered his face; and so remained, a long while, +his whole being uplifted in a wordless ecstasy of thanksgiving.<a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVC" id="CHAPTER_IVC"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The snow upon my life-bloom sits"> +<tr><td align='left'>"The snow upon my life-bloom sits</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And sheds a dreary blight;—</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Thy spirit o'er my spirit flits,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And crimson comes for white."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Anon.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>On an unclouded afternoon of October, Roy sat alone with Thea Leigh in a +shady corner of the Residency garden, smoking and talking, feeling +blissfully at ease in body, and very much at home in spirit. After the +wrench of parting with Desmond, it was balm to be welcomed by the sister +who shared his high courage and enthusiasm for life, and who was smiling +at Roy now with the same hazel-grey eyes that both had gotten from their +father. But Thea's hair—her crown of glory—belonged exclusively to +herself. The colour of it reminded him, with a pang, of autumn beech +leaves, in his own woods. It enhanced the vivid quality of her beauty, +and added appreciably to his pleasure in watching her while she talked.</p> + +<p>Roy had arrived that morning, in the mist-laden chill of dawn; had +enjoyed a long talk with Colonel Leigh; had made the acquaintance of +Vernon and Phyllis, aged six and four; also of Flossie Eden, a kind of +adopted daughter, aged twenty; and, tiffin being over, had announced his +intention of riding out to re-discover the rose-red wonderland of his +childish dreams—the peacocks and elephants and crocodiles and temple +bells. Thea, however, had counselled patience, threatening him with dire +disillusion, if he went seeking his wonderland at that glaringly +unpoetic time of day.</p> + +<p>"An early cup of tea, and a ride afterwards," she prescribed, in her +best autocratic manner. "Only <a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>sunset, or the first glimmer of dawn, can +throw a spell over the municipal virtues and artistic backslidings of +Jaipur! I speak with feeling; because <i>I</i> rushed forth untimely; and, in +the full glare of afternoon sunshine, your rose-red city looked like +nothing on earth but a fearful and wonderful collection of pink and +white birthday cakes, set out for a giants' tea-party! It seemed almost +a pity the giants had never come and eaten them up. Vinx said I was +ribald. As a matter of fact, he was simply jealous of my brilliant +metaphor! Look at him now—bored to death with me, because I'm telling +the truth!"</p> + +<p>Colonel Leigh—a tall pensive-looking man, who talked little and +listened assiduously—met her challenge with the indulgent smile of a +husband who can be at once amused and critical and devoted: an excellent +conjunction in marriage.</p> + +<p>"If you can stay Roy's impatience with your metaphors, I'll begin to +have some respect for them!" said he.</p> + +<p>And she was staying Roy's impatience now, with cigarettes and coffee and +the tale of Arúna—'England-returned.' She had revealed little by +letter; an uncharacteristic touch of caution derived from her husband, +who questioned the wisdom of her bold incursion into the complexities +and jarring elements of a semi-modern Hindu household. But Thea Leigh, +daughter of Honor Desmond, was strongly imbued with the responsibility +of the ruling race. She stoutly refused to preserve, in Jaipur, the +correct official detachment of Anglo-India. More: she possessed a racial +wisdom of the heart, not to be gainsaid; as who should know better than +her husband, since it had saved him from himself. And now, having +secured Roy for half an hour, she confided to him, unreservedly, all she +could gather of the tragic tangle she was unravelling in her own +effective fashion.</p> + +<p>"Arúna's the dearest thing," she told him—as well he knew. "And I'm +truly fond of her. But sometimes I feel helpless. They're so hard to +come at—these gentle, inscrutable Hindu women. Talk of English reserve! +However, I'm getting quite nimble at guessing and inferring; and I +gather that your splendid old grandfather is rather pathetically +helpless with that <a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>hive of hidden womenfolk and gurus. Also that the +old lady—Mátaji—is a bit of a tartar. Of course, having lost caste, +makes the poor child's home position almost impossible. Yet she flatly +refuses to go through their horrid rites of restitution. And Miss +Hammond—our lady doctor at the hospital—backs her up."</p> + +<p>"Well played, Miss Hammond!" quoth Roy; and remembering Arúna's cheerful +letters (no word of complications), all his sympathy went out to her. +Might not he—related, yet free of grandmotherly tyranny—somehow be +able to help? Too cruel that from her happy time in England there should +spring such tragic issues. And she was not a creature made for tragedy, +but for laughter and love and 'man's delight.' Yet, in the Hindu nature +of things, this very matter of marriage was the crux of her troubles.</p> + +<p>To the Power behind the curtain it spelt disgrace, that the eldest +grand-daughter—at the ripe age of twenty-two—should be neither wife +nor mother. It would need a very advanced suitor to overlook that +damning item. Doubtless a large dowry would be demanded by way of +compensation; and, before all, caste must be restored. While Arúna +remained obdurate, nothing could be definitely arranged; and her +grandfather had not the heart to enforce his wife's insistent demands. +But if the Indian woman's horizon be limited, her shrewdness and +intuitive knowledge are often amazing; and this formidable old +lady—skilled in the art of imposing her will on others—knew herself a +match for her husband's evasions and Arúna's flat rebellion.</p> + +<p>She reckoned, however, without the daughter of Sir Theo Desmond, who, at +this point, took action—sudden and disconcerting.</p> + +<p>"You see the child came regularly to my purdah parties," she explained +to Roy, who was impatient no longer, only absorbed. "Sometimes I had her +alone for reading and music; and it was heart-breaking to see her +wilting away before my eyes. So, at last, in desperation, I broke +loose—as Vinx politely puts it—and asked searching questions, +regardless of etiquette. After all, the poor lamb has no mother. And I +never disobey an impulse of the heart. I believe I was only in the +<i>nick</i> of time. It seemed the old tartar and her <a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>widowed sister-in-law +were in touch with a possible husband. So they had given the screw a +fresh turn, assisted by the family <i>guru</i>. He had just honoured them +with a special visit, expecting to find the lost sheep regenerate and +eager for his blessing. Shocked at the tale of her obstinacy, he +announced that, unless he heard otherwise within a week, he would put a +nameless curse upon her; in which case her honourable grandmother would +not allow the poor child to eat or sleep under her honourable roof."</p> + +<p>Roy's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair. "Confound the fellow! +It's chiefly the mental effect they rely on. They're no fools; and even +men like Grandfather—who can't possibly believe such rot—seem +powerless to stand up against them. Does <i>he</i> know all this?"</p> + +<p>"It's hard to tell. They're so guarded—even the most enlightened—in +alluding to domestic matters. Without a shade of discourtesy, they +simply keep one outside. Poor Arúna was terrified at having told me. +Broke down utterly. But no idea of giving in. It's astonishing the grit +one comes upon under their surface gentleness. She said she would starve +or drown rather. <i>I</i> said she should do nothing of the kind; that I +would speak to Sir Lakshman myself—oh, very diplomatically, of course! +Afterwards, all in a rush, came my inspiration. Some sort of secretarial +work for me would sound fairly plausible. (Did you know—I'm making a +name, in a small way, over my zeal for Indian women?) On the strength of +that, one could suggest a couple of rooms in the Residency; and she +could still keep on at the hospital with Miss Hammond, giving me certain +afternoons. It struck me as flawless—<i>till</i> I imparted it to Vinx and +saw him tweak his left eyebrow. Of course he was convinced it 'wouldn't +do'; Sir Lakshman ... my position ... and so on. I said I proposed to +make it do—and the eyebrow twitched worse than ever. So I mildly +reminded him that <i>he</i> had not held Arúna sobbing in his arms, and he +didn't happen to be a mother! Which was unanswerable.—And, my dear Roy, +I had a hectic week of it, manipulating Sir Lakshman and Arúna <i>and</i> the +honourable grandmother—strictly unseen! I'm sure she's anti-English. +I've got <a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>at all the other high-borns; but I can't get at her. +However—with a bold front and a tactful tongue, I carried the day. So I +hope the holy man will transfer his potent curse to me. Naturally, the +moment I'd fixed things up, came Lance's letter about you. But I +couldn't back out. And I suppose it's all right?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course." Roy was troubled with no doubts on that score. "What +a family you are! I was hoping to pick up threads with Arúna."</p> + +<p>"You shall. But you must be discreet. Jaipur isn't exactly Oxford. +Brother and cousin are almost the same word with them; but still——"</p> + +<p>"Is she at the hospital now?" Roy cut in irrelevantly. Her insistence on +discretion—with Arúna, of all people—struck him as needless fussing +and unlike Thea. And by now he was feeling more impatient to see Arúna +than to see Jaipur.</p> + +<p>"No. But she seemed shy of appearing at tiffin. So I said if she came +out here afterwards, she would find you and me alone. She's looked +happier and less fragile lately. Even Vinx admits the event has +justified me. But of course it's simply an emergency plan—a +transition——"</p> + +<p>"To <i>what?</i>" Roy challenged her with surprising emphasis.</p> + +<p>"That's my puzzle of puzzles. Perhaps you can help me solve it. +Sometimes I wonder if she knows herself, what she wants out of life.... +But perhaps I haven't the key to her waverings...."</p> + +<p>At that moment, a slight unmistakable figure stepped from the shadow of +the verandah down the shallow steps flanked with pots of begonia; moving +with the effortless grace that Roy's heart knew too well. Dress and sari +were carnation pink. Her golden shoes glittered at every step: and she +pensively twirled a square Japanese parasol—almond blossoms and +butterflies scattered abroad on silk of the frailest blue.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> their instinct for that sort of thing unconscious, I wonder?" +murmured Thea. "You shall have half an hour with her, to pick up +threads. Help me if you can, Roy. But—<i>be discreet!</i>"</p> + +<p>Roy scarcely heard her. He had gone suddenly very still—his gaze +riveted on Arúna. The Indian dress, <a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>the carriage of her veiled head, +the leisured grace, so sharply smote him that tears pricked his eyelids; +and, for one intoxicating moment he was wafted, in spirit, across the +chasm of the War to that dear dream-world of youth, when all distances +were blue and all the near prospect bright with the dew of the morning. +Only under a mask-like stillness could he hide that startling uprush of +emotion; and had Broome been watching him, he would have seen the subtle +film of the East steal over his face.</p> + +<p>Thea saw only his sudden abstraction and the whitened knuckles of his +left hand. She also realised, with a faint prick of anxiety, that he had +simply not heard her remark. Was it possible—could Roy be at the back +of Arúna's waverings? Would his coming mean fresh complications? Too +distracting to be responsible for anything of that kind....</p> + +<p>Without a word, he had risen—and went quickly forward to meet her. Thea +saw how, on his approach, all her studied composure fell away; and both, +when they joined her, looked so happy, yet so plainly discomposed, that +Thea felt ridiculously at a loss for just the right word with which to +effect a casual retreat. Responsibility for Sir Lakshman's +grand-daughter was no light matter: at least she had done well in +warning Roy. These emerging Indian girls...!</p> + +<p>It was a positive relief to see the prosaic figure of Floss Eden, in +brief tennis skirts and shady hat, hurrying across the lawn, with her +boyish stride; racquet swinging, her round face flushed with exercise.</p> + +<p>"I say, Aunt Thea—you're wanted <i>jut put</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> she announced briskly. +"Verney's in one of his moods—and Mr Neill will soon be in one of his +tempers, if he isn't forcibly removed. Instead of helping with the +balls, he's been parading up and down the verandah; two tin pails, tied +on to him with string, clattering behind—making a beast of a row. +Shouting wasn't any earthly. So I rushed in and grabbed him. +'Verney—drop it! What <i>are</i> you doing?' I said sternly; and he looked +up at me like a sainted cherub. 'Flop, don't hinder me. I'm walkin' froo +the valley of the shadow, an' goodness<a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a> an' mercy are following me <i>all</i> +the days of my life.' That's the fruits of teaching the Bible to +innocents!"</p> + +<p>Thea's laugh ended in a sigh. "I warned Miss Mills. But the creature +<i>is</i> getting out of hand. I suppose it means he ought to go home. Mr +Neill," she explained to Roy, "is Vinx's shorthand secretary: volcanic, +but indispensable to the Great Work! So I must fly off and obliterate my +superfluous son."</p> + +<p>Her eyes tried to impart the warning he had not heard. Useless. His +attention was centred on Arúna.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful—isn't she?" the girl murmured, looking after her. Then +swiftly, half-shyly, she glanced up at him. "Still more wonderful that, +at last, you have come, that I am here too—only through her. She told +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. A little. I want to hear more."</p> + +<p>"Presently. I would rather push away sad things—now you are here. If +there was only Dyán too—like Oxford days. And—oh, Roy, I was bad never +writing ... about her. I did try. But so difficult.... And—you +knew——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I knew," he said in a repressed voice. On that subject he could +not trust himself just yet. Every curve and fold of her sari, and the +half-seen coils of her dark hair, every movement, every quaint turn of +phrase, set his nerves vibrating with an ecstasy that was pain. For the +moment, he wanted simply to be aware of her; to hug the dear illusion +that the years between were a dream. And illusion was heightened by the +trivial fact that her appearance was identical in every detail. Was it +chance? Or had she treasured them all this time? Only she herself looked +older. Though her face kept its pansy aspect, her cheek-bones were a +shade too prominent; no veiled glow of health under her dusky skin. But +her smile could still atone for all shortcomings.</p> + +<p>"Let's sit down," he added after a strained silence. "And tell +me—what's come to Dyán?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Oh—if we could <i>know</i>. Not much use, after all, +trying to push away sadness!" She sank into her chair and looked up at +him. "The more you push it away, the more it comes flowing in <a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>from +everywhere. Everything so broken and confused from this terrible War. At +the beginning how they said all would be made new; East and West firmly +united. But here, at home, while the best were fighting, the worst were +too busy with ugly whispers and untrue talk. Even holy men, behind the +purdah...."</p> + +<p>"As bad as that, is it?" asked Roy, distracted from his own sensations +by the subject that lay nearest his heart. "And you think Dyán's in with +that crew?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are afraid.... A pity he came back from France too soon, +because half his left arm must be cut off. Then—you heard—he went to +Calcutta?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I wrote at the time. He didn't answer. I haven't heard since."</p> + +<p>She nodded. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Always now ... no answer. +Like trying to speak with some one dead. So Grandfather fears he was not +only studying art. You know how he is too quick to catch fire. And too +easily, he might believe those men who spin words like spider's webs. +Also he was very sore losing his arm, by some small stupid chance; and +there was bitterness for that trouble ... of Tara...."</p> + +<p>Roy started. "Lord—was it <i>Tara?</i>" Instantly there flashed a vision of +the walled lane leading to New College; Dyán's embittered mood and +bewildering change of front.... Looking back now, the thing seemed +glaringly obvious; but, through the opalescent mist of his own dreams, +he had seen Dyán in one relation only. Just as well perhaps. Even at +this distance, the idea amazed and angered him. Tara! The arrogance of +it...!</p> + +<p>"You didn't know—never thought?... Poor Dyán!" One finger-tip furtively +intercepted a tear that was stealing down the side of her nose.</p> + +<p>"I am <i>too</i> silly just now," she apologised meekly. "To me, he only +spoke of it long after, when coming wounded from France. Then I saw how +the bitterness was still there, changing the noble thoughts of his +heart. That is the trouble with Dyán. First—nothing good enough for +England. But too fierce love may bring too fierce hate—if they poison +his mind with cunning words dressed up in high talk of religion——"<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a></p> + +<p>"How long since you heard? Have you any address?" Roy dared not +encourage her melting mood.</p> + +<p>"Six months now." She stoically blinked back her tears. "Not any word. +Not any address, since he left Calcutta. Last week, I wrote, addressing +to the office of a paper there, because once he said that editor gave +him work. I told him all the pain in my heart. If that letter finds +him—some answer <i>must</i> come."</p> + +<p>"Well, if it does, I promise you this much;—I'll unearth him—somehow, +wherever he is——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roy! I hoped—I knew——!" She clasped her hands to hide their +tremor, and the look in her eyes came perilously near adoration.</p> + +<p>Roy had spoken with the cool assurance of his father's race, and without +a glimmering idea how his rash promise was going to be fulfilled. "I'll +do my level utmost, anyhow," he added more soberly. "But there's +you—your home complications——"</p> + +<p>She turned her hands outward with the expressive gesture of her race. +"That foolish sadness we <i>can</i> push away. What matter for anything—now? +I rest—I breathe—I am here——!" Her smile shone out, sudden and +brilliant. "Almost like England—this big green garden and children and +sound of playing tennis. Let us be young again. Let us, for a small +time, not remember that all outside is Jaipur and the desert—dusty and +hot and cruel; and dark places full of secret and terrible things. Here +we are safe. Here it is almost England!"</p> + +<p>Her gallant appeal so moved him, and the lighter vein so charmingly +became her, that Roy humoured her mood willingly enough....</p> + +<p>When his tea arrived, she played hostess with an alluring mixture of +shyness and happy importance, capping his lively sallies with the quick +wit of old days. And when Suráj was announced—"Oh, please—may I see +him?" she begged eagerly as a child.</p> + +<p>Suráj graciously permitted his velvet nose to be stroked by alien +fingers, light as rose petals. Then Roy sprang into the saddle; and +Arúna stood watching him as he went—<i>sais</i> and dog trotting to heel—a +graceful lonely figure, shadowed by her semi-transparent parasol.<a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a></p> + +<p>At a bend in the drive, where a sentry sprang to attention, he turned +for a parting salute. Her answering gesture might or might not have been +intended for him. She at least knew all about the need for being +discreet. For, on leaving the tea-table, they had passed from the dream +of 'almost England' into the dusty actuality of Jaipur.<a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Instantly.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VC" id="CHAPTER_VC"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Broadly speaking, there are two blocks of people—East and West; + people who interfere and people who don't interfere; ... East is a + fatalist, West is an idealist, of a clumsy sort."—<span class='smcap'>Stacy + Aumonier.</span></p></div> + + +<p>A mile, or less, of tree-bordered road sloped gently from the Residency +gate-posts to the walled City of Victory, backed by craggy, red-grey +spurs of the Aravalli range, hidden almost in feathery heads of banyan, +acacia, and neem—a dusty, well-ordered oasis, holding its own against +the stealthy oncoming of the desert.</p> + +<p>North and east ran the screen of low hills with their creeping lines of +masonry; but from south and west the softly encroaching thing crept up +to the city walls, in through the gates, powdering every twig and leaf +and lattice with the fine white dust of death. Shadeless and colourless, +to the limit of vision, it rose and fell in long billowing waves; as if +some wizard, in the morning of the world, had smitten a living ocean to +lifeless sand, where nothing flourished but the camel thorn and the <i>ak</i> +plant and gaunt cactus bushes—their limbs petrified in weird +gesticulation.</p> + +<p>But on the road itself was a sufficiency of life and colour—parrokeets +flashing from tree to tree, like emeralds made visible and vocable; +village women swathed in red and yellow veils; prancing Rajput +cavaliers, straight from the Middle Ages; ox-carts and camels—unlimited +camels, with flapping lip and scornful eye; a sluggish stream of life, +rising out of the landscape and flowing, from dawn to dusk, through the +seven Gates of Jaipur. And there, on the low spurs, beyond the walls, he +sighted the famous Tiger Fort, and the marble tomb of Jai Sing—he that +built the rose-red City; challenging the desert, as Canute the sea; +saying, <a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>in terms of stone and mortar, 'Here shall thy proud waves be +stayed!' Nearing the fortified gateway, Roy noted how every inch of flat +surface was silkily powdered, every opening silted with sand. Would it +rest with desert or city, he wondered, the ultimate victory of the last +word...?</p> + +<p>Close against the ramparts, sand and dust were blown into a deep drift; +or was it a deserted pile of rags——? Suddenly, with a sick sensation, +he saw the rags heave and stir. Arms emerged—if you could call them +arms—belonging to pinched, shadowy faces. And from that human dust-heap +came a quavering wail, "Maharáj! Maharáj!"</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> it, Bishun Singh?" he asked sharply of the <i>sais</i>, trotting +at his stirrup.</p> + +<p>"Only the famine, Hazúr. Not a big trouble this year, they say. But from +the villages these come crawling to the city, believing the Maharáj has +plenty, and will give."</p> + +<p>"Does he give?"</p> + +<p>Bishun Singh's gesture seemed to deprecate undue curiosity. "The Maharáj +is great, but the people are like flies. If their Karma is good, they +find a few handfuls; if evil—they die."</p> + +<p>Roy said no more. That simple statement was conclusive as a dropped +stone. But, on reaching the gateway, he scattered a handful of loose +corns.</p> + +<p>Instantly a cry went up: "He gives money for food! <i>Jai déa +Maharáj!</i>"<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> Not merely arms, but entire skeletons emerged, seething, +scrambling, with hands wasted to mere claws. A few of the boldest caught +at Roy's stirrup; whereat Bishun Singh brushed them off, as if they were +flies indeed.</p> + +<p>Unresisting, they tottered and fell one against another, like ninepins: +and Roy, hating the man, turned sharply away. But rebuke was futile. One +could <i>do</i> nothing. It was that which galled him. One could only pass +on; mentally brushing them aside—like Bishun Singh.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Spectres vanished, however, once he and Suráj were absorbed into the +human kaleidoscope of the vast main<a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a> street, paved with wide strips of +hewn stone; one half of it sun-flooded; one half in shadow. The colour +and movement; the vista of pink-washed houses speckled with white +florets; the gay muslins, the small turbans and inimitable swagger of +the Rajput-Sun-descended, re-awakened in him those gleams of ancestral +memory that had so vividly beset him at Chitor. Sights and sounds and +smells—the pungent mingling of spices and dust and animals—assailed +his senses with a vague yet poignant familiarity: fruit and corn-shops +with their pyramids of yellow and red and ochre, and the fat brown +bunnia in the midst; shops bright with brass-work and Jaipur enamel; +lattice windows, low-browed arches, glimpses into shadowed courts; +flitting figures of veiled women; humbler women, unveiled, winnowing +grain, or crowned with baskets of sacred cow-dung, stepping like +queens....</p> + +<p>And the animals——! Extinct, almost, in modern machine-ridden cities, +here they visibly and audibly prevailed. For Asia lives intimately—if +not always mercifully—with her animals; and Roy's catholic affection +embraced them all. Horses first—a long way first. But bullocks had +their charm: the graceful trotting zebus, horns painted red and green. +And the ponderous swaying of elephants—sensitive creatures, nervous of +their own bulk, resplendently caparisoned. And there—a flash of the +jungle, among casual goats, fowls, and pariahs—went the royal cheetahs, +led on slips; walking delicately, between scarlet peons, looking for all +the world like amiable maiden ladies with blue-hooded caps tied under +their chins. In the wake of their magnificence two distended donkeys, on +parodies of legs, staggered under loads more distended still, plump +dhobies perched callously on the cruppers. Above all, Roy's eye +delighted in the jewelled sheen of peacocks, rivalling in sanctity the +real lords of Jaipur—Shiva's sacred bulls. Some milk-white and +onyx-eyed, some black and insolent, they sauntered among the open shop +fronts, levying toll and obstructing traffic—assured, arrogant, +immune....</p> + +<p>And, at stated intervals, like wrong notes in a succession of harmonies, +there sprang wrought-iron gas-lamps fitted with electric bulbs!<a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a></p> + +<p>So riding, he came to the heart of the city—a vast open space, where +the shops seemed brighter, the crowds gayer; and, by contrast, the human +rag and bone heaps, beggars and cripples, more terrible to behold.</p> + +<p>Here the first ray of actual recognition flashed through the haze of +familiar sensations. For here architectural exuberance culminated in the +vast bewildering façade of the Hall of the Winds and the Palace +flaunting its royal standard—five colours blazoned on cloth of gold. +But it was not these that held Roy's gaze. It was the group of Brahmin +temples, elaborately carven, rose-red from plinth to summit, rising +through flights of crows and iridescent pigeons; their monolithic forms +clean cut against the dusty haze; their shallow steps flanked with +marble elephants, splashed with orange-yellow robes of holy men and +groups of brightly-veiled women.</p> + +<p>At sight of them Roy instinctively drew rein;—and there, in the midst +of the shifting, drifting crowd, he sat motionless, letting the vision +sink deep into his mind, while Terry investigated a promising smell, and +Bishun Singh, wholly incurious, gossiped with a potter, from whose wheel +emerged an endless succession of <i>chirághs</i>—primitive clay lamps, with +a lip for the cotton wick. His neighbour, with equal zest, was creating +very ill-shapen clay animals, birds and fishes.</p> + +<p>"Look, Hazúr—for the Dewáli," Bishun Singh thrust upon Roy's attention +the one matter of real moment, just then, to all right-minded Hindus. +"Only two more weeks. So they are making lamps, without number, for +houses and shops and the palace of the Maharája. Very big tamasha, +Hazúr."</p> + +<p>He enlarged volubly on the coming festival, to this Sahib, who took such +unusual interest in the ways of India; while Roy sat silent, watching, +remembering....</p> + +<p>Nearly nineteen years ago he had seen the Dewáli—Feast of Lights; had +been driven, sitting on his mother's knee, through a fairy city outlined +in tremulous points of flame, down to the shore of the Mán Sagar Lake, +where the lights quavered and ran together and the dead ruins came alive +with them. All night they had seemed to flicker in his fanciful brain; +and next morning-unable to think or talk of anything else—he <a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>had been +moved to dictate his very first attempt at a poem....</p> + +<p>Suddenly, sharply, there rose above the chatter of the crowd and the +tireless clamour of crows, a scream of mingled rage and anguish that +tore at his nerves and sent a chill down his spine.</p> + +<p>Swinging round in the saddle, he saw a spectral figure of a +woman—detached from a group of spectres, huddled ironically against +bulging sacks of grain. One shrivelled arm was lifted in denunciation; +the other pressed a shapeless bundle to her empty breasts. Obviously +little more than a girl—yet with no trace of youth in her ravaged +face—she stood erect, every bone visible, before the stall of a +bangle-seller, fat and well liking, exuding rolls of flesh above his +<i>dhoti</i>,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and enjoying his savoury chupattis hot and hot; entirely +impervious to unseemly ravings; entirely occupied in pursuing trickles +of <i>ghi</i><a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> with his agile tongue that none might be lost.</p> + +<p>"That shameless one was begging a morsel of food," the toymaker +explained conversationally. "Doubtless her stomach is empty. <i>Wah! Wah!</i> +But she has no pice. And a man's food is his own...."</p> + +<p>As he spoke a milk-white bull ambled by, plundering at will; his +privileged nose adventuring near and nearer to the savoury smell. +Promptly, with reverential eagerness, the man proffered half a fresh +chupatti to the sacred intruder.</p> + +<p>At that the starving girl-mother lunged forward with the yell of a +hunted beast; lunged right across the path of a dapper young man in an +English suit, green turban, and patent-leather shoes.</p> + +<p>"Peace, she-devil! Make way," he cried; and catching her wrist—that +looked as if it would snap at a touch—he flung her aside so roughly +that she staggered and fell, the child beneath her emitting a feeble +wail....</p> + +<p>Since the days of his imprisonment, cruelty witnessed had a startling +effect on Roy. Between the moment when he sprang from the saddle, in a +blaze of fury, to the moment when he stood confronting the suave, +Anglicised Indian—riding-crop in one hand, the other<a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a> supporting the +girl and her babe—his mind was a blank. The thing was done almost +before the impulse reached his brain. He wondered if he had struck the +fellow, whom he was now arraigning furiously in fluent Hindustani, and +whose sullen, shifty face was reminding him of some one—somewhere....</p> + +<p>"Have you <i>no</i> respect for suffering—or for women other than your own?" +he demanded, scorn undisguised in his look and tone.</p> + +<p>The man's answering shrug was frankly contemptuous. "All you English are +mad," he said in the vernacular. "If she die not to-day, she will die +to-morrow. And already there are too many to feed—"</p> + +<p>"She will not die to-day or to-morrow," Roy retorted with Olympian +assurance. "Courage, little mother,"—he addressed the girl—"you shall +have food, you and the sonling."</p> + +<p>As she raised herself, clutching at his arm, he became uncomfortably +aware that her rags of clothing were probably verminous; that his +chivalrous pity was tinged with repulsion. But pity prevailed. +Supporting her to a neighbouring stall, he bought fruit, which she +devoured like a wild thing. He begged a little milk in a lotah and gave +her money for more. Half dazed, she dropped the money, emptied the small +jar almost at a gulp, and flung herself at his feet, pressing her +forehead on his dusty boot; covering him with confusion. Imperatively he +bade her get up. No result. So he stooped to enforce his command....</p> + +<p>She had fainted.</p> + +<p>"Help, mother—quick!" he appealed to an elder woman who hovered near +the stall, and responded, instinctively, to the note of command.</p> + +<p>As she stooped over the girl he said in low rapid tones: "Listen! It is +an order. Give warm food to her and the child. Take her to the Burra +Sahib's compound. There she will be cared for. I will give word."</p> + +<p>He slipped two rupees into her hand, adding: "Two more—when all is done +according to order."</p> + +<p>"<i>Hai! Hai!</i> The Sahib is a Son of Princes," murmured the favoured one, +reflecting shrewdly that eight annas would suffice to feed those poor +empty creatures; <a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>and gathering up her light burden she bore it away—to +Roy's unfeigned relief.</p> + +<p>Would Thea scold him—or uphold him, he wondered,—having committed +himself. The whole thing had been so swift, so unreal, that he seemed +half a world away from the green Residency garden, with its atmosphere +of twentieth-century England, scrupulously, yet unconsciously, preserved +in a setting of sixteenth-century India. And Roy had a strain of both in +his composition.</p> + +<p>Across the road Bishun Singh—tolerant of his Sahib's vagaries—was +still chatting with the potter; a blare of discord in a minor key +announced an approaching procession; and there, in talk with the +bangle-seller, stood the cause of these strange doings; keeping a +curious eye on the mad Englishman, but otherwise frankly unconcerned. +Again there dawned on Roy the conviction that he had seen that face +before. It was not in India. It was linked with the same sensations, in +a milder form. It would come in a moment....</p> + +<p>It came.</p> + +<p>Behind the slight, foppish figure, the eye of his mind saw suddenly—not +the sunlight and colour of Jaipur, but a stretch of grey-green sea, +tawny cliffs, and sandy shore ... St Rupert's! Of course, unmistakable: +the sullen mouth, the shifty eyes....</p> + +<p>Instantly he went forward and said in English: "I say—excuse me—but is +your name Chandranath?"</p> + +<p>The man started and stiffened. "That is no matter to you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. Only ... you're very like a boy who was one term at St +Rupert's School with me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>was</i> at St Rupert's. A beastly hole——"</p> + +<p>He, too, spoke English, and scanned Roy's face with narrowed eyes. +"Sinclair—is it? You tumbled down the cliff on to me—and that Desmond +fellow——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did. Lucky for you," Roy answered, stiffening in his turn. But +because of old days—because this unpromising specimen of manhood had +incidentally brought him and Desmond together, he held out his hand. +"'Fraid I lost my temper," he said casually, for form's sake. "But you +put my blood up."</p> + +<p>Chandranath's fingers lay limply in his grasp.<a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a></p> + +<p>"Still so sensitive——? Then better to clear out of India. I only +pushed that crazy girl aside. Englishmen knock and kick our people +without slightest compunction. Perhaps you are a tourist—or new to this +country?"</p> + +<p>Words and manner set Roy's nerves on edge; but he had been imprudent +enough for one day. "I've spent seven months on the Frontier in a +cavalry Regiment," he said; "but I only came to Jaipur yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Well, take my advice, Mr Sinclair, and leave these people alone. They +don't want Englishmen making pretence of sentimental fuss over them. +They like much better to be pushed—or even starved—by their own <i>ját</i>. +You may not believe it. But I belong to them. So I know."</p> + +<p>Roy, who also 'belonged' in a measure, very nearly said so—but again +prudence prevailed. "I'm rash enough to disagree with you," he said +placably. "The question of non-interference, of letting ill +alone—because one's afraid or can't be bothered—isn't merely a race +question; it's a root question of human character. Some men can't pass +by on the other side. Right or wrong, it simply isn't arguable. It's a +matter of the individual conscience—the heart——"</p> + +<p>"Conscience and heart—if not drastically disciplined by the logically +reasoning brain, propagate the majority of troubles that afflict +mankind," quoth Chandranath in the manner of one familiar with platform +oratory. "Are you stopping in Jaipur?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. At the Residency. Mrs Leigh is Desmond's sister. Did you know?"</p> + +<p>"That is curious. I did not know. Too much heart and conscience there +also. Mrs Leigh is thrusting her fingers into complicated issues of +which she is lamentably ignorant."</p> + +<p>Roy, taken aback, nearly gave himself away—but not quite. "I gather she +acted with Sir Lakshman Singh's approval," was all he said.</p> + +<p>Chandranath shrugged. "Sir Lakshman is an able but deluded man. His +dreams of social reform are obsolete. We of the new school adhere +patriotically to social and religious ordinances of the Mother. All we +agitate for is political independence." He unfurled the polysyllables, +like a flag; sublimely unaware of having <a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>stated a contradiction in +terms. "But your Sir Lakshman is of the old-fashioned +school—English-mad."</p> + +<p>"And your particular friends—are sane, eh?"</p> + +<p>The apostle of Hindu revival pensively twirled an English button of his +creditably-cut English coat.</p> + +<p>"Yes. We are sane—thanks to more liberalising influences. Coloured dust +cannot be thrown in our eyes by bureaucratic conjuring tricks, or +imperialistic talk about prestige. To-day it is India's turn for +prestige. 'Arya for the Aryans' is the slogan of the rising generation." +He paused, blinked, and added with an ingratiating chuckle: "You will go +running away with an impression that I am metamorphosed into red-hot +revolutionary. No, thank you! I am intrinsically a man of peace!" With a +flourish he jerked out a showy gold watch. "Ah—getting late! Very +agreeable exchanging amenities with old schoolfellows. But I have an +appointment in the Palace Gardens, at the time they feed the muggers. +<i>That</i> is a sight you should see, Mr Sinclair—when the beasts are +hungry and have not lately snapped up a washerwoman or an erring wife!"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather be excused this evening, thanks," Roy answered, with a touch +of brusqueness. "I confess it wouldn't appeal to my sense of +humour—seeing crocodiles gorge, while women and children starve."</p> + +<p>"That is what they call in a book I once read 'little ironies of life.' +Good fortune, at least, for the muggers! Better start to sharpen your +sense of humour, my friend. It is incomparable asset against the slings +and arrows of outrageous contingencies." This time his chuckle had an +undernote of malice; and Roy, considering him thoughtfully—from green +turban to patent-leather shoes—felt an acute desire to take him by the +scruff of his English coat and dust the Jaipur market-place with the +remnant of him.</p> + +<p>Aloud he said coolly: "Thanks for the prescription. Are you stopping +here long?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am meteoric visitant. Never very long anywhere. I come and go."</p> + +<p>"Business—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—many kinds of business—for the Mother." He flashed a direct look +at Roy; the first since their encounter; fluttered a foppish hand—the +little finger <a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>lifted to display a square uncut emerald—and went his +way....</p> + +<p>Roy, left standing alone in the leisurely crowd of men and animals—at +once so alien and so familiar—returned to Bishun Singh and Suráj in a +vaguely troubled frame of mind.</p> + +<p>"Which way to the house of Sir Lakshman Singh?" he asked the maker of +chirághs, his foot in the stirrup.</p> + +<p>Enlightened, he set off at a trot, down another vast street, all hazy in +the level light that conjured the dusty air to gold. But contact with +human anguish, naked and unashamed—as he had not seen it since the +war—and that sudden queer encounter with Chandranath, had rubbed the +bloom off delicate films of memory and artistic impressions. These were +the drop-scene, merely: negligible, when Life took the stage. He had an +exciting sense of having stepped straight into a crisis. Things were +going to happen in Jaipur.<a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Victory to thee, Maharáj!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Loin-cloth.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Melted butter.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIC" id="CHAPTER_VIC"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="God has a few of us"> +<tr><td align='left'>"God has a few of us, whom He whispers in the ear;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">The rest may reason and welcome...."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Browning.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />"Living still, and the more beautiful for our longing."</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>The house of Sir Lakshman Singh, C.S.I.—like many others in advancing +India—was a house divided against itself. And the cleavage cut deep. +The furnishing of the two rooms, in which he mainly lived, was not more +sharply sundered from that of the Inside, than was the atmosphere of his +large and vigorous mind from the twilight of ignorance and superstition +that shrouded the mind and soul of his wife. More than fifty years +ago—when young India ardently admired the West and all its works—he +had dreamed of educating his spirited girl-bride, so that the way of +companionship might gladden the way of marriage.</p> + +<p>But too soon the spirited girl had hardened into the narrow, tyrannical +woman; her conception of the wifely state limited to the traditional +duties of motherhood and household service. Happily for Sir Lakshman, +his unusual gifts had gained him wide recognition and high service in +the State. He had schooled himself, long since, to forget his early +dreams: and if marriage had failed, fatherhood had made royal amends. +Above all, in Lilámani, daughter of flesh and spirit, he had found—had +in a measure created—the intimate companionship he craved; a woman +skilled in the fine art of loving—finest and least studied of all the +arts that enrich and beautify human life. But the gods, it seemed, were +jealous of a relation too nearly perfect for mortal man. So Rama, eldest +son, and Lilámani, beloved daughter, <a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>had been taken, while the +estranged wife was left. Remained the grandchildren, in whom centred all +his hope and pride. So far as the dividing miles and years would permit, +he had managed to keep in close touch with Roy. But the fact remained +that England had first claim on Lilámani's children; and Rama's were +tossed on the troubled waters of transition.</p> + +<p>As for India herself—sacred Mother-land—her distraught soul seemed +more and more at the mercy of the voluble, the half-baked, the +disruptive, at home and abroad.</p> + +<p>Himself, steeped in the threefold culture of his country—Vedantic, +Islamic, and European—he came very near the prevailing ideal of +composite Indian nationality. Yet was he not deceived. In seventy years +of life, he had seen intellectual India pass through many phases, from +ardent admiration of the West and all its works, to no less ardent +denunciation. And in these days he saw too clearly how those same +intellectuals—with catchwords, meaningless to nine-tenths of her +people—were breaking down, stone by stone, their mighty safeguard of +British administration. Useless to protest. Having ears, they heard not. +Having eyes, they saw not. The spirit of destruction seemed abroad in +all the earth. After Germany—Russia. Would it be India next? He knew +her peoples well enough to fear. He also knew them well enough to hope. +But of late, increasingly, fear had prevailed. His shrewd eye discerned, +in every direction, fresh portents of disaster—a weakened executive, +divided counsels, and violence that is the offspring of both. His own +Maharája, he thanked God, was of the old school, loyal and conservative: +his face set like a flint against the sedition-monger in print or +person. And as concessions multiplied and extremists waxed bolder, so +the need for vigilance waxed in proportion....</p> + +<p>But to-day his mind had room for one thought only—the advent of Roy; +legacy of her, his vanished Jewel of Delight.</p> + +<p>A message from the Residency had told of the boy's arrival, of his hope +to announce himself in person that evening; and now, on a low divan, the +old man sat awaiting him with a more profound emotion at his <a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>heart than +the mere impatience of youth. But the impassive face under the +flesh-pink turban betrayed no sign of disturbance within. The +strongly-marked nose and eyebones might have been carved in old ivory. +The snowy beard, parted in the middle, was swept up over his ears; and +the eyes were veiled. An open book lay on his knee. But he was not +reading. He was listening for the sound of hoofs, the sound of a +voice....</p> + +<p>The two had not met for five years: and in those years the boy had +proved the warrior blood in his veins; had passed through the searching +test of a bitter loss. Together, they could speak of her—gone from +them; yet alive in their hearts for evermore. Seen or unseen, she was +the link that kept them all united, the pivot on which their lives still +turned. There had been none with whom he could talk of her since she +went....</p> + +<p>Over his writing-table hung the original Antibes portrait—life-size; +Nevil's payment for the high privilege of painting her; a privilege how +reluctantly accorded none but himself had ever known. And behold his +reward: her ever-visible presence—the girl-child who had been +altogether his own.</p> + +<p>Hoofs at last—and the remembered voice; deeper, more commanding; the +embroidered curtain pushed aside. Then—Roy himself, broader, browner; +his father's smile in his eyes; and, permeating all, the spirit of his +mother, clearly discernible to the man who had given it life.</p> + +<p>He was on his feet now, an imposing figure, in loose white raiment and +purple choga. In India, he wisely discarded English dress, deeming it as +unsuitable to the country as English political machinery. Silent, he +held out his arms and folded Roy in a close embrace: then—still +silent—stood away and considered him afresh. Their mutual emotion +affected them sensibly, like the presence of a third person, making them +shy of each other, shy of themselves.</p> + +<p>It was Sir Lakshman who spoke first. "Roy, son of my Heart's Delight, I +have waited many years for this day. It was the hidden wish of her +heart. And her spirit, though withdrawn, still works in our lives. It is +only so with those who love greatly, without base mixture of jealousy or +greed. They pass on—yet they <a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>remain; untouched by death, like the +lotus, that blooms in the water, but opens beyond its reach."</p> + +<p>Words and tone so stirred Roy that sudden tears filled his eyes. And +through the mist of his grief, dawned a vision of his mother's face. +Blurred and tremulous, it hovered before him with a startling illusion +of life; then—he knew....</p> + +<p>Without a word, he went over to the picture and stood before it, drowned +fathoms deep....</p> + +<p>A slight movement behind roused him; and with an effort he turned away. +"I've not seen a big one since—since my last time at home," he said +simply. "I've only two small ones out here."</p> + +<p>The carven face was not impassive now. "After all, Dilkusha,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> what +matter pictures when you have—herself?"</p> + +<p>Roy started. "It's true. I <i>have</i>—herself. How could you know?"</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, he was sitting beside his grandfather on the deep +divan, telling him all.</p> + +<p>Before setting out, he would not have believed it possible. But +instinctively he knew himself in touch with a quality of love that +matched his own; and the mere telling revived the marvel, the thrill of +that strange and beautiful experience at Chitor....</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman had neither moved nor spoken throughout. Now their eyes met +in a look of deep understanding.</p> + +<p>"I am very proud you told me, Roy. It is not easy."</p> + +<p>"No. I've not told any one else. I couldn't. But just now—something +seemed to draw it all out of me. I suppose—something in you——"</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps—herself! It almost seemed—she was here with us, while you +talked."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps—she is here still."</p> + +<p>Their voices were lowered, as in the presence of sacred things. Never, +till now, had Roy so keenly felt his individual link with this wonderful +old man, whose blood ran in his veins.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather," he asked after a pause, "I suppose it doesn't often +happen—that sort of thing? I suppose<a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a> most common-sense people would +dismiss it all as—sheer delusion?"</p> + +<p>The young simplicity of the question lit a smile in Sir Lakshman's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Quite possible. All that is most beautiful in life, most real to saints +and lovers, must seem delusion to those whose hearts and spirits are +merely vassals to the body and the brain. But those who say of the soul, +'It is not,' have still to <i>prove</i> it is not to those who have felt and +known. Also I grant—the other way about. But they speak in different +languages. Kabir says, 'I disclose my soul in what is hidden.' And +again, 'The bird is beyond seeking, yet it is most clearly visible.' For +us, that is living truth. For those others, a mere tangle of words."</p> + +<p>"I see." Roy's gaze was riveted on the picture above the writing-table. +"You can't explain colours to the colour-blind. And I suppose +experiences like mine only come to those for whom words like that +are—living truth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—like yours. But there are other kinds; not always true. Because, +in this so sacred matter, clever people, without scruple, have made +capital out of the heart's natural longing; and the dividing line is dim +where falsehood ends and truth begins. So it has all come into suspicion +and contempt. Accept what is freely given, Roy. Do not be tempted to try +and snatch more."</p> + +<p>"No—no. I wouldn't if I could." A pause. "<i>You</i> believe it is time ... +what I feel? That she is often—very near me?"</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman gravely inclined his head. "As I believe in Brahma, Lord of +all."</p> + +<p>And for both the silence that fell seemed pulsating with her unseen +presence....</p> + +<p>When they spoke again it was of mundane things. Roy vividly described +his sensations, riding through the City; the culminating incident, and +his recognition of the offender.</p> + +<p>"The queerest thing, running into the beggar again like that! He looks +as sulky and shifty as ever. That's how I knew."</p> + +<p>"Sulky and shifty—and wearing English clothes?"<a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a> Sir Lakshman's brows +contracted sharply. "What name did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Chandranath, we called him."</p> + +<p>"And you don't know his whereabouts?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm sorry. I didn't suppose his whereabouts mattered a damn to any +one."</p> + +<p>The stern old Rajput smiled. It did his heart good to hear the familiar +slang phrases again. "Whether it matters a damn—as you say—depends on +whether he is the undesirable I have in mind. Quite young; but much +influence, and a bad record. Mixed up with German agents, before the +War, and the Ghadr party in California; arrested for seditious activity +and deported: but of course, on appeal, allowed to return. Always the +same tale. Always the same result. Worse mischief done. And India—the +true India—must be grateful for these mercies! Sometimes I think the +irony is too sharp between the true gifts given, unnoticed, by +Englishmen working sincerely for the good of our people, and the false +gifts proclaimed from the house-tops, filling loyal Indians with +bewilderment and fear. I have had letters from scores of these, because +I am known to believe that loyal allegiance to British government gives +India the best chance for peaceful progress she is likely to have for +many generations. And from every one comes the same cry, begging to be +saved from this crazy nightmare of Home Rule, not understood and not +desired except by those who invented it. But what appeal is possible to +those who stop their ears? And all the time, by stealthy and open means, +the poison of race-hatred is being poured into India's veins——"</p> + +<p>"But, Grandfather—what about the War—and pulling together—and all +that?"</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman's smile struck Roy as one of the saddest he had ever seen. +"Four years ago, my dear Boy, we all had many radiant illusions. But +this War has dragged on too long. It is too far away. For our Princes +and warlike races it has had some reality. For the rest it means mostly +news in the papers and rumours in bazaars, high prices, and trouble +about food. No better soil for sowing evil seeds. And friends <a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>of +Germany are still working in India—remember that! While the loyal were +fighting, these were talking, plotting, hindering: and now they are +waving, like a flag, the services of others, to gain their own ends, +from which the loyal pray to be delivered! Could irony be more complete? +Indian Princes can keep some cheek on these gentlemen. But it is not +always easy. If this Chandranath should be the same man—he is here, no +doubt, for Dewáli. At sacred feasts they do most of their devil's work. +Did you speak of connection with me?"</p> + +<p>"No. But he seemed to know about Arúna: said you were English mad."</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman frowned. "English mad! That is their jargon. Too narrow to +understand how I can deeply love both countries, while remaining as +jealous for all true rights of my Motherland as any hot-head who +swallows their fairy-tale of a Golden Age, and England as +Raksha—destroying demon! By help of such inventions, they have deluded +many fine young men, like my poor Dyán, who should be already married +and working to all my place. Such was my hope in sending him to Oxford. +And now—see the result ..."</p> + +<p>On that topic he could not yet trust himself; and Roy, leaning forward +impulsively, laid a hand on his knee.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather, I have promised Arúna—and I promise you—that somehow, I +<i>will</i> get hold of him; and bring him back to his senses."</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman covered the hand with his own. "True son of Lilámani! But I +fear he may have joined some secret society; and India is a large +haystack in which to seek one human needle!"</p> + +<p>"But Arúna has written again. She is convinced he will answer."</p> + +<p>Sir Lakshman sighed. "Poor Arúna! I am not sure if I was altogether wise +letting her go to the Residency. But I am deeply grateful to Mrs Leigh. +India needs many more such English women. By making friends with +high-born Indian women, it is hardly too much to say they might, +together, mend more than half the blunders made by men on both sides."</p> + +<p>Thus, skilfully, he steered clear of Arúna's problem that was linked +with matters too intimately painful for discussion with a grandson, +however dear.<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a></p> + +<p>So absorbed was Roy in the delight of reunion, that not till he rose to +go did he take in the details of the lofty room. Everywhere Indian +workmanship was in evidence. The pictures were old Rajput paintings; +fine examples of Vaishnava art—pure Hindu, in its mingling of restraint +and exuberance, of tenderness and fury; its hallowing of all life and +idealising of all love. Only the writing-table and swivel-chair were +frankly of the West, and certain shelves full of English books and +reviews.</p> + +<p>"I <i>like</i> your room," Roy announced after leisurely inspection. "But I +don't seem to remember——"</p> + +<p>"You would be a miracle if you did! The room <i>you</i> saw had plush +curtains, gilt mirrors and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct +'English-fashion' guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman. But of +late years I have seen how greatly we were mistaken, making imitation +England to honour our English friends. Some frankly told me how they +were disappointed to find in our houses only caricatures of middle-class +England or France. Such rooms are silent barriers to friendship: +proclaiming that East may go to the West but West cannot come to the +East."</p> + +<p>"In a way that's true, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—in a way. This room, of course, is not like my inner apartments. +It is like myself, however; cultivated—but still Indian. It is my way +of preaching true Swadeshi:—Be your own self, even with English guests. +But so far I have few followers. Some are too foolishly fond of their +mirrors and chandeliers and gramophones. Some will not believe such +trifles can affect friendliness. Yet—strange, but true—too much +Anglicising of India instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen +the gulf."</p> + +<p>Roy nodded. "I've heard that. Yet most of us are so keen to be friends. +Queer, perverse things—human beings, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders of Earth!" +Setting both hands on Roy's shoulders he looked deeply into his eyes. +"Come and see me often, Dilkusha. It lifts my tired heart to have this +very human being so near me again."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ten minutes later, Roy was riding homeward through <a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a>a changed city; +streets and hills and sky wrapped in the mystery of encroaching dusk.</p> + +<p>South and west the sky flamed, like the heart of a fire opal, through a +veil fine as gauze—dust no longer; but the aura of Jaipur. Seen afar, +through the coloured gloom, familiar shapes took on strange outlines; +moved and swayed, mysteriously detached, in a sea of shadows, scattered, +here and there, by flames of little dinner fires along the pavements. +The brilliant shifting crowd of two hours ago seemed to have sunk into +the earth. For there is no night life in the streets of Jaipur. +Travellers had passed on and out. Merchants had stowed away their +muslins and embroideries, their vessels of brass and copper and +priceless enamels. Only the starving lay in huddled heaps as +before—ominously still; while above them vultures and eagles circled, +expectant, ink-black against the immense radiance beyond. Grey, +deepening to black, were flat roofs, cornices, minarets and massed +foliage, and the flitting shadows, with lifted tails, that careered +along the house-tops; or perched on some jutting angle, skinny elbows +crooked, absorbed in the pursuit of fleas. For sunset is the monkey's +hour, and the eerie jibbering of these imps of darkness struck a bizarre +note in the hush that shrouded the city.</p> + +<p>Roy knew, now, why Thea had stayed his impatience; and he blessed her +sympathetic understanding. But just then—steeped in India at her most +magical hour—it was hard to believe in the Residency household; in +English dinner-tables and English detachment from the mediæval medley of +splendour and squalor, of courage and cruelty and dumb endurance, of +arts and crafts and all the paraphernalia of enlightened knowledge that +was Jaipur. It seemed more like a week than a few hours since he had +turned in the saddle to salute Arúna and ridden out into another +world:—her world, which was also in a measure his own....</p> + +<p>On and on he rode, at a foot's pace, followed by his twin shadows; past +the temples of Maha Deo, still rosy where they faced the west, still +rumbling and throbbing with muffled music; past wayside shrines, mere +alcoves for grotesque images—Shiva, Lord of Death, or Ganesh the +Elephant God—each with his <a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>scented garlands and his nickering chirágh; +past shadowy groups round the dinner fires, cooking their evening meal: +on and out through the double fortified gateways into the deserted road, +his whole being drenched in the silence and the deepening dusk.</p> + +<p>Here, outside the city, emptiness loomed almost like a presence. Only +the trees were alive; each with its colony of peacocks and parrots and +birds of prey noisily settling to rest. The peacocks' unearthly cry, and +the far, ghostly laugh of jackals—authentic voice of India at +sundown—sent a chill down Roy's spine. For he, who had scarcely known +fear on the battlefield, was ignominiously at the mercy of imagination +and the eerie spirit of the hour.</p> + +<p>At a flick of the reins, Suráj broke into a smart canter, willingly +enough. What were sunsets or local devils to him compared with stables +and gram?</p> + +<p>And as they sped on, as trees on either side slid by like stealthy +ghosts, the sunset splendour died, only to rise again in a volcanic +afterglow, on which trunks and twigs and battlemented hills were printed +in daguerreotype; and desert voices were drowned in the clamour of +cicadas, grinding their knives in foolish ecstasy; and, at last, he +swerved between the friendly gate-posts of the Residency—the richer for +a spiritual adventure that could neither be imparted, nor repeated, nor +forgotten while he lived.<a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Joy of my heart.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIC" id="CHAPTER_VIIC"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The deepest thing in our nature is this dumb region of the heart, + where we dwell alone with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses, + our faiths and our fears."—<span class='smcap'>William James</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Not least among the joys of Arúna's return to the freer life of the +Residency was her very own verandah balcony. Here, secure from +intrusion, she could devote the first and last hours of her day to +meditation or prayer. Oxford studies had confused a little, but not +killed, the faith of her fathers. The real trouble was that too often, +nowadays, that exigent heart of hers would intrude upon her sacred +devotions, transforming them into day-dreams, haloed with a hope the +more frankly formulated because she was of the East.</p> + +<p>For Thea had guessed aright. Roy was the key to her waverings, her +refusals, her eager acceptance of the emergency plan:—welcome in +itself; still more welcome because it permitted her simply to await his +coming.</p> + +<p>They had been very wonderful, those five years in England; in spite of +anxieties and disappointed hopes. But when Dyán departed and +Mesopotamia engulfed Roy, India had won the day.</p> + +<p>How unforgettable that exalted moment of decision, one drenched and +dismal winter evening; the sudden craving for sights and sounds and +smells of her own land. How slow the swiftest steamer to the speed of +her racing thoughts! How bitter, beyond belief, the—how first faint +chill of disappointment; the pang of realising reluctantly—that, within +herself, she belonged whole-heartedly to neither world.</p> + +<p>She had returned qualified for medical work, by experience in a College +hospital at Oxford; yet hampered by innate shrinking from the sick and +maimed, who had <a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>been too much with her in those years of war. Not less +innate was the urge of her whole being to fulfil her womanhood through +marriage rather than through work. And in the light of that discovery, +she saw her dilemma plain. Either she must hope to marry an Englishman +and break with India, like Aunt Lilámani; or accept, at the hands of the +matchmaker, an enlightened bridegroom, unseen, unknown, whose family +would overlook—at a price—her advanced age and English adventures.</p> + +<p>Against the last, all that England and Oxford had given her rose up in +revolt ... But the discarded, subconscious Arúna was centuries older +than the half-fledged being who hovered on the rim of the nest, +distrustful of her untried wings and the pathless sky. That Arúna had, +for ally, the spirit of the ages; more formidable, if less assertive, +than the transient spirit of the age. And the fledgling Arúna knew +perfectly well that the Englishman of her alternative was, +confessedly—Roy. His mother being Indian, she innocently supposed there +would be no trouble of prejudice; no stupid talk of the gulf that she +and Dyán had set out to bridge. The fact that Dyán had failed only made +her the more anxious to succeed....</p> + +<p>Soon after arriving, she had taken up hospital work in the women's ward, +because Miss Hammond was kind; and her educated self had need of +occupation. Her other self—deeply loving her grandfather—had urged her +to try and live at home,—so far as her unregenerate state would permit.</p> + +<p>As out-of-caste, she had been exempt from kitchen work; debarred from +touching any food except the portion set aside for her meals, that were +eaten apart in Sir Lakshman's room—her haven of refuge. In the Inside, +she was at the mercy of women's tongues and the petty tyranny of Mátaji; +antagonistic as ever; sharpened and narrowed with age, even as her +grandfather had mellowed and grown beautiful, with the unearthly beauty +of the old, whose spirit shines visibly through the attenuated veil of +flesh. Arúna, watching him, with clearer understanding, marvelled how he +had preserved his serenity of soul through a lifetime of Mátaji's +dominion.</p> + +<p>And the other women—relations in various degrees—took<a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a> their tone from +her, if only for the sake of peace:—the widowed sister-in-law, suavely +satirical; a great-aunt, whose tongue clacked like a rice-husker; two +cousins, correctly betrothed to unseen bridegrooms, entitled to look +askance at the abandoned one, who was neither wife nor mother; and two +children of a poor relation—embryo women, who echoed the jeers of their +elders at her English friends, her obstinacy in the matter of caste and +the inevitable husband. <i>Hai! hai!</i> At her age, what did she fear? Had +the English bewitched her with lies? Thus Peru, aged nine, jocosely +proceeding to enlighten her; egged on by giggles and high-pitched +laughter from the prospective brides. For in the zenana reticence is +not, even before children. Arúna herself had heard such talk; but for +years her early knowledge had lain dormant; while fastidiousness had +been engendered by English studies and contact with English youth. +Useless to answer. It simply meant tears or losing her temper; in which +case, Mátaji would retaliate by doctoring her food with red pepper to +sweeten her tongue.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, sharpened pressure in the matter of caste rites and rumours +of an actually maturing husband, had brought her very near the end of +her tether. Again Thea was right. Her brave impulse of the heart had +only been just in time. And hard upon that unbelievable good fortune +followed the news that Roy was coming.</p> + +<p>Tremulously at first, then with quickening confidence, her happy nature +rose like a sea-bird out of troubled waters, on the wings of a secret +hope....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And now he was here, under this friendly roof that sheltered her from +the tender mercies of her own kind. There were almost daily meetings, +however brief, and the after-glow of them when past; all the +well-remembered tricks of speech and manner; and the twinkle of fun in +his eyes. Lapped in an ecstasy of content, hope scarcely stirred a wing. +Enough that he was there——</p> + +<p>Great was her joy when Mrs Leigh—after scolding him in the kindest way +over the girl mother and two more starving children, picked up +afterwards—had given her leave to take special charge of them and +lodged them <a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>with the dhobi's wife. This also brought her nearer to Roy. +And what could she ask more?</p> + +<p>But with the approach of the Dewáli, thoughts of the future came +flocking like birds at sundown. Because, on Dewáli night, all tried +their luck in some fashion; and Mai Lakshmi's answer failed not. The men +tossed coin or dice. The maidens, at sunset, when the little wind of +evening stirred the waters, carried each her chirágh—lamp of her +life—and set it afloat on tank or stream, praying Mai Lakshmi to guide +it safe across. If the prayer was heard, omens were favourable. If the +lamp should sink, or be shattered, omens were evil. And the +centuries-old Arúna—still at the mercy of dastúr—had secretly bought +her little chirágh; secretly resolved to try her fate on the night of +nights. If the answer were unfavourable—and courage failed her—there +was always one way of escape. The water that put out her lamp would as +carelessly put out the flame of her life—in a little moment—without +pain....</p> + +<p>A small shiver convulsed her—kneeling there in her balcony; her bare +arms resting on the balustrade. The new Arúna shrank from thought of +death. She craved the fulness of life and love—kisses and rapture and +the clinging arms of little children....</p> + +<p>For, as she knelt in the moonlight, nominally she was invoking Mai +Lakshmi; actually she was dreaming of Roy; chiding herself for the +foolishness that had kept her from appearing at dinner; hoping he might +wonder, and perhaps think of her a little—wishing her there. And all +the while, perhaps he was simply not noticing—not caring one little +bit——!</p> + +<p>Stung by the thought, she clenched her hands and lifted her bowed head. +Then she started—and caught her breath——</p> + +<p>Could it be he, down there among the shadows—wandering, dreaming, +thinking of her, or making poems? She knew most of his slim volume by +heart.</p> + +<p>More likely, he was framing bold plans to find Dyán—now the answer to +her letter had come. It was a strange unsatisfying answer; full of +affection, but too full of windy phrases that she was shrewd enough to +recognise as mere echoes from those others, who had ensnared him in a +web of words.<a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a></p> + +<p>"Fear not for me, sister of my heart," he wrote. "Rejoice because I am +dedicated to service of the Mother, that she may be released from +political bondage and shine again in her ancient glory—no longer +exploited by foreigners, who imagine that with bricks and stones they +can lock up Veda—eternal truth! The gods have spoken. It is time. Kali +rises in the East, with her necklet of skulls—Giants of evil she has +slain. It is she who speaks through the voice of the patriot: 'Do not +wall up your vision, like frogs in a well.... Rise above the Penal Code +to the rarefied atmosphere of the Gita and consider the actions of +heroic men.'</p> + +<p>"You ask if I still love Roy? Why not? He is of our own blood and a very +fine fellow. But I don't write now because he would not understand my +fervour of soul. So don't you take all his opinions for gospel; like my +grandfather's, they are well meant, but obsolete. If only you had +courage, Arúna-ji, to accept the enlightened husband, who might not keep +you in strict purdah, then we could work together for liberation of the +Mother. Sing <i>Bande Mátaram</i>,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> forty thousand brothers! That is our +battle-cry. And one of those is your own fond brother—Dyán Singh."</p> + +<p>Arúna had read and re-read that bewildering effusion till tears fell and +blotted the words. Could this be the same Dyán who had known and loved +England even as she did? His eloquence somehow failed to carry +conviction. To her, the soul of new India seemed like a book, full of +contradictions, written in many strange languages, hard to read. But +behind that tangle of words beat the heart of Dyán—the brother who was +her all.</p> + +<p>Still no address was given. But Roy had declared the Delhi postmark +sufficient clue. Directly Dewáli was over, he would go. And, by every +right impulse, she ought to be more glad than sad. But the heart, like +the tongue, can no man tame. And sometimes his eagerness to go hurt her +a little. Was he thinking of Delhi down there—or of her——?</p> + +<p>The shadow had turned and was moving towards her. There was a white +splash of shirt-front, the glow of a cigarette.<a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a></p> + +<p>Suddenly his pace quickened. He had seen her. Next moment he was +standing under her balcony. His low-pitched voice came distinctly to her +ears.</p> + +<p>"Good evening—Juliet! Quit your dreaming. Come and be sociable down +here."</p> + +<p>Delicious tremors ran through her. Much too bold, going down in the +dark. But how to resist?</p> + +<p>"I think—better not," she faltered, incipient surrender in her tone. +"You see—not coming down to dinner ... Mrs Leigh ..."</p> + +<p>"Bother Mrs Leigh. I've got a ripping inspiration about Delhi—— Hurry +up. I'll be by the steps."</p> + +<p>Then he <i>had</i> been thinking of Delhi. But he wanted her now; and the +note of command extinguished hesitation. Slipping on a cloak, she +reached the verandah without meeting a soul. He put out a hand. Purely +on impulse she gave him her left one; and he conducted her down the +steps with mock ceremony, as if leading her out to tread a measure to +unheard strains of the viola and spinet.</p> + +<p>Happiness ran like wine in her veins: and catching his mood she swept +him a curtsey, English fashion.</p> + +<p>"Fit for the Queen's Drawing-room!" he applauded; and she smiled up at +him under her straight lashes. "Why didn't you appear at dinner? Is it a +whim—hiding your light under a bushel? Or do you get headaches and +heartaches working in the ward, and feel out of tune with our frivol?"</p> + +<p>The solicitude in his tone was worth many headaches and heartaches to +hear again. But with him she could not pretend.</p> + +<p>"No—not that!" she said, treading the grass beside him, as if it were a +moonlit cloud. "Only sometimes ... I am foolish—not inclined for so +many faces; and all the lights and the talk."</p> + +<p>He nodded. "I know the feeling. The same strain in us, I suppose. But, +look here, about Dyán. It suddenly struck me I'd have ten times better +chance if I went as an Indian. I can talk the language to admiration. +What d'you think?"</p> + +<p>She caught her breath. A vision of him so transformed seemed to bring +him surprisingly nearer. "How exciting! How bold!"<a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a></p> + +<p>"Yes—but not impossible. And no end of a lark. If I could lodge with +some one who knew, I believe I could pull it through. Grandfather might +arrange that. It would give me a chance to get in among Dyán's set and +hear things. Don't breathe a word to any one. I must talk it all over +with Grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I would love to see you turned into a Rajput," she breathed.</p> + +<p>"You <i>shall</i> see me. I'll come and make my salaams and ask your blessing +on my venture."</p> + +<p>"And I will make <i>prasád</i> for your journey!" Her unveiled eyes met his +frankly now. "A portion for Dyán too. It may speak to his heart clearer +than words."</p> + +<p>"<i>Prasad?</i> What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Food prepared and consecrated by touch of mother or sister or—or +nearest woman relation. And by absence of those others ... it is ... my +privilege——"</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> privilege. I would not forgo it for a kingdom," Roy interposed, +such patent sincerity in the reverend quiet of his tone that she was +speechless....</p> + +<p>For less than half an hour they strolled on that moon-enchanted lawn. +Nothing was said by either that the rest might not have heard. Yet it +was a transfigured Arúna who approached the verandah, where Thea stood +awaiting them; having come out to look for Roy and found the clue to his +prolonged meditations.</p> + +<p>"What have you been plotting, you two?" she asked lightly when they +reached her. To Roy her eyes said: "D'you call <i>this</i> being discreet?" +To Arúna her lips said: "Graceless one! I thought you were <i>purdah +nashin</i> this evening!"</p> + +<p>"So she was," Roy answered for her. "I'm the culprit. I insisted. Some +details about my Delhi trip, I wanted to talk over."</p> + +<p>Thea wrinkled her forehead. "Roy—you mustn't. It's a crazy plan——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me—an inspired plan!" He drew himself up half an inch the +better to look down on her. "Nothing on earth can put me off it—except +Grandfather. And I know he'll back me up."</p> + +<p>"In that case, I won't waste valuable verbal ammunition on you! Come +along in—We're going to have music."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>But as Roy moved forward, Arúna drew back. "Please—I would rather go +to bed now. And—please, forgive, little Mother," she murmured +caressingly. For this great-hearted English woman seemed mother indeed +to her now.</p> + +<p>For answer, Thea took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both +cheeks. "Not guilty this time, <i>piári</i>.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> But don't do it again!"</p> + +<p>Roy's hand closed hard on hers, but he said not a word. And she was +glad.</p> + +<p>Alone again on her balcony, gladness rioted through all her being. +Yet—nothing had really happened. Nothing had been said. +Only—everything felt different inside. Of such are life's supreme +moments. They come without flourish of trumpets; touch the heart or the +lips with fire, and pass on....</p> + +<p>While undressing, an impulse seized her to break her chirágh and +treasure the pieces—in memory of to-night. Why trouble Mai Lakshmi with +a question already half answered? But, lost in happy thoughts—inwoven +with delicate threads of sound from Thea's violin—she forgot all about +it, till the warmth of her cheek nestled against the cool pillow. Too +lazy and comfortable to stir, she told her foolish heart that to-morrow +morning would do quite as well.</p> + +<p>But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted +assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arrogant +impulse, and the mystic chirágh of destiny was saved—for another fate.<a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Hail, Mother.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Darling.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIC" id="CHAPTER_VIIIC"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="The forces that fashion"> +<tr><td align='left'>"The forces that fashion, the hands that mould,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;—</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="The forces that fashion, II"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">They are gods no more, but their spells remain."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Sir Alfred Lyall.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Dewáli night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown +awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of +miracle....</p> + +<p>For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning +out clay chirághs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai +Lakshmi—a compound of Minerva and Ceres,—worshipped in the living gold +of fire and the dead gold of minted coin.</p> + +<p>And all day long there ebbed and flowed through the temple doors a +rainbow-coloured stream of worshippers; while the dust-laden air +vibrated with jangle of metal bells, wail of conches and raucous clamour +of crows. Within doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells. +Young or old, none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this +auspicious day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and +plastered with fresh cow dung, in honour of Vishnu's bride; and gayest +among festal shop-fronts was the dazzling array of toys. For the Feast +of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewildering variety; in sugar, in +paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or gorgeously painted with colours such +as never were on ox or elephant, fish or bird.</p> + +<p>What matter? To the uncritical Eastern eye, colour is all.</p> + +<p>And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was spilled abroad +in the wide main streets that are an arresting feature of Jaipur. Men, +women, and children, in gala turbans and gala draperies, laughing and +talking <a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>at full pitch of their lungs; gala elephants sheathed in cloth +of gold, their trunks and foreheads patterned in divers colours; scarlet +outriders clearing a pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to +and fro like a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate, and +apricot, copper and flame colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable +harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Lakshman told +Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay.</p> + +<p>Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with his +grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an airy minaret +on the roof top. Then home to the Residency for tea, only to insist on +carrying them all back in the car—Thea, Arúna, Flossie, and the +children, who must have their share of strange sweets and toys, if only +'for luck,' the watchword of Dewáli.</p> + +<p>As for Arúna—to-day everything in the world seemed to hang on the frail +thread of those two words. And what of to-night...?</p> + +<p>All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence on the +cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a private +confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group of maidens +who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate. She was other than +they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a being apart. And for most of +them it was little more than a 'game of play.' For her—but that she +kept to herself—this symbolical act of faith, this childish appeal for +a sign, was a matter of life and death. So—to her chosen angle of the +tank, she would go alone; and there—unwatched, save by Dewáli lights of +earth and heaven—she would confide her lamp to the waters and the +breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness.</p> + +<p>But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewáli crowd. In +Dyán's absence, he claimed the right to accompany her, to be somewhere +within hail. Having shed the Eastern protection of purdah, she must +accept the Western protection of escort. And straightway there sprang an +inspiration: he would wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every +detail, at Sir Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed +on the Delhi adventure—which his grandfather happily ap<a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a>proved, with +what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy did not even +dimly guess.</p> + +<p>At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city and finish +up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace. That would be +Arúna's moment for slipping away. Roy—having slipped away in +advance—would rejoin her at a given spot. And then——?</p> + +<p>The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill of his +presence, conjured into one of her own people....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Sundown at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was an ecstasy no +possible after-pain or disappointment could dim. As the flaming tint of +sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck upward into the blue, +buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas seemed to melt into the +landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert dust.</p> + +<p>Then—the first flickering points of fire—primrose-pale, in the half +light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the East, and the +little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own volition, so +skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work.</p> + +<p>From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony they ran: till vanished +Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured: cupolas, arches, +balconies, and temples, palace of the Maharája and lofty Hall of the +Winds—every detail faultlessly traced on darkness, in delicate, +tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there illusion was shattered by +garish globes of electric light, dimming the mellow radiance of +thousands on thousands of modest chirághs.</p> + +<p>Arúna had seen many Dewáli nights in her time; but never at a moment so +charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed, she sat by Thea in +the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite; Phyllis on her mother's knee; the +others in the car on ahead—including a tourist of note—outriders +before and behind, clearing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging +on his feet, was lost in wonder. Roy, like Arúna, said little. Only Thea +kept up a low ripple of talk with her babe....</p> + +<p>By now, not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills, where +bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coro<a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a>nets twinkled on bastions of +the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve and line of Jai +Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage, the crowd swayed and +hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; intoxicated with the spirit of +festival, that found an echo in Arúna's heart and rioted in her veins. +To-night she felt merged in India, Eastern to the core; capable, almost, +of wondering—could she put it away from her, even at the bidding of +Roy——?</p> + +<p>On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the Mán Sagar Lake, +where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and gleamed, knee deep in the +darkling water; where jackals prowled and cranes nested and muggers +dozed unheeding. At a point of vantage above the Lake, they halted and +sat there awhile in darkness—a group of silent shadows. Words did not +meet the case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered +no sound: for she had fallen asleep.</p> + +<p>Arúna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in a +dream....</p> + +<p>Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's coat-sleeve. +He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect, and was probably not +aware of his trespassing arm; for he did not shift it till he had gazed +his fill. Then with a long sigh, he leaned back again. But Arúna's dream +was shattered by sensations too startingly real to be ignored....</p> + +<p>Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she caught +his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he know——? Did +he ever feel—like that?</p> + +<p>Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her.</p> + +<p>"I'll be quick as lightning—don't stir till I come," he said—and +vanished.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, +awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands. She had +brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed +in a cardboard box. Mrs Leigh—angel of goodness—had lit the wick with +her own hand—'for luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, +she had no <a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a>idea. But who could resist him,—after all? Waiting alone, +her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a +choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;—so +changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade +her go forward.</p> + +<p>Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they passed: +and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering +threads of light. Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot. A little +farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked.</p> + +<p>"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they were +conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the +mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge—new birth. I am only +afraid it is getting a little too strong. And if anything should hinder +it from crossing, then—there is no answer. Suspense—all the time. +But—we will hope. Now, please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this +building, few will notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But +don't—go too far."</p> + +<p>"Trust me. And—see here, Arúna, don't make too much of it—either way. +Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immortals——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!"</p> + +<p>Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she plays +up—royally."</p> + +<p>And with a formal salute, he left her.</p> + +<p>Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her cockle-shell +with its blown wisp of light.</p> + +<p>"Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart," she addressed it, just above +her breath, "sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate +awaits me now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?"</p> + +<p>With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the +building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish +incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that +would be best, alike, for her and Roy.</p> + +<p>But curiosity was claimant. She must see.... She must know....</p> + +<p>Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all +her conscious being centred on the <a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>adventuring flame that swayed and +curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The effect of her concentration was +almost hypnotic: as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered +away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at +her very life....</p> + +<p>Footsteps passed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached her brain. +The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost +capsized her chirágh. It dipped—it vanished....</p> + +<p>With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and +would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her +arm and pulled her backward—just in time.</p> + +<p>"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water—for the +precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is—safe...!"</p> + +<p>"But what of <i>you</i>, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of +your Dewáli lamp?"</p> + +<p>The words were spoken in the vernacular—and not in the voice of Roy. +Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height, +bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the +half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved +beads that hung almost to his waist.</p> + +<p>"I am most grateful, <i>guru-ji</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> she murmured demurely, also in the +vernacular; and stood so—shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably +disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential +intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little +lamp with your blessing?"</p> + +<p>His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen, +lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic.</p> + +<p>"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus +boldly and alone...."</p> + +<p>The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she +answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, <i>guru-ji</i>. I +am—England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste."</p> + +<p>He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for +frankness is fair exchange, sister.<a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a> I am no <i>guru</i>; but like yourself, +England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the +Mother——"</p> + +<p>It was her turn to start and scrutinise him—discreetly. "Yet you make +pretence of holiness——?"</p> + +<p>"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of +reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons—and daughters. These +clothes are passports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no +dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near +enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers—just for this +superstition of Dewáli—not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.—Was it +Oxford?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible——?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly, +almost boldly.</p> + +<p>"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh Bahádur——?"</p> + +<p>At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him. His look and +tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not call for Roy, who +was playing his part too scrupulously well.</p> + +<p>"Go——! Leave me!" she commanded desperately, louder than she had +spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But—making <i>pujah</i><a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>—I wish to be +alone——"</p> + +<p>His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her.</p> + +<p>"Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened—like yourself...?"</p> + +<p>He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure had sauntered +into view.</p> + +<p>Arúna sprang towards it—zenana airs forgotten. "Oh, Roy——!"</p> + +<p>"Did you call, Arúna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you. This fellow +bothering you——? I'll settle him——" Turning, he said politely: "My +cousin is here, under my escort, to make <i>pujah, guru-ji</i>. She wishes to +be alone."</p> + +<p>"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this time be +permanently secure from interruption—in the belly of a <i>mugger</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> +retorted the supposed ascetic—in English.<a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a></p> + +<p>Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint? <i>You</i> are no <i>guru</i>."</p> + +<p>"And <i>you</i> are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading—as a +lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair, with +play-acting—about cousins. In my capacity of <i>guru</i> I feel compelled to +warn this accomplished young lady that her fine cavalier is only a sham +Rajput of British extraction...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Sham</i>—curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia—on one side——" The instant +he had spoken, he saw his folly.</p> + +<p>"Oho—half-caste only!"</p> + +<p>An oath and a threatening forward move, impelled the speaker to an +undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that. The fellow was +beneath contempt.</p> + +<p>"I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur in the +conjunction; and I take no insults from any man...." He made another +forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing Chandranath jerk +backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we are grateful to you. But I +told you, she wishes to be alone. So I must ask you to move on +elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Oh, as to that ... I have no violent predilection for your society."</p> + +<p>And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no one but +himself, Roy kept pace alongside—"For all the world," he thought, "like +Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to go for him; but quite +prepared if need be!"</p> + +<p>When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandranath fired a +parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you can marry her, because +diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your veins. But here in India, you +will find forces too powerful militating against it."</p> + +<p>But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-control. +"The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in the habit of +discussing their womenfolk with strangers," said he—and flattered +himself he had very neatly secured the last word.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As for Arúna—left alone—she leaned again on the low abutment, but the +hypnotic spell was broken: only <a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a>acute anxiety remained. For the lamp of +her life had made scant progress; and now she was aware of a disturbance +in the water, little ominous whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently +there emerged a long shadow, like a black expanse of rock:—unmistakably +a mugger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand +that had seized her in the nick of time. The next—she wrung her own +together with a low, shivering cry.</p> + +<p>For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chirágh rose with it—and so +remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the horny shoulder; +tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its +life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the +wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had +her answer—or no answer. The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; +but it would never, now, reach the farther shore. Mai Lakshmi's face was +turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer +between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so +much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair....</p> + +<p>She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the +shadow—not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction +from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ...</p> + +<p>It was only a few minutes—though it seemed an age—before she felt +Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender +beneath its surface note of command.</p> + +<p>"Arúna—what the—get up. Don't cry like that—you mustn't...."</p> + +<p>She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, +battling with her sobs.</p> + +<p>"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming to disregard her +effort at control.</p> + +<p>"There—over there. Look ... the mugger!"</p> + +<p>"Mugger?" He sighted it. "Well, I'm—the thieving brute!" Humour lurked +in his voice—more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting. +Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears +trembled into laughter; laughter into tears. The <a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a>impact unsteadied her +afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs.</p> + +<p>"Arúna—my <i>dear</i>—you mustn't, I tell you...." More tenderness now than +command.</p> + +<p>She held her breath—pain shot through with sudden ecstasy. For in +speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with +a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised +nerves.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Arúna—and don't cry," he said, low and urgently. "No answer +always leaves room for hope. And you shall have your Dyán, I promise +you. I won't come back without him. I can't say fairer than that. So +now——" his hand closed on her shoulder. "Give over—breaking your poor +heart!"</p> + +<p>Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only +to-night—I would rather—not the Palace dinner, the fireworks. I would +rather go home with Miss Mills and the children...."</p> + +<p>"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole evening—for us +both. No, you don't. Remember—you are Rajputni: not to be hag-ridden by +a mere chirágh and a thieving mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me +in the face—and promise."</p> + +<p>As usual, he was irresistible. What matter Mai Lakshmi's +indifference—since he cared so much? "Faithfully—I promise, Roy," she +said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into his eyes—that +seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into depths beyond depths.</p> + +<p>For one incredible moment, his face moved a little nearer to +hers—paused, as if irresolute, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>So brief was the instant, so slight the movement, that she almost +doubted her senses. But her inmost being knew—and ached, without +shyness or shame, for the kiss withheld....</p> + +<p>"You've the grit—I knew it," Roy said at last, in the level voice that +had puzzled her earlier in the evening: and his hand slid from her +shoulder. "Come now—we've been too long. Thea will be wondering...."</p> + +<p>He turned; and she moved beside him, walking in a dream.</p> + +<p>"Did you say much, before I came?" he asked, after a pause, "to that +fellow—Chandranath?"<a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a></p> + +<p>"I spoke a little—thinking him a <i>guru</i>——" She paused. The name woke +a chord of memory. "Chandranath," she repeated, "that is the name they +said——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Who?</i>" Roy asked sharply, coming out of his own dream.</p> + +<p>"Mátaji and the widowed Aunt——"</p> + +<p>"What do they know of him?"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell? I think it was—through our <i>guru</i>, he made offer of +marriage—for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was wondering—could +it be the same——?"</p> + +<p>"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious. "If it is—you +can tell them I <i>won't</i> have it. Grandfather would be furious. He ought +to know—and Dyán. Your menfolk don't seem to get a look in."</p> + +<p>"Not much—with marrying arrangements. That is for women and priests. +But—for now, I am safe, with Mrs Leigh——"</p> + +<p>"And you'll stay safe—as far as he's concerned. You see, I know the +fellow. He's the man I slanged in the City that day. Besides—at +school——"</p> + +<p>He unfolded the tale of St Rupert's; and she listened, amazed.</p> + +<p>"So don't worry over that," he commanded, in his kind elder-brotherly +tone. "As for your poor little chirágh, for goodness' sake don't let it +get on your nerves."</p> + +<p>She sighed—knowing it would; yet longing to be worthy of him. It seemed +he understood, for his hand closed lightly on her arm.</p> + +<p>"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding your head +an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life."</p> + +<p>"Is it? I never thought——" she murmured, puzzled, but impressed. And +after that, things somehow seemed easier than she had thought possible +over there, by the tank.</p> + +<p>Secure, under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they were +royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join them at table +without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared—grey-bearded, +courtly and extensively jewelled—supported by Sir Lakshman, the prince, +and a few privileged notables; whereupon <a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>they all migrated to the +Palace roof for the grand display of fireworks—fitting climax to the +Feast of Lights.</p> + +<p>Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Arúna's side. They +said little, but his presence wrapped her round with a sense of +companionship more intimate than she had yet felt even in their happiest +times together. While rocket after rocket soared and curved and +blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze reverted persistently to the outline +of a man's head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky....</p> + +<p>Still later on, when he bade her good-night in the Residency +drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned queen. It +certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when she had crouched +in the shadows praying vain prayers—shedding vain tears....</p> + +<p>If only one could keep it up——!<a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Holy man.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Prayer.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Crocodile.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IXC" id="CHAPTER_IXC"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Thou dost beset the path"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><hr style='width: 15%;' /></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">And if I turn from but one sin, I turn</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Unto a smile of thine."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>For Roy himself, no less than Arúna, the passing of those golden October +weeks had been an experience as beautiful as it was unique. The very +beauty and bewilderment of it had blinded him, at first, to the +underlying danger for himself and her. Bewilderment sprang from an eerie +sense—vivid to the verge of illusion—that his mother was with him +again in the person of Arúna:—a fancy enhanced by the fact that his +entire knowledge of Indian womanhood—the turns of thought and phrase, +the charm, at once sensuous and spiritual—was linked indissolubly with +her. And the perilous charm had penetrated insidiously deeper than he +knew. By the time he realised what was happening, the spell was upon +him; his will held captive in silken meshes he had not the heart to +snap.</p> + +<p>As often as not, in that early stage, he craved sight and sound of her +simply because she wore a sari and carried her head and moved her hands +just so; because her mere presence stirred him with a thrill that +blended exquisite pleasure, exquisite pain. There were times he would +contrive to be alone in the room with her; not talking; not even looking +at her—because her face disturbed the illusion; simply letting the feel +of her presence ease that inner ache—subdued, not stilled—for the +mother who had remained more vitally one with him than nine mothers in +ten are able, or willing, to remain with their grown-up sons.<a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a></p> + +<p>Thea Leigh, watching unobtrusively, had caught a glimpse of the strange +dual influence at work in him. She had occasionally seen him with his +mother; and had gleaned some idea of their unique relation; partly from +Lance, partly from her intimate link with her own Theo, half a world +away; nearly eighteen now, and eager to join up before all was over. So +her troubled scrutiny was tempered with a measure of understanding. Roy +had always attracted her. And now, unmothered—the wound not yet +healed—she metaphorically gathered him to her heart; would have done so +physically without hesitation; but that Vincent had his dear and foolish +qualms about her promiscuous capacity for affection. But Arúna was her +ewe lamb of the moment; and not even Roy must be allowed to make things +harder for her than they were already....</p> + +<p>So, after scouting the Delhi idea as preposterous, she suddenly +perceived there might be virtue in it—for Arúna. Possibly it would +glorify him in her eyes; but it would remove the fatal charm of his +presence; give her a chance to pull up before things had gone too far. +Whereat, being Thea, she spun round unashamedly, to Roy's secret +amusement and relief. All the Desmond in her rose to the adventure of +it. A risk, of course; but there must be no question of failure; and +success would justify all. She was entirely at his service; discussed +details by the hour; put him 'on to Vinx' for coaching in the general +situation—underground sedition; reformers, true and false; telling +arguments for the reclaiming of Dyán Singh.</p> + +<p>To crown all—between genuine relief and genuine affection—she +impulsively kissed him on departure under Vincent's very eyes.</p> + +<p>"Just only to give you my blessing!" she explained, laughing and +blushing like a girl at her own audacity. "Words are the stupidest +clumsy things. I'm sure life would be happier and less complicated if we +only had the sense to kiss more and talk less——!"</p> + +<p>This—in the presence of Arúna and her husband and her six-year-old son!</p> + +<p>Roy, deeply moved and a little overcome, nodded assent, while Vincent +took her by the arms and gently removed her from further temptation.<a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a></p> + +<p>"Where <i>you'd</i> be, Madam, if talking was rationed——!"</p> + +<p>"I'd take it out in kissing—<i>Sir!</i>" she retorted unabashed; while Arúna +glanced a little wistfully at Roy, who was fondling Terry and talking +nonsense to Vernon. For the boy adored him and was on the brink of +tears.</p> + +<p>But if he seemed unheeding, he was by no means unaware. He was fighting +his own battle in his own way; incidentally, he hoped, helping the girl +to fight hers. For he had shaken himself almost free of his delicious +yet disturbing illusion, only to be confronted by a more profoundly +disturbing reality. Loyal to his promise, tacitly given, he had simply +not connected her with the idea of marriage. The queer thrill of her +presence was for him quite another affair. Not until that night of +wandering in the moonlight had it struck him, with a faint shock, that +she might be mistaking his friendliness for—something more. That +contact with her had come at a critical moment for himself, was a detail +he failed to realise. Beyond the sudden bewildering sensations that +prompted his headlong proposal to Tara, he had not felt seriously +perturbed by girl or woman; and, in the past four years, life had been +filled to overflowing with other things——</p> + +<p>That he should love Arúna, deeply and dearly, seemed as simple and +natural, as loving Tara. But to fall in love was a risk he had no right +to run, either for himself or her. Yet the risk had been run before he +awoke to the fact. And the events and emotions of Dewáli night had drawn +them irresistibly, dangerously close together. For the racial ferment +had been strong in him, as in her. And the darkness, the subtle +influence of his Indian dress—her tears—her danger! How could any man, +frankly loving her, not be carried a little out of himself? That +overmastering impulse to kiss her had startlingly revealed the true +forces at work.</p> + +<p>After all that, what could he do, but sharply apply the curb and remove +himself—for a time—in the devout hope that 'things' had not gone too +far? He had not the assurance to suppose she was already in love with +him; but patently the possibility was there.</p> + +<p>So—like Thea—he had come to see the Delhi inspiration in a new and +surprising light. Setting forth in <a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>search of Dyán, he was, in effect, +running away from himself—and Arúna, no less. If not actually in love, +he very soon would be—did he dare to let himself go.</p> + +<p>And why not—why <i>not?</i> The old unreasoning rebellion stirred in him +afresh. His mother being gone, temptation tugged the harder. Home, +without the Indian element, was almost unthinkable. If only he could +take back Arúna! But for him there could be no 'if.' He had tacitly +given his word—to <i>her</i>. And in any case there was his father—the +Sinclair heritage—So all his fine dreams of helping Arúna amounted to +this—that it was he who might be driven, in the end, to hurt her more +than any of them. Life that looked such a straight-ahead business for +most people, seemed to bristle with pitfalls and obstacles for him; all +on account of the double heritage that was at once his pride, his +inspiration, and his stone of stumbling.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Endless wakeful hours of the night journey were peopled with thoughts +and visions of Arúna—her pansy face and velvet-soft eyes, now flashing +delicate raillery, now lifted in troubled appeal. A rainbow +creature—that was the charm of her. Not beautiful—he thanked his +stars; since his weakness for beauty amounted to a snare, but +attractive—perilously so. For, in her case, the very element that drew +him was the barrier that held them apart. The irony of it!</p> + +<p>Was she lying awake too, poor child—missing him a little? Would she +marry an Indian—ever? Would she turn her back on India—even for him? +Unanswerable questions hemmed her in. Could she even answer them +herself? Too well he understood how the scales of her nature hung +balanced between conflicting influences. As he was, racially, so was +she, spiritually, a divided being; yet, in spite of waverings, Rajputni +at the core, with all that word implies to those who know. If she lacked +his mother's high sustained courage, her flashes of spirit shone out the +brighter for her lapses into womanly weakness—as in that poignant +moment by the tank, which had so nearly upset his own equilibrium. +Vividly recalling that moment, it hurt him to realise that weeks might +pass before he could see her again. No denying he wanted her; felt lost +without <a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>her. The coveted Delhi adventure seemed suddenly a very lonely +affair; not even a clear inner sense of his mother's presence to bear +him company. No dreams lately; no faint mystical intimation of her +nearness, since the wonderful hour with his grandfather. Only in the +form of that strange and lovely illusion had she seemed vitally near him +since he left Chitor.</p> + +<p>Graceless ingratitude—that 'only.' For now, looking back, he clearly +saw how the beauty and bewilderment of that early phase—so mysteriously +blending Arúna with herself—had held his emotions in cheek, lifted +them, purified them; had saved him, for all he knew, from surrender to +an overwhelming passion that might conceivably have swept everything +before it. Pure fantasy—perhaps. But he felt no inclination to argue +out the unarguable. He preferred simply unquestioningly to believe that, +under God, he owed his salvation to her. And after all—take it +spiritually or psychologically—that was in effect the truth....</p> + +<p>Towards morning, utter weariness lulled him into a troubled sleep—not +for long. He awoke, chilled and heavy-eyed, to find the unheeded +loveliness of a lemon-yellow dawn stealing over the blank immensity of +earth and sky.</p> + +<p>In a moment he was up, stretching cramped limbs, thanking goodness for a +carriage to himself, leaning out and drinking huge draughts of crisp +clean air, fragrant with the ghost of a whiff of wood smoke—the +inimitable air of a Punjab autumn morning.<a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XC" id="CHAPTER_XC"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things....<br /> + + The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly + poison."—<span class='smcap'>St James</span> iii 5-8.</p></div> + + +<p>Roy spent ten days in Delhi—lodging with one Krishna Lal, a jewel +merchant of high standing, well known to Sir Lakshman—and never a word +or a sight of Dyán Singh. The need for constant precautions hampered him +not a little; but if the needle he sought was in this particular +haystack, he would find it yet.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, at every turn he was imbibing first impressions, a +sufficiently enthralling occupation—in Delhi, of all places on earth: +Delhi, mistress of many victors; very woman, in that she yields to +conquer; and after centuries of romance and tragedy, remains, in +essence, unconquered still. The old saying, 'Who holds Delhi, holds +India,' has its dark counterpart in the unwritten belief that no alien +ruler, enthroned at Delhi, shall endure. Hence the dismay of many loyal +Indians when the British Government deserted Calcutta for the Queen of +the North. And here, already, were her endless, secretive byways +rivalling Calcutta suburbs as hornet-nests of sedition and intrigue.</p> + +<p>Roy was to grow painfully familiar with these before his search ended. +But the city's pandemonium of composite noises and composite smells was +offset by the splendid remnants of Imperial Delhi:—the Pearl Mosque, a +dream in marble, dazzling against the blue: inlaid columns of the +Dewan-i-Khas—every leaf wrought in jade or malachite, every petal a +precious stone; swelling domes and rose-pink minarets of the Jumna +Musjid rising superbly from a network of narrow streets and shabby +toppling houses. For, in India, the sordid and <a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>stately rub shoulders +with sublime disregard for effect. In the cool aloofness of tombs and +temples, or among crumbling fragments of them on the plain, or away +beyond the battered Kashmir Gate—ground sacred to heroic memories—he +could wander at will for hours, isolated in body and spirit, yet +strangely content....</p> + +<p>And there was yet a third Delhi, hard by these two; yet curiously aloof: +official, Anglo-Indian Delhi, of bungalows and clubs and painfully new +Government buildings. Little scope here for imaginative excursions, but +much scope for thought in the queer sensation, that beset him, of seeing +his father's people, as it were, through his mother's eyes.</p> + +<p>New as he was to Anglo-Indian life, these glimpses from the outskirts +were sufficiently illuminating. Once he was present in the crowd at a +big Gymkhana; and more than once he strolled through the Club gardens +where social Delhi pursued tennis-balls and shuttle-cocks—gravely, as +if life hung on the issue; or gaily, with gusts of laughter and chaff, +often noisier than need be. And he saw them all, now, from a new angle +of vision. Discreetly aloof, he observed, in passing, the complete +free-and-easiness of the modern maiden with her modern cavalier; +personalities flying; likewise legs and arms; a banter-wrangle interlude +over a tennis-racquet; flight and pursuit of the offending maiden, +punctuated with shrieks, culminating in collapse and undignified +surrender: while a pair of club peons—also discreetly aloof—exchanged +remarks whose import would have enraged the unsuspecting pair. Roy knew +very well they never gave the matter a thought. They were simply +'rotting' in the approved style of to-day. But, seen from the Eastern +standpoint, the trivial incident troubled him. It recalled a chance +remark of his grandfather's: "With only a little more decorum and +seriousness in their way of life out here, they could do far more to +promote good understanding socially between us all, than by making +premature 'reforms' or tilting at barriers arising from opposite kinds +of civilisation."</p> + +<p>Here was matter for the novel—or novels—to be born of his +errantry:—the 'fruit of his life' that <i>she</i> had so longed to bold in +her hands. Were she only at<a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a> Home now, what letters-without-end he would +be pouring out to her! What letters he could have poured out to +Arúna—did conscience permit.</p> + +<p>He allowed himself two, in the course of ten days; and the spirit moved +him, after long abstention, to indulge in a rambling screed to Tara +telling of his quest; revealing more than he quite realised of the inner +stress he was trying to ignore. The quest, he emphasised, was a private +affair, confided to her only, because he knew she would understand. It +hurt more than he cared to admit to feel how completely his father would +<i>not</i> understand his present turmoil of heart and brain....</p> + +<p>Isolated thus, with his hidden thwarted emotion, there resulted a +literary blossoming, the most spontaneous and satisfying since his slow +struggle up from the depths. Alone at night, and in the clear keen +dawns, he wrote and wrote and wrote, as a thirsty man drinks after a +desert march:—poems chiefly; sketches and impressions; his dearest +theme the troubled spirit of India,—or was it the spirit of +Arúna?—poised between crescent light and deepening shadow, looking for +sane clear guidance—and finding none. A prose sketch, in this vein, +stood out from the rest; a fragment of his soul, too intimately +self-revealing for the general gaze: no uncommon dilemma for an artist, +precisely when his work is most intrinsically true. Had he followed the +natural urge of his heart, he would have sent it to Arúna. As it was, he +decided to treasure it a little longer for himself alone.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Meantime Dyán—half forgotten—suddenly emerged. It was at a +meeting—exclusively religious and philosophical; but the police had +wind of it; and a friendly inspector mentioned it to Krishna Lal. The +chief speaker would be a Swami of impeccable sanctity. "But if you have +a sensitive palate, you will doubtless detect a spice of political +powder under the jam of religion!" quoth Krishna Lal, who was a man of +humour and no friend of sedition.</p> + +<p>"Thanks for the hint," said Roy—and groaned in spirit. Meetings, at +best, were the abomination of desolation; and his soul was sick of the +Indian variety. For the 'silent East' is never happier than when it is +talking <a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a>at immense length; denouncing, inaugurating, promoting; and a +prolonged dose of it stirred in Roy a positive craving for men who shot +remarks at each other in 'straight-flung words and true.' But no stone +must be left unturned. So he went;—guided by the friendly policeman, +who knew him for a Sahib bent on some personal quest.</p> + +<p>Their search ended in a windowless inner room; packed to suffocation; +heavy with attar of rose, kerosene, and human bodies; and Roy as usual +clung to a doorway that offered occasional respite.</p> + +<p>The Swami was already in full flow:—a wraith of a man in a +salmon-coloured garment; his eyes, deep in their sockets, gleaming like +black diamonds. And he was holding his audience spellbound:—Hindus of +every calling; students in abundance; a sprinkling of Sikhs and Dogras +from the lines. Some form of hypnotism,—was it? Perhaps. Even Roy could +not listen unmoved, when the spirit shook the frail creature like a gust +of wind and the hollow chest-notes vibrated with appeal or command. Such +men—and India is full of them—are spiritual dynamos. Who can calculate +their effect on an emotional race? And they no longer confine their +influence to things spiritual. They, too, have caught the modern disease +of politics for the million. And the supreme appeal is to youth—plastic +and impressionable, aflame with fervours of the blood that can be +conjured, by heady words, into fervours infinitely more dangerous to +themselves and their country.</p> + +<p>In an atmosphere dense with spilled kerosene, with over-breathed air and +over-charged emotion, that appeal rang out like a trumpet blast.</p> + +<p>"It is to youth the divine message has come in all ages; the call to +martyrdom and dedication. 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' said +the inspired Founder of Christianity. So also I say in this time of +revival, suffer the young to fling themselves into the arms of the +Mother. My sons, she cries, go back to the Vedas. You will find all +wisdom there. Reject this alien gift—however finely gilded—of a +civilisation inferior to your own. Hindu Rishis were old in wisdom when +these were still unclothed savages coloured with blue paint. Shall the +sacred Motherland be inoculated with Western <a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>poison? It is for the +young to decide—to act. Nerve your arms with valour. Bring offerings +acceptable, to the shrine of Kali Mai. Does she demand a sheep? A +buffalo? A cocoanut? Ask yourselves. The answer is written in your +hearts——"</p> + +<p>His emaciated arms shot up and outward in a gesture the more impressive +because it was maintained. For a prolonged moment the holy one seemed to +hover above his audience—as it were an eagle poised on outspread +wings....</p> + +<p>Roy came to himself with a start. His friend the policeman had plucked +his sleeve; and they retreated a step or two through the open door.</p> + +<p>"The Sahib heard?" queried Mán Singh in cautious undertone.</p> + +<p>"There's hearing—and hearing," said Roy, aware of some cryptic message +given and understood. "I take it <i>they</i> all know what he's driving at."</p> + +<p>"True talk. They know. But <i>he</i> has not said. Therefore he goes in +safety when he should be picking oakum in the jail khana. They are +cunning as serpents these holy ones."</p> + +<p>"They have the gift of tongues," said Roy. "May one ask what is Mai +Kali's special taste in sacrifices?"</p> + +<p>The Sikh gave him an odd look. "The blood of white goats—meaning +Sahibs, Hazúr."—Roy's 'click' was Oriental to a nicety.—"'A white goat +for Kali' is an old Bengali catchword. Hark how their tongues wag. But +there is still another—much esteemed by the student-<i>lóg</i>; one who can +skilfully flavour a <i>pillau</i><a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> of learned talk, as the Swami can +flavour a pillau of religion. Where he comes, there will be trouble +afterwards, and arrests. But no Siri Chandranath. He is off making +trouble elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Chandranath—<i>here?</i>" Roy's heart gave a jerk, half excitement, half +apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Your Honour has heard the man?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'm glad of the chance."</p> + +<p>As they entered, the second speaker stepped on to the platform....</p> + +<p>True talk, indeed! There stood the boy who had<a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a> whimpered under Scab +Major's bullying, in the dark coat and turban of the educated Indian; +his back half turned, in confidential talk with a friend, who had set a +carafe and tumbler ready to hand. The light of a wall lamp shone full on +his friend's face—clean-cut, handsome, unmistakable....</p> + +<p><i>Dyán!</i> Dyán—and Chandranath! It was the conjunction that confounded +Roy and tinged elation with dismay. He could hardly contain himself till +Dyán joined the audience; standing a little apart; not taking a seat. +Something in his face reminded Roy of the strained fervour in his letter +to Arúna. Carefully careless, he edged his way through the outer fringe +of the audience, and volunteered a remark or two in Hindustani.</p> + +<p>"A full meeting, brother. Your friend speaks well?"</p> + +<p>Dyán turned with a start. "Where are <i>you</i> from, that you have not heard +him?" He scrutinised Roy's appearance. "A hill man——?"</p> + +<p>Roy edged nearer and spoke in English under his breath. "Dyán—look at +me. Don't make a scene. I am Roy—from Jaipur."</p> + +<p>In spite of the warning, Dyán drew back sharply. "<i>What</i> are you here +for—spying?"</p> + +<p>"No. Hoping to find you. Because—I care; and Arúna cares——"</p> + +<p>"Better to care less and understand more," Dyán muttered brusquely. "No +time for talk now. Listen. You may learn a few things Oxford could not +teach."</p> + +<p>The implied sneer enraged Roy; but listen he must, perforce: and in the +space of half an hour he learnt a good deal about Chandranath and the +mentality of his type.</p> + +<p>To the outer ear, he was propounding the popular modern doctrine of +'Yoga by action.' To the inner ear he was extolling passion and +rebellion in terms of a creed that enjoins detachment from both; +inciting to political murder, under sanction of the divine dictum, 'Who +kills the body kills naught ... Thy concern is with action alone, never +with results.' And his heady flights of rhetoric, like those of the +Swami, were frankly aimed at the scores of half-fledged youths who hung +upon his utterance.</p> + +<p>"What are the first words of the young child? What <a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>are the first words +in your own hearts?" he cried, indicating that organ with a dramatic +forefinger. "<i>I want!</i> It is the passionate cry of youth. By indomitably +uttering it, he can dislodge mountains into the sea. And in India to-day +there exist mountains necessary to be hurled into the sea!" His +significant pause was not lost on his hearers—or on Roy. +"'Many-branched and endless are the thoughts of the irresolute.' But to +him who cries ardently, '<i>I want</i>,' there is no impediment, except +paucity of courage to snatch the seductive object. Deaf to the anæmic +whisper of compunction, remembering that sin taints only the weak, he +will be translated to that dizzy eminence, where right and wrong, truth +and untruth, become as pigmies, hardly discerned by the naked eye. There +dwells Káli—the shameless and pitiless; and believing our country that +deity incarnate, <i>her</i> needs must be our gods. 'Her image make we in +temple after temple—Bande Mátaram?'" The invocation was flung back to +him in a ragged shout. Here and there a student leapt to his feet +brandishing a clenched fist. "Compose your laudable intoxication, +brothers. I do not say, 'Be violent.' There is a necromancy of the +spirit more potent than weapons of the flesh:—the delusion of +irresistible suggestion that will conquer even truth itself...."</p> + +<p>Abstraction piled on abstraction; perversion on perversion; and that +deluded crowd plainly swallowing it all as gospel truth——! To Roy the +whole exhibition was purely disgustful; as if the man had emptied a +dust-bin under his aristocratic nose. Once or twice he glanced covertly +at Dyán, standing beside him; at the strained intentness of his face, +the nervous clenched hand. Was this the same Dyán who had ridden and +argued and read 'Greats' with him only four years ago—this hypnotised +being who seemed to have forgotten his existence——?</p> + +<p>Thank God! At last it was over! But while applause hummed and fluttered, +there sprang on to the platform, unannounced, a wiry keen-faced man, +with the parted beard of a Sikh.</p> + +<p>"Brothers—I demand a hearing!" he cried aloud; "I who was formerly +hater of the British, preaching all manner of violence—I have been +three years detained <a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a>in Germany; and I come back now, with my eyes +open, to say all over India—cease your fool's talk about +self-government and tossing mountains into the sea! Cease making +yourselves drunk with words and waving your Vedic flags and stand by the +British—your true friends——"</p> + +<p>At that, cries and counter-cries drowned his voice. Books were hurled; +no other weapon being handy; and Roy noted, with amused contempt, that +Chandranath hastily disappeared from view.</p> + +<p>The Sikh laughed in the face of their opposition. Dexterously catching a +book, he hurled it back; and once more made his strong voice heard above +the clamour. "Fools—and sheep! You may stop your ears now. In the end I +will make you hear——"</p> + +<p>Shouted down again, he vanished through a side exit; and, in the turmoil +that followed, Roy's hand closed securely on Dyán's arm. Throughout the +stormy interlude, he had stood rigidly still: a pained, puzzled frown +contracting his brows. Yet it was plain he would have slipped away +without a word, but for Roy's detaining grasp.</p> + +<p>"You don't go running off—now I've found you," said he good-humouredly. +"I've things to say. Come along to my place and hear them."</p> + +<p>Dyán jerked his imprisoned arm. "Very sorry. I have—important duties."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow night then? I'm lodging with Krishna Lal. And—look here, +<i>don't</i> mention me to your friend the philosopher! I know more about him +than you might suppose. If you still care a damn for me—and the others, +do what I ask—and keep your mouth shut——"</p> + +<p>Dyán's frown was hostile; but his voice was low and troubled. "For God's +sake leave me alone, Roy. Of course—I care. But that kind of caring is +carnal weakness. We, who are dedicated, must rise above such weakness, +above pity and slave-morality, giving all to the Mother——"</p> + +<p>"Dyán—have you forgotten—<i>my</i> mother?" Roy pressed his advantage in +the same low tone.</p> + +<p>"No. Impossible. She was <i>Dévi</i>—Goddess; loveliest and kindest——"<a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a></p> + +<p>"Well, in her name, I ask you—come to-morrow evening and have a talk."</p> + +<p>Dyán was silent; then, for the first time, he looked Roy straight in the +eyes. "In her name—I will come. Now let me go."</p> + +<p>Roy let him go. He had achieved little enough. But for a start it was +not so bad.<a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> An Indian dish.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIC" id="CHAPTER_XIC"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"When we have fallen through storey after storey of our vanity and + aspiration, it is then that we begin to measure the stature of our + friends."—R.L.S.</p></div> + + +<p>Next evening Dyán arrived. He stayed for an hour, and did most of the +talking. But his unnatural volubility suggested disturbance deep down.</p> + +<p>Only once Roy had a glimpse of the true Dyán, when he presented Arúna's +'<i>prasád</i>,' consecrated by her touch. In silence Dyán set it on the +table; and reverently touched, with his finger-tips, first the small +parcel, then his own forehead.</p> + +<p>"Arúna—sister," he said on an under breath. But he would not be drawn +into talking of her, of his grandfather, or of home affairs: and his +abrupt departure left Roy with a maddening sense of frustration.</p> + +<p>He lay awake half the night; and reached certain conclusions that atoned +for a violent headache next morning. First and best—Dyán was not a +genuine convert. All this ferment and froth did not spell reasoned +conviction. He was simply ensnared; his finer nature warped by the +'delusion of irresistible suggestion,' deadlier than any weapon of War. +His fanatical loyalty savoured of obsession. So much the better. An +obsession could be pricked like an air-ball with the right weapon at the +right moment. That, as Roy saw it, was his task:—in effect, a ghostly +duel between himself and Chandranath for the soul of Dyán Singh; and the +fate of Arúna virtually hung on the issue.</p> + +<p>Should he succeed, Chandranath would doubtless guess at his share in +Dyán's defection; and few men care about courting the enmity of the +unscrupulous. That is the secret power behind the forces of anarchy, +<a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a>above all in India, where social and spiritual boycott can virtually +slay a man without shedding of blood. For himself, Roy decided the game +was worth the candle. The question remained—how far that natural +shrinking might affect Dyán? And again—how much did he know of +Chandranath's designs on Arúna?</p> + +<p>Roy decided to spring the truth on him next time—and note the effect. +Dyán had said he would come again one evening; and—sooner than Roy +expected—he came. Again he was abnormally voluble, as if holding his +cousin at arm's length by italicising his own fanatical fervour, till +Roy's impatience subsided into weariness and he palpably stifled a yawn.</p> + +<p>Dyán, detecting him, stopped dead, with a pained, puzzled look that went +to Roy's heart. For he loved the real Dyán, even while he was bored to +extinction with the semi-religious verbiage that poured from him like +water from a jug.</p> + +<p>"Awfully sorry," he apologised frankly. "But I've been over-dosed with +that sort of stuff lately; and I'm damned if I can swallow it like you +do. Yet I'm dead keen for India to have the best, all round, that she's +capable of digesting—yet. So's Grandfather. You <i>can't</i> deny it."</p> + +<p>Dyán frowned irritably. "Grandfather's prejudiced and old-fashioned."</p> + +<p>"He's longer-sighted than most of your voluble friends. He doesn't +rhapsodise. He <i>knows</i>.—But I'm not old-fashioned. Nor is Arúna."</p> + +<p>"No, poor child; only England-infatuated. She is unwise not taking this +chance of an educated husband——"</p> + +<p>"And <i>such</i> a husband!" Roy struck in so sharply that Dyán stared +open-mouthed.</p> + +<p>"How the devil can <i>you</i> know?"</p> + +<p>"And how the devil can you <i>not</i> know," countered Roy, "when it's your +precious paragon—Chandranath."</p> + +<p>He scored his point clean and true. "Chandranath!" Dyán echoed blankly, +staring into the fire.</p> + +<p>Roy said nothing; simply let the fact sink in. Then, having dealt the +blow, he proffered a crumb of consolation, "Perhaps he prefers to keep +quiet till he's pulled <a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a>it off. But I warn you, if he persists, I shall +put every feasible spoke in his wheel."</p> + +<p>Dyán faced him squarely. "You seem very intimate with our affairs. Who +told you this?"</p> + +<p>"Arúna—herself."</p> + +<p>"You are also very intimate—with her."</p> + +<p>"As she has lost her brother, her natural protector, I do what I can—to +make up."</p> + +<p>Dyán winced and stole a look at him. "Why not make up for still greater +lack—and marry her yourself?"</p> + +<p>It was he who hit the mark this time. Roy's blood tingled; but voice and +eyes were under control.</p> + +<p>"I've only been there a few weeks. The question has not arisen."</p> + +<p>"Your true meaning is—it <i>could not arise</i>. They were glad enough for +her service in England; but whatever her service, or her loving, she +must not marry an Englishman, even with the blood of India in his veins. +That is our reward—both——"</p> + +<p>It was the fierce bitter Dyán of that long ago afternoon in New College +Lane. But Roy was too angry on his own account to heed. He rose +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I'll trouble you not to talk like that."</p> + +<p>Dyán rose also, confronting him. "I <i>must</i> say what is in mind—or go. +Better accept the fact—it is useless to meet."</p> + +<p>"I refuse to accept the fact."</p> + +<p>"But—there it is. I only make you angry. And you imply evil of the +man—I admire."</p> + +<p>He so plainly boggled over the words that Roy struck without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Dyán, tell me straight—<i>do</i> you admire him? Would you have Arúna marry +him?"</p> + +<p>"N—no. Impossible. There is—another kind of wife," he blurted out, +averting his eyes; but before Roy could speak, he had pulled himself +together. "However—I mustn't stay talking. Good-night."</p> + +<p>Roy's anger—fierce but transient, always—had faded. "There are some +ties you can't break, Dyán, even with your Bande Mátaram. Come again +soon."</p> + +<p>Impossible to resist the friendly tone. "But," he asked, "how long are +you hanging about Delhi like this?"<a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a></p> + +<p>"As long as I choose."</p> + +<p>"But—why?"</p> + +<p>"To see something of you, old chap. It seems the only way—unless I can +persuade you to chuck all this poisonous vapouring, and come back to +Jaipur with me. Arúna's waiting—breaking her heart—longing to see +you...."</p> + +<p>He knew he was rushing his fences; but the mood was on; the chance too +good to lose.</p> + +<p>Dyán's eyes lightened a moment. Then he shook his head. "I am too much +involved."</p> + +<p>"You <i>will</i> come, though, in the end," Roy said quietly. "I can wait. +Sunday, is it? And we'll bar politics—as we did in the good days. Don't +you want to hear of them all at Home?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes—yes. But perhaps—better not. You are a fine fellow, +Roy—even to quarrel with. Good-night." They shook hands warmly.</p> + +<p>On the threshold, Dyán turned, hesitated; then—in a hurried +murmur—asked: "<i>Where</i> is she—what's she doing now ... Tara?"</p> + +<p>He was obviously unaware of having used her name: and Roy, though +startled, gave no sign.</p> + +<p>"She's still in Serbia. She's been simply splendid. Head over ears in it +all from the start."—He paused—"Shall I tell her—when I write ... +about you?"</p> + +<p>Dyán shrugged his shoulders. "Waste of ink and paper. It would not +interest her."</p> + +<p>"It would. I know Tara. What you are doing now would hurt her—keenly."</p> + +<p>"Tcha!" The sharp sound expressed sheer unbelief. It also expressed +pain. "Good-night," he added, for the third time; and went out—leaving +Roy electrified; a-tingle with the hope of success at last.</p> + +<p>Tara was not forgotten; though Dyán had been trying to pretend she +was—even to himself. Ten chances to one, she was still at the core +everything; even his present incongruous activities....</p> + +<p>Roy paced the room; his imagination alight; his own recoil from the +conjunction, overborne by immediate concern for Dyán. Unable to forget +her—who could?—he had thrust the pain of remembering into the dark +background of his mind; and there it remained—a <a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a>hard knot of soreness +and bitterness—as Arúna had said. And all that bottled-up bitterness +had been vented against England—an unconscious symbol of Tara, desired +yet withheld; while the intensity of his thwarted passion sought and +found an outlet in fervent adoration of his country visualised as woman.</p> + +<p>Right or wrong—that was how Roy saw it. And the argument seemed +psychologically sound. Cruel to be kind, he must touch the point of +pain; draw the hidden thing into the open; and so reawaken the old Dyán, +who could arraign the new one far more effectually than could Roy +himself or another. Seized with his idea, he indulged in a more hopeful +letter to Arúna; and had scarcely patience to wait for Sunday.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In leisurely course it arrived—that last Sunday of the Great War. The +Chandni Chowk was a-bubble with strange and stirring rumours; but the +day waned and the evening waned—and no Dyán appeared.</p> + +<p>On Monday morning—still no word: but news, so tremendous, flashed half +across the world, that Dyán and his mysterious defection flickered like +a match at midday.</p> + +<p>The War was over—virtually over. From the Vosges to the sea, not the +crack of a rifle nor the moan of a shell; only an abrupt, dramatic +silence—the end! Belief in the utter cessation of all that wonderful +and terrible activity, penetrated slowly. And as it penetrated Roy +realised, with something like dismay, that the right and natural sense +of elation simply was not. He actually felt depressed. Shrink as he +might from the jar of conflict, the sure instinct of a soldier race +warned him that hell holds no fury and earth no danger like a ruthless +enemy not decisively smitten. The psychology of it was beyond +him—shrouded in mystery.</p> + +<p>Not till long afterwards did he know how many, in England and Prance, +had shared his bewildered feeling; how British soldiers in Belgium had +cried like children, had raged almost to the point of mutiny. But one +thing he knew—steeped as he was in the sub-strata of Eastern thought +and feeling. India would never understand. Visible, spectacular victory, +alone could impress the East: and such an impression might <a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a>have +counteracted many mistakes that had gone before....</p> + +<p>Tuesday brought no Dyán; only a scrawled note: "Sorry—too much +business. Can't come just now." <i>If</i> one could take that at its face +value——! But it might mean anything. Had Chandranath found out—and +had Dyán not the moral courage to go his own way?</p> + +<p>He knew by now where his cousin lodged; but had never been there. It was +in one of the oldest parts of the city; alive with political intrigue. +If Roy's nationality were suspected, 'things' might happen, and it was +clearly unfair on his father to run needless risks. But this was +different. 'Things' might be happening to Dyán.</p> + +<p>So, after nearly a week of maddening suspense, he resolved—with all due +caution—to take his chance.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A silvery twilight was ebbing from the sky when he plunged into a maze +of narrow streets and by-lanes where the stream of Eastern life flows +along immemorial channels scarcely stirred by surface eddies of +'advance.'</p> + +<p>Threading his way through the crowd, he found the street and the +landmark he sought: a doorway, adorned with a faded wreath of marigolds, +indication of some holy presence within; and just beyond it, a +low-browed arch, almost a tunnel. It passed under balconied houses +toppling perilously forward; and as Roy entered it, a figure darkened +the other end. He could only distinguish the long dark coat and turbaned +head: but there flashed instant conviction—Chandranath!</p> + +<p>Alert, rather than alarmed, he hurried forward, hugging the opposite +wall. At the darkest point they crossed. Roy felt the other pause, +scrutinise him—and pass on. The relief of it! And the ignominy of +suddenly feeling the old childish terror, when you had turned your back +on a dark room. It was all he could do not to break into a run....</p> + +<p>In the open court, set round with tottering houses, a sacred neem tree +made a vast patch of shadow. Near it, a rickety staircase led up to +Dyán's roof room. Roy, mounting cautiously, knocked at the highest door.</p> + +<p>"Are you there? It's Roy," he called softly.</p> + +<p>A pause:—then the door flew open and Dyán stood <a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a>before him, in loose +white garments; no turban; a farouche look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"My God—<i>Roy!</i> Crazy of you! I never thought——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I got sick of waiting. I suppose I can come in?" Roy's impatience +was the measure of his relief.</p> + +<p>Dyán moved back a pace, and, as Roy stepped on to the roof, he carefully +closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Think—if you had come three minutes earlier! He only left me just +now—Chandranath."</p> + +<p>"And passed me in the archway," added Roy with his touch of bravado. +"I've as much right to be in Delhi—and to vary my costume—as your +mysteriously potent friend. It's a free country."</p> + +<p>"It is fast becoming—not so free." Dyán lowered his voice, as if afraid +he might be overheard. "And you don't consider the trouble it might +make—for me."</p> + +<p>"How about the trouble you've been making for me? What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>Dyán passed a nervous hand across his eyes and forehead. "Come in. It's +getting cold out here," he said, in a repressed voice. Roy followed him +across the roof top, with its low parapet and vault of darkening sky, up +three steps, into an arcaded room, where a log fire burned in the open +hearth. Shabby, unrelated bits of furniture gave the place a comfortless +air. On a corner table strewn with leaflets and pamphlets ("Poisoned +arrows, up to date!" thought Roy), a typewriter reared its hooded head. +The sight struck a shaft of pain through him. Arúna's Dyán—son of kings +and warriors—turning his one skilful hand to such base uses!</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" he repeated with emphasis. "I want a straight answer, +Dyán. I've risked something to get it."</p> + +<p>Dyán sat down near a small table, and took his head between his hands. +"There is—so much wrong," he said, looking steadily up at Roy. "I am +feeling—like a man who wakes too suddenly after much sleepwalking."</p> + +<p>"Since when?" asked Roy, keeping himself in hand. "What's jerked you +awake? D'you know?"</p> + +<p>"There have been many jerks. Seeing you; Arúna's offering; this news of +the War; and something ... you mentioned last time."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a>"What was that ... Tara?" Roy lunged straight to the middle of the +wound.</p> + +<p>Dyán started. "But—how——! I never said...." he stammered, visibly +shaken.</p> + +<p>"It didn't need saying. Arúna told me—the fact; and my own wits told me +the rest. You're not honestly keen—are you?—to shorten the arm of the +British Raj and plunge India into chaos?"</p> + +<p>"No—no." A very different Dyán, this, to the one who had poured out +stock phrases like water only a week ago.</p> + +<p>"Isn't bitterness—about Tara, at the back of it! Face that straight. +And—if it's true, say so without false shame."</p> + +<p>Dyán was silent a long while, staring into the fire. "Very strange. I +had no idea," he said at last. The words came slowly, as if he were +thinking aloud. "I was angry—miserable; hating you all; even—very +nearly—<i>her</i>. Then came the War; and I thought—now our countries will +become like one. I will win her by some brave action—she who is the +spirit of courage. From France, after all that praise of Indians in the +papers, I wrote again. No use. After that, I hoped by some brave action, +I might be killed. Instead, through stupid carelessness, I am only +maimed—as you see. I was foolishly angry when Indian troops were sent +away from France: and my heart became hard like a nut."—He had emerged +from his dream now and was frankly addressing Roy——"I knew, if I went +home, they would insist I should marry. Quite natural. But for me—not +thinkable. Yet I <i>must</i> go back to India. And there, in Bombay, I heard +Chandranath speak. He was just back from deportation; and to me his +words were like leaping flames. All the fire of my passion—choked up in +me—could flow freely in service of the Mother. I became intoxicated +with the creed of my new comrades: there is neither truth nor untruth, +right nor wrong; there is only the Mother. I was filled with the joy of +dedication and unquestioning surrender. It gave me visions like opium +dreams. Both kinds of opium I have taken freely,—while walking in my +sleep. I was ready for taking life; any desperate deed. Instead—Tcha! I +have to take money, like a <a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>common dacoit, because police must be +bribed, soldiers tempted, meetings multiplied...."</p> + +<p>"It takes more than the blood of white goats to oil the wheels of your +chariot," said Roy, very quiet, but rather grim. "And he's not the man +to do his own dirty work—eh?"</p> + +<p>"No. He is only very clever to dress it up in fine arguments. All money +is the Mother's. Only they are thieves who selfishly hide it in banks +and safes. Those who release it for her use are deliverers ..." he broke +off with a harsh laugh. "In spite of education, we Indians are too +easily played upon, Roy. If you had not spoken—of her, I might have +swallowed—even that. Thieving—bah! Killing is man's work. There is +sanction in the Gita——"</p> + +<p>"Sanction be damned!" Roy cut in sharply. "You might as well say +Shakespeare sanctioned theft because he wrote, 'Who steals my purse +steals trash!' The only sanction worth anything is inside you. And you +didn't seem to find it there. But let's get at the point. Did you +refuse?"</p> + +<p>"No. Only—for the first time, I demurred; and because the need is +urgent, he became very violent—in language. It was almost a quarrel."</p> + +<p>"Clear proof you scored! Did you mention—Arúna?"</p> + +<p>Dyán shook his head. "If <i>I</i> become violent, it is not only +language——"</p> + +<p>"No. You're a <i>man</i>. And now you're awake again, I can tell you +things—but I can't stay all night."</p> + +<p>"No. He is coming back. Only gone to Cantonments—on business."</p> + +<p>"What sort of business?"</p> + +<p>Dyán chewed his lip and looked uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, old chap. I can see a church by daylight! He's getting at +the troops. Spreading lies about the Armistice. And after that——?"</p> + +<p>"He is returning—about midnight, hoping to find me in a more reasonable +mind——"</p> + +<p>"And by Jove we won't disappoint him!" cried Roy, who had seen his +God-given chance. Springing up he gripped Dyán by the shoulder. "Your +reasonable mind <a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a>will take the form of scooting back with me, <i>jut +put</i>;<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> and we can slip out of Delhi by the night mail. Time's +precious. So hurry up."</p> + +<p>But Dyán did not stir. He sat there looking so plainly staggered that +Roy burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>"You're not half awake yet. You've messed about so long with men who +merely 'agitate' and 'inaugurate,' that you've forgotten the kind who +act first and talk afterwards. I give you ten minutes to scribble a +tender farewell. Then—we make tracks. It's all I came here for—if you +want to know. And I take it you're willing?"</p> + +<p>Dyán sighed. "I am willing enough. But—there are many complications. +You do not know. They are organising big trouble over the Rowlatt +Bill—and other things. I have not much secret information, or my life +would probably not be worth a pin. But it is all one complicated +network, and there are too easy ways in India for social and spiritual +boycott——"</p> + +<p>He enlarged a little; quoted cases that filled Roy with surprise and +indignation, but no way shook his resolve.</p> + +<p>"We needn't go straight to Jaipur. Quite good fun to knock round a bit. +Throw him off the scent, till he's got over the shock. We can wire our +news; Arúna will be too happy to fret over a little delay. And you won't +be ostracised among your own people. They want you. They want your help. +Grandfather does. The best <i>I</i> could do was to run you to earth—open +your eyes——"</p> + +<p>"And by Indra you've <i>done</i> it, Roy."</p> + +<p>"You'll come then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll come—and damn the consequences!"</p> + +<p>The Dyán of Oxford days was visibly emerging now: a veritable awakening; +the strained look gone from his face.</p> + +<p>It was Roy's 'good minute': and in the breathless rush that followed, he +swept Dyán along with him—unresisting, exalted, amazed——</p> + +<p>The farewell letter was written; and Dyán's few belongings stowed into a +basket-box. Then they hurried down, through the dark courtyard into the +darker<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a> tunnel; and Roy felt unashamedly glad not to be alone. His feet +would hurry, in spite of him; and that kept him a few paces ahead.</p> + +<p>Passing a dark alcove, he swerved instinctively—and hoped to goodness +Dyán had not seen.</p> + +<p>Just before reaching the next one he tripped over something—taut string +or wire stretched across the passage. It should have sent him headlong +had he been less agile. As it was, he stumbled, cursed and kept his +feet.</p> + +<p>"'Ware man-trap!" he called back to Dyán, under his breath.</p> + +<p>Next instant, from the alcove, a shot rang out: and it was Dyán who +cursed; for the bullet had grazed his arm.</p> + +<p>They both ran now; and made no bones about it. Roy's sensations reminded +him vividly of the night he and Lance fled from the Turks.</p> + +<p>"We seem to have butted in and spoilt somebody's little game!" he +remarked, as they turned into a wider street and slackened speed. "How's +your arm?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. A mere scratch." Dyán's tone was graver. "But that's most +unusual. I can't make it out——"</p> + +<p>"You're well quit of it all, anyhow," said Roy, and slipped a hand +through his arm.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Not till they were settling down for a few hours' sleep in the night +mail, did it dawn on Roy that the little game might possibly have been +connected with himself. Chandranath had seen him in that dress before. +He had just come very near quarrelling with Dyán. If he suspected Roy's +identity, he would suspect his influence....</p> + +<p>He frankly spoke his thought to Dyán; and found it had occurred to him +already. "Not himself, of course," he added. "The gentleman is not +partial to firearms! But suspecting—he might have arranged; hoping to +catch you coming back—the swine! Naturally after this, he will go +further than suspecting!"</p> + +<p>"He can go to the devil—and welcome; now I've collared <i>you!</i>" said +Roy;—and slept soundly upon that satisfying achievement, through all +the rattle and clatter of the express.<a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> At once.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIIC" id="CHAPTER_XIIC"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="God uses us"> +<tr><td align='left'>"God uses us to help each other so."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Browning.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>It was distinctly one of Roy's great moments when, at last, they four +stood together in Sir Lakshman's room: the old man, outwardly +impassive—as became a Rajput—profoundly moved in the deep places of +his heart; Arúna, in Oxford gown and sari, radiant one moment; the +next—in spite of stoic resolves—crying softly in Dyán's arms. And Roy +understood only too well. The moment he held her hand and met her +eyes—he knew. It was not only joy at Dyán's return that evoked the +veiled blush, the laugh that trembled into tears. Conceit or no conceit, +his intuition was not to be deceived.</p> + +<p>And the conviction did not pass. It was confirmed by every day, every +hour he spent in her company. On the rare occasions, when they were +alone together, the very thing that must be religiously stifled and hid, +emanated from her like fragrance from a flower; sharply reawakening his +own temptation to respond—were it only to ease her pain. And there was +more in it than that—or very soon would be, if he hesitated much longer +to clinch matters by telling her the truth; though every nerve shrank +from the ordeal—for himself and her. Running away from oneself was +plainly a futile experiment. To have so failed with her, disheartened +him badly and dwarfed his proud achievement to an insignificant thing.</p> + +<p>To the rest, unaware, his triumph seemed complete, his risky adventure +justified beyond cavil. They all admitted as much;—even Vincent, who +abjured superlatives and had privately taken failure for granted. Roy, +in a fit of modesty, ascribed it all to 'luck.' By the <a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a>merest chance he +had caught Dyán, on his own confession, just as the first flickers of +doubt were invading his hypnotised soul; just when it began to dawn on +him that alien hands were pulling the strings. He had already begun to +feel trapped; unwilling to go forward; unable to go back; and the fact +that no inner secrets were confided to him, had galled his Rajput vanity +and pride. In the event, he was thankful enough for the supposed slight; +since it made him feel appreciably safer from the zeal of his discarded +friends.</p> + +<p>Much of this he had confided to Roy, in fragments and jerks, on the +night of their amazing exit from Delhi; already sufficiently himself +again to puzzle frankly over that perverted Dyán; to marvel—with a +simplicity far removed from mere foolishness—"how one man can make a +magic in other men's minds so that he shall appear to them an eagle when +he is only a crow."</p> + +<p>"That particular form of magic," Roy told him, "has made half the +history of the world. We all like to flatter ourselves we're safe from +it—till we get bitten! You've been no more of a fool than the others, +Dyán—if that's any consolation."</p> + +<p>The offending word rankled a little. The truth of it rankled more. "By +Indra, I am no fool now. Perhaps he has discovered that already. I fancy +my letter will administer a shock. I wonder what he will do?"</p> + +<p>"He won't 'do.' You can bank on that. He may fling vitriol over you on +paper. But you won't have the pleasure of his company at Jaipur. He left +his card on us before the Dewáli. And there's been trouble since; +leaflets circulating mysteriously; an exploded attempt to start a +seditious 'rag.' So they're on the <i>qui vive.</i> He'll count that one up +against me: but I'll manage to survive."</p> + +<p>And Dyán, in the privacy of his heart, had felt distinctly relieved. Not +that he lacked the courage of his race; but, having seen the man for +years, as it were, through a magnifying lens, he could not, all in a +moment, see him for the thing he was:—dangerous as a snake, yet swift +as a snake to wriggle out of harm's way.</p> + +<p>He had not been backward, however, in awakening his grandfather to +purdah manœuvres. Strictly in <a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a>private—he told his cousin—there had +been ungoverned storms of temper, ungoverned abuse of Roy, who was +suspected by 'the Inside' of knowing too much and having undue influence +with the old man. 'The Inside,' he gathered, had from early days been +jealous of the favourite daughter and all her belongings. Naturally, in +Dyán's opinion, his sister ought to marry; and the sooner the better. +Perhaps he had been unwise, after all, insisting on postponement. By now +she would have been settled in her lawful niche instead of making +trouble with this craze for hospital nursing and keeping outside caste. +Not surprising if she shrank from living at home, after all she had been +through. Better for them both, perhaps, to break frankly with orthodox +Hinduism and join the Brahma Samáj.</p> + +<p>As Roy knew precisely how much—or rather, how little—Arúna liked +working in the wards, he suffered a pang at the pathos of her innocent +guile. And if Dyán had his own suspicions, he kept them to himself. He +also kept to himself the vitriolic outpouring which he had duly found +awaiting him at Jaipur. It contained too many lurid allusions to 'that +conceited, imperialistic half-caste cousin of yours'; and Roy might +resent the implied stigma as much as Dyán resented it for him. So he +tore up the effusion, intended for the eye of Roy, merely remarking that +it had enraged him. It was beneath contempt.</p> + +<p>Roy would like to have seen it, all the same; for he knew himself +quicker than Dyán at reading between the lines. The beggar would not hit +back straight. But given the chance, he might try it on some other +way—witness the pistol-shot in the arcade; a side light—or a side +flash—on the pleasant sort of devil he was!</p> + +<p>Back in the Jaipur Residency, in the garden that was 'almost England,' +back in his good familiar tweed coat and breeches, the whole Delhi +interlude seemed strangely theatrical and unreal; more like a vivid +dream than an experience in the flesh.</p> + +<p>But there was Dyán to prove it no dream; and the perilous charm of +Arúna, that must be resisted to the best of his power....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>All this stir and ferment within; yet not a surface <a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a>ripple disturbed +the flow of those uneventful weeks between the return of Roy and the +coming of Lance Desmond for Christmas leave.</p> + +<p>It is thus that drama most often happens in life—a light under a +bushel; set in the midst, yet unseen. Vincent, delving in ethnological +depths, saw little or nothing outside his manuscript and maps. Floss +Eden—engrossed in her own drawing-room comedy with Captain Martin—saw +less than nothing, except that 'Mr Sinclair's other native cousin' came +too often to the house. For she turned up her assertive nose at 'native +gentlemen'; and confided to Martin her private opinion that Aunt Thea +went too far in that line. She bothered too much about other people all +round—which was true.</p> + +<p>She had bothered a good deal more about Floss Eden, in early days, than +that young lady at all realised. And now—in the intervals of organising +Christmas presents and Christmas guests—she was bothering a good deal +over Roy, whose absence had obviously failed to clear the air.</p> + +<p>Not that he was silent or aloof. But his gift of speech overlaid a +reticence deeper than that of the merely silent man; the kind she had +lived with and understood. Once you got past their defences, you were +unmistakably inside:—Vinx, for instance. But with Roy she was aware of +reserves within reserves, which made him the more interesting, but also +the more distracting, when one felt entitled to know the lie of the +land. For, Arúna apart, wasn't he becoming too deeply immersed in his +Indian relations—losing touch, perhaps, with those at home? Did it—or +did it not matter—that, day after day, he was strolling with Arúna, +riding with Dyán, pig-sticking and buck-hunting with the royal cheetahs +and the royal heir to the throne; or plunging neck deep in plans and +possibilities, always in connection with those two? His mail letters +were few and not bulky, as she knew from handling the contents of the +Residency mail-bag. And he very rarely spoke of them all: less than ever +of late. To her ardent nature it seemed inexplicable. Perhaps it was +just part of his peculiar 'inwardness.' She would have liked to feel +sure, however....</p> + +<p>Vinx would say it was none of her business. But<a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a> Lance would be a help. +She was counting on him to readjust the scales. Thank goodness for +Lance—giving up the Lahore 'week' and the Polo Tournament to spend +Christmas with her and Roy in the wilds of Rajputana. Just to have him +about the place again—his music, his big laugh, his radiant certainty +that, in any and every circumstance, it was a splendid thing to be +alive—would banish worries and lift her spirits sky-high. After the +still, deep waters of her beloved Vinx—whose strain of remoteness had +not been quite dispelled by marriage—and the starlit mysteries of Arúna +and the intriguing complexities of Roy, a breath of Lance would be tonic +as a breeze from the Hills. He was so clear and sure; not in flashes and +spurts, but continuously, like sunshine; because the clearness and +sureness had his whole personality behind them. And he could be counted +on to deal faithfully with Roy; perhaps lure him back to the Punjab. It +would be sad losing him; but in the distracting circumstances, a clean +cut seemed the only solution. She would just put in a word to that +effect: a weakness she had rarely been known to resist, however complete +her faith in the man of the moment.</p> + +<p>She simply dared not think of Arúna, who trusted her. <a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a>It seemed like +betrayal—no less. And yet...?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIIIC" id="CHAPTER_XIIIC"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="One made out of the better"> +<tr><td align='left'>"One made out of the better part of earth,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">A man born as at sunrise."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Swinburne.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>It was all over—the strenuous joy of planning and preparing. Christmas +itself was over. From the adjacent borders of British India, five lonely +ones had been gathered in. There was Mr Mayne, Commissioner of Delhi, +Vincent's old friend of Kohat days, unmarried and alone in camp with a +stray Settlement Officer, whose wife and children were at Home. There +was Mr Bourne—in the Canals—large-boned and cadaverous, with a +sardonic gleam in his eye. Rumour said there had once been a wife and a +friend; now there remained only work and the whisky bottle; and he was +overdoing both. To him Thea devoted herself and her fiddle with +particular zest. The other two lonelies—a Mr and Mrs Nair—were medical +missionaries, fighting the influenza scourge in the Delhi area; +drastically disinfected—because of the babies; more than thankful for a +brief respite from their daily diet of tragedy, and from labours +Hercules' self would not have disdained. For all that, they had needed a +good deal of pressing. They had 'no clothes.' They were very shy. But +Thea had insisted; so they came—clothed chiefly in shyness and +gratitude, which made them shyer than ever.</p> + +<p>Roy, still new to Anglo-India, was amazed at the way these haphazard +humans were thawed into a passing intimacy by the sunshine of Thea's +personality. For himself, it was the nearest approach to the real thing +that he had known since that dear and dreamlike Christmas of 1916. It +warmed his heart, and renewed the well-spring of careless happiness that +had gone from him <a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a>utterly since the blow fell; gone, so he believed, +for ever.</p> + +<p>Something of this she divined—and was glad. Yet her exigent heart was +not altogether at ease. His reaction to Lance, though unmistakable, fell +short of her confident expectation. He was still squandering far too +much time on the other two. Sometimes she felt almost angry with him: +jealous—for Lance. She knew how deeply he cared underneath; because she +too was a Desmond. And Desmonds could not care by halves.</p> + +<p>This morning, for instance, the wretch was out riding with Dyán; and +there was Lance, alone in the drawing-room strumming the accompaniments +of things they would play to-night: just a wandering succession of +chords in a minor key; but he had his father's gift of touch, that no +training can impart, and the same trick of playing pensively to himself, +almost as if he were thinking aloud. It was five years since she had +seen her father; and those pensive chords brought sudden tears to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>What did Lance mean by it—mooning about the piano like that? Had he +fallen in love? That was one of the few questions she did not dare ask +him. But here was her chance to 'put in a word' about Roy.</p> + +<p>So she strolled into the drawing-room and leaned over the grand piano. +His smile acknowledged her presence, and his pensive chords went +wandering softly away into the bass.</p> + +<p>"Idiot—what <i>are</i> you doing?" she asked briskly, because the music was +creeping down her spine. "Talking to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"More or less."</p> + +<p>"Well—give over. I'm here. And it's a bad habit."</p> + +<p>He shook his head, and went wandering on. "In this form I find it +soothing and companionable."</p> + +<p>"Well, you oughtn't to be needing either at Christmas time under <i>my</i> +roof, with Roy here and all—if he'd only behave. Sometimes I want to +shake him——"</p> + +<p>"Why—what's the matter with Roy?"—That innocent query checked her rush +of protest in mid career. Had he not even noticed? Men were the +queerest, dearest things!—--"He looks awfully fit. Better all <a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a>round. +He's pulling up. <i>You</i> never saw him—you don't realise——"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear boy, do <i>you</i> realise that he's getting rather badly +bitten with all this—Indian problems and Indian cousins——"</p> + +<p>Lance nodded. "I've been afraid of that. But one can't say much."</p> + +<p>"I can't. I was counting on you as the God-given antidote. And there he +is, still fooling round with Dyán, when <i>you've</i> come all this way ... +It makes me wild. It isn't <i>fair</i>——"</p> + +<p>Her genuine distress moved Lance to cease strumming and bestow a +friendly pat on her hand. "Don't be giving yourself headaches and +heartaches over Roy and me, darlint. We're going strong, thanks very +much! It would take an earthquake to throw us out of step. If he chose +to chuck his boots at me, I wouldn't trouble—except to return the trees +if they were handy! Strikes me women don't yet begin to understand the +noble art of friendship——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Which</i> is a libel—but let that pass! Besides—hasn't it struck you? +Arúna——"</p> + +<p>"My God!" His hands dropped with a crash on the keyboard. Then, in a low +swift rush: "Thea, you don't <i>mean</i> it—you're pulling my leg."</p> + +<p>"Bible-oath I'm not. It's too safely tucked under the piano!"</p> + +<p>"My God!" he repeated softly, ignoring her incurable frivolity. "Has he +<i>said</i> anything?"</p> + +<p>"No. But it's plain they're both smitten more or less."</p> + +<p>"Smitten be damned."</p> + +<p>"Lance! I won't have Arúna insulted. Let me tell you she's charming and +cultivated; much better company than Floss. And I love her like a +daughter——"</p> + +<p>"Would you have her marry <i>Roy?</i>" he flung out wrathfully.</p> + +<p>"Of course not. But still——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Me</i>—perhaps?" he queried with such fine scorn that she burst out +laughing.</p> + +<p>"You priceless gem! You are <i>the</i> unadulterated Anglo-Indian!"<a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a></p> + +<p>"Well—what <i>else</i> would I be? What else are you, by the same token?"</p> + +<p>"Not adulterated," she denied stoutly. "Perhaps a wee bit less +'prejudiced.' The awful result, I suppose, of failing to keep myself +scrupulously detached from my surroundings. Besides, you couldn't be +married twenty years to that Vinx and not widen out a bit. Of course I'm +quite aware that widening out has its insidious dangers and limitation +its heroic virtues—Hush! Don't fly into a rage. <i>You're</i> not limited, +old boy. You loved—Lady Sinclair."</p> + +<p>"I adored her," Lance said very low; and his fingers strayed over the +keys again. "<i>But</i>—she was an accomplished fact. And—she was one in +many thousands. She's gone now, though. And there's poor Sir Nevil——"</p> + +<p>He rose abruptly and strode over to the fireplace. "Tell you what, Thea. +If the bee in Roy's bonnet is buzzing to <i>that</i> tune, some one's got to +stop it——"</p> + +<p>"That's my point!" She swung round confronting him. "Why not whisk him +back to the Punjab? It does seem the only way——"</p> + +<p>Lance nodded again. "Now you talk sense. Mind, I don't believe he'll +come. Roy's a tougher customer than he looks to the naked eye. But I'll +have a shot at it to-night. If needs must, I'll tell him why. I can +swallow half a regiment of his Dyáns; but not—the other thing. I hope +you find us intact in the morning!"</p> + +<p>She flew to him and kissed him with fervour; and she was still in his +arms, when Roy strolled casually into the room.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There were only three outsiders that night: the State Engineer and two +British officers in the Maharajah's employ. But they sat down sixteen to +dinner; and, very shortly after, came three others in the persons of +Dyán and Sir Lakshman Singh, with his distinguished friend Mahomed +Inayat Khan, from Hyderabad. Nothing Thea enjoyed better than getting a +mixed batch of men together and hearing them talk—especially shop; for +then she knew their hearts were in it. They were happy.</p> + +<p>And to-night, her chance assortment was amazingly varied, even for +India:—Army, 'Political,' Civil;<a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a> P.W.D. and Native States; New India, +in the person of Dyán; and not least, the 'medical mish' pair; an +element rich in mute inglorious heroism, as the villagers and 'depressed +classes' of India know. She took keen delight in the racial interplay of +thought and argument, with Roy, as it were, for bridge-builder between. +How he would relish the idea! He seemed very much in the vein this +evening, especially since his grandfather arrived. He was clearly making +an impression on Mr Mayne and Inayat Khan; and a needle-prick of remorse +touched her heart. For Arúna, annexed by Captain Martin's subaltern, was +watching him too, when she fancied no one was looking; and Lance, +attentively silent, was probably laying deep plans for his capture. A +wicked shame—but still...!</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Lance, too, was troubled with faint compunction. He +had never seen Roy in this kind of company, nor in this particular vein. +And, reluctantly, he admitted that it did seem rather a waste of his +mentally reviving vigour hauling him back to the common round of tennis +and dances and polo—yes, even sacred polo—when he was so dead keen on +this infernal agitation business, and seemed to know such a deuce of a +lot about it all.</p> + +<p>Lance himself knew far too little; and was anxious to hear more, for the +intimate, practical reason that he was not quite happy about his Sikh +troop. The Pathan lot were all right. But the Sikhs—his pride and +joy—were being 'got at' by those devils in the City. And, if these men +could be believed, 'things' were going to be very much worse; not only +'down country,' but also in the Punjab, India's sure shield against the +invader. To a Desmond, the mere suggestion of the Punjab turning traitor +was as if one impugned the courage of his father or the honour of his +mother; so curiously personal is India's hold upon the hearts of +Englishmen who come under her spell.</p> + +<p>So Lance listened intently, if a little anxiously, to all that Thea's +'mixed biscuits' had to say on that absorbing subject. For to-night shop +held the field: if that could be called shop, which vitally concerned +the fate of England and India, and of British dominion in the East.<a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a></p> + +<p>Agitation against the sane measures embodied in the Rowlatt Bills was +already astir, like bubbles round a pot before it boils. And Inayat Khan +had come straight from Bombay, where the National Congress had rejected +with scorn the latest palliative from Home; had demanded the release of +all revolutionaries, and wholesale repeal of laws against sedition. Here +was shop sufficiently ominous to overshadow all other topics: and there +was no <i>gêne</i>, no constraint. The Englishmen could talk freely in the +presence of cultured Indians who stood for Jaipur and Hyderabad, since +both States were loyal to the core.</p> + +<p>Dyán, like Lance, spoke little and pondered much on the talk of these +men, whose straight speech and thoughts were refreshing as their own sea +breezes after the fumes of rhetoric, the fog of false values that had +bemused his brain these three years. Strange how all the ugliness and +pain of hate had shrivelled away; how he could even shake hands, +untroubled, with that 'imperialistic bureaucrat' the Commissioner of +Delhi, whom he might have been told off, any day, to 'remove from this +mortal coil.' Strange to sit there, over against him, while he puffed +his cigar and talked, without fear, of increasing antagonism, increasing +danger to himself and his kind.</p> + +<p>"There's no sense in disguising the unpalatable truth that New India +hates us," said he in his gruff, deliberate voice. "Present company +excepted, I hope!"</p> + +<p>He gravely inclined his head towards Dyán, who responded mutely with a +flutter at his heart. Impossible! The man could not suspect——?</p> + +<p>And the man, looking him frankly in the eyes, added: "The spirit of the +Mutiny's not extinct—and we know it, those of us that count."</p> + +<p>Dyán simply sat dumfounded. It was Sir Lakshman who said, in his guarded +tone: "Nevertheless, sir, the bulk of our people are loyal and +peaceable. Only I fear there are some in England who do not count that +fact to their credit."</p> + +<p>"If they ever become anything else, it won't be to <i>our</i> credit," put in +Roy. "If we can't stand up to bluster and sedition with that moral force +at our backs, we shall deserve to go under."</p> + +<p>"Well spoken, Roy," said his grandfather still more <a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a>quietly. "Let us +hope it is not yet too late. Sadi says, 'The fountain-head of a spring +can be blocked with a stick; but in full flood, it cannot be crossed, +even on an elephant.'"</p> + +<p>They exchanged a glance that stirred Roy's pulses and gave him +confidence to go on: "I don't believe it is too late. But what bothers +me is this—are we treating our moral force as it deserves? Are we +giving them loyalty in return for theirs—the sort they can understand? +With a dumb executive and voluble 'patriots,' persuading or +intimidating, the poor beggars haven't a dog's chance, unless we openly +stand by them; openly smite our enemies—and theirs."</p> + +<p>He boldly addressed himself to Mayne, the sole symbol of authority +present; and the Commissioner listened, with a gleam of amused approval +in his eye.</p> + +<p>"You're young, Mr Sinclair—which doesn't mean you're wrong! Most of us, +in our limited fashion, are trying to do what we can on those lines. +But, after spending half a lifetime in this climate, doing our utmost to +give the peasant—<i>and</i> the devil—his due, we're apt to grow +cynical——"</p> + +<p>"Not to mention suicidal!" grunted the slave of work and whisky. "We +Canal coolies—hardly visible to the naked eye—are adding something +like an Egypt a year to the Empire. But, bless you, England takes no +notice. Only let some underbred planter or raw subaltern bundle an +Indian out of his carriage, or a drunken Tommy kick his servant in the +spleen, and the whole British Constitution comes down about our ears!"</p> + +<p>"Very true, sir—very true!" Inayat Khan leaned forward. His teeth +gleamed in the dark of his beard. His large firm-featured face abounded +in good sense and good humour. "How shall a man see justly if he holds +the telescope wrong way round, as too many do over there. It also +remains true, however, that the manners of certain Anglo-Indians create +a lot of bad feeling. Your so-called reforms do not interest the masses +or touch their imagination. But the boot of the low-class European +touches their backs and their pride and hardens their hearts. That is +only human nature. In the East a few gold grains of courtesy touch <a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a>the +heart more than a <i>khillat</i><a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> of political hotch-potch. I +myself—though it is getting dangerous to say so!—am frankly opposed to +this uncontrolled passion for reform. When all have done their duty in +this great struggle, why such undignified clamour for rewards, which are +now being flung back in the giver's teeth. It has become a vicious +circle. It was British policy in the first place—not so?—that stirred +up this superficial ferment; and now it grows alarming, it is doctored +with larger doses of the same medicine. We Indians who know how little +the bulk of India has really changed, could laugh at the tamasha of +Western fancy-dress, in small matters; but time for laughing has gone +by. Time has come for saying firmly—all rights and aspirations will be +granted, stopping <i>short</i> of actual government—otherwise——!"</p> + +<p>He flung up his hands, looked round at the listening faces, and realised +how completely he had let himself go. "Forgive me, Colonel. I fear I am +talking too much," he said in a changed tone.</p> + +<p>"Indeed no," Colonel Leigh assured him warmly. "In these difficult days, +loyal and courageous friends like yourself are worth their weight in +gold mohurs!"</p> + +<p>Visibly flattered, the Moslem surveyed his own bulky person with a +twinkle of amusement. "If value should go by weight, Inayat Khan would +be worth a king's ransom! But I assure you, Colonel, your country has +many hundreds of friends like myself all over India, if only she would +seek them out and give them encouragement—as Mr Sinclair said—instead +of wasting it on volubles, who will never cease making trouble till +India is in a blaze."</p> + +<p>As the man's patent sincerity had warmed the hearts of his hearers, so +the pointed truth of that last pricked them sharply and probed deep. For +they knew themselves powerless; mere atoms of the whirling dust-cloud, +raised, in passing, by the chariot-wheels of Progress—or perdition?</p> + +<p>The younger men rose briskly, as if to shake off some physical +discomfort. Dyán—very much aware of Arúna and the subaltern—approached +them with a friendly<a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a> remark. Roy and Lance said, "Play up, Thea! Your +innings," almost in a breath—and crooked little fingers.</p> + +<p>Thea needed no second bidding. While the men talked, an insidious +depression had stolen over her spirit—and brooded there, light and +formless as a river mist. Half an hour with her fiddle, and Lance at his +best, completely charmed it away. But the creepiness of it had been very +real: and the memory remained.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When all the others had dispersed, she lingered over the fire with Roy, +while Lance, at the piano, with diplomatic intent, drifted into his +friend's favourite Nocturne—the Twelfth; that inimitable rendering of a +mood, hushed yet exalted, soaring yet brooding, 'the sky and the nest as +well.' The two near the fire knew every bar by heart, but as the liquid +notes stole out into the room, their fitful talk stopped dead.</p> + +<p>Lance was playing superbly, giving every note its true value; the +cadence rising and falling like waves of a still sea; softer and softer; +till the last note faded away, ghostlike—a sigh rather than a sound.</p> + +<p>Roy remained motionless, one elbow on the mantelpiece. Thea's lashes +were wet with the tears of rarefied emotion—tears that neither prick +nor burn. The silence itself seemed part of the music; a silence it were +desecration to break. Without a word to Roy, she crossed the room; +kissed Lance good-night; clung a moment to his hands that had woven the +spell, smiling her thanks, her praise; and slipped away, leaving the two +together.</p> + +<p>Roy subsided into a chair. Lance came over to the fire and stood there +warming his hands.</p> + +<p>It was a minute or two before Roy looked up and nodded his +acknowledgments.</p> + +<p>"You're a magician, old chap. You play that thing a damn sight too +well."</p> + +<p>He did not add that his friend's music had called up a vision of the +Home drawing-room, clear in every detail; Lance at the piano—his last +week-end from Sandhurst—playing the 'thing' by request; himself +lounging on the hearthrug, his head against his mother's knee; the very +feel of her silk skirt against his cheek, of her fingers on his hair.... +Nor did he add that the vision had spurred his reluctant spirit to a +resolve.<a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a></p> + +<p>The more practical soul of Lance Desmond had already dropped back to +earth, as a lark drops after pouring out its heart in the blue. In spite +of concern for Roy, he was thinking again of his Sikhs.</p> + +<p>"I suppose one can take it," he remarked thoughtfully, "that Vinx and +Mayne and that good old Moslem johnny know what they're talking about?"</p> + +<p>Roy smiled—having jumped at the connection. "I'm afraid," he said, "one +can."</p> + +<p>"You think big trouble is coming—organised trouble?"</p> + +<p>"I do. That is, unless some 'strong silent man' has the pluck to put his +foot down in time, and chance the consequences to himself. Thank God, +we've another John Lawrence in the Punjab."</p> + +<p>"And it's the Punjab that matters——"</p> + +<p>"Especially a certain P.C. Regiment—eh?"</p> + +<p>Lance was in arms at once:—that meant he had touched the spot. "No +flies on the Regiment. Trust Paul. It's only—I get bothered about a +Sikh here and there."</p> + +<p>"Quite so. The blighters have taken particular pains with the Sikhs. +Realising that they'll need some fighting stuff. And Lahore's a bad +place. I expect they sneak off to meetings in the City."</p> + +<p>"Devil a doubt of it. Mind you, I trust them implicitly. But, outside +their own line, they're credulous as children—<i>you</i> know."</p> + +<p>"Rather. In Delhi, I had a fair sample of it."</p> + +<p>Another pause. It suddenly occurred to Lance that his precious Sikhs +were not supposed to be the topic of the evening. "You're quite fit +again, Roy. And those blooming fools chucked you like a cast horse——" +he broke out in a spurt of vexation. "I wish to God you were back with +your old Squadron."</p> + +<p>And Roy said from his heart, "I wish to God I was."</p> + +<p>"Paul misses you, though he never says much. The new lot from home are +good chaps. Full of brains and theories. But no knowledge. Can't get at +the men. You could still help unofficially in all sorts of ways.—Why +not come along back with me? Haven't you been pottering round here long +enough?"</p> + +<p>Roy shook his head. "Thanks all the same, for the invite. Of course I'd +love it. But—I've things to do.<a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a> There's a novel taking shape—and +other oddments. I've done precious little writing here. Too much +entangled with human destinies. I <i>must</i> bury myself somewhere and get a +move on. April it is. I won't fail you."</p> + +<p>Lance kicked an unoffending log. "Confound your old novel!"—A +portentous silence. "See here, Roy, I don't want to badger you. +But—well—if I'm to go back in moderate peace of mind, I want—certain +guarantees."</p> + +<p>Roy lifted his eyes. Lance frankly encountered them; and there ensued +one of those intimate pauses in which the unspeakable is said.</p> + +<p>Roy looked away. "Arúna?" He let fall the word barely above his breath.</p> + +<p>"Just that."</p> + +<p>"You're frightened—both of you? Oh yes—I've seen——" He fell silent, +staring into the fire. When he spoke again, it was in the same low, +detached tone. "You two needn't worry. The guarantee you're after was +given ... in July 1914 ... under the beeches ... at Home. <i>She</i> +foresaw—understood. But she couldn't foresee ... the harder tug—now +she's gone. The ... association ... and all that."</p> + +<p>"Is it—only that?"</p> + +<p>"It's mostly that."</p> + +<p>To Lance Desmond, very much a man, it seemed the queerest state of +things; and he knew only a fragment of the truth.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Roy," he urged again. "Wouldn't the Punjab really be best? +Aren't you plunging a bit too deep——? Does your father realise? Thea +feels——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Thea feels, bless her! But there's a thing or two she doesn't +<i>know!</i>" He lifted his head and spoke in an easier voice. "One queer +thing—it may interest you. Those few weeks of living as an Indian among +Indians—amazingly intensified all the other side of me. I never felt +keener on the Sinclair heritage and all it stands for. I never felt +keener on you two than all this time while I've been concentrating every +faculty on—the other two. Sounds odd. But it's a fact."</p> + +<p>"Good. And does—your cousin know ... about the guarantee?"</p> + +<p>"N—no. That's still to come."<a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a></p> + +<p>"<i>When——?</i>"</p> + +<p>Roy straightly returned his friend's challenging gaze. "Damn you!" he +said softly. Then, in a graver tone: "You're right. I've been shirking +it. Seemed a shame to spoil Christmas. Remains—the New Year. I fixed it +up—while you were playing that thing, to be exact."</p> + +<p>"Did I—contribute?"</p> + +<p>"You did—if that gives you any satisfaction!" He rose, stretched +himself and yawned ostentatiously. "My God, I wish it was over."</p> + +<p>Desmond said nothing. If Roy loved him more for one quality than +another, it was for his admirable gift of silence.<a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Dress of honour.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIVC" id="CHAPTER_XIVC"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of + pain—this gift of thine."—<span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore</span></p></div> + + +<p>It was the last day of the year; the last moon of the year, almost at +her zenith. Of all the Christmas guests Lance alone remained; and Thea +had promised him before leaving, a moonlight vision of Amber, the +Sleeping Beauty of Rajasthán. The event had been delayed till now, +partly because they waited on the moon; partly because they did not want +it to be a promiscuous affair.</p> + +<p>To Thea's lively imagination—and to Roy's no less—Amber was more than +a mere city of ghosts and marble halls. It was a symbol of Rajput +womanhood—strong and beautiful, withdrawn from the clamour of the +market-place, given over to her dreams and her gods. For though kings +have deserted Amber, the gods remain. There is still life in her temples +and the blood of sacrifice on her altar stones. Therefore she must not +be approached in the spirit of the tourist. And, emphatically, she must +not be approached in a motor-car; at least so far as Thea's guests were +concerned. Of course one knew she <i>was</i> approached by irreverent cars; +also by tourists—unspeakable ones, who made contemptible jokes about 'a +slump in house property.' But for these vandalisms Thea Leigh was not +responsible.</p> + +<p>Her young ones, including Captain Martin, would ride; but, because of +Arúna, she and Vincent must submit to the barouche. So transparent was +the girl's pleasure at being included, that Thea's heart failed +her—knowing what she knew.</p> + +<p>Roy and Lance had ridden on ahead; out through the fortified gates into +the open desert, strewn with <a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a>tumbled fragments of the glory that was +Rajasthán. There, where courtiers had intrigued and flattered, crows +held conference. On the crumbling arch of a doorway, that opened into +emptiness, a vulture brooded, heavy with feeding on those who had died +for lack of food. Knee-deep in the Mán Sagar Lake, grey cranes sought +their meat from God; every tint and curve of them repeated in the quiet +water. And there, beside a ruined shrine, two dead cactus bushes, with +their stiff distorted limbs, made Roy think suddenly of two dead Germans +he had come upon once—killed so swiftly that they still retained, in +death, the ghastly semblance of life. Why the devil couldn't a man be +rid of them? Dead Germans were not 'in the bond.'...</p> + +<p>"Buck up, Lance," he said abruptly; for Desmond, who saw no ghosts, was +keenly interested. "Let's quit this place of skulls and empty +eye-sockets. Amber's dead; but not utterly decayed."</p> + +<p>He knew. He had ridden out alone one morning, in the light of paling +stars, to watch the dawn steal down through the valley and greet the +sleeping city that would never wake again—half hoping to recapture the +miracle of Chitor. But Amber did not enshrine the soul of his mother's +race. And the dawn had proved merely a dawn. Moonlight, with its eerie +enchantment, would be oven more beautiful and fitting; but the pleasure +of anticipation was shadowed by his resolve.</p> + +<p>He had spoken of it only to Thea; asking her, when tea was over, to give +him a chance:—and now he was heartily wishing he had chosen any other +place and time than this....</p> + +<p>The brisk canter to the foothills was a relief. Thence the road climbed, +between low, reddish-grey spurs, to the narrow pass, barred by a +formidable gate, that swung open at command, with a screech of rusty +hinges, as if in querulous protest against intrusion.</p> + +<p>Another gateway,—and yet another: then they were through the triple +wall that guards the dead city from the invader who will never come, +while both races honour the pact that alone saved desperate, stubborn +Rajputana from extinction.</p> + +<p>Up on the heights, it was still day; but in the valley it was almost +evening. And there—among deepening <a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a>shadows and tumbled fragments of +hills—lay Amber: her palace and temples and broken houses crowding +round their sacred Lake, like Queens and their handmaids round the +shield of a dead King.</p> + +<p>Descending at a foot's pace, the chill of emptiness and of oncoming +twilight seemed to close like icy fingers on Roy's heart; though the +death of Amber was as nothing to the death of Chitor—the warrior-queen, +ravished and violently slain by Akbar's legions. Amber had, as it were, +died peacefully in her sleep. But there remained the all-pervading +silence and emptiness:—her sorrowful houses, cleft from roof to +roadway; no longer homes of men, but of the rock-pigeon, the peacock, +and the wild boar; stones of her crumbling arches thrust apart by roots +of acacia and neem; her streets choked with cactus and brushwood; her +beauty—disfigured but not erased—reflected in the unchanging mirror of +the Lake.</p> + +<p>If Roy and Lance had talked little before, they talked less now. From +the Lake-side they rode up, by stone pathways, to the Palace of stone +and marble, set upon a jutting rock and commanding the whole valley. +There, in the quadrangle, they left the horses with their grooms, who +were skilled in cutting corners and had trotted most of the way.</p> + +<p>Close to the gate stood a temple of fretted marble—neither ruined nor +deserted; for within were the priests of Kali, and the faint, sickly +smell of blood. Daybreak after daybreak, for centuries, the severed head +of a goat had been set before her, the warm blood offered in a bronze +bowl....</p> + +<p>"Pah! Beastly!" muttered Lance. "I'd sooner have no religion at all."</p> + +<p>Roy smiled at him, sidelong—and said nothing. It <i>was</i> beastly: but it +matched the rest. It was in keeping with the dusky rooms, all +damp-incrusted, the narrow passages and screens of marble tracery; the +cloistered hanging garden, beyond the women's rooms, their baths +chiselled out of naked rock. And the beastliness was off-set by the +beauty of inlay and carving and colour; by the splendour of bronze gates +and marble pillars, and slabs of carven granite that served as +balustrade to the terraced roof, where daylight still <a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a>lingered and +azure-necked peacocks strutted, serenely immune.</p> + +<p>Seated on a carven slab, they looked downward into the heart of +desolation; upward, at creeping battlements and a little temple of Shiva +printed sharply on the light-filled sky.</p> + +<p>"Can't you <i>feel</i> the ghosts of them all round you?" whispered Roy.</p> + +<p>"No, thank God, I can't," said practical Lance, taking out a cigarette. +But a rustle of falling stones made him start—the merest fraction. +"Perhaps smoke'll keep 'em off—like mosquitoes!" he added hopefully.</p> + +<p>But Roy paid no heed. He was looking down into the hollow shell of that +which had been Amber. Not a human sound anywhere; nor any stir of life, +but the soft ceaseless kuru-kooing doves, that nested and mated in those +dusky inner rooms, where Queens had mated with Kings.</p> + +<p>"'Thou hast made of a city an heap, of a defencéd city a ruin ...Their +houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, +and satyrs shall dance there,'" he quoted softly; adding after a pause, +"Mother had a great weakness for old Isaiah. She used to say he and the +minor prophets knew all about Rajasthán. The owls of Amber are blue +pigeons. But I hope she's spared the satyrs."</p> + +<p>"Globe-trotters!" suggested Lance.</p> + +<p>"Or 'Piffers' devoid of reverence!" retorted Roy. "Hullo! Here come the +others."</p> + +<p>Footsteps and voices in the quadrangle waked hollow echoes as when a +stone drops into a well. Presently they sounded on the stairs near by: +Flossie's rather boisterous laugh; Martin chaffing her in his husky +tones.</p> + +<p>"Great sport! Let's rent it off H.H. and gather 'em all in from the +highways and hedges for a masked fancy ball!"</p> + +<p>Roy stood up and squared his shoulders. "Satyrs dancing, with a +vengeance!" said he; but the gleam of Arúna's sari smote him silent. A +band seemed to tighten round his heart....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Before tea was over, peacocks and pigeons had gone <a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a>to roost among the +trees that shadowed the Lake; and the light behind the hills had passed +swiftly from gold to flame-colour, from flame-colour to rose. For the +sun, that had already departed in effect, was now setting in fact.</p> + +<p>"Hush—it's coming," murmured Thea:—and it came.</p> + +<p>Hollow thuds, quickening to a vibrant roar, swelled up from the temple +in the courtyard below. The Brahmins were beating the great tom-tom +before Kali's Shrine.</p> + +<p>It was the signal. It startlingly waked the dead city to discordant +life. Groanings and howlings and clashings, as of Tophet, were echoed +and re-echoed from every temple, every shrine; an orgy of demoniac +sounds; blurred in transit through the empty rooms beneath; pierced at +intervals by the undulating wail of ram's horns; the two reiterate notes +wandering, like lost souls, through a confused blare of cymbals and +bagpipes and all kinds of music.</p> + +<p>Flossie, with a bewitching grimace at Martin, clapped both hands over +her ears. Roy—standing by the balustrade with Arúna—was aware of an +answering echo somewhere in subconscious depths, as the discords rose +and fell above the throbbing undernote of the drum. It was as if the +claimant voices of the East cried out to the blood in his veins: 'You +are of us—do what you will; go where you will.' And all the while his +eyes never left Arúna's half-averted face.</p> + +<p>Sudden and clear from the heights came a ringing peal of bells, as it +were the voices of angels answering the wail of devils in torment. It +was from the little Shrine of Shiva close against the ramparts, etched +in outline, above the dark of the hills.</p> + +<p>Arúna turned and looked up at him. "Too beautiful!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>He nodded, and flung out an arm. "Look there!"</p> + +<p>Low and immense—pale in the pallor of the eastern sky—the moon hung +poised above massed shadows, like a wraith escaped from the city of +death. Moment by moment, she drew light from the vanished sun. Moment by +moment, under their watching eyes, she conjured the formless dark into a +new heaven, a new earth....<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a></p> + +<p>"Would you be afraid—to stroll round a little ... with me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Afraid? I would love it—if Thea will allow." This time she did not +look up.</p> + +<p>Vincent and Thea were sitting a little farther along the balustrade; +Lance beside them, imbibing tales of Rajasthán. Flossie and her Captain +had already disappeared.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm</i> going to be frankly a Goth and flash my electric torch into holes +and corners," Lance announced as the other two came up. "I bar being +intimidated by ghosts."</p> + +<p>"We're not going to be intimidated either," said Roy, addressing himself +to Thea. "And I guarantee not to let Arúna be spirited away."</p> + +<p>Vincent shot a look at his wife. "Don't wander too far," said he.</p> + +<p>"And don't hang about too long," she added. "It'll be cold going home."</p> + +<p>Though he was standing close to her, she could say no more. But, under +cover of the dusk, her hand found his and closed on it hard.</p> + +<p>The characteristic impulse heartened him amazingly, as he followed Arúna +down the ghostly stairway, through marble cloisters into the hanging +garden, misted with moonlight, fragrant with orange trees.</p> + +<p>And now there was more than Thea's hand-clasp to uphold him. Gradually +there dawned on him a faint yet sure intimation of his mother's +presence, of her tenderly approving love—dim to his brain, yet as +sensible to his spirit as light and warmth to his body.</p> + +<p>It did not last many moments; but—as in all contact with her—the clear +after-certainty remained....</p> + +<p>Exactly what he intended to say he did not know even now. To speak the +cruel truth, yet by some means to soften the edge of it, seemed almost +impossible. But nerved by this vivid, exalted sense of her nearness, the +right moment, the right words could be trusted to come of themselves....</p> + +<p>And Arúna, walking beside him in a hushed expectancy, was remembering +that other night, so strangely far away, when they had walked alone +under the same moon, and assurance of his love had so possessed her, +<a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a>that she had very nearly broken her little chirágh. And to-night—how +different! Her very love for him, though the same, was not quite the +same. It seemed to depend not at all on nearness or response. Starved of +both, it had grown not less, but more.</p> + +<p>From a primitive passion it had become a rarefied emotional atmosphere +in which she lived and moved. And this garden of eerie lights and +shadows was saturated with it; thronged, to her fancy, with ghosts of +dead passions and intrigues, of dead Queens, in whom the twin flames of +love and courage could be quenched only by flames of the funeral pyre. +Their blood ran in her veins—and in his too. <i>That</i> closeness of +belonging none could snatch from her. About the other, she was growing +woefully uncertain, as day followed day, and still no word. Was there +trouble after all! Would he speak to-night...?</p> + +<p>They had reached a dark doorway, and he was trying the handle. It opened +inwards.</p> + +<p>"I'm keen to go a little way up the hillside," he said, forcing himself +to break a silence that was growing oppressive. "To get a sight of the +Palace with the moon full on it. We'll be cautious—not go too far."</p> + +<p>"I am ready to go anywhere," she answered; and the fervour of that +simple statement told him she was not thinking of hillsides any more +than he was—at the back of his mind.</p> + +<p>Silence was unkinder than speech; and as they passed out into the open, +he scanned the near prospect for a convenient spot. Not far above them a +fragment of ruined wall, overhung by trees, ended in a broken arch; its +lingering keystone threatened by a bird-borne acacia. A fallen slab of +stone, half under it, offered a not too distant seat. Slab and arch were +in full light; the space beyond, engulfed in shadow.</p> + +<p>Far up the hillside a jackal laughed. Across the valley another answered +it. A monkey swung from a branch on to the slab, and sat there engaged +in his toilet—a very imp of darkness.</p> + +<p>"Not be-creeped—are you?" Roy asked.</p> + +<p>"Just the littlest bit! Nice kind of creeps. I feel quite safe—with +you."</p> + +<p>The path was rough in parts. Once she stumbled and <a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a>his hand closed +lightly on her arm under the cloak. She felt safe with him—and he must +turn and smite her——!</p> + +<p>At their approach, the monkey fled with a gibbering squeak: and Roy +loosened his hold. Between them and the lake loomed the noble bulk of +the palace; roof-terraces and façades bathed in silver, splashed with +indigo shadow; but for them—mere man and woman—its imperishable +strength and beauty had suddenly become a very little thing. They +scarcely noticed it even.</p> + +<p>"There—sit," Roy said softly, and she obeyed.</p> + +<p>Her smile mutely invited him; but he could not trust himself—yet. He +might have known the moonlight would go to his head.</p> + +<p>"Arúna—my dear——" he plunged without preamble. "I took you away from +them all because—well—we can't pretend any more ... you and I. It's +fate—and there we are. I love you—dearly—truly. But...."</p> + +<p>How could one go on?</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>Roy!</i>"</p> + +<p>Her lifted gaze, her low impassioned cry told all; and before that too +clear revealing his hard-won resolution quailed.</p> + +<p>"No—not that. I don't deserve it," he broke out, lashing himself and +startling her. "I've been a rank coward—letting things drift. But +honestly I hadn't the conceit—we were cousins ... it seemed natural. +And now ... <i>this!</i>"</p> + +<p>A stupid catch in his throat arrested him. She sat motionless; never a +word.</p> + +<p>Impulsively he dropped on one knee, to be nearer, yet not too near. +"Arúna—I don't know how to say it. The fact is ... they were afraid, at +Home, if I came out here, I might—it might ... Well, just what's come +to us," he blurted out in desperation. "And Mother told me frankly—it +mustn't be, twice running ... like that." Her stillness dismayed him. +"Dear," he urged tenderly, "you see their difficulty—you understand?"</p> + +<p>"I am trying—to understand." Her voice was small and contained. The +courage and control of it unsteadied him more than any passionate +protest. Yet he hurried on in the same low tone.<a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a></p> + +<p>"Of course, I ought to have thought. But, as I say, it seemed +natural.... Only—on Dewáli night——"</p> + +<p>She caught her breath. "Yes—Dewáli night. Mai Lakshmi knew. <i>Why</i> did +you not say it <i>then?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Well ... so soon—I wasn't sure ... I hoped going away might give us +both a chance. It seemed the best I could do," he pleaded. "And—there +was Dyán. I'm not vamping up excuses, Arúna. If you hate me for hurting +you so——"</p> + +<p>"Roy—you <i>shall</i> not say it!" she cried, roused at last. "Could I hate +... the heart in my own body!"</p> + +<p>"Better for us both perhaps if you could!" he jerked out, rising +abruptly, not daring to let the full force of her confession sink in. +"But—because of my father, I promised. No getting over that."</p> + +<p>She was silent:—a silence more moving, more compelling than speech. Was +she wondering—had he not promised...? Was he certain himself? Near +enough to swear by; and the impulse to comfort her was overwhelming.</p> + +<p>"If—if things had been different, Arúna," he added with grave +tenderness, "of course I would be asking you now ... to be my wife."</p> + +<p>At that, the tension of her control seemed to snap; and hiding her face, +she sat there shaken all through with muffled, broken-hearted sobs.</p> + +<p>"Don't—oh, <i>don't!</i>" he cried low, his own nerves quivering with her +pain.</p> + +<p>"How can I <i>not</i>" she wailed, battling with fresh sobs. "Because of your +Indian mother—I hoped.... But for me—England-returned—no hope +anywhere: no true country now; no true belief; no true home; everything +divided in two; only my heart—not divided. And that you cannot have, +even if you would——"</p> + +<p>Tears threatened again. It was all he could do not to take her in his +arms.</p> + +<p>"If—if they would only leave me alone," she went on, clenching her +small hands to steady herself. "But impossible to change all the laws of +our religion for one worthless me. They will insist I shall marry—even +Dyán; and I cannot—I <i>cannot</i>——!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the chance and +the hour and the grave tenderness <a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a>of his assurance. No time for +shrinking or doubt. Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her +cloak—that had come unlinked—dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a +slim strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds.</p> + +<p>"Roy—<i>Dilkusha!</i>" Involuntarily her hands went out to him. "If it is +true ... you are caring—and if I must not belong to you, there is a way +<i>you</i> can belong to me without trouble for any one. If—if we make +pledge of betrothal ... for this one night, if you hold me this one hour +... I am safe. For me that pledge would be sacred—as marriage, because +I am still Hindu. Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins—not worthy to +be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always <i>Swami +Bakht</i>—worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my heart."</p> + +<p>And Roy stood before her—motionless; stirred all through by the thrill +of her exalted passion, of her strange appeal. The pathos—the nobility +of it—swept him a little off his feet. It seemed as if, till to-night, +he had scarcely known her. The Eastern in him said, 'Accept.' The +Englishman demurred—'Unfair on her.'</p> + +<p>"My dear——" he said—"I can refuse you nothing. But—is it right? You +<i>should</i> marry——"</p> + +<p>"Don't trouble your mind for me," she murmured; and her eyes never left +his face. "If I keep out of purdah, becoming Brahmo Samaj ... +perhaps——" She drew in her full lower lip to steady it. "But the +marriage of arrangement—I cannot. I have read too many English books, +thought too many English thoughts. And I know in here"—one clenched +hand smote her breast—"that now I could <i>not</i> give my body and life to +any man, unless heart and mind are given too. And for me.... Must I tell +all? It is not only these few weeks. It is years and years...." Her +voice broke.</p> + +<p>"Arúna! Dearest one——"</p> + +<p>He opened his arms to her—and she was on his breast. Close and tenderly +he held her, putting a strong constraint on himself lest her ecstasy of +surrender should bear down all his defences. To fail her like this was a +bitter thing: and as her arms stole up round his neck, he instinctively +tightened his hold. So yielding she was, so unsubstantial....<a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a></p> + +<p>And suddenly a rush of memory wafted him from the moonlit hillside to +the drawing-room at Home. It was his mother he held against his +breast:—the silken draperies, the clinging arms, the yielding softness, +the unyielding courage at the core....</p> + +<p>So vivid, so poignant was the lightning gleam of illusion, that when it +passed he felt dizzy, as if his body had been swept in the wake of his +spirit, a thousand leagues and back: dizzy, yet, in some mysterious +fashion, reinforced—assured....</p> + +<p>He knew now that his defences would hold....</p> + +<p>And Arúna, utterly at rest in his arms, knew it also. He loved her—oh +yes, truly—as much as he said and more; but instinct told her there +lacked ... just something; something that would have set him—and +her—on fire, and perhaps have made renunciation unthinkable. Her acute, +instinctive sense of it, hurt like the edge of a knife pressed on her +heart; yet just enabled her to bear the unbearable. Had it been +...<i>that</i> way, to lose him were utter loss. This way—there would be no +losing. What she had now, she would keep—whether his bodily presence +were with her or no——</p> + +<p>Next minute, she dropped from the heights. Fire ran in her veins. His +lips were on her forehead.</p> + +<p>"The seal of betrothal," he whispered. "My brave Arúna——"</p> + +<p>Without a word she put up her face like a child; but it was very woman +who yielded her lips to his....</p> + +<p>For her, in that supreme moment, the years that were past and the years +that were to come seemed gathered into a burnt-offering—laid on his +shrine. For her, that long kiss held much of passion—confessed yet +transcended; more of sacredness, inexpressible, because it would never +come again—with him or any other man. She vowed it silently to her own +heart....</p> + +<p>Again far up the hillside a jackal laughed; another and another—as if +in derision. She shivered; and he loosed his hold, still keeping an arm +round her. To-night they were betrothed. He owed her all he had the +right to give.</p> + +<p>"Your cloak. You'll catch your death...." He stopped short—and flung up +his head. "What was that? There—again—in those trees——"<a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a></p> + +<p>"Some monkey perhaps," she whispered, startled by his look and tone.</p> + +<p>"Hush—listen!" His grip tightened and they stood rigidly still, Roy +straining every nerve to locate those stealthy sounds. They were almost +under the arch; strong mellow light on one side, nethermost darkness on +the other. And from all sides the large unheeded night seemed to close +in on them—threatening, full of hidden danger.</p> + +<p>Presently the sounds came again, unmistakably nearer; faint rustlings +and creakings, then a distinct crumbling, as of loosened earth and +stones. The shadowy plumes of acacia that crowned the arch stirred +perceptibly, though no breeze was abroad:—and not the acacia only. To +Arúna's excited fancy it seemed that the loose upper stones of the arch +itself moved ever so slightly. But <i>was</i> it fancy? No—there again——!</p> + +<p>And before the truth dawned on Roy, she had pushed him with all her +force, so vehemently that he stumbled backward and let go of her.</p> + +<p>Before he recovered himself, down crashed two large stones and a shower +of small ones—on Arúna, not on him. With a stifled scream she tottered +and fell, knocking her head against the slab of rock.</p> + +<p>Instantly he was on his knees beside her; stanching the cut on her +forehead, binding it with his handkerchief; consumed with rage and +concern;—rage at himself and the dastardly intruder,—no monkey, that +was certain.</p> + +<p>His quick ear caught the stealthy rustling again, lower down; and, +yes—unmistakably—a human sound, like a stifled exclamation of dismay.</p> + +<p>"Arúna—I <i>must</i> get at that devil," he whispered. "Does your head feel +better? Dare I leave you a moment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—oh yes," she whispered back. "Nothing will harm me. Only take +care—please take care."</p> + +<p>Hastily he made a pillow of his overcoat and covered her with the cloak; +then, stooping down, he kissed her fervently—and was gone.<a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVC" id="CHAPTER_XVC"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Then I was rapt"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Then was I rapt away by the impulse, one</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Immeasurable ... wave of a need</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">To abolish that detested life."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Browning</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Lithe and noiseless as a cat, Roy crept through the archway into outer +darkness. It was hateful leaving Arúna; but rage at her hurt and the +primitive instinct of pursuit were not to be denied. And she <i>might</i> +have been killed. And she had done it for him:—coals of fire, indeed! +Also, the others would be getting anxious. Let him only catch that +mysterious skulker, and he could shout across to the Palace roof. They +would hear.</p> + +<p>Close under the wall he waited, all the scout in him alert. The cautious +rustlings drew stealthily nearer; ceased, for a few tantalising seconds; +then, out of the massed shadows, there crept a moving shadow.</p> + +<p>Roy's spring was calculated to a nicety; but the thing swerved sharply +and fled up the rough hillside. There followed a ghostly chase, unreal +as a nightmare, lit up by the moon's deceptive brilliance; the earth, an +unstable welter of light and darkness, shifting under his feet.</p> + +<p>The fleeing shade was agile; and plainly familiar with the ground. +Baulked, and lured steadily farther from Arúna, all the Rajput flamed in +Roy. During those mad moments he was capable of murdering the unknown +with his hands....</p> + +<p>Suddenly, blessedly, the thing stumbled and dropped to its knees. With +the spring of a panther, he was on it, his angers at its throat, pinning +it to earth. The choking cry moved him not at all:—and suddenly the +moonlight showed him the face of Chandranath, mingled hate and terror in +the starting eyes....<a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a></p> + +<p>Amazed beyond measure, he unconsciously relaxed his grip. "<i>You</i>—is +it?—you devil!"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Chandranath had had the wit to wriggle almost clear +of him;—almost, not quite. Roy's pounce was worthy of his Rajput +ancestors; and next moment they were locked in a silent, purposeful +embrace....</p> + +<p>But Roy's brain was cooler now. Sanity had returned. He could still have +choked the life out of the man, without compunction. But he did not +choose to embroil himself, or his people, on account of anything so +contemptible as the creature that was writhing and scratching in his +grasp. He simply wanted to secure him and hand him over to the Jaipur +authorities, who had several scores up against him.</p> + +<p>But Chandranath, though not skilled, had the ready cunning of the lesser +breeds. With a swift unexpected move, he tripped Roy up so that he +nearly fell backward; and, in a supreme effort to keep his balance, +unconsciously loosened his hold. This time, Chandranath slipped free of +him; and, in the act, pushed him so violently that he staggered and came +down among sharp broken stones with one foot twisted under him. When he +would have sprung up, a stab of pain in his ankle told him he was done +for....</p> + +<p>The sheer ignominy of it enraged him; and he was still further enraged +by the proceedings of the victor, who sprang nimbly out of reach on to a +fragment of buttressed wall, whence he let fly a string of abusive +epithets nicely calculated to touch up Roy's pride and temper and goad +him to helpless fury.</p> + +<p>But if his ankle was crippled, his brain was not. While Chandranath +indulged his pent-up spite, Roy was feeling stealthily, purposefully, in +the semi-darkness, for the sharpest chunk of stone he could lay hands +on; a chunk warranted to hurt badly, if nothing more. The strip of +shadow against the sky made an admirable target; and Roy's move, when it +came, was swift, his aim unerring.</p> + +<p>Somewhere about the head or shoulders it took effect: a yell of rage and +pain assured him of that, as his target vanished on the far side of the +wall.<a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a></p> + +<p>Had he jumped or fallen? And what did the damage amount to? Roy would +have given a good deal to know; but he had neither time nor power to +investigate. Nothing for it but to crawl back, and shout to Arúna, when +he got within hail.</p> + +<p>It was an undignified performance. His twisted ankle stabbed like a +knife, and never failed to claim acquaintance with every obstacle in its +path. Presently, to his immense relief, the darkness ahead was raked by +a restless light, zigzagging like a giant glow-worm.</p> + +<p>"Lance—ahoy!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>"Righto!" Lance sang out; and the glow-worm waggled a welcome.</p> + +<p>Another shout from the Palace roof, answered in concert; and the mad, +bad dream was over. He was back in the world of realities; on his feet +again—one foot, to be exact—supported by Desmond's arm; pouring out +his tale.</p> + +<p>Lance already knew part of it. He had found Arúna and was hurrying on to +find Roy. "Your cousin's got the pluck of a Rajput," he concluded. "But +she seems a bit damaged. The left arm's broken, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>Roy cursed freely. "Wish to God I could make sure if I've sent that +skunk to blazes."</p> + +<p>"Just as well you can't, perhaps. If your shot took effect, he won't be +off in a hurry. The police can nip out when we get back."</p> + +<p>"Look here—keep it dark till I've seen Dyán. If Chandranath's nabbed, +he'll want to be in it. Only fair!"</p> + +<p>Lance chuckled. "What an unholy pair you are!—By the way, I fancy +Martin's pulled it off with Miss Flossie. I tumbled across them in the +hanging garden. You left that door open. Gave me the tip you might be +out on the loose."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Desmond's surmise proved correct. Arúna's left arm was broken above the +elbow: a simple fracture, but it hurt a good deal. Thea, in charge of +'the wounded,' eased them both as best she could, during the long drive +home. But Arúna, still in her exalted mood, counted mere pain a little +thing, when Roy, under cover of the <a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>cloak, found her cold right hand +and cherished it in his warm one nearly all the way.</p> + +<p>No one paid much heed to Martin and Flossie, who felt privately annoyed +with 'the native cousin' for putting her nose out of joint. Defrauded of +her due importance, she told her complacent lover they must 'save up the +news till to-morrow.' Meantime, they rode, very much at leisure, behind +the barouche;—and no one troubled about them at all.</p> + +<p>Lance and Vincent, having cantered on ahead, called in for Miss Hammond +and left word at Sir Lakshman's house that Arúna had met with a slight +accident; and would he and her brother come out to the Residency after +dinner?</p> + +<p>Before the meal was over, they arrived. Miss Hammond was upstairs +attending to Arúna; and Sir Lakshman joined them without ceremony, +leaving Dyán alone with Roy, who was nursing his ankle in an arm-chair +near the drawing-room fire.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes of intimate talk he heard the essential facts, with +reservations; and Roy had never felt more closely akin to him than on +that evening. Rajput chivalry is no mere tradition. It is vital and +active as ever it was. Insult or injury to a woman is sternly avenged; +and the offender is lucky if he escapes the extreme penalty. Roy frankly +hoped he had inflicted it himself. But for Dyán surmise was not enough. +He would not eat nor sleep till he had left his own mark on the man who +had come near killing his sister—most sacred being to him, who had +neither wife nor mother.</p> + +<p>"The delicate attention was meant for me, you know," Roy reminded him; +simply from a British impulse to give the devil his due.</p> + +<p>"Tcha!" Dyán's thumb and finger snapped like a toy pistol. "No +law-courts talk for me. You were so close together. He took the risk. By +Indra, he won't take any more such risks if I get at him! You said we +would not see him here. But no doubt he has been hanging round Amber, +making what mischief he can. He must have heard your party was coming, +and got sneaking round for a chance to score off you. Young Ramanund, +priest of Kali's shrine, is one of those he has made his tool, the way +he made me. If he is in<a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a> Amber, I shall find him. You can take your oath +on that." He stood up, straight and virile, instinct with purpose as a +drawn sword. "I am going now, Roy. But not <i>one word</i> to any soul. +Grandfather and Arúna only need to know I am trying to find who toppled +those stones. I shall not succeed. That is all:—except for you and me. +Bijli, Son of Lightning, will take me full gallop to Amber. First thing +in the morning, I will come—and make my report."</p> + +<p>"But look here—Lance knows——"</p> + +<p>"Well, your Lance can suppose he got away. We could trust him, I don't +doubt. But what is known to more than two, will in time be known to a +hundred. For myself, I don't trouble. Among Rajputs the penalty would be +slight. But this thing must be kept between you and me—because of +Arúna."</p> + +<p>Roy held out his hand. Dyán's fingers closed on it like taut strips of +steel. Unmistakably the real Dyán Singh had shed the husks of +scholarship and politics and come into his own again.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't care to have those at my throat!" remarked Roy, pensively +considering the streaks on his own hand.</p> + +<p>"Some Germans didn't care for it—in France," said Dyán coolly. "But +now——" He scowled at his offending left arm. "I hope—very soon ... +never mind. No more talking ... poison gas!" And with a flash of white +teeth—he was gone.</p> + +<p>Roy, left staring into the fire, followed him in imagination, speeding +through the silent city out into the region of skulls and eye-sockets—a +flying shadow in the moonlight with murder in its heart....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Within an hour, that flying shadow was outside the gateway of Amber, +startling the doorkeepers from sleep; murder, not only in its heart, but +tucked securely in its belt. No 'law-courts talk' for one of his breed; +no nice adjustment of penalty to offence; no concern as to possible +consequences. The Rajput, with his blood up, is daring to the point of +recklessness; deaf to puerile promptings of prudence or mercy; a sword, +seeking its victim; insatiate till the thrust has gone home.</p> + +<p>And, in justice to Dyán Singh, it should be added that <a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a>there was more +than Arúna in his mind. There was India—increasingly at the mercy of +Chandranath and his kind. The very blindness of his earlier obsession +had intensified the effect of his awakening. Roy's devoted daring, his +grandfather's mellow wisdom, had worked in his fiery soul more +profoundly than they knew: and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, +an act of expiation. At the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would +unhesitatingly have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi—the sane, +strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on the few +occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law of God or man, +then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this snake under his heel?</p> + +<p>One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind. The son of a +jackal should know who struck him. He should taste fear, before he +tasted death. And then—the Lake, that would never give up its secret or +its dead. Siri Chandranath would disappear from his world, like a stone +flung into a river; and India would be a cleaner place without him.</p> + +<p>He knew himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But—tcha! the man +was a coward. Let the gods but deliver his victim into that one +purposeful hand of his—and the end was sure.</p> + +<p>Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered him +securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted creature +nuzzled against him, as who should say, 'What need of speech between me +and thee'? Then—following Roy's directions—he made his way cautiously +up the hillside, where the arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath +had been injured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far.</p> + +<p>His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed. The +guardian gods of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For there, on the +fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its head in its hands.</p> + +<p>"Must have been stunned," he thought. Patently the gods were with him. +Had he been an Englishman, the man's hurt would probably have baulked +him of his purpose. But Dyán Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the +sportman's code of morals. He was frankly out <a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>to kill. His brain worked +swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed....</p> + +<p>Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on its prey: +the long knife gripped securely in his teeth. Before Chandranath came to +his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his throat, stifling the yell +of terror at Roy's supposed return....</p> + +<p>The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes Dyán had his man +down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful knees, that his one +available hand might be free to strike. Then, in a low fierce rush, he +spoke: "Yes—it is I—Dyán Singh. You told me often—strike, for the +Mother. 'Who kills the body kills naught.' I strike for the Mother +<i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>Once—twice—the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing between his +knees was still.</p> + +<p>He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the shore of the +Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp burden slung over his +shoulder. But his imagination did not run riot, like Roy's: and no +qualms of conscience perturbed his soul. He had avenged, tenfold, +Arúna's injury. He had expiated, in drastic fashion, his own aberration +from sanity. It was enough.</p> + +<p>The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted with +stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur, the Lake would +utter no sound....<a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIC" id="CHAPTER_XVIC"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="So let him journey"> +<tr><td align='left'>"So let him journey through his earthly day:</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride—</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">He, every moment, still unsatisfied."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Faust</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<p>Next morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on the edge +of his bed; cautiously, circumstantially, telling him all. Roy, as he +listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer impetus of the +thing; and again he felt—as once or twice in Delhi—what centuries +apart they were, though related, and almost of an age.</p> + +<p>"This will be only between you and me, Roy—for always," Dyán concluded +gravely. "Not because I have any shame for killing that snake; but—as I +said ... because of Arúna——"</p> + +<p>"Trust me," said Roy. "Amber Lake and I don't blab. There'll be a nine +days' mystery over his disappearance. Then his lot will set up some +other tin god—and promptly forget all about him."</p> + +<p>"Let us follow their example, in that at least!" Grim humour nickered in +Dyán's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the proffered case. "You +gave me my chance. I have taken it—like a Rajput. Now we have other +things to do."</p> + +<p>Roy smiled. "That's about the size of it—from your sane, barbaric +standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do. As soon as this +blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to get at some of the +thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay; educated Indian men and +women, who honestly believe that India is moving towards a national +unity that will transcend all antagonism of race and creed. I can't <a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a>see +it myself; but I've an open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur—'last, +loneliest, loveliest, apart'—to knock my novel into shape before I go +North. And <i>you</i>——?" He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin. +"Sure you're safe not to erupt again?"</p> + +<p>"Safe as houses—thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can be orthodox +Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I would like to join +'Servants of India' Society; and work for the Mother among those who +accept British connection as India's God-given destiny. In no other way +will I work again—to 'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps——" +he hesitated, averting his eyes—"to take vows of celibacy——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dyán!</i>" Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had almost +forgotten that side of things. Right or wrong—a tribute to Tara indeed! +It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed him.</p> + +<p>"Unfair on Grandfather," he said with decision. "For every reason, you +ought to marry—an enlightened wife. Think—of Arúna."</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> think of her. It is <i>she</i> who ought to marry."</p> + +<p>The emphasis was not lost on Roy:—and it hurt. Last night's poignant +scene was intimately with him still. "I'm afraid you won't persuade her +to," he said in a contained voice.</p> + +<p>"I am quite aware of <i>that</i>. And the reason—even a blind man could not +fail to see."</p> + +<p>They looked straight at one another for a long moment. Roy did not +swerve from the implied accusation.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's no fault of mine, Dyán," he said, recalling Arúna's +confession that tacitly freed him from blame. "<i>She</i> +understands—there's a bigger thing between us than our mere selves. +Whatever I'm free to do for her, I'll gladly do—always. It was chiefly +to ease her poor heart that I risked the Delhi adventure. I felt I had +lost the link with <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Not surprising." Dyán smoked for a few minutes in silence. He was +clearly moved by the fine frankness of Roy's attitude. "All the same," +he said at last, "it was not quite broken. You have given me new life; +and because you did it—for her, I swear to you, as long as she needs +me, I will not fail her." He held out his hand. Roy's closed on it +hard.<a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a></p> + +<p>"Later in the morning I will come back and see her," Dyán added, in a +changed voice—and went out.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Later in the morning, Roy himself was allowed to see her. With the help +of his stick he limped to her verandah balcony, where she lay in a long +chair, with cushions and rugs, the poor arm in a sling. Thea was with +her. She had heard as much of last night's doings as any one would ever +know. So she felt justified in letting the poor dears have half an hour +together.</p> + +<p>Her withdrawal was tactfully achieved; but there followed an awkward +silence. For the space of several minutes it seemed that neither of the +'poor dears' knew quite what to make of their privilege, though they +were appreciating it from their hearts.</p> + +<p>Roy found himself too persistently aware of the arm that had been broken +to save him; of the new bond between them, signed and sealed by that one +unforgettable kiss.</p> + +<p>As for Arúna—while pain anchored her body to earth, her unstable heart +swayed disconcertingly from heights of rarefied content, to depths of +shyness. Things she had said and done, on that far-away hillside, seemed +unbelievable, remembered in her familiar balcony with a daylight mind: +and fear lest he might be 'thinking it that way too' increased shyness +tenfold. Yet it was she who spoke first, after all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it makes me angry ... to see you—like that," she said, indicating +his ankle with a faint movement of her hand.</p> + +<p>Roy quietly took possession of the hand and pressed it to his lips.</p> + +<p>"How do you suppose <i>I</i> feel, seeing <i>you</i> like that!" Words and act +dispelled her foolish fears. "Did you sleep? Does it hurt much?"</p> + +<p>"Only if I forget and try to move. But what matter? Every time it hurts, +I feel proud because that feeble arm was able to push you out of the +way."</p> + +<p>"You've every right to feel proud. You nearly knocked me over!"</p> + +<p>A mischievous smile crept into her eyes. "I am afraid ... I was very +rude!"</p> + +<p>"That's <i>one</i> way of putting it!" His grave tender<a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>ness warmed her like +sunshine. He leaned nearer; his hand grasped the arm of her long chair. +"You were a very wonderful Arúna last night. And—you are going to be +more wonderful still. Working with Dyán, you are going to help make my +dream come true—of India finding herself again by her own genius, along +her own lines——"</p> + +<p>He had struck the right note. Her face lit up as he had hoped to see it. +"Oh, Roy—can I really——? Will Dyán help? Will he <i>let</i> me——"</p> + +<p>"Of course he will. And I'll be helping too—in my own fashion. We'll +never lose touch, Arúna; though India's your destiny and England's mine. +Never say again you have no true country. Like me, you have two +countries—one very dear; one supreme. I'm afraid there are terrible +days coming out here. And in those days every one of you who honestly +loves England—every one of <i>us</i> who honestly loves India—will count in +the scale ..."</p> + +<p>He paused; and she drew a deep breath. "Oh—how you <i>see</i> things! It is +you who are wonderful, Roy. I can think and feel the big things in my +heart. But for doing them—I am, after all, only a woman...."</p> + +<p>"An <i>Indian</i> woman," he emphasised, his eyes on hers. "I know—and you +know—what that means. You have not yet bartered away your magical +influence for a mess of pottage. Because of one Indian woman—supreme +for me; and now ... because of another, they all have a special claim on +my heart. If India has not gone too far down the wrong road, it is by +the <i>true</i> Swadeshi spirit of her women she may yet be saved. <i>They</i>, at +any rate, don't reckon progress by counting factory chimneys or seats on +councils. And every seed—good or bad—is sown first in the home. Get at +the women, Arúna—the home ones—and tell them that. It's not only <i>my</i> +dream; it was—my mother's. You don't know how she loved and believed in +you all. I think she never <i>quite</i> understood the other kind. The longer +she lived among them, the more she craved for all of you to remain true +women—in the full sense, not the narrow one——"</p> + +<p>He had never yet spoken so frankly and freely of that <a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a>dear lost mother; +and Arúna knew it for the highest compliment he could pay her. Truly his +generous heart was giving her all that his jealous household gods would +permit....</p> + +<p>Thea—stepping softly through the inner room—caught a sentence or two; +caught a glimpse of Roy's finely-cut profile; of Arúna's eyes intent on +his face; and she smiled very tenderly to herself. It was so exactly +like Roy; and such constancy of devotion went straight to her +mother-heart. So too—with a sharper pang—did the love hunger in +Arúna's eyes.</p> + +<p>The puzzle of these increasing race complications——! The tragedy and +the pity of it...!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Lance travelled North that night with a mind at ease. Roy had assured +him that the moment his ankle permitted he would leave Jaipur and 'give +the bee in his bonnet an airing' elsewhere. That assurance proved easier +to give than to act upon, when the moment came. The Jaipur Residency had +come to seem almost like home. And the magnet of home drew all that was +Eastern in Roy. It was the British blood in his veins that drove him +afield. Though India was his objective, England was the impelling force. +His true home seemed hundreds of miles away, in more senses than one. +His union with Rajputana—set with the seal of that sacred and beautiful +experience at Chitor—seemed, in his present mood, the more vital of the +two.</p> + +<p>And there was Lance up in the Punjab—a magnet as strong as any, when +the masculine element prevailed. Yet again, some inner irresistible +impulse obliged him to break away from them all. It was one of those +inevitable moments when the dual forces within pulled two ways; when he +felt envious exceedingly of Lance Desmond's sane and single-minded +attitude towards men and things. One couldn't picture Lance a prey to +the ignominious sensation that half of him wanted to go one way and half +of him another way. At this juncture, half of himself felt a confounded +fool for not going back to the Punjab and enjoying a friendly sociable +cold weather among his father's people. The other half felt impelled to +probe deeper into the complexities of changing India, to confirm and +impart his belief that <a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a>the destinies of England and India were one and +indivisible. After all, India stood where she did to-day by virtue of +what England had made her. He refused to believe that even the insidious +disintegrating process of democracy could dissolve—in a brief fever of +unrest—links forged and welded in the course of a hundred years.</p> + +<p>In that case, argued his practical half, why this absurd inner sense of +responsibility for great issues over which he could have no shadow of +control? What was the earthly use of it—this large window in his soul, +opening on to the world's complexities and conflicts; not allowing him +to say comfortably, 'They are not.' His opal-tinted dreams of +interpreting East to West had suffered a change of complexion since +Oxford days. His large vague aspirations of service had narrowed down, +inevitably, to a few definite personal issues. Action involves +limitation—as the picture involves the frame. Dreams must descend to +earth—or remain unfruitful. It might be a little, or a great matter, +that he had managed to set two human fragments of changing India on the +right path—so far as he could discern it. The fruits of that modest +beginning only the years could reveal....</p> + +<p>Then there was this precious novel simmering at the back of things; his +increasing desire to get away alone with the ghostly company that +haunted his brain. As the mother-to-be feels the new life mysteriously +moving within her, so he began to feel within him the first stirrings of +his own creative power. Already his poems and essays had raised +expectations and secured attention for other things he wanted to say. +And there seemed no end to them. He had hardly yet begun his mental +adventures. Pressing forward, through sense, to the limitless regions of +mind and spirit, new vistas would open, new paths lure him on....</p> + +<p>That first bewildering, intoxicating sense of power is good—while it +lasts; none the less, because, in the nature of things, it is foredoomed +to disillusion—greater or less, according to the authenticity of the +god within.</p> + +<p>Whatever the outcome for Roy, that passing exaltation eased appreciably +the pang of parting from them all. And it was responsible for a happy +inspiration.<a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a> Rummaging among his papers, on the eve of departure, he +came upon the sketch of India that he had written in Delhi and refrained +from sending to Arúna. Intrinsically it was hers; inspired by her. +Also—intrinsically it was good: and straightway he decided she should +have it for a parting gift.</p> + +<p>Beautifully copied out, and tied up with carnation-pink ribbons, he +reserved it for their last few moments together. She was still such a +child in some ways. The small surprise of his gift might ease the pang +of parting. It was a woman's thought. But the woman-strain of tenderness +was strong in Roy, as in all true artists.</p> + +<p>She was standing near the fire in her own sitting-room, wearing the pink +dress and sari, her arm still in a sling. Last words, those desperate +inanities—buffers between the heart and its own emotion—are difficult +things to bring off in any case; peculiarly difficult for these two, +with that unreal, yet intensely actual, bond between them; and Roy felt +more than grateful to the inspiration that gave him something definite +to say.</p> + +<p>Instantly her eyes were on it—wondering ... guessing....</p> + +<p>"It's a little thing I wrote in Delhi," he said simply. "I couldn't send +it to Jeffers. It seemed—to belong to you. So I thought——" He +proffered it, feeling absurdly shy of it—and of her.</p> + +<p>"Oh—but it is too much!" Holding it with her sling hand, she opened it +with the other and devoured it eagerly under his watching eyes. By the +changes that flitted across her face, by the tremor of her lips and her +hands, as she pressed it to her heart, he knew he could have given her +no dearer treasure than that fragment of himself. And because he knew +it, he felt tongue-tied; tempted beyond measure to kiss her once again.</p> + +<p>If she divined his thought, she kept her lashes lowered and gave no +sign.</p> + +<p>He hoped she knew....</p> + +<p>But before either could break the spell of silence that held them, Thea +returned; and their moment—their idyll—was over....</p> + +<h4>END OF PHASE III.</h4> +<p><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHASE_IV" id="PHASE_IV"></a>PHASE IV.</h2> + +<h2>DUST OF THE ACTUAL</h2> +<p><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ID" id="CHAPTER_ID"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It's no use trying to keep out of things. The moment they want to + put you in—you're in. The moment you're born, you're done + for."—<span class='smcap'>Hugh Walpole.</span></p></div> + + +<p>The middle of March found Roy back in the Punjab, sharing a ramshackle +bungalow with Lance and two of his brother officers; good fellows, both, +in their diametrically opposite fashions; but superfluous—from Roy's +point of view. When he wanted a quiet 'confab' with Lance, one or both +were sure to come strolling in and hang round, jerking out aimless +remarks. When he wanted a still quieter 'confab' with his maturing +novel, their voices and footsteps echoed too clearly in the verandahs +and the scantily furnished rooms. But did he venture to grumble at these +minor drawbacks, Lance would declare he was demoralised by floating +loose in an Earthly Paradise and becoming a mere appendage to a pencil.</p> + +<p>There was a measure of truth in the last. As a matter of fact, after two +months of uninterrupted work at Udaipur, Roy had unwarily hinted at a +risk of becoming embedded in his too congenial surroundings;—and that +careless admission had sealed his fate.</p> + +<p>Lance Desmond, with his pointed phrase, had virtually dug him out of his +chosen retreat; had written temptingly of the 'last of the polo,' of +prime pig-sticking at Kapurthala, of the big Gymkhana that was to wind +up the season:—a rare chance for Roy to exhibit his horsemanship. And +again, in more serious mood, he had written of increasing anxiety over +his Sikhs with that 'infernal agitation business' on the increase, and +an unbridled native press shouting sedition from the house-tops. A nice +state of chaos India was coming to! He hoped to goodness they wouldn't +be swindled out of <a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a>their leave; but Roy had better 'roll up' soon, so +as to be on the spot, in case of ructions; not packed away in +cotton-wool down there.</p> + +<p>A few letters in this vein had effectually rent the veil of illusion +that shielded Roy from aggressive actualities. In Udaipur there had been +no hysterical press; no sedition flaunting on the house-tops. One hadn't +arrived at the twentieth century, even. Except for a flourishing +hospital, a few hideous modern interiors, and a Resident—who was very +good friends with Vinx—one stepped straight back into the leisurely, +colourful, frankly brutal life of the middle ages. And Roy had fallen a +willing victim to the charms of Udaipur:—her white palaces, white +temples, and white landing-stages, flanked with marble elephants, +embosomed in wooded hills, and reflected in the blue untroubled depths +of the Pichóla Lake. Immersed in his novel, he had not known a dull or +lonely hour in that enchanted backwater of Rajasthán.</p> + +<p>His large vague plans for getting in touch with the thoughtful elements +of Calcutta and Bombay had yielded to the stronger magnetism of beauty +and art. Like his father, he hated politics; and Westernised India is +nothing if not political. It was a true instinct that warned him to keep +clear of that muddy stream, and render his mite of service to India in +the exercise of his individual gift. That would be in accord with one of +his mother's wise and tender sayings: (his memory was jewelled with +them) "Look always first at your own gifts. They are sign-posts, +pointing the road to your true line of service." Could he but +immortalise the measure of her spirit that was in him, that were true +service to India—and more than India. There are men created for action. +There are men created to inspire action. And the world has equal need of +both.</p> + +<p>He had things to say on paper that would take him all his time; and +Udaipur had metaphorically opened her arms to him. The Resident and his +wife had been more than kind. He had his books; his cool, lofty rooms in +the Guest House; his own private boat on the Lake; and freedom to go his +own unfettered way at all hours of the day or night. There the simmering +novel had begun to move with a life of its own; and while that <a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a>state of +being endured, nothing else mattered much in earth or heaven.</p> + +<p>For seven weeks he had worked at it without interruption; and for seven +weeks he had been happy: companioned by the vivid creatures of his +brain; and, better still, by a quickened undersense of his mother's +vital share in the 'blossom and fruit of his life.' The danger of +becoming embedded had been no myth: and at the back of his brain there +had lurked a superstitious reluctance to break the spell.</p> + +<p>But Lance was Lance: no one like him. Moreover, he had known well enough +that anticipation of breakers ahead was no fanciful nightmare; but a +sane corrective to the ostrich policy of those who had sown the evil +seed and were trying to say of the fruit—'It is not.' Letters from +Dyán, and spasmodic devouring of newspapers, kept him alive to the +sinister activities of the larger world outside. News from Bombay grew +steadily more disquieting:—strikes and riots, fomented by agitators, +who lied shamelessly about the nature of the new Bills—; hostile crowds +and insults to Englishwomen. Dyán more than hinted that if the +threatened outbreak were not resolutely crushed at the start, it might +prove a far-reaching affair; and Roy had not the slightest desire to +find himself 'packed away in cotton-wool,' miles from the scene of +action. Clearly Lance wanted him. He might be useful on the spot. And +that settled the matter.</p> + +<p>Impossible to leave so much loveliness, such large drafts of peace and +leisure, without a pang; but—the wrench over—he was well content to +find himself established in this ramshackle bachelor bungalow, back +again with Lance and his music—very much in evidence just now—and the +two superfluous good fellows, whom he liked well enough in homoeopathic +doses. Especially he liked Jack Meredith, cousin of the Desmonds;—a +large and simple soul, gravely absorbed in pursuing balls and tent-pegs +and 'pig'; impervious to feminine lures; equally impervious to the +caustic wit of his diametrical opposite, Captain James Barnard, who +eased his private envy by christening him 'Don Juan.' For Meredith +fatally attracted women; and Barnard—cultured, cynical, Cambridge—was +as fatally susceptible to them as a <a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a>trout to a May-fly; but, for some +unfathomable reason they would not; and in Anglo-India a man could not +hide his failures under a bushel. Lance classified him comprehensively +as 'one of the War lot'; liked him, and was sorry for him, +although—perhaps because—he was 'no soldier.'</p> + +<p>Roy also liked him; and enjoyed verbal fencing-bouts with him when the +mood was on. Still he would have preferred, beyond measure, the Kohat +arrangement, with the Colonel for an unobtrusive third.</p> + +<p>But the Colonel, these days, had a bungalow to himself; a bungalow in +process of being furnished by no means on bachelor lines. For the +unbelievable had come to pass——! And the whole affair had been carried +through in his own inimitable fashion, without so much as a tell-tale +ripple on the surface of things. Quite unobtrusively, at Kohat, he had +made friends with the General's daughter—a dark-haired slip of a girl, +with the blood of distinguished Frontier soldiers in her veins. Quite +unobtrusively—during Christmas week—he had laid his heart and the +Regiment at her feet. Quite unobtrusively, he proposed to marry her in +April, when the leave season opened, and carry her off to Kashmir.</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> the way it goes with <i>some</i> people," said Lance, the first +time he spoke of it; and Roy fancied he detected a wistful note in his +voice.</p> + +<p>"That's the way it'll go with you, old man," he had retorted. "I'm the +one that will have to look out for squalls!"</p> + +<p>Lance had merely smiled and said nothing:—the reception he usually +accorded to personal remarks. And, at the moment, Roy thought no more of +the matter.</p> + +<p>Their first good week of polo and riding and generally fooling round +together had quickened his old allegiance to Lance, his newer allegiance +to the brotherhood of action. He possessed no more enviable talent than +his many-sided zest for life.</p> + +<p>Lance himself seemed in an unusually social mood. So of course Roy must +submit to being bowled round in the new dog-cart and introduced to +special friends, in cantonments and Lahore, including the Deputy +Commissioner's wife and good-looking eldest daughter; the best dancer in +the station and an <a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a>extra special friend, he gathered from Lance's best +offhand manner.</p> + +<p>Roy found her more than good-looking; beautiful, almost, with her +twofold grace of carriage and feature and her low-toned harmony of +colouring:—ivory-white skin, ash-blond hair and hazel eyes, clear as a +Highland river; the pupils abnormally large, the short thick lashes very +black, like a smudge round her lids. She was tall, in fine, and carried +her beauty like a brimming chalice; very completely mistress of herself; +and very completely detached from her florid, effusive, worldly-wise +mother. Unquestionably, a young woman to be reckoned with.</p> + +<p>But Roy did not feel disposed, just then, to reckon seriously with any +young woman, however alluring. The memory of Arúna—the exquisite +remoteness from everyday life of their whole relation—did not easily +fade. And the creatures of his brain were still clamant, in spite of +broken threads and drastic change of surroundings. Lance had presented +him with a spacious writing-table; and most days he would stick to it +for hours, sooner than drive out in pursuit of tennis or afternoon +dancing in Lahore.</p> + +<p>He was sitting at it now; flinging down a dramatic episode, roughly, +rapidly, as it came. The polished surface was strewn with an untidy +array of papers; the only ornaments a bit of old brass-work and two +ivory elephants; a photograph of his father and a large one of his +mother taken from the portrait at Jaipur. The table was set almost at +right angles to his open door, and the chick rolled up. He had a +weakness for being able to 'see out,' if it was only the corner of a +barren 'compound' and a few dusty oleanders. He had forgotten the +others; forgotten the time. All he asked, while the spate lasted, was to +be left alone....</p> + +<p>He almost jumped when the latch clicked behind him and Lance strolled +in, faultlessly attired in the latest suit from home; a golden-brown tie +and a silk handkerchief, the same shade, emerging from his breast +pocket. By nature, Lance was no dandy; but Roy had not failed to note +that he was apt to be scrupulously well turned out on certain occasions. +And, at sight of him, he promptly 'remembered he had forgotten'<a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a> the +very particular nature of to-day's occasion: the marriage of Miss Gladys +Elton—step-sister of Rose—to a rising civilian some eighteen years +older than his bride. It was an open secret, in the station, that the +wedding was Mrs Elton's private and personal triumph, that she, not her +unassuming daughter, was the acknowledged heroine of the day.</p> + +<p>"Not ready yet—you unmitigated slacker?" Lance exclaimed with an +impatient frown. "Buck up. Time we were moving."</p> + +<p>"Awfully sorry. I clean forgot." Roy's tone was not conspicuously +penitent.</p> + +<p>"Tell us another! The whole Mess was talking of it at tiffin."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about tiffin."</p> + +<p>It was so patently the truth that Lance looked mollified. "You and your +confounded novel! Now then—double. I don't want to be glaringly late."</p> + +<p>Roy looked pathetic. "But I'm simply up to the eyes. The truth is, I +can't be bothered. I'll turn up for the dancing at the Hall."</p> + +<p>"And I'm to make your giddy excuses?"</p> + +<p>"If any one happens to notice my absence, you can say something +pretty——"</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by the appearance of Barnard at the verandah door. +"Dog-cart's ready and waiting, Major. What's the hitch?"</p> + +<p>"Sinclair's discovered he's too busy to come!"</p> + +<p>"What—the favoured one? The fair Rose won't relish <i>that</i> touching mark +of attention. On whom she smiles, from him she expects gold, +frankincense, and myrrh——"</p> + +<p>"Drop it, Barnard," Desmond cut in imperatively; and Roy remarked almost +in the same breath, "Thanks for the tip. I'll write to Bombay for the +best brand of all three against another occasion."</p> + +<p>"But this is <i>the</i> occasion! Copy—my dear chap, copy! Anglo-India in +excelsis and 'Oh 'Ell' in all her glory!"</p> + +<p>It may be mentioned that Mrs Elton's name was Olive; that she saw +soldiers as trees walking. And subalterns retaliated—strictly behind +her back.<a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a></p> + +<p>But Roy remained unmoved. "If you two are in such a fluster over your +precious wedding, I vote you get out—and let <i>me</i> get on."</p> + +<p>Barnard asked nothing better. Miss Arden was his May-fly of the moment. +"Come along, Major," he cried, and vanished forthwith.</p> + +<p>As Lance moved away, Roy remarked casually: "Be a good chap and ask Miss +Arden, with my best salaams, to save me a dance or two, in case I'm late +turning up!"</p> + +<p>Lance gave him a straight look. "Not I. My pockets will be bulging with +your apologies. You can get some one else to do your commissions in the +other line."</p> + +<p>Sheer astonishment silenced Roy; and Desmond, from the threshold, added +more seriously, "Don't let the women here give you a swelled head, Roy. +They'll do their damnedest between them."</p> + +<p>When he had gone, Roy sat staring idly at the patch of sunlight outside +his door. What the devil did Lance mean by it? Moods were not in his +line. To make a half-joking request, and find Lance taking it seriously, +wasn't in the natural order of things. And the way he jumped on Barnard, +too. Could there possibly have been a rebuff in that quarter? He +couldn't picture any girl in her senses refusing Lance. Besides, they +seemed on quite friendly terms. Nothing beyond that—so far as Roy could +see. He would very much like to feel sure. But, for all their intimacy, +he knew precisely how far one could go with Lance: and one couldn't go +as far as that.</p> + +<p>As for the remark about a swelled head, Lance must have been rotting. +<i>He</i> wasn't troubling about women or girls—except for tennis and +dancing; and Miss Arden was a superlative performer; in fact, rather +superlative all round. As a new experience, she seemed distinctly worth +cultivating, so long as that process did not seriously hamper the +novel,—that was unashamedly his first consideration, at the moment.</p> + +<p>He loved every phase of the work; from the initial thrill of inception +to the nice balance of a phrase and the very look of his favourite +words. His childish love of them for their own sake still prevailed. For +him, <a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a>they were still live things, possessing a character and charm all +their own.</p> + +<p>And now, the house being blessedly empty, his pencil sped off again on +its wild career. The men and women he had loved into life were thronging +his brain. Everything else was forgotten—Lance and Miss Arden and the +wedding and the afternoon dancing at the Hall....<a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IID" id="CHAPTER_IID"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Which is the more perilous, to meet the temptings of Eve, or to + pique her?"—<span class='smcap'>George Meredith.</span></p></div> + + +<p>Of course he reached the Lawrence Hall egregiously late, to find the +afternoon dancing, that Lahore prescribes three times a week, in full +swing.</p> + +<p>The lofty pillared Hall—an aristocrat among Station Clubs—was more +crowded than usual. Half the polished floor was uncovered; the rest +carpeted and furnished, for lookers-on. Here Mrs Elton still diffused +her exuberant air of patronage; sailing majestically from group to group +of her recent guests, and looking more than life size in lavender satin +besprinkled with old lace.</p> + +<p>Roy hurried past, lest she discover him; and, from the security of an +arched alcove, scanned the more interesting half of the Hall. There went +little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, a fluffy pussy-cat person, with soft eyes and +soft manners—and claws. She was one of those disconnected wives whom he +was beginning to recognise as a feature of the country: unobtrusively +owned by a dyspeptic-looking Divisional Judge; hospitable and lively, +and an infallible authority on other people's private affairs. Like too +many modern Anglo-Indians, she prided herself on keeping airily apart +from the country of her exile. Natives gave her 'the creeps.' Useless to +argue. Her retort was unvarying and unanswerable. "East is East—and I'm +<i>not</i>. It's a country of horrors, under a thin layer of tinsel. Don't +talk to <i>me</i>——!" Lance Desmond had achieved fame among the subalterns +by christening her the Banter-Wrangle; but he liked her well enough, on +the whole, to hope she would never find him out.<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a></p> + +<p>She whirled past now, on the arm of Talbot Hayes, senior Assistant +Commissioner; an exceedingly superior person who shared her views about +'the country.' Catching Roy's eye, she feigned exaggerated surprise and +fluttered a friendly hand.</p> + +<p>His response was automatic. He had just discovered Miss Arden—with +Lance, of course—looking supreme in a moon-coloured gown with a dull +gold sash carelessly knotted on one side. Her graceful hat was of gold +tissue, unadorned. Near the edge of the brim lay one yellow rose; and a +rope of amber beads hung well below her waist.</p> + +<p>Roy—son of Lilámani—had an artist's eye for details of dress, for +harmony of tone and line, which this girl probably achieved by mere +feminine instinct. The fool he was, to have come so late. When they +stopped, he would catch her and plead for an extra, at least.</p> + +<p>Meantime, a pity to waste this one; and there was poor little Miss +Delawny sitting out, as usual, in her skimpy pink frock and black hat, +trying so hard not to look forlorn that he felt sorry for her. She was +tacitly barred by most of the men because she was 'café au lait';—a +delicate allusion to the precise amount of Indian blood in her veins.</p> + +<p>He had not, so far, come across many specimens of these pathetic +half-and-halfs, who seemed to inhabit a racial No-Man's-Land. But Lahore +was full of them; minor officials in the Railway and the Post Office; +living, more or less, in a substratum of their own kind. He gathered +that they were regarded as a 'problem' by the thoughtful few, and simply +turned down by the rest. He felt an acute sympathy for them: also—in +hidden depths—a vague distaste. Most of those he had encountered were +so obviously of no particular caste, in either country's estimate of the +word, that he had never associated them with himself. He saw himself, +rather, as of double caste; a fusion of the best in both races. The +writer of that wonderful letter had said he was different; and +presumably she knew. Whether the average Anglo-Indian would see any +difference, he had not the remotest idea; and, so far, he had scarcely +given the matter a thought.</p> + +<p>Here, however, it was thrust upon his attention; nor <a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a>had he failed to +notice that Lance never mentioned the Jaipur cousins except when they +were alone:—whether by chance or design, he did not choose to ask. And +if either of the other fellows had noticed his mother's photograph, or +felt a glimmer of curiosity, no word had been said.</p> + +<p>After all, what concern was it of these chance-met folk? He was nothing +to them; and to him they were mainly a pleasant change from the +absorbing business of his novel and the problems of India in transition.</p> + +<p>And the poor little girl in the skimpy frock was an unconscious fragment +of that problem. Too pathetic to see how she tried not to look round +hopefully whenever masculine footsteps came her way. Why shouldn't he +give her a pleasant surprise?</p> + +<p>She succeeded, this time, in not looking round; so the surprise came off +to his satisfaction. She was nervous and unpractised, and he constantly +found her feet where they had no business to be. But sooner than hurt +her feelings, he piloted her twice round the room before stopping; and +found himself next to Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who 'snuggled up' to him (the +phrase was Barnard's) and proffered consolation after her kind.</p> + +<p>"Bad boy! You missed the cream of the afternoon, but you're not <i>quite</i> +too late. I'm free for the next."</p> + +<p>Roy, fairly cornered, could only bow and smile his acceptance. And after +his arduous prelude, Mrs Ranyard's dancing was an effortless delight—if +only she would not spoil it by her unceasing ripple of talk. His lack of +response troubled her no whit. She was bubbling over with caustic +comment on Mrs Elton's latest adventure in matrimony.</p> + +<p>"She's a mighty hunter, before the Lord! She marked down poor Hilton +last cold weather," cooed the silken voice in Roy's inattentive ear. "Of +course you know he's one of our coming men! And I've a shrewd idea he +<i>was</i> intended for Rose. But in Miss Rose the matchmaker has met her +match! She's clever—that girl; and she's reduced the tactics of +non-resistance to a fine art. I don't believe she ever stands up to her +mother. She smiles and smiles—and goes her own way. She likes playing +with soldiers; partly because they're good company; partly, I'll swear, +because she knows it keeps <a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a>her mother on tenter-hooks. But when it +comes to business, she'll choose as shrewdly——"</p> + +<p>Roy stopped dancing and confronted her, half laughing, half irate. "If +you're keen on talking—let's talk. I can't do both." He stated the fact +politely, but with decision. "And—frankly, I hate hearing a girl pulled +to pieces, just because she's charming and good-looking and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my <i>dear</i> boy," she interrupted unfailingly—sweet solicitude in +her lifted gaze. "<i>Did</i> I trample on your chivalrous toes? Or is +it——?"</p> + +<p>"No, it <i>isn't</i>." He resented the barefaced implication. "Naturally—I +admire her——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, naturally! You can't help yourselves, any of you! She's 'sooner +caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad.' No use +looking daggers! It's a fact. I don't say she flirts outrageously—like +I do! She simply expects homage—and gets it. She expects men to fall in +love with her—and they topple over like ninepins. Sometimes—when I'm +feeling magnanimous—I catch a ninepin as it falls! Look at her now, +with that R.E. boy—plainly in the toils!"</p> + +<p>Roy declined to look. If she was trying to put him off Miss Arden, she +was on the wrong tack. Besides—he wanted to dance.</p> + +<p>"One more turn?" he suggested, nipping a fresh outbreak in the bud. +"But, please—no talking."</p> + +<p>She laughed and shook her fan at him. "Epicure!" But after all, it was +an indirect compliment to her dancing: and for the space of two minutes, +she held her peace.</p> + +<p>Throughout the brief pause, she rippled on, with negligible interludes; +but not till they re-entered the Hall did she revert to the theme that +had so exasperated Roy. There she espied Desmond, standing under an +archway, staring straight before him, apparently lost in thought.</p> + +<p>She indicated him, discreetly, with her fan. "The Happy Warrior (that's +my private name for him) seems to have something on his mind. Can he +have proposed—at last? I confess I'm curious. But of course <i>you</i> know +all about it, Mr Sinclair. Don't tell <i>me!</i>"</p> + +<p>"I won't!" said Roy gravely. "You probably know more than I do."<a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a></p> + +<p>"But I thought you were such <i>intimate</i> friends? How superbly +masculine!"</p> + +<p>"Well—he is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is! He's so firmly planted on his feet that he tacitly invites +one to tilt at him! I confess I've already tried my hand—and failed. So +it soothes my vanity to observe that even the Rose of Sharon isn't +visibly upsetting his balance. Frankly, I'm more than a little intrigued +over that affair. It seems to have reached a certain point and stuck +there. At one time—I thought——"</p> + +<p>Her thought remained unuttered. Roy was patently not attending. Miss +Arden and the 'R.E. boy' had just entered the Hall.</p> + +<p>"Don't let me keep you," she added sweetly. "It's evident <i>she's</i> the +next!"</p> + +<p>Roy collected himself with a jerk. "You're wiser than I am! I've not +asked her yet."</p> + +<p>"Then you can save yourself the trouble and go on dancing with me! She's +always booked up ahead——"</p> + +<p>Her blue eyes challenged him laughingly; but he caught the undernote of +rivalry. For half a second the scales hung even between courtesy and +inclination; then, from the tail of his eye, he saw Hayes bearing down +upon the other pair. That decided him. He had conceived an unreasoning +dislike of Talbot Hayes.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry," he said politely. "But—I sent word I was coming in +for the dancing; and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, go along then and get your fingers burnt, as you deserve. But never +say <i>I</i> didn't try and save them!"</p> + +<p>Roy laughed. "They aren't in any danger, thanks very much!"</p> + +<p>Just as he reached Miss Arden, the R.E. boy left her, and Lance, +forsaking his pillar, strolled casually to her side.</p> + +<p>She greeted Roy with a faint lift of her brows.</p> + +<p>"Was I unspeakable——? I apologise," he said impulsively; and her smile +absolved him.</p> + +<p>"You were wiser than you knew. You escaped an infliction. It was +insufferably dull. We all smiled and smiled, till there were 'miles and +miles of smiles'; and we were all bored to extinction! Ask Major +Desmond!"</p> + +<p>She acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance.<a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a> He returned it +with a quick look that told Roy he had been touched on the raw.</p> + +<p>"As I spent most of the time talking to you—and as you've just recorded +your sensations, I'd rather be excused," he said with a touch of +stiffness. "Your innings, I suppose, old man?" And, with a friendly nod, +he moved away.</p> + +<p>Roy, watching him go, felt almost angry with the girl, and impetuously +spoke his thought.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Desmond! What did you give him a knock for? <i>He</i> couldn't be +dull, if he tried."</p> + +<p>"N-no," she agreed, without removing her eyes from his retreating +figure. "But sometimes—he can be aggressive."</p> + +<p>"I've never noticed it."</p> + +<p>"How long have you known him?"</p> + +<p>"A trifle of fifteen years."</p> + +<p>"Quite a romantic friendship?"</p> + +<p>Roy nodded. He did not choose to discuss his feeling for Lance with this +cool, compelling young woman. Yet her very coolness goaded him to add: +"I suppose men see more clearly than women that—he's one in a +thousand."</p> + +<p>"I'm—not so sure——"</p> + +<p>"Yet you snub him as if he was a tin-pot 'sub.'"</p> + +<p>His resentment would out; but the smile in her eyes disarmed him.</p> + +<p>"Was it as bad as that? What a pair you are! Don't worry. We know each +other's little ways by now."</p> + +<p>It was scarcely convincing; but Lance would not thank him for +interfering; and the band had struck up. No sign of a partner. It seemed +the luck was 'in'.</p> + +<p>"Did Desmond give you my message?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No—what?"</p> + +<p>"Only—that I hoped you'd be magnanimous.... Is there a chance——?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of resentment +flickered out. "More than you deserve! But this one does happen to be +free...."</p> + +<p>"Well, we won't waste any of it," said he:—and they danced without a +break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their circling and +swaying ceased with the last notes of the valse.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a>That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for compliments; +and they merely exchanged a smile. He had felt the pleasure was mutual. +Now he knew it.</p> + +<p>Out through the portico they passed into the cool green gardens, freshly +watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of unnumbered +roses—a very whiff of Home: bushes, standards, ramblers; and +everywhere—flaunting its supremacy—the Maréchal Niel; sprawling over +hedges, scrambling up evergreens and falling again, in cascades of +moon-yellow blossoms and glossy leaves.</p> + +<p>Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour and +evening lights—was still more alive to the silent girl at his side, who +seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antagonism of sex—in +itself an inverted form of fascination.</p> + +<p>They had strolled half round the empty bandstand before she remarked, in +her cool, low-pitched voice: "You really are a flagrantly casual person, +Mr Sinclair. I sometimes wonder—is it <i>quite</i> spontaneous? Or—do you +find it effective?"</p> + +<p>Roy frankly turned and stared at her. "Effective? <i>What</i> a question?"</p> + +<p>Her smile puzzled and disconcerted him.</p> + +<p>"Well, you've answered it with your usual pristine frankness! I see—it +was not intentional."</p> + +<p>"Why should it be?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you don't know—I don't! I merely wondered—You did say +definitely you would come to the reception. So of course—I expected +you. Then you never turned up. And—naturally——!"</p> + +<p>A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't flatter myself you'd notice——" Roy said +simply. There were moments when she made him feel vexatiously young. +"You see—it was my novel—got me by the hair. And when that happens, +I'm rather apt to let things slide. Anyway, you got the better man. And +if you found <i>him</i> dull, I'd have been nowhere."</p> + +<p>She was silent a moment. Then: "I think—if you don't mind—we'll leave +Major Desmond out of it," she said; adding, with a distinct change of +tone: "What's <a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a>the hidden charm in that common little Miss Delawny? I +saw you dancing with her again to-day."</p> + +<p>The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect, had it not +followed on her perplexing remark about Lance. As it was, he resented +it.</p> + +<p>"Why not? She's quite a nice little person."</p> + +<p>"I daresay. But we've plenty of nice girls in our own set."</p> + +<p>"Oh, plenty. But I rather bar set mania. I've a catholic taste in human +beings!"</p> + +<p>"And I've an ultra fastidious one!" Look and tone gave her statement a +delicately personal flavour. "Besides, out here ... there are +limits——"</p> + +<p>"And I must respect them, on penalty of your displeasure?" His tone was +airily defiant. "Well—make me out a list of irreproachables, and I'll +work them off in rotation—between whiles!"</p> + +<p>The implication of that last subtly made amends: and she had a taste for +the minor subtleties of intercourse.</p> + +<p>"I shall do nothing of the kind! You're perfectly graceless this +evening! I suspect all that scribbling goes to your head sometimes. +Sitting on Olympian heights, controlling destinies! I suppose we +earthworms down below all look pretty much alike? To discriminate +between mere partners—is human. To embrace them +indiscriminately—divine!"</p> + +<p>Roy laughed. "Oh, if it came to embracing——"</p> + +<p>"Even an Olympian might be a shade less catholic?" she queried with one +of her looks, that stirred in Roy sensations far removed from Olympian. +Random talk did not flourish in Miss Arden's company: delicately, +insistently she steered it back to the focal point of interest—herself +and the man of the moment.</p> + +<p>From the circular drive they wandered on, unheeding; and when they +re-entered the Hall a fresh dance had begun. Under the arch they paused. +Miss Arden's glance scanned the room and reverted to Roy. The last ten +minutes had appreciably advanced their intimacy.</p> + +<p>"Shall we?" he asked, returning her look with interest. "Is the luck in +again?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes assented. He slipped an arm round her—and once more they +danced....<a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a></p> + +<p>Roy had been Olympian indeed had he not perceived the delicate flattery +implied in his apparent luck. Lance had not given his message. Yet two +dances were available. The inference was not without its insidious +effect on a man temperamentally incapable of conceit.</p> + +<p>The valse was nearly half over, when the least little drag on his arm so +surprised him that he stopped almost opposite the main archway;—and +caught sight of Lance, evidently looking for some one.</p> + +<p>"Oh—there he is!" Miss Arden's low tone was almost flurried—for her.</p> + +<p>"D'you want him?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I suppose he wants me. This was his dance."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! What a mean shame," Roy flashed out. "Why on earth didn't +you tell me? Wouldn't for the world...."</p> + +<p>Her colour rose under his heated protest. "I never hang about for +unpunctual partners. If they don't turn up in time—it's their loss."</p> + +<p>Roy, intent on Lance, was scarcely listening. "He's seen us now. Come +along. Let's explain."</p> + +<p>It was Miss Arden who did the explaining in a manner all her own.</p> + +<p>"Well—what became of you?" she asked, smiling in response to Desmond's +look of interrogation. "As you didn't appear, I concluded you'd either +forgotten or been caught in a rubber."</p> + +<p>"Bad shots,—both," Desmond retorted with a direct look.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry ... I hadn't a notion——" Roy began—and checked +himself, perceiving that he could not say much without implicating his +partner.</p> + +<p>This time Desmond's smile had quite another quality. "You're very +welcome. Carry on. Don't mind me. It's half over."</p> + +<p>"A model of generosity!" Miss Arden applauded him. "I'm free for the +next—if you'd care to have it instead."</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much; but I'm not," Desmond answered serenely.</p> + +<p>"The great little Banter-Wrangle—is it? You could plead a +misunderstanding and bribe Mr Sinclair to save the situation!"<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a></p> + +<p>"Hard luck on Sinclair. But it's not Mrs Ranyard. I'm sorry——"</p> + +<p>"Don't apologise. If you're satisfied, I am."</p> + +<p>For all her careless tone, Roy had never seen her so nearly put out of +countenance. Desmond said nothing; and for a moment—the briefest—there +fell an awkward silence. Then with an air of marked graciousness she +turned to Roy.</p> + +<p>"We are generously permitted to go on, with a clear conscience!"</p> + +<p>But for Roy the charm was broken. Her cavalier treatment of Lance +annoyed him; and beneath the surface play of looks and words he had +detected the flash of steel. It was some satisfaction that Lance had +given as good as he received. But he felt troubled and curious. And he +was likely to remain so. Lance, he very well knew, would say precisely +nothing.</p> + +<p>The girl, as if divining his thoughts, combated them with the delicately +pointed weapons of her kind—and prevailed.</p> + +<p>Again they wandered in the darkening garden and returned to find the +Boston in full swing. Again Miss Arden's glance travelled casually round +the room. And Roy saw her start; just enough to swear by....</p> + +<p>Desmond was dancing with Miss Delawny——!</p> + +<p>The frivolous comment on Roy's lips was checked by the look in his +partner's eyes. Impossible not to wonder if Lance had actually been +engaged; or if——?</p> + +<p>In any case—a knock for Miss Arden's vanity. A shade too severe, +perhaps; yet sympathy for her was tinged with exultation that Lance had +held his own. Mrs Ranyard was right. Here was a man set firmly on his +feet....</p> + +<p>Miss Arden's voice drew his wandering attention back to herself. "We may +as well finish this. Or are you also—engaged?"</p> + +<p>Her light stress on the word held a significance he did not miss.</p> + +<p>"To you—if you will!" he answered gallantly, hand on heart. "More than +I deserve—as you said; but still——"</p> + +<p>"It's just possible for a woman to be magnanimous!" she capped him, +smiling. "And it's just possible for a <a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a>man to be—the other thing! +Remember that—when you get back to your eternal scribbling!"</p> + +<p>An hour later he rode homeward with a fine confusion of sensations and +impressions, doubts and desires seething in his brain. Miss Arden was +delightful, but a trifle unsettling. She must not be allowed to distract +him from the work he loved.<a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIID" id="CHAPTER_IIID"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Shall I cool desire"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Shall I cool desire</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">By looking at those lovely eyes of hers,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">That passionate love prefers</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To his own brand, for setting hearts on fire."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Edmund Gosse</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<p>But neither the work he loved, nor his budding intimacy with Miss Arden, +deterred him from accepting a week-end invitation from the Maharajah of +Kapurthala—the friendly, hospitable ruler of a neighbouring Sikh State. +The Colonel was going, and Lance, and half a dozen other good sportsmen. +They set out on Thursday, the military holiday, in a state of high +good-humour with themselves and their host; to return on Sunday evening, +renewed in body and mind by the pursuit of pig and the spirit of Shikar, +that keeps a man sane and virile, and tempers the insidious effect, on +the white races, of life and work in the climate of India. It draws men +away from the rather cramping station atmosphere. It sets their feet in +a large room. And in this case it did not fail to dispel the light cloud +that had hovered between Lance and Roy since the day of the wedding.</p> + +<p>In the friendly rivalries of sport, it was possible to forget woman +complications; even to feel it a trifle derogatory that one should be so +ignominiously at the mercy of the thing. Thus Roy, indulging in a +spasmodic declaration of independence; glorying in the virile excitement +of pig-sticking, and the triumph of getting first spear.</p> + +<p>But returning on Saturday, from a day after snipe and teal, he found +himself instinctively allotting the pick of his 'bag' to Miss Arden; +just a complimentary attention; the sort of thing she would appreciate. +Having refused a ride with her because of this outing, it seemed the +least he could do.</p> + +<p>Apparently the same strikingly original idea had <a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a>occurred to Lance; and +by the merest fluke they found one another out. To Roy's relief, Lance +greeted the embarrassing discovery with a gust of laughter.</p> + +<p>"I say—this won't do. You give over. It's too much of a joke. +Besides—cheek on your part."</p> + +<p>Though he spoke lightly, the hint of command in his tone promptly put +Roy on the defensive.</p> + +<p>"Rot! Why shouldn't I? But—the <i>two</i> of them...! A bit overwhelming!" +And suddenly he remembered his declaration of independence. "After +all—why should either of us? Can't we let be, just for four days? Look +here, Lance. You give over too. Don't send yours. And I won't send +mine."</p> + +<p>Lance—having considered that inspired proposal—turned a speculative +eye on Roy.</p> + +<p>"Lord, what a kid you are, still!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I mean it. Out here, we're clear of all that. Over there, the +women call the tune—we dance. Sport's the God-given antidote! Though it +won't be so much longer—the way things are going. We shall soon have +'em after pig and on the polo ground——"</p> + +<p>"God forbid!" It came out with such fervour that Roy laughed.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't—that's the trouble! He gives us all the rope we want. And +the women may be trusted to take every available inch. I'm not sure +there isn't a grain of wisdom in the Eastern plan; keeping them, so to +speak, in a separate compartment. Once you open a chink, they flow in +and swamp everything."</p> + +<p>Up went Lance's eyebrows. "That—from you?" And Roy made haste to add: +"I wasn't thinking of mothers and sisters; but the kind you play round +with ... before you marry. They've a big pull out here. Very good fun of +course. And if a man's keen on marrying——"</p> + +<p>"Aren't you keen?" Lance cut in with a quick look.</p> + +<p>"N-no. Not just yet, anyway. It's a plunge. And I'm too full up with +other things.—But what about the birds?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we'll let be—as you sagely suggest!"</p> + +<p>And they did.</p> + +<p>More pig-sticking next morning, with two tuskers for trophies; and +thereafter, they travelled reluctantly back <a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a>to harness, by an afternoon +train, feeling—without exception—healthier, happier men.</p> + +<p>None of them, perhaps, was more conscious of that inner renewal than +Lance and Roy. The incident of the game seemed in some way to have +cleared the air between them; and throughout the return journey, both +were in the maddest spirits, keeping the whole carriage in an uproar. +Afterwards, driving homeward, Roy registered a resolve to spend more of +his time on masculine society and the novel; less of it dancing and +fooling about in Lahore....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A vision of his table, with its inviting disarray, and the picture of +his mother for presiding genius, gave his heart a lift. He promised +himself a week of uninterrupted evenings, alone with Terry and his +thronging thoughts; when the whole house was still and the reading-lamp +made a magic circle of light in the surrounding gloom....</p> + +<p>Meantime, there were letters: one from his father, one from Jeffers; and +beneath them a too familiar envelope.</p> + +<p>At sight of it, he felt a faint tug inside him; as it were a whispered +reminder that, away at Kapurthala, he had been about as free as a bird +with a string round its leg. He resented the aptness of that degrading +simile. It was a new sensation; and he did not relish it. The few women +he intimately loved had counted for so much in his life that he scarcely +realised his abysmal ignorance of the power that is in woman—the mere +opposite of man; the implicit challenge, the potent lure. Partly from +temperament, partly from principle, he had kept more or less clear of +'all that'. Now, weaponless, he had rashly entered the lists.</p> + +<p>He opened Miss Arden's note feeling antagonistic. But its friendliness +disarmed him. She hoped they had enjoyed themselves immensely and slain +enough creatures to satisfy their primitive instincts. And her mother +hoped Mr Sinclair would dine with them on Wednesday evening: quite a +small affair.</p> + +<p>His first impulse was to refuse; but her allusion to the slain creatures +touched up his conscience. To cap the omission by refusing her +invitation might annoy her. No sense in that. So he decided to accept; +and sat down to enjoy his home letters at leisure.<a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a></p> + +<p>Lance, it transpired, had not been asked. He and Barnard were the +favoured ones,—and, on the appointed evening, they drove in together. +Roy had been writing nearly all day. He had reached a point in his +chapter at which a break was distracting. Yet here he was, driving +Barnard to Lahore, cursing his luck, and—yes—trying to ignore a +flutter of anticipation in the region of his heart....</p> + +<p>As far as mere lust of the eye went—and it went a good way with Roy—he +had his reward the moment he entered Mrs Elton's overloaded +drawing-room. Rose Arden excelled herself in evening dress. The carriage +of her head, the curve of her throat, and the admirable line from ear to +shoulder made a picture supremely satisfying to his artist's eye.</p> + +<p>Her negligible bodice was a filmy affair—ivory white with glints of +gold. Her gauzy gold wedding-sash, swathed round her hips, fell in a +fringed knot below her knee. Filmy sleeves floated from her shoulders, +leaving the arms bare and unadorned, except for one gold bangle, high +up—the latest note from Home. For the rest, her rope of amber beads and +long earrings only a few tones lighter than her astonishing hazel eyes.</p> + +<p>Face to face with her beauty, and her discreetly veiled pleasure at +sight of him, he could not be ungracious enough to curse his luck. But +his satisfaction cooled at sight of Talbot Hayes by the mantelpiece, +inclining his polished angularity to catch some confidential tit-bit +from little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. Of course that fellow would take her in. +He, Roy, had no official position now; and without it one was negligible +in Anglo-India. Besides, Mrs Elton openly favoured Talbot Hayes. Failing +Rose, there were two more prospective brides at Home—twins; and Hayes +was fatally endowed with all the surface symptoms of the 'coming man': +the supple alertness and self-assurance; the instinct for the right +thing; and—supreme asset in these days—a studious detachment from the +people and the country. In consequence, needless to say, he remained +obstinately sceptical as regards the rising storm.</p> + +<p>Very early, Roy had put out feelers to discover how much he understood +or cared; and Hayes had blandly <a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a>assured him: "Bengal may bluster and +the D.C. may pessimise, but you can take it from me, there will be no +serious upheaval in the North. If ever these people are fools enough to +manœuvre us out of India, so much the worse for them; so much the +better for us. It's a beastly country."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Roy observed that he appeared to extract out of the beastly +country every available ounce of enjoyment. In affable moments, he could +even manage to forget his career—and unbend. He was unbending now.</p> + +<p>A few paces off, the dyspeptic Judge was discussing 'the situation' with +his host—a large unwieldy man, so nervous of his own bulk and unready +wit that only the discerning few discovered the sensitive, friendly +spirit very completely hidden under a bushel. Roy, who had liked him at +sight, felt vaguely sorry for him. He seemed a fish out of water in his +own home; overwhelmed by the florid, assured personality of his wife.</p> + +<p>They were the last, of course; nearly five minutes late. Trust Roy. Only +four other guests; Dr Ethel Wemyss, M.B., lively and clever and new to +the country; Major and Mrs Garten of the Sikhs, with a stolid +good-humoured daughter, who unfailingly wore the same frock and the same +disarming smile.</p> + +<p>The Deputy Commissioner's wife permitted herself few military intimates. +But she had come in touch with Mrs Garten over a <i>dhobi's</i><a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> chit and +a recipe for pumelo gin. Both women were consumedly Anglo-Indian. All +their values were social;—pay, promotion, prestige. All their +lamentations pitched in the same key:—everything dearer, servants +'impossible,' hospitality extinct, with every one saving and scraping to +get Home. Both were deeply versed in bazaar prices and the sins of +native servants. Hence, in due course, a friendship (according to Mrs +Ranyard) 'broad based on <i>jharrons</i><a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> and charcoal and kerosene'!</p> + +<p>The two were lifting up their voices in unison over the mysterious +shortage of kerosene (that arch-sinner Mool Chand said none was coming +into the country) when dinner was announced; and Talbot +Hayes—inevitably—offered his arm to Miss Arden.<a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a></p> + +<p>Roy, consigned to Dr Wemyss, could only pray heaven for the next best +thing—Miss Arden on his left. Instead, amazedly, he found himself +promoted to a seat beside her mother, who still further amazed him by +treating him to a much larger share of her attention than the law of the +dinner-table prescribed. Her talk, in the main, was local and personal; +and Roy simply let it flow; his eyes flagrantly straying down the table +towards Miss Arden and Hayes, who seemed very intimate this evening.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he found himself talking about Home. It began with gardens. Mrs +Elton had a passion for them, as her <i>mális</i><a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> knew to their cost; and +the other day a friend had told her that somebody said Mr Sinclair had a +lovely place at Home, with a <i>wonderful</i> old garden——?</p> + +<p>Mr Sinclair admitted as much, with masculine brevity.</p> + +<p>Undeterred, she drew out the sentimental stop:—the charm of a <i>real</i> +old English garden! Out here, one only used the word by courtesy. +Laborites, of course, were specially favoured; but do what one would, it +was never <i>quite</i> the same thing—was it...?</p> + +<p>Not quite, Roy agreed amicably—and wondered what the joke was down +there. He supposed Miss Arden must have had some say in the geography of +the table....</p> + +<p>Her mother, meantime, had tacked sail and was probing him, indirectly, +about his reasons for remaining in India. Was he going in for politics, +or the life of a country gentleman in his beautiful home? Her remarks +implied that she took him for the eldest son. And Roy, who had not been +attending, realised with a jar that, in vulgar parlance, he was being +discreetly pumped. Whereat, politely but decisively, he sheered off and +stuck to his partner till the meal was over.</p> + +<p>The men seemed to linger interminably over their wine and cigars. But he +managed to engage the D.C. on the one subject that put shyness to +flight—the problems of changing India. With more than twenty years of +work and observation behind him, he saw the widening gulf between rulers +and ruled as an almost<a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a> equal disaster for both. He knew, none better, +all that had been achieved, in his own Province alone, for the peasant +and the loyal landowner. He had made many friends among the Indians of +his district; and from these he had received repeated warnings of +widespread, organised rebellion. Yet he was helpless; tied hand and foot +in yards of red tape....</p> + +<p>It was not the first time that Roy had enjoyed a talk with him; a sense +of doors opening on to larger spaces. But this evening restlessness +nagged at him; and at the first hint of a move he was on his feet, +determined to forestall Hayes.</p> + +<p>He succeeded; and Miss Arden welcomed him with the lift of her brows +that he was growing to watch for when they met. It seemed to imply a +certain intimacy.</p> + +<p>"Very brown and vigorous, you're looking. Was it—great fun?"</p> + +<p>"It was topping," he answered with simple fervour. "Rare sport. +Everything in style."</p> + +<p>"And no leisure to miss partners left lamenting? I hope our stars shone +the brighter, glorified by distance?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes challenged him with smiling deliberation. His own met them +full; and a little tingling shock ran through him, as at the touch of an +electric needle.</p> + +<p>"<i>Some</i> stars are dazzling enough at close quarters," he said boldly.</p> + +<p>"But surely—'distance lends enchantment'——?"</p> + +<p>"It depends a good deal on the view!"</p> + +<p>At that moment, up came Hayes, with his ineffable air of giving a cachet +to any one he honoured with his favour. And Miss Arden hailed him, as if +they had not met for a week.</p> + +<p>Thus encouraged, of course he clung like a limpet; and reverted to some +subject they had been discussing, tacitly isolating Roy.</p> + +<p>For a few exasperating moments, he stood his ground, counting on bridge +to remove the limpet. But when Hayes refused a pressing invitation to +join Mrs Ranyard's table, Roy gave it up, and deliberately walked away.</p> + +<p>Only Mr Elton remained sitting near the fireplace. His look of +undisguised pleasure, at Roy's approach, <a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a>atoned for a good deal; and +they renewed their talk where it had broken off. Roy almost forgot he +was speaking to a senior official; freely expressed his own thoughts; +and even ventured to comment on the strange detachment of Anglo-Indians, +in general, from a land full of such vast and varied interests, lying at +their very doors.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps—I misjudge them," he added with the unfailing touch of modesty +that was not least among his charms. "But to me it sometimes seems as if +a curtain hung between their eyes and India. And—it's catching. In some +subtle way this little concentrated world, within a world, seems to draw +one's receptiveness away from it all. Is that very sweeping, sir?"</p> + +<p>A smile dawned in Mr Elton's rather mournful eyes. "In a sense—it's +painfully true. But the fact is—Anglo-Indian life can't be fairly +judged from the outside. It has to be lived before its insidiousness can +be suspected." He moistened his lips and caressed his chin with a large, +sensitive hand. "Happily—there are a good many exceptions."</p> + +<p>"If I wasn't talking to one of them, sir—I wouldn't have ventured!" +said Roy; and the friendly smile deepened.</p> + +<p>"All the same," Elton went on, "there are those who assert that it is +half the secret of our success; that India conquered the conquerors, who +lived <i>with</i> her and so lost their virility. Yet in our earlier days, +when the personal touch was a reality, we <i>did</i> achieve a better +relation all round. Of course the present state of affairs is the +inevitable fruit of our whole system. By the Anglicising process, we +have spread all over India a vast layer of minor officials some six +million persons deep! Consider, my dear young man, the significance of +those figures. We reduce the European staff. We increase the drudgery of +their office work—and we wonder why the Sahib and the peasant are no +longer personal friends——!"</p> + +<p>Stirred by his subject, and warmed by Roy's intelligent interest, the +man's nervous tricks disappeared. He spoke eagerly, earnestly, as to an +equal in experience; a compliment Roy would have been quicker to +appreciate had not half his attention been centred on that <a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a>exasperating +pair, who had retired to a cushioned alcove and looked like remaining +there for good.</p> + +<p>What the devil had the girl invited him for? If she wished to +disillusion him, she was succeeding to admiration. If she fancied he was +one of her infernal ninepins, she was very much mistaken. And all the +while he found himself growing steadily more distracted, more +insistently conscious of her....</p> + +<p>Voices and laughter heralded an influx of bridge players; Mrs Ranyard, +with Barnard, Miss Garten, and Dr Wemyss. A table of three women and one +man did not suit the little lady's taste.</p> + +<p>"We're a very scratch lot. And we want fresh blood!" she announced +carnivorously, as the pair in the alcove rose and came forward.</p> + +<p>The two men rose also, but went on with their talk. They knew it was not +their blood Mrs Ranyard was seeking. Roy kept his back turned and +studiously refrained from hoping....</p> + +<p>"If you two have <i>quite</i> finished breaking up the Empire...?" said Miss +Arden's voice at his elbow. She had approached so quietly that he +started. Worse still, he knew she had seen. "I was terrified of being +caught,"—she turned affectionately to her stepfather—"so I flung Mr +Hayes to the wolves—and fled. You're sanctuary!"</p> + +<p>Her fingers caressed his sleeve. Words and touch waked a smile in his +mournful eyes. They seemed to understand one another, these two. To Roy +she had never seemed more charming; and his own abrupt volte-face was +unsteadying, to say the least of it.</p> + +<p>"Hayes would prove a tough mouthful—even for wolves," Elton remarked +pensively.</p> + +<p>"He <i>would!</i> He's so securely lacquered over with—well—we won't be +unkind. <i>But</i>—strictly between ourselves, Pater—wouldn't you love to +swop him for Mr Sinclair, these days?"</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear!</i>" Elton reproached her, nervously shifting his large hands. +"Hayes is a model—of efficiency! But—well, well—if Mr Sinclair will +forgive flattery to his face—I should say he has many fine qualities +for an Indian career, should he be inclined that way——"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I'd no notion——" Roy murmured, <a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a>overwhelmed, as +Elton—seeing Miss Garten stranded—moved dutifully to her rescue.</p> + +<p>Miss Arden glanced again at Roy. "<i>Are</i> you inclining that way?"</p> + +<p>The question took him aback.</p> + +<p>"Me? No. Of course I'd love it—for some things."</p> + +<p>"You're well out of it, in my opinion. It'll soon be no country for a +white man. He's already little more than a futile superfluity——"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," Roy struck in warmly, "the Englishman—of the +rightest sort, is more than ever needed in India to-day."</p> + +<p>Her slight shrug conceded the point. "I never argue! And if you start on +<i>that</i> subject—I'm nowhere! You can save it all up for the Pater. He's +rather a dear—don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"He's splendid."</p> + +<p>Her smile had its caressing quality. "That's the last adjective any one +else would apply to him! But it's true. There's a fine streak in +him—very carefully hidden away. People don't see it, because he's shy +and clumsy and hasn't an ounce of push. But he understands the natives. +Loves them. Goodness knows why. And he's got the right touch. I could +tell you a tale——"</p> + +<p>"Do!" he urged. "Tales are my pet weakness."</p> + +<p>She subsided into the empty chair and looked up invitingly. "Sit," she +commanded—and he obeyed.</p> + +<p>He was neither saying nor doing the things he had meant to say or do. +But the mere beauty of her enthralled him; the alluring grace of her +pose, leaning forward a little, bare arms resting on her knees. No vivid +colour anywhere except her lips. Those lips, thought Roy, were +responsible for a good deal. Their flexible softness discounted more +than a little the deliberation of her eyes; and to-night, her charming +attitude to Elton appreciably quickened his interest in her and her +tale.</p> + +<p>"It happened out in the district. I heard it from a friend." She leaned +nearer and spoke in a confidential undertone. "He got news that some +neighbouring town was in a ferment. Only a handful of Europeans there; +an American mission; and no troops. So the 'mish' people begged him to +come in and politely wave his <a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a>official wand. You must be very polite to +<i>badmashes</i><a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> these days, if you're a mere Sahib; or you hear of it +from some little Tin God sitting safe in his office, hundreds of miles +away. Well, off he went—a twenty-mile drive; found the mission in a +flutter—I don't blame them—armed with rifles and revolvers; +expecting-every-moment-to-be-their-next sort of thing; and the town in +an uproar. Some religious tamasha. He talked like a father to the +headmen; and assured the 'mish' people it would be all right.</p> + +<p>"They begged him to stay and see them through. So he said he would sleep +at the dák bungalow. 'All alone?' they asked. 'No one to guard you?' +'Quite unnecessary,' he said:—and they were simply amazed!</p> + +<p>"It was rather hot; so he had his bed put in the garden. Then he sent +for the leading men and said: 'I hear there's a disturbance going on. I +don't intimate you have anything to do with it. But you are responsible; +and I expect you to keep the people in hand. I'm sleeping here to-night. +If there is trouble, you can report to me. But it is for <i>you</i> to keep +order in your own town.'</p> + +<p>"They salaamed and departed. No one came near him. And he drove off next +morning, leaving those Americans, with their rifles and revolvers, more +amazed than ever! I was told it made a great impression on the natives, +his sleeping alone in the garden, without so much as a sentry. And the +cream of it is," she added—her eyes on Elton's unheroic figure—"the +man who could do that is terrified of walking across a ballroom or +saying polite things to a woman!"</p> + +<p>Distinctly, to-night, she was in a new vein, more attractive to Roy than +all her feminine crafts and lures. Sitting, friendly and at ease over +the fire, they discussed human idiosyncrasies—a pet subject with him.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, she looked him in the eyes;—and he was aware of her +again, in the old disturbing way.</p> + +<p>Yet she was merely remarking, with a small sigh, "You can't think how +refreshing it is to get a little real talk sometimes with a cultivated +man who is neither a soldier<a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a> nor a civilian. Even in a big station, +we're so boxed in with 'shop' and personalities. The men are luckier. +They can escape now and then; shake off the women as one shakes off +burrs——!"</p> + +<p>Another glance here; half sceptical, wholly captivating.</p> + +<p>"It's easier said than done," admitted Roy, recalling his own partial +failure.</p> + +<p>"Charming of you to confess it! Dare I confess that I've found the Hall +and the tennis rather flat these few days—without imperilling your +phenomenal modesty?"</p> + +<p>"I think you dare." It was he who looked full at her now. "My modesty +badly needs bucking up—this evening."</p> + +<p>Her feigned surprise was delicately done. "What a shame! Who's been +snubbing you? Our clever M.B.?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. You've got the initials wrong."</p> + +<p>"<i>Did</i> it hurt your feelings—as much as all that?" She dropped the +flimsy pretence and her eyes proffered apology.</p> + +<p>"Well—you invited me."</p> + +<p>"And mother invited Mr Hayes! The fact is—he's been rather in evidence +these few days. And one can't flick <i>him</i> off like an ordinary mortal. +He's a 'coming man'!" She folded hands and lips and looked deliciously +demure. "All the same—it <i>was</i> unkind. You were so unhappy at dinner. I +could feel it all that way off. Be magnanimous and come for a ride +to-morrow—do."</p> + +<p>And Roy—the detached, the disillusioned—accepted with alacrity.<a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Washerman.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Dusters.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Gardener.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Bad characters.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVD" id="CHAPTER_IVD"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"For every power, a man pays toll in a corresponding weakness; and + probably the artist pays heaviest of all."—M.P. + <span class='smcap'>Willcocks</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>It was the morning of the great Gymkhana, to be followed by the +Bachelors' Ball. For Lahore's unfailing social energy was not yet spent; +though Depot troops had gone to the Hills, and the leave season was +open, releasing a fortunate few; leaving the rest to fretful or stoical +endurance of the stealthy, stoking-up process of a Punjab hot-weather. +And the true inwardness of those three words must be burned into body +and brain, season after season, to be even remotely understood.</p> + +<p>Already earth and air were full of whispered warnings. Roses and +sweet-peas were fading. Social life was virtually suspended between +twelve and two, the 'calling hours' of the cold weather; and at sunset +the tree-crickets shrilled louder than ever—careless heralds of doom. +Human tempers were shorter; and even the night did not now bring +unfailing relief.</p> + +<p>Roy had been sleeping badly again; partly the heat, partly the clash of +sensations within him. This morning, after hours of tossing and dozing +and dreaming—not the right kind of dreams at all,—he was up and out +before sunrise, forsaking the bed that betrayed him for the saddle that +never failed to bring a measure of respite from the fever of body and +mind that was stultifying, insidiously, his reason and his will.</p> + +<p>Still immersed in his novel, he had come up to Lahore heart-free, +purpose-free; vaguely aware that virtue had gone out of him; looking +forward to a few weeks of careless enjoyment, between spells of work; +and above all, to the 'high old time' he and Lance would have together +beyond Kashmir. Women and marriage were <a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a>simply not in the picture. His +attitude to that inevitable event was, on his own confession—'not yet.' +Possibly, when he got Home, he might discover it was Tara, after all. It +would need some courage to propose again. For the memory of that +juvenile fiasco still pricked his sensitive pride. A touch of the Rajput +came out there. Letters from Serbia seemed to dawdle unconscionably by +the way. But, in leisurely course, he had received an answer to his +screed about Dyán and the quest; a letter alive with all he loved best +in her—enthusiasm, humour, vivid sympathy, deepened and enlarged by +experiences that could not yet be told. But Tara was far and Miss Arden +was near; and, in the mysterious workings of sex magnetism, mere +propinquity too often prevails.</p> + +<p>And all the others seemed farther still. They wrote regularly, +affectionately. Yet their letters—especially his father's—seemed to +tell precious little of the things he really wanted to know. Perhaps his +own had been more reserved than he realised. There had been so much at +Jaipur and Delhi that he could not very well enlarge upon. No use +worrying the dear old man; and she, who had linked them, unfailingly, +was now seldom mentioned between them.</p> + +<p>So there grew up in Roy a disconsolate feeling that none of them cared +very much whether he came Home or not. Jerry—after three years in a +German prison—was a nervous wreck; still undergoing treatment; humanly +lost, for the time being. Tiny was absorbed in her husband and an even +Tinier baby, called Nevil Le Roy, after himself. Tara was not yet home; +but coming before long, because Aunt Helen had broken down, between war +work and the shock of Atholl's death.</p> + +<p>A queer thing—separation, mused Roy, as Suráj slowed down to a walk and +the glare of morning flamed along the sky. There were they—and here was +he: close relations, in effect; almost strangers in fact. There was more +between him and them than several hundred miles of sea. There was the +bottomless gulf of the War; the gulf of his bitter grief and the slow +climb up from the depths to Pisgah heights of revelation. Impossible to +communicate—even had he willed—those inner, vital experiences at +Chitor and Jaipur. And he had certainly <a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a>neither will nor power to +enlarge on his present turmoil of heart and mind.</p> + +<p>Since his ride with Rose Arden, after the dinner-party, things seemed to +have taken a new turn. Their relation was no longer tentative. She +seemed tacitly to regard him as her chosen cavalier; and he, as tacitly, +fell in with the arrangement. No denying he felt flattered a little; +subjugated increasingly by a spell he could neither analyse nor resist, +because he had known nothing quite like it before. He was, in truth, +paying the penalty for those rare and beautiful years of early manhood +inspired by worship of his mother. For every virtue, every gift, the +gods exact a price. And he was paying it now. Deep down within him, +something tugged against that potent spell. Yet increasingly it +prevailed and lured him from his work. The vivid beings of his brain +were fading into bloodless unrealities; in which state he could do +nothing with them. Yet Broome's encouragement, and his father's critical +appreciation of fragments lately sent Home, had fired him to +fulfil—more than fulfil—their expectations. And now—here he was +tripped up again by his all-too-human capacity for emotion—as at +Jaipur.</p> + +<p>The comparison jerked him. The two experiences, like the two women, had +almost nothing in common. The charm of Arúna—with its Eastern mingling +of the sensuous and spiritual—was a charm he intimately understood. It +combined a touch of the earth with a rarefied touch of the stars. In +Rose Arden, so far, he had discovered no touch of the stars. She +suggested, rather, a day in early summer, when warmth and fragrance and +colour permeate soul and body; keeping them delectably in thrall; wooing +the brain from irksome queries—why, whence, whither?</p> + +<p>By now, the sheer fascination of her had entered in and saturated his +being to a degree that he vaguely resented. Always one face, one voice, +intruding on him unsought. No respite from thought of her, from desire +of her; the exquisite intolerable ache, at times, when she was present +with him; the still more intolerable ache when she was not.</p> + +<p>The fluidity of his own dual nature, and recoil from the Arúna +temptation, inclined him peculiarly to <a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a>idealise the clear-eyed, +self-poised Western qualities so diversely personified in Lance and this +compelling girl. Yet emphatically he did not love her. He knew the great +reality too well to delude himself on that score. Were these the +authentic signs of falling 'in love'? If so—in spite of rapturous +moments—it was a confoundedly uncomfortable state of being....</p> + +<p>Where was she leading him—this beautiful, distracting girl, who said so +little, yet whose smiles and silences implied so much? There was no +forwardness or free-and-easiness about her; yet instinctively he +recognised her as the active agent in the whole affair. Twice, lately, +he had resolved not to go near her again; and both times he had failed +ignominiously—he who prided himself on control of unruly emotions...!</p> + +<p>Had Lance, he wondered, made the same resolve and managed to keep +it—being Lance? Or was the Gymkhana momentarily the stronger magnet of +the two? He and Paul, with a Major in the Monmouths, were chief +organisers; and much practice was afoot at tent-pegging, bare-back +horsemanship, and the like. For a week Lance had scarcely been into +Lahore. When Roy pressed him, he said it was getting too hot for +afternoon dancing. But as he still affected far more violent forms of +exercise, that excuse was not particularly convincing.</p> + +<p>By way of retort, he had rallied Roy on overdoing the tame-cat touch and +neglecting the important novel. And Roy—wincing at the truth of that +friendly flick—had replied no less truthfully: "Well, if it hangs fire, +old chap, you're the sinner. <i>You</i> dug me out of Paradise by twitting me +with becoming an appendage to a pencil! Another month at Udaipur would +have nearly pulled me through it—in the rough, at least."</p> + +<p>It was lightly spoken; but Lance had set his lips in a fashion Roy knew +well; and said no more.</p> + +<p>Altogether, he seemed to have retired into a shell out of which he +refused to be drawn. They were friendly as ever, but distinctly less +intimate; and Roy felt vaguely responsible, yet powerless to put things +straight. For intimacy—in its essence a mutual impulse—cannot be +induced to order. If one spoke of Miss Arden, or doings in Lahore, Lance +would respond without en<a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a>thusiasm, and unobtrusively change the subject. +Roy could only infer that his interest in the girl had never gone very +deep and had now fizzled out altogether. But he would have given a good +deal to feel sure that the fizzling out had no connection with his own +appearance on the scene. It bothered him to remember that, at first, in +an odd, repressed fashion Lance had seemed unmistakably keen. But if he +would persist in playing the Trappist monk, what the devil was a fellow +to do?</p> + +<p>Even over the Gymkhana programme, there had been an undercurrent of +friction. Lance—in his new vein—had wanted to keep the women out of +it; while Roy—in his new vein—couldn't keep at least one of them out, +if he tried. In particular, both were keen about the Cockade Tournament: +a glorified version of fencing on horseback: the wire masks adorned with +a small coloured feather for plume. He was victor whose fencing-stick +detached his opponent's feather. The prize—Bachelor's Purse—had been +well subscribed for and supplemented by Gymkhana funds. So, on all +accounts, it was a popular event. There were twenty-two names down; and +Roy, in a romantic impulse, had proposed making a real joust of it; each +knight to wear a lady's favour; a Queen of Beauty and Love to be chosen +for the prize-giving, as in the days of chivalry.</p> + +<p>Lance had rather hotly objected; and a few inveterate bachelors had +backed him up. But the bulk of men are sentimental at heart; none more +than the soldier. So Roy's idea had caught on, and the matter was +settled. There was little doubt who would be chosen for prize-giver; and +scarcely less doubt whose favour Roy would wear.</p> + +<p>Desmond's flash of annoyance had been brief; but he had stipulated that +favours should not be compulsory. If they were, he for one would +'scratch.' This time he had a larger backing; and, amid a good deal of +chaff and laughter, had carried his point.</p> + +<p>That open clash between them—slight though it was—had jarred Roy a +good deal. Lance, characteristically, had ignored the whole thing.</p> + +<p>But not even the inner jar could blunt Roy's keen anticipation of the +whole affair. Miss Arden was his partner in one of the few mixed events. +He was to wear <a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a>her favour for the Tournament—a Maréchal Mel rose; and, +infatuated as he was, he saw it for a guarantee of victory....</p> + +<p>In view of that intoxicating possibility, nothing else mattered +inordinately, at the moment: though there reposed in his pocket a letter +from Dyán—with a Delhi post-mark—giving a detailed account of serious +trouble caused by the recent <i>hartal</i>:<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> all shops closed; tram-cars +and gharris held up by threatening crowds; helpless passengers forced to +proceed on foot in the blazing heat and dust; troops and police +violently assaulted; till a few rounds of buckshot cooled the ardour of +ignorant masses, doubtless worked up to concert pitch by wandering +agitators of the Chandranath persuasion.</p> + +<p>"There were certain Swamis," he concluded, "trying to keep things +peaceful. But they ought to know resistance cannot be passive or +peaceful; and excitement without understanding is a fire difficult to +quench. I believe this explosion was premature; but there is lots more +gunpowder lying about, only waiting for the match. I am taking Arúna +into the Hills for a pilgrimage. It is possible Grandfather may come +too; we are hoping to start soon after the fifteenth, if things keep +quiet. Write to me, Roy, telling all you know. Lahore is a hotbed for +trouble; Amritsar, worse; but I hope your authorities are keeping well +on their guard."</p> + +<p>From all Roy heard, there seemed good reason to believe they were;—in +so far as a Home policy of Government by concession would permit. But +well he knew that—in the East—if the ruling power discards action for +argument, and uses the sceptre for a walking-stick—things happen to men +and women and children on the spot. He also knew that, to England's +great good fortune, there were usually men on the spot who could be +relied on, in an emergency, to think and act and dare in accordance with +the high tradition of their race.</p> + +<p>He hoped devoutly it might not come to that; but at the core of hope +lurked a flicker of fear....<a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Abstention as sign of mourning.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VD" id="CHAPTER_VD"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="center"> +"Her best is bettered with a more delight."—<span class='smcap'>Shakspere.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>The great Gymkhana was almost over. The last event—bare-back feats of +horsemanship—had been an exciting affair; a close contest between Lance +and Roy and an Indian Cavalry officer. But it was Roy who had carried +the day, by his daring and dexterity in the test of swooping down and +snatching a handkerchief from the ground at full gallop. The ovation he +received went to his head like champagne. But praise from Lance went to +his heart; for Lance, like himself, had been 'dead keen' on this +particular event. He had carried off a tent-pegging cup, however; and +appropriately won the V.C. race. So Roy considered he had a right to his +triumph; especially as the handkerchief in question had been proffered +by Miss Arden. It was reposing in his breast pocket now; and he had a +good mind not to part with it. He was feeling in the mood to dare, +simply for the excitement of the thing. He and she had won the Gretna +Green race—hands down. He further intended—for her honour and his own +glory—to come off victor in the Cockade Tournament, in spite of the +fact that fencing on horseback was one of Lance's specialities. He had +taught Roy in Mesopotamia, during those barren, plague-ridden stretches +of time when the war seemed hung up indefinitely and it took every ounce +of surplus optimism to keep going at all.</p> + +<p>Roy's hope was that some other man might knock Lance out; or—as teams +would be decided by lot—that luck might cast them together. For the +ache of compunction was rather pronounced this afternoon; perhaps +because the good fellow's aloofness from the <a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a>grand <i>shamiánah</i><a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> was +also rather pronounced, considering....</p> + +<p>He seemed always to be either out in the open, directing events, or very +much engaged in the refreshment tent—an earthly Paradise, on this +blazing day of early April, to scores of dusty, thirsty, indefatigable +men.</p> + +<p>Between events, as now, the place was thronged. Every moment, fresh +arrivals shouting for 'drinks.' Every moment the swish of a syphon, the +popping of corks; ginger-beer and lemonade for Indian officers, seated +just outside, and permitted by caste rules to refresh themselves +'English-fashion,' provided they drank from the pure source of the +bottle. Not a Sikh or Rajput of them all would have sullied his +caste-purity by drinking from the tumbler used by some admired Sahib, +for whom on service he would cheerfully lay down his life. Within the +tent were a few—very few—more advanced beings, who had discarded all +irksome restrictions and would sooner be shot than address a white man +as 'Sahib.' Such is India in transition; a welter of incongruities, of +shifting perilous uncertainties, of subterranean ferment beneath a +surface that still appears very much as it has always been.</p> + +<p>Roy—observant and interested as usual—saw, in the brilliant gathering, +all the outward and visible signs of security, stability, power. Let +those signs be shaken never so little, thought he—and the heavens would +fall. But, in spite of grave news from Delhi—that might prove a prelude +to eruption—not a ripple stirred on the face of the waters. The grand +<i>shamiánah</i> was thronged with lively groups of women and men in the +lightest of light attire. A British band was enlivening the interlude +with musical comedy airs. Stewards were striding about looking +important, issuing orders for the next event. And around them all—as +close as boundary flags and police would allow—thronged the solid mass +of onlookers: soldiers, sepoys, and sowars from every regiment in +cantonments; minor officials with their families; ponies and <i>saises</i> +and dogs without number; all wedged in by a sea of brown faces and +bobbing turbans, thousands of them twenty or thirty deep.<a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a></p> + +<p>Roy's eyes, travelling from that vast outer ring to the crowded tent, +suddenly saw the whole scene as typical of Anglo-Indian life: the little +concentrated world of British men and women, pursuing their own ends, +magnificently unmindful of alien eyes—watching, speculating, +misunderstanding at every turn; the whole heterogeneous mass drawn and +held together by the love of hazard and sport, the spirit of competition +without strife that is the corner-stone of British character and the +British Empire.</p> + +<p>He had just been talking to a C.I.D.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> man, who had things to say +about subterranean rumblings that might have startled those laughing, +chaffing groups of men and women. Too vividly his imagination pictured +the scenes at Delhi, while his eyes scanned the formidable depths of +alien humanity hemming them in, outnumbering them by thousands to one. +What if all those friendly faces became suddenly hostile—if the +laughter and high-pitched talk changed to the roar of an angry crowd...?</p> + +<p>He shook off the nightmare feeling, rating himself for a coward. Yet he +knew it was not fantastical, not even improbable; though most of the +people around him, till they saw with their own eyes, and heard with +their own ears, would not believe....</p> + +<p>But thoughts so unsettling were out of place, in the midst of a Gymkhana +with the grand climax imminent. So—having washed the dust out of his +throat—he sauntered across to the other tent to snatch a few words with +Miss Arden and secure his rose. It had been given to one of the +'<i>kits</i>,' who would put it in water and produce it on demand. For the +affair of the favours was to be a private affair. Miss Arden, however, +in choosing a Maréchal Niel, tacitly avowed him her knight. Lance would +know. All their set would know. He supposed she realised that. She was +not an accidental kind of person. And she had a natural gift for +flattery of the delicate, indirect order.</p> + +<p>No easy matter to get near her again, once you left her side. As usual, +she was surrounded by men; easily the Queen of Beauty and of Love. In +honour of that high compliment, she wore her loveliest race gown;<a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a> soft +shades of blue and green skilfully blended; and a close-fitting hat +bewitchingly framed her face. Nearing the tent, Roy felt a sudden twinge +of apprehension. Where were they drifting to—he and she? Was he +prepared to bid her good-bye in a week or ten days, and possibly not set +eyes on her again? Would she let him go without a pang, and start afresh +with some chance-met fellow in Simla? The idea was detestable; and +yet...?</p> + +<p>Half irritably he dismissed the intrusive thought. The glamour of her so +dazzled him that he could see nothing else clearly.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that was why he failed to escape Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who +skilfully annexed him in passing, and rained compliments on his +embarrassed head. Fine horsemanship was common enough in India; but +anything more superb——! Wide blue eyes and extravagant gesture +expressively filled the blank.</p> + +<p>"My heart was in my mouth! That handkerchief trick is <i>so</i> thrilling. +You all looked as if you <i>must</i> have your brains knocked out the next +moment——"</p> + +<p>"And if we had, I suppose the thrill would have gone one better!" Roy +wickedly suggested. He was annoyed at being delayed.</p> + +<p>"You deserve 'yes' to that! But if I said what I <i>really</i> thought, your +head would be turned. And it's quite sufficiently turned already!" She +beamed on him with arch significance, enjoying his impatience without a +tinge of malice. There was little of it in her; and the little there +was, she reserved for her own sex.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's a <i>dead</i> secret ... whose favour you are going to wear?"</p> + +<p>"That's the ruling," said Roy; but he felt his blood tingling, and hoped +to goodness it didn't show through.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've got big bets on about guessing right; and the biggest bet's +on yours! Major Desmond's a good second."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he bars the whole idea."</p> + +<p>"I'm relieved to hear it. I was angelic enough to offer him mine, +thinking he might be feeling out in the cold!" (another arch look) +"and—he refused. My 'Happy Warrior' doesn't seem quite so happy as he +used to be——"<a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a></p> + +<p>The light thrust struck home, but Roy ignored it. If Lance barred +wearing favours, he barred discussing Lance with women. Driven into a +corner, he managed somehow to escape, and hurried away in search of his +rose.</p> + +<p>Mrs Ranyard, looking after him, with frankly affectionate concern, found +herself wondering—was he really quite so transparent as he seemed? That +queer visionary look in his eyes, now and then, suggested spiritual +depths, or heights, that might baffle even the all-appropriating Rose? +Did she seriously intend to appropriate him? There were vague rumours of +a title. But no one knew anything about him, really, except the two +Desmonds; and she would be a brave woman who tried to squeeze family +details out of them. The boy was too good for her; but still....</p> + +<p>Roy, reappearing, felt idiotically convinced that every eye was on the +little spot of yellow in his button-hole that linked him publicly with +the girl who wore a cluster of its fellows at her belt.</p> + +<p>Time was nearly up. She had moved to the front now, and was free of men, +standing very still, gazing intently....</p> + +<p>Roy, following her gaze, saw Lance—actually in the tent—discussing +some detail with the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"What makes her look at him like that?" he wondered; and it was as if +the tip of a red-hot needle touched his heart.</p> + +<p>Next moment she saw him, and beckoned him with her eyes. He came, +instinctively obedient; and her welcoming glance included the rosebud. +"You found it?" she said, very low, mindful of feminine ears. "And—you +deserve it, after that marvellous exhibition. You went such a pace. +It—frightened me."</p> + +<p>It frightened him, a little, the exceeding softness of her look and +tone; and she added, more softly still, "My handkerchief, please."</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> handkerchief!" he retorted. "I won it fairly. You've admitted as +much."</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't meant—for a prize."</p> + +<p>"I risked something to win it anyway," said he, "and now——"</p> + +<p>The blare of the megaphone—a poor substitute for <a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a>heralds' +trumpets—called the knights of the wire-mask and fencing-stick into the +lists.</p> + +<p>"Go in and win the rosebud too!" said she, when the shouting ceased. +"Keep cool. Don't lose your head—or your feather!"</p> + +<p>He had lost his head already. She had seen to that. And turning to leave +her, he found Lance almost at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Roy," he said, an imperative note in his voice; and if +<i>his</i> glance included the rosebud, it gave no sign.</p> + +<p>As they neared the gathering group of combatants, he turned with one of +his quick looks.</p> + +<p>"You're in luck, old man. Every inducement to come out top!" he +remarked, only half in joke. "I've none, except my own credit. But +you'll have a tough job if you knock up against <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Right you are," Roy answered, jarred by the look and tone more than the +words. "If you're so dead keen, I'll take you on."</p> + +<p>After that, Roy hoped exceedingly that luck might cast them in the same +team.</p> + +<p>But it fell out otherwise.</p> + +<p>Lance drew red; Roy, blue. Lance and Major Devines, of the Monmouths, +were chosen as leaders. They were the only two on the ground who wore no +favours: and they fronted each other with smiles of approval, their +respective teams—ten a side—drawn up in two long lines; heads caged in +wire-masks, tufted, with curly feathers, red and blue; ponies champing +and pawing the air. Not precisely a picturesque array; but if the plumes +and trappings of chivalry were lacking, the spirit of it still nickered +within; and will continue to flicker, just so long as modern woman will +permit.</p> + +<p>At the crack of a pistol they were off, full tilt; but there was no +shock of lance on shield, no crash and clang of armour that 'could be +heard at a mile's distance,' as in the days of Ivanhoe. There was only +the sharp rattle of fencing-sticks against each other and the masks, the +clatter of eighty-eight hooves on hard ground; a lively confusion of +horses and men, advancing, backing, 'turning on a sixpence' to meet a +sudden attack; <a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a>voices, Indian and English, shouting or cheering; and +the intermittent call of the umpire declaring a player knocked out as +his feather fluttered into the dust. Clouds of dust enveloped them in a +shifting haze. They breathed dust. It gritted between their teeth. What +matter? They were having at each other in furious yet friendly combat; +and, being Englishmen, they were perfectly happy; keen to win, ready to +lose with a good grace and cheer the better man.</p> + +<p>In none of them, perhaps, did the desire to win burn quite so fiercely +as in Lance and Roy. But more than ever, now, Roy shrank from a final +tussle between them. Surely there was one man of them all good enough to +put Lance out of court.</p> + +<p>For a time Major Devines kept him occupied. While Roy accounted for two +red feathers, the well-matched pair were making a fine fight of it up +and down the field, to the tune of cheers and counter-cheers.</p> + +<p>But it was the blue feather that fell; and Lance, swinging round, +charged into the melée—seven reds now, to six blue.</p> + +<p>Twice, in the scrimmage, Roy came up against him, but managed to shift +ground, leaving another man to tackle him. Both times it was the blue +feather that fell. Steadily the numbers thinned. Roy's wrist and arm +were tiring, a trifle; but resolve to win burned fiercely as ever. By +now it was clear to all who were the two best men in the field, and +excitement rose as the numbers dwindled....</p> + +<p>Four to three; blues leading. Two all. And at last—an empty dusty +arena; and they two alone in the midst, ringed in by thousands of faces, +thousands of eyes....</p> + +<p>Till that moment, the spectators had simply not existed for Roy. Now, of +a sudden, they crowded in on him—tightly-wedged wall of +humanity—expectant, terrifying....</p> + +<p>The two had drawn rein, facing each other; and for that mere moment Roy +felt as if his nerve was gone. A glance at the crowded tent, the gleam +of a blue-green figure leaning forward....</p> + +<p>Then Lance's voice, low and peremptory, 'Come on.'</p> + +<p>In the same breath he himself came on, with formid<a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a>able élan. Their +sticks rattled sharply. Roy parried a high slicing stroke—only just in +time.</p> + +<p>Thank God, he was himself again; so much himself that he was beset by a +sneaking desire to let Lance win. It was his weakness in games, just +when the goal seemed in sight. Tara used to scold him fiercely....</p> + +<p>But there was Miss Arden, the rosebud....</p> + +<p>And suddenly, startlingly, Roy became aware that for Lance this was no +game. He was fencing like a man inspired. There was more than mere skill +in his feints and shrewd blows; more in it than a feather.</p> + +<p>Two cuts over the arm and shoulder, a good deal sharper than need be, +fairly roused Roy. Next moment they were literally fighting, at closest +range, for all they were worth, to the accompaniment of yell on yell, +cheer on cheer....</p> + +<p>As the issue hung doubtful and excitement intensified, it became clear +that Lance was losing his temper. Roy, hurt and angry, tried to keep +cool. Against an antagonist so skilled and relentless, it was his only +chance. Their names were shouted. <i>"Shahbash<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> Sinkin, Sahib,"</i> from +the men of Roy's old squadron; and from Lance's men, <i>"Desmin Sahib ki +jai!"</i><a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p> + +<p>Twice Roy's slicing stroke almost came off—almost, not quite. The +maddening little feather still held its own; and Lance, by way of +rejoinder, caught him a blow on his mask that made his head ache for an +hour after.</p> + +<p>Up went his arm to return the blow with interest. Lance, instead of +parrying, lunged—and the head of a yellow bud dropped in the dust.</p> + +<p>At that Roy saw red. His lifted hand shook visibly; and with the +moment's loss of control went his last hope of victory....</p> + +<p>Next instant his feather had joined the rosebud; the crowd were roaring +themselves hoarse; and Roy was riding off the ground—shorn of plume and +favour, furiously disappointed, and feeling a good deal more bruised +about the arms and shoulders than anything on earth would have induced +him to admit.</p> + +<p>Of course he ought to go up and congratulate Lance; but just then it +seemed a physical impossibility. Merci<a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a>fully he was surrounded and borne +off to the refreshment tent; sped on his way by a rousing ovation as he +passed the <i>shamiánah</i>.</p> + +<p>Roy, following after, had his full share of praise, and a salvo of +applause from the main tent.</p> + +<p>Saluting and looking round, he dared not meet Miss Arden's eye. Had he +won, she might have owned him. As it was, he had better keep his +distance. But the glimpse he got of her face startled him. It looked +curiously white and strained. His own imagination, perhaps. It was only +a flash. But it haunted him. He felt responsible. She had been so +radiantly sure....</p> + +<p>Arrived in the other tent—feeling stupidly giddy and in pain—he sank +down on the first available chair. Friendly spirits ordered drinks, and +soothed him with compliments. A thundering good fight. To be so narrowly +beaten by Desmond was an achievement in itself; and so forth.</p> + +<p>Lance and Paul, still surrounded, were at the other end of the long +table; and a very fair wedge of thirsty, perspiring manhood filled the +intervening space. Roy did not feel like stirring. He felt more like +drinking half a dozen 'pegs' in succession. But soon he was aware of a +move going on. The prizes, of course; and he had two to collect. By a +special decree, the Tournament prize would be given first. So he need +not hurry. The tent was emptying swiftly. He <i>must</i> screw himself up to +congratulations....</p> + +<p>The screwing was still in process when Lance crossed the tent—nearly +empty now—and stopped in front of him.</p> + +<p>"See here, Roy—I apologise," he said hurriedly, in a low tone. "I lost +my temper. Not fair play——"</p> + +<p>Instantly Roy was on his feet, shoulders squared, the last spark of +antagonism extinct.</p> + +<p>"If it comes to that, I lost mine too," he admitted, and Lance smiled.</p> + +<p>"You <i>did!</i> But—I began it." There was an instant of painful +hesitation, then, "It—it was an accident—the favour——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," Roy muttered, embarrassed and overcome.<a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a></p> + +<p>"It's not all right. It put you off." Another pause. "Will you take half +the Purse?"</p> + +<p>"Not I." Glory apart, he knew very well how badly Lance needed the +money. "It's yours. And you deserve it."</p> + +<p>They both spoke low and rapidly, as if on a matter of business, for +there were still some men at the other end of the tent. But at that, to +Roy's amazement, Lance held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, old man. Shake hands—here, where the women can see us. You bet +... they twigged.... And they chatter so infernally.... Unfair—on Miss +Arden——"</p> + +<p>Roy felt himself reddening. It was Lance all over—that chivalrous +impulse. So they shook hands publicly, to the astonishment of interested +<i>kitmutgars</i>, who had been betting freely, and were marvelling afresh at +the strange ways of Sahibs.</p> + +<p>"I'll doctor your bruises to-night!" said Lance. "And I accept, +gratefully, <i>your</i> share of the purse. She won't relish—giving it to +the wrong 'un." The last, barely audible, came out in a rush, with a +jerk of the head that Roy knew well. "Come along and see how prettily +she does it."</p> + +<p>To Roy's infatuated eyes, she did it inimitably. Standing there, tall +and serene, in her pale-coloured gown and bewitching hat, instinct with +the mysterious authority of beauty, she handed the prize to Desmond with +a little gracious speech of congratulation, adding, "It was a close +fight; but you won it—fairly."</p> + +<p>Roy started. Did Lance notice the lightest imaginable stress on the +word?</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much," he said; and saluted, looking her straight in the +eyes.</p> + +<p>Roy, watching intently, fancied he saw a ghost of a blush stir under the +even pallor of her skin. She had told him once, in joke, that she never +blushed; it was not one of her accomplishments. But for half a second +she came perilously near it; and although it enhanced her beauty +tenfold, it troubled Roy.</p> + +<p>Then—as the cheering died down—he saw her turn to the Colonel, who was +supporting her, and heard her clear deliberate tones, that carried with +so little effort:<a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a> "I think, Colonel Desmond, every one must agree that +the honours are almost equally divided——"</p> + +<p>More applause; and Roy—scarcely crediting his ears or eyes—saw her +pick a rose from her cluster.</p> + +<p>The moment speech was possible, she leaned forward, smiling frankly at +him before them all.</p> + +<p>"Mr Sinclair, will you accept a mere token by way of consolation prize? +We are all agreed you put up a splendid fight; and it was no dishonour +to be defeated by—such an adversary."</p> + +<p>Fresh clapping and shouting; while Roy—elated and overwhelmed—went +forward like a man walking in a dream.</p> + +<p>It was a dream-woman who pinned the rosebud in his empty button-hole, +patting it into shape with the lightest touch of her finger-tips, +saying, "Well done indeed," and smiling at him again....</p> + +<p>Without a word he saluted and walked away.</p> + +<p>She had done it prettily, past question; and in a fashion all her own.<a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Marquee tent.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Criminal Investigation Department.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Well done.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Victory to Desmond Sahib.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VID" id="CHAPTER_VID"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Blood and brain and spirit"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Blood and brain and spirit, three—</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Join for true felicity.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Are they parted, then expect</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Someone sailing will be wrecked."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>George Meredith</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>On the night after the Gymkhana the great little world of Lahore was +again disporting itself, with unabated vigour, in the pillared ballroom +of the Lawrence Hall. They could tell tales worth inditing, those +pillars and galleries that have witnessed all the major festivities of +Punjab Anglo-India—its loves and jealousies and high-hearted +courage—from the day of crinolines and whiskers, to this day of the +tooth-brush moustache, the retiring skirts and still more retiring +bodices of after-war economy. And there are those who believe they will +witness the revelry of Anglo-Indian generations yet to be.</p> + +<p>Had Lance Desmond shared Roy's gift for visions, he might have seen, in +spirit, the ghosts of his mother and father, in the pride of their +youth, and that first legendary girl-wife, of whom Thea had once told +him all she knew, and whose grave he had seen in Kohat cemetery with a +queer mingling of pity and resentment in his heart. There should have +been no one except his own splendid mother—first, last, and all the +time.</p> + +<p>But Lance, though no scoffer, had small intimacy with ghosts; and Roy's +frequented other regions; nor was he in the frame of mind to induce +spiritual visitations. Soul and body were enmeshed, as in a network of +sunbeams, holding him close to earth.</p> + +<p>For weeks part of him had been fighting, subconsciously, against the +compelling power that is woman; now, consciously, he was alive to it, +swept along by it, as by <a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a>a tidal wave. Since that amazing moment at the +prize-giving, all his repressed ferment had welled up and overflowed; +and when an imaginative, emotional nature loses grip on the reins, the +pace is apt to be headlong, the course perilous....</p> + +<p>He had dined at the Eltons'—a lively party; chaff and laughter and +champagne; and Miss Arden—after yesterday's graciousness—in a +tantalising, elusive mood. But he had his dances secure—six out of +twenty, not to mention the cotillon, after supper, which they were to +lead. She was wearing what he called her 'Undine frock'—a clinging +affair, fringed profusely with silver and palest green, that suggested +to his fancy Undine emerging from the stream in a dripping garment of +water-weeds. Her arms and shoulders emerged from it a little too +noticeably for his taste; but to-night his critical brain was in +abeyance.</p> + +<p>Look where he would, talk to whom he would, he was persistently, +distractingly aware of her; and she could not elude him the whole +evening long....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Supper was over. The cotillon itself was almost over; the maypole figure +adding a flutter of bright ribbons to the array of flags and bunting, +evening dresses, and uniforms. Twice, in the earlier figures, she had +chosen him; but this time, the chance issue of pairing by colours gave +her to Desmond. Roy saw a curious look pass between them. Then Lance put +his arm round her, and they danced without a break.</p> + +<p>When it was over, Roy went in search of iced coffee. In a few seconds +those two appeared on the same errand, and merged themselves in a lively +group. Roy, irresistibly, followed suit; and when the music struck up, +Lance handed her over with a formal bow.</p> + +<p>"Your partner, I think, old man. Thanks for the loan," he said; and his +smile was for Roy as he turned and walked leisurely away.</p> + +<p>Roy looked after him, feeling pained and puzzled; the more so, because +Lance clearly had the whip-hand. It was she who seemed the less assured +of the two; and he caught himself wishing he possessed the power so to +upset her equanimity. Was it even remotely possible <a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a>that—she cared +seriously, and Lance would not...?</p> + +<p>"Brown studies aren't permitted in ballrooms, Mr Sinclair!" she rallied +him in her gentlest voice—and Lance was forgotten. "Come and tie an +extra big choc. on to my fishing-rod."</p> + +<p>Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to masculine +dignity. Six brief-skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood on chairs, each +dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of bamboo and coloured +ribbon. Before them, on six cushions, knelt six men; heads tilted back, +bobbing this way and that, at the caprice of the angler; occasionally +losing balance, and half toppling over amid shouts and cheers.</p> + +<p>How did that kind of fooling strike the '<i>kits</i>' and the Indian bandsman +up aloft, wondered Roy. A pity they never gave a thought to that side of +the picture. He determined not to be drawn in. Lance, he noticed, +studiously refrained. Miss Arden—having tantalised three aspirants—was +looking round for a fourth victim. Their eyes met—and he was done +for....</p> + +<p>Directly his knee touched the cushion, the recoil came sharply—too +late. And she—as if aware of his reluctance—played him mercilessly, +smiling down on him with her astonishing hazel eyes....</p> + +<p>Roy's patience and temper gave out. Tingling with mortification, he rose +and walked away, to be greeted with a volley of good-natured chaff.</p> + +<p>He was followed by Lister, 'the R.E. boy,' who at once secured the +elusive bait, clearly by favour rather than skill. The rest had already +paired. The band struck up; and Roy, partnerless, stood looking on, the +film of the East over his face masking the clash of forces within. The +fool he was to have given way! And <i>this</i>—before them all—after +yesterday...!</p> + +<p>His essential masculinity stood confounded; blind to the instinct of the +essential coquette—allurement by flight. He resolved to take no part in +the final figure—the mirror and handkerchief; would not even look at +her, lest she catch his eye.</p> + +<p>Her choice fell on Hayes; and Roy—elaborately indifferent—carried +Lance off to the buffet for champagne cup. It was a thirsty evening; a +relief to be quit of the ballroom and get a breath of masculine fresh +air. The fencing-bout and its aftermath had consciously quick<a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a>ened his +feeling for Lance. In the fury of that fight they seemed to have worked +off the hidden friction of the past few weeks that had dimmed the steady +radiance of their friendship. It was as if a storm-cloud had burst and +the sun shone out again.</p> + +<p>They said nothing intimate, nothing worthy of note. They were simply +content.</p> + +<p>Yet, when music struck up, Roy was in a fever to be with her again.</p> + +<p>Her welcoming smile revived his reckless mood. "Ours—<i>this</i> time, +anyway," he said, in an odd repressed voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes—ours."</p> + +<p>Her answering look vanquished him utterly. As his arm encircled her, he +fancied she leaned ever so little towards him, as if admitting that she +too felt the thrill of coming together again. Fancy or no, it was like a +lighted match dropped in a powder magazine....</p> + +<p>For Roy that single valse, out of scores they had danced together, was +an experience by itself.</p> + +<p>While the music plays, a man encircles one woman and another, from +habit, without a flicker of emotion. But to-night volcanic forces in Roy +were rising like champagne when the cork begins to move. Never had he +been so disturbingly aware that he was holding her in his arms; that he +wanted tremendously to go on holding her when the music stopped. To this +danger-point he had been brought by the unconscious effect of delicate +approaches and strategic retreats. And the man who has most firmly kept +the cork on his emotions is often the most unaccountable when it flies +off....</p> + +<p>The music ceased. They were merely partners again. He led her out into +starry darkness, velvet soft; very quiet and contained to the outer eye; +inwardly, of a sudden, afraid of himself, still more afraid of the +serenely beautiful girl at his side.</p> + +<p>He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do; but not at all what he +wanted to say. For him, as his mother's son, marriage had a sacredness, +an apartness from random emotions, however overwhelming; and it went +against the grain to approach that supreme subject in his present fine +confusion of heart and body and brain.</p> + +<p>They wandered on a little. Like himself, she seemed smitten dumb; and +with every moment of silence, he <a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a>became more acutely aware of her. He +had discovered that this was one of her most potent spells. Never for +long could a man be unaware of her, of the fact that she was before +everything—a woman.</p> + +<p>In a sense—how different!—it had been the same with Arúna. But with +Arúna it was primitive, instinctive. This exotic flower of Western +girlhood wielded her power with conscious, consummate skill....</p> + +<p>Near a seat well away from the Hall she stopped. "We don't want any more +exercise, do we?" she said softly.</p> + +<p>"I've had enough for the present," he answered. And they sat down.</p> + +<p>Silence again. He didn't know what to say to her. He only craved +overwhelmingly to take her in his arms. Had she a glimmering +idea—sitting there, so close ... so alluring...?</p> + +<p>And suddenly, to his immense relief, she spoke.</p> + +<p>"It was splendid. A pity it's over. That's the litany of Anglo-India. +It's over. Change the scene. Shuffle the puppets—and begin again. I've +been doing it for six years——"</p> + +<p>"And—it doesn't pall?" His voice sounded quite natural, quite composed, +which was also a relief.</p> + +<p>"Pall?—You try it!" For the first time he detected a faint note of +bitterness. "But still—a cotillon's a cotillon!"—She seemed to pull +herself together.—"There's an exciting element in it that keeps its +freshness. And I flatter myself we carried it through brilliantly—you +and I." The pause before the linked pronouns gave him an odd little +thrill. "But—what put you off ... at the end?"</p> + +<p>Her amazing directness took him aback. "I—oh, well—I thought ... one +way and another, you'd been having enough of me."</p> + +<p>"That's not true!" She glanced at him sidelong. "You were vexed because +I chose the Lister boy. And he was all over himself, poor dear! As a +matter of fact, I'd meant to have you. If you'd only looked at me ...! +But you stared fiercely the other way. However, perhaps we've been +flagrant enough for to-night——"</p> + +<p>"Flagrant—have we?"</p> + +<p>Daring, passionate words thronged his brain; and <a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a>through his inner +turmoil, he heard her answer lightly: "Don't ask me! Ask the +Banter-Wrangle. She knows to an inch the degrees of flagrance officially +permitted to the attached and the unattached! You see, in India, we're +allowed ... a certain latitude."</p> + +<p>"Yes—I've noticed. It's a pity...." Words simply would not come, on +this theme of all others. Was she indirectly ... telling him ...?</p> + +<p>"And you disapprove—tooth and nail?" she queried gently. "I hoped you +were different. You don't know <i>how</i> tired we are of eternal disapproval +from people who simply know nothing—nothing——"</p> + +<p>"But I don't disapprove," he blurted out vehemently. "It always strikes +me as a rather middle-class, puritanical attitude. I only think—it's a +thousand pities to take the bloom off ... the big thing—the real thing, +by playing at it (you can see they do) like lawn tennis, just to pass +the time——"</p> + +<p>"Well, Heaven knows, we've <i>got</i> to pass the time out here—<i>some</i>how!" +she retorted, with a sudden warmth that startled him: it was so unlike +her. "All very fine for people at home to turn up superior noses at us; +to say we live in blinkers, that we've no intellectual pursuits, no +interest in 'this wonderful country.' I confess, to some of us, India +and its people are holy terrors. As for art and music and +theatres—where <i>are</i> they, except what we make for ourselves, in our +indefatigable, amateurish way. Can't <i>you</i> see—you, with your +imaginative insight—that we have virtually nothing but each other? If +we spent our days bowing and scraping and dining and dancing with due +decorum, there'd be a boom in suicides and the people in clover at Home +would placidly wonder why——?"</p> + +<p>"But do listen. I'm not blaming—any of you," he exclaimed, distracted +by her complete misreading of his mood.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're criticising—in your heart. And your opinion's worth +something—to some of us. Even if we <i>do</i> occasionally—play at being in +love, there's always the offchance it may turn out to be ... the real +thing." She drew an audible breath and added, in her lighter vein: "You +know, you're a very fair hand at it yourself—in your restrained, +fakirish fashion——"<a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a></p> + +<p>"But I don't—I'm not——" he stammered desperately. "And why d'you call +me a fakir? It's not the first time. And it's not true. I believe in +life—and the fulness of life."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad. I'm not keen on fakirs. But I only meant—one can't picture +you playing round, the way heaps of men do with girls ... who allow them +..."</p> + +<p>"No. That's true. I never——"</p> + +<p>"What—never? Or is it 'hardly ever'?"</p> + +<p>She leaned a shade nearer, her beautiful pale face etherealised by +starshine. And that infinitesimal movement, her low tone, the sheer +magnetism of her, swept him from his moorings. Words low and passionate +came all in a rush.</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i>, you doing with me? Why d'you tantalise me. Whether you're +there or not there, your face haunts me—your voice. It may be play for +you—it isn't for me——"</p> + +<p>"I've never said—I've never implied—it was play ... for <i>me</i>——"</p> + +<p>This time perceptibly she leaned nearer, mute confession in her look, +her tone; and delicate fire ran in his veins....</p> + +<p>Next moment his arms were round her; trembling, yet vehement; crushing +her against him almost roughly. No mistaking the response of her lips; +yet she never stirred; only the fingers of her right hand closed sharply +on his arm. Having hold of her at last, after all that inner tumult and +resistance, he could hardly let her go. Yet—strangely—even in the +white heat of fervour, some detached fragment, at the core of him, +seemed to be hating the whole thing, hating himself—and her——</p> + +<p>Instantly he released her ... looked at her ... realised.... In those +few tempestuous moments he had burnt his boats indeed ...</p> + +<p>She met his eyes now, found them too eloquent, and veiled her own.</p> + +<p>"No. You are not altogether—a fakir," she said softly.</p> + +<p>"I'd no business. I'm sorry ..." he began, answering his own swift +compunction, not her remark.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm</i> not—unless you really mean—<i>you</i> are?" Faint raillery gleamed +in her eyes. "You did rather over<a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a>whelmingly take things for granted. +But still ... after that...."</p> + +<p>"Yes—after that ... if <i>you</i> really mean it?"</p> + +<p>"Well ... what do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I simply <i>can't</i> think," he confessed, with transparent honesty. "I +hardly know if I'm on my head or my heels. I only know you've bewitched +me. I'm infatuated—intoxicated with you. But ... if you <i>do</i> care +enough ... to marry me——"</p> + +<p>"My dear—Roy—can you doubt it?"</p> + +<p>He had never heard her voice so charged with emotion. For all answer, he +held her close—with less assurance now—and kissed her again....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In course of time they remembered that a pause only lasts five minutes; +that there were other partners.</p> + +<p>"If we're not to be too flagrant, even for India," she said, rising with +unperturbed deliberation, "I suggest we go in. Goodness knows where +they've got to by now!"</p> + +<p>He stood up also. "It matters a good deal more ... where <i>we</i>'ve got to. +I'll come over to-morrow and see ... your people...."</p> + +<p>"No. You'll come over—and see me! We'll descend from the dream ... to +the business; and have everything clear to our own satisfaction before +we let in all the others. I always vowed I wouldn't accept a proposal +after supper! If you're ... intoxicated, you might wake +sober—disillusioned!"</p> + +<p>"But I—I've kissed you," he stammered, suddenly overcome with shyness.</p> + +<p>"So you have—a few times! I'm afraid we didn't keep count! I'm not +really doubting either of us—Roy. But still.... Shall we say tea and a +ride?"</p> + +<p>He hesitated. "Sorry—I'm booked. I promised Lance——"</p> + +<p>"Very well—dinner? Mother has some bridge people. Only one table. We +can escape into the garden. Now—come along."</p> + +<p>He drew a deep breath. More and more the detached part of him was +realising....</p> + +<p>They walked back rather briskly, not speaking; nor did he touch her +again.<a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"></a></p> + +<p>They found Lahore still dancing, sublimely unconcerned. Instinctively, +Roy looked round for Lance. No sign of him in the ballroom or the +card-room. And the crowded place seemed empty without him. It was queer.</p> + +<p>Later on, he ran up against Barnard, who told him that Lance had gone +home.<a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIID" id="CHAPTER_VIID"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Of the unspoken word thou art master. The spoken word is master of + thee."—<i>Arab Proverb</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>Roy drove home with Barnard in the small hours, still too overwrought +for clear thinking, and too exhausted all through to lie awake for five +minutes after his head touched the pillow. For the inner stress and +combat had been sharper than he knew.</p> + +<p>He woke late to find Terry curled up against his legs, and the bungalow +empty of human sounds. The other three were up long since, and gone to +early parade. His head was throbbing. He felt limp, as if all the vigour +had been drained out of him. And suddenly ... he remembered....</p> + +<p>Not in a lover's rush of exaltation, but with a sharp reaction almost +amounting to fear, the truth dawned on him that he was no longer his own +man. In a passionate impulse, he had virtually surrendered himself and +his future into the hands of a girl whom he scarcely knew. He still saw +the whole thing as mainly her doing—and it frightened him. Looking +backward over the past weeks, reviewing the steps by which he had +arrived at last night's involuntary culmination, he felt more frightened +than ever.</p> + +<p>And yet—there sprang a vision of her, pale and gracious in the +starshine, when she leaned to him at parting....</p> + +<p>She was wonderful and beautiful—and she was his. Any man worth his salt +would feel proud. And he did feel proud—in the intervals of feeling +horribly afraid of himself and her. Especially her. Girls were amazing +things. You seized hold of one and spoke mad words, and nearly crushed +the life out of her, and she took it <a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"></a>almost as calmly as if you had +asked for an extra dance. Was it a protective layer of insensibility—or +super-normal self-control? Would she, Rose, have despised him had she +guessed that even at the height of his exultation he had felt ashamed of +having let himself go so completely; and that before there had been any +word of marriage—any clear desire of it even in the deep of his heart?</p> + +<p>That was really the root of his trouble. The passing recoil from an +ardent avowal is no uncommon experience with the finer types of men. +But, to Roy, it seemed peculiarly unfitting that the son of his mother +should, as it were, stumble into marriage in a headlong impulse of +passion, on a superficial six weeks' acquaintance; and the shy, +spiritual side of him felt alarmed, restive, even a little repelled.</p> + +<p>In a measure, Rose was right when she dubbed him fakir. Artist though he +was, and all too human, there lurked in him a nascent streak of the +ascetic, accentuated by his mother's bidding, and his own strong desire +to keep in touch with her and with things not seen.</p> + +<p>And there, on his writing-table, stood her picture mutely reproaching +him. With a pang he realised how completely she had been crowded out of +his thoughts during those weeks of ferment. What would she think of it +all? The question—what would Rose think of her simply did not arise. +She was still supreme, she who had once said, "So long as you are +thinking first of me, you may be sure That Other has not yet arrived".</p> + +<p>Was Rose Arden—for all her beauty and witchery—genuinely That Other?</p> + +<p>Beguiled by her visible perfections, he had taken her spiritually for +granted. And he knew well enough that it is not through the senses a man +first approaches love—if he is capable of that high and complex +emotion; but rather through imagination and admiration, sympathy and +humour. As it was, he had not a glimmering idea how she would consort +with his very individual inner self. Yet matters were virtually +settled....</p> + +<p>And suddenly, like a javelin, one word pierced his brain—Lance! +Whatever there was between them, he felt sure his news would not please +Lance, to say the <a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></a>least of it. And, as for their Kashmir plan...?</p> + +<p>Why the devil was life such a confoundedly complex affair? By rights, he +ought to be 'all over himself', having won such a wife. Was it something +wrong with him? Or did all accepted lovers feel like this—the morning +after? A greater number, perhaps, than poets or novelists or lovers +themselves are ever likely to admit. Very certainly he would not admit +his present sensations to any living soul.</p> + +<p>Springing out of bed, he shouted for <i>chota hazri</i><a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> and shaving +water; drank thirstily; ate hungrily; and had just cleared his face of +lather when Lance came in, booted and spurred, bringing with him his +magnetic atmosphere of vitality and vigour.</p> + +<p>Standing behind Roy, he ran his left hand lightly up the back of his +hair, gripped the extra thickness at the top, and gave it a distinct +tug; friendly, but sharp enough to make Roy wince.</p> + +<p>"Slacker! Waster! You ought to have been out riding off the effects. You +were jolly well going it last night. And you jolly well <i>look</i> it this +morning. Good thing I'm free on the fifteenth to haul you away from all +this".</p> + +<p>Perhaps because they had first met at an age when eighteen months seemed +an immense gap between them, Lance had never quite dropped the +elder-brotherly attitude of St Rupert days.</p> + +<p>"Yes—a rare good thing——" Roy echoed, and stopped with a visible +jerk.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the hitch? Hit out, man. Don't mind me."</p> + +<p>There was a flash of impatience, an undernote of foreknowledge, in his +tone, that made confession at once easier and harder for Roy.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it was—pretty glaring", he admitted, twitching his head away +from those strong friendly fingers. "The fact is—we're ... as good as +engaged——"</p> + +<p>Again he broke off, arrested by the mask-like stillness of Desmond's +face.</p> + +<p>"Congrats, old man", he said at last, in a level tone. <a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></a>"I got the +impression ... a few weeks ago, you were not ready for the plunge. But +you've done it—in record time." A pause. Roy sat there +tongue-tied—unreasonably angry with himself and Rose. "Why 'as good +as...?' Is it to be ... not official?"</p> + +<p>"Only till to-morrow. You see, it all came ... rather in a rush. She +thought ... we thought ... better talk things over first between +ourselves. After all...."</p> + +<p>"Yes—after all," Lance took him up. "You do know a precious lot about +each other! How much ... does <i>she</i> know ... about <i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dancing and riding, my temperament and the colour of my +eyes—four very important items!" said Roy, affecting a lightness he was +far from feeling.</p> + +<p>Lance ignored his untimely flippancy. "Have you ever ... happened to +mention ... your mother?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. Why——?" The question startled him.</p> + +<p>"It occurred to me. I merely wondered——"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, I shall—to-night."</p> + +<p>Lance nodded, pensively fingered his riding-crop, and remarked, "D'you +imagine now she's going to let you bury yourself up Gilgit way—with me? +Besides—you'll hardly care ... shall we call it 'off'?"</p> + +<p>"Well you <i>are</i>——! Of course I'll care. I'm damned if we call it +'off.'"</p> + +<p>At that the mask vanished from Desmond's face. His hand closed +vigorously on Roy's shoulder. "Good man," he said in his normal voice. +"I'll count on you. That's a bargain." Their eyes met in the glass, and +a look of understanding passed between them. "Feeling a bit above +yourself, are you?"</p> + +<p>Roy drew a great breath. "It's amazing. I don't yet seem to take it in."</p> + +<p>"Oh—you <i>will</i>." The hand closed again on his shoulder. "Now I'll clear +out. Time you were clothed and in your right mind."</p> + +<p>And they had not so much as mentioned her name!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But even when clothed, Roy did not feel altogether in his right mind. He +was downright thankful to be helping Lance with some sports for the men, +designed to counteract the infectious state of ferment prevailing in the +city, on account of to-morrow's deferred <i>hartal</i>.<a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></a> For the voice of +Mahatma Ghandi—saint, fanatic, revolutionary, which you will—had gone +forth, proclaiming the sixth of April a day of universal mourning and +non-co-operation, by way of protest against the Rowlatt Act. For that +sane measure—framed to safeguard India from her wilder elements—had +been twisted, by skilled weavers of words, into a plot against the +liberty of the individual. And Ghandi must be obeyed.</p> + +<p>Flamboyant posters in the city bewailed 'the mountain of calamity about +to fall on the Motherland', and consigned their souls to hell who +failed, that day, to close their business and keep a fast. To spiritual +threats were added terrorism and coercion, that paralysis of the city +might be complete.</p> + +<p>It was understood that, so long there was no disorder, the authorities +would make no move. But, by Saturday, all emergency plans were complete: +the Fort garrison strengthened; cavalry and armoured cars told off to be +available.</p> + +<p>Roy had no notion of being a mere onlooker, if things happened; and he +felt sure they would. Directly he was dressed he waited on the Colonel, +and had the honour to offer his services in case of need; +further—unofficially—to beg that he might be attached, as extra +officer, to Lance's squadron. The Colonel—also unofficially—expressed +his keen appreciation; and Roy might rest assured the matter would be +arranged.</p> + +<p>So he went off in high feather to report himself to Lance, and discuss +the afternoon's programme.</p> + +<p>Lance was full of a thorough good fellow he had stumbled on, a Sikh—and +a sometime revolutionary—whose eyes had been opened by three years' +polite detention in Germany. The man had been speaking all over the +place, showing up the Home Rule crowd, with a courage none too common in +these days of intimidation. After the sports, he would address the men; +talk to them, encourage them to ask questions.</p> + +<p>It occurred to Roy that he had heard something of the sort in a former +life; and—arrived on the ground—he recognised the very same man who +had been howled down at Delhi.</p> + +<p>He greeted him warmly; spoke of the meeting; listened with unmoved +countenance to lurid speculations <a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></a>about the disappearance of +Chandranath; spoke, himself, to the men, who gave him an ovation; and, +by the time it was over, had almost forgotten the astounding fact that +he was virtually engaged to be married....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Driving out five miles to Lahore, he had leisure to remember, to realise +how innately he shrank from speaking to Rose of his mother. Though in +effect his promised wife, she was still almost a stranger; and the +sacredness of the subject—the uncertainty of her attitude—intensified +his shrinking to a painful degree.</p> + +<p>She had asked him to come early, that they might have a few minutes to +themselves; and for once he was not unpunctual. He found her alone; and, +at first sight, painful shyness overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>She was wearing the cream-and-gold frock of the evening that had turned +the scale; and she came forward a trifle eagerly, holding out her hands.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful! It's not a dream?"</p> + +<p>He took her hands and kissed her, almost awkwardly. "It still feels +rather like a dream," was all he could find to say—and fancied he +caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Was she thinking him an odd +kind of lover? Even last night, he had not achieved a single term of +endearment, or spoken her name.</p> + +<p>With a graceful gesture, she indicated the sofa—and they sat down.</p> + +<p>"Well, what have you been doing with yourself—Roy?" she asked, palpably +to put him at ease. "It's a delightful name—Royal?"</p> + +<p>"No—Le Roy. Some Norman ancestor."</p> + +<p>"The King!" She saluted, sitting upright, laughter and tenderness in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>At that, he slipped an arm round her, and pressed her close. Then he +plunged into fluent talk about the afternoon's events, and his accepted +offer of service, till Mrs Elton, resplendent in flame-coloured brocade, +surged into the room.</p> + +<p>It was a purely civil dinner; not Hayes, to Roy's relief. Directly it +was over the bridge players disappeared; Mr Elton was called away—an +Indian gentleman to see him on urgent business; and they two, left alone +again, wandered out into the verandah.<a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></a></p> + +<p>By now, her beauty and his possessive instinct had more or less righted +things; and her nearness, in the rose-scented dark, rekindled his +fervour of last night.</p> + +<p>Without a word he turned and took her in his arms, kissing her again and +again. "'Rose of all roses! Rose of all the world!'" he said in her ear.</p> + +<p>Whereat, she kissed him of her own accord, at the same time lightly +pressing him back.</p> + +<p>"Have mercy—a little! If you crush roses too hard their petals drop +off!"</p> + +<p>"Darling—I'm sorry!" The great word was out at last; and he felt +quaintly relieved.</p> + +<p>"You needn't be! It's only—you're such a vehement lover. And vehemence +is said—not to last!"</p> + +<p>The words startled him. "You try me."</p> + +<p>"How? An extra long engagement?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. I wasn't thinking of that."</p> + +<p>"Well, we've got to think, haven't we? To talk practical politics!"</p> + +<p>"Rather not. I bar politics—practical or Utopian."</p> + +<p>She laughed. There was happiness in her laugh, and tenderness and an +undernote of triumph.</p> + +<p>"You're delicious! So ardent, yet so absurdly detached from the dull +plodding things that make up common life. Come—let's stroll. The +verandah breathes heat like a benevolent dragon!"</p> + +<p>They strolled in the cool darkness under drooping boughs, through which +a star flickered here and there. He refrained from putting an arm round +her, and was rewarded by her slipping a hand under his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Shall it be—a Simla wedding?" she asked in her caressing voice. "About +the middle of the season? June?"</p> + +<p>"June? Yes. When I get back from Gilgit?"</p> + +<p>"But—my dear! You're not going to disappear for two whole months?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so. I'm awfully sorry. But I can't go back on Lance."</p> + +<p>"Oh—Lance!"</p> + +<p>He heard her teeth click on the word. Perhaps she had merely echoed it.</p> + +<p>"Yes; a very old engagement. And—frankly—I'm keen."<a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh—very well". Her hand slipped from his arm. "And when you've +fulfilled your <i>prior</i> engagement, you can perhaps find time—to marry +me?"</p> + +<p>"Darling—don't take it that way," he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>did</i> suppose I was going to be a shade more important to you +than—your Lance. But we won't spoil things by squabbling."</p> + +<p>Impulsively he drew her forward and kissed her; and this time he kept an +arm round her as they moved on. He must speak—soon. But he wanted a +natural opening, not to drag it in by the hair.</p> + +<p>"And after the honeymoon—Home?" she asked, following up her +all-absorbing train of thought.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I think so. It's about time."</p> + +<p>She let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "I'm glad it's not India. And +yet—the life out here gets a hold, like dram-drinking. One feels as if +perpetual, unadulterated England might be just a trifle—dull. But, of +course, I know nothing about your home, Roy, except a vague rumour that +your father is a Baronet with a lovely place in Sussex."</p> + +<p>"No—Surrey," said Roy, and his throat contracted. Clearly the moment +had come. "My father's not only a Baronet. He's a rather famous +artist—Sir Nevil Sinclair. Perhaps you've heard the name?"</p> + +<p>She wrinkled her brows. "N-no.—You see, we do live in blinkers! What's +his line?"</p> + +<p>"Mostly Indian subjects——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the Ramayána man? I remember—I <i>did</i> see a lovely thing of his +before I came out here. But then——?" She stood still and drew away +from him. "One heard he had married...."</p> + +<p>"Yes. He married a beautiful high-caste Indian girl," said Roy, low and +steadily. "My mother——"</p> + +<p>"Your—<i>mother</i>——?"</p> + +<p>He could scarcely see her face; but he felt all through him the shock of +the disclosure; realised, with a sudden furious resentment, that she was +seeing his adored mother simply as a stumbling-block....</p> + +<p>It was as if a chasm had opened between them—a chasm as wide as the +East is from the West.</p> + +<p>Those few seconds of eloquent silence seemed interminable. It was she +who spoke.<a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"></a></p> + +<p>"Didn't it strike you that I had—the right to know this ... before...?"</p> + +<p>The implied reproach smote him sharply; but how could he confess to +her—standing there in her queenly assurance—the impromptu nature of +last night's proceedings?</p> + +<p>"Well I—I'm telling you now," he stammered. "Last night I +simply—didn't think. And before ... the fact is ... I <i>can't</i> talk of +her, except to those who knew her ... who understand...."</p> + +<p>"You mean—is she—not alive?"</p> + +<p>"No. The War killed her—instead of killing <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>Her hand closed on his with a mute assurance of sympathy. If they could +only leave it so! But—her people...?</p> + +<p>"You must try and talk of her—to me, Roy," she urged, gently but +inexorably. "Was it—out here?"</p> + +<p>"No. In France. They came out for a visit, when I was six. I've known +nothing of India till now—except through her."</p> + +<p>"But—since you came out ... hasn't it struck you that ... Anglo-Indians +feel rather strongly...?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—and I didn't care a rap what they felt," he flung out +with sudden warmth. "Now, of course—I do care. But ... to suppose <i>she</i> +could ... stand in my way, seems an insult to her. If <i>you</i>'re one of +the people who feel strongly, of course ... there's an end of it. You're +free."</p> + +<p>"<i>Free?</i> Roy—don't you realise ... I care. You've made me care."</p> + +<p>"I—made you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; simply by being what you are—so gifted, so detached ... so +different from the others ... the service pattern...."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—in a way ... I'm different."—Strange, how little it moved him, +just then, her frank avowal, her praise.—"And now you know—why. I'm +sorry if it upsets you. But I can't have ... that side of me accepted +... on sufferance——"</p> + +<p>To his greater amazement, she leaned forward and kissed him, +deliberately, on the mouth.</p> + +<p>"Will <i>that</i> stop you—saying such things?" There was repressed passion +in her low tone, "I'm not accept<a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"></a>ing ... any of you on sufferance. And, +really, you're not a bit like ... not the same...."</p> + +<p>"<i>No!</i>" She smiled at the fierce monosyllable. "All that lot—the poor +devils you despise—are mostly made from the wrong sort of both +races—in point of breeding, I mean. And that's a supreme point, in +spite of the twaddle that's talked about equality. Women of good family, +East or West, don't intermarry much. And quite right too. I'm proud of +my share of India. But I think, on principle, it's a great mistake...."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes. That's how <i>I</i> feel. I'm not rabid. It's not my way. But ... +I suppose you know, Roy, that ... on this subject, many Anglo-Indians +are."</p> + +<p>"You mean—your people?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I don't know about Pater. He's built on large lines, outside and +in. But mother's only large to the naked eye; and she's Anglo-Indian to +the bone."</p> + +<p>"You think ... she'll raise objections?"</p> + +<p>"She won't get the chance. It's my affair—not hers. There'd be +arguments, at the very least. She tramples tactlessly. And it's plain +you're abnormally sensitive; and rather fierce under your +gentleness——!"</p> + +<p>"But, Rose—I must speak. I refuse to treat—my mother as if she was—a +family skeleton——"</p> + +<p>"No—not that," she soothed him with voice and gesture. "Of course they +shall know—later on. It's only ... I couldn't bear any jar at the +start. You might, Roy—out of consideration for me. It would be quite +simple. You need only say, just now, that your father is a widower. It +isn't as if—she was alive——"</p> + +<p>The words staggered him like a blow. With an incoherent exclamation, he +swung round and walked quickly away from her towards the house, his +blood tingling in a manner altogether different from last night. Had she +not been a woman, he could have knocked her down.</p> + +<p>Dismayed and startled, she hurried after him. "Roy, my dear—dearest," +she called softly. But he did not heed.</p> + +<p>She overtook him, however, and caught his arm with both hands, forcing +him to stop.</p> + +<p>"Darling—forgive me," she murmured, her face appealingly close to his. +"I didn't mean—I was only trying to ease things for you, a little—you +quiver-full of sensibilities."<a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"></a></p> + +<p>He had been a fakir, past saving, could he have withstood her in that +vein. Her nearness, her tenderness, revived the mood of sheer +bewitchment, when he could think of nothing, desire nothing but her. She +had a genius for inducing that mood in men; and Roy's virginal passion, +once roused, was stronger than he knew. With his arms round her, his +heart against hers, it was humanly impossible to wish her other than she +was—other than his own.</p> + +<p>Words failed. He simply clung to her, in a kind of dumb desperation to +which she had not the key.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," he said at last, "I'll tell you more—show you her +picture."</p> + +<p>And, unlike Arúna, she had no inkling of all that those few words +implied.<a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Early tea.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIID" id="CHAPTER_VIIID"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The patience of the British is as long as a summer's day; but the + arm of the British is as long as a winter's night."—<i>Pathan + Saying.</i></p></div> + + +<p>They parted on the understanding that Roy would come in to tiffin on +Sunday. Instead, to his shameless relief, he found the squadron detailed +to bivouac all day in the Gol Bagh, and be available at short notice.</p> + +<p>It gave him a curious thrill to open his camphor-drenched uniform +case—left behind with Lance—and unearth the familiar khaki of Kohat +and Mespot days; to ride out with his men in the cool of early morning +to the gardens at the far end of Lahore. The familiar words of commands, +the rhythmic clatter of hoofs, were music in his ears. A thousand pities +he was not free to join the Indian Army. But, in any case, there was +Rose. There would always be Rose now. And he had an inkling that their +angle of vision was by no means identical....</p> + +<p>The voice of Lance, shouting an order, dispelled his brown study; and +Rose—beautiful, desirable, but profoundly disturbing—did not intrude +again.</p> + +<p>Arrived in the gardens, they picketed the horses, and disposed +themselves under the trees to await events. The heat increased and the +flies, and the eternal clamour of crows; and it was nearing noon before +their ears caught a far-off sound—an unmistakable hum rising to a roar.</p> + +<p>"Thought so," said Lance, and flung a word of command to his men.</p> + +<p>A clatter of hoofs heralded arrivals—Elton and the Superintendent of +Police with orders for an immediate advance. A huge mob, headed by +students, was pouring along the Circular Road. The police were powerless +<a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"></a>to hold them; and at all costs they must be prevented from debouching +on to the Mall. It was brisk work; but the squadron reached the critical +corner just in time.</p> + +<p>A sight to catch the breath and quicken the pulses—that surging sea of +black heads, uncovered in token of mourning; that forest of arms beating +the air to a deafening chorus of orthodox lamentation; while a portrait +of Ghandi, on a black banner, swayed uncertainly in the midst.</p> + +<p>A handful of police, shouting and struggling with the foremost ranks, +were being swept resistlessly back towards the Mall—the main artery of +Lahore; and a British police officer on horseback was sharing the same +fate. Clearly nothing would check them save that formidable barrier of +cavalry and armoured cars.</p> + +<p>At sight of it they halted; but disperse and return they would not. They +haggled; they imposed impossible conditions; they drowned official +parleyings in shouts and yells.</p> + +<p>For close on two hours, in the blazing sun, Lance Desmond and his men +sat patiently in their saddles—machine-guns ready in the cars behind +them—while the Civil Arm, derided and defied, peacefully persuaded +those passively resisting thousands that the Mall was not deemed a +suitable promenade for Lahore citizens in a highly processional mood.</p> + +<p>For two hours the human tide swayed to and fro; the clamour rose and +fell; till a local leader, after much vain speaking, begged the loan of +a horse, and headed them off to a mass meeting at the Bradlaugh Hall.</p> + +<p>The cavalry, dismissed, trotted back to the gardens, to remain at hand +in case of need.</p> + +<p>What the Indian officers and men thought of it all, who shall guess? +What Lance Desmond thought, he frankly imparted to Roy.</p> + +<p>"A fine exhibition of the masterly inactivity touch!" said he, with a +twitch of his humorous lips. "But not exactly an edifying show for our +men. Wonder what my old Dad would think of it all? You bet there'll be a +holy rumpus in the city to-night."</p> + +<p>"And then——?" mused Roy, his imagination leaping ahead. "This isn't +the last of it."</p> + +<p>"The last of it—will be bullets, not buckshot," said<a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"></a> Lance in his +soldierly wisdom. "It's the only argument for crowds. The soft-sawder +lot may howl 'militarism.' But they're jolly grateful for a dash of it +when their skins are touched. It takes a soldier of the right sort to +know just when a dash of cruelty is kindness—and the reverse—in +dealing with backward peoples; and crowds, of any colour, are the +backwardest peoples going! It would be just as well to get the women +safely off the scene."</p> + +<p>He looked very straight at Roy, whose sensitive soul winced, at the +impact of his thought. Since their brief talk, the fact of the +engagement had been tacitly accepted—tacitly ignored. Lance had a +positive genius for that sort of thing; and in this case it was a +godsend to Roy.</p> + +<p>"Quite so," he agreed, returning the look.</p> + +<p>"Well—you're in a position to suggest it."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure if it would be exactly appreciated. But I'll have a shot +at it to-morrow."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The city, that night, duly enjoyed its 'holy rumpus.' But on Monday +morning shops were open again; everything as normal as you please; and +the cheerful prophets congratulated themselves that the explosion had +proved a damp squib after all.</p> + +<p>Foremost among these was Mr Talbot Hayes, whose ineffable air of being +in the confidence of the Almighty—not to mention the whole Hindu +Pantheon—was balm to Mrs Elton at this terrifying juncture. For her +mountain of flesh hid a mouse of a soul, and her childhood had been +shadowed by tales of Mutiny horrors. With her it was almost an +obsession. The least unusual uproar at a railway station, or holiday +excitement in the bazaar, sufficed to convince her that the hour had +struck for which, subconsciously, she had been waiting all her life.</p> + +<p>So, throughout Sunday morning, she had been a quivering jelly of fear; +positively annoyed with Rose for her serene assurance that 'the Pater +would pull it off all right.' She had never quite fathomed her +daughter's faith in the shy, undistinguished man for whom she cherished +an affection secretly tinged with contempt. In this case it was +justified. He had returned to tiffin quite unruffled; had vouchsafed no +details; simply <a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"></a>assured her she need not worry. Thank God, they had a +strong L.G. That was all.</p> + +<p>But authority, in the person of Talbot Hayes, was more communicative—in +a flatteringly confidential undertone. A long talk with him had cheered +her considerably; and on Monday she was still further cheered by a piece +of news her daughter casually let fall at breakfast, between the poached +eggs and the marmalade.</p> + +<p>Rose—at last! And even Gladys' achievement thrown into the shade! Here +was compensation for all she had suffered from the girl's distracting +habit of going just so far with the wrong man as to give her +palpitations. She had felt downright nervous about Major Desmond. For +Rose never gave one her confidence. And she had suffered qualms about +this new unknown young man. But what matter now? To your right-minded +mother, all's well that ends in the Wedding March—and Debrett! Most +satisfactory to find that the father <i>was</i> a Baronet; and Mr Sinclair +<i>was</i> the eldest son! Could anything be more gratifying to her maternal +pride in this beautiful, difficult daughter of hers?</p> + +<p>Consequently, when the eldest son came in to report himself, all that +inner complacency welled up and flowed over him in a volume of maternal +effusion, trying enough in any case; and to Roy intolerable, almost, in +view of that enforced reservation that might altogether change her tone.</p> + +<p>After nearly an hour of it, he felt so battered internally that he +reached the haven of his own room feeling thoroughly out of tune with +the whole affair. Yet—there it was. And no man could lightly break with +a girl of that quality. Besides, his feeling for her—infatuation +apart—had received a distinct stimulus from their talk about his mother +and the impression made on her by the photograph he had brought with +him, as promised. And if Mrs Elton was a Brobdingnagian thorn on the +stem of his Rose, the D.C.'s patent pleasure and affectionate allusions +to the girl atoned for a good deal.</p> + +<p>So, instead of executing a 'wobble' of the first magnitude, he proceeded +to clinch matters by writing first to his father, then to a Calcutta +firm of jewellers for a selection of rings.</p> + +<p>But he wavered badly over facing the ordeal of whole<a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"></a>sale +congratulations—the chaff of the men, the reiterate inanities of the +women.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, Rose warned him that her mother was dying to give a dinner, +to invite certain rival mothers, and announce her news with due éclat.</p> + +<p>"Hand us round, in fact," she added serenely, "with the chocs and Elvas +plums!—No! Don't flare up!" Her fingers caressed the back of his hand. +"In mercy to you, I diplomatically sat down upon the idea, and remained +seated till it was extinct. So you're saved—by your affianced wife, +whom you don't seem in a frantic hurry to acknowledge...!"</p> + +<p>He caught her to him, and kissed her passionately. "You <i>know</i> it's not +that——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>I</i> know ... you're just terror-struck of all those women. But if +you will do these things, you must stand up to the consequences—like a +man."</p> + +<p>He jerked up his head. "No fear. We'll say to-morrow, or Thursday."</p> + +<p>"I'll be merciful, and say Thursday. It's to be announced this +afternoon. Have you mentioned it—to any one?"</p> + +<p>"Only to Lance."</p> + +<p>A small sound between her teeth made him turn quickly.</p> + +<p>"Anything hurt you?"</p> + +<p>"You've quick ears! Only a pin-prick." She explored her blouse for the +offending pin. "Do you tell each other everything—you two?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well—as men go."</p> + +<p>"You're a wonderful pair."</p> + +<p>She sighed and was silent a moment. Then, "Shall it be a ride on +Thursday?" she asked, giving his arm a small squeeze.</p> + +<p>"Rather. There are Brigade Sports; but I could cry off. We'll take our +tea out to Shadera, have a peaceful time there, and finish up at the +Hall."</p> + +<p>So it was arranged, and so it befell, though not exactly according to +design.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On Thursday they rode leisurely out through the heat and dusty haze, +away from bungalows and the watered Mall, through a village alive with +shrill women, naked <a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"></a>babies, and officious pariahs, who kept Terry +furiously occupied: on past the city, over the bridge of boats that +spans the Ravi, till they came to the green secluded garden where the +Emperor Jehangir sleeps, heedless of infidels who, generation after +generation, have picnicked and made love in the sacred precincts of his +tomb.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the gardens, they tethered the horses, drank thermos tea and +ate sugared cakes, sitting on the wide wall that looked across the river +and the plain to the dim huddled city beyond. And Roy talked of +Bramleigh Beeches in April, till he felt home-sick for primroses and the +cuckoo and the smell of mown grass; while, before his actual eyes, the +terrible sun of India hung suspended in the haze, like a platter of +molten brass, till the turning earth, settling to sleep, shouldered it +almost out of sight.</p> + +<p>That brought them back to realities.</p> + +<p>"We must scoot," said Roy. "It'll be dark, and there's only a slip of a +moon."</p> + +<p>"It's been delicious!" she sighed; and they kissed mutually—a lingering +kiss.</p> + +<p>Then they were off, racing the swift-footed dusk....</p> + +<p>Skirting the city, they noticed scurrying groups of figures, shouting to +each other as they ran; and the next instant, Roy's ear caught the +ominous hum of Sunday morning.</p> + +<p>"Good God! They're out again. Hi—You! What's the <i>tamasha?</i>" he called +to the nearest group.</p> + +<p>They responded with wild gestures, and fled on. But one lagged a little, +being fat and scant of breath; and Roy shouted again. This time the note +of command took effect.</p> + +<p>"Where are you all running? Is there trouble?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Big trouble, Sahib—Amritsar," answered the fleshly one, wiping the +dusty sweat from his forehead, and shaking it unceremoniously from his +finger-tips. "Word comes that our leaders are taken. Mahatma Ghandi, +also. The people are burning and looting; Bank-<i>ghar</i>,<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> Town +Hall-<i>ghar</i>; killing many Sahibs and one Mem-sahib. <i>Hai! hai!</i> Now +there will be <i>hartal</i> again; Committee <i>ki ráj</i>. No food; no work. +<i>Hai! hai!</i><a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> Ghandi <i>ki jai!</i>"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"></a>"Confound the man!" muttered Roy, not referring to the woebegone one. +"Look here, Rose, if they're wedged up near Anarkali, we must change our +route. I expect the squadron's out; and I ought to be with it——"</p> + +<p>"Thank God, you're <i>not</i>. It's quite bad enough——" She set her teeth. +"Oh, <i>come</i> on."</p> + +<p>Back they sped, at a hand-gallop, past the Fort and the Badshahi Mosque; +then, neck and neck down the long straight road, that vibrant roar +growing louder with every stride.</p> + +<p>Near the Church they slackened speed. The noise had become terrific, +like a hundred electric engines; and there was more than excitement in +it—there was fury.</p> + +<p>"Sunday was a treat to this," remarked Roy. "We shan't get on to the +Mall."</p> + +<p>"We can go through Mozung," said Rose coolly. "But I want to <i>see</i>—as +far as one can. The Pater's bound to be there."</p> + +<p>Roy, while admiring her coolness, detected beneath it a repressed +intensity, very unlike her. But his own urgent sensations left no room +for curiosity; and round the next swerve they drew rein in full view of +a sight that neither would forget while they lived.</p> + +<p>The wide road, stretching away to the Lahori gate, was thronged with a +shouting, gesticulating human barrier; bobbing heads and lifted arms, +hurling any missile that came to hand—stones, bricks, lumps of +refuse—at the courageous few who held them in check.</p> + +<p>Cavalry and police, as on Sunday, blocked the turning into the Mall; and +Roy instantly recognised the silhouette of Lance, sitting erect and +rigid, doubtless thinking unutterable things.</p> + +<p>Low roofs of buildings, near the road, were alive with shadowy figures, +running, yelling, hurling bricks and mud from a half-demolished shop +near by. Two mounted police officers made abortive attempts to get a +hearing; and a solitary Indian, perched on an electric standard, well +above the congested mass, vainly harangued and fluttered a white scarf +as signal of pacific intentions. Doubtless one of their 'leaders,' again +making frantic, belated efforts to stem the torrent that he and his kind +had let loose.</p> + +<p>And the nightmare effect of the scene was intensified <a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"></a>by the oncoming +dusk, by the flare of a single torch hoisted on a pole. It waved +purposefully; and its objective was clear to Roy—the electric supply +wires.</p> + +<p>"That brute there's trying to cut off the light!" he exclaimed, turning +sharply in the saddle, only to find that Rose had not even heard him.</p> + +<p>She sat stone-still, her face set and strained, as he had seen it after +the tournament. "<i>There</i> he is," she murmured—the words a mere movement +of her lips.</p> + +<p>He hated to see her look like that; and putting out a hand, he touched +her arm.</p> + +<p>"I don't see him," he said, answering her murmur. "He'll be coming, +though. Not nervous, are you?"</p> + +<p>She started at his touch—shrank from it almost; or so he fancied. +"Nervous? No—furious!" Her low tone was as tense as her whole attitude. +"Mud and stones! Good heavens! Why don't they <i>shoot?</i>"</p> + +<p>"They will—at a pinch," Roy assured her, feeling oddly rebuffed, and as +if he were addressing a stranger. "Stay here. Don't stir. I'll glean a +few details from one of our outlying sowars."</p> + +<p>The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan. Recognising Roy, he +saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>Wah, wah!</i> Sahib! This is not man's work, to sit staring while these +throw words to a pack of mad jackals. On the Border we say, <i>páili láth; +pechi bhát</i>.<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> That would soon make an end of this devil's noise."</p> + +<p>"True talk," said Roy, secretly approving the man's rough wisdom. "How +long has it been going on?"</p> + +<p>"We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have been nearly +one hour. Once the police-<i>lóg</i> gave buckshot to those on the roofs. How +much use—the Sahib can see. Now they have sent a sowar for the Dep'ty +Sahib. But these would not hear the Lát Sahib himself. One match will +light such a bonfire; but a hundred buckets will not put it out."</p> + +<p>Roy assented, ruefully enough. "Is it true there has been big trouble at +Amritsar—burning and killing?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Wah, wah! Shurrum ki bhát.</i><a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> Because he who made all the trouble +may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no concern—are +killed——"<a name="Page_361" id="Page_361"></a></p> + +<p>An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob.</p> + +<p>It was swaying ominously forward, with yellings and prancings, with +renewed showers of bricks and stones.</p> + +<p>"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher Khan with grim +irony.</p> + +<p>It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback, alone in the +forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make himself heard. Still he +pressed forward, urging, commanding; missiles hurtling round him. +Luckily the aim was poor; and only one took effect.</p> + +<p>A voice shouted, "You had better come back, sir."</p> + +<p>He halted. There was a fierce forward rush. Large groups of people sat +down in flat defiance.</p> + +<p>Again Rose broke out with her repressed intensity, "It's madness! Why on +<i>earth</i> don't they shoot?"</p> + +<p>"The notion is—to give the beggars every chance," urged Roy. "After +all, they've been artificially worked up. It's the men behind—pulling +the strings—who are to blame——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care <i>who's</i> to blame. They're as dangerous as wild beasts." +She did not even look at him. Her eyes, her mind were centred on that +weird, unforgettable scene. "And <i>our</i> people simply sitting there being +pelted with bricks and stones ... the Pater ... Lance...."</p> + +<p>She drew in her lip. Roy gave her a quick look. That was the second +time; and she did not even seem aware of it.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's a detestable position, but it's not of their making," he +agreed; adding briskly: "Come along, now, Rose. It's getting dark; and I +ought to be in Cantonments. There'll be pickets all over the +place—after this. I'll see you safe to the Hall, then gallop on."</p> + +<p>Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Shirking congrats again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, drop it! I'd clean forgotten. I'll conduct you <i>right in</i>—and +chance congrats. But they'll be too full of other things to-night. +Scared to death, some of them."</p> + +<p>"Mother, for one. I never thought of her. We must hurry."</p> + +<p>For new-made lovers, their tone and bearing was oddly detached, almost +brusque. They had gone some distance before they heard shots behind +them.<a name="Page_362" id="Page_362"></a></p> + +<p>"Thank goodness! At last! I hope it hurt some of them badly," Rose broke +out with unusual warmth. She was rather unusual altogether this evening. +"Really, it would serve them right—as Mr Hayes says—if we <i>did</i> clear +out, lock, stock, and barrel, and leave their precious country to be +scrambled for by others of a very different <i>ját</i><a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> from the stupid, +splendid British. I'm glad <i>I'm</i> going, anyway. I've never felt in +sympathy. And now, after all this ... and Amritsar ... I simply +couldn't...."</p> + +<p>She broke off in mid-career, flicked her pony's flanks, and set off at a +brisk canter.</p> + +<p>Pause and action could have but one meaning. "She's realising," thought +Roy, cantering after, pain and anger mingled in his heart. At such a +moment, he admitted, her outburst was not unnatural. But to him it was, +none the less, intolerable. The trouble was, he could say nothing, lest +he say too much.</p> + +<p>At the Lawrence Hall they found half a company of British soldiers on +guard,—producing, by their mere presence, that sense of security which +radiates from the policeman and the soldier when the solid ground fails +underfoot.</p> + +<p>Within doors, the atmosphere was electrical with excitement and +uncertainty. Orders had been received that, in case of matters taking a +serious turn, the hundred or so of English women and children gathered +at the Club would be removed under escort to Government House. No one +was dancing. Every one was talking. The wildest rumours were current.</p> + +<p>At a crisis the curtains of convention are rent and the inner self peers +through, sometimes revealing the face of a stranger. While the imposing +Mrs Elton quivered inwardly, Mrs Ranyard—for all her 'creeps' and her +fluffiness—knew no flicker of fear. In any case, there were few who +would confess to it, though it gnawed at their vitals; and Roy's quick +eye noted that, among the women, as a whole, the light-hearted courage +of Anglo-India prevailed. It gave him a sharp inner tweak to look at +them all and remember that nightmare of seething, yelling rebels at +Anarkalli. He wished to God Rose had not seen it too. It was the kind of +thing that would stick in the memory.<a name="Page_363" id="Page_363"></a></p> + +<p>On their appearance in the Hall, Mrs Elton deserted a voluble group and +bore down upon them, flustered and perspiring.</p> + +<p>"My darling girl—thank God! I've been in a fever!" she cried, and would +have engulfed her stately daughter before them all, but that Rose put +out a deterring hand.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you'd be upset—so we hurried," she said serenely; not the +Rose of Anarkalli, by any means. "But we were all right along the Mozung +road."</p> + +<p>That 'we,' and a possessive glance—the merest—at her lover, brought +down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations. Every one had +foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to <i>know</i>....</p> + +<p>After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, "I say, I can't +stand any more. And it's high time I was off."</p> + +<p>"Poor dear! 'When duty calls...?'" Her cool tone was not unsympathetic. +"I'll let you off the rest."</p> + +<p>She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in the darkness +under the portico.</p> + +<p>"I shall dream to-night, Roy," she said gravely. "And we may not even +see the Pater. He's taken up his abode in the Telegraph Office. Mother +will want to bolt. I can see it in her eye!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she's right. You ought all to be cleared out of this, instanter."</p> + +<p>"Are you—so keen?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not." His tone was more impatient than loverly. "I'm only +keen to feel—you're safe."</p> + +<p>"Oh—safe!" she sighed. "<i>Is</i> one—anywhere—ever?"</p> + +<p>"No," he countered with unexpected vigour, "or life wouldn't be worth +living. There are degrees of unsafeness, that's all. It's natural—isn't +it, darling?—I should want to feel you're out of reach of that crowd. +If it had pushed on here, and to Government House, Amritsar doings would +have been thrown into the shade."</p> + +<p>She shivered. "It's horrible—incredible! I suppose one has to be a +lifelong Anglo-Indian to realise quite <i>how</i> incredible it feels—to +us."</p> + +<p>He put his arms round her, as if to shield her from the memory of it +all.<a name="Page_364" id="Page_364"></a></p> + +<p>"I'll see you to-morrow?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course. If I can square it. But we shall be snowed under with +emergency orders. I'll send a note in any case."</p> + +<p>"Take care of yourself—on my account," she commanded softly; and they +kissed.</p> + +<p>But—whether fancy or fact—Roy had an under sense of mutual constraint. +It was not the same thing at all as that last kiss at Shadara.</p> + +<p>There they had come closer, in spirit, than ever yet. Now—not two hours +later—the thin end of an unseen wedge seemed to be stealthily pressing +them apart.<a name="Page_365" id="Page_365"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> House.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Alas, alas!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> First a blow, then a word.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> True talk. Shameful talk.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Caste.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IXD" id="CHAPTER_IXD"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It has long been a grave question whether any Government not too + strong for the liberties of the people, can be strong enough to + maintain its existence in great emergencies."—<span class='smcap'>Abraham + Lincoln.</span></p></div> + + +<p>Back in Cantonments, Roy found strong detachments being rushed to all +vital points, and Brigade Headquarters moving into Lahore.</p> + +<p>It was late before Lance returned, tired and monosyllabic. He admitted +they had mopped things up a bit—outside; and left a detachment, in +support of the police, guarding the Mall. But—the city was in open +rebellion. No white man could safely show his face there. The +anti-British poison, instilled without let or hindrance, was taking +violent effect. He'd seen enough of it for one day. He wanted things to +eat and drink—especially drink. 'Things' were produced; and +afterwards—alone with Roy in their bungalow—he talked more freely, in +no optimistic vein, sworn foe of pessimism though he was.</p> + +<p>"Sporadic trouble? Not a bit of it! Look at the way they're going for +lines of communication. And look at these choice fragments from one of +their posters I pinched off a police inspector. 'The English are the +worst lot and are like monkeys, whose deceit and cunning are obvious to +high and low.... Do not lose courage, but try your utmost to turn these +men away from your holy country.' Pretty sentiments—eh? Fact is, we're +up against organised rebellion."</p> + +<p>Roy nodded. "I had that from Dyán, long ago. Paralysis of movement and +Government is their game. We may have a job to regain control of the +city."</p> + +<p>"Not if we declare Martial Law," said the son of Theo Desmond with a +kindling eye. "Of course, I'm <a name="Page_366" id="Page_366"></a>only a soldier—and proud of it! But I've +more than a nodding acquaintance with the Punjabi. He's no word-monger; +handier with his <i>láthi</i> than his tongue. If you stir him up, he hits +out. And I don't blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't +realise the inflammable stuff they're playing with——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy.</p> + +<p>"M-yes—perhaps. But the one on the electric standard this evening +didn't exactly achieve a star turn!—You saw him, eh?" He looked very +straight at Roy. "I noticed you—hanging round on the edge of things. +You ought to have gone straight on."</p> + +<p>Roy winced. "We'd heard wild rumours. She was anxious about the D.C."</p> + +<p>Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe. "When does—Mrs Elton +make a move?"</p> + +<p>"The first possible instant I should say, from the look of her."</p> + +<p>"Good. She's on the right tack, for once! The D.C. deserves a +first-class Birthday Honour—and may possibly wangle an O.B.E.! I'm told +that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of police, pretty well saved the +station before we came on the scene. It's been a nearer shave than one +cares to think about. And it's not over."</p> + +<p>They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation, that +looked blacker every hour. And, till long after midnight, an uproarious +mob raged through the city and Anarkalli, only kept from breaking all +bounds by the tact and good-humour of a handful of cavalry and police; +men of their own race, unshaken by open or covert attempts to suborn +their loyalty—a minor detail worth putting on record.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Friday was a day of rumours. While the city continued furiously to rage, +reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides: further terrible +details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army and the police were being +tampered with and expected to join the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad +and Lyallpur, where seventy British women and children were herded, in +one bungalow, till they could safely be removed. Everywhere the same +tale: stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut.<a name="Page_367" id="Page_367"></a> Fresh stories +constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger in the +blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women, longing to get +away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with natives, manned by +natives, who might be perfectly harmless; but, on the other hand, might +not....</p> + +<p>It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these things, +one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other India, in the +good days when peaceful loyal masses had not been galvanised into +disaffection; when an Englishwoman, of average nerve, thought nothing of +travelling alone up and down the country, or spending a week alone in +camp—if needs must—secure in the knowledge that—even in a disturbed +Frontier district—no woman would ever be touched or treated with other +than unfailing respect.</p> + +<p>Yet a good many were preparing to flit: and to the men their departure +would spell relief; not least, to Roy—the new-made lover. Parting would +be a wrench; but at this critical moment—for England and India—the tug +two ways was distinctly a strain; and the less she saw of it all, the +better for their future chance of happiness. He felt by no means sure it +had not been imperilled already.</p> + +<p>But the exigencies of the hour left no room for vague forebodings. +Emergency orders, that morning, detailed Lance with a detachment for the +Railway Workshops, where passive resisters were actively on the +war-path. Roy, after early stables, was dispatched with another party, +to strengthen a cavalry picket near the Badshahi Mosque, on the +outskirts of the city, where things might be lively in the course of the +day.</p> + +<p>Passing through Lahore, he sent his <i>sais</i> with a note to Rose; and, on +reaching the Mosque, he found things lively enough already. The iron +railings, round the main gate of the Fort, were besieged by a hooting, +roaring mob, belabouring the air with <i>láthis</i> and axes on bamboo poles; +rending it with shouts of abuse and one reiterate cry, "Kill the white +pigs, brothers! Kill! Kill!"</p> + +<p>Again and again they stormed the railings, frantically trying to bear +them down by sheer weight of numbers—yelling ceaselessly the while.<a name="Page_368" id="Page_368"></a></p> + +<p>"How the devil can they keep it up?" thought Roy; and sickened to think +how few of his own kind there were to stand between the English women +and children in Lahore and those hostile thousands. Thank God, there +remained loyal Indians, hundreds of them—as in Mutiny days; but surely +a few rounds from the Fort just then would have heartened them and been +distinctly comforting into the bargain.</p> + +<p>The walls were manned with rifles and Lewis guns, and at times things +looked distinctly alarming; but not a shot was fired. The mob was left +to exhaust itself with its own fury. Part melted away, and part was +drawn away by the attraction of a mass meeting in the Mosque, where +thirty-five thousand citizens were gathered to hear Hindu agitators +preaching open rebellion from Mahommedan pulpits; and a handful of +British police officers—present on duty—were being hissed and hooted, +amid shouts of "<i>Hindu-Mussalman ki jai!</i>"</p> + +<p>From the city all police pickets had been withdrawn, since their +presence would only provoke disturbance and bloodshed. And the bazaar +people were parading the streets, headed by an impromptu army of young +hotheads, carrying <i>láthis</i>, crying their eternal '<i>Hai!</i>' and '<i>Jai!</i>' +with extra special '<i>Jai's</i>' for the 'King of Germany' and the Afghan +Amir.</p> + +<p>Portraits of Their Majesties were battered down and trampled in the mud; +and over the fragments the crowd swept on, shouting: '<i>Hai! hai! Jarge +Margya!</i>'<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> And the air was full of the craziest rumours, passed on, +with embellishments, from mouth to mouth....</p> + +<p>Roy, on reaching Cantonments, was relieved to find that the decision had +already been taken to regain control of the city by a military +demonstration in force; eight hundred troops and police, under the +officer commanding Lahore civil area. Desmond's squadron was included; +and, sitting down straightway, Roy dashed off a note to Rose.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"</span><span class='smcap'>My Darling</span>,—<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I'm sorry, but it looks like 'no go' to-morrow. You'll hear all + from the Pater. I might look in for<a name="Page_369" id="Page_369"></a> tiffin, if things go smoothly, + and if <i>you</i>'ll put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the + fray! From what I saw and heard to-day, we're not likely to be + greeted with marigold wreaths and benedictions! Of course hundreds + will be thankful to see us. But I doubt if they'll dare betray the + fact. I needn't tell you to keep cool. You're simply splendid.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Your loving and admiring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27.5em;">R</span><span class='smcap'>oy."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when that mixed +force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes acting in concert +with them, halted outside the Delhi Gate of Lahore City, while an order +was read out to the assembled leaders that, if shots were fired or bombs +flung, those aeroplanes would make things unpleasant. Then—at last they +were on the move; through the Gate, inside the City, aeroplanes flying +low, cavalry bringing up the rear.</p> + +<p>Here normal life and activity were completely suspended—hence more than +half the trouble. Groups of idlers, sauntering about, stared, spat, or +shook clenched fists, shouting, "Give us Ghandi—and we will open!" +"Repeal Rowlatt Bill and we will open."</p> + +<p>And, at every turn, posters exhorted true patriots—in terms often as +ludicrous as they were hostile—to leave off all dealings with the +'English monkeys,' to 'kill and be killed.'</p> + +<p>And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points—pausing that Mr +Elton might exhort the people to resume work—mere groups swelled to +crowds, increasing in number and virulence; their cries and contortions +more savage than anything Roy had yet seen.</p> + +<p>But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable market, +fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began. Here were +large excited crowds streaming to and fro between the Mosque and the +Mundi—material inflammable as gunpowder. Here, too, were the hotheads +armed with leaded sticks, hostile and defiant, shouting their eternal +cries. And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly the +centre of trouble. Exhortations to disperse peacefully were unheeded or +unheard. All over the open space they <a name="Page_370" id="Page_370"></a>swarmed like locusts. Their +wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment. And the mosque acted as a +stronghold. Crowds packed away in there could neither be dealt with nor +dispersed. So an order was given that it should be cleared and the doors +guarded.</p> + +<p>Meantime, to loosen the congested mass, it was cavalry to the +front—thankful for movement at last.</p> + +<p>There was a rush and a scuffle. Scattered groups bolted into the city. +Others broke away and streamed down from the high ground into the open +plain, sowars in pursuit; rounding them up, shepherding them back to +their by-lanes and rabbit-warrens.</p> + +<p>"How does it feel to be a sheep-dog?" Lance asked Roy, as he cantered +up, dusty and perspiring. "A word from the aeroplanes would do the +trick. Good God! <i>Look</i> at them——!"</p> + +<p>Roy looked—and swore under his breath. For the half-dispersed thousands +were flowing together again like quicksilver. The whole Hira Mundi +region was packed with a seething dangerous mob, completely out of hand, +amenable to nothing but force.</p> + +<p>And now from the doors of the Mosque fresh thousands, inflamed by +fanatical speeches, were swarming across the open plain to join them, +flourishing their <i>láthis</i> with threatening gestures and cries....</p> + +<p>It was a sight to shake the stoutest heart. Armed, they were not; but +the <i>láthi</i> is a deadly weapon at close quarters; and their mere numbers +were overwhelming. Roy, by this time, was sick of their everlasting +yells; their distorted faces full of hate and fury; their senseless +abuse of 'tyrants,' who were exercising a patience almost superhuman.</p> + +<p>An order was shouted for the troops to turn and hold them. Carnegie, of +the police, dashed off to the head of the column that was nearing the +gate of exit; and the cavalry lined up in support of Mr Elton, who still +exhorted, still tried to make himself heard by those who were determined +not to hear.</p> + +<p>Directly they moved forward, there was a fierce, concerted rush; +<i>láthis</i> in the forefront, bricks and stones hurtling, as at Anarkalli, +but with fiercer intent.</p> + +<p>A large stone whizzed past the ear of an impassive Sikh Ressaldar; half +a brick caught Roy on the shoulder; <a name="Page_371" id="Page_371"></a>another struck Suráj on the flank +and slightly disturbed his equanimity.</p> + +<p>While Roy was soothing him, came a renewed rush, the crowd pushing +boldly in on all sides with evident intent to cut them off from the +rest.</p> + +<p>The line broke. There was a moment of sickening confusion. A howling +man, brandishing a <i>láthi</i>, made a dash at Roy, a grab at his charger's +rein....</p> + +<p>One instant his heart stood still; the next, Lance dashed in between, +riding-crop lifted, unceremoniously hustling Roy, and nearly oversetting +his assailant—but not quite——</p> + +<p>Down came the leaded stick on the back of his bridle hand, cutting it +open, grazing and bruising the flesh. With an oath he dropped the reins +and seized them in his right hand.</p> + +<p>"Rather neatly done!" he remarked, smiling at the dismay in Roy's eyes. +"Ought to have floored him, though—the murdering brute!"</p> + +<p>"Lance, you'd no business——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, drop it. This isn't polo. It's a game of Aunt Sally. No charge for +a shy——!" As he spoke, a sharp fragment of brick struck his cheek and +drew blood. "Damn them. Getting above themselves. If it rested with me +I'd charge. We can hold 'em, though. Straighten the line."</p> + +<p>"But your hand——"</p> + +<p>"My hand can wait. I've got another." And he rode on leaving Roy with a +burning inner sense as of actual coals of fire heaped on his unworthy +self.</p> + +<p>But urgent need for action left no leisure for thought. Somehow the line +was straightened; somehow they extricated themselves from the +embarrassing attentions of the mob. Carnegie returned with armed police; +and four files were lined up in front of the troops; the warning clearly +given; the response—fresh uproar, fresh showers of stones....</p> + +<p>Then eight shots rang out—and it sufficed.</p> + +<p>At the voice of the rifle, the sting of buckshot, valour and fury +evaporated like smoke. And directly the crowd broke, firing ceased. A +few were wounded; one was killed—and carried off with loud +lamentations. An ordered advance, with fixed bayonets, completed the +<a name="Page_372" id="Page_372"></a>effect that nothing else on earth could have produced:—and the Grand +Processional was over.</p> + +<p>It emerged from the Báthi Gate a shadow of itself, having left more than +half its numbers on guard at vital points along the route.</p> + +<p>"Scotched—not killed," was Lance's pithy verdict on the proceedings. +"As a bit of mere police work—excellent. As to the result—we shall +see. The C.O. must have been thankful his force wasn't a shade weaker."</p> + +<p>This, unofficially, to Roy, who had secured leave off for tiffin at the +Eltons', and had ridden forward to report his departure and inquire +after the damaged hand, that concerned him more than anything else just +then—not even excepting Rose.</p> + +<p>It had been roughly wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and Lance +pooh-poohed concern.</p> + +<p>"Hurts a bit, of course. But it's no harm. I'll have it scientifically +cleaned up by Collins. Don't look pathetic about nothing, old man. My +silly fault for failing to ride the beggar down. Just as well it isn't +your hand, you know. Unpleasant—for the women."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in that vein had +him at a disadvantage, always.</p> + +<p>"Don't be too late," he added, as Roy turned to go. "We may be needed. +Those operatic performers in the City aren't going to sit twiddling +their thumbs by the look of them. When's ... the departure?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow or next day, I think."</p> + +<p>"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't make a tale over +my hand."</p> + +<p>"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll be back +about six."</p> + +<p>He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love to Rose +damped by the fact that he had not been able to look Lance in the eyes.</p> + +<p>Things couldn't go on like this. And yet...? Impossible to ask Rose +outright whether there had been anything definite between them. If she +said "No," he would not believe her:—detestable, but true. If she—well +... if in any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find +it hard to control himself—or forgive her: equally detestable and +equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still....<a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"></a></p> + +<p>He found the household ready for immediate flitting, and Mrs Elton in a +fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news from Kasur.</p> + +<p>"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up! Two of our +officers wounded and two warrant officers <i>beaten</i> to <i>death</i> with those +horrible láthis!" She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy +could even get near Rose. "It's official. Mr Haynes has just been +telling us. An English woman and three tiny children—miraculously saved +by two N.C.O.'s and a friendly native Inspector. Did you <i>ever</i>——! And +I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the +bodies of those poor men at Amritsar. So <i>now</i> we know why the price ran +up and why 'none was coming into the country!' Yet they say this isn't +another Mutiny,—don't tell <i>me!</i> I was so thankful to be getting away; +and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it happened to <i>us</i>—to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's cool tones had a +tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the trains. And Fakir Ali wouldn't +let any one lay a finger on us."</p> + +<p>Mrs Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well, <i>I</i> don't +believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut—or worse," +she declared with settled conviction.</p> + +<p>"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!" Rose quizzed her cruelly, but +sweetly. "And now <i>perhaps</i> I may get at Roy, who's probably tired and +thirsty after all those hours in the sun."</p> + +<p>The Jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but directly it +was over Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir—her own corner; its +atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl herself, after all the strife +and heat and noise of the city.</p> + +<p>They spent a peaceful two hours together. Roy detected no shadow of +constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday had passed off. For +himself—all inner perturbations were charmed away by her tender concern +for the bruised shoulder—a big bruise; she could feel it under his +coat—and the look in her eyes while he told the story of Lance; not +colouring it up, because of what he had said; yet not concealing its +effect on himself.<a name="Page_374" id="Page_374"></a></p> + +<p>"He's quite a splendid sort of person," she said, with a little tug at +the string of her circular fan. "But <i>you</i> know all about that."</p> + +<p>"Rather."</p> + +<p>She drew in her lip and was silent. If he could speak now. In this mood, +he might believe her—might even forgive her....</p> + +<p>But it was she who spoke.</p> + +<p>"What about—the Kashmir plan?"</p> + +<p>"God knows. It's all in abeyance. The Colonel's wedding too."</p> + +<p>"Will you be <i>allowed</i>—I wonder—to pay me a little visit first?" Her +smile and the manner of her request were irresistible.</p> + +<p>"It's just possible!" he returned, in the same vein. "I fancy Lance +would understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh—he <i>would</i>. And to-morrow—the night train? Can you be there?"</p> + +<p>He looked doubtful. "It depends—how things go. And—I rather bar +station partings."</p> + +<p>"So do I. But still ... Mother's been clamouring for you to come up with +us and guard the hairs of our heads! But I deftly squashed the idea."</p> + +<p>"Bless you, darling!" He drew her close, and she leaned her cheek +against him with a sigh, in which present content and prospective +sadness were strangely mingled. It was in these gentle, pensive moods +that Roy came near to loving her as he had dreamed of loving the girl he +would make his wife.</p> + +<p>"I'm still jealous of the Gilgit plan," she murmured. "And, of course, I +wish you were coming up to-morrow—even more than Mother does! But at +least I've the grace to be glad you're not—which is rather an advance +for me!"</p> + +<p>Their parting, if less passionate, was more tender than usual; and Roy +rode away with a distinct ache in his heart at thought of losing her; a +nascent reluctance to make mountains out of molehills in respect of her +and Lance....</p> + +<p>Riding back along the Mall, he noticed absently an approaching +horsewoman, and recognised—too late for escape—Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. By +timely flight on Thursday, he had evaded her congratulations. Intuition +<a name="Page_375" id="Page_375"></a>told him she would say things that jarred. Now he flicked Suráj with +the base intent of merely greeting her as he passed.</p> + +<p>But she was a woman of experience and resource. She beckoned him airily +with her riding-crop.</p> + +<p>"Mr Sinclair? What luck! I'm dying to hear how the 'March Past' went +off. Did you get thunders of applause?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, thunders. The Monsoon variety!"</p> + +<p>"I saw you all in the distance, coming in from my early ride. You looked +very imposing with your attendant aeroplanes!—May I?" She turned her +pony's head without awaiting permission, and rode beside him at a foot's +pace, clamouring for details.</p> + +<p>He supplied them fluently, in the hope of heading her off personalities. +A vain hope: for personalities were her daily bread.</p> + +<p>She took advantage of the first pause to ask, with an ineffable look: +"Are you still feeling <i>very</i> shy of being engaged? You bolted on +Thursday. I hadn't a chance. And I'm rather <i>specially</i> interested." The +look became almost caressing. "Did it ever occur to your exquisite +modesty, I wonder, that I rather wanted, you for <i>my</i> cavalier. You +seemed so young—in experience, that I thought a little innocuous +education might be an advantage before you plunged. But she +snatched—oh, she did!—without seeming to lift an eyebrow, in her +inimitable way. Very clever. In fact, she's been distinctly clever all +round. She's eluded her 'coming man' on one side; and ructions over her +soldier man on the other——"</p> + +<p>"Look here—I'm engaged to her," Roy protested, trying not to be aware +of a sick sensation inside. "And you know I hate that sort of talk——"</p> + +<p>"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic eyes at him. +"But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry, Sir Galahad! You've won +the Kohinoor; and although you seem to live in the clouds, you've had +the sense to make things <i>pukka</i> straightaway. 'Understandings' and +private engagements are the root of all evil!"</p> + +<p>"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out, his temper +rising.<a name="Page_376" id="Page_376"></a></p> + +<p>But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-whip at +him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Souvent femme varie!</i> Have you ever heard that, you blessed innocent? +And the general impression is—there's already been one private +engagement—if not more. I was trying to tell you that afternoon to save +your poor fingers——"</p> + +<p>"It's all rot—spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing conviction made Roy +careless of his manners. "The women are jealous of her beauty, so they +invent any tale that's likely to be swallowed——"</p> + +<p>"Possibly, my dear boy. But I can't tell my neighbours to their faces +that they lie! After all, if you win a beautiful girl of six-and-twenty +you've got to swallow the fact, with a good grace, that there must have +been others; and thank God you're IT—if not the only IT that ever was +on land or sea!—After that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate +you. I've already congratulated her, <i>de mon plein cœur!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only half mollified. +"But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond asked me not to be late."</p> + +<p>"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he rode away.</p> + +<p>Mrs Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his peaceful two +hours with Rose. After that—clash or no clash—he must have the thing +out with Lance, at the first available moment.<a name="Page_377" id="Page_377"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> "Hai! Hai! George is dead."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XD" id="CHAPTER_XD"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="In you I most discern"> +<tr><td align='left'>"In you I most discern, in your brave spirit,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Erect and certain, flashing deeds of light,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">A pure jet from the fountain of all Being;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">A scripture clearer than all else to read."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—J.C.</span><span class='smcap'>Squire.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Roy returned to an empty bungalow.</p> + +<p>On inquiry, he learnt that the Major Sahib had gone over to see the +Colonel Sahib; and Wazir Khan—Desmond's bearer—abused, in lurid terms, +the bastard son of a pig who had dared to assault the first Sahib in +creation.</p> + +<p>Roy, sitting down at his table, pushed aside a half-written page of his +novel, and his pen raced over the paper in a headlong letter to +Jeffers:—an outlet, merely, for his pent-up sensations; and a salve to +his conscience. He had neglected Jeffers lately, as well as his novel. +He had been demoralised, utterly, these last few weeks: and to-day, by +way of crowning demoralisation, he felt by no means certain what the end +would be—for himself; still less, for India.</p> + +<p>The damaged Major Sahib—untroubled by animosity—appeared only just in +time to change for Mess; his cheek unbecomingly plastered, his hand in a +sling.</p> + +<p>"Beastly nuisance; <i>Hukm hai</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> he explained in response to Roy's +glance of inquiry. "Collins says it's a bit inflamed. I've been +confabbing with Paul over the deferred wedding. But, of course, there's +no chance of things settling down, unless we declare martial law. The +police are played out; and as for the impression we made this +morning—the D.C.'s just telephoned in for a hundred British troops and +armoured cars to<a name="Page_378" id="Page_378"></a> picket and patrol bungalows in Lahore. Seems he's +received an authentic report that the city people are planning to rush +civil lines, loot the bungalows, and assault our women—damn them. So, +by way of precaution, he has very wisely asked for troops.—Are they +off—those two?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow night," said Roy, feeling so horribly constrained that the +influx of Barnard and Meredith was, for once, almost a relief.</p> + +<p>Then there was Mess; fresh speculations, fresh tales, and a certain +amount of chaff over Desmond having 'stopped a brick'; Barnard, in +satirical vein, regretting to report a bloody encounter: one casualty: +enemy sprinkled with buckshot, retired according to plan.</p> + +<p>Before the meal was over, Roy fancied he detected a change in Lance; his +talk and laughter seemed a trifle strained; his lips set, now and then, +as if he were in pain.</p> + +<p>Later on he came up and remarked casually: "I'm not feeling very bright. +I think I'll turn in. Perhaps the sun touched me up a bit." Clearly +Roy's face betrayed him; for Lance added in an imperative undertone: +"<i>Don't</i> look at me like that. I'm going to slip off quietly—not to +worry Paul."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to slip off too," Roy retorted with decision. "I feel +used up; and my beast of a bruise hurts like blazes."</p> + +<p>"Drive me home, then," said Lance; and his changed tone, no less than +the surprising request, told Roy he would be glad of his company.</p> + +<p>They said little during the drive; Roy, because he felt vaguely anxious, +and knew it would annoy Lance if he betrayed concern, or inquired after +symptoms. It seemed a shame to worry the poor fellow in this state; but +silence had now become impossible.</p> + +<p>"Are you for bed, old man?" he asked when they got in.</p> + +<p>"Rather not. I just felt a bit queer. Wanted to get away from them all +and be quiet."</p> + +<p>His normal manner eased Roy's anxiety a little. Without more ado, they +settled into long veranda chairs and called for 'pegs.' The night was +utterly still. A red distorted moon hung just above the tree-<a name="Page_379" id="Page_379"></a>tops. +Yelling and spitting crowds seemed to belong to another world.</p> + +<p>Lance leaned back in the shadow, the tip of his cigar glowing like a +fierce planet. Roy sat forward, tense and purposeful: hating what he had +to say; yet goaded by the knowledge that he could have no peace of mind +till it was said.</p> + +<p>He was silent a few moments, pulling at his cigar: then, "Look here, +Lance," he said. "I've got a question to ask. You won't like it. I don't +either. But the truth is ... I'm bothered to know what is ... or has +been ... between you and...."</p> + +<p>"Drop it, Roy." There was pain and impatience in Desmond's tone. "I'm +not going to talk about <i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>Flat opposition gave Roy precisely the spur he needed.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid <i>I</i>'ve got to, though." The statement was placable but +decisive. "I can't go on this way. It's getting on my nerves——"</p> + +<p>"Devil take your nerves," said Lance politely. Then—with an obvious +effort—"Has she—said anything?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then why the hell can't you let be!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>shall</i> let be—altogether, if this goes on;—this infernal +awkwardness between us; and the things she says—the way she looks ... +almost as if she cares."</p> + +<p>"Well, I give you my oath—she doesn't. I suppose I ought to know?"</p> + +<p>"That depends how things were before I came up. She's twice let your +name slip out, unawares. And at Anarkalli she was extraordinarily upset. +And to-day—about your hand. Then, riding home, I met Mrs Ranyard. And +she started talking ... hinting at a private engagement——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs Ranyard deserves to have her tongue removed. She'd tell any lie +about another woman."</p> + +<p>"Quito so. But is it a lie? It fits in too neatly with—the other +things——"</p> + +<p>Lance gave him a sidelong look. Their faces were just visible in the +moonlight.</p> + +<p>"Jealous—are you?"—His tone was almost tender.—"You damned lucky +devil—you've no cause to be."</p> + +<p>That natural inference startlingly revealed to Roy that jealousy had +little or nothing to do with his trouble; <a name="Page_380" id="Page_380"></a>and so great was the relief +of open speech between them, that instinctively he told truth.</p> + +<p>"N-no. I'm bothered about <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" Desmond's abrupt laugh had no mirth in it. "<i>Me?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes—naturally. If it amounted to ... an engagement, and I charged in +and upset everything ... I can't forgive myself ... or her——"</p> + +<p>At that Desmond sat forward, obstructive no longer. "If you're going so +badly off the rails, you must have it straight. And ... confound you!... +it hurts——"</p> + +<p>"I can see that. And it's more or less my doing——"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary ... it was primarily <i>my</i> doing ... as you justly +pointed out to me a week or two ago."</p> + +<p>Roy groaned. The irony of the situation stung like a whip-lash. "<i>Did</i> +it amount to an engagement?" he persisted.</p> + +<p>"There or thereabouts." Lance paused and took a long pull at his cigar. +"<i>But</i>—it was quite between ourselves—in fact, conditional on ... the +headway I could manage to make. She—cared, in a way. Not—as I do. That +was one hitch. The other was Oh 'Ell's antipathy to soldiers, as +husbands for her precious family. She—Rose—knew there would be +ructions; a downright tussle, in fact. Well—she'll go almost any length +to avoid ructions; specially with her mother. I don't blame her. The +woman's a caution. So—she shirked facing the music ... till she felt +quite sure of herself...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Till</i> she felt sure of herself, there should have been <i>no</i> +engagement," Roy decreed, amazed at his own rising anger. "Unfair on +you."</p> + +<p>Desmond's smile was the ghost of its normal self. "You always were a bit +of a purist, Roy! Besides—it was my doing again. I pressed the point. +And I think ... she liked me ... loving her. She really seemed to be +coming my way—till <i>you</i> turned up——" He clenched his hand and leaned +back again, drawing a deep breath. "I'm forcing myself to tell you all +this—since you've asked for it—because I won't have you blaming +<i>her</i>——"</p> + +<p>Roy said nothing. Remembering how, throughout, the initiative had been +hers, how hard he had striven <a name="Page_381" id="Page_381"></a>against being ensnared, he did blame her, +a good deal more than he could very well admit to this friend, whose +single-hearted devotion made his own mere mingling of infatuation and +passion seem artificial as gaslight in the blaze of dawn.—But knowing +so much, he must know all.</p> + +<p>"How long—was it on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, about three weeks before you came. <i>I</i> was on a long while. Before +Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Since when has it been—off?"</p> + +<p>Lance hesitated. "Well—things became shaky after Kapurthala. That +day—the wedding, you remember?—I spoke rather straight ... about you. +I saw you were getting keen. And I didn't want you to come a +cropper——"</p> + +<p>"Why the devil didn't you tell me the <i>truth?</i>"</p> + +<p>Lance set his lips. "Of course I wanted to. But—it was difficult. She +said—not any one. Made a point of it. Not even Paul. And I was keen for +her to feel quite free; no slur on her—if things fell through. So—as I +couldn't warn you, I spoke to her. Perhaps I was a fool. Women are +queer. You can never be sure ... and it seemed to have quite the wrong +effect. Then I saw she was really losing her head over you—— Natural +enough. So I simply stood by. If she really wanted <i>you</i>—not me, that +was another affair. And it's plain ... she did."</p> + +<p>"But when—did she <i>make</i> it plain?" Roy insisted, feeling more and more +as if the ground were giving way under his feet.</p> + +<p>"Just before the Gym. That ... was why...." He looked full at Roy now. +His eyes darkened with pain. "I felt like murdering you that day, Roy. +Afterwards ... well—one managed to carry on somehow. One always can—at +a pinch ... <i>you</i> know."</p> + +<p>"My God! It's the bitterest, ironical tangle!" Roy burst out with a +smothered vehemence that told its own tale. "You <i>ought</i> to have +insisted about me, Lance. I wouldn't for fifty worlds...."</p> + +<p>"Of course you wouldn't. Don't fret, old man. And don't blame <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"Blame or no, I can't pretend it doesn't alter things <a name="Page_382" id="Page_382"></a>... spoil things, +badly...."</p> + +<p>He broke off, startled by the change in Desmond. His face was drawn. He +was shivering violently.</p> + +<p>"Lance—<i>what</i> is it? Fever? Have you been feeling bad?"</p> + +<p>Desmond set his lips to steady them. "On and off—at Mess. Touch of the +sun, perhaps. I'll get to bed and souse myself with quinine."</p> + +<p>But he was so obviously ill that Roy paid no heed. "Well, I'm going to +send for Collins instanter."</p> + +<p>"Don't make an ass of yourself, Roy," Lance flashed out: but his hands +were shaking: his lips were shaking. He was no longer in command of +affairs....</p> + +<p>While the message sped on its way, Roy got him to bed somehow; eased +things a little with hot bottles and brandy; nameless terrors knocking +at his heart....</p> + +<p>In less than no time Collins appeared, with the Colonel; and their faces +told Roy that his terror was only too well founded....</p> + +<p>Within an hour he knew the worst—acute blood-poisoning from the <i>láthi</i> +wound.</p> + +<p>"Any hope——?" he asked the genial doctor, while Paul Desmond knelt by +the bed speaking to his brother in low tones.</p> + +<p>"Too early to give an opinion," was the cautious answer. But the caution +and the man's whole manner told Roy the incredible, unbearable truth.</p> + +<p>Something inside him seemed to snap. In that moment of bewildered agony, +he felt like a murderer....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Looking back afterwards, Roy marvelled how he had lived through the +waking nightmare of those two days—while the doctor did all that was +humanly possible, and Lance pitted all the clean strength of his manhood +against the swift deadly progress of the poison in his veins. It was +simply a question of hours; of fighting the devil to the last on +principle, rather than from any likelihood of victory. With heart and +hope broken, superhumanly they struggled on.</p> + +<p>For Roy, the world outside that dim whitewashed bedroom ceased to exist. +The loss of his mother had been anguish unalloyed; but he had not <i>seen</i> +her go....</p> + +<p>Now, he saw—and heard, which was worse than all.</p> + +<p>For Lance, towards the end, was constantly delirious; <a name="Page_383" id="Page_383"></a>and, in delirium, +he raved of Rose—always of Rose. He, the soul of reserve, poured out +incontinently his passion, his worship, his fury of jealousy—till Roy +grew almost to hate the sound of her name.</p> + +<p>Worse—he was constrained to tell the Colonel the meaning of it all: to +see anger flash through the haunting pain in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Only twice, during the final struggle, the real Lance emerged; and on +the second occasion they happened to be alone. Their eyes met in the old +intimate understanding. Lance flung out his undamaged hand, and grasped +Roy's with all the force still left him.</p> + +<p>"Don't fret your heart out, Roy ... if I can't pull through," he said in +his normal voice. "Carry on. And—<i>don't</i> blame Rose. It'll hurt her—a +bit. Don't hurt her more—because of me. And—look here, stand by Paul +for a time. He'll need you."</p> + +<p>Roy's "Trust me, dear old man," applied, mentally, to the last. Even at +that supreme moment he was dimly thankful it came last.</p> + +<p>Then the Colonel returned; and they could say no more; nor could Roy +find it in his heart to grudge him a moment of that brief blessed +interlude of real contact with the man they loved....</p> + +<p>There could be no question of going to Lahore station on Sunday evening. +He was ill himself, though he did not know it; and his soul was centred +on Lance—the gallant spirit inwoven with almost every act and thought +and inspiration of his life. By comparison, Rose was nothing to him; +less than nothing; a mushroom growth—sudden and violent—with no deep +roots; only fibres.</p> + +<p>So he sent her, by an orderly, a few hurried lines of explanation and +farewell.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><span class='smcap'>"My Dear</span>,— + +<p> "I'm sorry, but I <i>can't</i> come to-night. We are all in dreadful + grief. Lance down with acute blood-poisoning. Collins evidently + fears the worst. I can't write of it. I do trust you get up safely. + I'll write again, when it's possible.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Yours,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">R</span><span class='smcap'>oy</span>."<br /> +<a name="Page_384" id="Page_384"></a></p> + +<p>Yes, he was still hers—so far. More than that he could not honestly +add. Beyond this awful hour he could not look. It was as if one stood on +the edge of a precipice, and the next step would be a drop into black +darkness....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>By Monday night it was over. After forty-eight hours of fever and +struggle and pain, Lance Desmond lay at rest—serene and noble in death, +as he had been in life. And Roy—having achieved one long, slow climb +out of the depths—was flung back again, deeper than ever....</p> + +<p>It was near midnight when the end came. Utterly weary and broken, he had +sunk into Lance's chair, leaning forward, his face hidden, his frame +shaken all through with hard dry sobs that would not be stilled.</p> + +<p>Through the fog of his misery, he felt the Colonel's hand on his +shoulder; heard the familiar voice, deep and kindly: "My dear Roy, get +to bed. We can't have you on the sick-list. There's work to do; a great +gap to be filled—somehow. I'll stay—with him."</p> + +<p>At that, he pulled himself together and stood up. "I'll do my best, +Colonel," was all he could say. The face he had so rarely seen perturbed +was haggard with grief. They looked straight at one another; and the +thought flashed on Roy, 'I must tell him.' Not easy; but it had to be +done.</p> + +<p>"There's something, sir," he began, "I feel you ought to know. By +rights, it—it should have been <i>me</i>. That brute with the <i>láthi</i> was +right on me; and he—Lance—dashed in between ... rode him off—and got +the knock intended for me. It—it haunts me."</p> + +<p>Paul Desmond was silent a moment. Pain and exaltation contended +strangely in his tired eyes. Then: "I—don't wonder," he said slowly. +"It—was like him. Thank you for telling me. It will be—some small +comfort ... to all of them. Now—try and get a little sleep."</p> + +<p>Roy shook his head. "Impossible.—Good-night, Colonel. It's a relief to +feel you know. For God's sake, let me do any mortal thing I can for any +of you."</p> + +<p>There was another moment of silence, of palpable <a name="Page_385" id="Page_385"></a>hesitation; then once +again Paul Desmond put his hand on Roy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Roy," he said. "Drop calling me Colonel. You two—were like +brothers. And—as Thea's included, why should I be out of it. Let me—be +'Paul.'"</p> + +<p>It was hard to do. It was inimitably done. It gave Roy the very lift he +needed in that hour when he felt as if they must almost hate him, and +never wish to set eyes on him again.</p> + +<p>"I—I shall be proud," he said; and, turning away to hide his emotion, +went back to the bed that drew him like a magnet.</p> + +<p>There he knelt a long while, in a torment of mute, passionate protest +against the power of so trivial an injury to rob the world of so much +gallantry and charm. Resignation was far from him. With all the +vehemence that was in him, he raged against his loss....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Next morning, they awoke, as from a prolonged and terrible dream, to +find Lahore practically isolated; all wires down, but one; the <i>hartal</i> +continuing in defiance of orders and exhortations; more stations +demolished; more trains derailed and looted; all available British +troops recalled from the Hills. But for five sets of wireless plant, +urgently asked for, isolation would have been complete.</p> + +<p>By the fourteenth, the position was desperate. Civil authority flatly +defied; the police—lacking reserves—fairly played out; the temperature +chart of rebellion at its highest point. The inference was plain.</p> + +<p>Organised revolt is amenable only to the ultimate argument of force. +Nothing, now, would serve but strong action, and the compelling power of +Martial Law.</p> + +<p>Happily for India, the men who had striven their utmost to avoid both +did not falter in that critical hour.</p> + +<p>At Amritsar strong action had already been taken; and the sobering +effect of it spread, in widening circles, bringing relief to thousands +of both races; not least to men whose nerve and resource had been +strained almost to the limit of endurance.</p> + +<p>In Lahore, notices of Martial Law were issued. The <a name="Page_386" id="Page_386"></a>suspended life of +the city tentatively revived. Law-abiding men of all ranks breathed more +freely; and for the moment it seemed the worst was over....</p> + +<p>Roy, having slept off a measure of his utter fatigue, took up the dead +weight of life again, with the old sick sensation, of three years ago, +that nothing mattered in earth or heaven. But then, there had been Lance +to uphold and cheer him. Now there was only the hard unfailing mercy of +work to be pulled through somehow.</p> + +<p>There was also Rose—and the problem of letting her know that he knew. +And—their marriage? All that seemed to have suffered shipwreck with the +rest of him. He was still too dazed and blinded with grief to see an +inch ahead. He only knew he could not bear to see her, who had made +Lance suffer so, till the first anguish had been dulled a little—on the +surface at least.<a name="Page_387" id="Page_387"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> It is an order.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XID" id="CHAPTER_XID"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>"Why did'st thou promise such a beauteous day,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><hr style='width: 15%;' /></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke!"</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Shakspere.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>And away up in Simla, Rose Arden was enduring her own minor form of +purgatory. The news of Lance Desmond's sudden death had startled and +saddened her; had pierced through her surface serenity to the deep +places of a nature that was not altogether shallow under its veneer of +egotism and coquetry.</p> + +<p>On a morning, near the end of April, she sat alone in the garden under +deodar boughs tasselled with tips of young green. In a border, beyond +the lawn, spring flowers were awake; the bank was starred with white +violets and wild-strawberry blossoms; and through a gap in the ilex +trees beyond, she had a vision of far hills and flashing snow-peaks, +blue-white in the sun, cobalt in shadow. Overhead, among the higher +branches, a bird was trilling out an ecstatic love-song.</p> + +<p>But the year's renewal, the familiar flutter of Simla's awakening, +sharpened, rather, that new ache at her heart; the haunting, incredible +thought that down there, in the stifling dusty plains, Lance Desmond lay +dead in the springtime of his splendid manhood; dead of his own generous +impulse to save Roy from hurt.</p> + +<p>Since the news came, she had avoided sociabilities and, unobtrusively, +worn no colours. Foolish and fatuous, was it? Perhaps. She only knew +that—Lance being gone—she could not make <i>no</i> difference in her daily +round, whatever others might think or say.</p> + +<p>And the mere fact of his being gone seemed strangely to revive the +memory of his love for her, of her own <a name="Page_388" id="Page_388"></a>genuine, if inadequate, +response. For she had been more nearly in love with him than with any of +his predecessors (and there had been several), who had been admitted to +the privileged intimacies of the half-accepted lover. More: he had +commanded her admiration; and she had not been woman could she have held +out indefinitely against his passionate, whole-hearted devotion.</p> + +<p>After months of patient wooing—and he by nature impatient—he had +insisted that matters be settled, one way or the other, before he went +on leave; and she had almost reached the point of decision, when Roy, +with his careless charm and challenging detachment, appeared on the +scene....</p> + +<p>And now—Lance was gone; Roy was hers; Bramleigh Beeches and a +prospective title were hers; but still....</p> + +<p>The shock of Roy's revelation had upset her a good deal more than she +dared let him guess. And the effect did not pass—in spite of determined +efforts to be unaware of it. She knew, now, that her vaunted tolerance +sprang chiefly from having ignored the whole subject. Half-castes she +instinctively despised. For India and the Indians she had little real +sympathy; and the rising tide of unrest, the increasing antagonism, had +sharpened her negative attitude to a positive dislike and distrust, +acutely intensified since that evening at Anarkalli, when the sight of +Lance and her stepfather, sitting there at the mercy of any chance-flung +missile, had stirred the slumbering passion in her to fury. For one +bewildering moment she had scarcely been able to endure Roy's touch or +look, because he was even remotely linked with those creatures, who +mouthed and yelled and would have murdered them all without compunction.</p> + +<p>The impression of those few nerve-wracking days had struck deep. Yet, in +spite of all, Roy's hold on her was strong; the stronger perhaps because +she had been aware of his inner resistance, and had never felt quite +sure of him. She did not feel fundamentally sure of him, even now. His +letters had been few and brief; heart-broken, naturally; yet scarcely +the letters of an ardent lover. The longest of the four had given her a +poignant picture of Lance's funeral; almost as if he <a name="Page_389" id="Page_389"></a>knew, and had +written with intent to hurt her. In addition to half the British +officers of the station, the cemetery had been thronged with the men of +his squadron, Sikhs and Pathans—a form of homage very rare in India. +Many of them had cried like children; and for himself, Roy confessed, it +had broken him all to bits. He hardly knew how to write of it; but he +felt she would care to know.</p> + +<p>She cared so intensely that, for the moment, she had almost hated him +for probing so deep, for stamping on her memory a picture that would not +fade.</p> + +<p>His next letter had been no more than half a sheet. That was three days +ago. Another was overdue; and the post was overdue also.</p> + +<p>Ah—at last! A flash of scarlet in the verandah and Fazl Ali presenting +an envelope on a salver, as though she were a goddess and the letter an +offering at her shrine.</p> + +<p>It was a shade thicker than usual. Well, it ought to be. She had been +very patient with his brevity. This time it seemed he had something to +say.</p> + +<p>Her heart stirred perceptibly as she opened it and read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot">"<span class='smcap'>Dearest Girl</span>,— + +<p> "I'm afraid my letters have been very poor things. Part of the + reason you know and understand—as far as any one can. I'm still + dazed. Everything's out of perspective. I suppose I shall take it + in some day.</p> + +<p> "But there's another reason—connected with <i>him</i>. Perhaps you can + guess. I've been puzzled all along about you two. And now I <i>know</i>. + I wonder—does that hurt you? It hurts me horribly. I need hardly + say <i>he</i> didn't give you away. It was things you said—and Mrs + Ranyard. Anyhow, that last evening, I insisted on having the truth. + But I couldn't write about it sooner—for fear of saying things I'd + regret afterwards.</p> + +<p> "Rose—what <i>possessed</i> you? A man worth fifty of me! Of course, I + know loving doesn't go by merit. But to keep him on tenterhooks, + eating his heart out with jealousy, while you frankly encouraged + me—you <i>know</i> you did. And I—never dreaming; only puzzled <a name="Page_390" id="Page_390"></a>at the + way he sheered off after the first. Between us, we made his last + month of life a torment, though he never let me guess it. I don't + know how to forgive myself. And, to be honest, it's no easy job + forgiving you. If that makes you angry, if you think me a prig, I + can't help it. If <i>you'd</i> heard him—all those hours of + delirium—you might understand.</p> + +<p> "When he wasn't raving, he had only one thought—mustn't blame + <i>you</i>, or hurt you, on account of him. I'm trying not to. But if I + know you at all, <i>that</i> will hurt more than anything <i>I</i> could say. + And it's only right I should tell it you.</p> + +<p> "My dearest Girl, you can't think how difficult—how strange it + feels writing to you like this. I meant to wait till I came up. But + I couldn't write naturally, and I was afraid you mightn't + understand.</p> + +<p> "I'm coming, after all, sooner than I thought, for my fool of a + body has given out, and Collins won't let me hang on, though <i>I</i> + feel the work just keeps me going. It must be Kohat first, because + of Paul. Now things are calming down, he is getting away to be + married. The quietest possible affair, of course; but he's keen I + should be best man in place of Lance. And I needn't say how I value + the compliment.</p> + +<p> "No more trouble here or Amritsar, thank God—and a few courageous + men. Martial Law arrangements are being carried through to + admiration. The Lahore C.O. seems to get the right side of every + one. He has a gift for the personal touch that is everything out + here; and in no time the poor deluded beggars in the City were + shouting 'Martial Law <i>ki jai</i>' as fervently as ever they shouted + for Ghandi and Co.</p> + +<p> "One of my fellows said to me: 'Our people don't understand this + new talk of "Committee Ki Raj" and "Dyarchy Raj." Too many orders + make confusion. But they understand "<i>Hukm Ki raj</i>."'<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> In fact, + it's the general opinion that prompt action in the Punjab has + fairly well steadied India—for the present at least.</p> + +<p> "Well, I won't write more. We'll meet soon; and I don't doubt + you'll explain a good deal that still puzzles and hurts me. If I + seem changed, you must make <a name="Page_391" id="Page_391"></a>allowances. I can't yet see my way in + a world empty of Lance. But we must help each other, Rose—not pull + two ways. Don't bother to write long explanations. Things will be + easier face to face.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Yours ever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">R</span><span class='smcap'>oy."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Yours ever," ... Did he mean that? He certainly meant the rest. Her +hands dropped in her lap; and she sat there, staring before +her—startled, angry, more profoundly disturbed and unsure of herself +than she had felt in all her days. Though Roy had tried to write with +moderation, there were sentences that struck at her vanity, her +conscience, her heart. Her first overwhelming impulse was to write back +at once telling him he need not trouble to come up, as the engagement +was off. Accustomed to unquestioning homage, she took criticism badly; +also—undeniably—she was jealous of his absorption in Lance. The +impulse to dismiss him was mere hurt vanity.</p> + +<p>And the queer thing was, that deep down under the vanity and the +jealousy, her old feeling for Lance seemed again to be stirring in its +sleep.</p> + +<p>The love of such a man leaves no light impress on any woman; and Lance +had unwittingly achieved two master-strokes calculated to deepen that +impress on one of her nature. In the first place, he had fronted +squarely the shock of her defection—patently on account of Roy. She +could see him now—standing near her mantelpiece, his eyes sombre with +passion and pain; no word of reproach or pleading, though there +smouldered beneath his silence the fire of his formidable temper. And +just because he had neither pleaded nor stormed, she had come perilously +near to an ignominious <i>volte-face</i>, from which she had only been saved +by something in him, not in herself. If she did not know it then, she +knew it now. In the second place, he had died gallantly—again on +account of Roy. Snatched utterly out of reach, out of sight, his value +was enhanced tenfold; and now, to crown all, came Roy's revelation of +his amazing magnanimity....</p> + +<p>Strange, what a complicated affair it was, for some people, this simple +natural business of getting married.<a name="Page_392" id="Page_392"></a> Was it part of the price one had +to pay for being beautiful? Half the girls one knew slipped into it with +much the same sort of thrill as they slipped into a new frock. But those +were mostly the nice plain little things, who subsided gratefully into +the first pair of arms held out to them. And probably they had their +reward.</p> + +<p>In chastened moods, Rose did not quite care to remember how many times +she had succumbed, experimentally, to that supreme temptation. Good +heavens! What would her precious pair think of her—if they knew! At +least, she had the grace to feel proud that the tale of her conquests +included two such men.</p> + +<p>But Lance was gone—on account of Roy—where no spell of hers could +touch him any more; and Roy—was he going too ... on account of +Lance...? Not if she could prevent him; and yet ... goodness knew!</p> + +<p>The sigh that shivered through her sprang from a deeper source than mere +self-pity.</p> + +<p>Rattle of rickshaw wheels, puffing and grunting of <i>jhampannis</i>, +heralded the return of her mother, who had been out paying a round of +preliminary calls. It took eight stalwart men and a rickshaw of special +dimensions to convey her formidable bulk up and down Simla roads; and +affectionate friends hinted that the men demanded extra pay for extra +weight!</p> + +<p>A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in the air.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rose—<i>there</i> you are. I've had the shock of my life!" Waving away +her <i>jhampannis</i>, she sank into an adjacent cane chair that creaked and +swayed ominously under the assault. "It was at Mrs Tait's. My +dear—would you <i>believe</i> it? That fine fiancé of yours—after worming +himself into our good graces—turns out to be practically a +<i>half-caste</i>. A superior one, it seems. But still—the deceitfulness of +the man! Going about looking like everybody else too! And grey-blue eyes +into the bargain!"</p> + +<p>At that Rose fatally smiled—in spite of genuine dismay.</p> + +<p>"I can't see anything <i>funny</i> in it!" snapped her mother. "I thought +you'd be furious. Did you ever notice——? Had you the least suspicion?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least," Rose answered, with unruffled calm. "I knew."<a name="Page_393" id="Page_393"></a></p> + +<p>"You <i>knew?</i> Yet you were fool enough to accept him—and wilfully +deceive your own mother! I suppose he insisted, and you——"</p> + +<p>"No. <i>I</i> insisted. I knew my own mind. And I wasn't going to have him +upset——"</p> + +<p>"But if <i>I'm</i> upset it doesn't matter a brass farthing?"</p> + +<p>"It does matter. I'm very sorry you've had such a jar." Rose had some +ado to maintain her coolness; but she knew it for her one unfailing +weapon. "Of course, I meant to tell you later; in fact, as soon as he +came up to settle things finally——"</p> + +<p>"Most con<i>sider</i>ate of you! And when he <i>does</i> come up, <i>I</i> propose to +settle things finally——" She choked, gulped, and glared. She was +realising.... "The <i>position</i> you've put me in! It's detestable!"</p> + +<p>Rose sighed. It struck her that her own position was not exactly +enviable. "I've said I'm sorry. And really—it didn't seem the least +likely.... Who <i>was</i> the officious instrument of Fate?"</p> + +<p>"Young Joe Bradley, of the Forests. We were talking of the riots and +poor Major Desmond, and Mrs Tait happened to mention Roy Sinclair. Mr +Bradley asked—was he the artist's son; and told how he once went to tea +there—when his mother was staying with Lady Despard—and had a stand-up +fight with Roy. He said Roy's mother was rather a swell native woman—a +<i>pucca</i> native; and Roy went for him like a wild thing, because he +called her an ayah——"</p> + +<p>Again Rose smiled in spite of herself. "He would!"</p> + +<p>"Would he, indeed! That's all <i>you</i> think of—though you know I've got a +weak heart. And I nearly fainted—if <i>that's</i> any interest to you! The +Bradley boy doesn't know—about us. But Mrs Tait's a perfect little +sieve. It'll be all over Simla to-morrow. And I was so pleased and +proud——" Her voice shook. Tears threatened. "And it's so awkward—so +undignified ... backing out——"</p> + +<p>"My dear mother, I've no intention whatever of backing out."</p> + +<p>"And I've no intention what<i>ever</i> of having a half-caste for a +son-in-law."</p> + +<p>Rose winced at that, and drew in a steadying breath. For now, at last, +the cards were on the table. She was <a name="Page_394" id="Page_394"></a>committed to flat opposition or +retreat—an impasse she had skilfully avoided hitherto. But for Roy's +sake she stood her ground.</p> + +<p>"It was—rather a jar when he told me," she admitted, by way of +concession. "But truly, he <i>is</i> different—if you'll only listen, +without fuming! His mother's a Rajput of the highest caste. Her father +educated her almost like an English girl. She was only seventeen when +she married Sir Nevil; and she lived altogether in England after that. +In everything but being her son, Roy is practically an Englishman. You +can't class him with the kind of people we associate with—the other +word out here——"</p> + +<p>Very patiently and tactfully she put forward every redeeming argument in +his favour—without avail. Mrs Elton—broadly—had the right on her +side; and the gods had denied her the gift of discrimination. She saw +India as a vast, confused jumble of Rajahs and <i>bunnias</i> and servants +and coolies—all steeped in varying depths of dirt and dishonesty, greed +and shameless ingratitude. It did not occur to her that sharp +distinctions of character, tradition, and culture underlay the more or +less uniform tint of skin. And beneath her instinctive antipathy, burned +furious anger with Roy for placing her, by his deceitfulness (it <i>must</i> +have been his) in the ironic position of having to repudiate the +engagement she had announced with such éclat only three weeks ago....</p> + +<p>The moment she had recovered her breath, she returned unshaken to the +charge.</p> + +<p>"That's very fine talk, my dear, for two people in love. But Roy's a +half-caste: that's flat. You can't wriggle away from the damning fact by +splitting hairs about education and breeding. Besides—<i>you</i> only think +of the man. But are you prepared for your precious first baby to be as +dark as a native? It's more than likely. I know it for a fact——"</p> + +<p>"Really, Mother! You're a trifle previous." Rose was cool no longer; a +slow, unwilling blush flooded her face. Her mother had struck at her +more shrewdly than she knew.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you <i>will</i> be obstinate, it's my duty to open your eyes; or, +of course, I wouldn't talk so to an unmarried girl. There's another +thing—any doctor will <a name="Page_395" id="Page_395"></a>tell you—a particular form of consumption +carries off half the wretched children of these mixed marriages. A +mercy, perhaps; but think of it——! Your own! And you know perfectly +well the moral deterioration——"</p> + +<p>"There's none of that about <i>Roy</i>." Rose grew warmer still. "And <i>you</i> +know perfectly well most of it comes from the circumstances, the stigma, +the type of parent. But you can say what you please. I'm of age. I love +him. I intend to marry him."</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't do it from <i>my</i> house. I wash my hands of the whole +affair."</p> + +<p>She rose, upon her ultimatum, a-quiver with righteous anger, even to the +realistic cherries in her hat. The girl rose also, outwardly composed, +inwardly dismayed.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Now I know where I stand. And <i>you</i> won't say a word to Roy. +You <i>mustn't</i>—really——" She almost pleaded. "He worships his mother +in quite the old-fashioned way. He simply couldn't see—the other point +of view. Besides—he's ill ... unhappy. Whatever <i>your</i> attitude forces +one to say, can only be said by me."</p> + +<p>"I don't take orders from my own daughter," Mrs Elton retorted +ungraciously. She was in no humour for bargaining or dictation. "But I'm +sure <i>I've</i> no wish to talk to him. I'll give you a week or ten days to +make your plans. But whenever you have him here, I shall be out. And if +you come to your senses—you can let me know."</p> + +<p>On that she departed, leaving Rose feeling battered and shaken, and +horribly uncertain what—in the face of that bombshell—she intended to +do: she, who had made Lance suffer cruelly, and evoked a tragic +situation between him and Roy, largely in order to avoid a clash that +would have been as nothing compared with this...!</p> + +<p>Her sensations were in a whirl. But somehow—she <i>must</i> pull it through. +Home life was becoming intolerable. And—for several cogent reasons—she +wanted Roy. If need be, she would tell him, diplomatically; dissociating +herself from her mother's attitude.</p> + +<p>And yet—her mother had said things that would stick; hateful things, +that might be true....</p> + +<p>Decidedly, she could not write him a long letter: only enough to bring +him back to her in a relenting <a name="Page_396" id="Page_396"></a>mood. Sitting down again, she unearthed +from her black-and-silver bag a fountain pen and half a sheet of paper.</p> + +<div class="blockquot">"<span class='smcap'>My Darling Roy</span>" (she wrote),— + +<p> "Your letter <i>did</i> hurt—badly. Perhaps I deserved it. All I can + say till we meet, is—forgive me, if you can, because of Lance. + It's rather odd—though you <i>are</i> my lover, and I suppose you do + care still—I can think of no stronger appeal than that. He cared + so for us both, in his big splendid way. Can't we stand by each + other?</p> + +<p> "You ask me to make allowances. Will you be generous, and do the + same on a larger scale for your sincerely loving (and not + altogether worthless)</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">R</span><span class='smcap'>ose?</span>"<br /> +<a name="Page_397" id="Page_397"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Government by order.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIID" id="CHAPTER_XIID"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="She had a step"> +<tr><td align='left'>"She had a step that walked unheard,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">It made the stones like grass;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Yet that light step had crushed a heart</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">As light as that step was."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—W.H.</span><span class='smcap'>Davies</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>At last, Roy was actually coming. The critical moment was upon them; and +Rose sat alone in the drawing-room awaiting him.</p> + +<p>Her mother was out; had arranged to be out for the evening also. The +strain between them still continued; and it told most on Rose. The +cat-like element in her loved comfort; and an undercurrent of clash was +peculiarly irritating in her present sore, uncertain state of heart. +Weeks of it, she knew, would scarcely leave a dent on her mother's +leathern temperament. When it came to a tug the tougher nature scored, +which was one reason why she had so skilfully avoided tugs hitherto.</p> + +<p>True, she was of age; and her father's small legacy gave her a measure +of independence. But how could one set about getting married in the face +of open opposition? And—how keep the truth from Roy? Or tone it down, +so that he would not go off at a tangent straightaway?</p> + +<p>Assuredly the Fates had conspired to strip her headlong romance of its +gilded trappings. But her moment for marriage had come. She was sick to +death of the Anglo-Indian round—from the unattached standpoint, at +least. Roy fascinated her as few men had done; and she had been +deliberately trying to ignore the effect of her mother's brutal +frankness. Their coming together again, in these changed conditions, +would be the ultimate test. Such a chasm of distance seemed to yawn +between <a name="Page_398" id="Page_398"></a>that tender parting in her boudoir and this critical +reunion—in another world....</p> + +<p>Sounds of arrival brought her to her feet; but she checked the natural +impulse to welcome him in the verandah. Her innate sense of drama shrank +from possible awkwardness, a false step, at the start.</p> + +<p>And now he appeared in the doorway—very straight and slim in his grey +suit, with the sorrowful black band on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Rose!" he cried—and stood gazing at her, pulses hammering, brain +dizzy. The mere sight of her brought back too vividly the memory of +those April days that he had been resolutely shutting out of his mind.</p> + +<p>His pause—the shock of his changed aspect—held her motionless also. He +looked older, more sallow; his sensitive mouth compressed; no lurking +gleam in his eyes. He seemed actually less good-looking than she +remembered; for anguish is no beautifier.</p> + +<p>So standing, they mutely confronted the change in themselves—in each +other; then Rose swept forward, both hands held out.</p> + +<p>"Roy—my darling—<i>what</i> you must have been through! Can you—will +you—in spite of all——?"</p> + +<p>Next moment, in his silent, vehement fashion, he was straining her to +him; kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips; not in simple lover's +ecstasy, but in a fervour of repressed passion, touched with tragedy, +with pain....</p> + +<p>Then he held her from him, to refresh his tired eyes with the sheer +beauty of her; and was struck at once by the absence of colour; the wide +black sash, the black velvet round her throat and hair.</p> + +<p>He touched the velvet, looking his question. She nodded, drawing in her +lip to steady it.</p> + +<p>"I felt—I must. You don't mind?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Mind</i>——?—Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever really <i>mind</i> things +any more."</p> + +<p>His face worked. That queer dizziness took him again. With an incoherent +apology, he sat down rather abruptly, and leaned forward, his head +between his hands, hiding the emotion he could not altogether control.</p> + +<p>Rose stood beside him, feeling helpless and vaguely aggrieved. He had +just got back to her, after a two weeks' parting, and he sat there lost +in an access of <a name="Page_399" id="Page_399"></a>grief that left her quite out of account. Inadvertently +there flashed the thought, "Whatever Lance might have suffered, he would +not succumb." It startled her. She had never so compared them before....</p> + +<p>Then, looking down at his bowed head, compunction seized her, and +tenderness, that rarely entered into her feeling for men. She could +think of nothing to say that would not sound idiotically commonplace. So +she laid her hand on his hair, and moved it caressingly now and then.</p> + +<p>She felt a tremor go through him. He half withdrew his head, checked +himself, and capturing her hand, pressed it to his lips, that were hot +and feverish.</p> + +<p>"Roy—what is it? What went wrong?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>He looked up now with a fair imitation of a smile. "Just—an old memory. +It was dear of you. Ungracious of me."—Pain and perplexity went from +her. She slipped to her knees beside him, and his arm enclosed her. +"Sorry to behave like this. But I'm not very fit. And—seeing you, +brought it all back so sharply! It's been—a bit of a strain, this last +week. A letter from Thea—brave, of course; but broken utterly. The +wedding too: and that beast of a journey fairly finished me."</p> + +<p>She leaned closer, comforting him by the feel of her nearness. Then her +practical brain suggested needs more pedestrian, none the less +essential.</p> + +<p>"Dearest—you're simply exhausted. How about tea—or a peg?"</p> + +<p>He pleaded for a peg, if permissible. She fetched it herself; made tea; +plied him with sandwiches and sugared cakes, for which he still retained +his boyish weakness.</p> + +<p>But talking proved difficult. There were uncomfortable gaps. In their +first uplifted moment all had seemed well. Love-making was simple, +elemental, satisfying. Beyond the initial glamour and passion of +courtship they had scarcely adventured, when the fabric of their world +was shattered by the startling events of those four days. Both were +realising—as they stepped cautiously among the fragments—that, for all +their surface intimacy, they were still strangers underneath.<a name="Page_400" id="Page_400"></a></p> + +<p>Roy took refuge in talk about Lahore; the high tribute paid to the +conduct of all troops—British and Indian—and police, under peculiarly +exasperating circumstances, the C.O.'s conviction that unless sterner +measures were taken—and adhered to—there would be more outbreaks, at +shorter intervals, better organised....</p> + +<p>He hoped her charming air of interest was genuine, but felt by no means +sure. And all the while, he was craving to know what she had to say for +herself; yet doubting whether he could stand the lightest touch on his +open wound. Lance had begged him not to hurt her. Had it ever occurred +to that devout lover how sharply she might hurt him?</p> + +<p>Tea and a restful hour in an arm-chair eased the strain a little. Then +Rose suggested the garden, knowing him susceptible to the large healing +influences of earth and sky; also with diplomatic intent to draw him +away from the house before her mother's meteoric visitation.</p> + +<p>And she was only just in time. The rattle of rickshaw wheels came up the +main path two minutes after they had turned out of it towards a +favourite nook, which she had strangely grown to love in the last two +weeks.</p> + +<p>"Poor darling! You've just missed Mother!" She condoled with him, +smiling sidelong under her lashes; and she almost blessed her maternal +enemy for bringing back the familiar gleam into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Bad luck! Ought we to go in again?"</p> + +<p>"Gracious, no. She's only tearing home to change for an early dinner at +Penshurst and the theatre. Anyway, please note, you're immune from the +formalities. We're going to have a peaceful time, quite independent of +Simla rushings. Just ourselves to ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Good."</p> + +<p>It was an asset with men—second only to her beauty—this gift for +creating a restful atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Her nook, in an angle above the narrow path, was a grassy bank, looking +across crumpled ranges—velvet-soft in the level light—to the still +purity of the snows.</p> + +<p>"Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning out of +doors; but I've spent several evenings here ... lately."</p> + +<p>"It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was <a name="Page_401" id="Page_401"></a>tinged with +apprehension. Flinging off his hat, he reclined full length on the +gentle slope, hands under his head, and let the healing rays flow into +the deeps of his troubled being.</p> + +<p>Rose sat upright beside him, her fingers locked loosely round one raised +knee. She was troubled too, and quite at a loss how to begin.</p> + +<p>"So you've not been going out much?" he asked, after a prolonged pause.</p> + +<p>"No—how could I—with you, so unhappy, down there—and...."—She +deliberately met his eyes; and the look in them impelled her to ask: +"<i>What</i> is it, Roy—lurking in your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Am I—to be frank?"</p> + +<p>She shivered. "It sounds—rather chilly. But I suppose we'd better take +our cold plunge—and get it over!"</p> + +<p>"Well"—he hesitated palpably. "It was only a natural wonder—if you +care ... all that ... now he's gone, how could you deliberately hurt him +so—while he lived?"</p> + +<p>She drew in her lip. It was going to be more unsteadying than she had +foreseen.</p> + +<p>"How <i>can</i> a woman explain to a man the simple fact that she is +incurably—perhaps unforgivably—a woman?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I hoped you could—up to a point," said Roy, looking away +to the snows and remembering, suddenly, <i>that</i> was where he ought to be +now—with Lance—always Lance: no other thought or presence seemed vital +to him, these days. Yet Rose remained beautiful and desirable—and +clearly she loved him.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't make things easier, you know," she was saying, in her cool, +low voice, "to feel you are patently regretting events that, unhappily, +did hurt—him; but also—gave me to you...."</p> + +<p>Her beauty, her evident pain, penetrated the settled misery that +enveloped him like an atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"Darling—forgive me!" He reached out, pulling her hands apart, and his +fingers closed hard on hers. "I'm only trying—clumsily—to +understand...."</p> + +<p>"And goodness knows I'm willing to help you," she sighed, returning his +pressure. "But—I'm afraid the little I can say for myself won't do much +to regild my <a name="Page_402" id="Page_402"></a>halo—if there's any of it left! I gather you aren't very +well up in women, or girls, Roy?"</p> + +<p>"No—I'm not. Perhaps it makes me seem to you a bit of a fool?"</p> + +<p>"Quite the reverse. It's all along been a part of your charm."</p> + +<p>"My—charm?"</p> + +<p>There was more of tenderness than amusement in her low laugh. +"Precisely! If you didn't possess—<i>some</i> magnetic quality, could I have +been drawn away from a man—like Lance, when I'd nearly made up my +mind—to face the music."</p> + +<p>For answer, he kissed her captured hand.</p> + +<p>Then: "Roy, if it doesn't hurt too much," she urged, "will you tell me +first—just—what Lance said?"</p> + +<p>It would hurt, horridly. But it was as well she should know; and not a +word need he withhold. Could there be a finer tribute to his friend? It +was his own share in their last unforgettable talk that could not be +reproduced.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I'll tell you," he said. And, his half-closed eyes resting on the +sunlit hills, he told her, in a voice from which all feeling was +carefully expunged. Only so could he achieve the telling; and she +listened without interruption, for which he felt grateful, +exceedingly....</p> + +<p>When it was over he merely moved his head and looked up at her; and she +returned his look, her eyes heavy with tears. Mutually their fingers +tightened.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "It makes me ... ashamed, but it makes me proud."</p> + +<p>"It made <i>me</i> angry and bewildered," said Roy. "If you really were ... +coming his way, what the devil did <i>I</i> do to upset it all? Of course I +admired you; and I was interested—on his account. But—I had no +thought—I was absorbed in other things——"</p> + +<p>She nodded slowly, not looking at him. "Quite so. And I suppose—being +me—I didn't choose that a man should dance with me, ride with me, +obviously admire me, and yet remain absorbed in other things. And—being +you—of course it never struck you that, for my kind of girl, your +provocatively casual attitude almost amounted to a challenge. +Besides—as I said—you were charming; you were different. Perhaps—if +I'd felt a <a name="Page_403" id="Page_403"></a>shade less sure—of Lance, if he'd had the wit even to +<i>seem</i> keen on some one else ... he might have saved himself. As it +was—you were irresistible."</p> + +<p>She heard him grit his teeth; and turned with swift compunction.</p> + +<p>"My poor Roy! Am I jarring you badly? I suppose, if I talked till +midnight, I'd never succeed in making a man like you understand how +purely instinctive it all is. Analysed, like this, it sounds +cold-blooded. But, it's just—second nature. He—Lance—understood up to +a point. That's why he was aggressive that day: oh—furiously angry; all +because of you. The pair you are! He said if I fooled you, and didn't +play fair, he'd back out, or insist on a <i>pucca</i> engagement. +And—yes—it did have the wrong effect. It made me wonder—if I <i>could</i> +marry a man, however splendid, who owned such exacting standards and +such a hot temper. And there were you—an unknown quantity, with the +Banter-Wrangle discreetly in pursuit. A supreme inducement in +itself!—Yes, distinctly, that afternoon was a turning-point. Just Lance +losing his temper, and you coolly forgetting an arrangement with me——"</p> + +<p>She paused, looking back over it all; felt Roy's hold slacken and +unobtrusively withdrew her hand.</p> + +<p>"Soon after Kapurthala, he was angry again. And that time, I'm afraid I +reminded him that our engagement was only 'on' conditionally; that if he +started worrying at me, it would soon be unconditionally off——"</p> + +<p>"So it <i>should</i> have been!" Roy jerked up on to his elbow, and +confronted her with challenging directness. "Once you could speak like +that, feel like that, you'd no <i>right</i> to keep him hanging on—hoping +when there was practically no hope. It wasn't playing the game——"</p> + +<p>This time she kept her eyes averted, and a slow colour invaded her face. +There was a point beyond which feminine frankness could not go. She +could not—would not—tell this unflatteringly critical lover of hers +that it was not in her nature to let the one man go till she felt +morally sure of the other.</p> + +<p>Roy had only a profile view of her warm cheek, her sensitive nostril +a-quiver, her lip drawn in. And when she spoke, it was in the tense, +passionate tone of that evening at Anarkalli.<a name="Page_404" id="Page_404"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh yes—it's easy work sitting in judgment on other people. I told you +I hadn't much of a case—I asked you to make allowances. You clearly +can't. <i>He</i> asked you—not to hurt me. You clearly feel you must. +Yet—in justice to you both—I'm doing what I can. I've never before +condescended to explain myself—almost excuse myself—to <i>any</i> man; and +I certainly never shall again. It strikes me you'd better apply your own +indictment ... to your own case. If <i>you</i> can think and feel ... as you +seem to do, better face the fact and be done with it——"</p> + +<p>But Roy, startled and penitent, was sitting upright by now; and, when +she would have risen, he seized her, crushing her to him, would she or +no. In her pain and anger she more than ever drew him. In his utter +heart-loneliness, he more than ever needed her. And the reminder of +Lance crowned all.</p> + +<p>"My darling—don't go off at a tangent, that way," he implored her, his +lips against her hair. "For me—it's a sacred bond. It can't be snapped +in a fit of temper—like a bit of knotted thread. I'll accept ... what I +can't see clear. We'll stand by each other, as you said. Learn one +another—Rose...! My dearest girl—<i>don't</i>——!"</p> + +<p>He strained her closer, in mingled bewilderment and distress. For +Rose—who trod lightly on the hearts of men, Rose—the serene and +self-assured—was sobbing brokenly in his arms....</p> + +<p>Before the end of the evening, they were more or less themselves again; +the threatened storm averted; the trouble patched up and summarily +dismissed, as only lovers can dismiss a cloud that intrudes upon their +heaven of blue.<a name="Page_405" id="Page_405"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIIID" id="CHAPTER_XIIID"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Le pire douleur est de ne pas, pleurer ce qu'on a perdu."—<span class='smcap'>De + Coulevain.</span></p></div> + + +<p>But as days passed, both grew increasingly aware of the patch; and both +very carefully concealed the fact. They spent a week of peaceful +seclusion from Simla and her restless activities. Roy scarcely set eyes +on Mrs Elton; but—Rose having skilfully prepared the ground—he merely +gave her credit for her mother's unusual display of tact.</p> + +<p>Neither was in the vein for dances or tennis parties. They rode out to +Mashobra and Fagu. They spent long days, picnicking in the Glen. Roy +discovered, with satisfaction, that Rose had a weakness for being read +to and a fair taste in literature, so long as it was not poetry. He also +discovered—with a twinge of dismay—that if they were many hours +together, he found reading easier than talking.</p> + +<p>On the whole, they spent a week that should, by rights, have been ideal +for new-made lovers; yet, at heart, both felt vaguely troubled and +disillusioned.</p> + +<p>Pain and parting and harsh realities seemed to have rubbed the bloom off +their exotic romance. And for Rose the trouble struck deep. She had +deliberately willed to put aside her own innate shrinking from the +Indian strain in Roy. But she reckoned without the haunting effect of +her mother's plain speaking. At first she had flatly ignored it; then +she fortified her secret qualms by devising a practical plan for getting +away to a friend in Kashmir. There was a sister in Simla going to join +her. They could travel together. Roy could follow on. And there they two +could be quietly <a name="Page_406" id="Page_406"></a>married without fuss or audible comment from their +talkative little world.</p> + +<p>It was not precisely her idea of the manner in which she—Rose +Arden—should be given in marriage. But the main point was that—if she +could help it—her mother should not score in the matter of Roy. <i>Could</i> +she help it? That was the question persistently knocking at her heart.</p> + +<p>And she was only a degree less troubled by the perverse revival of her +feeling for Lance. Vanished—his hold on her deeper nature seemed +mysteriously to strengthen. Memories crowded in, unbidden, of their +golden time together just before Roy appeared on the scene; till she +almost arrived at blaming her deliberately chosen lover for having come +between them and landed her in her present distracting position. For now +it was the ghost of Lance that threatened to come between her and Roy; +and the irony of it cut her to the quick. If she had dealt unfairly by +these two men, whose standards were leagues above her own, she was not, +it seemed, to escape her share of suffering....</p> + +<p>For Roy's heart also knew the chill of secret disillusion. The ardour +and thrill of his courtship seemed fatally to have suffered eclipse. +When they were together, the lure of her was potent still. It was in the +gaps between that he felt irked, more and more, by incipient criticism. +In the course of that first talk, she had unwittingly stripped herself +of the glamour that was more than half her charm; and at bottom his +Eastern subconsciousness was jarred by her casual attitude to the +sanctities of the man and woman relation, as instilled into him by his +mother. When he quarrelled with her treatment of Lance, she saw it +merely as a rather exaggerated concern for his friend. There was that in +it, of course; but there was more.</p> + +<p>Yet undeniably Desmond's urgent plea influenced his own effort to ignore +the still small voice within him, that protested against the whole +affair. At another time he would have taken it for a clear intimation +from his mother; but she seemed to have lost, or deserted him, these +days. All he could firmly hold on to, at present, was his loyalty to +Lance, his duty to Rose; and both seemed to point in the same +direction.<a name="Page_407" id="Page_407"></a></p> + +<p>It struck him as strange that she did not mention the wedding; and she +had been so full of it that very first evening. Once, when he casually +asked if any fixtures were decided on yet, she had smiled and answered, +"No; not yet." And some other topic had intervened.</p> + +<p>It was only a degree less strange that she spoke so often of Lance, +without attempting to disguise her admiration—and something more. And +in himself—strangest of all—this surprising manifestation stirred no +flicker of jealousy. It seemed a link, rather, drawing, them nearer +together. She frankly encouraged talk of their school-days that involved +fresh revealings of Lance at every turn: talk that was anodyne or +anguish according to his mood.</p> + +<p>She also encouraged him to unearth his deserted novel and read her the +opening chapters. In Lahore, he had longed for that moment; now he +feared lest it too sharply emphasise their inner apartness. For the +Indian atmosphere was strong in the book; and the Indian atmosphere +jarred. The effect of the riots had merely been repressed. It still +simmered underneath.</p> + +<p>Only once she had broken out on the subject; and had been distinctly +restive when he demurred at the injustice of sweeping indictments +against the whole country, because a handful of extremists were trying +to wreck the ship. Personally he blamed England for virtually assisting +in the process. It had come near to an altercation—very rare event with +Rose; and it had left Roy feeling more unsettled than ever.</p> + +<p>A few readings of his novel made him feel more uncomfortable still. Like +all true artists, he listened, as he read, with the mind of his +audience; and intuitively, he felt her antagonism to the Indian element +in his characters, his writing, his theme.</p> + +<p>For three days he persisted. Then he gave it up.</p> + +<p>They were sitting in their nook; Rose leaning back, her eyes half +closed, gazing across the valley. In the middle of a flagrantly Indian +chapter, he broke off: determined to take it lightly; not to make a +grievance of it: equally determined she should hear no more.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds she did not realise. Then she turned and looked up at +him. "Well——? Is that all?"<a name="Page_408" id="Page_408"></a></p> + +<p>"Yes. That's all—so far as you're concerned!"</p> + +<p>Her brows went up in the old beguiling way. He felt her trying to hide +her thought, and held up a warning finger.</p> + +<p>"Now, don't put it on! Frankly—isn't she relieved? Hasn't she borne the +infliction like a saint?"</p> + +<p>The blood stirred visibly under her pallor. "It was <i>not</i> an infliction. +Your writing's wonderful. Quite uncanny—the way you get inside people +and things. If there's more—go on."</p> + +<p>"There's a lot more. But I'm not going on—even at her Majesty's express +command!—Look here, Rose ... let be." He suddenly changed his tone. "I +can feel how it bothers you. So—why pretend...?"</p> + +<p>She looked down; twisting her opal ring, making the delicate colours +flash and change.</p> + +<p>"It's a pity—isn't it?"—she seemed to muse aloud—"that more than half +of life is made up of pretending. It becomes rather a delicate +problem—fixing boundary lines. I <i>do</i> admire your gift, Roy. And you're +so intensely human. But I confess, I—I <i>am</i> jerked by parts of your +theme. Doesn't all this animosity and open vilification affect your own +feeling about—things, the least bit?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It does. Only—not in your way. It makes me unhappy, because the +real India—snowed under with specious talk and bitter invective—has +less chance now than ever of being understood by those who can't see +below the surface."</p> + +<p>"Me—for instance?"</p> + +<p>He sighed. "Oh, scores and scores of you, here and at Home. And scores +of others, who have far less excuse. That's why one feels bound to do +what one can...."</p> + +<p>His thoughts on that score went too deep for utterance.</p> + +<p>But Rose was engaged in her own purely personal deliberations.</p> + +<p>"You might want to come out again ... afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I should hope to. Besides ... there are my cousins...."</p> + +<p>"Indian ones——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Very clever. Very charming. Rose ... you've been six years in +India. Have you ever met, in <a name="Page_409" id="Page_409"></a>a friendly way, a cultivated, well-born +Indian—man or woman?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. Not worth mentioning."</p> + +<p>"And ... you haven't wanted to?"</p> + +<p>He felt her shrink from the direct question.</p> + +<p>"Why press the point, Roy? It needn't make any real difference—need +it—between you and me?"</p> + +<p>Her counter-question was still more direct, more searching.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not—now," he said. "It might ... make a lot ... +afterwards——"</p> + +<p>At that critical juncture their talk was interrupted by a peon with a +note that required immediate attention: and Roy, left alone, felt +increasingly disillusioned and dismayed.</p> + +<p>Later on, to his relief, Rose suggested a ride. She seemed suddenly in a +more elusive mood than he had experienced since their engagement. She +did not refer again to his novel, or to the thorny topic of India; and +their parting embrace was chilled by a shadow of constraint.</p> + +<p>"<i>How</i> would it be—afterwards?" he wondered, riding back to the Club, +at a foot's pace, feeling tired and feverish and gravely puzzled as to +whether it might not—on all counts—be the greater wrong to make a +fetish of a bond so rashly forged.</p> + +<p>To-day, very distinctly he was aware of the inner tug he had been trying +to ignore. And to-day it was more imperative; less easily stilled. Could +it be ... veritably, his mother, trying to reach him—and failing, for +the first time?</p> + +<p>That thought prompted the test question—if <i>she</i> were alive, how would +he feel about bringing Rose home as daughter-in-law, as mother of her +grandson ... the gift of gifts? If she were alive, could Rose herself +have faced the conjunction? And to him she was still verily alive—or +had been, till his infatuate passion had blinded him to everything but +one face, one form, one desire.</p> + +<p>That night there came to him—on the verge of sleep—the old thrilling +sensation that she was there—yearning to him across an impassable +barrier. And this time he knew—with a bitter certainty—that the +barrier was within himself. Every nerve in him craved—as he had <a name="Page_410" id="Page_410"></a>not +craved this long while—the unmistakable <i>sense</i> of her that seemed gone +past recall. Desperately, he strained every faculty to penetrate the +resistant medium that withheld her from him—in vain.</p> + +<p>Wearied out, with disappointment and futile effort, he fell +asleep—praying for a dream visitation to revive his shaken faith. None +came; and conviction seized him that none would come, until....</p> + +<p>One could not, simultaneously, live on intimate terms with earth and +heaven. And Rose was earth in its most alluring guise. More: she had +awakened in him sensations and needs that, at the moment, she alone +could satisfy. But if it amounted to a choice; for him, there could be +no question....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Next day and the day after, a sharp return of fever kept him in bed: and +a touch of his father in him tempted him to write, sooner than face the +strain of a final scene. But moral cowardice was not among his failings; +also unquestionably—if irrationally—he wanted to see her, to hold her +in his arms once again....</p> + +<p>On the third morning he sent her a note saying he was better; he would +be round for tea; and received a verbal answer. Miss Sahib sent her +salaam. She would be at home.</p> + +<p>So, about half-past three, he rode out to the house on Elysium Hill, +wondering how—and, at moments, whether—he was going to pull it +through....</p> + +<p>Her smile of welcome almost unmanned him. He simply did not feel fit for +the strain. It would be so much easier and more restful to yield to her +spell.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry. Idiotic of me," was all he said; and went forward to take +her in his arms.</p> + +<p>But she, without a word, laid both hands on him, holding him back.</p> + +<p>"<i>Rose!</i> What's the matter?" he cried, genuinely upset. Nothing +undermines a resolve like finding it forestalled.</p> + +<p>"Simply—it's all over. We're beaten, Roy," she said in a queer, +repressed voice. "We can't go on with this. And—you know it."</p> + +<p>"But—darling!" He took her by the arms.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411"></a>"No ... <i>no!</i>" The passionate protest was addressed to herself as much +as to him. "Listen, Roy. I've never hated saying anything more—but it's +true. You said, last time,—'Why pretend?' And that struck home. I knew +I had been pretending hard—because I wanted to—for more than a week. +You made me realise ... one couldn't go on at it all one's married +life.—But, my dear, what a wretch I am! You're not fit...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm just wobbly ... stupid," he muttered, half dazed, as she +pressed him down into a corner of the Chesterfield.</p> + +<p>"Poor old boy. When you've had some tea, you'll be able to face things."</p> + +<p>He said nothing; merely leaned back against the cushion and closed his +eyes—part of him rebelling furiously against her quiet yet summary +proceedings—while she attended to the sputtering kettle.</p> + +<p>How prosaic, after all, are even the great moments of life! They had +been ardent lovers. They had come to the parting of the ways. But a +kettle on the boil would wait for no man; and, till the body was served, +the troubles of the heart must stand aside.</p> + +<p>She drew the table nearer to him; carefully poured out tea; carefully +avoided his eyes. And—in the intervals between her mechanical +occupations—she told him as much of the truth as she felt he could bear +to hear, or she to speak. Among other things, unavoidably, she explained +how—and through whom—her mother had come to know about their +reservation——</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> young sweep!" Roy muttered, so suddenly half-alert and fierce +that amused tenderness tripped up her studied composure.</p> + +<p>"You'd go for him now, just the same, I believe!"</p> + +<p>"I would—and a bit extra. Because—of you."</p> + +<p>She sighed. "Oh yes, it was a <i>mauvais quart d'heure</i> of the first +order. And coming on the top of your crushing letter——"</p> + +<p>He captured her hand. Their eyes met—and softened.</p> + +<p>"No, Roy," she said, gently but inexorably releasing her fingers. "We've +got to keep our heads to-day, somehow."</p> + +<p>"Has yours so completely taken command of affairs?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid—it has."</p> + +<p>"Yet—you stood up to your mother?"<a name="Page_412" id="Page_412"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, I did—as I've never done yet. But afterwards I realised—it was +only skin deep. She said ... things I can't repeat; but equally ... I +can't forget; things about ... possible children...."</p> + +<p>The blood flamed in Roy's sallow face. "Confound her! What does <i>she</i> +know about possible children?"</p> + +<p>"More than I do, I suppose," Rose admitted, with a pathetic half smile. +"Anyway, after that, she refused to countenance the engagement—the +wedding——"</p> + +<p>Roy sat suddenly forward, scorn and anger in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>Refused</i>——! After the infernal fuss she made over me, because my +father happened to have a title and a garden. And now——" his hand +closed on the edge of the table. "I'm considered a pariah—am I?—simply +on account of my lovely little mother—the guardian angel of us all!"</p> + +<p>His blaze of wrath, his low passionate tone, startled her to silence. He +had spoken so seldom of his mother since the first occasion, +that—although she knew—she had far from plumbed the height and depth +of his worship. And instinctively she thought, 'I should have been +jealous into the bargain.'</p> + +<p>But Roy had room just then for one consideration only.</p> + +<p>"Here have I been coming to her house on sufferance ... polluting her +precious drawing-room, while she's been avoiding me as if I was a leper, +all because I'm the son of a sainted woman, whose shoe she wouldn't have +been worthy ... oh, I beg your pardon——" He checked himself sharply. +"After all—she's <i>your</i> mother."</p> + +<p>Rose felt her cheeks growing uncomfortably warm. "I did warn you, in +Lahore, some people felt ... that way."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never dreamed they would <i>behave</i> that way. It's not as if I'd +been born and reared in India and might claim relations in her +compound."</p> + +<p>"My dear—one can't make her see the difference," Rose urged +desperately.</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>won't</i> stay any longer in her house. I won't eat her food——"</p> + +<p>He pushed aside his plate so impatiently that Rose felt almost angry. +But she saw his hand tremble; and covered it with her own.<a name="Page_413" id="Page_413"></a></p> + +<p>"Roy—my dear! You're ill; and you're being rather exaggerated over +things——"</p> + +<p>"Well, you put me in such a false position. You ought to have told me."</p> + +<p>She winced at that and let fall her hand.</p> + +<p>"That's all one's reward for trying to save you from jars when you were +knocked up and unhappy. And I told you ... I defied her ... I ... I +would have married you...."</p> + +<p>He looked at her, and his heart contracted sharply.</p> + +<p>"Poor Rose—poor darling!" He was his normal self again. "What a beast +of a time you must have had! But—how <i>did</i> you propose to accomplish +it——?"</p> + +<p>She told him, haltingly, of the Kashmir plan; and he listened, half +incredulous, leaning back again; thinking: "She's plucky; but still, all +she troubled about really was to save her face."</p> + +<p>And she, noting his impatient frown, was thinking: "He's like a +sensitive plant charged with gunpowder. Is it the touchiness of——?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'd have kicked at that." His voice broke in upon her +thought. "Such a hole-and-corner business. Hardly fair on my father...."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no question of it now," she reminded him, with a touch of +asperity. "I've told you—the whole thing's defunct. Later—we'll be +glad, perhaps, that I discovered in time that part of me could not be +coerced—by the other part, which still wants you as much as ever. We +should have been landed in disaster—soon or late. Better soon—before +the roots have struck too deep. But you're so furiously angry with the +<i>reason</i>—that you seem almost to forget ... the fact."</p> + +<p>His eyes brooded on her, full of pain and the old, half-unwilling +infatuation. He could not so hurt her pride as to confess that their +discovery had been mutual. Let her glean what satisfaction she could +from having taken the lead—first and last. Part of him, also, still +wanted her; though in the depths, he felt a glimmer of relief that the +thing was done—and by her.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I don't forget the fact. But—the reason cuts deep. I +want to know——" he hesitated—"is all this ... antipathy you can't get +over—you and <a name="Page_414" id="Page_414"></a>your mother—the ordinary average attitude? Or is it ... +exceptionally acute?"</p> + +<p>She drew in her lip. Why <i>would</i> he force her to hurt him more? For they +had got beyond polite evasion. Clearly he wanted the truth.</p> + +<p>"Mother's is acute," she said, not looking at him. "Mine—I'm afraid—is +... the ordinary average feeling against it. The exception would be to +find a girl—especially out here—who could honestly ... get over +it——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Unless</i>—she cared in the real big way," Roy interposed; his own pain +goading him to an unfair hit at her. "To be blunt, I suppose it's the +case—of Lance over again. You've found ... you don't love me +enough——?"</p> + +<p>"And <i>you</i>——?" she struck back, turning on him the cool deliberate +look of early days. "Do <i>you</i> love me enough? Do you care—as he did?"</p> + +<p>"No—not as he did. I've cared blindly, passionately—somehow we didn't +seem to meet on any other plane. In fact, it ... it was realising how +magnificently Lance cared ... and how little you seemed able to +appreciate the fact, that made me feel—as I did, down there. In a +sense, he's been barring the way ... ever since...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Roy!</i> How strange!" She faced him now, the mask of repression flung +aside. "It's been the same—with me!"</p> + +<p>"With <i>you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ever since I heard ... he was gone, he has haunted me to +distraction. I've seemed to see him and feel him in quite a different +way."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" Roy murmured—incredulous, amazed. "Human beings <i>are</i> the +queerest things. If only ... you'd felt like that ... sooner——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—if only I had——!" she lamented frankly, looking straight before +her.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad—you told me," said her unaccountable lover.</p> + +<p>"I nearly—didn't. But when you said that, I felt it might—ease things. +And that was his great wish—wasn't it?—to ease things ... for us both. +Oh—was there ever any one ... <i>quite</i> like him?"</p> + +<p>Tears stood in her eyes, and Roy contemplating her—<a name="Page_415" id="Page_415"></a>seeing, for the +first time, something beyond her beauty—felt drawn to her in an +altogether new way; and sitting there they talked of him quietly, like +friends, rather than lovers on the verge of parting for good.</p> + +<p>As real to them, almost, as themselves, was the spirit of the man who +had loved both more greatly than they were capable of loving one +another; who, in life, had refused to stand between them; yet, in death, +had subtly thrust them apart....</p> + +<p>Then there came a pause. They remembered....</p> + +<p>"We're rather a strange pair—of lovers," she murmured shakily. "I feel, +now, as if I can't bear letting you go. And yet ... it wouldn't +last.—Dearest, <i>will</i> you be sensible ... and finish your tea?"</p> + +<p>"No. It would choke me," he said with smothered passion. "If I've got to +go—I'm going."</p> + +<p>He stood up, bracing his shoulders. She stood up also, confronting him. +Neither could see the other's face quite clear.</p> + +<p>Then: "Only six weeks!" she said very low. "Roy—we ought to be ashamed +of ourselves."</p> + +<p>"I am—heartily," he confessed. "I was never more so."</p> + +<p>She was looking down now, twisting her ring. "I'm afraid ... I'm not +talented in that line. Somehow ... except for Lance, I can't regret it." +She slid the ring over her knuckle.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>keep</i> the beastly thing!" he flung out in an access of pain. "Or +throw it down the khud. I said it would bring bad luck."</p> + +<p>She sighed. "All the same—poor thing! It's too lovely...."</p> + +<p>"Well then, don't wear it; but keep it"—his tone changed—"as a +reminder. We have been something to one another ... if it couldn't be +everything."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were still lowered, her lips not quite steady.</p> + +<p>"You've been ... very near it to me. Yet—it seemed, the more ... I +cared, the less I could get over ... that. And I felt as if +you—wouldn't get over.. Lance."</p> + +<p>"My God! It's been a bitter, contrary business all round! I can't bear +hurting you. And—the talk and all that——" She nodded. For her that +was not the <a name="Page_416" id="Page_416"></a>least bitter part of it all. "And you——? Oh, Lord—will +it be Hayes to the fore again?"</p> + +<p>"<i>No!</i>" Reproach underlay her vehemence. "Mother may rage. I shall go +with Dolly Smyth to Kashmir.—And you——?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll go out to Narkhanda."</p> + +<p>"Alone? But you're ill. You want looking after."</p> + +<p>"Can't be helped. Azim Khan's a treasure. And really I don't care a damn +what comes to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but <i>I</i> do——!"</p> + +<p>It was a cry from her heart. The strain of repression snapped. She +swayed, just perceptibly——</p> + +<p>In a moment his arms were round her; and they clung together a long +while, in the only complete form of nearness they had known....</p> + +<p>For Roy, that last passionate kiss was dead-sea fruit. For Rose, it was +her moment of completest surrender to an elemental force she had +deliberately played with only to find herself the sport of it at +last....</p> + +<p>When it was over—all was over. Words were impertinent. He held her +hands close, a moment, looking into her tear-filled eyes. Then he took +up hat and stick and stumbled blindly down the verandah steps....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Back in his bachelor room at the Club, he realised that fever was on him +again: his eyeballs burning; little hammers beating all over his head. +Mechanically, he picked up two letters that lay awaiting him: one from +his father, one from Jeffers, congratulating him, in rather guarded +phrases, on his engagement to Miss Arden.</p> + +<p>It was the last straw.</p> + +<h4>END OF PHASE IV.</h4> +<p><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PHASE_V" id="PHASE_V"></a>PHASE V.</h2> + +<h2>A STAR IN DARKNESS</h2> +<p><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418"></a><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IE" id="CHAPTER_IE"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Thou art with life"> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">"Thou art with life</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Service still craving service, love for love ...</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Nor yet thy human task is done."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—R.L.S.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<p>In the verandah of Narkhanda dák bungalow Roy lay alone, languidly at +ease, assisted by rugs and pillows and a Madeira cane lounge at an +invalid angle; walls and arches splashed with sunshine; and a table +beside him littered with convalescent accessories. There were home +papers; there were books; there was fruit and a syphon, cut lemons and +crushed ice—everything thoughtfulness could suggest set within easy +reach. But the nameless depression of convalescence hung heavy on his +spirit and his limbs.</p> + +<p>He was thirsty; he was lonely; he was mentally hungry in a negative kind +of way. Yet it simply did not seem worth the trivial effort of will to +decide whether he wanted to pick up a book or an orange or to press the +syphon handle. So he lay there, inert, impassive, staring across the +valley at the snows—peak beyond soaring peak, ethereal in the level +light.</p> + +<p>The beauty of them, the pellucid clearness and stillness of early +evening, stirred no answering echo within him. His brain was travelling +back over a timeless interval; wandering uncertainly among sensations, +apparitions, and dreams, presumably of semi-delirium: for Lance was in +them and his mother and Rose and Dyán, saying and doing impossible +things....</p> + +<p>And in clearer intervals, there hovered the bearded face of Azim Khan, +pressing upon his refractory Sahib this infallible medicine, that +'chikken bráth' or jelly. And occasionally there was another bearded +face:<a name="Page_420" id="Page_420"></a> vaguely familiar, though he could not put a name to it.</p> + +<p>Between them the two had brought out a doctor from Simla. He remembered +a sharp altercation over that. He wanted no confounded doctor messing +round. But Azim Khan, for love of his master, had flatly defied orders: +and the forbidden doctor had appeared—involving further exhausting +argument. For on no account would Roy be moved back to Simla. Azim Khan +understood his ways and his needs. He was damned if he would have any +one else near him.</p> + +<p>And this time he had prevailed. For the doctor, who happened to be a +wise man, knew when acquiescence was medically sounder than insistence. +There had, however, been a brief intrusion of a strange woman, in cap +and apron, who had made a nuisance of herself over food and washing, and +was infernally in the way. When the fever abated, she melted into the +landscape; and Roy had just enough of his old spirit left in him to +murmur, '<i>Shahbash!</i>' in a husky voice: and Azim Khan, inflated with +pride, became more autocratic than ever.</p> + +<p>The other bearded face had resolved itself into the Delhi Sikh, Jiwán +Singh. He had been on a tramp among the Hills, combating insidious +Home-Rule fairy-tales among the villagers: and finding the Sahib very +ill, had stayed on to help.</p> + +<p>This morning they had told him it was the third of June:—barely three +weeks since that strange, poignant parting with Rose. Not seven weeks +since the infinitely more poignant and terrible parting with Lance. Yet, +as his mind stirred unwillingly, picking up threads, he seemed to be +looking back across a measureless gulf into another life....</p> + +<p>"The Sahib has slept? His countenance has been more favourable since +these few days?"</p> + +<p>It was the voice of Jiwán Singh; and the man himself followed it—taut +and wiry, instinct with a degree of energy and purpose almost irritating +to one who was feeling emptied of both; aimless as a jelly-fish stranded +by the tide.</p> + +<p>"Not smoking, <i>Hazúr?</i> Has that scoundrel Azim Khan forgotten the +cigarettes?"<a name="Page_421" id="Page_421"></a></p> + +<p>Roy unearthed his case, and held it up, smiling.</p> + +<p>"The scoundrel forgets nothing," said he, knowing very well how the two +of them had vied with one another in forestalling his needs. "Sit down, +my friend—and tell me news. I am too lazy to read." He touched an +unopened 'Civil and Military Gazette.' "Too lazy even to cast out the +devil of laziness. But very ready to listen. Are things all quiet now? +Any more tamashas?"</p> + +<p>"Only a very little one across the frontier," said the Sikh with his +grim smile: and proceeded to explain that the Indian Government had +lately become entangled in a sort of a war with Afghanistan; a rather +'<i>kutcha bandobast</i>'<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> in Jiwán Singh's estimation; and not quite up +to time; but a war, for all that.</p> + +<p>"You mean——" asked Roy, his numbed interest faintly astir, "that it +was to have been part of the same game as the trouble down there?"</p> + +<p>"God has given me ears—and wits, <i>Hazúr</i>," was the cautious answer. +"<i>That</i> would be <i>pukka bundobast</i>,<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> for war and trouble to come at +one stroke in the hot season, when so many of the white soldier-<i>lóg</i> +are in the Hills. Does your Honour suppose that merely by <i>chance</i> the +Amir read in his paper of riots in India, and said in his heart, 'Wah! +Now is the time for lighting little fires along the Border'?"</p> + +<p>"N-no—I don't suppose——"</p> + +<p>"Does your Honour suppose Hindus and Moslems—outside a highly educated +few—are truly falling on each other's necks, without one thought of +political motive?"</p> + +<p>"No, my friend—I do not suppose."</p> + +<p>"Yet these things are said openly among our people: and too few, now, +have courage to speak their thought. For it is the loyal who +suffer—<i>shurrum ki bhát!</i><a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> Is it surprising, <i>Hazúr</i>, if we, who +distrust this new madness, begin to ask ourselves, 'Has the British Raj +lost the will—or the power—of former days to protect friends and smite +enemies'? If the noisy few clamouring for <i>Swaráj</i> make India once more +a battlefield, <i>your</i> people can go. We Sikhs must remain, with Pathans +and Afghans—as of old—hammering at our doors——"</p> + +<p>At sight of the young Englishman's pained frown, he<a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"></a> checked his +expansive mood. "To the Sahib I can freely speak the thoughts of my +heart; but this is not talk to make a sick man well. God is merciful. +Before all is lost—the British Raj may yet arise with power, as in the +great days...."</p> + +<p>But his talk, if unpalatable, was more tonic than he knew; because Roy's +love for India went deeper than he knew. The justice of Jiwán Singh's +reproach; the hint at tragic severance of the two countries mingled +within him, waked him effectually from semi-torpor; and the process was +as painful as the tingling renewal of life in a frozen limb. By timely +courage, on the spot, the threat to India had been staved off: but it +was there still—sinister, unsleeping, virtually unchecked.</p> + +<p>'Scotched—not killed.' The voice of Lance sounded too clearly in Roy's +brain; and the more intimate pain, deadened a little by illness, struck +at his heart like a sword....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Within a week, care and feeding and inimitable air, straight from the +snowfields, had made him, physically, a new man. Mentally, it had +brought him face to face with actualities, and the staggering question, +'What next'?</p> + +<p>At the back of his mind he had been dreading it, evading it, because it +would force him to look deep into his own heart; and to make decisions, +when the effort of making them was anathema, beclouded as he was by the +depression that still brooded over him like a fog. The doctor had +prescribed a tonic and a whiff of Simla frivolity; but Roy paid no heed. +He knew his malady was mainly of the heart and the spirit. The true +curative touch could only come from some arrowy shaft that would pierce +to the core of one or the other.</p> + +<p>This morning, by way of reasserting his normal self, he had risen very +early with intent to walk out and spend the day at Baghi dák bungalow, +ten miles on. Taking things easily, he believed it could be done. He +would look through his manuscript; try and pick up threads. Suráj could +follow later; and he would ride home over the pass in the cool of the +evening.</p> + +<p>He set out under a clear heaven, misted with the promise of heat: the +air rather ominously still. But the <a name="Page_423" id="Page_423"></a>thread of a path winding through +the dimness and vastness of Narkhanda Forest was ice-cool with the +breath of night. Pines, ilex, and deodars clung miraculously to a +hillside of massive rock, that jutted above him at +intervals—threatening, immense; and often, on the <i>khud</i> side, dropped +abruptly into nothingness. When the road curved outward, splashes of +sunlight patterned it; and intermittent gaps revealed the flash of +snow-peaks, incredibly serene and far.</p> + +<p>Normally the scene—the desolate grandeur of it—would have intoxicated +Roy. But the stranger he was carrying about with him, and called by his +own name, reacted in quite another fashion to the shadowed majesty of +looming rocks and forest aisles. The immensity of it dwarfed one mere +suffering man to the dimensions of a pebble on the path. And the pebble +had the advantage of insensibility. The stillness and chillness made him +feel overwhelmingly alone. A sudden craving for Lance grew almost +intolerable....</p> + +<p>But Lance was gone. Paul, with his bride, had vanished from human ken; +Rose, a shattered illusion, gone too. Better so—of course; though, +intermittently, the man she had roused in him still ached for the sight +and feel of her. She gave a distinct thrill to life: and, if he could +not forgive her, neither could he instantly forget her.</p> + +<p>Still less could he forget the significance of the shock she had dealt +him on their day of parting. Patently she loved him, in her passionate, +egotistical fashion—as he had never loved her; patently she had +combated her shrinking in defiance of her mother: and yet...!</p> + +<p>Rage as he might, his Rajput pride, and pride in his Rajput heritage, +were wounded to the quick. If all English girls felt that way, he would +see them further, before he would propose to another one, or 'confess' +to his adored Mother, as if she were a family skeleton or a secret vice. +Instantly there sprang the thought of Arúna—her adoration, her exalted +passion; Arúna, whom he might have loved, yet was constrained to put +aside because of his English heritage; only to find himself put aside by +an English girl on account of his Indian blood. A pleasant predicament +for a man who must needs marry in common duty to his father and +himself.<a name="Page_424" id="Page_424"></a></p> + +<p>And what of Tara? Was it possible...? Could that be the meaning of her +final desperate, 'I <i>can't</i> do it, Roy—even for you'! Was it +conceivable—she who loved his mother to the point of worship? Still +smarting from his recent rebuff, he simply could not tell. Thea and +Lance loved her too; yet, in Lance especially, he had been aware of a +tacit tendency to ignore the Indian connection.</p> + +<p>The whole complication touched him too nearly, hurt and bewildered him +too bitterly, for cool consideration. He only saw that which had been +his pride converted into a reproach, a two-edged sword barring the way +to marriage: and in the bitterness of his heart he found it hard to +forgive his parents—mainly his father—for putting him in so cruel a +position, with no word of warning to soften the blow.</p> + +<p>Perhaps people felt differently in England. If so, India was no place +for him. How blatantly juvenile—to his clouded, tormented brain—seemed +his arrogant dreams of Oxford days! What could such as he do for her, in +this time of tragic upheaval. And how could all the Indias he had +seen—not to mention the many he had not seen—be jumbled together under +that one misleading name? That was the root fallacy of dreamers and +'reformers.' They spoke of her as one, when in truth she was +many—bewilderingly many. The semblance of unity sprang mainly from +England's unparalleled achievement—her Pax Britannica, that held the +scales even between rival chiefs and races and creeds; that had wrought, +in miniature, the very inter-racial stability which Europe had vainly +fought and striven to achieve. Yet now, some malign power seemed +constraining her, in the name of progress, to undo the work of her own +hands....</p> + +<p>All his thronging thoughts were tinged with the gloom of his unhopeful +mood; and his body sagged with his sagging spirit. Before he had walked +four miles, his legs refused to carry him any farther.</p> + +<p>He had emerged into the open, into full view of the vastness beyond. +Naked rock and stone, jewelled with moss and young green, fell straight +from the path's edge; and one ragged pine, springing from a group of +boulders, was roughly stencilled on blue distances empurpled with +shadows of thunderous cloud.<a name="Page_425" id="Page_425"></a></p> + +<p>A flattened boulder proved irresistible; and Roy sat down, leaning his +head against the trunk, sniffing luxuriously—whiffs of resin and +sun-warmed pine-needles. Oh, to be at home, in his own beech-wood! But +the journey in this weather would be purgatorial. Meantime, there was +his walk; and he decided, prosaically, to fortify himself with a slab of +chocolate. Instead—still more prosaically, he fell sound asleep....</p> + +<p>But sleep, in an unnatural position, begets dreams. And Roy dreamed of +Lance; of that last awful day when he raved incessantly of Rose. But in +the dream he was conscious; and before his distracted gaze Roy held Rose +in his arms; craving her, yet hating her; because she clung to him, +heedless of entreaties from Lance, and would not be shaken off....</p> + +<p>In a frantic effort to free himself, he woke—with the anguish of his +loss fresh upon him—to find the sky heavily overcast, the +breathlessness of imminent storm in the air. Away to the North there +were blue spaces, sun-splashed leagues of snow. But from the South and +West rolled up the big battalions—heralds of the monsoon.</p> + +<p>He concluded apathetically that Baghi was 'off.' He was in for a +drenching. Lucky he had brought his burberry....</p> + +<p>Yet he did not stir. A ton weight seemed to hang on his limbs, his +spirit, his heart. He simply sat there, in a carven stillness, staring +down, down, into abysmal depths....</p> + +<p>And startlingly, sharply, the temptation assailed him. The tug of it was +almost physical.... How simple to yield—to cut his many tangles at one +stroke!</p> + +<p>In that jaundiced moment he saw himself a failure foreordained; debarred +from marriage by evils supposed to spring from the dual strain in him; +his cherished hopes of closer union between the two countries he loved +threatened with shipwreck by an England complacently experimental, an +India at war with the British connection and with her many selves. He +seemed fated to bring unhappiness on those he cared for—Arúna, Lance, +even Rose. And what of his father—if he failed to marry? He hadn't even +the grit to finish his wretched novel....<a name="Page_426" id="Page_426"></a></p> + +<p>He rose at last, mechanically, and moved forward to the unrailed edge of +all things. The magnetism of the depths drew him. The fatalistic strain +in his blood drew him....</p> + +<p>He stood—though he did not know it—as his mother had once stood, +hovering on the verge; his own life—that she bore within her—hanging +in the balance. From the fatal tilt, she had been saved by the voice of +her husband—the voice of the West. And now, at Roy's critical moment, +it was the voice of the West—of Lance—that sounded in his brain: +"Don't fret your heart out, Roy. Carry on."</p> + +<p>Having carried on, somehow, through four years of war, he knew precisely +how much of casual, dogged pluck was enshrined in that soldierly phrase. +It struck the note of courage and command. It was Lance incarnate. It +steadied him, automatically, at a crisis when his shaken nerves might +not have responded to any abstract ethical appeal. He closed his eyes a +moment to collect himself; swayed, the merest fraction—then +deliberately stepped back a pace....</p> + +<p>The danger had passed.</p> + +<p>Through his lids he felt the glare of lightning: the first flash of the +storm.</p> + +<p>And as the heel of his retreating boot came firmly down on the path +behind, there rose an injured yelp that jerked him very completely out +of the clouds.</p> + +<p>"Poor Terry—poor old man!" he murmured, caressing the faithful +creature; always too close by, always getting trodden on—the common +guerdon of the faithful. And the whimsical thought intruded, "If I'd +gone over, the good little beggar would have jumped after me. Not fair +play."</p> + +<p>The fact that Terry had been saved from involuntary suicide seemed +somehow the more important consideration of the two.</p> + +<p>A rumbling growl overhead reminded him that there were other +considerations—urgent ones.</p> + +<p>"You're not hurt, you little hypocrite. Come on. We must leg it."</p> + +<p>And they legged it to some purpose; Terry—idiotically +vociferous—leaping on before....<a name="Page_427" id="Page_427"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Crude arrangement.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Sound arrangement.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Shameful talk.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIE" id="CHAPTER_IIE"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="I seek what I cannot get"> +<tr><td align='left'>"I seek what I cannot get;</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">I get what I do not seek."</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Rabindranath Tagore</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p>Then the storm broke in earnest....</p> + +<p>Crash on flash, crash on flash—at ever-lessening intervals—the +tearless heavens raged and clattered round his unprotected head. Thunder +toppled about him like falling timber stacks. Fiery serpents darted all +ways at once among black boughs that swayed and moaned funereally. The +gloom of the forest enhanced the weird magnificence of it all: and +Roy—who had just been within an ace of flinging away his life—felt +irrationally anxious on account of thronging trees and the absence of +rain.</p> + +<p>He had recovered sufficiently to chuckle at the ignominious anti-climax. +But, as usual, it was the creepsomeness rather than the danger that got +on his nerves and forced his legs to hurry of their own accord....</p> + +<p>In the deep of a gloomy indent, the thought assailed him—"Why do I know +it all so well? Where...? When...?"</p> + +<p>An inner flash lit the dim recesses of memory. Of course—it was that +other day of summer, in the far beginning of things; the day of the +Golden Tusks and the gloom and the growling thunder; his legs, as now, +in a fearful hurry of their own accord; and Tara waiting for him—his +High-Tower Princess. With a pang he recalled how she had seemed the +point of safety—because she was never afraid.</p> + +<p>No Tara waiting now. No point of safety, except a very prosaic dák +bungalow and good old Azim, who would fuss like the devil if rain came +on and he got a wetting.<a name="Page_428" id="Page_428"></a></p> + +<p>Ah—here it was, at last! Buckets of it. Lashing his face, running down +his neck, saturating him below his flapping burberry. Buffeted +mercilessly, he broke into a trot. Thunder and lightning were less +virulent now; and he found himself actually enjoying it all.</p> + +<p>Tired——? Not a bit. The miasma of depression seemed blown clean away +by the horseplay of the elements. He had been within an ace of taking +unwarranted liberties with Nature. Now she retaliated by taking +liberties with him; and her buffeting proved a finer restorative than +all the drugs in creation. Electricity, her 'fierce angel of the air,' +set every nerve tingling. A queer sensation: but it was <i>life</i>. And he +had been feeling more than half dead....</p> + +<p>Azim Khan, however—being innocent of 'nerves'—took quite another view +of the matter.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the point of safety, Roy found a log fire burning; and a +brazier alight under a contrivance like a huge cane hen-coop, for drying +his clothes. Vainly protesting, he was made to change every garment; was +installed by the fire, with steaming brandy-and-water at his elbow, and +lemons and sugar—and letters ... quite a little pile of them.</p> + +<p>"<i>Belaiti dák, Hazúr</i>,"<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> Azim Khan superfluously informed him, with +an air of personal pride in the whole <i>bundobast</i>—including the timely +arrival of the English mail.</p> + +<p>There were parcels also—a biggish one, from his father; another from +Jeffers, obviously a book. And suddenly it dawned on him—this must be +the tenth of June. Yesterday was his twenty-sixth birthday; and he had +never thought of it; never realised the date! But <i>they</i> had thought of +it weeks ahead: while he—graceless and ungrateful—had deemed himself +half forgotten.</p> + +<p>He ran the envelopes through his fingers—Tiny, Tara. (His heart jerked. +Was it congratulations? He had never felt he could write of it to her.) +Arúna; a black-edged one from Thea; and—his heart jerked in quite +another fashion—Rose!</p> + +<p>Amazing! What did it mean? She wasn't—going back on things...?<a name="Page_429" id="Page_429"></a></p> + +<p>Curiosity—sharpened by a prick of fear—impelled him to open her letter +first. And the moment he had read the opening line, compunction smote +him.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Roy—my Dear, I couldn't help remembering the ninth. So I feel I + must write and wish you 'many happy returns' of it—happier than + this one—with all my heart. I have worried over you a good deal. + For I'm sure you must have been ill. Do go home soon and be + properly taken care of, by your own people. I'm going in the autumn + with my friend, Mrs Hilton. Some day you will surely find a wife + worthier of you than I would have been. When your good day comes, + let me know and I'll do the same by you. Good luck to you + always.—<span class='smcap'>Rose</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Roy slipped the note into his pocket and sat staring at the fire, deeply +moved. A vision of her—too alluring for comfort—was flashed upon his +brain. She was confoundedly attractive. She had no end of good points: +but ... with a very big B....</p> + +<p>His gaze rested absently on the parcel from his father. What the deuce +could it be? To the imaginative, an unopened parcel never quite loses +its intriguing air of mystery. The shape suggested a picture. His +mother...?</p> + +<p>With a luxury of deliberation he cut the strings; removed wrapper after +wrapper to the last layer of tissue....</p> + +<p>Then he drew a great breath—and sat spellbound; gazing—endlessly +gazing—at Tara's face:—the wild roses in her cheeks faded a little; +the glory of her hair undimmed; the familiar way it rippled back from +her low, wide brow; a hint of hidden pain about the sensitive lips and +in the hyacinth blue of her eyes. Only his father could have wrought a +vision so appealingly alive. And the effect on Roy was instantaneous ... +overwhelming....</p> + +<p>Tara—dearest and loveliest! Of course it was her—always had been, down +in the uttermost depths. The treasure he had been far to seek had +blossomed beside him since the beginning of things: and he, with his +eyes always on the horizon, had missed the one incomparable flower at +his feet....<a name="Page_430" id="Page_430"></a></p> + +<p><i>Had</i> he missed it? Had there ever been a chance? What, precisely, had +she meant by her young, vehement refusal of him? And—if it were not the +dreaded reason—was there still hope? Would she ever understand ... ever +forgive ... the inglorious episode of Rose? If, at heart, he could plead +the excuse of Adam, he could not plead it to her.</p> + +<p>Reverently he took that miracle of a picture between his hands and set +it on the broad mantelpiece, that distance might quicken the illusion of +life.</p> + +<p>Then the spell was on him again. Her sweetness and light seemed to +illumine the unbeautiful room. Of a truth he knew, now, what it meant to +love and be in love with every faculty of soul and body; knew it for a +miracle of renewal, the elixir of life. And—the light of that knowledge +revealed how secondary a part of it was the craving with which he had +craved possession of Rose. Steeped in poetry as he was, there stole into +his mind a fragment of Tagore—'She who had ever remained in the depths +of my being, in the twilight of gleams and glimpses ... I have roamed +from country to country, keeping her in the core of my heart.'</p> + +<p>All the jangle of jarred nerves and shaken faith; all the confusion of +shattered hopes and ideals would resolve itself into coherence at +last—if only ... if only——!</p> + +<p>And dropping suddenly from the clouds, he remembered his letters ... +<i>her</i> letter.</p> + +<p>A sealed envelope had fallen unheeded from his father's parcel: but it +was hers he seized—and half hesitated to open. What if she were +announcing her own engagement to some infernal fellow at home? There +must be scores and scores of them....</p> + +<p>His hand was not quite steady as he unfolded the two sheets that bore +his father's crest and the home stamp, 'Bramleigh Beeches.'</p> + +<div class="blockquot">"<span class='smcap'>My Dear Roy</span> (he read), + +<p> "<i>Many</i> happy returns of June the Ninth. It was one of our great + days—wasn't it?—once upon a time. All your best and dearest + wishes we are wishing for you—over here. And of course I've heard + your tremendous news; though you never wrote and told me—why? <a name="Page_431" id="Page_431"></a>You + say she is beautiful. I hope she is a lot more besides. You would + need a lot more, Roy, unless you've changed very much from the boy + I used to know.</p> + +<p> "It is <i>cruel</i> having to write—in the same breath—about Lance. + From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became. To + me it seems almost like half of you gone. And I'm sure it must seem + so to you—my <i>poor</i> Roy. I don't wonder you felt bad about the way + of it; but it was the essence of him—that kind of thing. A verse + of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head ever since I heard it:—</p> + +<p> +'Surely we knew it long before;<br /> +Knew all along that he was made<br /> +For a swift radiant morning; for<br /> + A sacrificing swift night shade.'<br /> +</p> + +<p> "I <i>can't</i> write all I feel about it. Besides, I'm hoping your pain + may be eased a little now; and I don't want to wake it up again.</p> + +<p> "But not even these two big things—not even your Birthday—are my + reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my + Bracelet-Bound Brother. <i>Do</i> you remember? Have you kept it, Roy? + Does it still mean anything to you? It does to me—though I've + never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. <i>But</i>—I'm + going to, now. Not for myself. Don't be afraid! It's for Uncle + Nevil—and I ask it in Aunt Lilámani's name.</p> + +<p> "Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable. He's + never really got over losing her. And you've been sort of lost + too—for the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out + with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And + you—out there, probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite. I + <i>know</i> you—and your ways. Also I know him—which is my ragged + shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think + better of it!</p> + +<p> "He has been an angel to me ever since I got back; and it seems to + cheer him up when I run round here. So I do—pretty often. But I'm + not Roy! And perhaps you'll forgive my bold demand, when I tell you + Aunt Jane's looming—positively <i>looming!</i> She's becoming a perfect + ogre of sisterly solicitude. As he won't go to<a name="Page_432" id="Page_432"></a> London, she's + threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her + headquarters after the season! And he—poor darling—with not + enough spirit in him to kick against the pricks. If <i>you</i> were + coming, he would have an excuse. Alone—he's helpless in her + conscientious talons!</p> + +<p> "If <i>that</i> won't bring you, nothing will—not even my bracelet + command.</p> + +<p> "I <i>know</i> the journey in June will be a nightmare. And you won't + like leaving Indian friends or Miss Arden. But think—here he is + alone, wanting what only you can give him. And the bangle I sent + you That Day—<i>if</i> you've kept it—gives me the right to say + 'Come—<i>quickly</i>.' It may be a wrench. But I promise you won't + regret it. Wire, if you can.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Always your loving</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">T</span><span class='smcap'>ara</span>."<br /> +</p> + +<p>By the time he had finished reading that so characteristic and endearing +letter his plans were cut and dried. Her irresistible appeal—and the no +less irresistible urge within him—left no room for the deliberations of +his sensitive complex nature. It flung open all the floodgates of +memory; set every nerve aching for Home—and Tara, late discovered; but +not too late, he passionately prayed....</p> + +<p>The nightmare journey had no terrors for him now. In every sense he was +'hers to command.'</p> + +<p>He drew out his old, old letter-case—her gift—and opened it. There lay +the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish note; the 'ribbin' from +her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands of her hair. The sight of it +brought tears of which he felt not the least ashamed.</p> + +<p>It also brought a vision of himself standing before his mother, +demurring at possible obligations involved in their 'game of play.' And +across the years came back to him her very words, her very look and +tone: 'Remember, Roy, it is for always. If she shall ask from you any +service, you must not refuse—ever.... By keeping the bracelet you are +bound ...'</p> + +<p>Wire? Of course he would.</p> + +<p>Before the day was out his message was speeding to her: "Engagement off. +Coming first possible boat. Yours to command—<span class='smcap'>Roy</span>."<a name="Page_433" id="Page_433"></a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> English mail.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIE" id="CHAPTER_IIIE"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Did you not know"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Did you not know that people hide their love,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?"</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Wu-Ti</span>.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>Sanctuary—at last! The garden of his dreams—of the world before the +deluge—in the quiet—coloured end of a July evening; the garden vitally +inwoven with his fate—since it was responsible for the coming of Joe +Bradley and his 'beaky mother.'</p> + +<p>Such gardens bear more than trees and flowers and fruit. Human lives and +characters are growth of their soil. With the wholesale demolishing of +boundaries and hedges, their influence may wane; and it is an +influence—like the unobtrusive influence of the gentleman—that human +nature, especially English nature, can ill afford to fling away.</p> + +<p>Roy, poet and fighter—with the lure of the desert and the horizon in +his blood—knew himself, also, for a spiritual product of this +particular garden—of the vast lawn (not quite so vast as he +remembered), the rose-beds and the beeches in the full glory of their +incomparable leafage; all steeped in the delicate clarity of rain-washed +air—the very aura of England, as dust was the aura of Jaipur.</p> + +<p>Dinner was over. They were sitting out on the lawn, he and his father; a +small table beside them, with glass coffee-machine and chocolates in a +silver dish; the smoke of their cigars hovering, drifting, unstirred by +any breeze. No Terry at his feet. The faithful creature—vision of +abject misery—had been carried off to eat his heart out in quarantine. +Tangled among tree-tops hung the ghost of a moon, almost full. +Somewhere, in the far quiet of the shrubberies, a nightingale was +communing with its own heart in liquid undertones; <a name="Page_434" id="Page_434"></a>and in Roy's heart +there dwelt an iridescence of peace and pain and longing shot through +with hope——</p> + +<p>That very morning, at an unearthly hour, he had landed in England, after +an absence of three and a half years: and precisely what that means in +the way of complex emotions, only they know who have been there. The +purgatorial journey had eclipsed expectation. Between recurrent fever +and sea-sickness, there had been days when it seemed doubtful if he +would ever reach Home at all. But a wiry constitution and the will to +live had triumphed: and, in spite of the early hour, his father had not +failed to be on the quay.</p> + +<p>The first sight of him had given Roy a shock for which—in spite of +Tara's letter—he was unprepared. This was not the father he +remembered—humorous, unruffled, perennially young; but a man so changed +and tired-looking that he seemed almost a stranger, with his empty +coat-sleeve and hair touched with silver at the temples.</p> + +<p>The actual moment of meeting had been difficult; the joy of it so deeply +tinged with pain that they had clung desperately to surface +commonplaces, because they were Englishmen, and could not relieve the +inner stress by falling on one another's necks.</p> + +<p>And there had been a secret pang (for which Roy sharply reproached +himself) that Tara was not there too. Idiotic to expect it, when he knew +Sir James had gone to Scotland for fishing. But to be idiotic is the +lover's privilege; and his not phenomenal gift of patience had been +unduly strained by the letter awaiting him at Port Said.</p> + +<p>They were coming back to-night; but he would not see her till +to-morrow....</p> + +<p>In his pocket reposed a brief Tara-like note, bidding her 'faithful +Knight of the Bracelet' welcome Home. Vainly he delved between the lines +of her sisterly affection. Nothing could still the doubt that consumed +him, but contact with her hands, her eyes.</p> + +<p>For that, and other reasons, the difficult meeting had been followed by +a difficult day. They had wandered through the house and garden, very +carefully veiling their emotions. They had lounged and smoked in the +studio, looking through his father's latest pictures.<a name="Page_435" id="Page_435"></a> They had talked +of the family. Jeffers would be down to-morrow night, for the week-end; +Tiny on Tuesday with the precious Baby; Jerry, distinctly coming round, +and eager to see Roy. Even Aunt Jane sounded a shade keen. And he, +undeserving, had scarcely expected them to 'turn a hair.' Then they +discussed the Indian situation; and Roy—forgetting to be shy—raged at +finding how little those at Home had been allowed to realise, to +understand.</p> + +<p>Not a question, so far, about his rapid on-and-off engagement, for which +mercy he was duly grateful. And of her, who dwelt in the foreground and +background of their thoughts—not a word.</p> + +<p>It would take a little time, Roy supposed, to build their bridge across +the chasm of three and a half eventful years. You couldn't hustle a +lapsed intimacy. To-morrow things would go better, especially if....</p> + +<p>Yet, throughout, he had been touched inexpressibly by his father's +unobtrusive tokens of pleasure and affection: and now—sitting together +with their cigars, in the last of the daylight—things felt easier.</p> + +<p>"Dad," he said suddenly, turning his eyes from the garden to the man +beside him, who was also its spiritual product. "If I seem a bit +stupefied, it's because I'm still walking and talking in a dream; +terrified I may wake up and find it's not true! I can't, in a twinkling, +adjust the beautiful, incredible <i>sameness</i> of all this, with the +staggering changes inside me."</p> + +<p>His father's smile had its friendly, understanding quality.</p> + +<p>"No hurry, Boy. All your deep roots are here. Change as much as you +please, you still remain—her son."</p> + +<p>"Yes—that's it. The place is full of her," Roy said very low; and at +present they could not trust themselves to say more.</p> + +<p>It had not escaped Sir Nevil's notice that the boy had avoided the +drawing-room, and had not once been under the twin beeches, his +favourite summer retreat. No hammock was slung there now.</p> + +<p>After a considerable gap, Roy remarked carelessly: "I suppose they must +have got home by now?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour ago, to be exact," said Sir Nevil; and Roy's involuntary +start moved him to add: "You're <a name="Page_436" id="Page_436"></a>not running round there to-night, old +man. They'll be tired. So are you. And it's only fair I should have +first innings. I've waited a long time for it, Roy."</p> + +<p>"<i>Dads!</i>" Roy looked at once penitent and reproachful—an engaging trick +of schoolroom days, when he felt a scolding in the air. "You never +said—you never gave me an idea."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> never sounded as if the idea would be acceptable."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I? Letters are the devil," murmured Roy—all penitence now. "And +if it hadn't been for Tara——" He stopped awkwardly. Their eyes met, +and they smiled. "Did you know ... she wrote? And that's why I'm here?"</p> + +<p>"Well done, Tara! I didn't know. I had dim suspicions. I also had a dim +hope that—my picture might tempt you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it <i>would</i> have—letter or no. It's an inspired thing."—He had +already written at length on that score.—"You were mightily clever—the +two of you!"</p> + +<p>His father twinkled. "That as may be. We had the trifling advantage of +knowing our Roy!"</p> + +<p>They sat on till all the light had ebbed from the sky and the moon had +come into her own. It was still early; but time is the least ingredient +of such a day; and Sir Nevil rose on the stroke of ten.</p> + +<p>"You look fagged out, old boy. And the sooner you're asleep—the sooner +it will be to-morrow! A pet axiom of yours. D'you remember?"</p> + +<p>Did he not remember?</p> + +<p>They went upstairs together; the great house seemed oppressively empty +and silent. On the threshold of Roy's room they said good-night. There +was an instant of palpable awkwardness; then Roy—overcoming it—leaned +forward and kissed the patch of white hair on his father's temple.</p> + +<p>"God bless you," Sir Nevil said rather huskily. "You ought to sleep +sound in there. Don't dream."</p> + +<p>"But I love to dream," said Roy; and his father laughed.</p> + +<p>"You're not so staggeringly changed inside! As sure as a gun, you'll be +late for breakfast!"</p> + +<p>And he did dream. The moment his lids fell—she <a name="Page_437" id="Page_437"></a>was there with him, +under the beeches, their sanctuary—she who all day had hovered on the +confines of his spirit, like a light, felt not seen. There were no words +between them, nor any need of words; only the ineffable peace of +understanding, of reunion....</p> + +<p>Dream—or visitation—who could say? To him it seemed that only +afterwards sleep came—the dreamless sleep of renewal....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He woke egregiously early: such an awakening as he had not known for +months on end. And out there in the garden it was a miracle of a +morning: divinely clear, with the mellow clearness of England; massed +trees, brooding darkly; the lawn all silver-grey with dew; everywhere +blurred outlines and tender shadows; pure balm to eye and spirit after +the hard brilliance and contrasts of the East.</p> + +<p>Madness to get up; yet impossible to lie there waiting. He tried it, for +what seemed an endless age: then succumbed to the inevitable.</p> + +<p>While he was dressing, clouds drifted across the blue. A spurt of rain +whipped his open casement; threatening him in playful mood. But before +he had crept down and let himself out through one of the drawing-room +windows, the sky was clear again, with the tremulous radiance of +happiness struck sharp on months of sorrow and stress.</p> + +<p>Striding, hatless, across the drenched lawn, and resisting the pull of +his beech-wood, he pressed on and up to the open moor; craving its +sweeps of space and colour unbosomed to the friendly sky that seemed so +much nearer earth than the passionate blue vault of India.</p> + +<p>It was five years since he had seen heather in bloom—or was it five +decades? The sight of it recalled that other July day, when he had +tramped the length of the ridge with his head full of dreams and the +ache of parting in his heart.</p> + +<p>To him, that far-off being seemed almost another Roy in another life. +Only—as his father had feelingly reminded him—the first Roy and the +last were alike informed by the spirit of one woman; visible then, +invisible now; yet sensibly present in every haunt she had made her own. +The house was full of her; the <a name="Page_438" id="Page_438"></a>wood was full of her. But the pangs of +reminder he had so dreaded resolved themselves, rather, into a sense of +indescribable, ethereal reunion. He asked nothing better than that his +life and work should be fulfilled with her always: her and Tara—if she +so decreed....</p> + +<p>Thought of Tara revived impatience, and drew his steps homeward again.</p> + +<p>Strolling back through the wood, he came suddenly upon the open space +where he had found the Golden Tusks, and lingered there a +little—remembering the storm and the terror and the fight; Tara and her +bracelet; and the deep unrealised significance of that childish impulse, +inspired by <i>her</i>, whose was the source of all their inspirations. And +now—seventeen years afterwards, the bracelet had drawn him back to them +both; saved him, perhaps, from the unforgiveable sin of throwing up the +game.</p> + +<p>On he walked, along the same mossy path, almost in a dream. He had found +the Tusks. His High-Tower Princess was waiting—his 'Star far-seen.'</p> + +<p>Again, as on that day—he came unexpectedly in view of their tree: +and—wonder of wonders (or was it the most natural thing on earth?), +there was Tara herself, approaching it by another path that linked the +wood with the grounds of the black-and-white house, which was part of +the estate.</p> + +<p>Instantly he stepped back a pace and stood still, that he might realise +her before she became aware of him:—her remembered loveliness, her new +dearness.</p> + +<p>Loveliness was the quintessence of her. With his innate feeling for +words, he had never—even accidentally—applied it to Rose. Had she, +too, felt impatient? Was she coming over to breakfast for a 'surprise'?</p> + +<p>At this distance, she looked not a day older than on that critical +occasion, when he had realised her for the first time; only more +fragile—a shade too fragile. It hurt him. He felt responsible. And +again, to-day—very clever of her—she was wearing a delphinium blue +frock; a shady hat that drooped half over her face. No pink rose, +however—and he was thankful. Roses had still a too baleful association. +He doubted if he could ever tolerate a Maréchal Niel again—as much on +account of Lance, as on account of the other.<a name="Page_439" id="Page_439"></a></p> + +<p>Tara was wearing his flower—sweet-peas, palest pink and lavender. And, +at sight of her, every shred of doubt seemed burnt up in the clear flame +of his love for her:—no heady confusion of heart and senses, but a +rarefied intensity of both, touched with a coal from the altar of +creative life. The knowledge was like a light hand reining in his +impatience. Poet, no less than lover, he wanted to go slowly through the +golden mist....</p> + +<p>But the moment he stirred, she heard him; saw him....</p> + +<p>No imperious gesture, as before; but a lightning gleam of recognition, +of welcome and—something more——?</p> + +<p>He hurried now....</p> + +<p>Next instant, they were together, hands locked, eyes deep in eyes. The +surface sense of strangeness between them, the undersense of intimate +nearness—thrilling as it was—made speech astonishingly difficult.</p> + +<p>"Tara," he said, just above his breath.</p> + +<p>Her sensitive lips parted, trembled—and closed again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tara!</i>" he repeated, dizzily incredulous, where a moment earlier he +had been arrogantly certain. "<i>Is</i> it true ... what your eyes are +telling me? Can you forgive ... my madness out there? Half across the +world you called to me; and I've come home to <i>you</i> ... with every atom +of me ... I'm loving you; and I'm still ... bracelet-bound...."</p> + +<p>This time her lips trembled into a smile. "And it's not one of the +Prayer-book affinities!" she reminded him, a gleam of that other Tara in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, thank God—it's not! But you haven't answered me, you know...."</p> + +<p>"Roy, what a story! When you know I really said it first!" Her eyes were +saying it again now; and he, bereft of words, mutely held out his arms.</p> + +<p>If she paused an instant, it was because she felt even dizzier than he. +But the power of his longing drew her like a physical force—and, as his +lips claimed hers, the terror of love and its truth caught her and swept +her from known shores into uncharted seas....</p> + +<p>This was a Roy she scarcely knew. But her heart knew; every pulse of her +awakened womanhood knew....<a name="Page_440" id="Page_440"></a></p> + +<p>Presently it became possible to think. Very gently she pushed him back a +little.</p> + +<p>"O-oh—I never knew ... you were ... like <i>that!</i> And you've crushed my +poor sweet-peas to smithereens! Now—behave! Let me <i>look</i> at you ... +properly, and see what India's done to you. Give me a chance!"</p> + +<p>He gave her a chance, still keeping hold of her—to make sure she was +real.</p> + +<p>"High-Tower Princess, are we truly US? Or is it a 'bewitchery'?" he +asked, only half in joke. "Will you go turning into a butterfly +presently——?"</p> + +<p>"Promise I won't!" Her low laugh was not quite steady. "We're US—truly. +And we've got to Farthest-End, where your dreams come true. D'you +remember—I always said they couldn't. They were too crazy. So I don't +deserve——"</p> + +<p>"It's <i>I</i> that don't deserve," he broke out with sudden passion. "And to +find you under our very own tree! Have you forgotten—that day? Of +course <i>you</i> went to the 'tipmost top; and I didn't. It's queer—isn't +it?—how <i>bits</i> of life get printed so sharply on your brain; and great +spaces, on either side, utterly blotted out. That day's one of my bits. +Is it so clear—to you?"</p> + +<p>"To <i>me</i>——?" She could scarcely believe he did not know.... +Unashamedly, she wanted him to know. But part of him was strange to +her—thrillingly strange: which made things not quite so simple.</p> + +<p>"Roy," she went on, after a luminous pause, twisting the top button of +his coat. "I'm going to tell you a secret. A big one. For me that Day +was ... the beginning of everything.—Hush—listen!"—Her fingers just +touched his lips. "I'm feeling—rather shy. And if you don't keep quiet, +I can't tell. Of course I always ... loved you, next to Atholl. But +after that ... after the fight, I simply ... adored you. And ... and ... +it's never left off since...."</p> + +<p>"Tara! My loveliest!" he cried, between ecstasy and dismay; and +gathering her close again, he kissed her softly, repeatedly, murmuring +broken endearments. "And there was <i>I</i>...!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There were you ... with your poems and Aunt Lila and your dreams +about India—always with <a name="Page_441" id="Page_441"></a>your head among the stars...."</p> + +<p>"In plain English, a spoilt boy—as you once told me—wrapped up in +myself."</p> + +<p>"No, you weren't. I won't <i>have</i> it!" she contradicted him in her old +imperious way. "You were wrapped up in all kinds of wonderful things. So +you just ... didn't see me. You looked clean over my head. Of course it +often made me unhappy. But—it made me love you more. That's the way we +women are. It's not the men who run after us; it's the other kind...! I +expect you looked clean over poor Arúna's head. And if I asked her, +privately, she'd confess that was partly why ... and the other girl too +... if ..."</p> + +<p>"Darling—<i>don't!</i>" he pleaded. "I'm ashamed, beyond words. I'll tell +you every atom of it truthfully ... my Tara. But this is <i>our</i> moment. I +want more—about you.—Sit. It's full early. Then we'll go in (of course +you're coming to breakfast) and give Dad the surprise of his life.... +Bother your old hat! It gets in the way. And I want to see your hair."</p> + +<p>With a shyness new to him—and to Tara, poignantly dear—he drew out her +pins; discarded the offending hat, and took her head between his hands, +lightly caressing the thick coils that shaded from true gold to warm +delicate tones of brown.</p> + +<p>Then he set her on the mossy seat near the trunk; and flung himself down +before her in the old way, propped on his elbows—rapt, lost in love; +divinely without self-consciousness.</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>not</i> looking over your head now," he said, his eyes deep in +hers:—deep and deeper, till the wild-rose flush invaded the delicate +hollows of her temples; and leaning forward she laid a hand across those +too eloquent eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't blind me altogether—darling. When people have been shut away +from the sun a long time——"</p> + +<p>"But, Tara—why <i>were</i> you...?" He removed the hand and kept hold of it. +"I begged you to come. I wanted you. Why <i>did</i> you...?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, smiling half wistfully. "That's a bit of my old Roy! +But you're man enough to know—now, without telling. And I was woman +enough to know—then. At least, by instinct, I knew...."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442"></a>"Then it wasn't because ... because—I'm half ... Rajput?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Roy!</i>" But for all her surprise and reproach, intuition told him the +idea was not altogether new to her. "What made you think—of <i>that?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Well—because it partly ... broke things off—out there. That startled +me. And when Dad's miracle of a picture woke me up with a vengeance ... +it terrified me. I began wondering.... Beloved, are you <i>quite</i> sure +about Aunt Helen ... Sir James...?"</p> + +<p>She paused—a mere breathing-space; her free hand caressed his hair. +(This time, he did not shift his head.) "I'm utterly sure about Mother. +You see ... she knows ... we've talked about it. We're like sisters, +almost. As for Father ... well, we're less intimate. I did fancy he +seemed the wee-est bit relieved when ... your news came...." The pain in +his eyes checked her. "My blessed one, I won't have you <i>daring</i> to +worry about it. I'm feeling simply beyond myself with happiness and +pride. Mother will be overjoyed. She realises ... a <i>little</i> ... what +I've been through. Of course—in our talks, she has told me frankly what +tragedies often come from mixing such 'mighty opposites.' But she said +all of you were quite exceptional. And she knows about such things. And +<i>she's</i> the point. She can always square Father if—there's any need. So +just be quiet—inside!"</p> + +<p>"But ... that day," he persisted, Roy-like, "<i>you</i> didn't think of +it——?"</p> + +<p>"Faithfully, I didn't. I only felt your heart was too full up with Aunt +Lila and India to have room enough for me. And I wanted <i>all</i> the +room—or nothing. Vaguely, I knew it was <i>her</i> dream. But my wicked +pride insisted it should be <i>your</i> dream. It wasn't till long after, +that Mother told me how—from the very first—Aunt Lila had planned and +prayed, because she knew marriage might be your one big difficulty; and +she could only speak of it to Mummy. It was their great link; the idea +behind everything—the lessons and all. So you see, all the time, she +was sort of creating me ... for you. And the bitter disappointment it +must have been to her! If I'd had a glimmering ... of all that—I don't +believe I could have held out against you——"<a name="Page_443" id="Page_443"></a></p> + +<p>"Then I wish to heaven you'd had a glimmering—because of her and +because of <i>us</i>. Look at all the good years we've wasted——"</p> + +<p>"We've not—we've <i>not!</i>" she protested vehemently. "If it had happened +then, it wouldn't have come within miles—of this. You simply hadn't it +<i>in</i> you, Roy, to give me ... all I can feel you giving me now. As for +me—well, that's for you to find out! Of course, the minute I'd done it, +I was miserable: furious with myself. For I couldn't stop ... loving +you. My heart had no shame, in spite of my important pride. Only ... +after <i>she</i> went—and Mother told me all—something in me seemed to know +her free spirit would be near you—and bring you back to me ... somehow: +<i>till</i> ... your news came. And—<i>look!</i> The Bracelet! I hesitated a long +time. If you hadn't been engaged, I'm not sure if I would have ventured. +But I did—and you're here. It's all been her doing, Roy, first and +last. Don't let's spoil any of it with regrets."</p> + +<p>He could only bow his head upon her hand in mute adoration. The courage, +the crystal-clear wisdom of her—his eager Tara, who could never wait +five minutes for the particular sweet or the particular tale she craved. +Yet she had waited five years for him—and counted it a little thing. Of +a truth his mother had builded better than she knew.</p> + +<p>"You see," Tara added softly. "There wouldn't have been ... the deeps. +And it takes the deeps to make you realise the heights——"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Lost in one another—in the wonder of mutual self-revealing—they were +lost, no less, to impertinent trivialities of place and time; till the +very trivial pang of hunger reminded Roy that he had been wandering for +hours without food.</p> + +<p>"Tara—it's a come down—but I'm fairly starving!" he cried +suddenly—and consulted his watch. "Nine o'clock. The wretch I am! Dad's +final remark was, 'Sure as a gun, you'll be late for breakfast.' And it +seemed impossible. But sure as guns we <i>will</i> be! Put on the precious +hat. We must jolly well run for it."</p> + +<p>And taking hands, like a pair of children, they ran....<a name="Page_444" id="Page_444"></a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THE_LAST" id="CHAPTER_THE_LAST"></a>CHAPTER THE LAST.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Who shall allot the praise"> +<tr><td align='left'>"Who shall allot the praise, and guess</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: .5em;">What part is yours—what part is ours?"</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">—</span><span class='smcap'>Alice Meynell.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Perhaps a dreamer's day will come ... when judgment will be + pronounced on all the wise men, who always prophesied evil—and + were always right."—<span class='smcap'>Johan Bojer</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Two hours later Roy and his father sat together in the cushioned window +seat of the studio, smoking industriously; not troubling to say +much—though there was much to be said—because the mist of constraint +that brooded between them yesterday had been blown clean away by Roy's +news.</p> + +<p>If it had not given Sir Nevil 'the surprise of his life,' it had given +him the deepest, most abiding gratification he had known since his inner +light had gone out, with the passing of her who had been his inspiration +and his all. Dear though his children were to him, they had remained +secondary, always. Roy came nearest—as his heir, and as the one in whom +her spirit most clearly lived again. Since she went, he had longed for +the boy; but remembering her plea on that summer day of decision—her +mountain-top of philosophy, 'to take by leaving, to hold by letting +go'—he had studiously refrained from pressing Roy's return. Now, at a +word from Tara, he had sped home in the hot season; and—hard on the +heels of a mysteriously broken engagement—had claimed her at sight.</p> + +<p>Yesterday their sense of strangeness had made silence feel +uncomfortable. Now that they slipped back into the old intimacy, it felt +companionable. Yet neither was thinking directly of the other. Each was +thinking of the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>By chance their eyes encountered in a friendly smile, and Roy spoke.<a name="Page_445" id="Page_445"></a></p> + +<p>"Daddums—you've come alive! I believe you're <i>almost</i> as happy over +it—as I am?"</p> + +<p>"You're not far out. You see"—his eyes grew graver—"I'm feeling ... +Mother's share, too. Did you ever realise...?"</p> + +<p>"Partly. Not all—till just now. Tara told me."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then Sir Nevil looked full at his son.</p> + +<p>"Roy—<i>I've</i> got something to tell you—to show you ... if you can +detach your mind for an hour——?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. <i>What</i> is it—where?"</p> + +<p>He looked round the room. Instinctively, he knew it concerned his +mother.</p> + +<p>"Not here. Upstairs—in her House of Gods." He saw Roy flinch. "If <i>I</i> +can bear it, old boy, you can. And there's a reason—you'll understand."</p> + +<p>The little room above the studio had been sacred to Lilámani ever since +her home-coming as a bride of eighteen; sacred to her prayers and +meditations; to the sandalwood casket that held her 'private god'; for +the Indian wife has always one god chosen for special worship—not to be +named to any one, even her husband. And although a Christian Lilámani +had discontinued that form of devotion, the tiny blue image of the +Baby-god, Krishna, had been a sacred treasure always, shown, on rare +occasions only, to Roy. To enter that room was to enter her soul. And +Roy, shrinking apart, felt himself unworthy—because of Rose.</p> + +<p>On the threshold there met him the faint scent of sandalwood that +pervaded her. For there, in an alcove, stood Krishna's casket. In larger +boxes, lined with sandalwood, her many-tinted silks and saris lay +lovingly folded. Another casket held her jewels, and arranged on a row +of shelves stood her dainty array of shoes—gold and silver and pale +brocades: an intimate touch that pierced his heart.</p> + +<p>Near the Krishna alcove, hung a portrait he had not seen: a thing of +fragile, almost unearthly beauty, painted when her husband came +home—and realised....</p> + +<p>An aching lump in Roy's throat cut like a knife; but his father's remark +put him on his mettle. And, the next instant, he saw....</p> + +<p>"<i>Dad!</i>" he breathed, in awed amazement.</p> + +<p>For there, on the small round table stood a model in <a name="Page_446" id="Page_446"></a>dull red clay: +unmistakably, unbelievably—the rock fortress of Chitor: the walls +scarped and bastioned; Khumba Rána's tower; and the City itself—no +ruin, but a miniature presentment of Chitor, as she might have been in +her day of ancient glory, as Roy had been dimly aware of her in the +course of his own amazing ride. Temples, palaces, huddled houses—not +detailed, but skilfully suggested—stirred the old thrill in his veins, +the old certainty that he knew....</p> + +<p>"Well——?" asked Sir Nevil, whose eyes had not left his face.</p> + +<p>"<i>Well!</i>" echoed Roy, emerging from his trance of wonder. "I'm +dumfounded. A few mistakes, here and there; but—as a whole ... Dad—how +in the world ... could you know?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I hoped you would. I ... saw it clearly, just like +that——"</p> + +<p>"How? In a dream?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. I couldn't swear, in a court of law, that I was awake. It +happened—one evening, as I lay there, on her couch—remembering ... +going back over things. And suddenly, out of the darkness, +blossomed—that. Asleep or awake, my mind was alert enough to seize and +hold the impression, without a glimmer of surprise ... <i>till</i> I came to, +or woke up—which you will. Then my normal, sceptical self didn't know +what to make of it. I've always dismissed that sort of thing as mere +brain-trickery. But—a vivid, personal experience makes it ... not so +easy. Of course, from reading and a few old photographs, I knew it was +Chitor: and my chief concern was to record the vision in its first +freshness. For three days I worked at it: only emerging now and then to +snatch a meal. I began with those and that——"</p> + +<p>He indicated a set of rough sketches and an impression in oils; a ghost +of a city full of suggested beauty and mystery. "No joke, trying to +model with one hand; but you wouldn't believe ... the swiftness ... the +sureness ... as if my fingers knew...."</p> + +<p>Roy could believe. Occasionally his own fingers behaved so.</p> + +<p>"When it was done, I put it in here," his father went on, masking, with +studied quietness, his elation at the effect on Roy. "I've shown it to +no one—not even Aunt<a name="Page_447" id="Page_447"></a> Helen. I couldn't write of it. I felt it would +sound crazy——"</p> + +<p>"Not to me," said Roy.</p> + +<p>"Well, I couldn't tell that. And I've been waiting—for <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Since—when?"</p> + +<p>"Since the third of March, this year."</p> + +<p>Roy drew an audible breath. It was the anniversary of her passing. "All +that time! How could you——? Why didn't you——?"</p> + +<p>"Well—<i>you</i> know. You were obviously submerged—your novel, Udaipur, +Lance.... You wouldn't have forgone all that ... if I know you, for a +mere father. But you're here, at last, thank God. And—I want to know. +You've seen Chitor, as it is to-day...."</p> + +<p>"I've seen more than that," said Roy. "I can tell you, now. I +couldn't—before. Let's sit."</p> + +<p>And sitting there, on her couch, in her House of Gods, he told the story +of his moonlit ride and its culmination; told it in low tones, in swift +vivid phrases that came of themselves....</p> + +<p>Throughout the telling—and for many minutes afterwards—his father sat +motionless; his head on his hand, half shielding his face from view....</p> + +<p>"I've only spoken of it to Grandfather," Roy said at last. "And with all +my heart, I wish he could see ... that."</p> + +<p>Sir Nevil looked up now, and the subdued exaltation in his eyes was +wholly new to Roy.</p> + +<p>"<i>I've</i> gone a good way beyond wishing," he said. "But again—I was +waiting for you. I want to go out there, Roy—with you two, when you're +married—and see it all for myself. With care, one could take the thing +along, to verify and improve it on the spot. Then—what do you say?—you +and I might achieve a larger reproduction—for Grandfather: a gift to +Rajputana—my source of inspiration; a tribute ... to her memory, who +still lights our lives ... with the inextinguishable lamp of her +spirit——"</p> + +<p>The last words—almost inaudible—were a revelation to Roy; an +illumining glimpse of the true self, that a man hides very carefully +from his fellows; and shows—at supreme moments only—to 'a woman when +he loves her.'<a name="Page_448" id="Page_448"></a></p> + +<p>Shy of their mutual emotion, he laid a hand on his father's arm.</p> + +<p>"You can count on me, Dad," he said in the same low tone. "Who +knows—one day it might inspire the Rajputs to rebuild their Queen of +Cities, in white marble, that she may rise again, immortal through the +ages...."</p> + +<p>When they stood up to leave the shrine their eyes met in a steadfast +look; and there was the same thought behind it. She had given them to +each other in a new way; in a fashion all her own.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For that brief space, Roy had almost forgotten Tara. Now the wonder of +her flashed back on him like a dazzle of sunlight after the dim sanctity +of cathedral aisles.</p> + +<p>And down in the studio it was possible to discuss practical issues of +his father's inspiration—or rather his mother's; for they both felt it +as such.</p> + +<p>Roy would marry Tara in September; and in November they three would go +out together. There were bad days coming out there; but, as Roy had once +said, every man and woman of goodwill—British or Indian—would count in +the scale, were it only a grain here, a grain there. The insignificance +of the human unit—a mere fragment of star-dust on sidereal shores—is +off-set by the incalculable significance of the individual in the +history of man's efforts to be more than man. In that faith these two +could not be found wanting; debtors as they were to the genius, +devotion, and high courage of one fragile woman, who had lived little +more than half her allotted span.</p> + +<p>They at least would not give up hope of the lasting unity vital to both +races, because political errors and poisonous influences and tragic +events had roused a mutual spirit of bitterness difficult to quell....</p> + +<p>Conceivably, it <i>might</i> touch the imagination of their India—Rajputana +(Roy was chary, now, of the all-embracing word), that an Englishman +should so love an Indian woman as to immortalise her memory in a form +peculiar to the East. For a Christian Lilámani, neither temple, nor +tomb, but the vision of a waste city rebuilded—the city whose name was +written on her heart. In their uplifted moment, it seemed not quite +unthinkable.</p> + +<p>"And it's India's imagination we have most of us <a name="Page_449" id="Page_449"></a>signally failed to +touch—if not done a good deal to quench," said Roy, his eyes brooding +on a bank of purple-grey cloud, his own imagination astir....</p> + +<p>It was his turn now to catch a flitting inspiration on the wing.</p> + +<p>Would it be utterly impossible——? Could they spend a wander-year in +Rajputana—the cities, the desert, the Aravallis: his father +painting—he writing? The result—a combined book, dedicated to her +memory; an attempt to achieve something in the nature of +interpretation—his arrogant dream of Oxford days; a vindication of his +young faith in the arts as the true medium of mutual understanding. In +any case, it would be a unique achievement. And they would feel they had +contributed their mite of goodwill, had followed 'the gleam.'...</p> + +<p>"Besides—out there, other chances might crop up. Thea, Grandfather, +Dyán.... And Tara would be in in it all, heart and soul," he +concluded—remembering, with a twinge, a certain talk with Rose. "And it +would do <i>you</i> all the good on earth—which isn't the least of its +virtues, in my eyes!"</p> + +<p>The look on his father's face was reward enough—for the moment.</p> + +<p>"Well done, Roy," said Sir Nevil very quietly. "That year in Rajputana +shall be my wedding present—to you two——"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Later on the 'inspired plan' was expounded to Tara—with amplifications. +She had merely run home—escorted, of course, through the perils of the +wood—to impart her great news and bring her mother back to lunch, which +Roy persistently called 'tiffin.' Food disposed of, they stepped +straight out of the house into a world of their own—the world of their +'Game-without-an-End'; the rose garden, the wood, the regal splendours +of the moor, gleaming and glooming under shadows of drifting cloud: on +and on, in a golden haze of content, talking, endlessly talking....</p> + +<p>The reserve and infrequency of their letters had left whole tracts, +outer and inner, unexplored. Here, thought Roy—in his mother's +beautiful phrase—was 'the comrade of body and spirit' that his +subconsciousness had been seeking all along: while he looked <a name="Page_450" id="Page_450"></a>over the +heads of one and another, lured by the far, yet emotionally susceptible +to the near. Once—unbidden—the thought intruded: "How different! How +unutterably different!"</p> + +<p>Reading aloud to Tara would seem pure waste of her; except when it came +to the novel, of which he had told her next to nothing, so far....</p> + +<p>And Tara carried her happiness proudly, like a banner. The deliciousness +of being loved; the intoxication of it, after the last spark of hope had +been quenched by that excruciating engagement! Her volcanic heart held a +capacity for happiness as tremendous as her capacity for daring and +suffering. But the first had so long eluded her, that now she dared +scarcely let herself go.</p> + +<p>She listened half incredulous, wholly entranced, while Roy drew rapid +word-pictures of the cities they would see together—Udaipur, Chitor, +Ajmir; and, not least, Komulmir, the hill fortress crowned with the +'cloud-palace' of Prithvi Raj and that distant Tara, her namesake. +Together, they would seek out the little shrine—Roy knew all about +it—near the Temple of the Mother of the Gods, that held the mingled +ashes of those great lovers who were pleasant in their lives and in +death were not divided....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was much later on, in the evening, when they sat alone near the twin +beeches, under a new-lighted moon, that Roy at last managed to speak of +Rose. In the dimness it was easier, though difficult at best. But all +day he had been aware of Tara longing to hear; unable to ask; too +sensitive on his account; too proud on her own.</p> + +<p>Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event: and if Sir +James had needed 'squaring' no one heard of it. Jeffers had arrived, +large and genial—his thatch of hair thinned a little and white as +driven snow. Healths had been drunk. It was long since the Beeches had +known so hilarious a meal. Yet the graceless pair had made haste to +escape, and blessed Lady Despard for remaining with the men.</p> + +<p>Tara was leaning back in a low chair; Roy on a floor cushion, very +close; a hand slipped behind her, his cheek against her arm; yet, in a +deeper sense, she wanted him closer still. Surely he knew....<a name="Page_451" id="Page_451"></a></p> + +<p>He did know.</p> + +<p>"Tara—my loveliest—shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly. "Are you +badly wanting to hear?"</p> + +<p>"Craving to," she confessed. "It's like a bit of blank space inside me. +And I don't want blank spaces—about you. It's the house swept and +garnished that attracts the seven devils. And one of my devils is +jealousy! I've hated her <i>so</i>, poor thing. I can't hate her more, +whatever you tell——"</p> + +<p>"Try hating her less," suggested Roy.</p> + +<p>"Try and make me!" she challenged him. "Are you—half afraid? Were you +... fearfully smitten?"</p> + +<p>"Wonderful Tara! 'Smitten' is the very word." He looked up at her +moonlit face, its appealing charm, its mingling of delicacy and +strength. "I would never dream of saying I was 'smitten'—with <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>For reward, her lips caressed his hair. "What a Roy you are—with your +words! Tell me—tell from the beginning."</p> + +<p>And from the beginning he told her: first in broken, spasmodic +sentences, with breaks and jars; then more fluently, more unreservedly, +as he felt her leaning closer—more and more understanding; more and +more forgiving, where understanding faltered, where gaps came—on +account of Lance, and of pain that went too deep for words. She had +endured her own share of that. She knew....</p> + +<p>When all had been said, it was she who could not speak; and he gathered +her to him, kissing with a passion of tenderness her wet lashes, her +trembling lips——</p> + +<p>At last: "Beloved—<i>has</i> the blank space gone?" he asked. "Are you +content now?"</p> + +<p>"Content! I'm lifted to the skies."</p> + +<p>"To the tipmost top of them?" he queried in her ear; and mutely she +clung to him, returning his kisses, with the confidence of a child, with +the intensity of a woman....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>All too soon it was over—their one mere day: the walk back through the +wood—never more enchanted than on a night of full moon: Tara, dropped +from the skies, lost to everything but the sound of Roy's voice in the +darkness, deep and soft, like the voice of her own heart heard in a +dream. It seemed incredible that there would <a name="Page_452" id="Page_452"></a>be to-morrow—and +to-morrow—and to-morrow, world without end....</p> + +<p>Back in the garden, Jeffers—a miracle of tact—wandered away to commune +with an idea, leaving father and son alone together.</p> + +<p>Sir Nevil offered Roy a cigarette, and they sat down in two of the six +empty chairs near the beeches and smoked steadily without exchanging a +remark.</p> + +<p>But this time they were thinking of one woman. For at parting Tara had +said again, "It's all been her doing—first and last." And Roy—with +every faculty sensitised to catch ethereal vibrations above and below +the human octave—divined that identical thought in his father's +silence. Her doing indeed! None of them—not even his father—knew it +better than himself.</p> + +<p>And now, while he sat there utterly still in the midst of stillness—no +stir in the tree-tops, no movement anywhere but the restless glow of +Broome's cigar—the inexpressible sense of her stole in upon him, +flooding his spirit like a distillation from the summer night. Moment by +moment the impression deepened and glowed within him. Never, since that +morning at Chitor, had it so uplifted and fulfilled him....</p> + +<p>Surely, now, his father could feel it too? Deliberately he set himself +to transmit, if might be, the thrill of her nearness—the intimacy, the +intensity of it.</p> + +<p>Then, craving certainty, he put out a hand and touched his father's +knee.</p> + +<p>"Dad," the word was a mere breath. "Can you feel...? She is here."</p> + +<p>His father's hand closed sharply on his own.</p> + +<p>For one measureless moment they sat so. Then the sense of her presence +faded as a light dies out. The garden was empty. The restless red planet +was moving towards them.</p> + +<p>On a mutual impulse they rose. Once again, as in her shrine, they +exchanged a steadfast look. And Roy had his answer.</p> + +<p>He slipped a possessive hand through his father's arm; and without a +word, they walked back into the house....</p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><i>Parkstone, February</i> 1920.</p> + +<p><i>Parkstone, March</i> 27, 1921.</p> + + +<h2>THE END.</h2> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Far to Seek, by Maud Diver + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + +***** This file should be named 15704-h.htm or 15704-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/7/0/15704/ + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Far to Seek + A Romance of England and India + +Author: Maud Diver + +Release Date: April 25, 2005 [EBook #15704] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + + + + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +FAR TO SEEK + +A Romance of England and India + +BY +MAUD DIVER + +AUTHOR OF 'CAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C.,' 'LILAMANI,' +'DESMOND'S DAUGHTER,' ETC. + + "I am athirst for far-away things. + My soul goes out in longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.... + O Far-to-Seek! O the keen call of thy flute...!" + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + "His hidden meaning dwells in our endeavours; + Our valours are our best gods." + --JOHN FLETCHER. + +William Blackwood & Sons Ltd. + +Edinburgh and London + + * * * * * + + _TO + MY BLUE BIRD, + + BRINGER OF HAPPINESS TO MYSELF + AND OTHERS, + + I DEDICATE THIS IDYLL OF + A MOTHER AND SON. + + M.D._ + + * * * * * + + "The dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills, + The stars hold their breath, counting the hours.... + There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky, + Bird, oh my Bird, listen to me--do not close your wings." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE. + + +As part of my book is set in Lahore, at the time of the outbreak, in +April 1919, I wish to state clearly that, while the main events are true +to fact, the characters concerned, both English and Indian, are purely +imaginary. At the same time, the opinions expressed by my Indian +characters on the present outlook are all based on the written or spoken +opinions of actual Indians--loyal or disaffected, as the case may be. + +There were no serious British casualties in Lahore, though there were +many elsewhere. I have imagined one locally, for purposes of my story. +In all other respects I have kept close to recorded facts. + + M.D. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +PHASE I. THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 1 + +PHASE II. THE VISIONARY GLEAM 65 + +PHASE III. PISGAH HEIGHTS 135 + +PHASE IV. DUST OF THE ACTUAL 283 + +PHASE V. A STAR IN DARKNESS 417 + + + + +PHASE I. + +THE GLORY AND THE DREAM + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Thou art the sky, and thou art the nest as well." + --Tagore. + + +By the shimmer of blue under the beeches Roy knew that summer--"really +truly summer!"--had come back at last. And summer meant picnics and +strawberries and out-of-door lessons, and the lovely hot smell of +pine-needles in the pine-wood, and the lovelier cool smell of moss +cushions in the beech-wood--home of squirrels and birds and bluebells; +unfailing wonderland of discovery and adventure. + +Roy was an imaginative creature, isolated a little by the fact of being +three and a half years older than Christine, and "miles older" than +Jerry and George, mere babies, for whom the magic word adventure held no +meaning at all. + +Luckily, there was Tara, from the black-and-white house: Tara, who +shared his lessons and, in spite of the drawback of being a girl, had +long ago won her way into his private world of knight-errantry and +romance. Tara was eight years and five weeks old; quite a reasonable age +in the eyes of Roy, whose full name was Nevil Le Roy Sinclair, and who +would be nine in June. With the exception of grown-ups, who didn't +count, there was no one older than nine in his immediate neighbourhood. +Tara came nearest: but _she_ wouldn't be nine till next year; and by +that time, he would be ten. The point was, she couldn't catch him up if +she tried ever so. + +It was Tara's mother, Lady Despard, who had the happy idea of sharing +lessons, that would otherwise be rather a lonely affair for both. But it +was Roy's mother who had the still happier idea of teaching them +herself. Tara's mother joined in now and then; but Roy's mother--who +loved it beyond everything--secured the lion's share. And Roy was old +enough by now to be proudly aware of his own good fortune. Most other +children of his acquaintance were afflicted with tiresome governesses, +who wore ugly jackets and hats, who said "Don't drink with your mouth +full," and "Don't argue the point!"--Roy's favourite sin--and always +told you to "Look in the dictionary" when you found a scrumptious new +word and wanted to hear all about it. The dictionary, indeed! Roy +privately regarded it as one of the many mean evasions to which +grown-ups were addicted. + +His ripe experience on the subject was gleaned partly from neighbouring +families, partly from infrequent visits to "Aunt Jane"--whom he hated +with a deep unreasoned hate--and "Uncle George," who had a kind, stupid +face, but anyhow tried to be funny and made futile bids for favour with +pen-knives and half-crowns. Possibly it was these uncongenial visits +that quickened in him very early the consciousness that his own +beautiful home was, in some special way, different from other boys' +homes, and his mother--in a still more special way--different from other +boys' mothers.... + +And that proud conviction was no mere myth born of his young adoration. +In all the County, perhaps in all the Kingdom, there could be found no +mother in the least like Lilamani Sinclair, descendant of Rajput chiefs +and wife of an English Baronet, who, in the face of formidable barriers, +had dared to accept all risks and follow the promptings of his heart. +One of these days there would dawn on Roy the knowledge that he was the +child of a unique romance, of a mutual love and courage that had run the +gauntlet of prejudices and antagonisms, of fightings without and fears +within; yet, in the end, had triumphed as they triumph who will not +admit defeat. All this initial blending of ecstasy and pain, of +spiritual striving and mastery, had gone to the making of Roy, who in +the fulness of time would realise--perhaps with pride, perhaps with +secret trouble and misgiving--the high and complex heritage that was +his. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile he only knew that he was fearfully happy, especially in summer +time; that his father--who had smiling eyes and loved messing with +paints like a boy--was kinder than anyone else's, so long as you didn't +tell bad fibs or meddle with his brushes; that his idolised mother, in +her soft coloured silks and saris, her bangles and silver shoes, was the +"very most beautiful" being in the whole world. And Roy's response to +the appeal of beauty was abnormally quick and keen. It could hardly be +otherwise with the son of these two. He loved, with a fervour beyond his +years, the clear pale oval of his mother's face; the coils of her dark +hair, seen always through a film of softest muslin--moon-yellow or +apple-blossom pink, or deep dark blue like the sky out of his window at +night spangled with stars. He loved the glimmer of her jewels, the sheen +and feel of her wonderful Indian silks, that seemed to smell like the +big sandalwood box in the drawing-room. And beyond everything he loved +her smile and the touch of her hand, and her voice that could charm away +all nightmare terrors, all questionings and rebellions, of his excitable +brain. + +Yet, in outward bearing, he was not a sentimental boy. The Sinclairs did +not run to sentiment; and the blood of two virile races--English and +Rajput--was mingled in his veins. Already his budding masculinity bade +him keep the feelings of 'that other Roy' locked in the most secret +corner of his heart. Only his mother, and sometimes Tara, caught a +glimpse of him now and then. Lady Sinclair, herself, never guessed that, +in the vivid imaginations of both children, she herself was the +ever-varying incarnation of the fairy princesses and Rajputni heroines +of her own tales. Their appetite for these was insatiable; and her store +of them seemed never ending: folk tales of East and West; true tales of +Crusaders, of Arthur and his knights; of Rajput Kings and Queens, in the +far-off days when Rajasthan--a word like a trumpet call--was holding her +desert cities against hordes of invaders, and heroes scorned to die in +their beds. Much of it all was frankly beyond them; but the colour and +the movement, the atmosphere of heroism and high endeavour quickened +imagination and fellow-feeling, and left an impress on both children +that would not pass with the years. + +To their great good fortune, these tales and talks were a part of her +simple, individual plan of education. An even greater good fortune--in +their eyes--was her instinctive response to the seasons. She shared to +the full their clear conviction that schoolroom lessons and a radiant +day of summer were a glaring misfit; and she trimmed her sails, or +rather her time-table, accordingly. + +"Sentimental folly and thoroughly demoralising," was the verdict of Aunt +Jane, overheard by Roy, who was not supposed to understand. "They will +grow up without an inch of moral backbone. And you can't say I didn't +warn you. Lady Despard's a crank, of course; but Nevil is a fool to +allow it. Goodness knows _he_ was bad enough, though he was reared on +the good old lines. And you are not giving his son a chance. The sooner +the boy's packed off to school the better. I shall tell him so." + +And his mother had answered with her dignified unruffled sweetness--that +made her so beautifully different from ordinary people, who got red and +excited and made foolish faces: "He will not agree. He shares my +believing that children are in love with life. It is their first love. +Pity to crush it too soon; putting their minds in tight boxes with no +chink for Nature to creep in. If they first find knowledge by their +young life-love, afterwards, they will perhaps give up their life-love +to gain it." + +Roy could not follow all that; but the music of the words, matched with +the music of his mother's voice, convinced him that her victory over +horrid interfering Aunt Jane was complete. And it was comforting to know +that his father agreed about not putting their minds in tight boxes. For +Aunt Jane's drastic prescription alarmed him. Of course school would +have to come some day; but his was not the temperament that hankers for +it at an early age. As to a moral backbone--whatever sort of an +affliction that might be--if it meant growing up ugly and +'disagreeable,' like Aunt Jane or the Aunt Jane cousins, he fervently +hoped he would never have one--or Tara either.... + +But on this particular morning he feared no manner of bogey--not even +school or a moral backbone--because the bluebells were alight under his +beeches--hundreds and hundreds of them--and 'really truly' summer had +come back at last! + +Roy knew it the moment he sprang out of bed and stood barefoot on the +warm patch of carpet near the window, stretching his slim shapely body, +instinctively responsive to the sun's caress. No less instinctive was +his profound conviction that nothing possibly could go wrong on a day +like this. + +In the first place it meant lessons under their favourite tree. In the +second, it was history and poetry day; and Roy's delight in both made +them hardly seem lessons at all. He thought it very clever of his +mother, having them together. The depth of her wisdom he did not yet +discern. She allowed them within reason, to choose their own poems: and +Roy, exploring her bookcase, had lighted on Shelley's 'Cloud'--the +musical flow of words, the more entrancing because only half understood. +He had straightway learnt the first three verses for a surprise. He +crooned them now, his head flung back a little, his gaze intent on a +gossamer film that floated just above the pine tops--'still as a +brooding dove.'... + +Standing there, in full sunlight--the modelling of his young limbs +veiled, yet not hidden, by his silk night-suit; the carriage of head and +shoulders betraying innate pride of race--he looked, on every count, no +unworthy heir to the House of Sinclair and its simple honourable +traditions: one that might conceivably live to challenge family +prejudices and qualms. The thick dark hair, ruffled from sleep, was his +mother's; and hers the semi-opaque ivory tint of his skin. The clean-cut +forehead and nose, the blue-grey eyes, with the lurking smile in them, +were Nevil Sinclair's own. In him, at least, it would seem that love was +justified of her children. + +But of family features, as of family qualms, he was, as yet, radiantly +unaware. Snatching his towel, he scampered barefoot down the passage to +the nursery bathroom, where the tap was already running. + +Fifteen minutes later, dressed, but hatless and still barefoot, he was +racing over the vast dew-drenched lawn, leaving a trail of grey-green +smudges on its silvered surface, chanting the opening lines of Shelley's +'Cloud' to breakfast-hunting birds. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + "Those first affections, + Those shadowy recollections,... + Are yet the fountain-light of all our day; + Are yet the master-light of all our seeing." + --WORDSWORTH. + + +The blue rug under Roy's beech-tree was splashed with freckles of +sunshine; freckles that were never still, because a fussy little wind +kept swaying the top-most branches, where the youngest beech-leaves +flickered, like golden-green butterflies bewitched by some malicious +fairy, so that they could never fly into the sky till summer was over, +and all the leaf butterflies in the world would be free to scamper with +the wind. + +That was Roy's foolish fancy as he lay full length, to the obvious +detriment of his moral backbone--chin cupped in the hollow of his hands. +Close beside him lay Prince, his golden retriever; so close that he +could feel the dog's warm body through his thin shirt. At the foot of +the tree, in a nest of pale cushions, sat his mother, in her +apple-blossom sari and a silk dress like the lining of a shell. No +jewels in the morning, except the star that fastened her sari on one +shoulder and a slender gold bangle--never removed--the wedding-ring of +her own land. The boy, mutely adoring, could, in some dim way, feel the +harmony of those pale tones with the olive skin, faintly aglow, and the +delicate arch of her eyebrows poised like outspread wings above the +brown, limpid depths of her eyes. He could not tell that she was still +little more than a girl; barely eight-and-twenty. For him she was +ageless:--protector and playfellow, essence of all that was most real, +yet most magical, in the home that was his world. Unknown to him, the +Eastern mother in her was evoking, already, the Eastern spirit of +worship in her son. + +Very close to her nestled Tara, a vivid, eager slip of a girl, with +wild-rose petals in her cheeks and blue hyacinths in her eyes and +sunbeams tangled in her hair, that rippled to her waist in a mass almost +too abundant for the small head and elfin face it framed. In +temperament, she suggested a flame rather than a flower, this singularly +vital child. She loved and she hated, she played and she quarrelled with +an intensity, a singleness of aim, surprising and a little disquieting +in a creature not yet nine. She was the despair of nurses and had never +crossed swords with a governess, which was a merciful escape--for the +governess. Juvenile fiction and fairy tales she frankly scorned. Legends +of Asgard and Arthur, the virile tales of Rajputana and her warrior +chiefs, she drank in as the earth drinks dew. Roy had a secret weakness +for a happy ending--in his own phrase, "a beautiful marry." Tara's rebel +spirit rose to tragedy as a flame leaps to the stars; and there was no +lack of high tragedy in the records of Chitor--Queen of cities--thrice +sacked by Moslem invaders; deserted at last, and left in ruins--a sacred +relic of great days gone by. + +This morning Rajputana held the field. Lilamani, with a thrill in her +low voice, was half reading, half telling the adventures of Prithvi Raj +(King of the Earth) and his Amazon Princess, Tara--the Star of Bednore: +verily a star among women for beauty, wisdom, and courage. Many princes +were rivals for her hand; but none would she call "lord" save the man +who restored to her father the Kingdom snatched from him by an Afghan +marauder. "On the faith of a Rajput, _I_ will restore it," said Prithvi +Raj. So, in the faith of a Rajputni, she married him:--and together, by +a daring device, they fulfilled her vow. + +Here, indeed, was Roy's 'beautiful marry,' fit prelude for the tale of +that heroic pair. For in life--Lilamani told them--marriage is the +beginning, not the end. That is only for fairy tales. + +And close against her shoulder, listening entranced, sat the child Tara, +with her wild-flower face and the flickering star in her heart--a +creature born out of time into an unromantic world; hands clasped round +her upraised knees, her wide eyes gazing past the bluebells and the +beech-leaves at some fanciful inner vision of it all; lost in it, as Roy +was lost in contemplation of his Mother's face.... + +And this unorthodox fashion of imbibing knowledge in the very lap of the +Earth Mother, was Lilamani Sinclair's impracticable idea of 'giving +lessons'! Shades of Aunt Jane! Of governess and copy-books and rulers! + +Happily for all three, Lady Roscoe never desecrated their paradise in +the flesh. She was aware that her very regrettable sister-in-law had +'queer notions' and had flatly refused to engage a governess of high +qualifications chosen by herself; but the half was not told her. It +never is told to those who condemn on principle what they cannot +understand. At their coming all the little private gateways into the +delectable Garden of Intimacy shut with a gentle, decisive click. So it +was with Jane Roscoe, as worthy and unlikeable a woman as ever organised +a household to perfection and alienated every member of her family. + +The trouble was that she could not rest satisfied with this achievement. +She was afflicted with a vehement desire--she called it a sense of +duty--to organise the homes of her less capable relations. If they +resented, they were written down ungrateful. And Nevil's ingratitude had +become a byword. For Nevil Sinclair was that unaccountable, +uncomfortable thing--an artist; which is to say he was no true Sinclair, +but the son of his mother whose name he bore. No one, not even Jane, had +succeeded in organising him--nor ever would. + +So Lilamani carried on, unmolested, her miniature attempt at the forest +school of an earlier day. Her simple programme included a good deal more +than tales of heroism and adventure. This morning there had been +rhythmical exercises, a lively interlude of 'sums without slates' and +their poems--a great moment for Roy. Only by a superhuman effort he had +kept his treasure locked inside him for two whole days. And his mother's +surprise was genuine: not the acted surprise of grown-ups, that was so +patent and so irritating and made them look so silly. The smile in her +eyes as she listened had sent a warm tingly feeling all through him, as +if the spring sunshine itself ran in his veins. Naturally he could not +express it so; but he felt it so. And now, as he lay looking and +listening, he felt it still. The wonder of her face and her voice, and +all the many wonders that made her so beautiful, had hitherto been as +much a part of him as the air he breathed. But this morning, in some dim +way, things were different--and he could not tell why.... + +His own puzzled thoughts and her face and her voice became entangled +with the chivalrous story of Prithvi Raj holding court in his hill +fortress with Tara--fit wife for a hero, since she could ride and fling +a lance and bend a bow with the best of them. When Roy caught him up, he +was in the midst of a great battle with his uncle, who had broken out in +rebellion against the old Rana of Chitor. + +"All day long they were fighting, and all night long they were lying +awake beside great watch-fires, waiting till there came dawn to fight +again...." + +His mother was telling, not reading now. He knew it at once from the +change in her tone. + +"And when evening came, what did Prithvi Raj? He was carelessly +strolling over to the enemy's camp, carelessly walking into his Uncle's +tent to ask if he is well, in spite of many wounds. And his uncle, full +of surprise, made answer: 'Quite well, my child, since I have the +pleasure to see you.' And when he heard that Prithvi had come even +before eating any dinner, he gave orders for food: and they two, who +were all day seeking each other's life, sat there together eating from +one plate. + +"'In the morning we will end our battle, Uncle,' said Prithvi Raj, when +time came to go. + +"'Very well, child, come early,' said Surajmul. + +"So Prithvi Raj came early and put his Uncle's whole army to flight. But +that was not enough. He must be driven from the kingdom. So when Prithvi +heard that broken army was hiding in the depths of a mighty forest, +there he went with his bravest horsemen, and suddenly, on a dark night, +sprang into their midst. Then there was great shouting and fighting; and +soon they came together, uncle and nephew, striking at each other, yet +never hating, though they must make battle because of Chitor and the +Kingdom of Mewar. + +"To none would Suraj yield, but only to Prithvi, bravest of the brave. +So suddenly in a loud voice he cried--'Stay the fight, nephew. If I am +killed, no great matter. But if _you_ are killed, what will become of +Chitor? I would bear shame for ever.' + +"By those generous words he made submission greater than victory. Uncle +and nephew embraced, heart to heart, and all those who had been fighting +each other sat down together in peace, because Surajmul, true Rajput, +could not bring harm, even in anger, upon the sacred city of Chitor." + +She paused--her eyes on Roy, who had lost his own puzzling sensations in +the clash of the fight and its chivalrous climax. + +"Oh, I love it," he said. "Is that all?" + +"No, there is more." + +"Is it sad?" + +She shook her head at him--smiling. + +"Yes, Roy. It is sad." + +He wrinkled his forehead. + +"Oh dear! I like it to end the nice way." + +"But I am not making tales, Sonling. I am telling history." + +Tara's head nudged her shoulder. "_Go_ on--please," she murmured, +resenting interruptions. + +So Lilamani--still looking at Roy--told how Prithvi Raj went on his last +quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief, who had married his sister and +was ill-treating her. + +"In answer to her cry he went; and climbing her palace walls in the +night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving prince. But when +penance was over, his noble nature was ready, like before, to embrace +and be friends. Only that mean one, not able to kill him in battle, put +poison in the sweets he gave at parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking +no harm. So when he came on the hill near his palace the evil work was +done. Helpless he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might +see her before death. But even that could not be. And she, loyal wife, +had only one thought in her heart. 'Can the blossom live when the tree +is cut down?' Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping warriors build +up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her own hand. Then, before +them all, she climbed on that couch of fire and went through the leaping +scorching flames to meet her lord----" + +The low clear voice fell silent--and the silence stayed. The vague +thrill of a tragedy they could hardly grasp laid a spell upon the +children. It made Roy feel as he did in Church, when the deepest notes +of the organ quivered through him; and it brought a lump in his throat, +which must be manfully swallowed down on account of being a boy.... + +And suddenly the spell was broken by the voice of Roger the footman, who +had approached noiselessly along the mossy track. + +"If you please, m'lady, Sir Nevil sent word as Lord and Lady Roscoe 'ave +arrived unexpected; and if convenient, can you come in?" + +They all started visibly and their dream-world of desert and rose-red +mountains and battle-fields and leaping flames shivered like a +soap-bubble at the touch of a careless hand. + +Lilamani rose, gentle and dignified. "Thank you, Roger. Tell Sir Nevil I +am coming." + +Roy suppressed a groan. The mere mention of Aunt Jane made one feel +vaguely guilty. To his nimble fancy it was almost as if her very person +had invaded their sanctuary, in her neat hard coat and skirt and her +neat hard summer hat with its one fierce wing, that, disdaining the +tenderness of curves, seemed to stab the air, as her eyes so often +seemed to stab Roy's hyper-sensitive brain. + +"Oh dear!" he sighed. "Will they stop for lunch?" + +"I expect so." + +He wrinkled his nose in a wicked grimace. + +"Bad boy!" said Lilamani's lips, but her eyes said other things. He +knew, and she knew that he knew how, in her heart, she shared his innate +antagonism. Was it not of her own bestowing--a heritage of certain +memories--ineffaceable, unforgiveable--during her early days of +marriage? But in spite of that mutual knowledge, Roy was never allowed +to speak disrespectfully of his formidable aunt. + +"You can stay out and play till half-past twelve, not one minute later," +she said--and left them to their own delectable devices. + +Roy had been promoted to a silver watch on his eighth birthday, so he +could be relied on; and he still enjoyed a private sense of importance +when the fact was recognised. + +Left alone they had only to pick up the threads of their game; a sort of +interminable serial story, in which they lived and moved and had their +being. But first Tara--in her own person--had a piece of news to impart. +Hunching up her knees, she tilted back her head till it touched the +satin-grey hole of the tree and all her hair lay shimmering against it +like a stream of pale sunshine. + +"What do you think?" she nodded at Roy with her elfin smile. "We've got +a Boy-on-a-visit and his mother, from India. They came last night. He's +rather a large boy." + +"Is he nine?" Roy asked, standing up very straight and slim, a defensive +gleam in his eye. + +"He's ten and a half. And he looks bigger'n that. He goes to school. And +he's been quite a lot in India." + +"Not my India." + +"I don't know. He called it 'Mballa. That letter I brought from Mummy +was asking if she could bring them for tea." + +"Well, I don't want him for tea. I don't like your Boy-on-a-visit. I'll +tell Mummy." + +"Oh, Roy--you mustn't." She made reproachful eyes at him. "Coz then _I_ +couldn't come. And he's quite nice--only rather lumpy. And you can't not +like someb'dy you've never seen." + +"_I_ can, I often do." The possibility had only just occurred to him. He +saw it as a distinction and made the most of it. "Course if you're going +to make a fuss----" + +Tara's eyes opened wider still. "Oh, Roy, you _are_----! 'Tisn't me +that's making fusses." + +Though Roy knew nothing as yet about woman and the last word, he +instinctively took refuge in the masculine dignity that spurns descent +to the dusty arena when it feels defeat in the air. + +"Girls don't never fuss--do they?" he queried suavely. "Let's get on +with the Game and not bother about your Boy-of-ten." + +"And a half," Tara insisted tactlessly, with her sweetest smile. But +when Roy chose to be impassive pin-pricks were thrown away on him. + +"Where'd we stop?" he mused, ignoring her remark. "Oh--I know. The +Knight was going forth to quest the Elephant with golden tusks for the +High Tower Princess who wanted them in her crown. Why _do_ Princesses +always want what the knights can't find?" + +Tara's feminine intuition leaped at a solution. + +"I 'spec it's just to show off they are Princesses and to keep the +Knights from bothering round.--So away he went and the Princess climbed +up to her highest tower and waved her lily hand----" + +In the same breath she, Tara, sprang to her feet and swung herself +astride a downward sweeping branch just above Roy's head. There she +perched like a slim blue flower, dangling her tan-stockinged legs and +shaking her hair at him like golden rain. She was in one of her impish +moods; reaction, perhaps,--though she knew it not--from the high tragedy +of that other Tara, her namesake, and the great greatest-possible +grandmother of her adored 'Aunt Lila.' Suddenly a fresh impulse seized +her. Clutching her bough, she leaned down and lightly ruffled his hair. + +He started and looked reproachful. "Don't rumple me. I'm going." + +"You needn't, if you don't want to," she cooed caressingly. "_I_'m going +to the tipmost top to see out over the world. And the Princess doesn't +care a bean about the Golden Tusks--truly." + +"She's jolly pleased with the knight that finds them," said Roy with a +deeper wisdom than he knew. "And you can't be stopped off quests that +way. Come on, Prince." + +At a bend in the mossy path, he looked back and she waved her lily hand. + + * * * * * + +To be alone in the deep of the wood in bluebell time was, for Roy, a +sensation by itself. In a moment, you stepped through some unseen door +straight into fairy-land--or was it a looking-glass world? For here the +sky lay all around your feet in a shimmer of bluebells: and high +overhead were domes of cool green light, where the sun came flickering +and filtering through millions of leaves. Always, as far as he could +remember, the magical feeling had been there. But this morning it came +over him in a queer way. This morning--though he could not quite make it +out--there was the Roy that felt and the Roy that knew he felt, just as +there had suddenly been when he was watching his mother's face. And this +magical world was his kingdom. In some far-off time, it would all be his +very own. That uplifting thought eclipsed every other.... + +Lost in one of his dreaming moods, he wandered on and on, with Prince at +his heels. He forgot all about Tara and his knighthood and his quest; +till suddenly--where the trees fell apart--his eye was arrested by twin +shafts of sunlight that struck downward through the green gloom. + +He caught his breath and stood still. "I've _found_ them! The Golden +Tusks!" he murmured ecstatically. + +The pity was he couldn't carry them back with him as trophies. He could +only watch them fascinated, wondering how you could explain what you +didn't understand yourself. All he knew was that they made him feel +'dazzled inside,' and he wanted to watch them more. + +It was beautiful out in the open with the sunshine pouring down and a +big lazy white cloud tangled in tree-tops. So he flung himself on the +moss, hands under his head, and lay there, Prince beside him, looking +up, up into the far blue, listening to the swish and rustle of the wind +talking secrets to the leaves, and all the tiny mysterious noises that +make up the silence of a wood in summer. + +And again he forgot about Tara and the Game and the silver watch that +made him reliable. He simply lay there in a trance-like stillness, that +was not of the West, absorbing it all, with his eyes and his dazzled +brain and with every sentient nerve in his body. And again--as when his +mother smiled her praise--the Spring sunshine itself seemed to flow +through his veins.... + + * * * * * + +Suddenly he came alive and sat upright. Something was happening. The +Golden Tusks had disappeared, and the domes of cool green light and the +far blue sky and the lazy white cloud. Under the beeches it was almost +twilight--a creepy twilight, as if a giant had blown out the sun. Was it +really evening? Had he been asleep? Only his watch could answer that, +and never had he loved it more dearly. No--it was daytime. Twenty past +twelve--and he would be late---- + +A long rumbling growl, that seemed to shudder through the wood, so +startled him that it set little hammers beating all over his body. Then +the wind grew angrier--not whispering secrets now, but tearing at the +tree-tops and lashing the branches this way and that. And every minute +the wood grew darker, and the sky overhead was darkest of all--the +colour of spilled ink. And there was Tara--his forgotten +Princess--waiting for him in her high tower; or perhaps she had given up +waiting and gone home. + +"Come on, Prince," he said, "we must run!" + +The sound of his own voice was vaguely comforting: but the moment he +began to run, he felt as if some one--or Something--was running after +him. He knew there was nothing. He knew it was babyish. But what could +you do if your legs were in a fearful hurry of their own accord? +Besides, Tara was waiting. Somehow Tara seemed the point of safety. He +didn't believe she was ever afraid---- + +All in a moment the eerie darkness quivered and broke into startling +light. Twigs and leaves and bluebell spears and tiny patterns of moss +seemed to leap at him and vanish as he ran: and two minutes after, high +above the agitated tree-tops, the thunder spoke. No mere growl now; but +crash on crash that seemed to be tearing the sky in two and set the +little hammers inside him beating faster than ever. + +He had often watched storms from a window: but to be out in the very +middle of one all alone was an adventure of the first magnitude. The +grandeur and terror of it clutched at his heart and thrilled along his +nerves as the thunder went rumbling and grumbling off to the other end +of the world, leaving the wood so quiet and still that the little +hammers inside seemed almost as loud as the plop-plop of the first big +raindrops on the leaves. But, in spite of secret tremors, he wanted +tremendously to hear the thunder speak again. The childish feeling of +pursuit was gone. His legs that had been in such a fearful hurry, came +to a sudden standstill; and he discovered, to his immense surprise, that +he was back again---- + +There lay the rug and the cushions under the downward sweeping branches +with their cascades of bright new leaves. No sign of Tara--and the heavy +drops came faster, though they hardly amounted to a shower. + +Flinging down bow and arrows, he ran under the tree and peered up into a +maze of silver grey and young green. Still no sign. + +"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?" + +"'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph. "I'm at the +tipmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous. Come up--quick!" + +Craning his neck he could just see one leg and the edge of her frock. +Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to disobey his +mother--not because it was naughty, but it was her. + +"I can't--now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining. You _must_ +come down." + +"I will--if you come up." + +"I tell you, I can't!" + +"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away. I can see miles +and miles--to Farthest End." + +Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argument with one tan +shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock, and he wanted badly to +tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he go on alone, or should he climb +up and fetch her----? + +The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a rustle and +a shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down faster than she cared +about. + +Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!" + +Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that had caught +in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously--his High Tower +Princess--her hair floating like seaweed, her hands clutching at the +nearest branches that were too pliable for support. If her skirt should +tear, or the bough should break---- + +"_Keep_ stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and like a squirrel he sped +up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to him as the ground +he walked on. + +But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust himself on +the jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight. It looked +rather a dead one, and its sharp end was sticking through a hole in +Tara's frock. He set foot on it cautiously and proffered a hand. + +"Now--catch hold!" he said. + +Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him with both +hands. The half-dead bough, resenting these gymnastics, cracked +ominously. There was a gasp, a scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly, dragging +her nearer for a firmer foothold. + +And suddenly down below Prince began to bark--a deep, booming note of +welcome. + +"Hullo, Roy!" It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering Tara up +there? Come out of it!" + +Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down--or to +disobey: and they proceeded to come out of it, with rather more haste +than dignity. + +Roy, swinging from a high branch for his final jump--a bit of pure +bravado because he felt nervous inside--discovered, with mingled terror +and joy, that his vagrant foot had narrowly shaved Aunt Jane's neat hard +summer hat: Aunt Jane--of all people--at such a moment, when you +couldn't properly explain. He half wished he _had_ kicked the fierce +little feather and broken its back---- + +He was on the ground now, shaking hands with her, his sensitive +clean-cut face a mask of mere politeness: and Tara was standing by +him--a jagged hole in her blue frock, a scratch across her cheek, and +her hair ribbon gone--looking suspiciously as if he had been trying to +murder her instead of doing her a knightly service. + +She couldn't help it, of course. But still--it was a distinct score for +Aunt Jane, who, as usual, went straight to the point. + +"You nearly kicked my head just now. A little gentleman would +apologise." + +He did apologise--not with the best grace. + +"My turn next," his father struck in. "What the dickens were you up +to--tearing slices out of my finest tree!" His twinkly eyes were almost +grave and his voice was almost stern. ("Just because of Aunt Jane!" +thought Roy.) + +Aloud he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. It was only ... Tara got in a +muddle. I had to help her." + +The twinkle came back to his father's eyes. + +"The woman tempted me!" was all he said; and Roy, hopelessly mystified, +wondered how he could possibly know. It was very clever of him. But Aunt +Jane seemed shocked. + +"Nevil, be quiet!" she commanded in a crisp undertone; and Roy, simply +hating her, pulled out his watch. + +"We've got to hurry, Daddy. Mother said 'not later than half-past.' And +it is later." + +"Scoot, then. She'll be anxious because of the storm." + +But though Roy, grasping Tara's hand, faithfully hurried ahead because +of mother, he managed to keep just within earshot; and he listened +shamelessly, because of Aunt Jane. You couldn't trust her. She didn't +play fair. She would bite you behind your back. That's the kind of woman +she was. + +And this is what he heard. + +"Nevil, it's perfectly disgraceful. Letting them run wild like that; +damaging the trees and scaring the birds." + +She meant the pheasants of course. No other winged beings were sacred in +her eyes. + +"Sorry, old girl. But they appear to survive it." (The cool good-humour +of his father's tone was balm to Roy's heart.) "And frankly, with us, if +it's a case of the children or the birds, the children win, hands down." + +Aunt Jane snorted. You could call it nothing else. It was a sound +peculiarly her own, and it implied unutterable things. Roy would have +gloried had he known what a score for his father was that delicately +implied identity with his wife. + +But the snort was no admission of defeat. + +"In _my_ opinion--if it counts for anything," she persisted, "this +harum-scarum state of things is quite as bad for the children as for the +birds. I suppose you _have_ a glimmering concern for the boy's future, +as heir to the old place?" + +Nevil Sinclair chuckled. + +"By Jove! That's quite a bright idea. Really, Jane, you've a positive +flair for the obvious." + +(Roy hugely wanted to know what a "flair for the obvious" might be. His +eager brain pounced on new words as a dog pounces on a bone.) + +"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted unabashed. +"The obvious, in this case--though you can't or won't see it--is that +the boy is thoroughly spoilt, and in September he ought to go to school. +You couldn't do better than Coombe Friars." + +His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't catch +Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no more. What he had +heard was bad enough. + +"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth--which +looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the spoiling. + +"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame. And they +hurried on in earnest. + +"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest. "I _found_ the +Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after." + +"Oh, Roy, you are a wonder!" She gave his hand a convulsive squeeze and +they broke into a run. + +The "bits of blue" had spread half over the sky. The thunder still +grumbled to itself at intervals and a sharp little shower whipped out of +a passing cloud. Then the sun flashed through it and the shadows crept +round the great twin beeches on the lawn--and the day was as lovely as +ever again. + +And yet--for Roy, it was not the same loveliness. Aunt Jane's repeated +threat of school brooded over his sensitive spirit, like the +thundercloud in the wood that was the colour of spilled ink. And the +Boy-of-ten--a potential enemy--was coming to tea.... + +Yet this morning he had felt so beautifully sure that nothing could go +wrong on a day like this! It was his first lesson, and not by any means +his last, that Fate--unmoved by 'light of smiles or tears'--is no +respecter of profound convictions or of beautiful days. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Man am I grown; a man's work I must do." + --TENNYSON. + + +Tara was right. The Boy-of-ten (Roy persistently ignored the half) was +rather a large boy: also rather lumpy. He had little eyes and freckles +and what Christine called a "turnip nose." He wore a very new school +blazer and real cricket trousers, with a flannel shirt and school tie +that gave Roy's tussore shirt and soft brown bow almost a girlish air. +Something in his manner and the way he aired his school slang, made +Roy--who never shone with strangers--feel "miles younger," which did not +help to put him at ease. + +His name was Joe Bradley. He had been in India till he was nearly eight; +and he talked about India, as he talked about school, in a rather +important voice, as befitted the only person present who knew anything +of either. + +Roy was quite convinced he knew nothing at all about Rajputana or Chitor +or Prithvi Raj or the sacred peacocks of Jaipur. But somehow he could +not make himself talk about these things simply for "show off," because +a strange boy, with bad manners, was putting on airs. + +Besides, he never much wanted to talk when he was eating, though he +could not have explained why. So he devoted his attention chiefly to a +plate of chocolate cakes, leaving the Boy-of-ten conversationally in +command of the field. + +He was full of a recent cricket match, and his talk bristled with such +unknown phrases as "square leg," "cover point" and "caught out." But for +some reason--pure perversity perhaps--they stirred in Roy no flicker of +curiosity, like his father's "flair for the obvious." He didn't know +what they meant--and he didn't care, which was not the least like Roy. +Tara, who owned big brothers, seemed to know all about it, or looked as +if she did; and to show you didn't understand what a girl understood, +would be the last indignity. + +When the cricket show-off was finished, Joe talked India and ragged +Tara, in a big-brotherly way, ignored Christine, as if five and a half +simply didn't count. That roused Roy; and by way of tacit rebuke, he +bestowed such marked attention on his small sister, that Christine (who +adored him, and was feeling miserably shy) sparkled like a dewdrop when +the sun flashes out. + +She was a tiny creature, exquisitely proportioned; fair, like her +father, yet in essence a replica of her mother, with the same wing-like +brows and dark limpid eyes. Dimly jealous of Tara, she was the only one +of the three who relished the presence of the intruder and wished +strange boys oftener came to tea. + +Millicent, the nursery-maid, presided. She was tall and smiling and +obviously a lady. She watched and listened and said little during the +meal. + +Once, in the course of it, Lilamani came in and hovered round them, +filling Roy's tea-cup, spreading Christine's honey--extra thick. Her +Eastern birthright of service, her joy in waiting on those she loved, +had survived ten years of English marriage, and would survive ten more. +It was as much an essential part of her as the rhythm of her pulses and +the blood in her veins. + +She was no longer the apple-blossom vision of the morning. She wore her +mother-o'-pearl sari with its narrow gold border. Her dress, that was +the colour of a dove's wing, shimmered changefully as she moved, and her +aquamarine pendant gleamed like drops of sea water on its silver chain. + +Roy loved her in the mother-o'-pearl mood best of all; and he saw, with +a throb of pride, how the important Boy-from-India seemed too absorbed +in watching her even to show off. She did not stay many minutes and she +said very little. She was still, by preference, quiet during a meal; and +it gave her a secret thrill of pleasure to see the habit of her own race +reappearing as an instinct in Roy. So, with merely a word or two, she +just smiled at them and gave them things and patted their heads. And +when she was gone, Roy felt better. The scales had swung even again. +What was a school blazer and twenty runs at cricket, compared with the +glory of having a mother like that? + +But if tea was not much fun, after tea was worse. + +They were told to run and play in the garden; and obediently they ran +out, dog and all. But what _could_ you play at with a superior being who +had made twenty runs not out, in a House Match--whatever that might be? +They showed him their ring-doves and their rabbits; but he didn't even +pretend to be interested, though Tara did her best, because it was she +who had brought this infliction on Roy. + +"How about the summer-house?" she suggested, hopefully. For the +summer-house locker contained an assortment of old tennis-bats, mallets +and balls, that might prove more stimulating than rabbits and doves. Roy +offered no objection; so they straggled across a corner of the lawn to a +narrower strip behind the tall yew hedge. + +The grown-ups were gathered under the twin beeches; and away at the far +end of the lawn Roy's mother and Tara's mother were strolling up and +down in the sun. + +Again Roy noticed how Joe Bradley stared: and as they rounded the corner +of the hedge he remarked suddenly "I say! There's that swagger ayah of +yours walking with Lady Despard. She's jolly smart, for an ayah. Did you +bring her from India? You never said you'd been there." + +Roy started and went hot all over. "Well, I _have_--just on a visit. And +she's _not_ an ayah. She's my Mummy!" + +Joe Bradley opened his mouth as well as his eyes, which made him look +plainer than ever. + +"Golly! what a tale! White people don't have ayahs for Mothers--not in +my India. I s'pose your Pater married her out there?" + +"He didn't. And I tell you she's _not_ an ayah." + +Roy's low voice quivered with anger. It was as if ten thousand little +flames had come alight inside him. But you had to try and be polite to +visitors; so he added with a virtuous effort: "She's a really and truly +Princess--so there!" + +But that unspeakable boy, instead of being impressed, laughed in the +rudest way. + +"Don't excite, you silly kid. I'm not as green as you are. Besides--who +cares----?" + +It flashed on Roy, through the blur of his bewildered rage, that perhaps +the Boy-from-India was jealous. He tried to speak. Something clutched at +his throat; but instinct told him he had a pair of hands.... + +To the utter amazement of Tara, and of the enemy, he silently sprang at +the bigger boy; grabbed him unscientifically by the knot of his superior +neck-tie and hit out, with more fury than precision, at cheeks and eyes +and nose---- + +For a few exciting seconds he had it all his own way. Then the +enemy--recovered from the first shock of surprise--spluttered wrathfully +and hit out in return. He had weight in his favour. He tried to bend Roy +backwards; and failing began to kick viciously wherever he could get at +him. It hurt rather badly and made Roy angrier than ever. In a white +heat of rage, he shook and pummelled, regardless of choking sounds and +fingers clutching at his hair.... + +Tara, half excited and half frightened, could only grab Prince's collar, +to keep him from rushing into the fray; and when Joe started kicking, it +was all she could do not to let him go. But she knew Athol--her dearest +brother--would say it wasn't fair play. So she tugged, and Prince +tugged; while the boys, fiercely silent, rocked to and fro; and +Christine sobbed piteously--"He's hurting Roy--he's _killing_ Roy!" + +Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out: "Don't be a baby, +Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine simply didn't +believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It mightn't be his, but +still---- + +It made even Tara feel rather sick; and when a young gardener appeared +on the scene she called out: "Oh, Mudford, do stop them--or something'll +happen." + +But Mudford--British to the bone--would do nothing of the kind. He saw +at once that Roy was getting the better of an opponent nearly twice his +weight; and setting down his barrow he shamelessly applauded his young +master. + +By now, the enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the brand-new +blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you little beast!" But Roy, +fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder. + +"'Pologise--'pologise! Say she isn't!" + +His forward jerk on the words took Joe unawares. The edge of the lawn +tripped him up and they rolled on the grass, Joe undermost in a close +embrace---- + +And at that critical moment there came strolling round the corner of the +hedge a group of grown-ups--Sir Nevil Sinclair with Mrs Bradley, Lady +Roscoe, Lady Despard and Roy's godfather, the distinguished novelist, +Cuthbert Broome. + +Mudford and his barrow departed; and Tara looked appealingly at her +mother. + +Roy--intent on the prostrate foe--suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder +and heard his father's voice say sharply: "Get up, Roy, and explain +yourself!" + +They got up, both of them--and stood there, looking shy and stupefied +and very much the worse for wear:--hair ruffled, faces discoloured, +shirts torn open. One of Roy's stockings was slipping down; and, in the +midst of his confused sensations, he heard the excited voice of Mrs +Bradley urgently demanding to know what her "poor dear boy" could have +done to be treated like that. + +No one seemed to answer her; and the poor dear boy was too busy +comforting his nose to take much interest in the proceedings. + +Lady Despard (you could tell at a glance she was Tara's mother) was on +her knees comforting Christine; and as Roy's senses cleared, he saw with +a throb of relief that his mother was not there. But Aunt Jane was--and +Uncle Cuthbert---- + +He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless silence, full +of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving him a few seconds to +recover himself. + +Then: "What do you mean by it, Roy?" he asked; and this time his voice +was really stern. It hurt more than the bruises. "Gentlemen don't hammer +their guests." This was an unexpected blow. And it wasn't fair. How +could he explain before "all those"? His cheeks were burning, his head +was aching; and tears, that must not be allowed to fall, were pricking +like needles under his lids. + +It was Tara who spoke--still clutching Prince, lest he overwhelm Roy and +upset his hardly maintained dignity. + +"Joe made him angry--he _did_," she thrust in with feminine +officiousness; and was checked by her mother's warning finger. + +Mrs Bradley--long and thin and beaky--bore down upon her battered son, +who edged away sullenly from proffered caresses. + +Sir Nevil, not daring to meet the humorous eye of Cuthbert Broome--still +contemplated the dishevelled dignity of his own small son--half puzzled, +half vexed. + +"You've done it now, Roy. Say you're sorry," he prompted; his voice a +shade less stern than he intended. + +Roy shook his head. + +"It's him to say--not me." + +"Did he begin it?" + +"No." + +"Of course he didn't," snapped the injured mother. "He's been properly +brought up," which was not exactly polite, but she was beside +herself--simply an irate mother-creature, all beak and ruffled feathers. +"You deserve to be whipped. You've hurt him badly." + +"Oh, dry up, mother," Joe murmured behind his sanguinary handkerchief, +edging still further away from maternal fussings and possible catechism. + +Nevil Sinclair saw clearly that his son would neither apologise nor +explain. At heart he suspected young Bradley, if only on account of his +insufferable mother, but the laws of hospitality must be upheld. + +"Go to your own room, Roy," he said with creditable severity, "and stay +there till I come." + +Roy gave him one look--mutely reproachful. Then--to every one's surprise +and Tara's delight--he walked straight up to the Enemy. + +"I _did_ hammer hardest. 'Pologise!" + +The older boy mumbled something suspiciously like the fatal word: a +suspicion confirmed by Roy's next remark: "I'm sorry your blazer's +spoilt. But you made me." + +And the elders, watching with amused approbation, had no inkling that +the words were spoken not by Roy Sinclair but by Prithvi Raj. + +The Enemy, twice humbled, answered nothing; and Roy,--his dignity +unimpaired by such trifles as a lump on his cheek, a dishevelled tie and +one stocking curled lovingly round his ankle--walked leisurely away, +with never a glance in the direction of the "grown-ups," who had no +concern whatever with this--the most important event of his life---- + +Tara--torn between wrath and admiration--watched him go. In her eyes he +was a hero, a victim of injustice and the density of grown-ups. + +She promptly released Prince, who bounded after his master. She wanted +to go too. It was all her fault, bringing that horrid boy to tea. She +did hope Roy would explain things properly. But boys were stupid +sometimes and she wanted to make sure. While her mother was tactfully +suggesting a homeward move, she slipped up to Sir Nevil and insinuated a +small hand into his. + +"Uncle Nevil, _do_ believe," she whispered urgently. "Truly it isn't +fair----" + +His quick frown warned her to say no more; but the pressure of his hand +comforted her a little. + +All the same she hated going home. She hated 'that putrid boy'--a +forbidden adjective; but what else _could_ you call him? She was glad he +would be gone the day after to-morrow. She was even more glad his nose +was bleeding and his eye bunged up and his important blazer all +bloodied. Girl though she was, there ran a fiercer strain in her than in +Roy. + +As they moved off, she had an inspiration. She was given that way. + +"Mummy darling," she said in her small clear voice, "mayn't I stay back +a little and play with Chris. She's _so_ unhappy. Alice could fetch +me--couldn't she? Please." + +The innocent request was underlined by an unmistakable glance through +her lashes at Joe. She wanted him to hear; and she didn't care if he +understood--him and his beaky mother! Clearly her own Mummy understood. +She was nibbling her lips, trying not to smile. + +"Very well, dear," she said. "I'll send Alice at half-past six. Run +along." + +Tara gave her hand a grateful little squeeze--and ran. + +She would have hated the "beaky mother" worse than ever could she have +heard her remark to Lady Despard, when they were alone. + +"Really, a most obstinate, ungoverned child. His mother, of course--a +very pretty creature--but what can you expect? Natives always ruin +boys." + +Lady Despard--Lilamani Sinclair's earliest champion and friend--could be +trusted to deal effectually with a remark of that quality. + +As for Tara--once "the creatures" were out of sight they were extinct. +All the embryo mother in her was centred on Roy. It was a shame sending +him to his room, like a naughty boy, when he was really a champion, a +King-Arthur's-Knight. But if only he properly explained, Uncle Nevil +would surely understand---- + +And suddenly there sprang a dilemma. How could Roy make himself repeat +to Uncle Nevil the rude remarks of that abominable boy? And if not--how +was he going to properly explain----? + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "What a great day came and passed; + Unknown then, but known at last." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +That very problem was puzzling Roy as he lay on his bed, with Prince's +head against his shoulder, aching a a good deal, exulting at thought of +his new-born knighthood, wondering how long he was to be treated like a +sinner,--and, through it all, simply longing for his mother.... + +It was the conscious craving for her sympathy, her applause, that +awakened him to his dilemma. + +He had championed her with all his might against that lumpy +Boy-of-ten,--who kicked in the meanest way; and he couldn't explain why, +so she couldn't know ever. The memory of those insulting words hurt him +so that he shrank from repeating them to anyone--least of all to her. +Yet how could he see her and feel her and not tell her everything? She +would surely ask--she would want to know--and then--when he tried to +think beyond that point he felt simply lost. + +It was an _impasse_ none the less tragic because he was only nine. To +tell her every little thing was as simple a necessity of life as eating +or sleeping; and--till this bewildering moment--as much a matter of +course. For Lilamani Sinclair, with her Eastern mother-genius, had +forged between herself and her first-born a link woven of the tenderest, +most subtle fibres of heart and spirit; a link so vital, yet so +unassertive, that it bid fair to stand the strain of absence, the test +of time. So close a link with any human heart, while it makes for +beauty, makes also for pain and perplexity,--as Roy was just realising +to his dismay. + +At the sound of footsteps he sat up, suddenly very much aware of his +unheroic dishevelment. He tugged at the fallen stocking and made hasty +dabs at his hair. But it was only Esther the housemaid with an envelope +on a tray. Envelopes, however, were always mysterious and exciting. + +His name was scribbled on this one in Tara's hand; and as Esther +retreated he opened it, wondering.... + +It contained a half-sheet of note-paper, and between the folds lay a +circle of narrow blue ribbon plaited in three strands. But only two of +the strands were ribbon; the third was a tress of her gleaming hair. Roy +gazed at it a moment, lost in admiration, still wondering; then he +glanced at Tara's letter--not scrawled, but written with laboured +neatness and precision. + + "DEAR ROY,--It was splendid. You are Prithvi Raj. I am + sending you the bangel like Aunt Lila told us. It can't be gold or + jewels. But I pulled the ribbin out of my petticote and put in sum + of my hair to make it spangly. So now you are Braselet Bound + Brother. Don't forget. From TARA." + + "I hope you aren't hurting much. Do splain to Uncle Nevil properly + and come down soon. I am hear playing with Chris. TARA." + +Roy sat looking from the letter to the bangle with a distinctly pleasant +kind of mixed-up feeling inside. He was so surprised, so comforted, so +elated by this tribute from his High Tower Princess, who was an exacting +person in the matter of heroes. Now--besides being a Knight and a +champion he was Bracelet-Bound Brother as well. + +Only the other day his mother had told them a tale about this old custom +of bracelet-sending in Rajputana:--how, on a certain holy day, any +woman--married or not married--may send her bracelet token to any man. +If he accepts it, and sends in return an embroidered bodice, he becomes +from that hour her bracelet brother, vowed to her service, like a +Christian Knight in the days of chivalry. The bracelet may be of gold or +jewels or even of silk interwoven with spangles--like Tara's impromptu +token. The two who are bracelet-bound might possibly never meet face to +face. Yet she, who sends, may ask of him who accepts, any service she +pleases; and he may not deny it--even though it involve the risk of his +life. + +The ancient custom, she told them, still holds good, though it has +declined in use, like all things chivalrous, in an age deafened by the +clamour of industrial strife; an age grown blind to the beauty of +service, that, in defiance of "progress," still remains the keynote of +an Indian woman's life. + +So these privileged children had heard much of it, through the medium of +Lilamani's Indian tales; and this particular one had made a deeper +impression on Tara than on Roy; perhaps because the budding woman in her +relished the power of choice and command it conferred on her own sex. +Certainly no thought of possible future commands dawned on Roy. It was +her pride in his achievement, so characteristically expressed that +flattered his incipient masculine vanity and added a cubit to his +stature. He knew now what he meant to be when he grew up. Not a painter, +or a soldier or a gardener--but a Bracelet-Bound Brother.... + +Gingerly, almost shyly, he slipped over his hand the deftly woven, +trifle of ribbon and gleaming hair. As the first glow of pleasure +subsided, there sprang the instinctive thought--"Won't Mummy be +pleased!" And straightway he was caught afresh in the toils of his +dilemma--How could he possibly explain----? + +What was she doing? Why didn't she come----? + +There----! His ear caught far-off footsteps--too heavy for hers. He +slipped off the Bracelet, folded it in Tara's letter and tucked it away +inside his shirt. + +Hurriedly--a little nervously--he tied his brown bow and got upon his +feet, just as the door opened and his father came in. + +"_Well_, Roy!" he said, and for a few seconds he steadily regarded his +small son with eyes that tried very hard to be grave and judicial. +Scoldings and assertions of authority were not in his line: and the tug +at his heart-strings was peculiarly strong in the case of Roy. Fair +himself, as the boy was dark, their intrinsic likeness of form and +feature was yet so striking that there were moments--as now--when it +gave Nevil Sinclair an eerie sense of looking into his own eyes,--which +was awkward, as he had come steeled for chastisement, if needs must, +though his every instinct revolted from the mutual indignity. He had +only once inflicted it on Roy for open defiance in one of his stormy +ebullitions of temper; and, at this moment, he did not seem to see a +humble penitent before him. + +"What have you got to say for yourself?" he went on, hoping the pause +had been impressive; strongly suspecting it had been nothing of the +kind. "Gentlemen, as I told you, don't hammer their guests. It was +rather a bad hammering, to judge from his handkerchief. And you don't +look particularly sorry about it either." + +"I'm not--not one littlest bit." + +This was disconcerting; but Nevil held his ground. + +"Then I suppose I've got to whack you. If boys aren't sorry for their +sins, it's the only way." + +Roy's eyelids flickered a little. + +"You better not," he said with the same impersonal air of conviction. +"You see, it wouldn't make me sorry. And you don't hurt badly. Not half +as much as Joe did. He was mean. He kicked. I wouldn't have stopped, all +the same--if _you_ hadn't come." + +The note of reproach was more disconcerting than ever. + +"Well, if whacking's no use, what am I to do with you? Shut you up here +till bedtime--eh?" + +Roy considered that dismal proposition, with his eyes on the summer +world outside. + +"Well--you can if you like. But it wouldn't be fair." A pause. "You +don't know what a horrid boy he was, Daddy. _You'd_ have hit him +harder--even if he _was_ a guest." + +"I wonder!" Nevil fatally admitted. "Of course it would all depend on +the provocation." + +"What's 'provication'?" + +The instant alertness, over a new word, brought back the smile to +Nevil's eyes. + +"It means--saying or doing something bad enough to make it right for you +to be angry." + +"Well, it was bad enough. It was"--a portentous pause--"about Mummy." + +"About Mummy?" The sharp change in his father's tone was at once +startling and comforting. "Look here, Roy. No more mysteries. This is +my affair as much as yours. Come here." + +Pulling a bedside chair near the window, he sat down and drew Roy close +to him, taking his shoulders between his hands. + +"Now then, old boy, tell me just exactly what happened--as man to man." + +The appeal was irresistible. But--how could he----? The very change in +his father's manner made the telling at once more difficult and more +urgent. + +"Daddy--it hurts too much. I don't know how to say it----" he faltered, +and the blood tingled in his cheeks. + +If Nevil Sinclair was not a stern father, neither was he a very +demonstrative one. Even his closest relations were tinged with something +of the artist's detachment, and innate respect for the individual even +in embryo. But at sight of Roy's distress and delicacy of feeling, his +heart melted in him. Without a word, he slipped an arm round the boy's +shoulder and drew him closer still. + +"That better, eh? You've got to pull it through, somehow," he said +gently, so holding him that Roy could, if he chose, nestle against him. +He did choose. It might be babyish; but he hated telling: and it was a +wee bit easier with his face hidden. So, in broken phrases and in a +small voice that quivered with anger revived--he told. + +While he was telling, his father said nothing; and when it was over, he +still said nothing. He seemed to be looking out of the window, and Roy +felt him draw one big breath. + +"Have you got to whack me--now, Daddy?" he asked, still in his small +voice. + +His father's hand closed on his arm. "No. You were right, Roy," he said. +"I would have hit harder. Ill-mannered little beast! All the same----" + +A pause. He, no less than Roy, found speech difficult. He had fancied +himself, by now, inured to this kind of jar--so frequent in the early +years of his daringly unconventional marriage. It seemed he was +mistaken. He had been vaguely on edge all the afternoon. What young Joe +had rudely blurted out, Mrs Bradley's manner had tacitly expressed. He +had succeeded in smothering his own sensations, only to be confronted +with the effect of it all on Roy--who must somehow be made to +understand. + +"The fact is, old man," he went on, trying to speak in his normal voice, +"young Bradley and a good many of his betters spend years in India +without coming to know very much about the real people over there. +You'll understand why when you're older. They all have Indians for +servants, and they see Indians working in shops and villages, just like +plenty of our people do here. But they don't often meet many of the +other sort--like Mummy and Grandfather and Uncle Rama--except sometimes +in England. And then--they make stupid mistakes--just because they don't +know better. But they needn't be rude about it, like Joe; and I'm glad +you punched him--hard." + +"So'm I. Fearfully glad." He stood upright now, his head erect:--proud +of his father's approval, and being treated as "man to man." "But, +Daddy--what are we going to do ... about Mummy? I _do_ want her to know +... it was for her. But I _couldn't_ tell--what Joe said. Could you?" + +Nevil shook his head. + +"Then--what?" + +"You leave it to me, Roy. I'll make things clear without repeating Joe's +rude remarks. She'd have been up before this; but _I_ had to see you +first--because of the whacking!" His eye twinkled. "She's longing to get +at your bruises----" + +"Oh nev' mind my bruises. They're all right now." + +"And beautiful to behold!" He lightly touched the lump on Roy's cheek. +"I'd let her dab them, though. Women love fussing over us when we're +hurt--especially if we've been fighting for them!" + +"Yes--they do," Roy agreed gravely; and to his surprise, his father drew +him close and kissed his forehead. + + * * * * * + +His mother did not keep him waiting long. First the quick flutter of her +footsteps; then the door gently opened--and she flew to him, her sari +blowing out in beautiful curves. Then he was in her arms, gathered into +her silken softness and the faint scent of sandalwood; while her lips, +light as butterfly wings, caressed the bruise on his cheek. + +"Oh, what a bad, wicked Sonling!" she murmured, gathering him close. + +He loved her upside-down fashion of praise and endearment; never +guessing its Eastern significance--to avert the watchfulness of jealous +gods swift to spy out our dearest treasures, that hinder detachment, and +snatch them from us. "Such a big rude boy--and you tried to kill him +only because he did not understand your queer kind of mother! That you +will find often, Roy; because it is not custom. Everywhere it is the +same. For some kind of people not to be like custom is much worse than +not to be good. And that boy has a mother too much like custom. Not +surprising if he didn't understand." + +"I made him though--I did," Roy exulted shamelessly, marvelling at his +father's cleverness, wondering how much he had told. "I hammered hard. +And I'm not sorry a bit. Nor Daddy isn't either." + +For answer she gave him a convulsive little squeeze--and felt the +crackle of paper under his shirt. "Something hidden there! What is it, +Sonling?" she asked with laughing eyes: and suddenly shyness overwhelmed +him. For the moment he had forgotten his treasure; and now he was +wondering if he could show it--even to her. + +"It is Tara--I think it's rather a secret----" he began. + +"But I may see?" Then as he still hesitated, she added with grave +tenderness: "Only if you are wishing it, son of my heart. To-day--you +are a man." + +From his father that recognition had been sufficiently uplifting. And +now--from her...! The subtle flattery of it and the deeper prompting of +his own heart demolished his budding attempt at reserve. + +"I am--truly," he said: and she, sitting where his father had sat, +unfolded Tara's letter--and the bangle lay revealed. + +Roy had not guessed how surprised she would be--and how pleased! She +gave a little quick gasp and murmured something he could not catch. Then +she looked at him with shining eyes, and her voice had its low serious +note that stirred him like music. + +"Now--you are Bracelet-Bound, my son. So young!" + +Roy felt a throb of pride. It was clearly a fine thing to be. + +"Must I give a 'broidered bodice'?" + +"I will broider a bodice--the most beautiful; and you shall give it. +Remember, Roy, it is not a little matter. It is for always." + +"Even when I'm a grown-up man?" + +"Yes, even then. If she shall ask from you any service, you must not +refuse--ever." + +Roy wrinkled his forehead. He had forgotten that part of it. Tara might +ask anything. You couldn't tell with girls. He had a moment of +apprehension. + +"But, Mummy, I don't think--Tara didn't mean all that. It's only--our +sort of game of play----" + +Unerringly she read his thoughts, and shook her head at him with smiling +eyes, as when he made naughty faces about Aunt Jane. + +"Too sacred thing for only game of play, Roy. By keeping the bracelet, +you are bound." Her smile deepened. "You were not afraid of the big rude +boy. Yet you are just _so_ much afraid--for Tara." She indicated the +amount with the rose-pink tip of her smallest finger. "Tara--almost like +sister--would never ask anything that could be wrong to do." + +At this gentle rebuke he flushed and held his head a shade higher. + +"I'm not afraid, Mummy. And I will keep the bracelet--and I _am_ bound." + +"That is my brave son." + +"She said--I am Prithvi Raj." + +"She said true." Her hand caressed his hair. "Now you can run down and +tell you are forgiven." + +"You too, Mummy?" + +"In a little time. Not just now. But see----" Her brows flew up. "I was +coming to mend your poor bruises!" + +"I haven't got any bruises." + +The engaging touch of swagger delighted her. A man to-day--in very deed. +Her gaze dwelt upon him. It was as if she looked through the eyes of +her husband into the heart of her son. + +Gravely she entered into his mood. + +"That is good. Then we will just make you tidy--and one littlest dab for +this not-bruise on your cheek." + +So much he graciously permitted: then he ran off to receive the ovation +awaiting him from Tara and Chris. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, + For there reigns love, and all love's loving parts." + --SHAKSPERE. + + "Women are not only deities of the household fire, but the flame of + the soul itself."--RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Left to herself, Lilamani moved back to the window with her innate, +deliberate grace. There she sat down again, very still, resting her +cheek on her hand; drinking in the serenity, the translucent stillness +of clear green spaces robed in early evening light, like a bride arrayed +for the coming of her lord. The higher tree-tops were haloed with glory. +Young leaves of beeches and poplars gleamed like minted gold; and on the +lawn, the great twin beeches cast a stealthily encroaching continent of +shadow. Among the shrubs, under her window, birds were trilling out +their ecstasy of welcome to the sun, in his Hour of Union with +Earth--the Divine Mother, of whom every human mother is, in Eastern +eyes, a part, a symbol, however imperfect. + +Yet, beneath her carven tranquillity, heart and spirit were deeply +stirred. For all Nevil's skill in editing the tale of Roy's +championship, she had read his hidden thoughts as unerringly as she had +divined Mrs Bradley's curiosity and faint hostility beneath the veneer +of good manners, not yet imparted to her son. + +Helen Despard--wife of a retired Lieut.-Governor--had scores of +Anglo-Indian friends; but not all of them shared her enthusiasm for +India,--her sympathetic understanding of its peoples. Lilamani had too +soon discovered that the ardent declaration, "I love India," was apt to +mean merely that the speaker loved riding and dancing and sunshine and +vast spaces, with 'the real India' for a dim effective background. And +by now, she could almost tell at a glance which were the right and which +the wrong kind of Anglo-Indian, so far as she and Nevil were concerned. +It was not like Helen to inflict the wrong kind on her; but it had all +been Mrs Bradley's doing. She had been tactlessly insistent in her +demand to see the beautiful old garden and the famous artist-Baronet, +who had so boldly flouted tradition. Helen's lame excuses had been +airily dismissed, and the discourtesy of a point-blank refusal was +beyond her. + +She had frankly explained matters to her beloved Lilamani as they +strolled together on the lawn, while Roy was enlightening Joe on the +farther side of the yew hedge. + +His championship had moved her more profoundly than she dared let him +see without revealing all she knew. For the same reason, she could not +show Nevil her full appreciation of his tact and delicacy. How +useless--trying to hide his thoughts--he ought to know by now: but how +beautiful--how endearing! + +That she, who had boldly defied all gods and godlings, all claims of +caste and family, should have reaped so rich a harvest----! For +her--high priestess of the inner life--that was the miracle of miracles: +scarcely less so to-day than in that crowning hour when she had placed, +her first man-child in the arms of her husband--still, at heart, lord of +her being. For the tale of her inner life might almost be told in two +words--she loved. + +Even now--so many years after--she thrilled to remember how, in that one +magical moment, without nearness or speech or touch, the floating +strands of their destinies had become so miraculously entangled, that +neither gods nor godlings, nor household despots of East or West, had +power to sever them. From one swift pencil sketch, stolen without +leave--he sitting on the path below, she dreaming on the Hotel balcony +above--had blossomed the twin flower of their love: the deeper revealing +of marriage--its living texture woven of joy and pain; and the wonder of +their after-life together--a wonder that, to her ardent, sensitive +spirit, still seemed new every morning, like the coming of the sun. A +poet in essence, she shared with all true poets that sense of eternal +freshness in familiar things that, perhaps, more than any other gift of +God, keeps the bloom on every phase and every relation of life. By her +temperament of genius, she had quickened in her husband the flickering +spark that might else have been smothered under opposing influences. +Each, in a quite unusual degree, had fulfilled the life of the other, +and so wrought harmony from conflicting elements of race and religion +that seemed fated to wreck their brave adventure. To gain all, they had +risked all: and events had amazingly justified them. + +Within a year of his ill-considered marriage Sir Nevil had astonished +all who knew him with the unique Exhibition of the now famous Ramayana +pictures, inspired by his wife: a series of arresting canvases, setting +forth the story of India's great epic, her confession of faith in the +two supreme loyalties--of the Queen to her husband, of the King to his +people. His daring venture had proved successful beyond hope. Artistic +and critical London had hailed him as a newcomer of promise, amounting +to genius: and Lilamani Sinclair, daughter of Rajputs, had only escaped +becoming the craze of the moment by her precipitate withdrawal to +Antibes, where she had come within an ace of losing all, largely through +the malign influence of Jane--her evil genius during those wonderful, +difficult, early months of marriage. + +Nevil had returned to find himself a man of note; a prophet, even in his +own county, where feathers had been ruffled a little by his erratic +proceedings. Hence a discreetly changed attitude in the neighbourhood, +when Lilamani, barely nineteen, had presented her husband with a son. + +But--for all the gracious condescension of the elderly, and the frank +curiosity of the young--only a discerning few had made any real headway +with this attractive, oddly disconcerting child of another continent; +this creature of queer reserves and aloofness and passionate pride of +race. The friendliest were baffled by her incomprehensible lack of +social instinct, the fruit of India's purdah system. Loyal wives and +mothers who 'adored' their children--yet spent most of their day in +pursuit of other interests--were nonplussed by her complete absorption +in the joys and sanctities of home. Yet, in course of time, her patent +simplicity and sincerity had disarmed prejudice. The least perceptive +could not choose but see that she was genuinely, intrinsically +different, not merely in the matter of iridescent silks and saris, but +in the very colour of her soul. + +Not that they would have expressed it so. To talk about the soul and its +colour savoured of being psychic or morbid--which Heaven forbid! The +soul of the right-minded Bramleigh matron was a neutral-tinted, decently +veiled phantom, officially recognised morning and evening, also on +Sundays, but by no means permitted to interfere with the realities of +life. + +The soul of Lilamani Sinclair--tremulous, passionate and aspiring--was a +living flame, that lighted her thoughts, her prayers, her desires; and +burned with clearer intensity because her religion had been stripped of +all feastings and forms and ceremonies by a marriage that set her for +ever outside caste. The inner Reality--free of earth-born mists and +clouds--none could take from her. + +God manifest through Nature, the Divine Mother, must surely accept her +incense and sacrifice of the spirit, since no other was permitted. Her +father had given her that assurance; and to it she clung, as a child in +a crowd clings confidingly to the one familiar hand. + +She was none the less eager to glean all she could assimilate of the +religion to which her husband conformed, but in which, it seemed, he did +not ardently believe. Her secret pangs on this score had been eased a +little by later knowledge that it was he who shielded her from tacit +pressure to make the change of faith expected of her by certain members +of his family. Jane--out of regard for his wishes--had refrained from +frontal attacks; but more than one flank movement had been executed by +means of the Vicar (a second cousin) and of Aunt Julia--a mild elder +Sinclair, addicted to foreign missions. + +She had not told Nevil of these tentative fishings for her soul, lest +they annoy him and he put a final veto on them. Being well versed in +their Holy Book, she wanted to try and fathom their strange illogical +way of believing. The Christianity of Christ she could accept. It was a +faith of the heart and the life. But its crystallised forms and dogmas +proved a stumbling-block to this embarrassing slip of a Hindu girl, who +calmly reminded the Reverend Jeffrey Sale that the creed of his Church +had not really been inspired by Christ, but dictated by Constantine and +the Council of Nicea; who wanted to know why, in so great a religion, +was there no true worship of woman--no recognising, in the creative +principle, the Divine Motherhood of God? Finally, she had scandalised +them both by quarrelling with their exclusive belief in one single +instance, through endless ages, of the All-embracing, and All-creating +revealed in terms of human life. Was not that same idea a part of her +own religion--a world-wide doctrine of Indo-Aryan origin? Was every +other revealing false, except that one made to an unbelieving race only +two thousand years ago? To her--unregenerate but not unbelieving--the +message of Krishna seemed to strike a deeper note of promise. "Wherever +irreligion prevails and true religion declines, there I manifest myself +in a human form to establish righteousness and to destroy evil." + +So she questioned and argued, in no spirit of irreverence, but simply +with the logic of her race, and the sweet reasonableness that is a vital +element of the Hindu faith at its best. But, after that final +confession, Aunt Julia, pained and bewildered, had retired from the +field. And Lilamani, flung back on the God within, had evolved a private +creed of her own;--shedding the husks of Christian dogmas and the +grosser superstitions of her own faith, and weaving together the +mystical elements that are the life-blood of all religious beliefs. + +For the lamps are many, but the flame is one.... + + * * * * * + +Not till the consummation of motherhood had lifted her status--in her +own eyes at least--did she venture to speak intimately with Nevil on +this vital matter. Though debarred from sharing of sacred ceremonies, +she could still aspire to be true _Sahardamini_--'spiritual helpmate.' +But to that end he also must co-operate; he must feel the deeper +need.... + +For many weeks after the coming of Roy she had hesitated, before she +found courage to adventure farther into the misty region of his faith +or unfaith, in things not seen. + +"If I am bothering you with troublesome questions--forgive. But, in our +Indian way of marriage, it is taught that without sharing spiritual life +there cannot arrive true union," she had explained, not without secret +tremors lest she fail to evoke full response. And what such failure +would mean, for her, she could hardly expect him to understand. + +But--by the blessing of Sarasvati, Giver of Wisdom--she had succeeded, +beyond hope, in dispelling the shy reluctance of his race to talk of the +'big little things.' Even to-day she could recall the thrill of that +moment:--he, kneeling beside the great chair in his studio--their +sanctuary; she holding the warm bundle of new life against her breast. + +In one long look his eyes had answered her. "Nothing _short_ of 'true +union' will satisfy me," he had said with a quiet seriousness more +impressive than any lovers' fervour. "God knows if I'm worthy to enter +your inner shrine. But unwilling--never. In the 'big little things' you +are pre-eminent. I am simply your extra child--mother of my son." + +That tribute was her charter of wifehood. It linked love with life; it +set her, once for all, beyond the lurking fear of Jane; and gave her +courage to face the promised visit to India, when Roy was six months +old, to present him to his grandfather, Sir Lakshman Singh. + +They had stayed nearly a year; a wonderful year of increasing knowledge, +of fuller awakening ... and yet! + +The ache of anticipation had been too poignant. The foolish half-hope +that Mataji might relent and sanctify this first grandchild with her +blessing, was--in the nature of things Oriental--foredoomed to failure. +And not till she found herself back among sights and sounds hauntingly +familiar, did she fully awake to the changes wrought in her by marriage +with one of another race. For, if she had profoundly affected Nevil's +personality, he had no less profoundly influenced her sense of values +both in art and life. + +She had also to reckon with the insidious process of idealising the +absent. Indian to the core, she was deeply imbued with the higher tenets +of Hindu philosophy--that lofty spiritual fabric woven of moonlight and +mysticism, of logic and dreams. But the new Lilamani, of Nevil's making, +could not shut her eyes to debasing forms of worship, to subterranean +caverns of gross superstition, and lurking demons of cruelty and +despair. While Nevil was imbibing impressions of Indian Art, Lilamani +was secretly weighing and probing the Indian spirit that inspired it; +sifting the grain from the chaff--a process closely linked with her +personal life; because, for India, religion and life are one. + +But no shadow had clouded the joy of reunion with her father; for both +were adepts in the fine art of loving, the touchstone of every human +relation. And in talk with him she could straighten out her tangle of +impressions, her secret doubts and fears. + +Also there had been Rama, elder brother, studying at college and loving +as ever to the sister transformed into English-wife--yet sister still. +And there had been fuller revelation of the wonders of India, in their +travels northward, even to the Himalayas, abode of Shiva, where Nevil +must go to escape the heat and paint more pictures--always more +pictures. Travelling did not suit her. She was too innately a creature +of shrines and sanctities. And in India--home of her spirit--there +seemed no true home for her any more.... + + * * * * * + +Five years later, when Roy was six and Christine two and a half, they +had been tempted to repeat their visit, even in the teeth of stern +protests from Jane, who regarded the least contact with India as fatal +to the children they had been misguided enough to bring into the world. +That second time, things had been easier; and there had been the added +delight of Roy's eager interest; his increasing devotion to the +grandfather, whose pride and joy in him rivalled her own. + +"In this little man we have the hope of England and India!" he would +say, only half in joke. "With East and West in his soul--the best of +each--he will cast out the devils of conflict and suspicion and draw the +two into closer understanding of one another." + +And, in secret, Lilamani dreamed and prayed that some day ... possibly +... who could tell----? + +Yet, still there had persisted the sense of a widening gulf between her +and her own people, leaving her doubtful if she ever wanted to see India +again. The spiritual link would be there always; for the rest--was she +not wife of Nevil, mother of Roy? Ungrateful to grieve if a price must +be paid for such supreme good fortune. + +For herself she paid it willingly. But--must Roy pay also? And in what +fashion? How could she fail to imbue him with the finest ideals of her +race? But how if the magnet of India proved too strong----? To hold the +scales even was a hard task for human frailty. And the time of her +absolute dominion was so swiftly slipping away from her. Always, in the +back of her mind, loomed the dread shadow of school; and her Eastern +soul could not accept it without a struggle. Only yesterday, Nevil had +spoken of it again--no doubt because Jane made trouble--saying too long +delay would be unfair for Roy. So it must be not later than September +next year. Just only fifteen months! Nevil had told her, laughing, it +would not banish him to another planet. But it would plunge him into a +world apart--utterly foreign to her. Of its dangers, its ideals, its +mysterious influences, she knew herself abysmally ignorant. She must +read. She must try and understand. She must believe Nevil knew +best--she, who had not enough knowledge and too much love. But she was +upheld by no sustaining faith in this English fashion of school, with +its decree of too early separation from the supreme influences of mother +and father--and home.... + + * * * * * + +Later on, that evening, when she knelt by Roy's bed for good-night talk +and prayer, his arms round her neck, his cool cheek against hers, the +rebellion she could not altogether stifle surged up in her afresh. But +she said not a word. + +It was Roy who spoke, as if he had read her heart. + +"Mummy, Aunt Jane's been talking to Daddy again about school. Oh, I do +_hate_ her!" (This in fervent parenthesis.) + +She only tightened her hold and felt a small quiver run through him. + +"Will it be fearfully soon? Has Daddy told you?" + +"Yes, my darling. But not too fearfully soon, because he knows I don't +wish that." + +"When?" + +"Not till next year, in the autumn. September." + +"Oh, you good--_goodest_ Mummy!" + +He clutched her in an ecstasy of relief. For him a year's respite was a +lifetime. For her it would pass like a watch in the night. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Thou knowest how, alike, to give and take gentleness in due season + ... the noble temper of thy sires shineth forth in thee."--PINDAR. + + +It was a clear mild Sunday afternoon of November;--pale sunlight, pale +sky, long films of laminated cloud. From the base of orange-tawny +cliffs, the sands swept out with the tide, shining like rippled silk, +where the sea had uncovered them; and sunlight was spilled in pools and +tiny furrows: the sea itself grey-green and very still, with streaks and +blotches of purple shadow flung by no visible cloud. The beauty and the +mystery of them fascinated Roy, who was irresistibly attracted by the +thing he could not understand. + +He was sitting alone, near the edge of a wooded cliff; troubles +forgotten for the moment; imbibing it all.... + +His fifteen months of reprieve had flown faster than anyone could have +believed. It was over--everything was over. No more lessons with Tara +under their beech-tree. No more happy hours in the studio, exploring the +mysteries of 'maths' and Homer, of form and colour, with his father, who +seemed to know the 'Why' of everything. Worse than all--no more Mummy, +to make the whole world beautiful with the colours of her saris and the +loveliness and the dearness of her face, and her laugh and her voice. + +It was all over. He was at school: not Coombe Friars, decreed by Aunt +Jane; but St Rupert's, because the Head was an artist friend of his +father, and would take a personal interest in Roy. + +But the Head, however kind, was a distant being; and the boys, who could +not exactly be called kind, hemmed him in on every side. His shy +sensitive spirit shrank fastidiously from the strange faces and bodies +that herded round him, at meals, at bedtime, in the schoolroom, on the +playground; some curious and friendly; others curious and hostile:--a +very nightmare of boys, who would not let him be. And the more they +hemmed him in, the more he felt utterly, miserably alone. + +As the endless weeks dragged on, there were interesting, even exciting +moments--when you hardly felt the ache. But other times--evenings and +Sundays--it came back sharper than ever. And in the course of those +weeks he had learnt a number of things not included in the school +curriculum. He had learnt that it was better to clench your teeth and +not cry out when your ears were tweaked or your arm twisted, or an +unexpected pin stuck into the soft part of your leg. But, inside him, +there burned a fire of rage and hate unsuspected by his tormentors. It +was not so much the pain, as the fact that they seemed to enjoy hurting +him, that he could neither understand nor forgive. + +And by now he felt more than half ashamed of those early letters to his +mother, pouring out his misery of loneliness and longing; of frantic +threats to run away or jump off the cliff, that had so strangely failed +to soften his father's heart. It seemed, he knew all about it. He had +been through it himself. But Mummy did not know; so she got upset. And +Mummy must not be upset, whatever happened to Roy, who was advised to +'shut his teeth and play the man' and he would feel the happier for it. +That hard counsel had done more than hurt and shame him. It had steadied +him at the moment when he needed it most. He _had_ somehow managed to +shut his teeth and play the man; and he _was_ the happier for it +already. + +So his faith in the father who wouldn't have Mummy upset, had increased +ten-fold: and the letter he had nearly torn into little bits was +treasured, like a talisman, in his letter-case--Tara's parting gift. + + * * * * * + +It was on the Sunday of the frantic threats that he had wandered off +alone and discovered the little wood on the cliff in all its autumn +glory. It was a very ordinary wood of mixed trees with a group of tall +pines at one end. But for Roy any wood was a place of enchantment; and +this one had trees all leaning one way, with an air of crouching and +hurrying that made them seem almost alive; and the moment they closed on +him he was back in his old familiar world of fancy, where nothing that +happened in houses mattered at all.... + +Strolling on, careless and content, he had reached a gap where the trees +fell apart, framing blue deeps and distances of sea and sky. For some +reason they looked more blue, more beautiful so framed than seen from +the open shore; and there--sitting alone at the edge of all things, he +had felt strangely comforted; had resolved to keep his discovery a +profound secret; and to come there every Sunday for 'sanctuary'; to +think stories, or write poetry--a very private joy. + +And this afternoon was the loveliest of all. If only the sheltering +leaves would not fall so fast! + +He had been sitting a long time, pencil in hand, waiting for words to +come; when suddenly there came instead the very sounds he had fled +from--the talk and laughter of boys. + +They seemed horribly close, right under the jutting cliff; and their +laughter and volleys of chaff had the jeering note he knew too well. +Presently his ear caught a high-pitched voice of defiance, that broke +off and fell to whimpering--a sound that made Roy's heart beat in quick +jerks. He could not catch what they were saying, nor see what they were +doing. He did not want to see. He hated them all. + +Listening--yet dreading to hear--he recognised the voice of Bennet Ma., +known--strictly out of earshot--as Scab Major. Is any school, at any +period, quite free of the type? It sounded more like a rough than an +ill-natured rag; but the whimpering unseen victim seemed to have no kick +in him: and Roy could only sit there wondering helplessly what people +were made of who found it amusing to hurt and frighten other people, who +had done them no harm.... + +And now the voice of Scab Major rang out distinctly: "After _that_ +exhibition, he'll jolly well salaam to the lot of us, turn about. If +he's never learnt, we'll show him how." + +The word salaam enlightened Roy. Yesterday there had been a buzz of +curiosity over the belated arrival of a new boy--an +Indian--weedy-looking and noticeably dark, with a sullen mouth and +shifty eyes. Roy, though keenly interested, had not felt drawn to him; +and a new self-protective shrinking had withheld him from proferring +advances that might only embroil them both. He had never imagined the +boy's colour would tell against him. Was _that_ what it meant--making +him salaam? + +At the bare suspicion, shrinking gave place to rage. Beasts, they were! +If only he could take a flying leap on to them, or roll a few stones +down and scare them out of their wits. But he could not stir without +giving away his secret. And while he hesitated, his eye absently +followed a moving speck far off on the shining sand. + +It was a boy on a bicycle--hatless, head in air, sitting very erect. +There was only one boy at St Rupert's who carried his head that way and +sat his bicycle just so. From the first Roy had watched him covertly, +with devout admiration; longing to know him, too shy to ask his name. +But so far the godlike one, surrounded by friends, had hardly seemed +aware of his existence. + +Swiftly he came nearer; and with a sudden leap of his pulses, Roy knew +he had seen---- + +Springing off his bicycle, he flung himself into the little group of +tormentors, hitting out vigorously right and left. Sheer surprise and +the fury of his onslaught gave him the advantage; and the guilty +consciences of the less aggressive were his allies.... + +This was not cruelty, but championship: and Roy, determined to see all, +lay flat on his front--danger of discovery forgotten--grabbing the edge +of the cliff, that curved inward, exulting in the triumph of the +deliverer and the scattering of the foe. + +Bennet Major, one of the first to break away, saw and seized the +prostrate bicycle. At that Roy lost his head; leaned perilously over and +shouted a warning, "Hi! Look out!" + +But the Scab was off like the wind: and the rest, startled by a voice +from nowhere, hurriedly followed suit. + +Roy, raising himself on his hands, gave a convulsive wriggle of +joy--that changed midway, into a backward jerk ... too late! + +The crumbling edge was giving way under his hands, under his body. No +time for terror. His jerk gave the finishing touch.... + +Down he went--over and over; his Sunday hat bouncing gaily on before; +nothing to clutch anywhere; but by good luck, no stones---- + +The thought flashed through him, "I'm killed!" And five seconds later he +rolled--breathless and sputtering--to the feet of the two remaining +boys, who had sprung back just in time to escape the dusty avalanche. + +There he lay--shaken and stupefied--his eyes and mouth full of sand; and +his pockets and boots and the inside of his shirt. Nothing seemed to be +broken. And he wasn't killed! + +Some one was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his eyes to +find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and concerned. + +"I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark were you +up to? Are you hurt?" + +"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it +startled you. I'm sorry." + +The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's minions a jolly +sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good riddance--eh, +Chandranath?" + +To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered assent. He +stood a little apart, looking sullen, irresolute, and thoroughly +uncomfortable, the marks of tears still on his face. + +"Thanks veree much. I am going now," he blurted out abruptly; and Roy +felt quite cross with him. Pity had evaporated. But the other boy's +good-humour seemed unassailable. + +"If you're not in a frantic hurry, we can go back together." + +Chandranath shook his head. "I don't wish--to go back. I would +rather--be by myself." + +"As you please. Those cads won't bother you again." + +"If they do--I will _kill_ them." + +He made that surprising announcement in a fierce whisper. It was the +voice of another race. + +And the English boy's answer was equally true to type. "Right you are. +Give me fair warning and I'll lend a hand." + +Chandranath stared blankly. "But--they are of _your_ country," he said; +and turning, walked off in the opposite direction. + +"A queer fish," Roy's new friend remarked. "Quite out of water here. +Awfully stupid sending him to an English school." + +"Why?" asked Roy. He was sitting up and dusting himself generally. + +"Oh, because----" the boy frowned pensively at the horizon. "That takes +some explaining, if you don't know India." + +"D'_you_ know India?" Roy could not keep the eagerness out of his tone. + +"Rather. I was born there. North-West Frontier. My name's Desmond. We +all belong there. I was out till seven and a half, and I'll go back like +a bird directly I'm through with Marlborough." + +He spoke very quietly; but under the quietness Roy guessed there was +purpose--there was fire. This boy knew exactly what he meant to do in +his grown-up life--that large, vague word crowded with exciting +possibilities. He stood there, straight as an arrow, looking out to sea; +and straight as an arrow he would make for his target when school and +college let go their hold. Something of this Roy dimly apprehended: and +his interest was tinged with envy. If they all 'belonged,' were they +Indians, he wondered; and decided not, because of Desmond's coppery +brown hair. He wanted to understand--to hear more. He almost forgot he +was at school. + +"We belong too----" he ventured shyly; and Desmond turned with a +kindling eye. + +"Good egg! What Province?" + +"Rajputana." + +"Oh--miles away. Which service?" + +Roy looked puzzled. "I--don't know You see--it's my mother--that +belongs. My grandfather's a Minister in a big Native State out there." + +"Oh--I say!" + +There was a shadow of change in his tone. His direct look was a little +embarrassing. He seemed to be considering Roy in a new light. + +"I--I wouldn't have thought it," he said; and added a shade too +quickly: "_We_ don't belong--that way. We're all Anglo-Indians--Frontier +Force." (Clearly a fine thing to be, thought Roy, mystified, but +impressed.) "Is your father in the Political?" + +More conundrums! But, warmed by Desmond's friendliness, Roy grew bolder. + +"No. He hates politics. He's just--just a gentleman." + +Desmond burst out laughing. + +"Top hole! He couldn't do better than that. But--if your mother--he must +have been in India?" + +"Afterwards--they went. I've been too. He found Mother in France. He +painted her. He's a rather famous painter." + +"What name?" + +"Sinclair." + +"Oh, I've heard of him.--And your people are always at home. Lucky +beggar!" He was silent a moment watching Roy unlace his boot. Then he +asked suddenly, in a voice that tried to sound casual: "I say--have you +told any of the other boys--about India--and your Mother?" + +"No--why? Is there any harm?" Roy was on the defensive at once. + +"Well--no. With the right sort, it wouldn't make a scrap of difference. +But you can see what some of 'em are like--Bennet Ma. and his crew. +Making a dead set at that poor blighter, just because he isn't their +colour----" + +Roy started. "Was it only because of _that_?" he asked with emphasis. + +"'Course it was. Plain as a pike-staff. I suppose they'd bullied him +into cheeking them. And they were hacking him on to his knees--forcing +him to salaam." Twin sparks sprang alight in his eyes. "That sort of +thing--makes me feel like a kettle on the boil. Wish I'd _had_ a boiling +kettle to empty over Bennet." + +"So do I--the mean Scab! And he's pinched your bicycle." + +"No fear! You bet we'll find it round the corner. He wouldn't have the +spunk to go right off with it. But look here--what I mean is"--hesitant, +yet resolute, he harked back to the main point--"if any of that lot +came to know--about India and--your mother, well--they're proper +skunks, some of them. They might say things that would make _you_ feel +like a kettle on the boil." + +"If they did--I would kill them." + +Roy stated the fact with quiet deliberation, and without noticing that +he had repeated the very words of the vanished victim. + +This time Desmond did not treat it as a joke. + +"'Course you would," he agreed gravely. "And that sort of shindy's no +good for the school. So I thought--better give you the tip----" + +"I--see," Roy said in a low voice, without looking up. He did not see; +but he began dimly to guess at a so far unknown and unsuspected state of +mind. + +Desmond sat silent while he shook the sand out of his boots. Then he +remarked in an easier tone: "Quite sure there's no damage?" + +Roy, now on his feet, found his left leg uncomfortably stiff--and said +so. + +"Bad luck! We must walk it off. I'll knead it first, if you like. I've +seen them do it on the Border." + +His unskilled manipulation hurt a good deal; but Roy, overcome with +gratitude, gave no sign. + +When it was over they set out for their homeward tramp, and found the +bicycle, as Desmond had prophesied. He refused to ride on; and Roy +limped beside him, feeling absurdly elated. The godlike one had come to +earth indeed! Only the remark about his mother still rankled; but he +felt shy of returning to the subject. The change in Desmond's manner had +puzzled him. Roy glanced admiringly at his profile--the straight nose, +the long mouth that smiled so readily, the resolute chin, a little in +the air. A clear case of love at sight, schoolboy love; a passing phase +of human efflorescence; yet, in passing, it will sometimes leave a mark +for life. Roy, instinctively a hero-worshipper, registered a new +ambition--to become Desmond's friend. + +Presently, as if aware of his thought, Desmond spoke. + +"I say, Sinclair, how old are you? You seem less of a kid than most of +the new lot." + +"I'm ten and a half," said Roy, wishing it was eleven. + +"Bit late for starting. I'm twelve. Going on to Marlborough next year." + +Roy felt crushed. In a year he would be gone! Still--there were three +more terms: and _he_ would go on to Marlborough too. He would insist. + +"Does Scab Ma. bother you much?" Desmond asked with a friendly twinkle. + +"Now and then--nothing to fuss about." + +Roy's nonchalance, though plucky, was not quite convincing. + +"Righto! I'll head him off. He isn't keen to knock up against me." A +pause. "How about sitting down my way at meals? You don't look awfully +gay at your end." + +"I'm not. It would be ripping." + +"Good. We'll hang together, eh? Because of India; because we both +belong--in a different way. And we'll stick up for that miserable little +devil Chandranath." + +"Yes--we will." (The glory of that 'we.') "All the same,--I don't much +like the look of him" + +"No more don't I. He's the wrong 'jat.' He won't stay long--you'll see. +But still--he shan't be bullied by Scabs, because he's not the same +colour outside. You see that sort of thing in India too. My father's +fearfully down on it, because it makes more bad blood than anything; +I've heard him say that it's just the blighters who buck about the +superior race who do all the damage with their inferior manners. Rather +neat--eh?" + +Roy glowed. "Your father must be a splendid sort. Is he a soldier?" + +"Rath_er_! He's a V.C. He got it saving a Jemadar--a Native Officer." + +Roy caught his breath. + +"I would awfully like to hear how----" + +Desmond told him how.... + +It was a wonderful walk. By the end of it Roy no longer felt a lonely +atom in a strange world. He had found something better than his +Sanctuary--he had found a friend. + +Looking back, long afterwards, he recognised that Sunday as the +turning-point.... + +Later in the evening he poured it all out to his mother in four +closely-written sheets. + +But not a word about herself, or Desmond's friendly warning, which +still puzzled him. He worried over it a little before he fell asleep. It +was the very first hint--given, in all friendliness--that the mere fact +of having an Indian mother might go against you, in some people's eyes. +Not the right ones, of course; but still--in the nature of things,--he +couldn't make it out. That would come later. + +At the time its only effect was to deepen his private satisfaction at +having hammered Joe Bradley; to quicken his attitude of championship +towards his mother and towards India, till ultimately the glow of his +fervent devotion fused them both into one dominant idea. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "He it is--the innermost one who awakens my being with his deep + hidden touches."--TAGORE. + + +Lilamani read and re-read that letter curled among her cushions in the +deep window-seat of the studio, a tower room with tall windows looking +north, over jagged pine tops, to the open moor. + +And while she read, Nevil stood at his easel, seizing and recording, the +unconscious grace of her pose, the rapt stillness of her face. He was +never weary of painting her--never quite satisfied with the result; +always within an ace of achieving the one perfect picture that should +immortalise a gleam from her inner uncaptured loveliness--the essence of +personality that eternally foils the sense, while it sways the spirit. +Impossible, of course. One might as well try and catch the fragrance of +a rose, the bloom of an April dawn, or any other fragment of the world's +unseizable beauty But there remained the joy of pursuing--and pursuing, +not achieving, is the salt of life. + +Something in her pose, her absorption--lips just parted, shadow of +lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the green velvet +curtain--had fired him, lit a spark of inspiration.... + +If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a companion to +the Antibes pastel: her two aspects--wife of Nevil; mother of Roy. Later +on, the boy would understand. His star stood higher than usual, just +then. For Nevil had detested writing that letter of rebuke; had not +dared show it to his wife; and Roy had taken it like a man. No more +lamentations, so far. Certainly not on this occasion, judging by her +rapt look, her complete absorption that gave him the chance of catching +her unawares. + +For, in truth, she was unaware; lost to everything but the joy of +contact with her son. The pang of parting had been dulled to a hidden +ache; but always the blank was there, however amply filled with other +claims on heart and spirit. A larger schoolroom now: and Nevil, with his +new Eastern picture on hand, making constant demands on her--as +usual--in the initial stages; till the subject of the moment eclipsed +everything, every one--sometimes even herself. Her early twinges of +jealousy, during that phase, rarely troubled her now. As wife and +mother, she better understood the dual allegiance--the twofold strain of +the creative process, whether in spirit or flesh. Now she knew that, +when art seemed most exclusively to claim him, his need was greater, not +less, for her woman's gift of self-effacing tenderness, of personal +physical service. And through deeper love, came clearer insight. She saw +Nevil--the artist--as a veritable Yogi, impelled to ceaseless striving +for mastery of himself, his atmosphere, his medium: saw her wifely love +and service as the life-giving impetus without which he might flag and +never reach the heights. + +Women of wide social and intellectual activities might raise perplexed +eyebrows over her secluded life, still instinct with the 'spirit of +purdah.' She found the daily pattern of it woven with threads so richly +varied that to cherish a hidden grief seemed base ingratitude. Yet +always--at the back of things--lurked her foolish mother-anxieties, her +deep unuttered longing. And letters were cold comfort. In the first few +weeks she had come to dread opening them. Always the bitter cry of +loneliness and longing for home. What was it Nevil had said to make so +surprising a change? Craving to know, she feared to ask; and more than +suspected that he blessed her for refraining. + +And now came this long, exultant letter, written in the first flush of +his great discovery---- + +And as she read on, she became aware of a new sensation. This was +another kind of Roy. On the first page he was pouring out his heart in +careless unformed phrases. By the end of the second, his tale had hold +of him; he was enjoying--perhaps unaware--the exercise of a +newly-awakened gift. And, looking up, at last, to share it with Nevil, +she caught him in the act of tracing a curve of her sari in mid-air. + +With a playful movement--pure Eastern--she drew it half over her face. + +"Oh, Nevil--you wicked! I never guessed----" + +"That was the beauty of it. I make my salaams to Roy! What's he been up +to that it takes four sheets to confess?" + +"Not confessing. Telling a tale. It will surprise you." + +"Let's have a look." + +She gave him the letter; and while he read it, she intently watched his +face. "The boy'll write--I shouldn't wonder," was his verdict, handing +back her treasure, with an odd half-smile in his eyes. + +"And you were hoping--he would paint?" she said, answering his thought. + +"Yes, but--scarcely expecting. Sons are a perverse generation. I'm glad +he's tumbled on his feet and found a pal." + +"Yes. It is good." + +"We'll invite young Desmond here and inspect him, eh?" + +"Yes--we will." + +He was silent a moment, considering her profile--humanly, not +artistically. "Jealous, is she? The hundredth part of a fraction?" + +"Just so much!" she admitted in her small voice. "But underneath--I am +glad. A fine fellow. We will ask him--later." + +The projected invitation proved superfluous. Roy's next letter informed +them that after Christmas Desmond was coming for ten whole days. He had +promised. + +He kept his promise. After Christmas he came and saw--and conquered. At +first they were all inclined to be secretly critical of the new element +that looked as if it had come to stay. For Roy's discreetly repressed +admiration was clear as print to those who could read him like an open +page. And, on the whole, it was not surprising, as they were gradually +persuaded to admit. There was more in Lance Desmond than mere grace and +good looks, manliness and a ready humour. In him two remarkable +personalities were blended with a peculiarly happy result. + +They discovered, incidentally, his wonderful gift of music. "Got it off +my mother," was his modest disclaimer. "She and my sister are simply +top-hole. We do lots of it together." + +His intelligent delight in pictures and books commended him to Nevil; +but, at twelve and a half, skating, tramping, and hockey matches held +the field. Sometimes--when it was skating--Tara and Chris went with +them. But they made it clear, quite unaggressively, that the real point +was to go alone. + +Day after day, from her window, Lilamani watched them go, across the +radiant sweep of snow-covered lawn; and, for the first time, where Roy +was concerned, she knew the prick of jealousy,--a foretaste of the day +when her love would no longer fill his life. Ashamed of her own +weakness, she kept it hid--or fancied she did so; but the little +stabbing ache persisted, in spite of shame and stoic resolves. + +Tara and Christine also knew the horrid pang; but they knew neither +shame not stoic resolves. Roy mustn't suspect, of course; but they told +each other, in strictest confidence, that they hated Desmond; firmly +believing they spoke the truth. So it was particularly vexatious to find +that the moment he favoured them with the most casual attention, they +were at his feet. + +But that was their own private affair. Whether they resented, or whether +they adored, the boys remained entirely unconcerned, entirely absorbed +in each other. It was Desmond's opinion of them that mattered supremely +to Roy; in particular--Desmond's opinion of his mother. After those +first puzzling remarks and silences, Roy had held his peace; had not +even shown Desmond her picture. His invitation accepted, he had simply +waited, in transcendent faith, for the moment of revelation. And now he +had his reward. After a prelude of mutual embarrassment, Lance had +succumbed frankly to Lady Sinclair's unexpected charm and her shy +irresistible overtures to friendship:--so frankly, that he was able, +now, to hint at his earlier perplexity. + +He had seen no Indian women, he explained, except in bazaars or in +service; so he couldn't quite understand, until his own mother made +things clearer to him and recommended him to go and see for himself. Now +he had seen--and succumbed: and Roy's very private triumph was +unalloyed. Second only to that triumph, the really important outcome of +their glorious Ten Days was that, with Desmond's help, Roy fought the +battle of going on to Marlborough when he was twelve--and won.... + +It was horrid leaving them all again; but it did make a wonderful +difference knowing there was Desmond at the other end; and together they +would champion that doubtfully grateful victim--Chandranath. Their zeal +proved superfluous. Chandranath never reappeared at St Rupert's. Perhaps +his people had arrived at Desmond's conclusion, that he was not the +right "jat" for an English school. In any case, his disappearance was a +relief--and Roy promptly forgot all about him. + +Years later--many years later--he was to remember. + + * * * * * + +After St Rupert's--Marlborough:--and just at first he hated it, as he +had hated St Rupert's, though in a different fashion. Here it was not so +much the longing for home, as a vague yet deepening sense that, in some +vital way--not yet fully understood--he was different from his fellows +But once he reached the haven of Desmond's study, the good days began in +earnest. He could read and dream along his own lines. He could scribble +verse or prose, when he ought to have been preparing quite other things; +and the results, good or bad, went straight to his mother. + +Needless to say, she found them all radiant with promise; here and there +a flicker of the divine spark: and, throughout the years of transition, +the locked and treasured book that held them was the sheet-anchor to +which she clung, till the new Roy should be forged out of the +backslidings and renewals incidental to that time of stress and +becoming. What matter their young imperfections, when--for her--it was +as if Roy's spirit reached out across the dividing distance and touched +her own. In the days when he seemed most withdrawn, that dear illusion +was her secret bread. + +And all the while, subconsciously, she was drawing nearer to the given +moment of religious surrender that would complete the spiritual link +with husband and children. As the babies grew older, she saw, with +increasing clearness, the increasing difficulty of her position. +Frankly, she had tried not to see it. Her free spirit, having reached +the Reality that transcends all forms, shrank from returning to the +dogmas, the limitations of a definite creed. In her eyes, it seemed a +step backward. Belief in a personal God, above and beyond the Universe, +was reckoned by her own faith a primitive conception; a stage on the way +to that ultima Thule where the soul of man perceives its own inherent +divinity, and the knower becomes the Known, as notes become music, as +the river becomes the sea. It was this that troubled her logical mind +and delayed decision. + +But the final deciding factor--though he knew it not--was Roy. By reason +of her own share in him, religion would probably mean more to him than +to Nevil. For his sake--for the sake of Christine and Tara and the +babies, fast sprouting into boys--she felt at last irresistibly +constrained to accept, with certain mental reservations, the tenets of +her husband's creed; and so qualify herself to share with them all its +outward and visible forms, as already she shared its inward and +spiritual grace. + +The conviction sprang from no mere sentimental impulse. It was the +unhurried work of years. So--when there arose the question of Roy's +confirmation, and Tara's, at the same Easter-tide, conviction blossomed +into decision, as simply and naturally as the bud of a flower opens to +the sun. That is the supreme virtue of changes not imposed from without. +When the given moment came--the inner resolve was there. + +Quite simply she spoke of it to Nevil, one evening over the studio fire. +And behold a surprise awaited her. She had rarely seen him more deeply +moved. From the time of Roy's coming, he told her, he had cherished the +hidden hope. + +"Yet too seldom you have spoken of such things--why?" she asked, moved +in her turn and amazed. + +"Because from the first I made up my mind I would not have it, except +in your own way and in your own time. I knew the essence of it was in +you. For the rest--I preferred to wait till you were ready--Sita Devi." + +"Nevil--lord of me!" She slipped to her knees beside him. "I _am_ ready. +But oh, you wicked, how _could_ I know that all the time you were caring +that much in your secret heart." + +He gathered her close and said not a word. + +So the great matter was settled, with no outward fuss or formalities. +She would be baptized before Roy came home for the Easter holidays and +his confirmation. + +"But not here--not Mr Sale," she pleaded. "Let us go away quietly to +London--we two. Let it be in that great Church, where first the thought +was born in my heart that some day ... this might be." + +He could refuse her nothing. Jeffrey might feel aggrieved when he knew. +But after all--this was their own affair. Time enough afterwards to let +in the world and its thronging notes of exclamation. + +Roy was told when he came home. For imparting such intimate news, she +craved the response of his living self. And if Nevil's satisfaction +struck a deeper note, it was simply that Roy was very young and had +always included her Hindu-ness in the natural order of things. + +Wonderful days! Preparing the children, with Helen's help; preparing +herself, in the quiet of her "House of Gods"--a tiny room above the +studio--in much the same spirit as she had prepared for the great +consecration of marriage, with vigil and meditation and unobtrusive +fasting--noted by Nevil, though he said no word. + +Crowning wonder of all, that golden Easter morning of her first +Communion with Roy and Tara, with Nevil and Helen:--unfolding of heart +and spirit, of leaf and blossom; dual miracle of a world new made.... + + +END OF PHASE I. + + + + +PHASE II. + +THE VISIONARY GLEAM + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Youth is lifted on Wings of his strong hope and soaring valour; + for his thoughts are above riches."--PINDAR. + + +Oxford on a clear, still evening of June: silver reaches of Isis and +Cher; meadows pied with moon daisies and clover, and the rose madder +bloom of ripe grasses; the trill of unseen birds tuning up for evensong; +the passing and repassing of boats and canoes and punts, gay with +cushions and summer frocks; all bathed in the level radiance that steals +over earth like a presence in the last hours of a summer day.... + +Oxford--shrine of the oldest creeds and the newest fads--given over, for +one hilarious week, to the yearly invasion of mothers and sisters and +cousins, and girls that were neither; especially girls that were +neither.... + +Two of the punts, clearly containing one party, kept close enough +together for the occupants to exchange sallies of wit, or any blissful +foolishness in keeping with the blissfully foolish mood of a moonlight +picnic up the river in 'Commem.' + +Roy Sinclair's party boasted the distinction of including one mother, +Lady Despard; and one grandfather, Cuthbert Broome; and Roy himself--a +slender, virile figure in flannels, and New College tie--was poling the +first punt. + +As in boyhood, so now, his bearing and features were Nevil incarnate. +But to the shrewd eye of Broome the last seemed subtly overlaid with the +spirit of the East--a brooding stillness wrought from the clash of +opposing forces within. When he laughed and talked it vanished. When he +fell silent, and drifted away from his surroundings, it reappeared. + +It was precisely this hidden quality, so finely balanced, that +intrigued the brain of the novelist, as distinct from the heart of the +godfather. Which was the real Roy? Which would prove the decisive factor +at the critical corners of his destiny? To what heights would it carry +him--into what abyss might it plunge him--that gleam from the ancient +soul of things? Would India--and his young glorification of India--be, +for him, a spark of inspiration or a stone of stumbling? + +Broome had not seen much of the boy, intimately, since the New Year; and +he did not need spectacles to discern some inner ferment at work. Roy +was more talkative and less communicative than usual; and Broome let him +talk, reading between the lines. He knew to a nicety the moment when a +chance question will kill confidence--or evoke it. He suspected one of +those critical corners. He also suspected one of those Indian cousins of +his: delightful, both of them; but still.... + +The question remained, which was it--the girl or the boy? + +The girl, Aruna--student at Somerville College--was reclining among vast +blue and pink cushions in the bows, pensively twirling a Japanese +parasol, one arm flung round the shoulders of her companion--a +fellow-student; fair and stolid and good-humoured. Broome summed her up +mentally: "Tactless but trustworthy. Anglo-Saxon to the last button on +her ready-made Shantung coat and the blunted toe of her white suede +shoe." + +Aruna--in plain English, Dawn--was quite arrestingly otherwise. Not +beautiful, like Lilamani, nor quite so fair of skin; but what the face +lacked in symmetry was redeemed by lively play of expression, piquante +tilt of nose and chin, large eyes, velvet-dark like brown pansies. The +modelling of the face--its breadth and roundness and upturned +aspect--gave it a pansy-like air. Over her simple summer frock of +carnation pink she wore a paler sari flecked with gold; and two ropes of +coral beads enhanced the deeper coral of her full lower lip. Not yet +eighteen, she was studying "pedagogy" for the benefit of her less +adventurous sisters in Jaipur. + +Clearly a factor to be reckoned with, this creature of girlish laughter +and high purpose; a woman to the tips of her polished finger nails. Yet +Broome had by no means decided that it _was_ the girl---- + +After Desmond--Dyan Singh: each, in his turn and type, own brother to +Roy's complex soul. Broome--in no insular spirit--preferred the earlier +influence. But Desmond had sped like an arrow to the Border, where his +eldest brother commanded their father's old regiment; and Dyan +Singh--handsome and fiery, young India at its best--reigned in his +stead. The two were of the same college. Dyan, twelve months younger, +looked the older by a year or more. Face and form bore the Rajput stamp +of virility, of a racial pride, verging on arrogance; and the Rajput +insignia of breeding--noticeably small hands and feet. + +He was poling the second punt with less skill and assurance than Roy. +His attention was palpably distracted by a vision of Tara among the +cushions in the bows; an arm linked through her mother's, as though +defending her against the implication of being older than any one else, +or in the least degree out of it because of that trifling +detail--tacitly admitted, while hotly denied; which was Tara all over. + +Certainly Lady Despard still looked amazingly young; still emanated the +vital charm she had transmitted to her child. And Tara at twenty, in +soft butter-coloured frock with roses in her hat, was a vision alluring +enough to distract any young man from concentration on a punt pole. +Vivid, eager and venturesome, singularly free from the bane of +self-consciousness; not least among her graces--and rare enough to be +notable--was the grace of her chivalrous affection for the older +generation. In Tara's eyes, girls who patronised their mothers and +tolerated their fathers were anathema. It was a trait certain to impress +Roy's Rajput cousin; and Broome wondered whether Helen was alive to the +disturbing possibility; whether, for all her genuine love of the East, +she would acquiesce.... + +Only the other day, it seemed, he and she had sat together among the +rocks of the dear old Cap, listening to Nevil's amazing news. She it was +who had championed his choice of a bride: and Lilamani had justified her +championship to the full. But then--Lilamani was one in many thousands; +and this affair would be the other way about:--Tara, the apple of their +eye; Tara, with her wild-flower face and her temperament of clear +flame----? + +How sharply they tugged at his middle-aged heart, these casual and +opinionated young things, with their follies and fanaticisms, their +Jacob's ladders hitched perilously to the stars; with their triumphs and +failures and disillusions all ahead of them; airily impervious to +proffered help and advice from those who would agonise to serve them if +they could.... + +A jarring bump in the small of his back cut short his flagrantly +Victorian musings. Dyan's punt was the offender; and Dyan himself, +clutching the pole that had betrayed him, was almost pitched into the +river. + +His achievement was greeted by a shout of laughter, and an ironic +"Played indeed!" from Cuthbert Gordon--Broome's grandson. Roy, tumbled +from some starry dream of his own, flashed out imperiously: "Look alive, +you blithering idiot. 'Who are you a-shoving'?" + +The Rajput's face darkened; but before he could retort, Tara had risen +and stepped swiftly to his side. Her fingers closed on the pole; and she +smiled straight into his clouded eyes. + +"Let _me_, please. I'm sick of lazing and fearfully keen. And I can't +allow my Mother to be drownded by anyone _but_ me. I'd be obliged to +murder the other body, which would be awkward--for us both!" + +"Miss Despard--there is no danger----" he muttered--impervious to +humour; and--as if by chance--one of his hands half covered hers. + +"Let go," she commanded, so low that no one else knew she had spoken; so +sternly that Dyan's fingers unclosed as if they had touched fire. + +"Now, don't fuss. Go and sit down," she added, in her lighter vein. +"You've done your share. And you're jolly grateful to me, really. But +too proud to own it!" + +"_Not_ too proud to obey you," he muttered. + +She saw the words rather than heard them; and he turned away without +daring to meet her eyes. + +It all passed in a few seconds, but it left him tingling with repressed +rage. He had made a fool of himself in her eyes; had probably given away +his secret to the whole party. After all, what matter? He could not +much longer have kept it hidden. By the touch of hands and his daring +words he had practically told her.... + +As he settled himself, her clear voice rang out: "Wake up, Roy! I'll +race you to the backwater." + +They raced to the backwater; and Tara won by half a length, amid cheers +from the men. + +"Well, you see, I _had_ to let you," Roy explained, as she confronted +him, flushed with triumph. "Seemed a shame to cut you out. Not as if you +were a giddy suffragette!" + +"_Qui s'excuse--s'accuse!_" she retorted. "Anyway--_I'm_ the winner." + +"Right you are. The way of girls was ever so. No matter what line you +take, it's safe to be the wrong one." + +"Hark at the Cynic!" jeered young Cuthbert. "Were you forty on the 9th, +or was it forty-five?" + +Roy grinned. "Good old Cuthers! Don't exhaust yourself trying to be +funny! Fish out the drinks. We've earned them, haven't we--High Tower +Princess?" The last, confidentially, for Tara's ear alone. + +And Dyan, seeing the smile in her eyes, felt jealousy pierce him like a +red-hot wire. + +The supper, provided by Roy and Dyan, was no scratch wayside meal, but +an ambrosial affair:--salmon mayonnaise, ready mixed; glazed joints of +chicken; strawberries and cream; lordly chocolate boxes; sparkling +moselle--and syphons for the abstemious. + +It was a lively meal: Roy, dropped from the clouds, the film of the East +gone from his face, was simply Nevil again; even as young Cuthbert, with +his large build and thatch of tawny hair, was a juvenile edition of +Broome. And the older man, watching them, bandying chaff with them, +renewed his youth for one careless golden hour. + +The punts were ranged alongside; and they all ate together, English and +Indian. No irksome caste rules on this side of the water; no hint of +condescension in the friendly attitude of young Oxford. Nothing to jar +the over-sensibility of young India--prone to suspect slight where no +thought of it exists; too often, also, treated to exhibitions of +ill-bred arrogance that undo in an hour the harmonising work of years. + +Dyan sat by Tara, anticipating her lightest need; courage rising by +leaps and bounds. Aruna, from her nest of cushions, exchanged lively +sallies with Roy. Petted by a college full of friendly English girls, +she had very soon lost what little shyness she ever possessed. Now and +again, when his eyes challenged hers, she would veil them and watch him +surreptitiously; one moment approving his masculine grace; the next, +boldly asking herself: "Does he see how I am wearing the favourite +sari--and how my coral beads make my lips look red?" And again: "Why do +they make foolish talk of a gulf between East and West?" + +To that profound question came no answer in words; only in hidden +stirrings, that she preferred to ignore. Both brother and sister had +persuaded themselves that talk of a gulf was exaggerated by unfriendly +spirits. They, at all events, having built their bridge, took its +stability for granted. Children of an emotional race, it sufficed to +discover that they loved the cool green freshness of England, the +careless kindly freedom of her life and ways; the hum of her restless, +smoky, all-embracing London; her miles and miles of books and pictures. +Above everything they loved Oxford, where all were brothers in +spirit--with a proper sense of difference between the brothers of one's +own college and the mere outsider:--Oxford, at this particular hour of +this particular June evening. And at this actual moment, they loved +salmon mayonnaise and crushed strawberries fully as much as any other +manifestation of the delectable land. + +And down in subconscious depths--untroubled by the play of surface +emotions--burned their passionate, unreasoned love of India that any +chance breath might rekindle to a flame. + +Presently, as the sun drew down to earth, trees and meadows swam in a +golden haze. Arrows of gold, stealing through alders and willows, +conjured mere leaves into discs of pure green light. Clouds of pollen +brightened to dust of gold. In the near haze midges flickered; and, +black against the brightness, swallows wheeled and dipped, uttering thin +cries in the ecstasy of their evening flight. + +On the two punts in the backwater a great peace descended after the +hilarity of their feast. Clouds of cigarette smoke kept midges at bay. +In the deepening stillness small sounds asserted themselves--piping of +gnats, the trill of happy birds, snatches of disembodied laughter and +talk from other parties in other punts, somewhere out of sight.... + +Only Aruna did not smoke; and Emily Barnard, her fanatic devotee, +retired with her to the bank, where they made a lazy pretence of +"washing up." But Aruna's eyes _would_ stray toward the recumbent figure +of Roy, when she fancied Emmie was not looking. And Emmie--who could see +very well without looking--wished him at the bottom of the river. + +Propped on an elbow, he lay among Aruna's cushions, his senses stirred +by the faint carnation scent she used, enlarging on his latest +enthusiasm--Rabindranath Tagore, the first of India's poet-saints to +challenge the ethics of the withdrawn life. When the mood was on, the +veil of reserve swept aside, he could pour out his ardours, his +protests, his theories, in an eloquent rush of words. And +Aruna--absently wiping spoons and forks--listened entranced. He seemed +to be addressing no one in particular; but as often as not his gaze +rested on Broome, as though he were indirectly conveying to him thoughts +he felt shy of airing when they were alone. + +A pause in the flow of his talk left a space of silence into which the +encompassing peace and radiance stole like an inflowing tide. None loved +better than Roy the ghostly music of silence; but to-night his brain was +filled with the music of words--not his own. + +"Just listen to this," he said, without preamble. His eyes took on their +far-away look; his voice dropped a tone. + +"The night is night of mid-May; the breeze is the breeze of the South. + +"From my heart comes out and dances the image of my Desire. + +"The gleaming vision flits on. + +"I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. + +"I seek what I cannot get; I get what I do not seek." + +To that shining fragment of truth and beauty, his audience paid the +fitting tribute of silence; and his gaze--returning to earth--caught, in +Tara's eyes, a reflection of his exalted mood. Dyan saw it also; and +once more that red-hot wire pierced his heart. + +It passed in a second; and Roy was speaking again--not to Tara, but to +her mother. + +"Is there any poet, East or West, who can _quite_ so exquisitely capture +the essence of a mood, hold it lightly, like a fluttering bird, and as +lightly let it go?" + +Lady Despard smiled approval at the simile. "In that one," she said, "he +has captured more than a mood--the very essence of life.--Have you met +him?" + +"Yes, once--after a lecture. We had a talk--I'll never forget. There's +wonderful stuff in the new volume. I know most of it by heart." + +"Spare us, good Lord," muttered Cuthbert--neither prejudiced nor +perverse, but British to the core. "If you start again, I'll retaliate +with Job and the Psalms!" + +Roy retorted with the stump of an extinct cigarette. It smote the +offender between the eyebrows, leaving a caste-mark of warm ash to +attest the accuracy of his aim. + +"Bull's eye!" Tara scored softly; and Roy, turning on his elbow, +appealed to Broome. "Jeffers, please extinguish him!" ("Jeffers" being a +corruption of G.F., alias Godfather). + +Broome laughed. "I had a hazy notion he was your show candidate for the +Indian Civil!" + +"He's supposed to be. That's the scandal of it. A mighty lot of interest +he's cultivating in the people and the country he aspires to +administer." + +"High art and sloppy sentiment are not in the bond," Cuthbert retorted, +with a wink at Dyan Singh. + +That roused Lady Despard. "Insight and sympathy _must_ be in the bond, +unless England and India are to drift apart altogether. The Indian +Civilian should be caught early, like the sailor, and trained on the +spot. Exams make character a side issue. And one might almost say +there's no _other_ issue in the Indian services." + +Cuthbert nodded. "Glorious farce, isn't it? They simply cram us like +Christmas turkeys. Efficiency's the war-cry, these enlightened days." + +"Too _much_ efficiency," Dyan struck in, with a kindling eye. "Already +turning our ancient cities into nightmares like Manchester and +Birmingham, killing the true sense of beauty, giving us instead the +poison of money and luxury worship. And what result? Just now, when the +West at last begins to notice our genius of colour and design--even to +learn from it--we find it slipping out of our own fingers. Nearly all +the homes of the English educated are like caricatures of your +villas--the worst kind. Yet there are still many on both sides who wish +to make life--not so ugly, to escape a little from gross superstition of +_facts_----" + +"Hear, hear!" Broome applauded him. "But I'm afraid, my dear boy, the +Time Spirit is out to make tradesmen and politicians of us all. Thank +God, the soul of a race lives in its books, its philosophy and art." + +"Very well then"--Roy was the speaker,--"the obvious remedy lies in +getting the souls of both races into closer touch--philosophy, art, and +all that--eh, Jeffers? That's what we're after--Dyan and I--on the lines +of that society Dad belongs to." + +Broome looked thoughtfully from one to the other. "A tall order," said +he. + +"A vision splendid!" said Lady Despard. + +Roy leaned eagerly towards her. "_You_ don't sneer at dreams, Aunt +Helen." + +"Nor do I, my son. Dreamers are our strictly unpaid torch-bearers. They +light the path for us; and we murmur 'Poor fools!' with a kind of +sneaking self-satisfaction, when they come a cropper." + +"'Which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me!'" quoted Roy, cheered by Lady +Despard's approval. "Anyway, we're keen to speed up the better +understanding move--on the principle that Art unites and politics +divide." + +"Very pithy--and approximately true! May I be allowed to proffer a sound +working maxim for youth on the war-path? 'Freedom and courage in +thought--obedience in act.' When I say obedience, I don't mean slavish +conformity. When I say freedom, I don't mean licence. Only the bond are +free." + +"Jeffers, you're a Daniel! I'll pinch that pearl of wisdom! But what +about democracy--Cuthers' pet panacea? Isn't it making for +_dis_obedience in act--rebellion; and enslavement in thought--every man +reared on the same catch-words, minted with the same hall-mark?" + +That roused the much-enduring British Lion--in the person of Cuthbert +Gordon. + +"Confound you, Roy! This is a picnic, not a bally Union debate. You +can't argue for nuts; and when you start spouting you're the limit. But +two can play at that game!" He flourished a half-empty syphon of +lemonade, threatening the handle with a very square thumb. + +"Fire away, old bean." Roy opened his mouth by way of invitation. +Cuthbert promptly pressed the trigger--and missed his mark. + +There was a small shriek from Tara and from the girls on the bank: then +the opponents proceeded to deal with one another in earnest.... + +Dyan soon lost interest when India was not the theme; and, as the elders +fell into an undercurrent of talk, his eyes sought Tara's face. Her +answering smile spurred him to a bold move; and he leaned towards her, +over the edge of the boat. "Miss Despard," he said under his breath, +"won't you come for a stroll in the field?--Do." + +She shook her head. "I'm too lazy! We've had enough exercise. And +there's the walk home." + +Her refusal jarred him; but desire overruled pride. "You couldn't call +it exercise. Do come." + +"Truly--I'm tired," she insisted gently, looking away from him towards +her mother. + +It was Lady Despard's boast that she could listen to three conversations +at once; but even Tara was surprised when she casually put out a hand +and patted her knee. "Wise child. Better keep quiet till we start home." + +The hand was not removed. Tara covered it with her own, and further +maddened the discomfited Dyan by saying, with her very kindest smile: +"I'm so sorry. Don't be vexed." + +Vexed! The bloodless word was insult piled on injury. All the pride and +passion of his race flamed in him. Without answering her smile or her +plea, he drew abruptly away from her; stepped out of the punt and went +for his stroll alone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Who knows what days I answer for to-day...? + Thoughts yet unripe in me, I bend one way...." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +While Broome and Lady Despard were concerned over indications of a +critical corner for Roy, there was none--save perhaps Aruna--to be +concerned for the dilemma of Dyan Singh, Rajput--half savage, half +chivalrous gentleman; idealist in the grain; lover of England and India; +and now--fiercely, consumedly--lover of Tara Despard, with her Indian +name and her pearl-white English skin and the benign sunshine of England +in her hair. + +It is the danger-point for the young Indian overseas, unused to free +intercourse with women other than his own; saddled, very often, with a +girl-wife in the background--the last by no means a matter of course in +these enlightened days. In Dyan Singh's case the safeguard was lacking. +His mother being dead, he had held his own against a rigidly +conventional grandmother, and insisted on delaying the inevitable till +his education was complete. Waxing bolder still, he had demanded the +same respite for Aruna; a far more serious affair. For months they had +waged a battle of tongues and temper and tears, with +Mataji--high-priestess of the Inside--with the family matchmaker and the +family _guru_, whom to offend was the unforgiveable sin. Had he not +power to call down upon an entire household the curse of the gods? + +More than once Aruna had been goaded to the brink of surrender; till her +brother grew impatient and spurned her as a weakling. Yet her ordeal had +been sharper than his own. For him, mere moral suasion and threats of +ostracism. For her, the immemorial methods of the Inside; forbidden by +Sir Lakshman, but secretly applied, when flagrant obstinacy demanded +drastic measures. So neither Dyan nor his grandfather had suspected that +Aruna, for days together, had suffered the torment of Tantalus--food set +before her so mercilessly peppered that a morsel would raise blisters on +her lips and tongue; water steeped in salt; the touch of the +'fire-stick' applied where her skin was tenderest; not to mention the +more subtle torment of jibes and threats and vile insinuations that +suffused her with shame and rage. A word to the menfolk, threatened +Mataji, and worse would befall. If _men_ cared nothing for family +honour, the women must vindicate it in their own fashion. For the two +were doing their duty, up to their lights. Only the knowledge that Dyan +was fighting her battle, as well as his own, had kept the girl unbroken +in spirit, even when her body cried out for respite at any price.... + +All this she had confided to him when, at last, they were safe on the +great ship, with miles of turbulent water between them and the ruthless +dominion of _dastur_. That confession--with its unconscious revealing of +the Rajput spirit hidden in her laughter-loving heart--had drawn them +into closest union and filled Dyan with self-reproach. Small wonder if +Oxford seemed to both a paradise of knowledge and of friendly freedom. +Small wonder if they believed that, in one bold leap, they had bridged +the gulf between East and West. + +At Bramleigh Beeches, Lilamani--who knew all without telling--had +welcomed them with open arms: and Lady Despard no less. It was here that +Dyan met Tara, who had 'no use' for colleges--and, in the course of a +few vacation visits, the damage had been done. + +At first he had felt startled, even a little dismayed. English education +and delayed marriage had involved no dream of a possible English wife. +With the Indian Civil in view, he had hoped to meet some girl student of +his own race, sufficiently advanced to remain outside purdah and to +realise that a modern Indian husband might crave companionship from his +wife no less than motherhood, worship, and service. + +And now ... _this_----! + +Striding across the field, in the glimmer of a moon just beginning to +take colour, he alternately raged at her light rebuff, and applauded her +maidenly hesitation. As a Hindu and a man of breeding, his natural +instinct had been to approach her parents; but he knew enough of modern +youth, by now, to realise that English parents were a side issue in +these little affairs. For himself, the primitive lover flamed in him. He +wanted to kneel and worship her. In the same breath, he wanted simply to +possess her, would she or no.... + +And in saner moods, uncertainty racked him. What did they amount to, her +smiles and flashes of sympathy, her kind, cousinly ways? What did Roy's +cousinly kindness amount to, with Aruna? If in India they suffered from +too much restriction, it dawned on him that in England trouble might +arise from too much freedom. Always, by some cause, there would be +suffering. The gods would see to it. But not through loss of her--he +mutely implored them. Any way but that! + +Everything hung on the walk home. Those two must have finished their +sparring match by now.... + +They had. Roy was on the bank, helping Aruna pack the basket; and +Cuthbert in possession of Tara--not for long. + +He was called upon to punt back; and at the boat-house, where a taxi +removed the elders and the picnic impedimenta, he essayed a futile +manoeuvre to recapture Tara and saddle Dyan with the solid Emily. +Failing, he consoled himself by keeping in touch with Aruna and Roy. + +Dyan patently delayed starting, patently lagged behind. Unskilled and +desperately in earnest, he could not lead up to his moment. He was +laboriously framing the essential words when Tara scattered them with a +light remark, rallying him on his snail's pace. + +"You _would_ go for that stroll; and you strolled so violently----!" + +"Because my heart in me was raging--aching, violently!" he blurted out +with such unexpected vehemence, that she started and stepped back a +pace. + +"Of course I knew--there must be difficulties--so I have been waiting +and hoping ..." An idiotic catch in his throat brought a sudden hot +wave of self-consciousness. He flung out both hands. "Tara----!" + +Instinctively, she drew her own out of reach. A ghost of a shiver ran +through her. "No--no. I don't ... I never have.... If I've misled you, +I'm ever so sorry." + +"If you are sorry--_give me hope_," his voice, his eyes implored her. +"You come so near--then you draw back; like offering a thirsty man a cup +of water he must not drink. Give me only a little time--a little +chance----" + +She shook her head. "Please believe me. I'm _not_ the wavering kind. I'm +keen to go on being friends--because of Roy. But, truthfully, it's no +use hoping for anything more--ever." + +Her patent sincerity, the sweet seriousness of her face, carried +conviction. And conviction turned his ardour to bitterness. + +"Why no use--_ever_?" he flung out, maddened by her emphasis on the +word. + +"I suppose--because I know my own mind." + +"No. Because--_I_ am Indian." His voice was changed and harsh. "We are +all British subjects--oh yes--when convenient! But the door is opened +only--so far. If we make bold to ask for the best, it is slammed in our +faces." + +"Dyan Singh, if I have hurt you, it was quite unintentional. You know +that. But now, _with_ intention, you are hurting me." Her dignity and +gentleness, the justice of her reproof, smote him silent; and she went +on: "You forget, it is the same among your own people. Aunt Lila was +cast out--for always. With an English girl that could never be." + +Too distraught for argument, he harked back to the personal issue. "With +_you_ there would be no need. I would live altogether like an +Englishman----" + +"Oh, _stop_!" she broke out desperately. "Don't start all over +again----" + +"Look alive, you two slackers," shouted Roy, from the far corner of the +road. "I'm responsible for keeping the team together." + +"Coming!" called Tara, and turned on Dyan a final glance of appeal. "I'm +_sorry_ from the bottom of my heart. I can't say more."--And setting +the pace, she hurried forward. + +For the fraction of a second, he hesitated. An overmastering impulse +seized him to walk off in the opposite direction. His eager love for +them all had suddenly turned to gall. But pride forbade. He would not +for the world have them guess at his rebuff--not even Aruna.... + + * * * * * + +He slept little that night; and it was not Dyan Singh of New College who +awoke next morning. It was Dyan Singh, Rajput, Descendant of the Sun. +Yet the foolish round of life must go on as if no vital change had come +to pass. + +That afternoon, he was going with Roy to a select drawing-room meeting. +A certain Mr Ramji Lal had been asked to read a paper on the revival of +Indian arts and crafts. Dyan had been looking forward to it keenly; but +now, sore and miserable as he was--all sense of purpose and direction +gone--he felt out of tune with the whole thing. + +He would have been thankful to cry off. Roy, however, must not suspect +the truth--Roy, who himself might be the stumbling-block. The suspicion +stung like a scorpion; though it soothed a little his hurt pride of +race. + +Embittered and antagonistic, he listened only with half his mind to his +own countryman's impassioned appeal for renewal of the true Swadeshi[1] +spirit in India; renewal of her own innate artistic culture, her faith +in the creative power of thought and ideas. That spirit--said the +speaker--has no war-cries, no shoutings in the market-place. It is a way +of looking at life. Its true genesis and inspiration is in the home. +Like flame, newly-lit, it needs cherishing. Instead, it is in danger of +being stamped out by false Swadeshi--an imitation product of the West; +noisy and political, crying out for more factories, more councils; +caring nothing for true Indian traditions of art and life. It will not +buy goods from Birmingham and Manchester; but it will create Birmingham +and Manchester in India. In effect, it is the age-old argument whether +the greatness of a nation comes from the dominion of men or +machinery.... + +For all this, Dyan had cared intensely twenty-four hours ago. Now it +seemed little better than a rhapsody of fine phrases--'sounding brass +and tinkling cymbals.' + +Could the mere word of a woman so swiftly and violently transform the +mind of a man? His innate masculinity resented the idea. It succumbed, +nevertheless. He was too deeply hurt in his pride and his passionate +heart to think or feel sanely while the wound was still so fresh. He was +scarcely stirred even by the allusion to Rajputana in Mr Ramji Lal's +peroration. + +"I ask you to consider, in conclusion--my dear and honoured English +friends--the words of a veteran lover of India, who is also a son of +England. It was his conviction--it is also mine--that 'the still living +art of India, the still living chivalry of Rajputana, the still living +religion of the Hindus, are the only three points on which there is any +possibility of regenerating the national life of India--the India of the +Hindus....'" + +Very fine; doubtless very true; but what use--after all--their eternal +talk? By blowing volumes of air from their lungs, did they shift the +mountains of difficulty one single inch? + +More talk followed; tea and attentions that would have flattered him +yesterday. To-day it all passed clean over his head. They were ready +enough to pamper him, like a lap-dog, these good ladies; forgetting he +was a man, with a man's heart and brain, making demand for something +more than carefully chosen sugar-plums. + +He had never been so thankful to get away from that hospitable house, +where he had imagined himself so happy.... + +They were out in the street again, striding back to New College: +Roy--not yet alive to the change in him--full of it all; talking +nineteen to the dozen. But Dyan's urgent heart spoke louder than his +cousin's voice. And all the while he kept wondering consumedly--_Was_ it +Roy? + +He could not bring himself to ask outright. The answer would madden him +either way. And Goodness--or Badness--knew he was miserable enough: +hurt, angry with Fate, with England, even with Tara--lovely and +unattainable! She had spoilt everything: his relation with her, with her +people, with Roy. She had quenched his zeal for their joint crusade. All +the same, he would hold Roy to the India plan; since there was just a +chance--and it would take him away from her. He hated himself for the +thought; but jealousy, in the East, is a consuming fire.... + +Roy's monologue ceased abruptly. "Your innings, old chap, I think!" he +said. "You're mum as a fish this afternoon. I noticed it in there--I +thought you'd have lots to say to Ramji Lal." + +Dyan frowned. He could not for long play at pretences with Roy. + +"Those ladies did all the saying. They would not have liked it at all if +I had spoken my true thought,"--he paused and added deliberately--"that +we are all cracking our skulls against stone walls." + +"My dear chap----!" Roy stared in frank bewilderment. "What's gone +wrong? Your liver touched up? Too much salmon mayonnaise and cream?" + +His light tone goaded Dyan to exasperation. "Quite likely," he retorted, +a sneer lurking in his tone. "Plenty of mayonnaise and cream, for all +parties. But when we make bold to ask for more satisfying things, we +find 'No Indians need apply.'" + +"But--my good Dyan----!" + +"Well--it's true. Suppose I wish to promote that closer union we all +chatter about by marrying an English girl--what then?" + +Up went Roy's eyebrows. "Are _you_ after an English wife?" + +"I am submitting a case--that might easily occur." He spoke with a touch +of irritation; and fearing self-betrayal, swerved from the main issue. +"Would _you_ marry an Indian girl?" + +"I believe so. If I was keen. I'm not at all sure, though, if it's +sound--in principle--mixing such opposite strains. And in your +case--hypothetical, I suppose----?" + +Dyan's grunt confessed nothing and denied nothing. + +"Well--from what one hears, an English wife, out there, might make a bit +of complication, if you get the 'Civil.'" + +Dyan started. "I shan't go up for it. I've changed my mind." + +"Good Lord! And you've been sweating all this time." + +Dyan's smile was tinged with bitterness. + +"Well--one lives and learns. I can make good use of my knowledge without +turning myself into an imitation Englishman. An Indian wife might make +equal difficulty. So--with all my zeal--I am between two grindstones. My +father joined the Civil. He was keen. He did well. But--no promotion; +and little friendliness, except from very few. I believe he was never +happy. I believe--it killed him. I was cherishing a hope that, now, +things might be better. But I am beginning to see--I may be wrong. Safer +to see it in time----" + +Roy looked genuinely distressed. "Poor old Dyan. Perhaps you're right. I +don't know much about British India. But it does seem hard lines--and +bad policy--to choke off men like you." + +"Yes. They might consider _that_ more, if they heard some of our +fire-eaters. One was at me last week. He gave the British ten years to +survive. Said their lot could raise a revolution to-morrow if they had +money--a trifle of five millions! He was swearing the Indian princes are +not loyal, in spite of talk and subscriptions; that the Army will join +whichever side gives best pay. We who _are_ loyal need _some_ +encouragement--some recognition. We are only human----!" + +"Rather. But _you_ won't go back on our little show, old chap. Just when +I'm dead keen--laying my plans for India----" + +He took hold of Dyan's upper arm and gave it a friendly shake. + +"No, I'll stick to that. But are you sure you can work it--with your +people? If _you_ back out, I swear, by the sin of the sack of Chitor, +I'll join the beastly crowd who are learning to make bombs in Berlin." + +At that--the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of a Rajput--Roy +looked startled. Then he laughed. + +"'Commem' seems to have disagreed with you all round! But I won't be +intimidated. Likewise--I won't back out. I intend opening diplomatic +conversations with Jeffers to-night. Recherche dinner for two in my +room. All his little weaknesses! He'd be a strong ally. Wish me luck." + +Dyan wished him luck in a rather perfunctory tone, considering his +vehemence of a moment earlier. All the fire seemed suddenly to have gone +out of him. + +They had just entered the college gate; and a few yards ahead, they +caught sight of Lady Despard and Tara--the girl's hand linked through +her mother's arm. + +"Oh, I clean forgot," remarked Roy. "I said they could look in." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Own country.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "It is the spirit of the quest which helps. I am the slave of this + spirit of the quest."--KABIR. + + +Roy's recherche little dinner proved an unqualified success. With sole +and chicken saute, with trifle and savoury, he mutely pleaded his cause; +feeling vaguely guilty, the while, of belittling his childhood's idol, +whom he increasingly admired and loved. But this India business was +tremendously important, and the dear old boy would never suspect---- + +Roy watched him savouring the chicken and peas; discussing the decay of +falling in love, its reasons and remedies; and thought, for the +hundredth time, what a splendid old boy he was; so big and breezy, +nothing bookish or newspapery about him. Quite a masterpiece of +modelling, on Nature's part; the breadth and bulk of him; the massive +head, with its thatch of tawny-grey hair that retreated up the sides of +his forehead, making corners; the nose, rugged and full of character; +the beard and the sea-blue eyes that gave him the sailor aspect Roy had +so loved in nursery days. Now he appraised it consciously, with the +artist's eye. A vigorous bust of his godfather was his acknowledged +masterpiece, so far, in the modelling line, which he preferred to brush +or pencil. But first and foremost, literature claimed him: poetry, +essays, and the despised novel--truest and most plastic medium for +interpreting man to man and race to race: the most entirely obvious +medium, thought Roy, for promoting the cause he had at heart. + +Though his brain was overflowing with the one subject, he was reserving +it diplomatically for the more intimate atmosphere of port wine, coffee +and cigars. Meantime they always had plenty to talk about, these two. +Broome held the unorthodox view that he probably had quite as much to +learn from the young as they from him; and at the moment, the question +whether Roy should take up literature in earnest was very much to the +fore. + +Once or twice during a pause, he caught the shrewd blue eye watching him +from under shaggy brows; but each kept his own counsel till the scout +had removed all superfluities. Then Broome chose a cigar, sniffed it, +and beheaded it. + +"My particular weakness!" he remarked pensively, while Roy filled his +glass. "What an attentive godson it is! And after this intriguing +prelude--what of the main plot? India?" + +Under a glance as direct as the question Roy reddened furiously. The +'dear old boy' had done more than suspect; he had seen through the whole +show--the indignity of all others that youth can least abide. + +At sight of his crestfallen countenance, Broome laughed outright. "Bear +up, old man! Don't grudge me a fraction of the wits I live by. Weren't +you trying to give me an inkling yesterday?" + +Roy nodded, mollified a little. But his self-confidence wilted under the +false start. "How about arm-chairs?" he remarked tentatively, very much +engaged with a cigarette. + +They removed their coffee-cups, and sipped once or twice in silence. +"I'm waiting," said Broome, encouragement in his tone. + +But Roy still hesitated. "You see----" he temporised, "I'm so fearfully +keen, I feel shy of gassing about it. Might seem to you mere soppy +sentiment." + +Broome's sailor eyes twinkled. "You pay me the compliment, my son, of +treating me as if I were a fellow-undergrad! It's only the 'teens and +the twenties of this very new century that are so mortally afraid of +sentiment--the main factor in human happiness. If you had _not_ a strong +sentiment for India, you would be unworthy of your mother. You want to +go out there--is that the rub?" + +"Yes. With Dyan." + +"In what capacity?" + +"A lover and a learner. Also--by way of--a budding author. I was hoping +you might back me up with a few commissions for my preliminary stuff." + +"You selected your godfather with unerring foresight! And preliminaries +over--a book, or books, would be the end in view?" + +"Yes--and other things. Whatever one can do--in a small way--to inspire +a friendlier feeling all round; a clearer conviction that the destinies +of England and India are humanly bound up together. I'm sure those +cursed politics are responsible for most of the friction. It's art and +literature, the emotional and spiritual forces that draw men together, +isn't it, Jeffers? _You_ know that----" + +He leaned forward, warming to his subject; the false start forgotten; +shyness dispelled.... + +And, once started, none was more skilful than Broome in luring him on to +fuller, unconscious self-revealing. He knew very well that, on this +topic, and on many others, Roy could enlarge more freely to him than to +his father. Youth is made that way. In his opinion, it was all to the +good that Roy should aspire to use his double heritage, for the +legitimate and noble purpose of interpreting--as far as might be--East +to West, and West to East: not least, because he would probably learn a +good deal more than he was qualified to teach. It was in the process of +qualifying himself, by closer acquaintance with India, that the lurking +danger reared its head. But some outlet there must be for the Eastern +spirit in him; and his early efforts pointed clearly to literary +expression, if Broome knew anything of the creative gift. Himself a +devotee, he agreed with Lafcadio Hearne that 'a man may do quite as +great a service to his country by writing a book as by winning a +battle'; and just so much of these thoughts as seemed fit he imparted to +Roy, who--in response to the last--glowed visibly. + +"Priceless old Jeffers! I knew I could reckon on you to back me up--and +buck me up! Of course one will be hugely encouraged by the bleating of +the practical crowd--Aunt Jane and Co. '_Why_ waste your time writing +silly novels?' And if you try to explain that novels _have_ a real +function, they merely think _you've_ got a swelled head." + +"Never mind, Roy. 'The quest is a noble one and the hope great.' And we +scribblers have our glorious compensations. As for Aunt Jane----" He +looked very straight at her nephew--and winked deliberately. + +"Oh, of course--she's _the_ unlimited limit," Roy agreed without shame. +"I suppose if Dad plays up, she'll give him hell?" + +"Good measure, pressed down.--By the way--have you spoken to _him_ yet +of all this----?" + +"No. Mother probably guesses. But you're the first. I made sure _you'd_ +understand----" + +"You feel doubtful--about Father?" + +"M-yes. I don't quite know why." + +Broome was silent a moment. "After all--it's natural. Put yourself in +his place, Roy.--He sees India taking a stronger hold of you each year. +He knows you've a deal of your mother and grandfather in your make-up. +He may very well be afraid of the magnet proving too strong at close +quarters. And I suspect he's jealous--for England. He'd like to see your +soul centred on Bramleigh Beeches: and I more than suspect they'd both +prefer to keep you nearer home." + +Roy looked distressed. "Hard lines. I hadn't got to that yet. But it +wouldn't be for always. And--there's George and Jerry sprouting up." + +"I gather that George and Jerry are not precisely--Roy----" + +"Jeffers--you old sinner! I can't flatter myself----!" + +"Don't be blatantly British, Roy! You can flatter yourself--you know as +well as I do!" + +"I know it's undiplomatic to contradict my elders!" countered Roy, +lunging after pipe and pouch. + +"Especially convenient godfathers, with press connections?" + +Roy fronted him squarely, laughter lurking in his eyes. "Are you _going_ +to be convenient--that's the rub! _Will_ you give Dad a notion I may +turn out something decent when I've scraped up some crumbs of +knowledge----?" + +Broome leaned forward and laid a large reassuring hand on his knee. +"Trust me to pull it off, old man--provided Mother approves. We couldn't +press it against _her_ wish--either of us." + +"No--we couldn't." There was a new gravity in Roy's tone. "As I said, +she probably knows all about it. That's her way. She understandeth one's +thoughts long before." The last in a lower tone--his eyes dwelling on +her portrait above the mantelpiece: the one in the studio window-seat. + +And Broome thought: "With all his brains, the man's hardly astir in him +yet; and the boy's still in love with her. This notion may be an +unconscious outlet. A healthy one--if Nevil can be got to see it that +way." + +After a perceptible pause, he said quietly: "Remember, Roy, just because +she's unique, she can't be taken as representative. She naturally stands +for India in your eyes. But no country can produce beings of her quality +by the score----" + +"I suppose not." Roy reluctantly shifted his gaze. "But she does +represent what's best in the Indian spirit: the spirit that people over +here might take more pains to understand." + +"And you are peculiarly well fitted to assist them, I admit--if Father's +willing to bear the cost of your trip. It's a compact between us. The +snare of your A1 dinner shall not have been laid in vain!" + +They sat on together for more than an hour. Then Broome departed, +leaving Roy to dream--in a blue mist of tobacco smoke--the opal-tinted +ego-centric dreams of one-and-twenty. + + * * * * * + +And to-night one dream eclipsed them all. + +For years the germ of it had lived in him like a seed in +darkness--growing with him as he grew. All incidents and impressions +that struck deep had served to vitalise it: that early championship of +his mother; her tales of Rajputana; his friendship with Desmond and +Dyan; and, not least, his father's Ramayana pictures in the long gallery +at home, that had seized his imagination in very early days, when their +appeal was simply to his innate sense of colour, and the reiterate +wonder and beauty of his mother's face in those moving scenes from the +story of Sita--India's crown of womanhood.... + +Then there was the vivid memory of a room in his grandfather's house; +the stately old man, with his deep voice, speaking words that he only +came to understand years after; and the look in his mother's eyes, as +she clapped her hands without sound, in the young fashion he loved.... + +And Chandranath--another glimpse of India; the ugly side ...And stories +from Tod's 'Rajasthan'--that grim and stirring panorama of romance and +chivalry, of cruelty and cunning; orgies of slaughter and miracles of +high-hearted devotion.... + +Barbaric; utterly foreign to life, as he had lived it, those tales of +ancient India most strangely awakened in him a vague, thrilling sense of +familiarity ... He _knew_...! Most clearly he knew the spirit that fired +them all, when Akbar's legions broke, wave on wave, against the mighty +rock-fortress of Chitor--far-famed capital of Mewar, thrice sacked by +Islam and deserted by her royal house; so that only the ghost of her +glory remains--a protest, a challenge, an inspiration.... + +Sometimes he dreamed it all, with amazing vividness. And in the dreams +there was always the feeling that he knew ...It was a very queer, very +exciting sensation. He had spoken of it to no one but his mother and +Tara; except once at Marlborough, when he had been moved to try whether +Lance would understand. + +Priceless old Desmond! It had been killing to watch his +face--interested, sceptical, faintly alarmed, when he discovered that it +was not an elaborate attempt to pull his leg. By way of reassuring him, +Roy had confessed it was a family failing. When things went wrong his +mother nearly always knew: and sometimes she came to him, in dreams that +were not exactly dreams. What harm? + +Desmond, puzzled and sceptical, was not prepared to hazard an opinion. +If Roy was made that way, of course he couldn't help it. And Roy, half +indignant, had declared he wouldn't for worlds be made any other way.... + +To-night, by some freak of memory, it all came back to him through the +dream-inducing haze of tobacco smoke. And there, on his writing-table, +stood a full-length photograph of Lance in Punjab cavalry uniform. +Soldiering on the Indian Border, fulfilling himself in his own splendid +fashion, he was clearly in his element; attached to his father's old +regiment, with Paul for second-in-command; proud of his strapping Sikhs +and Pathans; watched over, revered and implicitly obeyed by the sons of +men who had served with his father--men for whom the mere name Desmond +was a talisman. For that is India's way. + +And here was he, Roy, still at his old trick of scribbling poems and +dreaming dreams. For a fleeting moment, Desmond was out of the picture; +but when time was ripe he would be in it again. The link between them +was indestructible--elemental. Poet and Warrior; the eternal +complements. In the Rig Veda[2] both are one; both _Agni Kula_--'born of +fire'; no fulness of life for the one without the other. + +The years dominated by Desmond had been supreme. They had left school +together, when Roy was seventeen; and, at the time, their parting had +seemed like the end of everything. Yet, very soon after, he had found +himself in the thick of fresh delights--a wander-year in Italy, Greece, +the Mediterranean, with the parents and Christine---- + +And now, here he was, nearing the end of the Oxford interlude--dominated +by Dyan and India; and, not least, by Oxford herself, who counts her +lovers by the million; holds them for the space of three or four years +and sets her impress for life on their minds and hearts. For all his +dreamings and scribblings, he had played hard and worked hard. In the +course of reading for Greats, he had imbibed large draughts of the +classics; had browsed widely on later literature, East and West; won the +Newcastle, and filled a vellum-bound volume--his mother's gift--with +verse and sketches in prose, some of which had appeared in the more +exclusive weeklies. He had also picked up Hindustani from Dyan, and +looked forward to tackling Sanskrit. In the Schools, he had taken a +First in Mods; and, with reasonable luck, hoped for a First in the +Finals. Once again, parting would be a wrench, but India glowed like a +planet on the horizon; and he fully intended to make that interlude the +pick of them all.... + +What novels he would write! Not modern impressionist stuff; not mean +streets and the photographic touch. No--his adventuring soul, with its +tinge of Eastern mysticism, craved colour and warmth and light;--not the +mere trappings of romance, but the essence of it that imparts a deeper +sense of the significance and mystery of life; that probes to the +mainsprings of personality, the veiled yet vital world of spiritual +adventure ... Pain and conflict; powers of evil, of doubt and +indecision:--no evading these. But in any imaginative work he essayed, +beauty must be the prevailing element--if only as a star in darkness. +And nowadays Beauty had become almost suspect. Cleverness, cynicism, sex +and sensation--all had their votaries and their vogue. Mere Beauty, like +Cinderella, was left sitting among the ashes of the past; and +Roy--prince or no--was her devout lover. + +To the son of Nevil and Lilamani, her clear call could never seem either +a puritanical snare of the flesh or a delusion of the senses; but +rather, a grace of the spirit, the joy of things seen detached from +self-interest: the visible proof that love, not power, is the last word +of Creation. Happily for him, its outward form and inward essence had +been his daily bread ever since he had first consciously looked upon his +mother's face, consciously delighted in his father's pictures. They +lived it, those two: and the life lived transcends argument. + +At this uplifted moment--whatever might come later--he blessed them for +his double heritage; for the perfect accord between them that inspired +his hope of ultimate harmony between England and India, in spite of +barriers and complexities and fomenters of discord; a harmony that could +never arrive by veiled condescension out of servile imitation. Intimacy +with Dyan and his mother had made that quite clear. Each must honestly +will to understand the other; each holding fast the essence of +individuality, while respecting in the other precisely those baffling +qualities that strengthen their union and make it vital to the welfare +of both. Instinctively he pictured them as man and woman; and on general +lines the analogy seemed to hold good. He had yet to discover that +analogies are often deceptive things; peculiarly so, in this case, +since India is many, not one. Yet there lurked a germ of truth in his +seedling idea: and he was at the age when ideas and tremendous impulses +stir in the blood like sap in spring-time; an age to be a reformer, a +fanatic or a sensualist. + +Too often, alas, before the years bring power of adjustment, the live +spark of enthusiasm is extinct.... + +To-night it burned in Roy with a steady flame. If only he could enthuse +his father----! + +He supposed he would go in any case: but he lacked the rebel instinct of +modern youth. He wanted to share, to impart his hidden treasure; not to +argue the bloom off it. And his father seemed tacitly to discourage +rhapsodies over Indian literature and art. You couldn't say he was not +keen: only the least little bit unresponsive to outbursts of keenness in +his son; so that Roy never felt quite at ease on the subject. If only he +could walk into the room now, while Roy's brain was seething with it +all, high on the upward curve of a wave.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 2: Ancient Hindu Scriptures.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world. But + it is your loved ones ... whom you choose to worship. Therefore I + worship you." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Roy, after due consideration, decided that he would speak first to his +father--the one doubtful element in the home circle. But habit and the +obsession of the moment proved too strong, when his mother came to 'tuck +him up,' as she had never failed to do since nursery days. + +Seated on the edge of his bed, in the shaded light, she looked like some +rare, pale moth in her moon-coloured sari flecked and bordered with +gold; amber earrings and a rope of amber beads--his own gift; first +fruits of poetic earnings. The years between had simply ripened and +embellished her; rounded a little the oval of her cheek; lent an added +dignity to her grace of bearing and enriched her wisdom of the heart. + +It was as he supposed. She had understood his thoughts long before. He +flung out his hand--a fine, nervous hand--and laid it on her knee. + +"You're a miracle. I believe you know all about it." + +"I believe--I do," she answered, letting her own hand rest on his; +moving her fingers, now and then, in the ghost of a caress:--an +endearing way she had. "You are wishing--to go out there?" + +"Yes. I simply must. _You_ understand?" + +She inclined her head and, for a moment, veiled her eyes. "I am proud. +But you cannot understand how difficult ... for us ... letting you go. +And Dad...." + +She paused. + +"You think he'll hate it--want to keep me here?" + +"My darling--'hate' is too strong. He cares very much for all that makes +friendship between England and India. But--is it wonder if he cares more +for his own son? You will speak to him soon?" + +"To-morrow. Unless--a word or two, first, from you----" + +"No, not that!" She smiled at his old boyish faith in her. "Better to +keep me outside. You see--I _am_ India. So I am already too much in it +that way." + +"You are in it up to the hilt!" he declared with sudden fervour: +and--his tongue unloosed--he poured out to her a measure of his pent up +feeling; how they had inspired him--she and his father; how he naturally +hoped they would back him up; and a good deal more that was for her +private ear alone.... + +Her immense capacity for listening, her eloquent silence and gentle +flashes of raillery, her occasional caress--all were balm to him in his +electrical mood. + +Were ever two beings quite so perfectly in tune----? + +Could he possibly leave her? Could he face the final wrench? + +When at last she stooped to kiss him, the faint clear whiff of +sandalwood waked a hundred memories; and he held her close a long time, +her cheek against his hair. + +"Bad boy! Let me go," she pleaded; and, with phenomenal obedience, he +unclasped his hands. + +"See if you _can_ go now!" + +It was his old childish game. The moment she stirred, his hands were +locked again. + +"Son of my heart--I must!" + +"One more kiss then--for luck!" + +So she kissed him, for luck, and left him to his midnight browsings.... + + * * * * * + +Next morning she sat among her cushions in the studio, ostensibly +reading a long letter from her father. Actually, her mind was intent on +Nevil, who stood at his easel absorbed in fragmentary studies for a new +picture--flying draperies; a man's face cleverly fore-shortened. + +Though nearing fifty, he looked more like five-and-thirty; his face +singularly free of lines; his fair hair scarcely showing the intrusion +of grey. To her he seemed perennially young; and dearer than ever--if +that could be--as the years mellowed and deepened the love on which they +had boldly staked everything that counted most for them both. Yet, for +all her skill in divination, she could not tell precisely how he would +take the things Roy had to say; nor whether Roy himself would say them +in just the right way. With Nevil, so much depended on that. + +Till this morning, she had scarcely realised how unobtrusively she had +been, as it were, their connecting link in all difficult or delicate +matters, where their natures were not quite in tune. But now, Roy being +a man, they must come to terms in their own fashion.... + +At the first far-off sound of his step on the stairs, she rose and came +over to the easel, and stood there a few moments--fascinated always by +the swift sure strokes. + +"Good--eh?" he asked, smiling into her serious eyes. + +She nodded. "Quite evident--you are in the mood!" Her fingers lightly +caressed the back of his hand. "I will come back later. _Such_ a tray of +vases waiting for me in the drawing-room!" + +As Roy entered, she passed him and they exchanged a smile. Her eyes, +mutely blessing him, besought him not to let his eager tongue run away +with itself. Then she went out, leaving them together--the two who were +her world. + +Down in the drawing-room, roses and sweet-peas, cut by Christine--her +fairy daughter--lay ready to hand. Between them they filled the lofty +room with fragrance and harmonies of delicate colour. Then Christine +flew to her beloved piano; and Lilamani wandered away to her no less +beloved rose-garden. Body and mind were restless. She could settle to +nothing till she knew what had passed between Nevil and Roy. His boyish +confidences and adorations of the night before had filled her cup to +overflowing. She felt glad and proud that her first-born should have set +his heart on the high project of trying to promote deeper sympathy +between his father's great country and her own people, in this time of +dangerous antagonism and unrest. + +But beneath her pride and gladness, stirred a fear lest the scales she +had tried to hold even, should be inclining to tilt the wrong way. For +duty to his father's house was paramount. Too strong a leaning towards +India--no matter for what high purpose--would still be a tilt the wrong +way. She had seen the same fear lurking in Nevil's heart also; and now, +unerringly, she divined the cause of that hidden trouble which baffled +Roy. Nevil feared that--if Roy went to India--history might repeat +itself. She admitted the danger was real; and she knew his fear implied +no reflection on herself or her country. Best of all, she knew +that--because of his chivalrous loyalty that had never failed her--he +would not speak of it, even to his son. + +Clearly then, if Roy insisted on going to India, and if a word of +warning must be spoken to ease Nevil's mind, only one person in the +world could speak it--herself. For all her sensitive shrinking she could +not, at this critical turning-point, stand outside. She was "in it"--as +Roy dramatically assured her--up to the hilt.... + +Time passed--and he did not come. Troubled, she wandered back towards +the house; caught sight of him, lonely and abstracted, pacing the lawn: +saw him stop near the great twin beeches--that embowered a hammock, +chairs and rugs--and disappear inside. Then she knew her moment had +come.... + +She found him prone in the hammock: not even smoking: staring up into +the cool green dome, fretted with graceful convolutions of trunk and +branches. One lightly clenched hand hung over the edge. Attitude and +abstraction alike suggested a listless dejection that sharply caught at +her heart. + +He started at sight of her. "Blessed little Mummy--no hiding from +_you_!" + +He flung out his left hand. She took it and laid it against her cheek: a +form of caress all her own. + +"Were you wishing to hide? I was waiting among the roses, to show you +the new sweet-peas." + +"And I never came. Proper beast I am! And sprawling here----" He swung +his long legs over the side and stood up, tall and straight--taller than +Nevil--smiling down at her. "I wasn't exactly hiding. I was shirking--a +little bit. But now you've found me, you won't escape!" + +Pressing down the edge of the hammock, he half lifted her into it and +settled her among the cushions, deftly tucking in her silks and muslins. + +"Comfy?" he asked, surveying her, with Nevil's own smile in his eyes. + +"Comfy," she sighed, wishing discreet warnings at the bottom of the sea. +Just to be foolish with him--the bliss of it! To chime in with his +moods, his enthusiasms, his nonsense--she asked nothing better of life, +when he came home. "Very clever, Sonling. But no,"--she lifted a +finger--"that won't do. You are twenty-one. Too big for the small name +now. So far away up there!" + +"If I shot up as high as a lamp-post, my heart would still be down +there--at your feet." + +He said it lightly--that was the Englishman. But he said it--that was +the Rajput. And she knew not which she loved the best. Strange to love +two such opposites with equal fervour. + +She blew him a kiss from her finger-tips. "Very well. We will not be +unkind to the small name and throw him on the rubbish-heap. But now sit, +please--Sonling. You have been talking--you and Dad? Not any decision? +Is he not wishing you should--work for India?" + +"Mummy, I don't know." He secured a chair and sat down facing her. "He +insists that I'm officially free to kick over the traces, that he's not +the kind of father who 'thunders vetos from the family hearthrug!'" + +Lilamani smiled very tenderly at that so characteristic touch; but she +said nothing. And Roy went on: "All the same, I gathered that he's +distinctly not keen on my going out there. So--what the devil am I to +do? He rubbed it in that I'm full young, and no hurry--but I feel +there's something else at the back of his mind." + +He paused--and she could hesitate no longer. + +"Yes, Roy--there is something else----" + +"Then _why_ can't he speak out?" + +"Not to be so impatient," she rebuked him gently. "It is because he so +beautifully remains--my lover, he cannot put in words--any thought that +might give----" She flung out an appealing hand. "Oh, Roy--can you not +guess the trouble? He is afraid--for your marriage----" + +"My marriage!" It was clear he did not yet grasp the truth. "Really, +Mummy, that's a trifle previous. I'm not even thinking of marriage." + +"No, Stupid One! But out there you might come to think of it! No man can +tell when Kama, godling of the arrows, will throw magic dust in his +eyes. You might meet other cousins--like Aruna, and there would come +trouble, because"--she faced him steadily and he saw the veiled blush +creep into her cheeks--"that kind of marriage--for you--must not be." + +Now he understood; and, for all her high resolve, she thrilled at the +swift flash of anger in his eyes. + +"Who says--it must not be?" he demanded with a touch of heat. "Aunt +Jane--confound her! When I do marry, it will be to please myself--not +_her_!" + +"Oh, hush, Roy--and listen! You run away too fast. It is not Aunt +Jane--it is _I_ who am saying must not, because I know--the difficult +thought in Dad's heart. And I know it is right----" + +"Why is it right?" He was up in arms again. Obstinate--but how +lovable!--"Why mayn't I have the same luck as he had--if it comes my +way? I've never met a girl or woman that could hold a candle to you for +all-round loveliness. And it's the East that gives you--inside and +out--a quality, a bloom--unseizable--like moonlight----" + +"But, my darling! You make me blush!" She drew her sari across her face, +hiding, under a veil of lightness, her joy at his outspoken praise. + +"Well, you made me say it. And I'm not sentimentalising. I'm telling a +home truth!" + +His vehemence was guarantee of that. Very gently he drew back the sari +and looked deep into her eyes. + +"Why should we only tell the ugly ones, like Aunt Jane? Anyway, I've +told you my truest one now--and I'm not ashamed of it." + +"No need. It is a jewel I will treasure in my heart." + +She dropped the veil of lightness, giving him sincerity for sincerity as +he deserved. "But--Ancient one, have you seen so many girls and women in +your long life----?" + +"I've seen a pretty good mixture of all sorts--Oxford, London, and round +here," he insisted unabashed. "And I've had my wits about me. Of course +they're most of them jolly and straight. Good fellows in fact; talking +our slang; playing our games. No harm, of course. But it kills the +charm of contrast--the supreme charm. They understand _that_ in India +better than we do here." + +The truth of that last Lilamani could not deny. Too clearly she saw in +the violent upheaval of Western womanhood the hidden germs of tragedy, +for women themselves, for the race. + +"You are right, Roy," she said, smiling into his serious face. "From +our--from Hindu point of view, greatest richness of life come from +greatest possible difference between men and women. And most of all it +is so in Rajputana. But over here...." She sighed, a small shivering +sigh. The puzzle and pain of it went too deep with her. "All this +screaming and snatching and scratching for wrong kind of things hurts my +heart; because--I am woman and they are women--desecrating that in us +which is a symbol of God. Nature made women for ministering to Life and +Love. Are they not believing, or not caring, that by struggling to +imitate man (while saying with their lips how they despise him!) they +are losing their own secret, beautiful differences, so important for +happiness--for the race. But marriage in the West seems more for +convenience of lovers than for the race----" + +"Yet your son, though he _is_ of the West--must not consider his own +inclination or convenience----" + +"My son," she interposed, gently inflexible, "because he is _also_ of +the East, must consider this matter of the race; must try and think it +with his father's mind." + +"All the same--making such a point of it seems like an insult--to +you----" + +"No, Roy. _Not_ to say that----" The flash in her eyes, that was almost +anger, startled and impressed him more than any spoken word. "No thought +that ever came in your father's mind could be--like insult to me. Oh, my +dear, have you not sense to know that for an old English family like +his, with roots down deep in English soil and history, it is not good +that mixture of race should come twice over in two generations. To +you--our kind of marriage appears a simple affair. You see only how +close we are now, in love and understanding. You cannot imagine all the +difficulties that went before. We know them--and we are proud, because +they became like dust under our feet. Only to you--Dilkusha, I could +tell ... a little, if you wish--for helping you to understand." + +"Please tell," he said, and his hand closed on hers. + +So, leaning back among her cushions--speaking very simply in the low +voice that was music to his ears--she told.... + + * * * * * + +The telling--fragmentary, yet vivid--lasted less than half an hour. But +in that half-hour Roy gleaned a jewel of memory that the years would not +dim. The very words would remain.... + +For Lilamani--wandering backward in fancy through the Garden of +Remembrance--revealed more than she realised of the man she loved and of +her own passionate spirit, compact of fire and dew, the sublimated +essence of the Eastern woman at her best. + +Yet in spite of that revealing--or rather because of it--rebellion +stirred afresh. And, as if divining his thoughts, she impulsively raised +her hand. "Now, Roy, you must promise. Only so, I can speak to Dad and +rest his mind." + +Seizing her hand, he kissed it fervently. + +"Darling--after all that, a mere promise would be a fatuous superfluity. +If you say 'No Indian wife,' that's enough for me. I suppose I must rest +content with the high privilege of possessing an Indian mother." + +Her radiant surprise was a beautiful thing to see. Leaning forward, she +took his head in her hands and kissed him between his eyebrows where the +caste-mark should be. + +"Must it be October--so soon?" she asked. + +He told her of Dyan, and she sighed. "Poor Dyan! I wonder? It is so +difficult--even with the best kind--this mixing of English education and +Indian life. I hope it will make no harm for those two----" + +Then they started, almost like lovers; for the drooping branches rustled +and Tara stood before them--a very vision of June; in her straight frock +of Delphinium blue; one shell-pink rose in her hat and its counterpart +in her waist-belt. Canvas shoes and tennis-racquet betrayed her fell +design on Roy. + +"Am I despritly superfluous?" she queried, smiling from one to the +other. + +"Quite too despritly," Roy assured her with emphasis. + +She wrinkled her nose at him, so far as its delicate aquiline would +permit. "Speak for yourself, spoilt boy!" + +But she favoured him with her left hand, which he retained, while she +stooped over the hammock and kissed Lilamani on both cheeks. Then she +stood up and gently disengaged her hand. + +"Christine's to blame. She guessed you were here. I came over in hopes +of tennis. It's just perfect. Not too hot." + +"Still more perfect in here, lazing with Mummy," said graceless Roy. + +"I disown you, I am ashamed!" Lilamani rebuked him only half in jest. +"No more lazing now. I have done with you. Only you have to get me out +of this." + +They got her out, between them; fussed over her and laughed at her; and +then went off together for Roy's racquet. + +She stood in the silvery sunlight watching them till they disappeared +round the corner of the house. Not surprising that Nevil said--"No +hurry!" If he would only wait...! He was still too young, too much in +love with India--with herself. Yet, had he already begun inditing +sonnets, even to the most acceptable eyebrow, her perverse heart would +doubtless have known the prick of jealousy--as in Desmond's day. + +Instead she suddenly knew the first insidious prick of middle age; felt +dazed, for a mere moment, by the careless radiance of their youth; to +them an unconsidered thing: but to those who feel it relentlessly +slipping through their fingers ... + +Her small fine hands clenched in unconscious response to her thought. +She was nearing forty. In her own land she would be reckoned almost an +old woman. But some magic in the air and way of life in this cool green +England seemed to keep age at bay: and there remained within a +flame-like youth of the spirit--not so easy, even for the Arch-Thief to +steal away.... + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "The bow saith to the arrow, 'Thy freedom is mine.'" + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +And while Lilamani reasoned with the son--whose twofold nature they had +themselves bestowed and inspired--Nevil was pacing his shrine of all the +harmonies, heart and brain disturbed, as they had not been for years. + +Out of the troubled waters of family friction and delicate adjustments, +this adventurous pair had slid into a haven of peace and mutual +understanding. And now behold, fresh portent of trouble arising from the +dual strain in Roy--the focal point of their life and love. + +Turning in his stride, his eye encountered a head and shoulders portrait +of his father, Sir George Sinclair: an honest, bluff, unimaginative +face: yet suddenly, arrestingly, it commanded his attention. Checking +his walk, he stood regarding it: and his heart went out to the kindly +old man in a quite unusual wave of sympathetic understanding. He saw +himself--the "damned unsatisfactory son," Bohemian and dilettante, +frankly at odds with the Sinclair tradition--now standing, more or less, +in that father's shoes; his heart centred on the old place and on the +boy for whom he held it in trust; and the irony of it twisted his lips +into a rueful smile. By his own over-concentration on Roy, and his +secret dread of the Indian obsession, he could gauge what his own father +must have suffered in an aggravated form, blind as he was to any point +of view save his own. And there was Roy--like himself in the twenties, +but how much more purposeful!--drawn irresistibly by the lure of the +horizon; a lure bristling with dangers the more insidious because they +sprang from the blood in his veins. + +Yet a word of warning, spoken at the wrong moment, in the wrong tone, +might be disastrously misunderstood; and the distracting sense of being +purely responsible for his own trouble, stung him to renewed irritation. +All capacity for work had been dispelled by that vexatiously engaging +son of his, with his heart in India and his head among the stars.... + +Weary of pacing, he took out his pipe and sat down in the window-seat to +fill it. He was interrupted by the sound of an unmistakable footstep; +and the response of his whole being justified to admiration Lilamani's +assurance that his hidden trouble implied no lightest reflection on +herself. Lilamani and irritation simply could not co-exist within him; +and he was on his feet when she opened the door. + +She did not come forward at once. Pushing it shut with both hands, she +stood so--a hovering question in her eyes. It recalled, with a tender +pang, the earlier days of worshipful aloofness, when only by special +invitation would she intimately approach her lord. + +That she might guess his thought he held out his arms. "Come +along--English wife!" + +It had been their private password. But her small teeth imprisoned her +lip. + +"No--King of me--Indian wife: making too much trouble again!" + +"Lilamani! How dare you! Come here." + +His attempt at sternness took effect. In one swift rush--sari blown +backward--she came: and he, smitten with self-reproach, folded her +close; while she clung to him in mute passionate response. + +"Beloved," she whispered. "Not to worry any more in your secret heart. I +told--he understands." + +"Roy----? My darling! But _what_----?" His incoherence was a shameless +admission of relief. "You couldn't--you haven't told him----?" + +"Nevil, I have told him all. I saw lately this trouble in your thoughts: +and to-day it came in my mind that only I could speak--could give +command that--one kind of marriage must _not_ be." + +He drew her closer, and she suppressed a small sigh. + +"Wasn't the boy angry?" + +"Only at first--on account of me. He is--so very darling, so +worshipping--his foolish little Mother." + +"A weakness he shares with his father," Nevil assured her: and in that +whispered confession she had her reward. For after twenty-three years of +marriage, the note of loverly extravagance is as rare as the note of the +cuckoo in July. + +"Sit, little woman." He drew her down to the window-seat, keeping an arm +round her. "The relief it is to feel I can talk it all over with you +freely. Where the dickens would we be, Roy and I, without our +interpreter? And she does it all unbeknownst; like a Brownie. I _have_ +been worrying lately. The boy's clean gone on his blessed idea. No +reasoning with him; and the modern father doesn't venture to command! +It's as much as his place is worth! Yet _we_ see the hidden dangers +clearer than he can. Wouldn't it be wiser to apply the curb discreetly +before he slips off into an atmosphere where all the influences will tug +one way?" + +It was the sane masculine wisdom of the West. But hers--that was +feminine and of the East--went deeper. + +"Perhaps it is mother-weakness," she said, leaning against him and +looking away at a purple cloud that hung low over the moor. "But it +seems to me, by putting on the curb, you keep only his body from those +influences. They would tug all the stronger in his soul. Not healthy and +alive with joy of action, but cramped up and aching, like your legs when +there is no room to stretch them. Then there would come impatience, +turning his heart more to India, more away from you. Father had that +kind of thwarting when young--so I know. Dearest one, am I too foolish?" + +"You are my Wisest of Wise.--Is there more?" + +"Yes. It is this. Perhaps, through being young and eager, he will make +mistakes; wander too far. But even if he should wander to farthest end, +all influence will _not_ tug one way. He will carry in his heart the +star of you and the star of me. These will shine brighter if he knows +how we longed--for ourselves--to keep him here; yet, for himself, we let +him go. I have remembered always one line of poetry you showed me at +Como. 'To take by leaving, To hold by letting go.' That is true truth +for many things. But for parents truest of all." + +High counsel indeed! Good to hear; hard to act upon. Nevil +Sinclair--knowing they would act upon it--let out an involuntary sigh +and tightened his hold of the gentle, adoring woman, whose spirit +towered so far above his own. + +"Lilamani--you've won," he said, after a perceptible pause. "You deserve +to win--and Roy will bless you. It's the high privilege of Mothers, I +suppose, to conjure the moon out of heaven for their sons." + +"Sometimes, by doing so, they nearly break their hearts," she answered +very low. + +He stooped and kissed her. "Keep yours intact--for me. I shall need it." +Her fingers closed convulsively on his--"England will seem sort of +empty--without Roy. Is he dead keen on going this autumn?" + +"Yes--I am afraid. A little because of young impatience. A little +because he is troubled over Dyan; and he has much influence. There are +so many now in India dragged two ways." + +Nevil sighed again. "Bless the boy! It's an undeniable risk. And what +the family will say to our Midsummer madness, God knows! Jane can be +trusted to make the deuce of a row. And we can't even smooth matters by +telling her of our private precaution----" + +"No--not one little _word_." + +Lilamani sat upright, a gleam of primitive hate in her eyes. + +Nevil smiled, in spite of secret dismay. "You implacable little sinner! +Can't you ever forgive her like a Christian?" + +"No--not ever." The tense quiet of her tone carried conviction. "Not +only far-off things, I can never forget--nearly killing me and--and Roy. +But because she is always stabbing at me with sharp words and ugly +thoughts. She cannot ever forgive that I am here--that I make you happy, +which she could not believe. She is angry to be put in the wrong by mere +Hindu wife----" She paused in her vehement rush of speech: saw the look +in Nevil's face that recalled an earlier day; and anger vanished like a +light blown out. "King of me--I am sorry. Only--it is true. And _she_ is +Christian born. But I--down in my deepest places I am still--Rajputni. +Just the same as after twenty-three years of English wife, I am still in +my heart--like the 'Queen who stood erect!'" + +On the word she rose and confronted him, smiling into his troubled eyes; +grace of girlhood and dignity of womanhood adorably mingled in her pose. + +"Who was she?" Nevil asked, willingly lured from thoughts of Jane. + +"Careless one! Have you forgotten the story of my Wonder-Woman--how a +King, loving his Queen with all his soul, bowed himself in ecstasy, and +'took the dust off her feet' in presence of other wives who, from +jealousy, cried: 'Shameless one, lift up the hands of the King to your +head.' But the Queen stood erect, smiling gladly. 'Not so: for both feet +and head are my Lord's. Can I have aught that is mine?'" + +The swiftness of transition, the laughing tenderness of her eyes so +moved him--and so potent in her was the magical essence of +womanhood--that he, Sir Nevil Sinclair, Baronet, of Bramleigh Beeches, +came near to taking the dust of her feet in very deed. + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Qui n'accepte pas le regret, n'accepte pas la vie." + + +Nevil's fears were justified to the full. Lady Roscoe was one of those +exasperating people of whom one can predict, almost to a word, a look, +what their attitude will be on any given occasion. So Nevil, who shirked +a "scene"--above all when conducted by Jane--put off telling her the +unwelcome news as long as he dared, without running the dire risk of its +reaching her "round the corner." + +Meantime he was fortified and cheered by a letter from Cuthbert +Broome--a shrewd, practical letter amounting to a sober confession of +faith in Roy the embryo writer, as in Roy the budding man. + +"I don't minimise the risk," he concluded, with his accustomed frankness +(no relation to the engaging candour that dances a war-dance on other +people's toes), "but, on broad lines, I hereby record my conviction that +the son of you two and the grandson of Sir Lakshman Singh can be trusted +to go far--to keep his head as well as his feet, even in slippery +places. He is eager for knowledge, for work along his own lines. If you +dam up this strong current, it may find other outlets, possibly less +desirable. I came on a jewel the other day. As it's distinctly +applicable, I pass it on. + +"'The sole wisdom for man or boy who is haunted with the hovering of +unseen wings, with the scent of unseen roses, and the subtle enticement +of melodies unheard, is _work_. If he follow any of these, they vanish. +If he work, they will come unsought ..." + +"Well, when Roy goes out, I undertake to provide him with work that will +keep his brain alert and his pen busy. That's my proposed contribution +to his start in life; and--though I say it!--not to be despised. Tell +him I'll bear down upon the Beeches the first available week-end, and +talk both your heads off!--Yours ever, C.B." + +"After _that_," was Nevil's heroic conclusion, "Jane can say what she +damn well pleases." + +He broke the news to her forthwith--by post; the usual expedient of +those who shirk "scenes." He furthermore took the precaution to add that +the matter was finally settled. + +She replied next morning--by wire. "Cannot understand. Coming down at +once." + +And, in record time, on the wings of her new travelling car--she came. + +As head of the Sinclair clan--in years and worldly wisdom at least--she +could do no less. From her point of view, it was Nevil's clear duty to +discourage the Indian strain in the boy, as far as that sentimental, +headstrong wife of his would permit. But Nevil's sense of duty needed +constant galvanising, lest it die of inanition. It was her sacred +mission in life to galvanise it, especially in the matter of Roy; and no +one should ever say _she_ shirked a disagreeable obligation. It may +safely be added that no one ever did! + +Nevil--who would have given a good deal to be elsewhere--awaited her in +the library: and at the first shock of their encountering glances, he +stiffened all through. He was apt to be restive under advice, and +rebellious under dictation; facts none knew better than Jane, who throve +on advice and dictation--given, not received! She still affected the +neat hard coat and skirt and the neat hard summer hat that had so +distressed the awakening beauty-sense of nine-year-old Roy: only, in +place of the fierce wing there uprose in majesty a severely wired bow. +Jane was so unvarying, outside and in; a worse failing, almost, in the +eyes of this hopelessly artistic household, than her talent for +pouncing, or advising or making up other people's minds. + +But to-day, as she glanced round the familiar room, her sigh--half +anger, half bitterness of heart--was genuine. She did care intensely, in +her own way, for the brother whom she hectored without mercy. And he +too cared--in his own way--more than he chose to reveal. But their love +was a dumb thing, rooted in ancestral mysteries. Their surface clash of +temperament was more loquacious. + +"I suppose we're fairly safe from interruption?" she asked, with ominous +emphasis; and Nevil gravely indicated the largest leather chair. + +"I believe the others are out," he said, half sitting on the edge of the +writing-table and proceeding to light a cigarette. "But, upon my soul, I +don't know _why_ you put yourself out to come down all this way when I +told you plainly everything was fixed up." + +"You thought I'd swallow that--and keep my mouth shut?" she retorted, +bristling visibly. "_I'm_ no fool, Nevil, if _you_ are. I _told_ you how +it would be, when you went out in '99. You wouldn't listen then. Perhaps +you'll at least have the sense to listen _now_?" + +Nevil shrugged. "As you've come all this way for the satisfaction of +airing your views--I've not much choice in the matter." + +And the latitude, thus casually given, she took in full measure. For +twenty minutes, by the clock, she aired her views in a stream of +vigorous colloquial English, lapsing into ready-made phrases of +melodrama, common to the normally inexpressive, in moments of +excitement.... + +To the familiar tuning-up process, Nevil listened unmoved. But his anger +rose with her rising eloquence:--the unwilling anger of a cool man, more +formidable than mere temper. + +Such fine distinctions, however, were unknown to Jane. If you were in a +temper, you were in a temper. That was flat. And she rather wanted to +rouse Nevil's. Heated opposition would stiffen her own.... + +"India of all countries in the world!" she culminated--a desperate note +invading her wrath. "The one place where he should _not_ be allowed to +sow his wild oats--if the modern anaemic young man has enough red blood +in his veins--for that sort of thing. And it's your obvious duty to be +quite frank with him on the subject. If you had an ounce of common-sense +in your make-up, you'd see it for yourself. But I always say the clever +people are the biggest fools. And Roy's in the same boat--being your +son. No ballast. All in the clouds. _That's_ the fruits of Lil's fancy +education. And you can't say I didn't warn you. What he needs is +discipline--a tight hand. Why not one of the Services? If he gets bitten +with India--at his age, it's quite on the cards that he may go turning +Hindu--or even repeat _your_ folly----" + +She paused, simply for lack of breath--and became suddenly alive to the +set stillness of her brother's face. + +"_My_ folly--as you are pleased to call it," he said with concentrated +scorn, "has incidentally made our name famous, and cleared the old place +of mortgage. For that reason alone, you might have the grace to refrain +from insulting my wife." + +She flung up her head, like a horse at a touch of the curb. + +"Oh, if it's an insult to speak the simple truth, I'm _quite_ out of it. +I never could call spades agricultural instruments: and I can't start +new habits at my time of life. I don't deny you've made a good thing out +of your pictures. But no one in their senses _could_ call your marriage +an act of wisdom." + +Nevil winced visibly. "I married for the only defensible reason," he +said, in a low controlled voice. "And events have more than justified +me." + +"Possibly--so far as _you're_ concerned. But you can't get over the fact +that--even if Roy marries the best blood of England--his son may revert +to type. Dr Simons tells me----" + +"_Will_ you hold your tongue!" Nevil blazed out, in a white fury. "I'll +thank you _not_ to discuss my affairs--or Roy's--with your damned +Doctor. And the subject's barred between us--as you're very well aware." + +She blenched at the force and fire of his unexpected onslaught, never +dreaming how deeply her thrust had gone home. + +"Goodness knows it's as painful for me as it is for you----" + +"I didn't say it was painful. I said it was barred." + +"Well, you goad me into it, with your unspeakable folly; too much under +Lil's thumb to check Roy, even for his own good. For heaven's sake, +Nevil, put your foot down firmly, for once, and reverse your crazy +decision." + +He gave her a long, direct look. "Sorry to disappoint, after all the +trouble you've taken," he said in a level tone, "but I've already told +you the matter's settled. My foot is down on that as firmly as even +_you_ could wish." + +"You _mean_ it?" she gasped, too incredulous for wrath. + +"I mean it." + +"Yet you see the danger?" + +"I see the danger." + +The fact that he would not condescend to lie to her eased a little her +bitter sense of defeat. + +She rose awkwardly--all of a piece. + +"Then I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you all. Until you come +to your senses, I don't cross this threshold again." + +In spite of the threadbare phrases, genuine pain vibrated in her tone. + +"Don't rant, old thing. You know you'll never keep it up," Nevil urged +more gently than he had spoken yet. + +But anger still dominated pain. + +"When _I_ say a thing, I mean it," she retorted stiffly, "as you will +find to your cost." Without troubling to answer, he lunged for the door +handle; but she waved him aside. "All humbug--playing at +politeness--when you've spurned my advice." + +"As you please." He stood back for her to pass. "Sorry it's upset you +so. But we'll see you here again--when you've got over it." + +"The _boy_ would have got over it in no time," she flung back at him +from the threshold. "Mark my words, disaster will come of it. Then +perhaps you'll admit I was right." + +He felt no call to argue that point. She was gone.... And she had +carefully refrained from slamming the door. Somehow that trifling act of +restraint impressed him with a sense of finality oddly lacking in her +dramatic asseveration. + +He stood a few moments staring at the polished oak panels. Then he +turned back and sat down in the chair she had occupied; and all the +inner tension of the last hour went suddenly, completely to pieces.... + +It was the penalty of his artist nature, this sharp nervous reaction +from strain; and with it came crowding back all the insidious doubts and +anxieties that even Lilamani's wisdom had not entirely charmed away. He +felt torn at the moment between anger with Roy for causing all this +pother; and anger with Jane, who, for all her lack of tenderness and +tact, was right--up to a point. It was just Family Herald heroics about +"not crossing the threshold." At least--rather to his surprise--he found +himself half hoping it was. Roy and Lilamani could frankly detest +her--and there an end. Nevil--in spite of unforgiveable interludes--was +liable to be tripped up by the fact that, after all, she was his sister; +and her aggression was proof that, in her own queer fashion, she loved +him. Half the trouble was that the love of each for the other took +precisely the form that other could least appreciate or understand: no +uncommon dilemma in family life. At all events, he had achieved his +declaration of independence. And he had not failed to evoke the "deuce +of a row." + +With a sigh of smothered exasperation, he leaned forward and hid his +face in his hands.... + +The door opened softly. He started and looked up. It was Roy--in +flannels and blazer, his dark hair slightly ruffled: considered +dispassionately (and Nevil believed he so considered him) a singularly +individual and attractive figure of youth. + +At the look in his father's face, he hesitated, wrinkling his brows in a +way that recalled his mother. + +"Anything wrong, Daddums? I'm fearfully sorry. I came for a book. Is +it"--still further hesitation--"Aunt Jane?" + +"Why? Have you seen her?" Nevil asked sharply. + +"Yes. Was it a meteoric visitation? As I came up the path, she was +getting into her car.--And she cut me dead!" He seemed more amused than +impressed. Then the truth dawned on him. "Dad--_have_ you been telling +her? _Is_ she 'as frantic as a skit'?" + +Their favourite Hardy quotation moved Nevil to a smile. "She's +angry--naturally--because she wasn't consulted," he said (a happy idea). +"And--well, she doesn't understand." + +"'Course she doesn't. Can she ever?" retorted impertinent youth. "She +lacks the supreme faculty--imagination." Which was disrespectful, but +unanswerable. + +Nevil had long ago recognised the futility of rebuke in the matter of +"Aunt Jane"; and it was a relief to find the boy took it that way. So he +smiled, merely--or fancied he did. But Roy was quick-sighted; and his +first impression had dismayed him. + +No hesitation now. He came forward and laid a hand on his father's +shoulder. "Dads, don't get worrying over me--out there," he said with +shy tenderness that was balm after the lacerating scene Nevil had just +passed through. "That'll be all right. Mother explained--beautifully." + +But louder than Roy's comfortable assurance sounded within him the +parting threat of Jane: "Disaster will come of it. _Then_ perhaps you'll +admit I was right." It shook the foundations of courage. He simply could +not stand up to the conjunction of disaster--and Roy. With an effort he +freed himself of the insidious thing,--and just then, to his immense +surprise, Roy stooped and kissed the top of his head. + +"Confound Aunt Jane! She's been bludgeoning you. And you _are_ worrying. +You mustn't--I tell you. Bad for your work. Look here"--a portentous +pause. "Shall I chuck it--for the present, anyhow?" + +The parental attitude of the modern child has its touching aspect. Nevil +looked up to see if Roy were chaffing; and there smote him the queer +illusion (rarer now, but not extinct) of looking into his own eyes. + +Roy had spoken on impulse--a noble impulse. But he patently meant what +he said, this boy stigmatised by Jane as "all in the clouds," and +needing a "tight hand." Here was one of those "whimsical and perilous +moments of daily life" that pass in a breath; light as thistledown, +heavy with complex issues. To Nevil it seemed as if the gods, with +ironical gesture, handed him the wish of his heart, saying: "It is +yours--if you are fool enough to take it." Stress of thought so warred +in him that he came to himself with a fear of having hurt the boy by +ungracious silence. + +The pause, in fact, had been so brief that Roy had only just become +aware that his cherished dream was actually trembling in the +balance--when Nevil stood up and faced him, flatly defying Jane and +Olympian irony. + +"My dear old boy, you shall _not_ chuck it," he said with smiling +decision. "I've never believed in the older generation being a drag on +the wheel. And now it's my turn, I must play up. What's life worth +without a spice of risk? I took my own--a big one--family or no----" + +He broke off--and Roy filled the gap. "You mean--marrying Mother?" + +"Yes--just that," he admitted frankly. "The greatest bit of luck in my +life. She shared the risk--a bigger one for her. And I'm damned if we'll +cheat you of yours. There's a hidden key somewhere that most of us have +to find. Yours may be in India--who knows?" + +He spoke rapidly, as if anxious to convince himself no less than the +boy. And he had his reward. + +"Dad--you're simply stunning--you two," Roy said quietly, but with clear +conviction. + +At that moment the purring of the gong vibrated through the house, and +he slipped a hand through his father's arm. "That reminds me--I'm +_starving_ hungry! If they're still out, let's be bold, and propitiate +the teapot on our own!" + +Lady Roscoe was, after all, a benefactor in her own despite. Her +meteoric visitation had drawn these two closer together than they had +been since schoolroom days. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Ce que nous quittons c'est une partie de nous meme. II faut mourir + a une vie, pour entrer dans une autre."--ANATOLE FRANCE. + + +After all, human perversity decreed it should be Roy himself who shrank +most acutely from the wrench of parting, when it loomed near enough to +bring him down from Pisgah heights to the dust of the actual. + +Dyan was overjoyed, of course, and untroubled by qualms. Towards the end +of July, he and Aruna came for a brief visit. His excuses for its +brevity struck Roy as a trifle 'thin'; but Dyan kept his secret and paid +Tara Despard the compliment of taking her answer as final. + +It was during his visit that Roy suffered the first incipient qualms; +the first sharp contact with practical details:--date of sailing, +details of outfit, the need for engaging a passage betimes. As regards +his destination, matters were simplified by the fact that the new +Resident of Jaipur, Colonel Vincent Leigh, C.S.I., D.S.O., very +considerately happened to be the husband of Desmond's delightful sister +Thea. The schoolboy link between Lance and Roy had created a lasting +friendship between their respective families; and it was General Sir +Theo Desmond--now retired--who had invited Roy, in the name of his +'Twin,' to start with an unlimited visit to the Leighs; the sort of +casual elastic visit that no one would dream of proposing outside +India,--unless it were Ireland, of an earlier, happier day. The prospect +was a secret consolation to Roy. It was also a secret jar to find he +needed every ounce of consolation available. + +Very carefully he hid his ignominious frame of mind--even from his +mother; though she probably suspected it and would not fail to +understand. What, precisely, would life be worth without that dear, +daily intimacy--life uncoloured by the rainbow-tinted charm of her +gentle, passionate, humorous, delicately-poised personality? Relations +of such rare quality exact their own pitiless price; and the woman +influence would always be, for Roy--as for most men of genuine gifts and +high purpose--his danger point or salvation. The dim and distant +prospect of parting was thinkable--though perturbing. But all this talk +of steamers and outfits startlingly illumined the fact that in October +he was actually going--to the other end of the earth. + + * * * * * + +With Dyan's departure, realisation pounced upon his heart and brain. +Vaguely, and quite unjustly, he felt as if his cousin were in some way +to blame; and for the moment, he was not sorry to be rid of him. +Partings over, he went off for a lone prowl--hatless, as usual--to quiet +his jangling sensations and tell that inner, irresolute Roy not to be a +treble-distilled fool.... + +Nothing like the open moor to clear away cobwebs. The sweeps of heady +colour and blue distances could be trusted to revive the winged impulse +that lured him irresistibly away from the tangible and assured. Is there +no hidden link--he wondered--between the wander-instinct of the +home-loving Scot and the vast spaces of moor and sky that lie about him +in his infancy...? + +But first he must traverse the enchanted green gloom of his beech-wood, +memory-haunted at every turn. Under his favourite tree, a wooden cross, +carved by Tara and himself, marked the grave of Prince, dead these three +years of sheer old age. And at sight of it there sprang to memory that +unforgotten day of May,--the fight with Joe; Tara's bracelet, still +treasured in his letter-case, even as Tara treasured the "broidered +bodice," in a lavender-scented sachet, set apart from mere blouses and +scarves.... + +And again that troublesome voice within urged--"What an utter fool you +are--running away from them all." + +To him had fallen the privilege of knowing family life at its best--the +finest and happiest on earth; and he could not escape the price +exacted, when the call comes to act and decide and suffer alone. +Associations that grow up with us are more or less taken for granted +while their roots lie deep in the heart. Only when the threat of parting +disturbs the delicate fibres, their depth and tenacity are revealed. And +so it was with Roy. Hurrying through his wood of knightly adventures he +felt besieged, in spirit, by the many loves that had hitherto simply +been a part of his life; yet to-day pressed urgently, individually, upon +his consciousness, his heart.... + +And over against them was the counter-pull of deep ancestral stirrings; +large vague forces of the outer world; the sense of ferment everywhere; +of storm-clouds on the greater horizon, big with dramas that might rock +the spheres.... + +All these challenging forces seemed to dwarf his juvenile agitations; +even to arraign his own beautiful surroundings as almost too peaceful, +too perfect. Life could not be altogether made up of goodness and +sweetness and poetry and philosophy. Somewhere--remote, unseen, +implacable--there must lurk strong things, big things, perhaps inimical +things, waiting to pounce on him, to be tackled and overcome. Anyhow +there could be no question, after all his vapourings, of playing the +fool and backing out---- + +He was on the ridge now; clear space all about him, heather underfoot; +his stride keeping pace with the march of his thoughts. Risks...? Of +course there were risks. He recognised that more frankly now; and the +talk with his mother had revealed a big one that had not so much as +occurred to him. For Broome was right. Concentration on her had, in a +sense, delayed his emotional development; had kept him--for all his +artistry and his First in Greats--very much a boy at heart. Certainly, +Aruna's grace and gaiety had struck him more consciously during this +last visit. No denying, the Eastern element had its perilous +fascination. And the Eastern element was barred. As for Tara--sister and +friend and High Tower Princess in one--she was as much a part of home as +his mother and Christine. He had simply not seen her yet as a budding +woman. He had, in fact, been too deeply absorbed in Oxford and writing +and his dream, and the general deliciousness of life, to challenge the +future definitely, except in the matter of going to India, somewhen, +somehow.... + +Lost in the swirl of his thoughts and the exhilaration of light and +colour, he forgot all about tea-time.... + +It was after five when, at last, he swung round the yew hedge on to the +long lawn; and there, at the far end, was Tara, evidently sent out to +find him. She was wearing her delphinium frock and the big blue hat with +its single La France rose. She walked pensively, her head bowed; and, in +that moment, by some trick of sense or spirit, he saw her vividly, as +she was. He saw the grace of her young slenderness, the wild-flower +colouring, the delicate aquiline of her nose that revealed breeding and +character; the mouth that even in repose seemed to quiver with +sensibility. And he thought: "Good Lord! How lovely she is!" + +Of course he had known it always--at the back of his mind. The odd thing +was, he had never thought it, in so many words, before. And from the +thought sprang an inspiration. If only _she_ could come out with +them--for a time, at least. So imbued was he with a sense of their +brother and sister relation, that the idea seemed as natural as if it +had concerned Christine. He had certainly been aware, the last year or +so, of a gossamer veil dropped between them. He attributed this to mere +grown-up-ness; but it made him feel appreciably shy at thought of +broaching his brilliant idea. + +She raised her head at that point; saw him, and waved a commanding hand. +Impelled by eagerness, he condescended to hurry. + +"Casual demon--what _have_ you been up to?" she greeted him with mock +severity. + +"Prowling on the ridge. It was gorgeous up there," he answered, noticing +in detail the curve of her eyelid and thick dark lashes. + +"Well, tea's half cold and most of it eaten; and Aunt Lila seemed +wondering a little. So I offered to go and unearth you." + +"How could you tell?" + +A dimple dipped in one cheek. "I couldn't! I was going to the wood, on +chance. Come along." + +"No hurry. If tea's half cold, it can wait a bit longer." He drew a +breath, nerving himself; then: "Tara--I've got a proposal to make." + +"Roy!" Her lips quivered, just perceptibly, and were still. + +"Well, it's this. Wouldn't it be splendid if _you_ came along out--with +us three?" + +"Roy!" It was a changed intonation. "That's _not_ a subject for a +practical joke." + +"But I'm in earnest. High Tower Princess, wouldn't you love to come?" + +"Of course I would." Was it his fancy, or did the blood stir ever so +little in her cheeks? "But it's utterly, crazily impossible. The sort of +thing only _you_ would suggest. So please let be--and come along in." + +"Not till you promise. I'm dead set on this. And I'm going to have it +out with you." + +"Well, you won't have _me_ out with you--if you talk till midnight." + +"Why not?" + +Her smile had its delicious tremulous quality. "Were you twenty-one last +birthday--or twelve? If you think you'll be lonely, ask for Christine. +She's your sister--I'm not!" + +The emphasis and faint inflection of the last words had their intended +effect. Roy's face fell. "O-oh, I see. But you've always been my sort of +sister. Thea would understand. And nowadays girls do all sorts of +things." + +"Yes--they do!" Tara agreed demurely. "They scratch faces and burn down +beautiful harmless houses. But they don't happen to belong to mother. +Roy--it's what I said--crazily--utterly---- If it wasn't, d'you suppose +I'd say No?" + +Then Roy knew he was beaten. Also he knew she was right and that he had +been an impulsive fool--depressing convictions both. For a moment he +stood nonplussed while Tara fingered a long chain he had given her, and +absently studied a daisy-plant that had dared to invade the oldest, +loveliest lawn in that part of the country. + +But Roy was little used to being thwarted--by home elements, at least: +and when an idea seized him he could be pertinacious, even to the point +of folly. He was determined Tara should come with him. And Tara wanted +to come. Add her permanent dearness and her newly-found loveliness, and +there sprang from the conjunction a second inspiration, even bolder than +the first. + +"Tara--dear," he ventured, in a changed tone that halted between +tenderness and appeal. "I'm going to say--something tremendous." + +She deserted the daisy and faced him, blue eyes wide; her tell-tale +lower lip drawn in. + +"Would it be--quite so 'crazily--utterly'--if ... well, if we were +engaged?" + +The tremendous word was out; and the effect on her was unmistakable. +Colour stirred visibly in her face. She straightened herself with an air +that seemed physically to increase the distance between them. + +"Really, Roy--have you _quite_ lost your senses to-day?" + +He looked--and felt--crestfallen. "But, Tara," he urged, "it's such a +supreme idea. Wouldn't you--think of it, ever? We'd fit like a pair of +gloves. Mummy would love it--extravagantly. And we've been kind +of--caring all these years. At least"--sudden doubt assailed him--"I +suppose you _do_ care still--a little bit?" + +"Silly boy! Of course I--care ... a lot." + +That was more like the Tara he knew. "Very well. _Why_ accuse me of +incipient lunacy? I care, too. Always have done. Think how topping it +would be, you and I together, exploring all the wonderland of our Game +and Mummy's tales--Udaipur, Amber, Chitor, perhaps the shrine of the +real Tara----" + +Still demurely distant, she thought "how topping it would be"; and the +thought kept her silent so long that he grew impatient. + +"High Tower Princess--do give over. Your grown-up airs are awfully +sweet--but not to the point. You are coming? It'll spoil everything now, +if you don't." + +She shook her head with a small wise smile that seemed to push him away +from her, gently yet inexorably; to make him feel little more than a +schoolboy confronted by a woman; very young in her new shyness and +dignity, but still--a woman. + +"No, Roy--I'm not coming. It's--dear of you to want me. But I can't--for +lots of reasons. So please understand, once for all. And don't fuss." + +"But you said--you cared," Roy murmured blankly. + +"Of course I do. Only--there's caring--and caring ... since you make me +say it. You must know that by now. Anyway, I know we simply can't get +married just because we're very fond of each other and it would please +'Mummy' and be convenient for India." + +Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger and younger +with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It was all so unlike +his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered a little his genuine +dismay. + +"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'm fearfully +disappointed." + +"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying time for +you--yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go out to India and do +them. Then--when the time really comes, you'll understand--and you'll be +grateful to me--for understanding now. There, what a lecture! But the +point is--we can't: and I won't be badgered about it. _I'm_ going back +to tea; and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila--why?" + +He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would you mind?" + +"N-no, she'll understand." + +"Bet she won't." + +"She will. You're not the only person the darling understands, though +you _are_ her spoilt boy." + +She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal +self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with +her. He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and +emotion. A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like +mountain peaks out of a mist. He knew she was all of a sudden +distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had +thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his +unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she didn't utterly despise +him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever.... + +Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a +lot to say. + +"Tara--why _are_ you sprinting like this?" he broke out, reproachfully. +"Are you angry with me?" + +She vouchsafed him a small smile. + +"Not yet. But I soon will be, if you don't take care. And I'm dangerous +in a temper!" + +"Don't I know that? I once had a scratch that didn't heal for a month. +But do walk slower. You're not chucking me--for good--eh?" + +She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and +hopelessly intractable Roy. + +"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour +before. You must have drunk some potion up on the moor! Have you +forgotten you're my Bracelet-bound Brother?" + +"But that doesn't bar--the other thing. It's not one of the Prayer-book +affinities! I say, Tara--you might promise to think it over. If you +can't do that much, I won't believe you care a bean about me, for all +you say----" + +Her blue eyes flashed at that--genuine fire; and she stood still again, +confronting him. + +"Roy--be _quiet_! You make me furious. I want to slap you. First you +suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by +behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for an answer." + +Roy straightened himself sharply. "I'm not spoilt--and I'm not a boy. +I'm a man." + +"Well then, try and _behave_ like one." + +The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had +hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung +out a hand. He held it hard. And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips +tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile. + +"Roy--darling," she murmured, barely above her breath. "You are +really--a little bit of all three. That's part of your deliciousness and +troublesomeness. And it's not your fault--the spoiling. We've all +helped. I've been as bad as the others. But this time--please believe--I +simply, utterly can't--even for you." + +Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand. + +But with a deft movement she freed herself--and fled round the corner of +the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek +his mother and the outraged teapot--alone. + +He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths of her +great arm-chair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of elaborate +embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son. + +Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room--as recreated by Sir Nevil Sinclair for +his Indian bride--was a setting worthy of its mistress: lofty and +spacious, light filled by three tall French windows, long gold curtains +shot through with bronze; gold and cream colour the prevailing tone; +ivory, brass, and bronze the prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and +flowers in profusion--roses, lilies, sweet-peas. Yet, in the midst of it +all, the spirit of Lilamani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of +whom, too soon, both she and her home would be bereft---- + +At the sound of his step she looked up. + +"Wicked one! What came to you?" + +Impossible to hide from her the disarray of his emotions. So he spoke +the simple truth. + +"Tara came to me----! I'd been prowling on the moor, and forgetting the +time. I met her on the lawn----" + +"Yes--where is she?--And you----?" + +He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was kneeling by her +chair, confessing all. + +"Mummy, I've just asked her--to marry me. And she simply ... won't hear +of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going out together--that it +would please you so----" + +The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it that way--to +her, my darling?" + +"No--not exactly. Naturally I did mention you--and India. She admits +she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry. I can't make her out." + +A faintly aggrieved note in his voice, implied expectation of sympathy. +To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if to herself: +"Such a wise Tara!" + +"Well, _I_ don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered a trifle +disconcerted. + +"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day perhaps when your eyes are not too +dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth--of yourself--you will +see--many surprises. You are not yet ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart +is reaching out to far-away things. That--_she_ has been woman enough to +guess." + +"Perhaps, I'm not so sure. She seemed--not a bit like herself, part of +the time." He looked pensively at a slim vase overflowing with sprays of +blush rambler, that, for some reason, evoked a tantalising vision of the +girl who had so suddenly blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking +thought found utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she +be--in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?" + +Lilamani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question! Hard to tell. +At this kind of age, when girls have so much character--like my +Tara--they have a natural instinct for hiding the thoughts of their +hearts." She dropped her needlework now and lightly took his head +between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you think _you_ are +yet--in love with her, Roy? Honest answer." + +The touch of her hands stirred him all through. The question in her eyes +probed deep. + +"Honest answer, Mummy--I'm blest if I know," he said slowly. "I don't +think I've ever been so near it before; beyond thrills at dances ... and +all that. She somehow churned me up just now and made me want her +tremendously. But I truly hadn't thought of it--that way, before. And--I +did feel it might ease you and Dad about ... the other thing, if I went +out fixed up." + +She drew his head to her and kissed him, then let her hands fall in her +lap. "Wonderful Sonling! Indeed it _would_ ease me and please me--if +coming from the true motive. Only remember, so long as you are thinking +first of me, you can be sure That Other has not yet arrived." + +"But I shall always think first of you," he declared, catching at her +hands. "There's no one like you. There never will be." + +"No--not like, but different--in clearness and nearness. Love is one big +impulse, but many forms. Like white light made from many colours. No +rival for me, That Other; but daughter-in-law--best gift a son can bring +to his father's house. Just now there is room inside you only for one +big thing--India." + +"And you----" + +"But I am India." + +"Sublimated essence of it, according to Jeffers." + +"Jeffers says many foolish things!" But she did not disguise her +pleasure. + +"I've noticed occasional flashes of wisdom!--But, I say, Motherling, +what price tea?" + +"Tea?" She feigned exaggerated surprise. "I thought you were much too +far in the clouds!" + +"On the contrary. I'm simply famished!" + +And forthwith he fell upon a plate of sugar cakes; while she rang for +the fresh teapot, so often in requisition for 'Mr Roy.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Comfort, content, delight, the ages' slow-bought gain, + They shrivelled in a night. Only ourselves remain + To face the naked days in silent fortitude. + Through perils and dismays renewed and re-renewed." + --KIPLING. + + +Nevil was up in town on business; not returning till next day. The +papers were seething with rumours; but the majority of everyday people, +immersed in their all-important affairs, continued cheerfully to hope +against hope. Sir Nevil Sinclair was not of these; but he kept his worst +qualms to himself. Neither his wife nor his son were keen newspaper +readers; which, in his opinion, was just as well. + +Certainly it did not occur to Lilamani that any trouble in Europe could +invade the sanctities of her home, or affect the shining destiny of Roy. +That he was destined to shine, her mother's heart knew beyond all doubt. +And round that knowledge, like an aura, glimmered a dreamlike hope that +perhaps his shining might some day, in some way, strengthen the bond +between Nevil's people and her own. For the problem of India's changing +relation to England lay intimately near her heart. Her poetic brain saw +England always as "husband of India"; while misguided or malicious +meddlers--who would "make the Mother a widow"--were fancifully +incorporated in the person of Jane. And, in this matter of India, Roy +had triumphed over Jane:--surely good omens, for bigger things:--for at +heart she was still susceptible to omens; more so than she cared to +admit. Crazy mother-arrogance, Nevil would say. But she seemed to feel +the spirit of his grandfather at work in Roy; and well she knew that the +old man's wisdom would guide and temper his young zeal. Beyond that, no +human eyes could see; only the too-human heart of a mother could dream +and hope.... + +Long ago her father had told her that nations had always been renewed by +individuals; that India--aristocratic to the deeps of her Brahmin-ridden +soul--would never acknowledge the crowd's unstable sway. For her it must +always be the _man_--ruler, soldier, or saint. + +Not that she had breathed a word of her 'arrogance' to Nevil, or even to +Roy. Nor had she shown to either a certain letter from a distinguished +Indian woman; pure Indian by birth; also by birth a Christian; her +sympathy with East and West as evenly poised as Lilamani's own. The +letter lived in a slim blue bag, lovingly embroidered. Lilamani--foolish +and fanciful--wore it like a talisman, next her heart; and at night +slipped it under her pillow with her gold watch and wisp of scented +lawn. + +To-night, being alone, and her mind very full of Roy, she drew it out +and re-read it for the hundredth time; lingering, as always, on its +arresting finale. + +"I have seen much and grieved more over the problem of the Eurasian, as +multiplied in our beloved country--the fruit, most often, of promiscuous +unions between low-caste types on both sides, with sense of stigma added +to drag them lower still. But where the crossing is of highest caste--as +with you and your 'Nevil'--I can see no stigma; perhaps even spiritual +gain to your children. For I love both countries with my whole heart. +And to my love God has given the vision that India may some day be saved +by the son of just such a union as your own. He will have the strength +of his handicap; the soul of the East; the forceful mind and character +of the West. He will bring to the task of uniting them such twofold love +and understanding that the world must needs take infection. What if the +ultimate meaning of British occupation of India be just this--that the +successor of Buddha should be a man born of high-caste, high-minded +British and Indian parents; a fusion of the finest that East and West +can give. That vision may inspire you in your first flush of happy +motherhood. So I feel impelled to pass it on ..." + +Such a vision--whether fantasy or prophecy--could not fail to stir +Lilamani Sinclair's Eastern heart to its depths. But she shrank from +sceptical comment; and sceptical Nevil would surely be. As for Roy, +intuition warned her it was too heady an idea to implant in his ardent +brain. So she treasured it secretly, and read it at intervals, and +prayed that, some day, it might be fulfilled--if not through her, then +through some other Lilamani, who should find courage to link her life +with England. Above all, she prayed he who should achieve India's +renewal might spring from Rajasthan.... + +In the midst of her thinking and praying, she fell sound asleep--to +dream of Roy tossed out of reach on the waves of some large vague +upheaval. The 'how' and 'why' of it all eluded her. Only the vivid +impression remained.... + + * * * * * + +And before the week was out, an upheaval, actual and terrible, burst +upon a startled, unheeding world; a world lulled into a false sense of +security; and too strenuously engaged in rushing headlong round a +centrifugal point called 'progress,' to concern itself with a mythical +peril across the North Sea. + +But at the first clear note of danger, devotees of pleasure and progress +and the franchise were transformed, as by magic, into a crowd of +bewildered, curious and resentful human beings, who had suddenly lost +their bearings; who snatched at newspapers; confided in perfect +strangers; protested that a European War was unspeakable, unthinkable, +and all the while could speak and think of nothing else.... + +It was the nightmare terror of earthquake, when the solid ground +underfoot turns traitor. And it shook even the stoutest nerves in the +opening weeks of the Great War, destined to shatter their dear and +familiar world for months, years, decades perhaps.... + +But underlying all the froth and fume of the earlier restlessness, of +the later fear and futility, the strong, kindly, imperturbable heart of +the land still beat, sanely--if inconspicuously--in the home life of her +cottages and her great country houses. Twentieth-century England could +not be called degenerate while she counted among her hidden treasures +homes of such charm and culture and mutual confidence as those that +produced the Grenfells, the Charltons, a Lord Elcho, an Edward Tennant +and a Charles Sorley--to pick a few names at random from that galaxy of +'golden boys' who ungrudgingly gave their lives--for what? + +The answer to that staggering question is not yet. But the splendour of +their gift remains: a splendour no after-failure can tarnish or dim ... + +To the inmates of Bramleigh Beeches--Nevil excepted--the crash came with +startling abruptness; dwarfing all personal problems, heart-searchings +and high decisions. Even Lady Roscoe forgot Family Herald heroics, and +'crossed the threshold' without comment from Nevil or herself. The +weightiest matters became suddenly trivial beside the tremendous +questions that hovered in every mind and on every tongue: 'Can We hold +Them?' 'Can They invade Us?' 'Can it be true--this whispered horror, +that rumoured disaster?' And the test question--most tremendous of all, +for the mere unit--'Where do _I_ come in?' + +Nevil came in automatically through years of casual connection with the +Artists' Rifles. He was a Colonel by now; and would join up as a matter +of course--to his wife's secret amazement and far from secret pride. +Without an ounce of the soldier in him, he acted on instinct like most +Englishmen; not troubling to analyse motives; simply in the spirit of +_Noblesse oblige_; or, in the more casual modern equivalent--'one just +does.' + +Roy--poet and dreamer--became electrically alive to his double heritage +of the soldier spirit. From age to age the primeval link between poet +and warrior is reaffirmed in time of war: and the Rajput in him +recognised only one way of fighting worthy the name--the triune +conjunction of man and horse and sword. Disillusion, strange and +terrible, awaited him on that score: and as for India--what need of his +young activities, when the whole Empire was being welded into one +resistant mass by the triple hammer-strokes of a common danger, a common +enemy, a common aim? + +It was perhaps this sense of a clear call in an age of intellectual +ferment, of sex problems and political friction, that sent so many +unlikely types of manhood straight as arrows to that universal +target--the Front. The War offered a high and practical outlet for their +dumb idealism; to their realism, it offered the 'terrific verities of +fatigue, suffering, bodily danger--beloved life and staggering death.' + +For Roy, Cavalry was a matter of course. In the saddle, even Jane could +find no fault with him; little guessing that, in his genius for +horsemanship, he was Rajput to the marrow. His compact, nervous make, +strong thigh and light hand, marked him as the inevitable centaur; and +he had already gained a measure of distinction in the cavalry arm of the +Officers' Training Corps. But a great wish to keep in touch with his +father led him to fall in with Sir Nevil's suggestion that he should +start in the Artists' Rifles and apply for a transfer later on--when one +could see more clearly how this terrific business was likely to develop. +George and Jerry--aged fifteen and sixteen and a half--raged at their +own futile juvenility--which, in happier circumstances, nothing would +have induced them to admit. Jerry--a gay and reckless being--had fell +designs on the Flying Corps, the very first moment he could 'wangle it.' +George--the truest Sinclair of them all--sagely voted for the Navy, +because it took you young. But no one heeded them very much. They were +all too absorbed in newspapers and their own immediate plans. + +And Lilamani, also, found her niche, when the King's stirring +proclamation announced the coming of Indian troops. There was to be a +camp on the estate. Later on, there would be convalescents. Meantime, +there was wholesale need of 'comforts' to occupy her and Helen and +Christine. + +Tara's soaring ambition would carry her farther afield. Her spirit of +flame--that rose instinctively to tragic issues and heroic +demands--could be at peace nowhere but in the splendid, terrible, +unorganised thick of it all. Without making any ado, she proposed to get +there in the shortest possible time; and, in the shortest possible time, +by sheer concentration and hard work, she achieved her desire. Before +Roy left England, before her best-loved brother--a man of brilliant +promise--had finished learning to fly, she was driving her car in +Belgium, besieged in Antwerp, doing and enduring terrible things ... + +After Tara, Nevil--for the Artists' Rifles were early in the field. +After Nevil, Roy--his exchange effected--very slim and soldierly in +cavalry uniform; his grey-blue eyes, with the lurking gleam in them, +more than ever noticeable in his sunburnt face. + +The last day, the last hour were at once sad and glad beyond belief; so +that Lilamani's coward heart was thankful for urgent trifles that helped +to divert attention from the waiting shadow. Even to-day, as always, +dress and sari were instinctively chosen to express her mood:--the +mother-of-pearl mood; iridescence of glad and sad: glad to give; yet +aching to keep. Daughter of Rajputs though she was, she had her moment +of very human shrinking when the sharp actuality of parting was upon +them; when he held her so close and long that she felt as if the +tightened cord round her heart must snap--and there an end.... + +But, by some miracle, some power not her own, courage held; though, when +he released her, she was half blinded with tears. + +Her last words--entirely like herself though they were--surprised him. + +"Son of my heart--live for ever," she whispered, laying light hands on +his breast. "And when you go into the battle, always keep strongly in +your mind that They must _not_ win, because no sacred or beautiful thing +would be left clean from their touch. And when you go into the battle +always remember--Chitor." + +"It is _you_ I shall always remember--looking like this," he answered +under his breath. But he never forgot her injunctions; and through years +of fighting, he obeyed them to the letter.... + + * * * * * + +That was in April, after Neuve Chapelle, when even optimists admitted +that the War might last a year. + +At Christmas time he came home on short leave--a changed Roy; his skin +browner; his sensitive lips more closely set under the shadow line of +his moustache; the fibre of body and spirit hardened, without loss of +fineness or flexibility. Livelier on the surface, he was graver, more +reticent, underneath--even with her. By the look in his eyes she knew he +had seen things that could never be put into words. Some of them she too +had seen, through his mind; so close was the spiritual link between +them. In that respect at least, he was beautifully, unaffectedly the +same.... + +Nevil was home too, for that wonderful Christmas; and Tara, changed +also, in her own vivid way; frank and friendly with Roy; though the +grown-up veil between them was seldom lifted now. For the War held them +both in its unrelaxing grip; satisfied, in terrible and tremendous +fashion, the hidden desire--not uncommon in young things, though +concealed like a vice--to suffer for others. Everything else, for the +time being, seemed a side issue. Personal affairs could wait.... + +When it came to letting Nevil and Roy go again, after their brief, +beautiful interlude together, Lilamani discovered how those fifteen +months of ceaseless anxiety and ceaseless service had shaken her nerve. +Gladness of giving could now scarce hold its own against dread of +losing; till she felt as if her heart must break under the strain. It +did not break, however. It endured--as the hearts of a million mothers +and wives have endured in all ages--to breaking-point ... and beyond. +The immensity of the whole world's anguish at once crushed and upheld +her, making her individual pain seem almost a little thing---- + +They left her. And the War went on--disastrously, gloriously, +stubbornly, inconclusively; would go on, it seemed, to the end of Time. +One came to feel as if life free from the shadow of War had never been. +As if it would never be again---- + + +END OF PHASE II. + + + + +PHASE III. + +PISGAH HEIGHTS + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "No receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend."--FRANCIS + BACON. + + +As early as 1819 there had been a Desmond in India; a +soldier-administrator of mark, in his day. During the Sikh Wars there +had been a Desmond in the Punjab; and at the time of the Great Mutiny +there was a Punjab Cavalry Desmond at Kohat; a notable fighter, with a +flowing beard and an easy-going uniform that would not commend itself to +the modern military eye. In the year of the second Afghan War, there was +yet another Desmond at Kohat; one that earned the cross 'For Valour,' +married the daughter of Sir John Meredith, and rose to high distinction. +Later still, in the year of grace 1918, his two sons were stationed +there, in the self-same Punjab Cavalry Regiment. There was also by now, +a certain bungalow in Kohat known as 'Desmond's bungalow,' occupied at +present by Colonel Paul Desmond, now in Command. + +That is no uncommon story in India. She has laid her spell on certain +families; and they have followed one another through the generations, as +homing birds follow in line across the sunset sky. And their name +becomes a legend that passes from father to son; because India does not +forget. There is perhaps nothing quite like it in the tale of any other +land. It makes for continuity; for a fine tradition of service and +devotion; a tradition that will not be broken till agitators and +theorists make an end of Britain in India. But that day is not yet; and +the best elements of both races still believe it will never be. + +Certainly neither Paul nor Lance Desmond, riding home together from +kit inspection, on a morning of early September, entertained the +dimmest idea of a break with the family tradition. Lance, at +seven-and-twenty--spare and soldierly, alive to the finger-tips--was his +father in replica, even to the V.C. after his name, which he had +'snaffled out of the War,' together with a Croix de Guerre and a +brevet-Majority. Though Cavalry had been at a discount in France, +Mesopotamia and Palestine had given the Regiment its chance--with fever +and dysentery and all the plagues of Egypt thrown in to keep things +going. + +It was in the process of filling up his woeful gaps that Colonel Desmond +had applied for Roy Sinclair, and so fulfilled the desire of his +brother's heart: also, incidentally, Roy's craving to serve with Indian +Cavalry. To that end, his knowledge of the language, his horsemanship, +his daring and resource in scout work, had stood him in good stead. +Paul--who scarcely knew him at the time--very soon discovered that he +had secured an asset for the Regiment--the great Fetish, that claimed +his paramount allegiance, and began to look like claiming it for life. + +"He's just John over again," Lady Desmond would say, referring to a +brother who had served the great Fetish from subaltern to Colonel and +left his name on a cross in Kohat cemetery. + +Certainly, in form and feature, Paul was very much a Meredith:--the +coppery tone of his hair, the straight nose and steadfast grey-blue +eyes, the height and breadth and suggestion of power in reserve. It was +one of the most serious problems of his life to keep his big frame under +weight for polo, without impairing his immense capacity for work. Apart +from this important detail, he was singularly unaware of his striking +personal appearance, except when others chaffed him about his look of +Lord Kitchener, and were usually snubbed for their pains; though, at +heart, he was inordinately proud of the fact. He had only one quarrel +with the hero of his boyhood;--the decree that officially extinguished +the Frontier Force; though the spirit of it survives, and will survive, +for decades to come. Like his brother, he had 'snaffled' a few +decorations out of the War: but to be in Command of the Regiment, with +Lance in charge of his pet squadron, was better than all. + +The strong bond of affection between these two--first and last of a +family of six--was enhanced by their very unlikeness. Lance had the elan +of a torrent; Paul the stillness and depth of a mountain lake. Lance was +a rapier; Paul a claymore--slow to smite, formidable when roused. Both +were natural leaders of men; both, it need hardly be added, 'Piffers'[3] +in the grain. They had only returned in March from active service, with +the Regiment very much the worse for wear; heartily sorry to be out of +the biggest show on record; yet heartily glad to be back in India, a +sadly changing India though it was. + +Two urgent questions were troubling the mind of Lance as they rode at a +foot's pace up the slope leading to the Blue Bungalow. Would the board +of doctors, at that moment 'sitting' on Roy, give him another chance? +Would the impending reliefs condemn them to a 'down-country' station? +For they had only been posted to Kohat till these came out. + +To one of those questions Colonel Desmond already knew the answer. + +"I had a line from the General this morning," he remarked, after +studying his brother's profile and shrewdly gauging his thoughts. + +True enough--his start betrayed him. "The General?--Reliefs?" + +"Yes." A pause. "We're for--Lahore Cantonments." + +"Damn!" + +"I've made that inspired remark already. You needn't flatter yourself +it's original!" + +"I'm not in the mood to flatter myself or any one else. I'm in a +towering rage. And if dear old Roy is to be turned down into the +bargain----!" Words failed him. He had his father's genius for making +friends; and among them all Roy Sinclair reigned supreme. + +"I'm afraid he will be if I know anything of medical boards." + +"Why the _devil_----?" Lance flashed out. "It's not as if A1 officers +were tumbling over each other in the service. If Roy was a Tommy they'd +jolly soon think of something better than leave and futile tonics." + +Colonel Desmond smiled at the characteristic outburst. + +"Certainly their tinkering isn't up to much. But I'm afraid there's more +wrong with Roy than mere doctoring can touch. Still--he doesn't seem +keen on going Home." + +Lance shook his head. "Naturally--poor old chap. Feels he can't face +things, yet. It's not only the delights of Mespot that have knocked him +off his centre. It's losing--that jewel of a mother." His eyes darkened +with feeling. "You can't wonder. If anything was to happen----" He broke +off abruptly. + +Paul Desmond set his teeth and was silent. In the deep of his heart, the +Regiment had one rival--and Lady Desmond knew it.... + +They found the bungalow empty. No sign of Roy. + +"Getting round 'em," suggested Paul optimistically, and passed on into +his dufter. + +Lance lit a cigar, flung himself into a verandah chair and picked up the +'Civil and Military.' He had just scanned the war telegrams when Roy +came up at a round trot. + +Lance sat forward and discarded the paper. An exchange of glances +sufficed. Roy's determination to 'bluff the board' had failed. + +He looked sallow in spite of sunburn; tired and disheartened; no lurking +smile in his eyes. He fondled the velvet nose of his beloved Suraj--a +graceful creature, half Arab, half Waler; and absently acknowledged the +frantic jubilations of his Irish terrier puppy, christened by Lance the +Holy Terror--Terry for short. Then he mounted the steps, subsided into +the other chair and dropped his cap and whip on the ground. + +"Damn the doctors," said Lance, questions being superfluous. + +That so characteristic form of sympathy moved Roy to a rueful smile. +"Obstinate devils. I bluffed 'em all I knew. Overdid it, perhaps. Anyway +they weren't impressed. They've dispensed with my valuable services. +Anaemia, mild neurasthenia, cardiac symptoms--and a few other +pusillanimous ailments. Wonder they didn't throw in housemaid's knee! +Oh, confound 'em all!" He converted a sigh into a prolonged yawn. +"Let's make merry over a peg, Lance. Doctors are exhausting to argue +with. And Cuthers always said I couldn't argue for nuts! Now then--how +about pegs?" + +"A bit demoralising--at midday," Lance murmured without conviction. + +"Well, I _am_ demoralised; dead--damned--done for. I'm about to be +honoured with a blooming medical certificate to that effect. As a +soldier, I'm extinct--from this time forth for evermore. You see before +you the wraith of a Might-Have-Been. After _that_ gold-medal exhibition +of inanity, kindly produce said pegs!" + +Lance Desmond listened with a grave smile, and a sharp contraction of +heart, to the absurdities of this first-best friend, who for three years +had shared with him the high and horrible and ludicrous vicissitudes of +war. He knew only too well that trick of talking at random to drown some +inner stress. With every word of nonsense he uttered, Roy was implicitly +confessing how acutely he felt the blow; and to parade his own bitter +disappointment seemed an egotistical superfluity. So he merely remarked +with due gravity: "I admit you've made out an overwhelming case for +'said pegs'!" And he shouted his orders accordingly. + +They filled their tumblers in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Every +moment emphasised increasingly all that the detested verdict implied. No +more polo together. No more sharing of books and jokes and enthusiasms +and violent antipathies, to which both were prone. No more 'shoots' in +the Hills beyond Kashmir. + +From the first of these they had lately returned--sick leave, in Roy's +case; and the programme was to be repeated next April, if they could +'wangle' first leave. Each knew the other was thinking of these things. +But they seemed entirely occupied in quenching their thirst, and their +disappointment, in deep draughts of sizzling ice-cool whisky-and-soda. +Moreover--ignominious, but true--when the tumblers were emptied, things +did begin to look a shade less blue. It became more possible to discuss +plans. And Desmond was feeling distinctly anxious on that score. + +"You won't be shunted instanter," he remarked; and Roy smiled at the +relief in his tone. + +"Next month, I suppose. We must make the most of these few weeks, old +man." + +"And then--what?... Home?" + +Roy did not answer at once. He was lying back again, staring out at the +respectable imitation of a lawn, at rose beds, carpeted with over-blown +mignonette, and a lone untidy tamarisk that flung a spiky shadow on the +grass. And the eye of his mind was picturing the loveliest lawn of his +acquaintance, with its noble twin beeches and a hammock slung +between--an empty casket; the jewel gone. It was picturing the +drawing-room; the restful simplicity of its cream and gold: but no dear +and lovely figure, in gold-flecked sari, lost in the great arm-chair. +Her window-seat in the studio--empty. No one in a 'mother-o'-pearl mood' +to come and tuck him up and exchange confidences, the last thing. His +father, also invalided out; his left coat sleeve half empty, where the +forearm had been removed. + +"N--no," he said at last, still staring at the unblinking sunshine. "Not +Home. Not yet--anyway." + +Then, having confessed, he turned and looked straight into the eyes of +his friend--the hazel-grey eyes he had so admired, as a small boy, +because of the way they darkened with anger or strong feeling. And he +admired them still. "A coward--am I? It's not a flattering conclusion. +But I suppose it's the cold truth." + +"It hasn't struck _me_ that way." Desmond frankly returned his look. + +"That's a mercy. But--if one's name happened to be Lance Desmond, one +would go--anyhow." + +"I doubt it. The place must be simply alive--with memories. We +Anglo-Indians, jogged from pillar to post, know precious little about +homes like yours. A man--can't judge----" + +"You're a generous soul, Lance!" Roy broke out with sudden warmth. +"Anyway--coward or no--I simply _can't_ face--the ordeal, yet awhile. I +believe my father will understand. After all--here I am in India, as +planned, before the Great Interruption. So--given the chance, I might as +well take it. The dear old place is mostly empty, these days--with Tiny +married and Dad's Air Force job pinning him to Town. _So_--as I remarked +before----!" + +"You'll hang on out here for the present? Thank God for that much." + +Desmond's pious gratitude was so fervent that they both burst out +laughing; and their laughter cleared the air of ghosts. + +"Jaipur it is, I suppose, as planned. Thea will be overjoyed. Whether +Jaipur's precisely a health resort----?" + +"I'm not after health resorts. I'm after knowledge--and a few other +things. Not Jaipur first, anyway. The moment I get the official order of +the boot--I'm for Chitor." + +"Chitor?" Faint incredulity lurked in Desmond's tone. + +"Yes--the casket that enshrines the soul of a race; buried in the wilds +of Rajasthan. Ever heard tell of it, you arrant Punjabi? Or does nothing +exist for _you_ south of Delhi?" + +"Just a thing or two--not to mention Thea!" + +"Of course--I beg her pardon! _She_ would appreciate Chitor." + +"Rather. They went there--and Udaipur, last year. She's death on getting +Vincent transferred. And the Burra Sahibs are as wax in her hands. If +they happen to be musical, and she applies the fiddle, they haven't an +earthly----!" + +Roy's eyes took on their far-away look. + +"It'll be truly uplifting to see her--and hear her fiddle once more, if +she's game for an indefinite dose of my society. Anyway, there's my +grandfather----" + +"Quite superfluous," Desmond interposed a shade too promptly. "If I know +Thea, she'll hang on to you for the cold weather; and ensure you a _pied +a terre_ if you want to prowl round Rajputana and give the bee in your +bonnet an airing! You'll be in clover. The Residency's a sort of palace. +Not precisely Thea's ideal of bliss. She's a Piffer at heart; and her +social talents don't get much scope down there. Only half a dozen +whites; and old Vinx buried fathoms deep in ethnology, writing a book. +But, being Thea, she has pitched herself head foremost, into it all. Got +very keen on Indian women. She's mixed up in some sort of a romance now. +A girl who's been educated at home. It seems an unfailing prescription +for trouble. I rather fancy she's a cousin of yours." + +Roy started. "What--Aruna?" + +"She didn't mention the name. Only ructions--and Thea to the rescue!" + +"Poor Aruna!--She stayed in England a goodish time, because of the +War--and Dyan. I've not heard of Dyan for an age; and I don't believe +they have either. He was knocked out in 1915. Lost his left arm. Said he +was going to study art in Calcutta.--I wonder----?" Desmond--who had +chiefly been talking to divert the current of his thoughts--noted, with +satisfaction, how his simple tactics had taken effect. + +"We'll write to-morrow--eh?" said he. "Better still--happy +thought!--I'll bear down on Jaipur myself, for Christmas leave. Rare +fine pig-sticking in those parts." + +The happy thought proved a masterstroke. In the discussion of plans and +projects Roy became almost his radiant self again: forgot, for one +merciful hour, that he was dead, damned, and done for--the wraith of a +'Might-Have-Been.' + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 3: Punjab Irregular Frontier Force.] + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Oh, not more subtly silence strays + Amongst the winds, between the voices... + Than thou art present in my days. + + My silence, life returns to thee + In all the pauses of her breath. + And thou, wake ever, wake for me!" + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +Some five weeks later, Roy sat alone--very completely and desolately +alone--in a whitewashed, unhomely room that everywhere bore the stamp of +dak bungalow; from the wobbly teapoy[4] at his elbow to the board of +printed rules that adorned the empty mantelpiece. The only cheering +thing in the room was the log fire that made companionable noises and +danced shadow-dances on the dingy white walls. But the optimism of the +fire was discounted by the pessimism of the lamp that seemed specially +constructed to produce a minimum of light with a maximum of smell--and +rank kerosene at that. + +Dak bungalows had seemed good fun in the days of his leave, when he and +Lance made merry over their well-worn failings. But it was quite another +affair to smoke the pipe of compulsory solitude, on the outskirts of +Chitor, hundreds of miles away from Kohat and the Regiment; to feel +oneself the only living being in a succession of empty rooms--for the +servants were housed in their own little colony apart. Solitude, in the +right mood and the right place, was bread and wine to his soul; but +acute loneliness of the dak bungalow order was not in the bond. For four +years he had felt himself part of a huge incarnate purpose; intimately +part of his regiment--a closely-knit brotherhood of action. Now, the +mere fact of being an unattached human fragment oddly intensified his +feeling of isolation. With all his individuality, he was no egoist; and +very much a lover of his kind. Imbued with the spirit of the quest, yet +averse by temperament to ploughing the lonely furrow. + +It had been his own choice--if you could call it so,--starting this way, +instead of in the friendly atmosphere of the Jaipur Residency. But was +there really such a thing as choice? The fact was, he had simply obeyed +an irresistible impulse,--and to-morrow he would be glad of it. +To-night, after that interminable journey, his head ached atrociously. +He felt limp as a wet dish-clout; his nerves all out of gear ... Perhaps +those confounded doctors were not such fools as they seemed. He cursed +himself for a spineless ineffectual--messing about with nerves when he +had been lucky enough to come through four years of war with his full +complement of limbs and faculties unimpaired. Two slight wounds, a +passing collapse, from utter fatigue and misery, soon after his mother's +death; a spell of chronic dysentery, during which he had somehow managed +to keep more or less fit for duty;--that was his record of physical +damage, in a War that had broken its tens of thousands for life. + +But there are wounds of the mind; and the healing of them is a slow, +complex affair. Roy, with his fastidious sense of beauty, his almost +morbid shrinking from inflicted pain, had suffered acutely, where more +robust natures scarcely suffered at all. Yet it was the robust that went +to pieces--which was one of the many surprises of a War that shattered +convictions wholesale, and challenged modern man to the fiercest trial +of faith at a moment when Science had almost stripped him bare of belief +in anything outside himself. + +Roy, happily for him, had not been stripped of belief; and his receptive +mind, had been ceaselessly occupied registering impressions, to be flung +off, later, in prose and verse, that _She_ might share them to the full. +A slim volume--published, at her wish, in 1916--had attracted no small +attention in the critical world. At the time, he had deprecated +premature rushings into print; but afterwards it was a blessed thing to +remember the joy he had given her that last Christmas--the very last.... + +On the battlefield, if there had been nerve-shattering moments, these +had their counterpart in moments when the spirit of his Rajput ancestors +lived again in him, when he knew neither shrinking nor horror nor pity: +and in moments of pure pleasure, during some quiet interlude, when larks +rained music out of the blue; when he found himself alone with the eerie +wonder of dawn over the scarred and riven fields of death; or when he +discovered his Oriental genius for scout work that had rapidly earned +him distinction and sated his love of adventure to the full. + +And always, unfailingly he had obeyed his mother's parting injunction. +As a British officer, he had fought for the Empire. As Roy Sinclair--son +of Lilamani--he had fought for the sanctities of Home and +Beauty--intrinsic beauty of mind and body and soul--against hideousness +and licence and the unclean spirit that could defile the very +sanctuaries of God. + +And always, when he went into battle, he remembered Chitor. Mentally, he +put on the saffron robe, insignia of 'no surrender.' To be taken +prisoner was the one fate he could not bring himself to contemplate: yet +that very fate had befallen him and Lance, in Mesopotamia--the sequel of +a daring and successful raid. + +Returning, in the teeth of unexpected difficulties, they had found +themselves ambushed, with their handful of men--outnumbered, no loophole +for escape. + +For three months, that seemed more like years, they had lost all sense +of personal liberty--the oxygen of the soul. They had endured misery, +semi-starvation, and occasionally other things, such as a man cannot +bring himself to speak about or consciously recall: not least, the awful +sense of being powerless--and hated. From the beginning, they had kept +their minds occupied with ingenious plans for escape, that, at times, +seemed like base desertion of their men, whom they could neither help +nor save. But when--as by a miracle--the coveted chance came, no power +on earth could have stayed them.... + +It had been a breathless affair, demanding all they possessed of bodily +fleetness and suppleness, of cool, yet reckless, courage. And it had +been crowned with success; the good news wired home to mothers who +waited and prayed. But Roy's nerves had suffered more severely than +Desmond's. A sharp attack of fever had completed his prostration. And it +was then, in the moment of his passing weakness, that Fate turned and +smote him with the sharpest weapon in her armoury.... + +He had not even heard his mother was ill. He had just received her +ecstatic response to his wire--and that very night she came to him, +vividly, as he hovered on the confines of sleep. + +There she stood by his bed, in her mother-o'-pearl gown and sari; clear +in every detail; lips just parted; a hovering smile in her eyes. And +round about her a shimmering radiance, as of moonbeams, heightened her +loveliness, yet seemed to set her apart; so that he could neither touch +her nor utter a word of welcome. He could only gaze and gaze, while his +heart beat in long slow hammer-strokes, with a double throb between. + +With a gesture of mute yearning her hands went out to him. She stooped +low and lower. A faint breeze seemed to flit across his forehead as if +her lips, lightly brushing it, had breathed a blessing. + +Then, darkness fell abruptly--and a deep sleep.... + +He woke late next morning: woke to a startling, terrible certainty that +his vision had been no dream; that her very self had come to him--that +she was gone.... + +When the bitter truth reached him, he learnt, without surprise, that on +the night of his vision, her spirit passed.... + + * * * * * + +It was a sharp attack of pneumonia that gave her the _coup de grace_. +But, in effect, the War had killed her, as it killed many another +hyper-sensitive woman, who could not become inured to horror on horror, +tragedy on tragedy, whose heart ached for the sorrows of others as if +they were her own. And her personal share had sufficiently taxed her +endurance, without added pangs for others, unseen and unknown. +George--her baby--had gone down in the Queen Mary. Jerry, too early sent +out to France, had crashed behind the German lines; and after months of +uncertainty they had heard he was alive, wounded--in German hands. Tara, +faithful to the Women's Hospital in Serbia, had been constantly in +danger, living and moving among unimaginable horrors. Nevil, threatened +with septic poisoning, had only been saved at the cost of his left +forearm. Not till he was invalided out, near the close of 1916, had he +realised--too late--that she was killing herself by inches, with work +that alone could leaven anxiety--up to a point. + +But it was the shock of Roy's imprisonment and the agony of suspense +that finally stretched her nerve to breaking-point; so that the sudden +onslaught of pneumonia had slain her in the space of a week. And Roy, +knowing her too well, had guessed the truth, in spite of his father's +gallant attempt to shield him from it. + +His first letter from that bereft father had been little short of a +revelation to the son, who had ventured to suppose he knew him: a rash +supposition where any human being is concerned. There had been more than +one such revelation in the scores of letters that at once uplifted and +overwhelmed him, and increased tenfold his pride in being her son. But +outshining all, and utterly unexpected, was a letter from herself, +written in those last days, when the others still hoped, against hope, +but she knew---- + +It had come, with his father's, in a small, gold-embroidered bag--scent +and colour and exquisite needlework all eloquent of her: and with it +came the other, her talisman since he was born. Reaching him while brain +and body still reeled under the bewildering sense of loss, it had +soothed his agony of pain and rebellion like the touch of her fingers on +his forehead; had taken the sting from death and robbed the grave of +victory.... + + * * * * * + +To-night, in his loneliness, he drew the slim bag out of an inner +pocket, and re-read with his eyes the words that were imprinted on his +memory. + + "ROY, SON OF MY HEART,--This is good-bye--but not + altogether good-bye. Between you and me that word can never be + spoken. So I am writing this, in my foolish weakness, to beg of + you--by the love between us, too deep for words--not to let heart + and courage be _quite_ broken because of this big sorrow. You were + brave in battle, my Prithvi Raj. Be still more brave for me. + Remember I am Lilamani--Jewel of Delight. _That_ I have tried to be + in my life, for every one of you. That I wish to be always. So I + ask you, my darling, not to make me a Jewel of Sorrow because I + have passed into the Next Door House too soon. Though not seen, I + will never for long be far from you. That is my faith; and you must + share it; helping your dear father, because for him the way of + belief is hard. + + "Never forget those beautiful words of Fouquet in which you made + dedication of your poems to me: 'How blessed is the son to whom it + is allowed to gladden his mother's heart with the blossom and fruit + of his life!' And you will still gladden it, Dilkusha.[5] I will + still share your work, though in different fashion than we hoped. + Only keep your manhood pure and the windows of your spirit clear, + so the Light can shine through. Then you will know if I speak + truth, and you will not feel altogether alone. + + "Oh, Roy, I could write and write till the pen drops. My heart is + too full, but my hand is too feeble for more. Only this, when your + time comes for marriage, I pray you will be to your wife all that + your splendid father has been for me--king and lover and companion + of body and spirit. Draw nearer than ever, you two, because of your + so beautiful love for me--unseen now, but with you always. God + bless you. I can write no more. + + "Your devoted + MOTHER." + +The last lines wavered and ran together. In spite of her injunction, +tears _would_ come. Chill and unheeded, they slipped down his cheeks, +while he folded his treasure, and put it away with the other, that went +to his head, a little, as she had foreseen; though in the event, it had +been overshadowed by her own, than which she could have left him no +dearer legacy. In life she had been an angel of God. In death, she was +still his angel of comfort and healing. She had bidden him share her +belief; and he never _had_ felt altogether alone. Sustained by that +inner conviction, he had somehow adapted himself to the strangeness of a +life empty of her physical presence. The human being, in a world of +pain, like the insect in a world of danger, lives mainly by that same +ceaseless, unconscious miracle of adaptation. Dearly though he craved a +sight of his father and Christine, he had not asked for leave home. +There were bad moments when he wondered if he could ever bring himself +to face the ordeal. He sincerely hoped they understood. Their letters +left an impression that it was so. Jeffers obviously did. + +And Tara----? Her belated letter, from the wilds of Serbia, had +revealed, in every line, that she understood only too well. For Tara, +not long before, had passed through her own ordeal--the death, in a +brilliant air fight, of her second brother Atholl, her devotee and hero +from nursery days. So when Roy's turn came, her fulness of sympathy and +understanding were outstretched like wings to shield him, if might be, +from the worst, as she had known it. + +For that once, she flung aside the veil of grown-up reserves and wrote +straight from her eager passionate heart to the Bracelet-bound Brother, +unseen for years, yet linked with her by an imperishable memory; and now +linked closer still by a mutual grief. + +The comfort to Roy of that spontaneous, Tara-like outpouring had been +greater than she knew--than he could ever let her know. For the old +intimacy had never been quite re-established between them since the day +of his tactless juvenile proposal--for so he saw it now. They had only +met that once, when he was home for Christmas. On the second occasion, +they had missed. Throughout the War they had corresponded fitfully; but +her letters, though affectionate and sisterly, lacked an unseizable +something that affected the tone of his response. He had been rash +enough, once, to presume on their special relation. But he was no longer +a boy; and he had his pride. + +He wondered sometimes how it would be if they met again. Would he fall +in love with her? She was supreme. No one like her. But he knew now--as +she had instinctively known then--that his conviction on that score did +not amount to being in love. Conviction must be lit and warmed with the +fire of passion. And you couldn't very well fall in love across six +thousand miles of sea. Certainly none of the girls he had danced with +and ridden with since his arrival in India had affected him that way. +And for him marriage was an important consideration. Some day he +supposed it would confront him as an urgent personal issue. But there +was a tremendous lot to be done first; and girls were kittle cattle. + +Unsuspected by him, the ultimate relation with his mother--while it +quickened his need for woman's enveloping tenderness and sympathy--held +his heart in leash by setting up a standard, to which the modern girl +rarely aspired, much less attained. + +And now she was gone, in some strange, enthralling way, she held him +still. At rare intervals, she came again to him in dreams; or when he +hovered on the verge of sleep. Dreams, or visions--they persisted as +clearly in memory as any waking act; and unfailingly left a vivid +after-sense of having been in touch with her very self. More and more +conviction deepened in him that she still had joy in 'the blossom and +fruit of his life'; that even in death she was nearer to him than many +living mothers to their sons. + +A strange experience: strangest of all, perhaps, the simplicity with +which he came to accept it as part of the natural order of things. The +intuitive brain is rarely analytical. Moreover, he had seen; he had +felt; he knew. It is the invincible argument of the mystic. Against +belief born of vivid, reiterate experience, the loquacity of logic, the +formulae of pure intellect break like waves upon a rock--and with as +little result. The intensity and persistence of Roy's experience simply +left no room for insidious whispers of doubt; nor could he have +tolerated such scepticism in others, natural though it might be, if one +had not seen, nor felt, nor known. + +So he neither wrote nor spoke of it to any one. He could scarce have +kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had shared all his thoughts and +dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too remote in every sense for +a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To his father he would fain have +confided everything, remembering her last command; but Sir Nevil's later +letters--though unfailingly sympathetic--were not calculated to evoke +filial outpourings. For the time being, he seemed to have shut himself +in with his grief. Perhaps he, of all others, had been least able to +understand Roy's failure to press for short leave home. He had said very +little on the subject. And Roy--with the instinct of sensitive natures +to take their tone from others--had also said little: too little, +perhaps. Least said may be soonest mended; but there are times when it +may widen a rift to a gulf. + +In the end, he had felt impelled at least to mention his dream +experiences, and let it rest with his father whether he said any more. + +And by return mail came a brief but poignant answer: "Thank you, my +dearest Boy, for telling me what you did. It is a relief to know you +have some sort of comfort--if only in dreams. You are fortunate to be so +made. After all, for purposes of comfort and guidance, one's capacity to +believe in such communion is the measure of its reality. As for me, I am +still utterly, desolately alone. Perhaps some day she will reach me in +spite of my little faith. People who resort to mediums and the automatic +writing craze are beyond me: though the temptation I understand. You may +remember a sentence of Maeterlinck----' We have to grope timidly and +make sure of every footstep, as we cross the threshold. And even when +the threshold is crossed, where shall certainty be found----? One cannot +speak of these things--the solitude is too great.' That is my own +feeling about it--at present." + +The last had given Roy an impression that his solitude, however +desolating, was a sort of sanctuary, not to be shared as yet, even with +his son. And, in the face of such loneliness, it seemed almost cruel to +enlarge on his own clear sense of intimate communion with her who had +been unfailingly their Jewel of Delight. + +So, by degrees--in the long months of separation from them all--his +ethereal link with her had come to feel closer and more real than his +link with those others, still in the flesh, yet strangely remote from +his inner life. + +To-night--after reading both letters--that sense of nearness seemed +stronger than ever. Could it be that the magnetism of India was in the +nature of an intimation from her that for the present his work lay here? +By the hidden forces that mould men's lives, he had been drawn to the +land of heart's desire; and at home, neither his family nor his country +seemed to have any particular need of him. Whether or no India had need +of him, he assuredly had need of her. And it was the very strength of +that feeling which had given him pause. + +But now, at last, he knew beyond cavil that, for all his mind--or was it +his conscience?--might haver and split straws, he had been drawn to +Rajputana, as irresistibly as if that vast desert region were the moon +and he a wavelet on the tidal shore. + +With a great sigh he rose, yawned cavernously and shivered. Better get +to bed and to sleep:--a bed that didn't clank and jolt and batter your +brains to a pulp. Things would look amazingly different in the morning. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 4: Tripod table.] + +[Footnote 5: Joy of my Heart.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Darkness and solitude shine for me: + For life's fair outward part, are rife + The silver noises: let them be. + It is the very soul of life + Listens for thee, listens for thee." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +The depressingly bare, whitewashed bedroom owned a French bedstead, with +brass rails;--a welcome 'find' in a dak bungalow, especially after three +very broken nights in an Indian train. Tired to the point of +stupefaction, Roy promised himself he would sleep the clock round; eat a +three-decker Anglo-Indian breakfast, and thereafter be his own man +again. In that faith he laid his head on the least lumpy portion of the +pillow--and in less than five minutes found himself quite intolerably +wide awake. + +Though the bedstead neither repudiated him, nor took liberties with his +person, ghostly clankings and vibrations still jarred his nerves and +played devil's tunes in his brain. Though he kept his eyelids severely +closed, sleep--the coveted anodyne--seemed to hover on the misty edge of +things, always just out of reach. His body was over-tired, his brain +abnormally alert. Each change of position, that was to be positively the +last, lost its virtue in the space of three minutes, till the +sheet--that was too narrow for the mattress--became ruckled into hills +and valleys and made things worse than ever. Having started like this, +he knew himself capable of keeping it up gaily till the small hours; and +to-night, of all nights----! + +Even through his closed eyelids, he was still aware that his verandah +doorway framed a wide panel of moonlight--the almost incredible +moonlight of India. He had flung it open as usual and rolled up the +chick. A bedroom hermetically sealed made him feel suffocated, +imprisoned; so he must, perforce, put up with the moon; and when the +world was drowned in her radiance, sleep seemed almost a sin. But +to-night, moon or no, he craved sleep as an opium-eater craves his magic +pellets,--because he wanted to dream. It was many weeks since he last +had sight of his mother. But surely she must be near him in his +loneliness; aware, in some mysterious fashion, of the deep longing with +which he longed for sight or sense of her, to assure him that--in spite +of qualms and indecisions--he had chosen aright. Conviction grew that +directly the veil of sleep fell he would see her. It magnified his +insomnia from mere discomfort to a baffling inimical presence +withholding him from her:--till utter weariness blotted out everything; +and even as he hovered on the verge of sleep, she was there.... + +She was lying in her hammock under the beeches, in her apple-blossom +sari, sunlight flickering through the leaves. And he saw his own figure +moving towards her, without the least surprise, that he could see and +hear himself as another being, while still remaining inside himself. + +He heard his own voice say, low and fervently, "Beloved little Mother--I +am here. Always in the battle I remembered Chitor. Now--turned out of +the battle--I have come to Chitor." + +Then he was on his knees beside her; and her fingers, light as +thistledown, strayed over his hair, in the ghost of a caress that so +unfailingly stilled his excitable spirit. Without actual words, by some +miracle of interpenetration, she seemed to know all that was in his +heart--the perplexities and indecisions; the magnetism of Home and the +dread of it; the difficulty of making things clear to his father. And +the magic of her touch charmed away all inner confusions, all headache +and heartache. But when he rose impulsively, and would have taken her in +his arms--she was gone; everything was gone; ... the hammock, the +beeches, the sunbeams.... + +He was standing alone on a moonlit plain, blotched and streaked with +shadows of dak-jungle and date-palm; and rising out of it abruptly--as +he had seen it last night--loomed the black bulk of Chitor; the sacred, +solitary ghost of a city, linked with his happiest days of childhood and +his mother's heroic tales. The great rock was scarped and bastioned, +every line of it. The walls, ruined in parts, showed ghostly shades of +ruins beyond; and soaring high above all, Khumba Rana's nine-storied +Tower of Victory lifted a giant finger to the unheeding heavens. +Watching it, fascinated, trying in vain to make out details, he was +startlingly beset by the strangest among many strange sensations that +had visited his imaginative brain: nothing less than a revival of the +long-ago dream-feeling, the strange sense of familiarity--he knew! +Beyond all cavil, he knew every line of that looming shadow, every curve +of the hills. He knew the exact position of the old bridge over the +Gamberi river. From the spot where he stood, he could find his way +unerringly to the Padal Pol--the fortified entrance to the road of Seven +Gates;--the road that had witnessed, three times in three hundred years, +that heroic alternative to surrender, the terrible rite of Johur:--the +final down-rush of every male defender, wearing the saffron robe and +coronet of him who embraces death as a bride; the awful slaughter at the +lowest gate, where they fell, every man of them, before the victors +entered in.... + +The horror and savage exaltation of it all stirred, so sensibly, in his +veins that he caught himself dimly wondering--was it he, Roy Sinclair, +who stood there remembering these things--or another...? + +And before that crazy question could resolve itself--behold he was lying +wide awake again in his ruckled bed, on the lumpy pillow, staring at the +wide patch of moonlight framed by his open door. + +Not morning _yet_, confound it all! But the tiredness and loneliness +were clean gone. It was always so when she came to him thus. Tacitly, he +knew it, and she knew it, for a visitation. There was no delusion of +having got her back again; only the comforting assurance that she was +near him still. There was also, on this occasion, a consuming curiosity +and impatience not to be denied. + +Switching on his electric torch, he consulted his watch. Nearly +half-past four--why not ...? It was no distance to the lower gate, and +only a mile of zigzag road up to the city. + +Thought and action were almost simultaneous. He was out of bed, standing +in the doorway. The moon's unclouded brilliance seemed to flood his +brain; to clear it of cobwebs and dispel all desire of sleep. For he +loved the veiled spirit of night as most men love the unveiled face of +morning; and in no way, perhaps, was he more clearly of the East. In a +land where the sun slays his thousands, the moon comes triumphantly to +her own: and Roy decided, there and then, that in the glamour of her +light he would take his first look at Chitor. Whether or no it really +was his first look, he might possibly find out when he got there. + +His train-basket provided him with a hurried cup of tea, biscuits and a +providential hard-boiled egg. He had no qualms about rousing Bishun +Singh to saddle Suraj, or disturbing the soldiery quartered at the +gates. His grandfather had written of him to the Maharana of Udaipur--a +cousin in the third degree: and he had leave to go in and out, during +his stay, at what hour he pleased. He would remain on the rock till +dawn; and from the ninth storey of Khumba Rana's Tower he would see the +sun rise over Chitor.... + +Half an hour later, he was in the saddle trotting along the empty road; +Terry, a scurrying shadow in his wake; Bishun Singh left to finish his +night's rest. Eight before him loomed the magnet that had dragged him +out of bed at this unearthly hour--the great rock-fortress, three miles +long, less than a mile broad, aptly likened to a battleship ploughing +through the disturbed sea of bush-grown hills at its base. + +Riding quickly through new Chitor--a dirty little town, fast asleep--he +reached the fortified gateway: was challenged by sleepy soldiery; gave +his name and passed on--into another world; a world that grew +increasingly familiar with every hundred yards of ascent. + +At one point he halted abreast of two rough monuments, graves of the +valiant pair who had fought and died, like Rajputs, in that last +terrible onslaught when the hosts of Akbar entered in, over the bodies +of eight thousand saffron-robed warriors, and made Chitor a place of +desolation for ever. One--a mere boy of sixteen--was the only son of +his house. Beside him, lance in hand, fought his widowed mother and girl +wife; and in death they were not divided. The other, Jaimul of Bednore, +was a far-away ancestor of his own mother. How often she had told him +the tale--adding proudly that, while Rajasthan endured, the names of +those two would shine clear in the firmament of time, as stars in the +firmament of space. + +Through gateway after gateway--under the lee of a twenty-foot wall, +pierced for musketry,--he passed, a silent shadow. And gradually there +stole over him afresh the confused wonder of his dream,--was it he +himself who rode--or was it--that other, returning to the sacred city +after long absence? For the moment he could hardly tell. But--what +matter? The astonishing thrill of recognition was all.... + +Round about the seventh gateway clustered the semblance of a village; +shrouded, slumbering forms strewn around in the open;--ghosts all. The +only instant realities were himself and Suraj and Chitor, and the +silence of the sleeping earth, watched over by unsleeping stars. Within, +and about him, hovered a stirring consciousness of ancient, unchanging +India; utterly impervious to mere birds of passage from the West; +veiled, elusive, yet almost hideously real. So real, just then, to Roy, +that--for a few amazing moments--he was unaware that he rode through a +city forsaken by man. Ghosts of houses and temples slid by on either +side of him, as he spurred Suraj to a canter and made unerringly for the +main palace. There was news for the Rana--news of Akbar's army--that did +not brook delay.... + +Not till Suraj stopped dead--there where the Palace had once stood in +its glory--did he come to himself, as abruptly as when he waked in the +French bedstead an hour ago. + +Gone was the populous city through which he had ridden in fancy; gone +the confusion of himself with that other self--how many centuries old? +But the familiar look of the palace was no dream; nor the fact that he +had instinctively made his way there at full speed. Bastioned and +sharply domed, it stood before him in clear outline; but within sides it +was hollow as a skull; a place of ghosts. Suddenly there came over him +the old childish dread of dark, that he had never quite outgrown. But +dread or no, explore it he must.... + +As his foot touched earth, a low hiss warned him he was trespassing, and +clutching Terry's collar, he stood rigid, while the whip-like shadow of +death writhed across a strip of moonlight--and disappeared. There was +life,--of a sort, in Chitor. So Roy trod warily as he passed from room +to room; dread of dark forgotten in the weird fascination of +foreknowledge verified without fail. + +Through riven walls and roofs, moonlight streamed: its spectral +brightness intensifying every patch or streak of shadow. And there, +where Kings and Princes had held audience--watched by their womenfolk +through fretted screens--was neither roof nor walls; only a group of +marble pillars, as it were assembled in ghostly conference. The stark +silence and emptiness--not of yesterday, but of centuries--smote him +with a personal pang. From end to end of the rock it brooded; a haunting +presence,--tutelary goddess of Chitor. There is an emptiness of the open +desert, of an untrodden snowfield that lifts the soul and sets it face +to face with God; but the emptiness of a city forsaken is that of a body +with the spark of life extinct:--'the silver cord loosed, the golden +bowl broken, and the pitcher broken at the fountain ...' + +Terry's sharp bark, a squawk and a scuffle of wings, made him start +violently and jarred him all through. It seemed almost profane--as if +one were in a cathedral. Calling the marauder to heel, he mounted and +rode on toward the Tower of Victory. For the moon was dipping westward; +and he must see that vast view bathed in moonlight. Then the dawn.... + +Once more deserting Suraj; he confronted Khumba's Tower; scatheless as +the builder's hand left it four centuries ago. Massive and arrogant, it +loomed above him; scarcely a foot of stone uncarven, so far as he could +see--exploring the four-square base of it with the aid of the moon and +his torch. Figures, in high relief, everywhere--animal, human and +divine; a riot of impossible forms, impossibly intertwined; ghoulish in +any aspect, and in moonlight hideously so:--bewildering, repellent, +frankly obscene. But even while his cultured eye rejected it all, some +infinitesimal fragment of himself knew there was symbolic meaning in +that orgy of sculpture, could one but find the key. + +Up and up, round and round the inner spiral staircase he climbed, in a +creepsome darkness, invaded by moonbeams, hardly less creepsome, +admitted through window-like openings set in every face of every storey. +With each inrush of light, each flash of his torch, in deepest darkness, +those thronging figures, weirdly distorted, sprang at him afresh, +sending ignominious trickles down his spine. Walls, window slabs, door +beams--the vast building was encrusted with them from base to summit; a +nightmare of prancing, writhing, gesticulating unrest; only one still +face repeated at intervals--the Great God holding the wheel of Law.... + +Never had Roy more keenly appreciated the company of Terry, who, in +spite of a Celtic pedigree, was not enjoying this prolonged practical +joke. + +It was relief unspeakable to emerge at last, into full light and clean +sweet morning air. For the ninth storey, under the dome, was arcaded on +all four sides and refreshingly innocent of decoration. Not a posturing +figure to be seen. Nothing but restful slabs of polished stone. There +was meaning in this also--could one catch the trend of the builder's +thought. + +On a slab near an arcaded opening Roy sat gratefully down; while Terry, +bored to extinction with the whole affair, curled himself up in a +shadowed corner and went fast asleep. "Unfriendly little beast," thought +Roy; and promptly forgot his existence. + +For below him, in the silvery moonlight of morning, lay Chitor; her +shattered arches and battlements, her temples and palaces dwarfed to +mere footstools for the gods. And beyond, and again beyond, lay the +naked strength and desolation of northern Rajputana--white with +poppy-fields, velvet-dark with scrub, jagged with outcrops of volcanic +rock; the gaunt warrior country, battered by centuries of struggle and +slaughter; making calamity a whetstone for courage; saying, in effect, +to friend and enemy, 'Take me or leave me. You cannot change me.' + +The Border had fascinated Roy. The Himalayas had subjugated him. But +this strong unlovely region of rock and sand, of horses and swords, of +chivalry and cruelty and daring, irresistibly laid siege to his heart; +gave him the authentic sense of being one with it all. + +On a day, in that summer of blessed memory, his mother had almost +promised him that, once again she would revisit India if only for the +joy of making a pilgrimage with him to Chitor. And here he sat on the +summit of Khumba Rana's Tower--alone. That was the way of life.... + +Gradually there stole over him a great weariness of body and spirit; +pure reaction from the uplift of his strange adventure. His lids drooped +heavily. In another moment he would have fallen sound asleep; but he +saved himself, just in time. When he craved the thing, it eluded him; +now, undesired, it assailed him. But it would never do. He might sleep +for hours. And at the back of his mind lurked a clear conviction that he +was waiting for more than the dawn.... + +To shake off drowsiness he rose, stretched himself, paced to and fro +several times--and did not sit down again. Folding his arms, he leaned +his shoulders against the stone embrasure; and stood so, a long while, +absorbing--with every faculty of flesh and spirit--the stillness, the +mystery, the pearl-grey light and bottomless gulfs of shadow; his mind +emptied of articulate thought ... his soul poised motionless, as it were +a bird on outspread wings.... + +Was it fantasy, this gradual intensifying of his uplifted mood, this +breathless stir in the region of his heart, till some vital part of him +seemed gradually withdrawn--up into the vastness and the silence...? + +And suddenly, in every nerve, he knew--he was not alone. In the seeming +emptiness of the place, something, some one hovered near him. Amazed, +yet exultant, he held his breath; and an answering leap of the heart set +him tingling from head to foot. + +It was more than a vague 'sense of presence.' Fused in the central +happiness that flooded him--as the moonlight flooded the desert--was an +almost startling awareness; not the mere emotional effect of music or a +poem; but sure knowledge that she was there with him in that upper room; +her disembodied tenderness yearning towards him across a barrier of +empty space that neither she nor he could traverse, for all their +nearness, for all their longing.... + +If Lance himself had come audibly up those endless stairs and stood +beside him, he could not have felt more certain of his presence than he +felt, at this moment, of her companionship, her unspoken assurance that +he _had_ chosen aright. He felt himself, if possible, the less real of +the two. + +For that brief space, his world seemed empty of everything, every one, +but they two--so irrevocably sundered, so mysteriously united. + +Could he only have sight of her to complete the marvel of it! But +although he kept his eyes on the spot whence the 'feel of her' seemed to +come, not the shadow of a shade could he see; only--was it fancy?--a +hint of brighter radiance than mere moonbeams--there, near the opposite +archway? + +He dared not move a finger lest he break the spell. Yet he could not +restrain altogether the emotion that surged in him, that filled his ears +with a soft roar as of breaking waves. + +"God bless you, little Mother!" he murmured, barely above his +breath--and waited; expecting he knew not what. + +A ghost of a breeze passed close to him;--truly a ghost, for the night +was dead still. Almost he could have sworn that if he put out a hand he +would have touched her. But reverence withheld him, rather than fear. + +And the next moment, the place was empty. He was alone.... + +He felt the emptiness as unmistakably as he had felt her presence. But +the pang of her going was shot through with elation that at last his +waking brain had knowledge of her--a knowledge that no man could wrest +from him, even if she never so came again. He had done her bidding. He +had kept his manhood pure and the windows of his soul clear--and, +behold, the Light _had_ shone through.... + +* * * * + +Impossible to tell how long he stood there. In those few moments of +intensified life, time was not. The ordinary sense of his surroundings +faded. The inner sense of reality quickened in like measure; the reality +of her presence, all the more felt, because it was unseen.... + +When he came clearly to himself again, the moon had vanished. Eastward, +the sky was full of primrose light. It deepened and blazed; till, all in +a moment, the sun leaped from the scabbard of the hills, keen and +radiant as a drawn sword. + +A full minute Roy stood there, eyes and brain blinded with brilliance. +Then he knelt down and covered his face; and so remained, a long while, +his whole being uplifted in a wordless ecstasy of thanksgiving. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "The snow upon my life-bloom sits + And sheds a dreary blight;-- + Thy spirit o'er my spirit flits, + And crimson comes for white." + --ANON. + + +On an unclouded afternoon of October, Roy sat alone with Thea Leigh in a +shady corner of the Residency garden, smoking and talking, feeling +blissfully at ease in body, and very much at home in spirit. After the +wrench of parting with Desmond, it was balm to be welcomed by the sister +who shared his high courage and enthusiasm for life, and who was smiling +at Roy now with the same hazel-grey eyes that both had gotten from their +father. But Thea's hair--her crown of glory--belonged exclusively to +herself. The colour of it reminded him, with a pang, of autumn beech +leaves, in his own woods. It enhanced the vivid quality of her beauty, +and added appreciably to his pleasure in watching her while she talked. + +Roy had arrived that morning, in the mist-laden chill of dawn; had +enjoyed a long talk with Colonel Leigh; had made the acquaintance of +Vernon and Phyllis, aged six and four; also of Flossie Eden, a kind of +adopted daughter, aged twenty; and, tiffin being over, had announced his +intention of riding out to re-discover the rose-red wonderland of his +childish dreams--the peacocks and elephants and crocodiles and temple +bells. Thea, however, had counselled patience, threatening him with dire +disillusion, if he went seeking his wonderland at that glaringly +unpoetic time of day. + +"An early cup of tea, and a ride afterwards," she prescribed, in her +best autocratic manner. "Only sunset, or the first glimmer of dawn, can +throw a spell over the municipal virtues and artistic backslidings of +Jaipur! I speak with feeling; because _I_ rushed forth untimely; and, in +the full glare of afternoon sunshine, your rose-red city looked like +nothing on earth but a fearful and wonderful collection of pink and +white birthday cakes, set out for a giants' tea-party! It seemed almost +a pity the giants had never come and eaten them up. Vinx said I was +ribald. As a matter of fact, he was simply jealous of my brilliant +metaphor! Look at him now--bored to death with me, because I'm telling +the truth!" + +Colonel Leigh--a tall pensive-looking man, who talked little and +listened assiduously--met her challenge with the indulgent smile of a +husband who can be at once amused and critical and devoted: an excellent +conjunction in marriage. + +"If you can stay Roy's impatience with your metaphors, I'll begin to +have some respect for them!" said he. + +And she was staying Roy's impatience now, with cigarettes and coffee and +the tale of Aruna--'England-returned.' She had revealed little by +letter; an uncharacteristic touch of caution derived from her husband, +who questioned the wisdom of her bold incursion into the complexities +and jarring elements of a semi-modern Hindu household. But Thea Leigh, +daughter of Honor Desmond, was strongly imbued with the responsibility +of the ruling race. She stoutly refused to preserve, in Jaipur, the +correct official detachment of Anglo-India. More: she possessed a racial +wisdom of the heart, not to be gainsaid; as who should know better than +her husband, since it had saved him from himself. And now, having +secured Roy for half an hour, she confided to him, unreservedly, all she +could gather of the tragic tangle she was unravelling in her own +effective fashion. + +"Aruna's the dearest thing," she told him--as well he knew. "And I'm +truly fond of her. But sometimes I feel helpless. They're so hard to +come at--these gentle, inscrutable Hindu women. Talk of English reserve! +However, I'm getting quite nimble at guessing and inferring; and I +gather that your splendid old grandfather is rather pathetically +helpless with that hive of hidden womenfolk and gurus. Also that the +old lady--Mataji--is a bit of a tartar. Of course, having lost caste, +makes the poor child's home position almost impossible. Yet she flatly +refuses to go through their horrid rites of restitution. And Miss +Hammond--our lady doctor at the hospital--backs her up." + +"Well played, Miss Hammond!" quoth Roy; and remembering Aruna's cheerful +letters (no word of complications), all his sympathy went out to her. +Might not he--related, yet free of grandmotherly tyranny--somehow be +able to help? Too cruel that from her happy time in England there should +spring such tragic issues. And she was not a creature made for tragedy, +but for laughter and love and 'man's delight.' Yet, in the Hindu nature +of things, this very matter of marriage was the crux of her troubles. + +To the Power behind the curtain it spelt disgrace, that the eldest +grand-daughter--at the ripe age of twenty-two--should be neither wife +nor mother. It would need a very advanced suitor to overlook that +damning item. Doubtless a large dowry would be demanded by way of +compensation; and, before all, caste must be restored. While Aruna +remained obdurate, nothing could be definitely arranged; and her +grandfather had not the heart to enforce his wife's insistent demands. +But if the Indian woman's horizon be limited, her shrewdness and +intuitive knowledge are often amazing; and this formidable old +lady--skilled in the art of imposing her will on others--knew herself a +match for her husband's evasions and Aruna's flat rebellion. + +She reckoned, however, without the daughter of Sir Theo Desmond, who, at +this point, took action--sudden and disconcerting. + +"You see the child came regularly to my purdah parties," she explained +to Roy, who was impatient no longer, only absorbed. "Sometimes I had her +alone for reading and music; and it was heart-breaking to see her +wilting away before my eyes. So, at last, in desperation, I broke +loose--as Vinx politely puts it--and asked searching questions, +regardless of etiquette. After all, the poor lamb has no mother. And I +never disobey an impulse of the heart. I believe I was only in the +_nick_ of time. It seemed the old tartar and her widowed sister-in-law +were in touch with a possible husband. So they had given the screw a +fresh turn, assisted by the family _guru_. He had just honoured them +with a special visit, expecting to find the lost sheep regenerate and +eager for his blessing. Shocked at the tale of her obstinacy, he +announced that, unless he heard otherwise within a week, he would put a +nameless curse upon her; in which case her honourable grandmother would +not allow the poor child to eat or sleep under her honourable roof." + +Roy's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair. "Confound the fellow! +It's chiefly the mental effect they rely on. They're no fools; and even +men like Grandfather--who can't possibly believe such rot--seem +powerless to stand up against them. Does _he_ know all this?" + +"It's hard to tell. They're so guarded--even the most enlightened--in +alluding to domestic matters. Without a shade of discourtesy, they +simply keep one outside. Poor Aruna was terrified at having told me. +Broke down utterly. But no idea of giving in. It's astonishing the grit +one comes upon under their surface gentleness. She said she would starve +or drown rather. _I_ said she should do nothing of the kind; that I +would speak to Sir Lakshman myself--oh, very diplomatically, of course! +Afterwards, all in a rush, came my inspiration. Some sort of secretarial +work for me would sound fairly plausible. (Did you know--I'm making a +name, in a small way, over my zeal for Indian women?) On the strength of +that, one could suggest a couple of rooms in the Residency; and she +could still keep on at the hospital with Miss Hammond, giving me certain +afternoons. It struck me as flawless--_till_ I imparted it to Vinx and +saw him tweak his left eyebrow. Of course he was convinced it 'wouldn't +do'; Sir Lakshman ... my position ... and so on. I said I proposed to +make it do--and the eyebrow twitched worse than ever. So I mildly +reminded him that _he_ had not held Aruna sobbing in his arms, and he +didn't happen to be a mother! Which was unanswerable.--And, my dear Roy, +I had a hectic week of it, manipulating Sir Lakshman and Aruna _and_ the +honourable grandmother--strictly unseen! I'm sure she's anti-English. +I've got at all the other high-borns; but I can't get at her. +However--with a bold front and a tactful tongue, I carried the day. So I +hope the holy man will transfer his potent curse to me. Naturally, the +moment I'd fixed things up, came Lance's letter about you. But I +couldn't back out. And I suppose it's all right?" + +"Well, of course." Roy was troubled with no doubts on that score. "What +a family you are! I was hoping to pick up threads with Aruna." + +"You shall. But you must be discreet. Jaipur isn't exactly Oxford. +Brother and cousin are almost the same word with them; but still----" + +"Is she at the hospital now?" Roy cut in irrelevantly. Her insistence on +discretion--with Aruna, of all people--struck him as needless fussing +and unlike Thea. And by now he was feeling more impatient to see Aruna +than to see Jaipur. + +"No. But she seemed shy of appearing at tiffin. So I said if she came +out here afterwards, she would find you and me alone. She's looked +happier and less fragile lately. Even Vinx admits the event has +justified me. But of course it's simply an emergency plan--a +transition----" + +"To _what_?" Roy challenged her with surprising emphasis. + +"That's my puzzle of puzzles. Perhaps you can help me solve it. +Sometimes I wonder if she knows herself, what she wants out of life.... +But perhaps I haven't the key to her waverings...." + +At that moment, a slight unmistakable figure stepped from the shadow of +the verandah down the shallow steps flanked with pots of begonia; moving +with the effortless grace that Roy's heart knew too well. Dress and sari +were carnation pink. Her golden shoes glittered at every step: and she +pensively twirled a square Japanese parasol--almond blossoms and +butterflies scattered abroad on silk of the frailest blue. + +"_Is_ their instinct for that sort of thing unconscious, I wonder?" +murmured Thea. "You shall have half an hour with her, to pick up +threads. Help me if you can, Roy. But--_be discreet_!" + +Roy scarcely heard her. He had gone suddenly very still--his gaze +riveted on Aruna. The Indian dress, the carriage of her veiled head, +the leisured grace, so sharply smote him that tears pricked his eyelids; +and, for one intoxicating moment he was wafted, in spirit, across the +chasm of the War to that dear dream-world of youth, when all distances +were blue and all the near prospect bright with the dew of the morning. +Only under a mask-like stillness could he hide that startling uprush of +emotion; and had Broome been watching him, he would have seen the subtle +film of the East steal over his face. + +Thea saw only his sudden abstraction and the whitened knuckles of his +left hand. She also realised, with a faint prick of anxiety, that he had +simply not heard her remark. Was it possible--could Roy be at the back +of Aruna's waverings? Would his coming mean fresh complications? Too +distracting to be responsible for anything of that kind.... + +Without a word, he had risen--and went quickly forward to meet her. Thea +saw how, on his approach, all her studied composure fell away; and both, +when they joined her, looked so happy, yet so plainly discomposed, that +Thea felt ridiculously at a loss for just the right word with which to +effect a casual retreat. Responsibility for Sir Lakshman's +grand-daughter was no light matter: at least she had done well in +warning Roy. These emerging Indian girls...! + +It was a positive relief to see the prosaic figure of Floss Eden, in +brief tennis skirts and shady hat, hurrying across the lawn, with her +boyish stride; racquet swinging, her round face flushed with exercise. + +"I say, Aunt Thea--you're wanted _jut put_,"[6] she announced briskly. +"Verney's in one of his moods--and Mr Neill will soon be in one of his +tempers, if he isn't forcibly removed. Instead of helping with the +balls, he's been parading up and down the verandah; two tin pails, tied +on to him with string, clattering behind--making a beast of a row. +Shouting wasn't any earthly. So I rushed in and grabbed him. +'Verney--drop it! What _are_ you doing?' I said sternly; and he looked +up at me like a sainted cherub. 'Flop, don't hinder me. I'm walkin' froo +the valley of the shadow, an' goodness an' mercy are following me _all_ +the days of my life.' That's the fruits of teaching the Bible to +innocents!" + +Thea's laugh ended in a sigh. "I warned Miss Mills. But the creature +_is_ getting out of hand. I suppose it means he ought to go home. Mr +Neill," she explained to Roy, "is Vinx's shorthand secretary: volcanic, +but indispensable to the Great Work! So I must fly off and obliterate my +superfluous son." + +Her eyes tried to impart the warning he had not heard. Useless. His +attention was centred on Aruna. + +"Wonderful--isn't she?" the girl murmured, looking after her. Then +swiftly, half-shyly, she glanced up at him. "Still more wonderful that, +at last, you have come, that I am here too--only through her. She told +you?" + +"Yes. A little. I want to hear more." + +"Presently. I would rather push away sad things--now you are here. If +there was only Dyan too--like Oxford days. And--oh, Roy, I was bad never +writing ... about her. I did try. But so difficult.... And--you +knew----?" + +"Yes--I knew," he said in a repressed voice. On that subject he could +not trust himself just yet. Every curve and fold of her sari, and the +half-seen coils of her dark hair, every movement, every quaint turn of +phrase, set his nerves vibrating with an ecstasy that was pain. For the +moment, he wanted simply to be aware of her; to hug the dear illusion +that the years between were a dream. And illusion was heightened by the +trivial fact that her appearance was identical in every detail. Was it +chance? Or had she treasured them all this time? Only she herself looked +older. Though her face kept its pansy aspect, her cheek-bones were a +shade too prominent; no veiled glow of health under her dusky skin. But +her smile could still atone for all shortcomings. + +"Let's sit down," he added after a strained silence. "And tell +me--what's come to Dyan?" + +She shook her head. "Oh--if we could _know_. Not much use, after all, +trying to push away sadness!" She sank into her chair and looked up at +him. "The more you push it away, the more it comes flowing in from +everywhere. Everything so broken and confused from this terrible War. At +the beginning how they said all would be made new; East and West firmly +united. But here, at home, while the best were fighting, the worst were +too busy with ugly whispers and untrue talk. Even holy men, behind the +purdah...." + +"As bad as that, is it?" asked Roy, distracted from his own sensations +by the subject that lay nearest his heart. "And you think Dyan's in with +that crew?" + +"Yes, we are afraid.... A pity he came back from France too soon, +because half his left arm must be cut off. Then--you heard--he went to +Calcutta?" + +"Yes, I wrote at the time. He didn't answer. I haven't heard since." + +She nodded. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Always now ... no answer. +Like trying to speak with some one dead. So Grandfather fears he was not +only studying art. You know how he is too quick to catch fire. And too +easily, he might believe those men who spin words like spider's webs. +Also he was very sore losing his arm, by some small stupid chance; and +there was bitterness for that trouble ... of Tara...." + +Roy started. "Lord--was it _Tara_?" Instantly there flashed a vision of +the walled lane leading to New College; Dyan's embittered mood and +bewildering change of front.... Looking back now, the thing seemed +glaringly obvious; but, through the opalescent mist of his own dreams, +he had seen Dyan in one relation only. Just as well perhaps. Even at +this distance, the idea amazed and angered him. Tara! The arrogance of +it...! + +"You didn't know--never thought?... Poor Dyan!" One finger-tip furtively +intercepted a tear that was stealing down the side of her nose. + +"I am _too_ silly just now," she apologised meekly. "To me, he only +spoke of it long after, when coming wounded from France. Then I saw how +the bitterness was still there, changing the noble thoughts of his +heart. That is the trouble with Dyan. First--nothing good enough for +England. But too fierce love may bring too fierce hate--if they poison +his mind with cunning words dressed up in high talk of religion----" + +"How long since you heard? Have you any address?" Roy dared not +encourage her melting mood. + +"Six months now." She stoically blinked back her tears. "Not any word. +Not any address, since he left Calcutta. Last week, I wrote, addressing +to the office of a paper there, because once he said that editor gave +him work. I told him all the pain in my heart. If that letter finds +him--some answer _must_ come." + +"Well, if it does, I promise you this much;--I'll unearth him--somehow, +wherever he is----" + +"Oh, Roy! I hoped--I knew----!" She clasped her hands to hide their +tremor, and the look in her eyes came perilously near adoration. + +Roy had spoken with the cool assurance of his father's race, and without +a glimmering idea how his rash promise was going to be fulfilled. "I'll +do my level utmost, anyhow," he added more soberly. "But there's +you--your home complications----" + +She turned her hands outward with the expressive gesture of her race. +"That foolish sadness we _can_ push away. What matter for anything--now? +I rest--I breathe--I am here----!" Her smile shone out, sudden and +brilliant. "Almost like England--this big green garden and children and +sound of playing tennis. Let us be young again. Let us, for a small +time, not remember that all outside is Jaipur and the desert--dusty and +hot and cruel; and dark places full of secret and terrible things. Here +we are safe. Here it is almost England!" + +Her gallant appeal so moved him, and the lighter vein so charmingly +became her, that Roy humoured her mood willingly enough.... + +When his tea arrived, she played hostess with an alluring mixture of +shyness and happy importance, capping his lively sallies with the quick +wit of old days. And when Suraj was announced--"Oh, please--may I see +him?" she begged eagerly as a child. + +Suraj graciously permitted his velvet nose to be stroked by alien +fingers, light as rose petals. Then Roy sprang into the saddle; and +Aruna stood watching him as he went--_sais_ and dog trotting to heel--a +graceful lonely figure, shadowed by her semi-transparent parasol. + +At a bend in the drive, where a sentry sprang to attention, he turned +for a parting salute. Her answering gesture might or might not have been +intended for him. She at least knew all about the need for being +discreet. For, on leaving the tea-table, they had passed from the dream +of 'almost England' into the dusty actuality of Jaipur. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 6: Instantly.] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Broadly speaking, there are two blocks of people--East and West; + people who interfere and people who don't interfere; ... East is a + fatalist, West is an idealist, of a clumsy sort."--STACY AUMONIER. + + +A mile, or less, of tree-bordered road sloped gently from the Residency +gate-posts to the walled City of Victory, backed by craggy, red-grey +spurs of the Aravalli range, hidden almost in feathery heads of banyan, +acacia, and neem--a dusty, well-ordered oasis, holding its own against +the stealthy oncoming of the desert. + +North and east ran the screen of low hills with their creeping lines of +masonry; but from south and west the softly encroaching thing crept up +to the city walls, in through the gates, powdering every twig and leaf +and lattice with the fine white dust of death. Shadeless and colourless, +to the limit of vision, it rose and fell in long billowing waves; as if +some wizard, in the morning of the world, had smitten a living ocean to +lifeless sand, where nothing flourished but the camel thorn and the _ak_ +plant and gaunt cactus bushes--their limbs petrified in weird +gesticulation. + +But on the road itself was a sufficiency of life and colour--parrokeets +flashing from tree to tree, like emeralds made visible and vocable; +village women swathed in red and yellow veils; prancing Rajput +cavaliers, straight from the Middle Ages; ox-carts and camels--unlimited +camels, with flapping lip and scornful eye; a sluggish stream of life, +rising out of the landscape and flowing, from dawn to dusk, through the +seven Gates of Jaipur. And there, on the low spurs, beyond the walls, he +sighted the famous Tiger Fort, and the marble tomb of Jai Sing--he that +built the rose-red City; challenging the desert, as Canute the sea; +saying, in terms of stone and mortar, 'Here shall thy proud waves be +stayed!' Nearing the fortified gateway, Roy noted how every inch of flat +surface was silkily powdered, every opening silted with sand. Would it +rest with desert or city, he wondered, the ultimate victory of the last +word...? + +Close against the ramparts, sand and dust were blown into a deep drift; +or was it a deserted pile of rags----? Suddenly, with a sick sensation, +he saw the rags heave and stir. Arms emerged--if you could call them +arms--belonging to pinched, shadowy faces. And from that human dust-heap +came a quavering wail, "Maharaj! Maharaj!" + +"What _is_ it, Bishun Singh?" he asked sharply of the _sais_, trotting +at his stirrup. + +"Only the famine, Hazur. Not a big trouble this year, they say. But from +the villages these come crawling to the city, believing the Maharaj has +plenty, and will give." + +"Does he give?" + +Bishun Singh's gesture seemed to deprecate undue curiosity. "The Maharaj +is great, but the people are like flies. If their Karma is good, they +find a few handfuls; if evil--they die." + +Roy said no more. That simple statement was conclusive as a dropped +stone. But, on reaching the gateway, he scattered a handful of loose +corns. + +Instantly a cry went up: "He gives money for food! _Jai dea +Maharaj!_"[7] Not merely arms, but entire skeletons emerged, seething, +scrambling, with hands wasted to mere claws. A few of the boldest caught +at Roy's stirrup; whereat Bishun Singh brushed them off, as if they were +flies indeed. + +Unresisting, they tottered and fell one against another, like ninepins: +and Roy, hating the man, turned sharply away. But rebuke was futile. One +could _do_ nothing. It was that which galled him. One could only pass +on; mentally brushing them aside--like Bishun Singh. + + * * * * * + +Spectres vanished, however, once he and Suraj were absorbed into the +human kaleidoscope of the vast main street, paved with wide strips of +hewn stone; one half of it sun-flooded; one half in shadow. The colour +and movement; the vista of pink-washed houses speckled with white +florets; the gay muslins, the small turbans and inimitable swagger of +the Rajput-Sun-descended, re-awakened in him those gleams of ancestral +memory that had so vividly beset him at Chitor. Sights and sounds and +smells--the pungent mingling of spices and dust and animals--assailed +his senses with a vague yet poignant familiarity: fruit and corn-shops +with their pyramids of yellow and red and ochre, and the fat brown +bunnia in the midst; shops bright with brass-work and Jaipur enamel; +lattice windows, low-browed arches, glimpses into shadowed courts; +flitting figures of veiled women; humbler women, unveiled, winnowing +grain, or crowned with baskets of sacred cow-dung, stepping like +queens.... + +And the animals----! Extinct, almost, in modern machine-ridden cities, +here they visibly and audibly prevailed. For Asia lives intimately--if +not always mercifully--with her animals; and Roy's catholic affection +embraced them all. Horses first--a long way first. But bullocks had +their charm: the graceful trotting zebus, horns painted red and green. +And the ponderous swaying of elephants--sensitive creatures, nervous of +their own bulk, resplendently caparisoned. And there--a flash of the +jungle, among casual goats, fowls, and pariahs--went the royal cheetahs, +led on slips; walking delicately, between scarlet peons, looking for all +the world like amiable maiden ladies with blue-hooded caps tied under +their chins. In the wake of their magnificence two distended donkeys, on +parodies of legs, staggered under loads more distended still, plump +dhobies perched callously on the cruppers. Above all, Roy's eye +delighted in the jewelled sheen of peacocks, rivalling in sanctity the +real lords of Jaipur--Shiva's sacred bulls. Some milk-white and +onyx-eyed, some black and insolent, they sauntered among the open shop +fronts, levying toll and obstructing traffic--assured, arrogant, +immune.... + +And, at stated intervals, like wrong notes in a succession of harmonies, +there sprang wrought-iron gas-lamps fitted with electric bulbs! + +So riding, he came to the heart of the city--a vast open space, where +the shops seemed brighter, the crowds gayer; and, by contrast, the human +rag and bone heaps, beggars and cripples, more terrible to behold. + +Here the first ray of actual recognition flashed through the haze of +familiar sensations. For here architectural exuberance culminated in the +vast bewildering facade of the Hall of the Winds and the Palace +flaunting its royal standard--five colours blazoned on cloth of gold. +But it was not these that held Roy's gaze. It was the group of Brahmin +temples, elaborately carven, rose-red from plinth to summit, rising +through flights of crows and iridescent pigeons; their monolithic forms +clean cut against the dusty haze; their shallow steps flanked with +marble elephants, splashed with orange-yellow robes of holy men and +groups of brightly-veiled women. + +At sight of them Roy instinctively drew rein;--and there, in the midst +of the shifting, drifting crowd, he sat motionless, letting the vision +sink deep into his mind, while Terry investigated a promising smell, and +Bishun Singh, wholly incurious, gossiped with a potter, from whose wheel +emerged an endless succession of _chiraghs_--primitive clay lamps, with +a lip for the cotton wick. His neighbour, with equal zest, was creating +very ill-shapen clay animals, birds and fishes. + +"Look, Hazur--for the Dewali," Bishun Singh thrust upon Roy's attention +the one matter of real moment, just then, to all right-minded Hindus. +"Only two more weeks. So they are making lamps, without number, for +houses and shops and the palace of the Maharaja. Very big tamasha, +Hazur." + +He enlarged volubly on the coming festival, to this Sahib, who took such +unusual interest in the ways of India; while Roy sat silent, watching, +remembering.... + +Nearly nineteen years ago he had seen the Dewali--Feast of Lights; had +been driven, sitting on his mother's knee, through a fairy city outlined +in tremulous points of flame, down to the shore of the Man Sagar Lake, +where the lights quavered and ran together and the dead ruins came alive +with them. All night they had seemed to flicker in his fanciful brain; +and next morning-unable to think or talk of anything else--he had been +moved to dictate his very first attempt at a poem.... + +Suddenly, sharply, there rose above the chatter of the crowd and the +tireless clamour of crows, a scream of mingled rage and anguish that +tore at his nerves and sent a chill down his spine. + +Swinging round in the saddle, he saw a spectral figure of a +woman--detached from a group of spectres, huddled ironically against +bulging sacks of grain. One shrivelled arm was lifted in denunciation; +the other pressed a shapeless bundle to her empty breasts. Obviously +little more than a girl--yet with no trace of youth in her ravaged +face--she stood erect, every bone visible, before the stall of a +bangle-seller, fat and well liking, exuding rolls of flesh above his +_dhoti_,[8] and enjoying his savoury chupattis hot and hot; entirely +impervious to unseemly ravings; entirely occupied in pursuing trickles +of _ghi_[9] with his agile tongue that none might be lost. + +"That shameless one was begging a morsel of food," the toymaker +explained conversationally. "Doubtless her stomach is empty. _Wah! Wah!_ +But she has no pice. And a man's food is his own...." + +As he spoke a milk-white bull ambled by, plundering at will; his +privileged nose adventuring near and nearer to the savoury smell. +Promptly, with reverential eagerness, the man proffered half a fresh +chupatti to the sacred intruder. + +At that the starving girl-mother lunged forward with the yell of a +hunted beast; lunged right across the path of a dapper young man in an +English suit, green turban, and patent-leather shoes. + +"Peace, she-devil! Make way," he cried; and catching her wrist--that +looked as if it would snap at a touch--he flung her aside so roughly +that she staggered and fell, the child beneath her emitting a feeble +wail.... + +Since the days of his imprisonment, cruelty witnessed had a startling +effect on Roy. Between the moment when he sprang from the saddle, in a +blaze of fury, to the moment when he stood confronting the suave, +Anglicised Indian--riding-crop in one hand, the other supporting the +girl and her babe--his mind was a blank. The thing was done almost +before the impulse reached his brain. He wondered if he had struck the +fellow, whom he was now arraigning furiously in fluent Hindustani, and +whose sullen, shifty face was reminding him of some one--somewhere.... + +"Have you _no_ respect for suffering--or for women other than your own?" +he demanded, scorn undisguised in his look and tone. + +The man's answering shrug was frankly contemptuous. "All you English are +mad," he said in the vernacular. "If she die not to-day, she will die +to-morrow. And already there are too many to feed--" + +"She will not die to-day or to-morrow," Roy retorted with Olympian +assurance. "Courage, little mother,"--he addressed the girl--"you shall +have food, you and the sonling." + +As she raised herself, clutching at his arm, he became uncomfortably +aware that her rags of clothing were probably verminous; that his +chivalrous pity was tinged with repulsion. But pity prevailed. +Supporting her to a neighbouring stall, he bought fruit, which she +devoured like a wild thing. He begged a little milk in a lotah and gave +her money for more. Half dazed, she dropped the money, emptied the small +jar almost at a gulp, and flung herself at his feet, pressing her +forehead on his dusty boot; covering him with confusion. Imperatively he +bade her get up. No result. So he stooped to enforce his command.... + +She had fainted. + +"Help, mother--quick!" he appealed to an elder woman who hovered near +the stall, and responded, instinctively, to the note of command. + +As she stooped over the girl he said in low rapid tones: "Listen! It is +an order. Give warm food to her and the child. Take her to the Burra +Sahib's compound. There she will be cared for. I will give word." + +He slipped two rupees into her hand, adding: "Two more--when all is done +according to order." + +"_Hai! Hai!_ The Sahib is a Son of Princes," murmured the favoured one, +reflecting shrewdly that eight annas would suffice to feed those poor +empty creatures; and gathering up her light burden she bore it away--to +Roy's unfeigned relief. + +Would Thea scold him--or uphold him, he wondered,--having committed +himself. The whole thing had been so swift, so unreal, that he seemed +half a world away from the green Residency garden, with its atmosphere +of twentieth-century England, scrupulously, yet unconsciously, preserved +in a setting of sixteenth-century India. And Roy had a strain of both in +his composition. + +Across the road Bishun Singh--tolerant of his Sahib's vagaries--was +still chatting with the potter; a blare of discord in a minor key +announced an approaching procession; and there, in talk with the +bangle-seller, stood the cause of these strange doings; keeping a +curious eye on the mad Englishman, but otherwise frankly unconcerned. +Again there dawned on Roy the conviction that he had seen that face +before. It was not in India. It was linked with the same sensations, in +a milder form. It would come in a moment.... + +It came. + +Behind the slight, foppish figure, the eye of his mind saw suddenly--not +the sunlight and colour of Jaipur, but a stretch of grey-green sea, +tawny cliffs, and sandy shore ... St Rupert's! Of course, unmistakable: +the sullen mouth, the shifty eyes.... + +Instantly he went forward and said in English: "I say--excuse me--but is +your name Chandranath?" + +The man started and stiffened. "That is no matter to you." + +"Perhaps not. Only ... you're very like a boy who was one term at St +Rupert's School with me." + +"Well, I _was_ at St Rupert's. A beastly hole----" + +He, too, spoke English, and scanned Roy's face with narrowed eyes. +"Sinclair--is it? You tumbled down the cliff on to me--and that Desmond +fellow----?" + +"Yes, I did. Lucky for you," Roy answered, stiffening in his turn. But +because of old days--because this unpromising specimen of manhood had +incidentally brought him and Desmond together, he held out his hand. +"'Fraid I lost my temper," he said casually, for form's sake. "But you +put my blood up." + +Chandranath's fingers lay limply in his grasp. + +"Still so sensitive----? Then better to clear out of India. I only +pushed that crazy girl aside. Englishmen knock and kick our people +without slightest compunction. Perhaps you are a tourist--or new to this +country?" + +Words and manner set Roy's nerves on edge; but he had been imprudent +enough for one day. "I've spent seven months on the Frontier in a +cavalry Regiment," he said; "but I only came to Jaipur yesterday." + +"Well, take my advice, Mr Sinclair, and leave these people alone. They +don't want Englishmen making pretence of sentimental fuss over them. +They like much better to be pushed--or even starved--by their own _jat_. +You may not believe it. But I belong to them. So I know." + +Roy, who also 'belonged' in a measure, very nearly said so--but again +prudence prevailed. "I'm rash enough to disagree with you," he said +placably. "The question of non-interference, of letting ill +alone--because one's afraid or can't be bothered--isn't merely a race +question; it's a root question of human character. Some men can't pass +by on the other side. Right or wrong, it simply isn't arguable. It's a +matter of the individual conscience--the heart----" + +"Conscience and heart--if not drastically disciplined by the logically +reasoning brain, propagate the majority of troubles that afflict +mankind," quoth Chandranath in the manner of one familiar with platform +oratory. "Are you stopping in Jaipur?" + +"Yes. At the Residency. Mrs Leigh is Desmond's sister. Did you know?" + +"That is curious. I did not know. Too much heart and conscience there +also. Mrs Leigh is thrusting her fingers into complicated issues of +which she is lamentably ignorant." + +Roy, taken aback, nearly gave himself away--but not quite. "I gather she +acted with Sir Lakshman Singh's approval," was all he said. + +Chandranath shrugged. "Sir Lakshman is an able but deluded man. His +dreams of social reform are obsolete. We of the new school adhere +patriotically to social and religious ordinances of the Mother. All we +agitate for is political independence." He unfurled the polysyllables, +like a flag; sublimely unaware of having stated a contradiction in +terms. "But your Sir Lakshman is of the old-fashioned +school--English-mad." + +"And your particular friends--are sane, eh?" + +The apostle of Hindu revival pensively twirled an English button of his +creditably-cut English coat. + +"Yes. We are sane--thanks to more liberalising influences. Coloured dust +cannot be thrown in our eyes by bureaucratic conjuring tricks, or +imperialistic talk about prestige. To-day it is India's turn for +prestige. 'Arya for the Aryans' is the slogan of the rising generation." +He paused, blinked, and added with an ingratiating chuckle: "You will go +running away with an impression that I am metamorphosed into red-hot +revolutionary. No, thank you! I am intrinsically a man of peace!" With a +flourish he jerked out a showy gold watch. "Ah--getting late! Very +agreeable exchanging amenities with old schoolfellows. But I have an +appointment in the Palace Gardens, at the time they feed the muggers. +_That_ is a sight you should see, Mr Sinclair--when the beasts are +hungry and have not lately snapped up a washerwoman or an erring wife!" + +"I'd rather be excused this evening, thanks," Roy answered, with a touch +of brusqueness. "I confess it wouldn't appeal to my sense of +humour--seeing crocodiles gorge, while women and children starve." + +"That is what they call in a book I once read 'little ironies of life.' +Good fortune, at least, for the muggers! Better start to sharpen your +sense of humour, my friend. It is incomparable asset against the slings +and arrows of outrageous contingencies." This time his chuckle had an +undernote of malice; and Roy, considering him thoughtfully--from green +turban to patent-leather shoes--felt an acute desire to take him by the +scruff of his English coat and dust the Jaipur market-place with the +remnant of him. + +Aloud he said coolly: "Thanks for the prescription. Are you stopping +here long?" + +"Oh, I am meteoric visitant. Never very long anywhere. I come and go." + +"Business--eh?" + +"Yes--many kinds of business--for the Mother." He flashed a direct look +at Roy; the first since their encounter; fluttered a foppish hand--the +little finger lifted to display a square uncut emerald--and went his +way.... + +Roy, left standing alone in the leisurely crowd of men and animals--at +once so alien and so familiar--returned to Bishun Singh and Suraj in a +vaguely troubled frame of mind. + +"Which way to the house of Sir Lakshman Singh?" he asked the maker of +chiraghs, his foot in the stirrup. + +Enlightened, he set off at a trot, down another vast street, all hazy in +the level light that conjured the dusty air to gold. But contact with +human anguish, naked and unashamed--as he had not seen it since the +war--and that sudden queer encounter with Chandranath, had rubbed the +bloom off delicate films of memory and artistic impressions. These were +the drop-scene, merely: negligible, when Life took the stage. He had an +exciting sense of having stepped straight into a crisis. Things were +going to happen in Jaipur. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 7: Victory to thee, Maharaj!] + +[Footnote 8: Loin-cloth.] + +[Footnote 9: Melted butter.] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "God has a few of us, whom He whispers in the ear; + The rest may reason and welcome...." + --BROWNING. + + "Living still, and the more beautiful for our longing." + + +The house of Sir Lakshman Singh, C.S.I.--like many others in advancing +India--was a house divided against itself. And the cleavage cut deep. +The furnishing of the two rooms, in which he mainly lived, was not more +sharply sundered from that of the Inside, than was the atmosphere of his +large and vigorous mind from the twilight of ignorance and superstition +that shrouded the mind and soul of his wife. More than fifty years +ago--when young India ardently admired the West and all its works--he +had dreamed of educating his spirited girl-bride, so that the way of +companionship might gladden the way of marriage. + +But too soon the spirited girl had hardened into the narrow, tyrannical +woman; her conception of the wifely state limited to the traditional +duties of motherhood and household service. Happily for Sir Lakshman, +his unusual gifts had gained him wide recognition and high service in +the State. He had schooled himself, long since, to forget his early +dreams: and if marriage had failed, fatherhood had made royal amends. +Above all, in Lilamani, daughter of flesh and spirit, he had found--had +in a measure created--the intimate companionship he craved; a woman +skilled in the fine art of loving--finest and least studied of all the +arts that enrich and beautify human life. But the gods, it seemed, were +jealous of a relation too nearly perfect for mortal man. So Rama, eldest +son, and Lilamani, beloved daughter, had been taken, while the +estranged wife was left. Remained the grandchildren, in whom centred all +his hope and pride. So far as the dividing miles and years would permit, +he had managed to keep in close touch with Roy. But the fact remained +that England had first claim on Lilamani's children; and Rama's were +tossed on the troubled waters of transition. + +As for India herself--sacred Mother-land--her distraught soul seemed +more and more at the mercy of the voluble, the half-baked, the +disruptive, at home and abroad. + +Himself, steeped in the threefold culture of his country--Vedantic, +Islamic, and European--he came very near the prevailing ideal of +composite Indian nationality. Yet was he not deceived. In seventy years +of life, he had seen intellectual India pass through many phases, from +ardent admiration of the West and all its works, to no less ardent +denunciation. And in these days he saw too clearly how those same +intellectuals--with catchwords, meaningless to nine-tenths of her +people--were breaking down, stone by stone, their mighty safeguard of +British administration. Useless to protest. Having ears, they heard not. +Having eyes, they saw not. The spirit of destruction seemed abroad in +all the earth. After Germany--Russia. Would it be India next? He knew +her peoples well enough to fear. He also knew them well enough to hope. +But of late, increasingly, fear had prevailed. His shrewd eye discerned, +in every direction, fresh portents of disaster--a weakened executive, +divided counsels, and violence that is the offspring of both. His own +Maharaja, he thanked God, was of the old school, loyal and conservative: +his face set like a flint against the sedition-monger in print or +person. And as concessions multiplied and extremists waxed bolder, so +the need for vigilance waxed in proportion.... + +But to-day his mind had room for one thought only--the advent of Roy; +legacy of her, his vanished Jewel of Delight. + +A message from the Residency had told of the boy's arrival, of his hope +to announce himself in person that evening; and now, on a low divan, the +old man sat awaiting him with a more profound emotion at his heart than +the mere impatience of youth. But the impassive face under the +flesh-pink turban betrayed no sign of disturbance within. The +strongly-marked nose and eyebones might have been carved in old ivory. +The snowy beard, parted in the middle, was swept up over his ears; and +the eyes were veiled. An open book lay on his knee. But he was not +reading. He was listening for the sound of hoofs, the sound of a +voice.... + +The two had not met for five years: and in those years the boy had +proved the warrior blood in his veins; had passed through the searching +test of a bitter loss. Together, they could speak of her--gone from +them; yet alive in their hearts for evermore. Seen or unseen, she was +the link that kept them all united, the pivot on which their lives still +turned. There had been none with whom he could talk of her since she +went.... + +Over his writing-table hung the original Antibes portrait--life-size; +Nevil's payment for the high privilege of painting her; a privilege how +reluctantly accorded none but himself had ever known. And behold his +reward: her ever-visible presence--the girl-child who had been +altogether his own. + +Hoofs at last--and the remembered voice; deeper, more commanding; the +embroidered curtain pushed aside. Then--Roy himself, broader, browner; +his father's smile in his eyes; and, permeating all, the spirit of his +mother, clearly discernible to the man who had given it life. + +He was on his feet now, an imposing figure, in loose white raiment and +purple choga. In India, he wisely discarded English dress, deeming it as +unsuitable to the country as English political machinery. Silent, he +held out his arms and folded Roy in a close embrace: then--still +silent--stood away and considered him afresh. Their mutual emotion +affected them sensibly, like the presence of a third person, making them +shy of each other, shy of themselves. + +It was Sir Lakshman who spoke first. "Roy, son of my Heart's Delight, I +have waited many years for this day. It was the hidden wish of her +heart. And her spirit, though withdrawn, still works in our lives. It is +only so with those who love greatly, without base mixture of jealousy or +greed. They pass on--yet they remain; untouched by death, like the +lotus, that blooms in the water, but opens beyond its reach." + +Words and tone so stirred Roy that sudden tears filled his eyes. And +through the mist of his grief, dawned a vision of his mother's face. +Blurred and tremulous, it hovered before him with a startling illusion +of life; then--he knew.... + +Without a word, he went over to the picture and stood before it, drowned +fathoms deep.... + +A slight movement behind roused him; and with an effort he turned away. +"I've not seen a big one since--since my last time at home," he said +simply. "I've only two small ones out here." + +The carven face was not impassive now. "After all, Dilkusha,[10] what +matter pictures when you have--herself?" + +Roy started. "It's true. I _have_--herself. How could you know?" + +Five minutes later, he was sitting beside his grandfather on the deep +divan, telling him all. + +Before setting out, he would not have believed it possible. But +instinctively he knew himself in touch with a quality of love that +matched his own; and the mere telling revived the marvel, the thrill of +that strange and beautiful experience at Chitor.... + +Sir Lakshman had neither moved nor spoken throughout. Now their eyes met +in a look of deep understanding. + +"I am very proud you told me, Roy. It is not easy." + +"No. I've not told any one else. I couldn't. But just now--something +seemed to draw it all out of me. I suppose--something in you----" + +"Or perhaps--herself! It almost seemed--she was here with us, while you +talked." + +"Perhaps--she is here still." + +Their voices were lowered, as in the presence of sacred things. Never, +till now, had Roy so keenly felt his individual link with this wonderful +old man, whose blood ran in his veins. + +"Grandfather," he asked after a pause, "I suppose it doesn't often +happen--that sort of thing? I suppose most common-sense people would +dismiss it all as--sheer delusion?" + +The young simplicity of the question lit a smile in Sir Lakshman's eyes. + +"Quite possible. All that is most beautiful in life, most real to saints +and lovers, must seem delusion to those whose hearts and spirits are +merely vassals to the body and the brain. But those who say of the soul, +'It is not,' have still to _prove_ it is not to those who have felt and +known. Also I grant--the other way about. But they speak in different +languages. Kabir says, 'I disclose my soul in what is hidden.' And +again, 'The bird is beyond seeking, yet it is most clearly visible.' For +us, that is living truth. For those others, a mere tangle of words." + +"I see." Roy's gaze was riveted on the picture above the writing-table. +"You can't explain colours to the colour-blind. And I suppose +experiences like mine only come to those for whom words like that +are--living truth?" + +"Yes--like yours. But there are other kinds; not always true. Because, +in this so sacred matter, clever people, without scruple, have made +capital out of the heart's natural longing; and the dividing line is dim +where falsehood ends and truth begins. So it has all come into suspicion +and contempt. Accept what is freely given, Roy. Do not be tempted to try +and snatch more." + +"No--no. I wouldn't if I could." A pause. "_You_ believe it is time ... +what I feel? That she is often--very near me?" + +Sir Lakshman gravely inclined his head. "As I believe in Brahma, Lord of +all." + +And for both the silence that fell seemed pulsating with her unseen +presence.... + +When they spoke again it was of mundane things. Roy vividly described +his sensations, riding through the City; the culminating incident, and +his recognition of the offender. + +"The queerest thing, running into the beggar again like that! He looks +as sulky and shifty as ever. That's how I knew." + +"Sulky and shifty--and wearing English clothes?" Sir Lakshman's brows +contracted sharply. "What name did you say?" + +"Chandranath, we called him." + +"And you don't know his whereabouts?" + +"No, I'm sorry. I didn't suppose his whereabouts mattered a damn to any +one." + +The stern old Rajput smiled. It did his heart good to hear the familiar +slang phrases again. "Whether it matters a damn--as you say--depends on +whether he is the undesirable I have in mind. Quite young; but much +influence, and a bad record. Mixed up with German agents, before the +War, and the Ghadr party in California; arrested for seditious activity +and deported: but of course, on appeal, allowed to return. Always the +same tale. Always the same result. Worse mischief done. And India--the +true India--must be grateful for these mercies! Sometimes I think the +irony is too sharp between the true gifts given, unnoticed, by +Englishmen working sincerely for the good of our people, and the false +gifts proclaimed from the house-tops, filling loyal Indians with +bewilderment and fear. I have had letters from scores of these, because +I am known to believe that loyal allegiance to British government gives +India the best chance for peaceful progress she is likely to have for +many generations. And from every one comes the same cry, begging to be +saved from this crazy nightmare of Home Rule, not understood and not +desired except by those who invented it. But what appeal is possible to +those who stop their ears? And all the time, by stealthy and open means, +the poison of race-hatred is being poured into India's veins----" + +"But, Grandfather--what about the War--and pulling together--and all +that?" + +Sir Lakshman's smile struck Roy as one of the saddest he had ever seen. +"Four years ago, my dear Boy, we all had many radiant illusions. But +this War has dragged on too long. It is too far away. For our Princes +and warlike races it has had some reality. For the rest it means mostly +news in the papers and rumours in bazaars, high prices, and trouble +about food. No better soil for sowing evil seeds. And friends of +Germany are still working in India--remember that! While the loyal were +fighting, these were talking, plotting, hindering: and now they are +waving, like a flag, the services of others, to gain their own ends, +from which the loyal pray to be delivered! Could irony be more complete? +Indian Princes can keep some cheek on these gentlemen. But it is not +always easy. If this Chandranath should be the same man--he is here, no +doubt, for Dewali. At sacred feasts they do most of their devil's work. +Did you speak of connection with me?" + +"No. But he seemed to know about Aruna: said you were English mad." + +Sir Lakshman frowned. "English mad! That is their jargon. Too narrow to +understand how I can deeply love both countries, while remaining as +jealous for all true rights of my Motherland as any hot-head who +swallows their fairy-tale of a Golden Age, and England as +Raksha--destroying demon! By help of such inventions, they have deluded +many fine young men, like my poor Dyan, who should be already married +and working to all my place. Such was my hope in sending him to Oxford. +And now--see the result ..." + +On that topic he could not yet trust himself; and Roy, leaning forward +impulsively, laid a hand on his knee. + +"Grandfather, I have promised Aruna--and I promise you--that somehow, I +_will_ get hold of him; and bring him back to his senses." + +Sir Lakshman covered the hand with his own. "True son of Lilamani! But I +fear he may have joined some secret society; and India is a large +haystack in which to seek one human needle!" + +"But Aruna has written again. She is convinced he will answer." + +Sir Lakshman sighed. "Poor Aruna! I am not sure if I was altogether wise +letting her go to the Residency. But I am deeply grateful to Mrs Leigh. +India needs many more such English women. By making friends with +high-born Indian women, it is hardly too much to say they might, +together, mend more than half the blunders made by men on both sides." + +Thus, skilfully, he steered clear of Aruna's problem that was linked +with matters too intimately painful for discussion with a grandson, +however dear. + +So absorbed was Roy in the delight of reunion, that not till he rose to +go did he take in the details of the lofty room. Everywhere Indian +workmanship was in evidence. The pictures were old Rajput paintings; +fine examples of Vaishnava art--pure Hindu, in its mingling of restraint +and exuberance, of tenderness and fury; its hallowing of all life and +idealising of all love. Only the writing-table and swivel-chair were +frankly of the West, and certain shelves full of English books and +reviews. + +"I _like_ your room," Roy announced after leisurely inspection. "But I +don't seem to remember----" + +"You would be a miracle if you did! The room _you_ saw had plush +curtains, gilt mirrors and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct +'English-fashion' guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman. But of +late years I have seen how greatly we were mistaken, making imitation +England to honour our English friends. Some frankly told me how they +were disappointed to find in our houses only caricatures of middle-class +England or France. Such rooms are silent barriers to friendship: +proclaiming that East may go to the West but West cannot come to the +East." + +"In a way that's true, isn't it?" + +"Yes--in a way. This room, of course, is not like my inner apartments. +It is like myself, however; cultivated--but still Indian. It is my way +of preaching true Swadeshi:--Be your own self, even with English guests. +But so far I have few followers. Some are too foolishly fond of their +mirrors and chandeliers and gramophones. Some will not believe such +trifles can affect friendliness. Yet--strange, but true--too much +Anglicising of India instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen +the gulf." + +Roy nodded. "I've heard that. Yet most of us are so keen to be friends. +Queer, perverse things--human beings, aren't they?" + +"And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders of Earth!" +Setting both hands on Roy's shoulders he looked deeply into his eyes. +"Come and see me often, Dilkusha. It lifts my tired heart to have this +very human being so near me again." + + * * * * * + +Ten minutes later, Roy was riding homeward through a changed city; +streets and hills and sky wrapped in the mystery of encroaching dusk. + +South and west the sky flamed, like the heart of a fire opal, through a +veil fine as gauze--dust no longer; but the aura of Jaipur. Seen afar, +through the coloured gloom, familiar shapes took on strange outlines; +moved and swayed, mysteriously detached, in a sea of shadows, scattered, +here and there, by flames of little dinner fires along the pavements. +The brilliant shifting crowd of two hours ago seemed to have sunk into +the earth. For there is no night life in the streets of Jaipur. +Travellers had passed on and out. Merchants had stowed away their +muslins and embroideries, their vessels of brass and copper and +priceless enamels. Only the starving lay in huddled heaps as +before--ominously still; while above them vultures and eagles circled, +expectant, ink-black against the immense radiance beyond. Grey, +deepening to black, were flat roofs, cornices, minarets and massed +foliage, and the flitting shadows, with lifted tails, that careered +along the house-tops; or perched on some jutting angle, skinny elbows +crooked, absorbed in the pursuit of fleas. For sunset is the monkey's +hour, and the eerie jibbering of these imps of darkness struck a bizarre +note in the hush that shrouded the city. + +Roy knew, now, why Thea had stayed his impatience; and he blessed her +sympathetic understanding. But just then--steeped in India at her most +magical hour--it was hard to believe in the Residency household; in +English dinner-tables and English detachment from the mediaeval medley of +splendour and squalor, of courage and cruelty and dumb endurance, of +arts and crafts and all the paraphernalia of enlightened knowledge that +was Jaipur. It seemed more like a week than a few hours since he had +turned in the saddle to salute Aruna and ridden out into another +world:--her world, which was also in a measure his own.... + +On and on he rode, at a foot's pace, followed by his twin shadows; past +the temples of Maha Deo, still rosy where they faced the west, still +rumbling and throbbing with muffled music; past wayside shrines, mere +alcoves for grotesque images--Shiva, Lord of Death, or Ganesh the +Elephant God--each with his scented garlands and his nickering chiragh; +past shadowy groups round the dinner fires, cooking their evening meal: +on and out through the double fortified gateways into the deserted road, +his whole being drenched in the silence and the deepening dusk. + +Here, outside the city, emptiness loomed almost like a presence. Only +the trees were alive; each with its colony of peacocks and parrots and +birds of prey noisily settling to rest. The peacocks' unearthly cry, and +the far, ghostly laugh of jackals--authentic voice of India at +sundown--sent a chill down Roy's spine. For he, who had scarcely known +fear on the battlefield, was ignominiously at the mercy of imagination +and the eerie spirit of the hour. + +At a flick of the reins, Suraj broke into a smart canter, willingly +enough. What were sunsets or local devils to him compared with stables +and gram? + +And as they sped on, as trees on either side slid by like stealthy +ghosts, the sunset splendour died, only to rise again in a volcanic +afterglow, on which trunks and twigs and battlemented hills were printed +in daguerreotype; and desert voices were drowned in the clamour of +cicadas, grinding their knives in foolish ecstasy; and, at last, he +swerved between the friendly gate-posts of the Residency--the richer for +a spiritual adventure that could neither be imparted, nor repeated, nor +forgotten while he lived. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 10: Joy of my heart.] + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "The deepest thing in our nature is this dumb region of the heart, + where we dwell alone with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses, + our faiths and our fears."--WILLIAM JAMES. + + +Not least among the joys of Aruna's return to the freer life of the +Residency was her very own verandah balcony. Here, secure from +intrusion, she could devote the first and last hours of her day to +meditation or prayer. Oxford studies had confused a little, but not +killed, the faith of her fathers. The real trouble was that too often, +nowadays, that exigent heart of hers would intrude upon her sacred +devotions, transforming them into day-dreams, haloed with a hope the +more frankly formulated because she was of the East. + +For Thea had guessed aright. Roy was the key to her waverings, her +refusals, her eager acceptance of the emergency plan:--welcome in +itself; still more welcome because it permitted her simply to await his +coming. + +They had been very wonderful, those five years in England; in spite of +anxieties and disappointed hopes. But when Dyan departed and +Mesopotamia engulfed Roy, India had won the day. + +How unforgettable that exalted moment of decision, one drenched and +dismal winter evening; the sudden craving for sights and sounds and +smells of her own land. How slow the swiftest steamer to the speed of +her racing thoughts! How bitter, beyond belief, the--how first faint +chill of disappointment; the pang of realising reluctantly--that, within +herself, she belonged whole-heartedly to neither world. + +She had returned qualified for medical work, by experience in a College +hospital at Oxford; yet hampered by innate shrinking from the sick and +maimed, who had been too much with her in those years of war. Not less +innate was the urge of her whole being to fulfil her womanhood through +marriage rather than through work. And in the light of that discovery, +she saw her dilemma plain. Either she must hope to marry an Englishman +and break with India, like Aunt Lilamani; or accept, at the hands of the +matchmaker, an enlightened bridegroom, unseen, unknown, whose family +would overlook--at a price--her advanced age and English adventures. + +Against the last, all that England and Oxford had given her rose up in +revolt ... But the discarded, subconscious Aruna was centuries older +than the half-fledged being who hovered on the rim of the nest, +distrustful of her untried wings and the pathless sky. That Aruna had, +for ally, the spirit of the ages; more formidable, if less assertive, +than the transient spirit of the age. And the fledgling Aruna knew +perfectly well that the Englishman of her alternative was, +confessedly--Roy. His mother being Indian, she innocently supposed there +would be no trouble of prejudice; no stupid talk of the gulf that she +and Dyan had set out to bridge. The fact that Dyan had failed only made +her the more anxious to succeed.... + +Soon after arriving, she had taken up hospital work in the women's ward, +because Miss Hammond was kind; and her educated self had need of +occupation. Her other self--deeply loving her grandfather--had urged her +to try and live at home,--so far as her unregenerate state would permit. + +As out-of-caste, she had been exempt from kitchen work; debarred from +touching any food except the portion set aside for her meals, that were +eaten apart in Sir Lakshman's room--her haven of refuge. In the Inside, +she was at the mercy of women's tongues and the petty tyranny of Mataji; +antagonistic as ever; sharpened and narrowed with age, even as her +grandfather had mellowed and grown beautiful, with the unearthly beauty +of the old, whose spirit shines visibly through the attenuated veil of +flesh. Aruna, watching him, with clearer understanding, marvelled how he +had preserved his serenity of soul through a lifetime of Mataji's +dominion. + +And the other women--relations in various degrees--took their tone from +her, if only for the sake of peace:--the widowed sister-in-law, suavely +satirical; a great-aunt, whose tongue clacked like a rice-husker; two +cousins, correctly betrothed to unseen bridegrooms, entitled to look +askance at the abandoned one, who was neither wife nor mother; and two +children of a poor relation--embryo women, who echoed the jeers of their +elders at her English friends, her obstinacy in the matter of caste and +the inevitable husband. _Hai! hai!_ At her age, what did she fear? Had +the English bewitched her with lies? Thus Peru, aged nine, jocosely +proceeding to enlighten her; egged on by giggles and high-pitched +laughter from the prospective brides. For in the zenana reticence is +not, even before children. Aruna herself had heard such talk; but for +years her early knowledge had lain dormant; while fastidiousness had +been engendered by English studies and contact with English youth. +Useless to answer. It simply meant tears or losing her temper; in which +case, Mataji would retaliate by doctoring her food with red pepper to +sweeten her tongue. + +Meanwhile, sharpened pressure in the matter of caste rites and rumours +of an actually maturing husband, had brought her very near the end of +her tether. Again Thea was right. Her brave impulse of the heart had +only been just in time. And hard upon that unbelievable good fortune +followed the news that Roy was coming. + +Tremulously at first, then with quickening confidence, her happy nature +rose like a sea-bird out of troubled waters, on the wings of a secret +hope.... + + * * * * * + +And now he was here, under this friendly roof that sheltered her from +the tender mercies of her own kind. There were almost daily meetings, +however brief, and the after-glow of them when past; all the +well-remembered tricks of speech and manner; and the twinkle of fun in +his eyes. Lapped in an ecstasy of content, hope scarcely stirred a wing. +Enough that he was there---- + +Great was her joy when Mrs Leigh--after scolding him in the kindest way +over the girl mother and two more starving children, picked up +afterwards--had given her leave to take special charge of them and +lodged them with the dhobi's wife. This also brought her nearer to Roy. +And what could she ask more? + +But with the approach of the Dewali, thoughts of the future came +flocking like birds at sundown. Because, on Dewali night, all tried +their luck in some fashion; and Mai Lakshmi's answer failed not. The men +tossed coin or dice. The maidens, at sunset, when the little wind of +evening stirred the waters, carried each her chiragh--lamp of her +life--and set it afloat on tank or stream, praying Mai Lakshmi to guide +it safe across. If the prayer was heard, omens were favourable. If the +lamp should sink, or be shattered, omens were evil. And the +centuries-old Aruna--still at the mercy of dastur--had secretly bought +her little chiragh; secretly resolved to try her fate on the night of +nights. If the answer were unfavourable--and courage failed her--there +was always one way of escape. The water that put out her lamp would as +carelessly put out the flame of her life--in a little moment--without +pain.... + +A small shiver convulsed her--kneeling there in her balcony; her bare +arms resting on the balustrade. The new Aruna shrank from thought of +death. She craved the fulness of life and love--kisses and rapture and +the clinging arms of little children.... + +For, as she knelt in the moonlight, nominally she was invoking Mai +Lakshmi; actually she was dreaming of Roy; chiding herself for the +foolishness that had kept her from appearing at dinner; hoping he might +wonder, and perhaps think of her a little--wishing her there. And all +the while, perhaps he was simply not noticing--not caring one little +bit----! + +Stung by the thought, she clenched her hands and lifted her bowed head. +Then she started--and caught her breath---- + +Could it be he, down there among the shadows--wandering, dreaming, +thinking of her, or making poems? She knew most of his slim volume by +heart. + +More likely, he was framing bold plans to find Dyan--now the answer to +her letter had come. It was a strange unsatisfying answer; full of +affection, but too full of windy phrases that she was shrewd enough to +recognise as mere echoes from those others, who had ensnared him in a +web of words. + +"Fear not for me, sister of my heart," he wrote. "Rejoice because I am +dedicated to service of the Mother, that she may be released from +political bondage and shine again in her ancient glory--no longer +exploited by foreigners, who imagine that with bricks and stones they +can lock up Veda--eternal truth! The gods have spoken. It is time. Kali +rises in the East, with her necklet of skulls--Giants of evil she has +slain. It is she who speaks through the voice of the patriot: 'Do not +wall up your vision, like frogs in a well.... Rise above the Penal Code +to the rarefied atmosphere of the Gita and consider the actions of +heroic men.' + +"You ask if I still love Roy? Why not? He is of our own blood and a very +fine fellow. But I don't write now because he would not understand my +fervour of soul. So don't you take all his opinions for gospel; like my +grandfather's, they are well meant, but obsolete. If only you had +courage, Aruna-ji, to accept the enlightened husband, who might not keep +you in strict purdah, then we could work together for liberation of the +Mother. Sing _Bande Mataram_,[11] forty thousand brothers! That is our +battle-cry. And one of those is your own fond brother--Dyan Singh." + +Aruna had read and re-read that bewildering effusion till tears fell and +blotted the words. Could this be the same Dyan who had known and loved +England even as she did? His eloquence somehow failed to carry +conviction. To her, the soul of new India seemed like a book, full of +contradictions, written in many strange languages, hard to read. But +behind that tangle of words beat the heart of Dyan--the brother who was +her all. + +Still no address was given. But Roy had declared the Delhi postmark +sufficient clue. Directly Dewali was over, he would go. And, by every +right impulse, she ought to be more glad than sad. But the heart, like +the tongue, can no man tame. And sometimes his eagerness to go hurt her +a little. Was he thinking of Delhi down there--or of her----? + +The shadow had turned and was moving towards her. There was a white +splash of shirt-front, the glow of a cigarette. + +Suddenly his pace quickened. He had seen her. Next moment he was +standing under her balcony. His low-pitched voice came distinctly to her +ears. + +"Good evening--Juliet! Quit your dreaming. Come and be sociable down +here." + +Delicious tremors ran through her. Much too bold, going down in the +dark. But how to resist? + +"I think--better not," she faltered, incipient surrender in her tone. +"You see--not coming down to dinner ... Mrs Leigh ..." + +"Bother Mrs Leigh. I've got a ripping inspiration about Delhi---- Hurry +up. I'll be by the steps." + +Then he _had_ been thinking of Delhi. But he wanted her now; and the +note of command extinguished hesitation. Slipping on a cloak, she +reached the verandah without meeting a soul. He put out a hand. Purely +on impulse she gave him her left one; and he conducted her down the +steps with mock ceremony, as if leading her out to tread a measure to +unheard strains of the viola and spinet. + +Happiness ran like wine in her veins: and catching his mood she swept +him a curtsey, English fashion. + +"Fit for the Queen's Drawing-room!" he applauded; and she smiled up at +him under her straight lashes. "Why didn't you appear at dinner? Is it a +whim--hiding your light under a bushel? Or do you get headaches and +heartaches working in the ward, and feel out of tune with our frivol?" + +The solicitude in his tone was worth many headaches and heartaches to +hear again. But with him she could not pretend. + +"No--not that!" she said, treading the grass beside him, as if it were a +moonlit cloud. "Only sometimes ... I am foolish--not inclined for so +many faces; and all the lights and the talk." + +He nodded. "I know the feeling. The same strain in us, I suppose. But, +look here, about Dyan. It suddenly struck me I'd have ten times better +chance if I went as an Indian. I can talk the language to admiration. +What d'you think?" + +She caught her breath. A vision of him so transformed seemed to bring +him surprisingly nearer. "How exciting! How bold!" + +"Yes--but not impossible. And no end of a lark. If I could lodge with +some one who knew, I believe I could pull it through. Grandfather might +arrange that. It would give me a chance to get in among Dyan's set and +hear things. Don't breathe a word to any one. I must talk it all over +with Grandfather." + +"Oh! I would love to see you turned into a Rajput," she breathed. + +"You _shall_ see me. I'll come and make my salaams and ask your blessing +on my venture." + +"And I will make _prasad_ for your journey!" Her unveiled eyes met his +frankly now. "A portion for Dyan too. It may speak to his heart clearer +than words." + +"_Prasad_? What's that?" + +"Food prepared and consecrated by touch of mother or sister or--or +nearest woman relation. And by absence of those others ... it is ... my +privilege----" + +"_My_ privilege. I would not forgo it for a kingdom," Roy interposed, +such patent sincerity in the reverend quiet of his tone that she was +speechless.... + +For less than half an hour they strolled on that moon-enchanted lawn. +Nothing was said by either that the rest might not have heard. Yet it +was a transfigured Aruna who approached the verandah, where Thea stood +awaiting them; having come out to look for Roy and found the clue to his +prolonged meditations. + +"What have you been plotting, you two?" she asked lightly when they +reached her. To Roy her eyes said: "D'you call _this_ being discreet?" +To Aruna her lips said: "Graceless one! I thought you were _purdah +nashin_ this evening!" + +"So she was," Roy answered for her. "I'm the culprit. I insisted. Some +details about my Delhi trip, I wanted to talk over." + +Thea wrinkled her forehead. "Roy--you mustn't. It's a crazy plan----" + +"Pardon me--an inspired plan!" He drew himself up half an inch the +better to look down on her. "Nothing on earth can put me off it--except +Grandfather. And I know he'll back me up." + +"In that case, I won't waste valuable verbal ammunition on you! Come +along in--We're going to have music." + +But as Roy moved forward, Aruna drew back. "Please--I would rather go +to bed now. And--please, forgive, little Mother," she murmured +caressingly. For this great-hearted English woman seemed mother indeed +to her now. + +For answer, Thea took her by the shoulders and kissed her on both +cheeks. "Not guilty this time, _piari_.[12] But don't do it again!" + +Roy's hand closed hard on hers, but he said not a word. And she was +glad. + +Alone again on her balcony, gladness rioted through all her being. +Yet--nothing had really happened. Nothing had been said. +Only--everything felt different inside. Of such are life's supreme +moments. They come without flourish of trumpets; touch the heart or the +lips with fire, and pass on.... + +While undressing, an impulse seized her to break her chiragh and +treasure the pieces--in memory of to-night. Why trouble Mai Lakshmi with +a question already half answered? But, lost in happy thoughts--inwoven +with delicate threads of sound from Thea's violin--she forgot all about +it, till the warmth of her cheek nestled against the cool pillow. Too +lazy and comfortable to stir, she told her foolish heart that to-morrow +morning would do quite as well. + +But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted +assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arrogant +impulse, and the mystic chiragh of destiny was saved--for another fate. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 11: Hail, Mother.] + +[Footnote 12: Darling.] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "The forces that fashion, the hands that mould, + Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;-- + + * * * * * + + They are gods no more, but their spells remain." + --SIR ALFRED LYALL. + + +Dewali night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown +awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of +miracle.... + +For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning +out clay chiraghs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai +Lakshmi--a compound of Minerva and Ceres,--worshipped in the living gold +of fire and the dead gold of minted coin. + +And all day long there ebbed and flowed through the temple doors a +rainbow-coloured stream of worshippers; while the dust-laden air +vibrated with jangle of metal bells, wail of conches and raucous clamour +of crows. Within doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells. +Young or old, none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this +auspicious day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and +plastered with fresh cow dung, in honour of Vishnu's bride; and gayest +among festal shop-fronts was the dazzling array of toys. For the Feast +of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewildering variety; in sugar, in +paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or gorgeously painted with colours such +as never were on ox or elephant, fish or bird. + +What matter? To the uncritical Eastern eye, colour is all. + +And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was spilled abroad +in the wide main streets that are an arresting feature of Jaipur. Men, +women, and children, in gala turbans and gala draperies, laughing and +talking at full pitch of their lungs; gala elephants sheathed in cloth +of gold, their trunks and foreheads patterned in divers colours; scarlet +outriders clearing a pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to +and fro like a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate, and +apricot, copper and flame colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable +harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Lakshman told +Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay. + +Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with his +grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an airy minaret +on the roof top. Then home to the Residency for tea, only to insist on +carrying them all back in the car--Thea, Aruna, Flossie, and the +children, who must have their share of strange sweets and toys, if only +'for luck,' the watchword of Dewali. + +As for Aruna--to-day everything in the world seemed to hang on the frail +thread of those two words. And what of to-night...? + +All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence on the +cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a private +confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group of maidens +who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate. She was other than +they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a being apart. And for most of +them it was little more than a 'game of play.' For her--but that she +kept to herself--this symbolical act of faith, this childish appeal for +a sign, was a matter of life and death. So--to her chosen angle of the +tank, she would go alone; and there--unwatched, save by Dewali lights of +earth and heaven--she would confide her lamp to the waters and the +breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness. + +But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewali crowd. In +Dyan's absence, he claimed the right to accompany her, to be somewhere +within hail. Having shed the Eastern protection of purdah, she must +accept the Western protection of escort. And straightway there sprang an +inspiration: he would wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every +detail, at Sir Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed +on the Delhi adventure--which his grandfather happily approved, with +what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy did not even +dimly guess. + +At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city and finish +up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace. That would be +Aruna's moment for slipping away. Roy--having slipped away in +advance--would rejoin her at a given spot. And then----? + +The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill of his +presence, conjured into one of her own people.... + + * * * * * + +Sundown at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was an ecstasy no +possible after-pain or disappointment could dim. As the flaming tint of +sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck upward into the blue, +buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas seemed to melt into the +landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert dust. + +Then--the first flickering points of fire--primrose-pale, in the half +light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the East, and the +little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own volition, so +skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work. + +From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony they ran: till vanished +Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured: cupolas, arches, +balconies, and temples, palace of the Maharaja and lofty Hall of the +Winds--every detail faultlessly traced on darkness, in delicate, +tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there illusion was shattered by +garish globes of electric light, dimming the mellow radiance of +thousands on thousands of modest chiraghs. + +Aruna had seen many Dewali nights in her time; but never at a moment so +charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed, she sat by Thea in +the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite; Phyllis on her mother's knee; the +others in the car on ahead--including a tourist of note--outriders +before and behind, clearing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging +on his feet, was lost in wonder. Roy, like Aruna, said little. Only Thea +kept up a low ripple of talk with her babe.... + +By now, not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills, where +bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coronets twinkled on bastions of +the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve and line of Jai +Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage, the crowd swayed and +hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; intoxicated with the spirit of +festival, that found an echo in Aruna's heart and rioted in her veins. +To-night she felt merged in India, Eastern to the core; capable, almost, +of wondering--could she put it away from her, even at the bidding of +Roy----? + +On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the Man Sagar Lake, +where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and gleamed, knee deep in the +darkling water; where jackals prowled and cranes nested and muggers +dozed unheeding. At a point of vantage above the Lake, they halted and +sat there awhile in darkness--a group of silent shadows. Words did not +meet the case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered +no sound: for she had fallen asleep. + +Aruna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in a +dream.... + +Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's coat-sleeve. +He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect, and was probably not +aware of his trespassing arm; for he did not shift it till he had gazed +his fill. Then with a long sigh, he leaned back again. But Aruna's dream +was shattered by sensations too startingly real to be ignored.... + +Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she caught +his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he know----? Did +he ever feel--like that? + +Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her. + +"I'll be quick as lightning--don't stir till I come," he said--and +vanished. + + * * * * * + +Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, +awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands. She had +brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed +in a cardboard box. Mrs Leigh--angel of goodness--had lit the wick with +her own hand--'for luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, +she had no idea. But who could resist him,--after all? Waiting alone, +her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a +choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;--so +changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade +her go forward. + +Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they passed: +and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering +threads of light. Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot. A little +farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked. + +"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they were +conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the +mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge--new birth. I am only +afraid it is getting a little too strong. And if anything should hinder +it from crossing, then--there is no answer. Suspense--all the time. +But--we will hope. Now, please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this +building, few will notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But +don't--go too far." + +"Trust me. And--see here, Aruna, don't make too much of it--either way. +Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immortals----" + +"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!" + +Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she plays +up--royally." + +And with a formal salute, he left her. + +Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her cockle-shell +with its blown wisp of light. + +"Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart," she addressed it, just above +her breath, "sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate +awaits me now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?" + +With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the +building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish +incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that +would be best, alike, for her and Roy. + +But curiosity was claimant. She must see.... She must know.... + +Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all +her conscious being centred on the adventuring flame that swayed and +curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The effect of her concentration was +almost hypnotic: as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered +away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at +her very life.... + +Footsteps passed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached her brain. +The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost +capsized her chiragh. It dipped--it vanished.... + +With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and +would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her +arm and pulled her backward--just in time. + +"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water--for the +precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is--safe...!" + +"But what of _you_, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of +your Dewali lamp?" + +The words were spoken in the vernacular--and not in the voice of Roy. +Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height, +bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the +half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved +beads that hung almost to his waist. + +"I am most grateful, _guru-ji_,"[13] she murmured demurely, also in the +vernacular; and stood so--shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably +disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential +intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little +lamp with your blessing?" + +His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen, +lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic. + +"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus +boldly and alone...." + +The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she +answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, _guru-ji_. I +am--England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste." + +He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for +frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no _guru_; but like yourself, +England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the +Mother----" + +It was her turn to start and scrutinise him--discreetly. "Yet you make +pretence of holiness----?" + +"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of +reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons--and daughters. These +clothes are passports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no +dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near +enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers--just for this +superstition of Dewali--not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.--Was it +Oxford?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it possible----?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly, +almost boldly. + +"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh Bahadur----?" + +At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him. His look and +tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not call for Roy, who +was playing his part too scrupulously well. + +"Go----! Leave me!" she commanded desperately, louder than she had +spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But--making _pujah_[14]--I wish to be +alone----" + +His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her. + +"Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened--like yourself...?" + +He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure had sauntered +into view. + +Aruna sprang towards it--zenana airs forgotten. "Oh, Roy----!" + +"Did you call, Aruna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you. This fellow +bothering you----? I'll settle him----" Turning, he said politely: "My +cousin is here, under my escort, to make _pujah, guru-ji_. She wishes to +be alone." + +"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this time be +permanently secure from interruption--in the belly of a _mugger_,"[15] +retorted the supposed ascetic--in English. + +Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakable. + +"Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint? _You_ are no _guru_." + +"And _you_ are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading--as a +lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair, with +play-acting--about cousins. In my capacity of _guru_ I feel compelled to +warn this accomplished young lady that her fine cavalier is only a sham +Rajput of British extraction...." + +"_Sham_--curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia--on one side----" The instant +he had spoken, he saw his folly. + +"Oho--half-caste only!" + +An oath and a threatening forward move, impelled the speaker to an +undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that. The fellow was +beneath contempt. + +"I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur in the +conjunction; and I take no insults from any man...." He made another +forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing Chandranath jerk +backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we are grateful to you. But I +told you, she wishes to be alone. So I must ask you to move on +elsewhere." + +"Oh, as to that ... I have no violent predilection for your society." + +And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no one but +himself, Roy kept pace alongside--"For all the world," he thought, "like +Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to go for him; but quite +prepared if need be!" + +When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandranath fired a +parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you can marry her, because +diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your veins. But here in India, you +will find forces too powerful militating against it." + +But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-control. +"The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in the habit of +discussing their womenfolk with strangers," said he--and flattered +himself he had very neatly secured the last word. + + * * * * * + +As for Aruna--left alone--she leaned again on the low abutment, but the +hypnotic spell was broken: only acute anxiety remained. For the lamp of +her life had made scant progress; and now she was aware of a disturbance +in the water, little ominous whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently +there emerged a long shadow, like a black expanse of rock:--unmistakably +a mugger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand +that had seized her in the nick of time. The next--she wrung her own +together with a low, shivering cry. + +For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chiragh rose with it--and so +remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the horny shoulder; +tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the flame; the oil, its +life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger moved leisurely on, in the +wrong direction, breaking up the gold network of reflections, she had +her answer--or no answer. The lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered; +but it would never, now, reach the farther shore. Mai Lakshmi's face was +turned away in simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer +between two worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so +much in faith as in a mute gesture of despair.... + +She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in the +shadow--not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple reaction +from the mingled excitements and emotions of the evening ... + +It was only a few minutes--though it seemed an age--before she felt +Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice, troubled and tender +beneath its surface note of command. + +"Aruna--what the--get up. Don't cry like that--you mustn't...." + +She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child, +battling with her sobs. + +"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming to disregard her +effort at control. + +"There--over there. Look ... the mugger!" + +"Mugger?" He sighted it. "Well, I'm--the thieving brute!" Humour lurked +in his voice--more tonic than sympathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting. +Her tragedy had its vein of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears +trembled into laughter; laughter into tears. The impact unsteadied her +afresh; and she covered her face again shaken with sobs. + +"Aruna--my _dear_--you mustn't, I tell you...." More tenderness now than +command. + +She held her breath--pain shot through with sudden ecstasy. For in +speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just supporting her with +a firm gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks along all her sensitised +nerves. + +"Listen, Aruna--and don't cry," he said, low and urgently. "No answer +always leaves room for hope. And you shall have your Dyan, I promise +you. I won't come back without him. I can't say fairer than that. So +now----" his hand closed on her shoulder. "Give over--breaking your poor +heart!" + +Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only +to-night--I would rather--not the Palace dinner, the fireworks. I would +rather go home with Miss Mills and the children...." + +"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole evening--for us +both. No, you don't. Remember--you are Rajputni: not to be hag-ridden by +a mere chiragh and a thieving mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me +in the face--and promise." + +As usual, he was irresistible. What matter Mai Lakshmi's +indifference--since he cared so much? "Faithfully--I promise, Roy," she +said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into his eyes--that +seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into depths beyond depths. + +For one incredible moment, his face moved a little nearer to +hers--paused, as if irresolute, and withdrew. + +So brief was the instant, so slight the movement, that she almost +doubted her senses. But her inmost being knew--and ached, without +shyness or shame, for the kiss withheld.... + +"You've the grit--I knew it," Roy said at last, in the level voice that +had puzzled her earlier in the evening: and his hand slid from her +shoulder. "Come now--we've been too long. Thea will be wondering...." + +He turned; and she moved beside him, walking in a dream. + +"Did you say much, before I came?" he asked, after a pause, "to that +fellow--Chandranath?" + +"I spoke a little--thinking him a _guru_----" She paused. The name woke +a chord of memory. "Chandranath," she repeated, "that is the name they +said----" + +"_Who_?" Roy asked sharply, coming out of his own dream. + +"Mataji and the widowed Aunt----" + +"What do they know of him?" + +"How can I tell? I think it was--through our _guru_, he made offer of +marriage--for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was wondering--could +it be the same----?" + +"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious. "If it is--you +can tell them I _won't_ have it. Grandfather would be furious. He ought +to know--and Dyan. Your menfolk don't seem to get a look in." + +"Not much--with marrying arrangements. That is for women and priests. +But--for now, I am safe, with Mrs Leigh----" + +"And you'll stay safe--as far as he's concerned. You see, I know the +fellow. He's the man I slanged in the City that day. Besides--at +school----" + +He unfolded the tale of St Rupert's; and she listened, amazed. + +"So don't worry over that," he commanded, in his kind elder-brotherly +tone. "As for your poor little chiragh, for goodness' sake don't let it +get on your nerves." + +She sighed--knowing it would; yet longing to be worthy of him. It seemed +he understood, for his hand closed lightly on her arm. + +"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding your head +an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life." + +"Is it? I never thought----" she murmured, puzzled, but impressed. And +after that, things somehow seemed easier than she had thought possible +over there, by the tank. + +Secure, under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they were +royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join them at table +without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared--grey-bearded, +courtly and extensively jewelled--supported by Sir Lakshman, the prince, +and a few privileged notables; whereupon they all migrated to the +Palace roof for the grand display of fireworks--fitting climax to the +Feast of Lights. + +Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Aruna's side. They +said little, but his presence wrapped her round with a sense of +companionship more intimate than she had yet felt even in their happiest +times together. While rocket after rocket soared and curved and +blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze reverted persistently to the outline +of a man's head and shoulders silhouetted against the sky.... + +Still later on, when he bade her good-night in the Residency +drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned queen. It +certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when she had crouched +in the shadows praying vain prayers--shedding vain tears.... + +If only one could keep it up----! + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 13: Holy man.] + +[Footnote 14: Prayer.] + +[Footnote 15: Crocodile.] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "Thou dost beset the path to every shrine; + + * * * * * + + And if I turn from but one sin, I turn + Unto a smile of thine." + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + +For Roy himself, no less than Aruna, the passing of those golden October +weeks had been an experience as beautiful as it was unique. The very +beauty and bewilderment of it had blinded him, at first, to the +underlying danger for himself and her. Bewilderment sprang from an eerie +sense--vivid to the verge of illusion--that his mother was with him +again in the person of Aruna:--a fancy enhanced by the fact that his +entire knowledge of Indian womanhood--the turns of thought and phrase, +the charm, at once sensuous and spiritual--was linked indissolubly with +her. And the perilous charm had penetrated insidiously deeper than he +knew. By the time he realised what was happening, the spell was upon +him; his will held captive in silken meshes he had not the heart to +snap. + +As often as not, in that early stage, he craved sight and sound of her +simply because she wore a sari and carried her head and moved her hands +just so; because her mere presence stirred him with a thrill that +blended exquisite pleasure, exquisite pain. There were times he would +contrive to be alone in the room with her; not talking; not even looking +at her--because her face disturbed the illusion; simply letting the feel +of her presence ease that inner ache--subdued, not stilled--for the +mother who had remained more vitally one with him than nine mothers in +ten are able, or willing, to remain with their grown-up sons. + +Thea Leigh, watching unobtrusively, had caught a glimpse of the strange +dual influence at work in him. She had occasionally seen him with his +mother; and had gleaned some idea of their unique relation; partly from +Lance, partly from her intimate link with her own Theo, half a world +away; nearly eighteen now, and eager to join up before all was over. So +her troubled scrutiny was tempered with a measure of understanding. Roy +had always attracted her. And now, unmothered--the wound not yet +healed--she metaphorically gathered him to her heart; would have done so +physically without hesitation; but that Vincent had his dear and foolish +qualms about her promiscuous capacity for affection. But Aruna was her +ewe lamb of the moment; and not even Roy must be allowed to make things +harder for her than they were already.... + +So, after scouting the Delhi idea as preposterous, she suddenly +perceived there might be virtue in it--for Aruna. Possibly it would +glorify him in her eyes; but it would remove the fatal charm of his +presence; give her a chance to pull up before things had gone too far. +Whereat, being Thea, she spun round unashamedly, to Roy's secret +amusement and relief. All the Desmond in her rose to the adventure of +it. A risk, of course; but there must be no question of failure; and +success would justify all. She was entirely at his service; discussed +details by the hour; put him 'on to Vinx' for coaching in the general +situation--underground sedition; reformers, true and false; telling +arguments for the reclaiming of Dyan Singh. + +To crown all--between genuine relief and genuine affection--she +impulsively kissed him on departure under Vincent's very eyes. + +"Just only to give you my blessing!" she explained, laughing and +blushing like a girl at her own audacity. "Words are the stupidest +clumsy things. I'm sure life would be happier and less complicated if we +only had the sense to kiss more and talk less----!" + +This--in the presence of Aruna and her husband and her six-year-old son! + +Roy, deeply moved and a little overcome, nodded assent, while Vincent +took her by the arms and gently removed her from further temptation. + +"Where _you'd_ be, Madam, if talking was rationed----!" + +"I'd take it out in kissing--_Sir_!" she retorted unabashed; while Aruna +glanced a little wistfully at Roy, who was fondling Terry and talking +nonsense to Vernon. For the boy adored him and was on the brink of +tears. + +But if he seemed unheeding, he was by no means unaware. He was fighting +his own battle in his own way; incidentally, he hoped, helping the girl +to fight hers. For he had shaken himself almost free of his delicious +yet disturbing illusion, only to be confronted by a more profoundly +disturbing reality. Loyal to his promise, tacitly given, he had simply +not connected her with the idea of marriage. The queer thrill of her +presence was for him quite another affair. Not until that night of +wandering in the moonlight had it struck him, with a faint shock, that +she might be mistaking his friendliness for--something more. That +contact with her had come at a critical moment for himself, was a detail +he failed to realise. Beyond the sudden bewildering sensations that +prompted his headlong proposal to Tara, he had not felt seriously +perturbed by girl or woman; and, in the past four years, life had been +filled to overflowing with other things---- + +That he should love Aruna, deeply and dearly, seemed as simple and +natural, as loving Tara. But to fall in love was a risk he had no right +to run, either for himself or her. Yet the risk had been run before he +awoke to the fact. And the events and emotions of Dewali night had drawn +them irresistibly, dangerously close together. For the racial ferment +had been strong in him, as in her. And the darkness, the subtle +influence of his Indian dress--her tears--her danger! How could any man, +frankly loving her, not be carried a little out of himself? That +overmastering impulse to kiss her had startlingly revealed the true +forces at work. + +After all that, what could he do, but sharply apply the curb and remove +himself--for a time--in the devout hope that 'things' had not gone too +far? He had not the assurance to suppose she was already in love with +him; but patently the possibility was there. + +So--like Thea--he had come to see the Delhi inspiration in a new and +surprising light. Setting forth in search of Dyan, he was, in effect, +running away from himself--and Aruna, no less. If not actually in love, +he very soon would be--did he dare to let himself go. + +And why not--why _not_? The old unreasoning rebellion stirred in him +afresh. His mother being gone, temptation tugged the harder. Home, +without the Indian element, was almost unthinkable. If only he could +take back Aruna! But for him there could be no 'if.' He had tacitly +given his word--to _her_. And in any case there was his father--the +Sinclair heritage--So all his fine dreams of helping Aruna amounted to +this--that it was he who might be driven, in the end, to hurt her more +than any of them. Life that looked such a straight-ahead business for +most people, seemed to bristle with pitfalls and obstacles for him; all +on account of the double heritage that was at once his pride, his +inspiration, and his stone of stumbling. + + * * * * * + +Endless wakeful hours of the night journey were peopled with thoughts +and visions of Aruna--her pansy face and velvet-soft eyes, now flashing +delicate raillery, now lifted in troubled appeal. A rainbow +creature--that was the charm of her. Not beautiful--he thanked his +stars; since his weakness for beauty amounted to a snare, but +attractive--perilously so. For, in her case, the very element that drew +him was the barrier that held them apart. The irony of it! + +Was she lying awake too, poor child--missing him a little? Would she +marry an Indian--ever? Would she turn her back on India--even for him? +Unanswerable questions hemmed her in. Could she even answer them +herself? Too well he understood how the scales of her nature hung +balanced between conflicting influences. As he was, racially, so was +she, spiritually, a divided being; yet, in spite of waverings, Rajputni +at the core, with all that word implies to those who know. If she lacked +his mother's high sustained courage, her flashes of spirit shone out the +brighter for her lapses into womanly weakness--as in that poignant +moment by the tank, which had so nearly upset his own equilibrium. +Vividly recalling that moment, it hurt him to realise that weeks might +pass before he could see her again. No denying he wanted her; felt lost +without her. The coveted Delhi adventure seemed suddenly a very lonely +affair; not even a clear inner sense of his mother's presence to bear +him company. No dreams lately; no faint mystical intimation of her +nearness, since the wonderful hour with his grandfather. Only in the +form of that strange and lovely illusion had she seemed vitally near him +since he left Chitor. + +Graceless ingratitude--that 'only.' For now, looking back, he clearly +saw how the beauty and bewilderment of that early phase--so mysteriously +blending Aruna with herself--had held his emotions in cheek, lifted +them, purified them; had saved him, for all he knew, from surrender to +an overwhelming passion that might conceivably have swept everything +before it. Pure fantasy--perhaps. But he felt no inclination to argue +out the unarguable. He preferred simply unquestioningly to believe that, +under God, he owed his salvation to her. And after all--take it +spiritually or psychologically--that was in effect the truth.... + +Towards morning, utter weariness lulled him into a troubled sleep--not +for long. He awoke, chilled and heavy-eyed, to find the unheeded +loveliness of a lemon-yellow dawn stealing over the blank immensity of +earth and sky. + +In a moment he was up, stretching cramped limbs, thanking goodness for a +carriage to himself, leaning out and drinking huge draughts of crisp +clean air, fragrant with the ghost of a whiff of wood smoke--the +inimitable air of a Punjab autumn morning. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things.... + + The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly + poison."--ST JAMES iii 5-8. + + +Roy spent ten days in Delhi--lodging with one Krishna Lal, a jewel +merchant of high standing, well known to Sir Lakshman--and never a word +or a sight of Dyan Singh. The need for constant precautions hampered him +not a little; but if the needle he sought was in this particular +haystack, he would find it yet. + +Meanwhile, at every turn he was imbibing first impressions, a +sufficiently enthralling occupation--in Delhi, of all places on earth: +Delhi, mistress of many victors; very woman, in that she yields to +conquer; and after centuries of romance and tragedy, remains, in +essence, unconquered still. The old saying, 'Who holds Delhi, holds +India,' has its dark counterpart in the unwritten belief that no alien +ruler, enthroned at Delhi, shall endure. Hence the dismay of many loyal +Indians when the British Government deserted Calcutta for the Queen of +the North. And here, already, were her endless, secretive byways +rivalling Calcutta suburbs as hornet-nests of sedition and intrigue. + +Roy was to grow painfully familiar with these before his search ended. +But the city's pandemonium of composite noises and composite smells was +offset by the splendid remnants of Imperial Delhi:--the Pearl Mosque, a +dream in marble, dazzling against the blue: inlaid columns of the +Dewan-i-Khas--every leaf wrought in jade or malachite, every petal a +precious stone; swelling domes and rose-pink minarets of the Jumna +Musjid rising superbly from a network of narrow streets and shabby +toppling houses. For, in India, the sordid and stately rub shoulders +with sublime disregard for effect. In the cool aloofness of tombs and +temples, or among crumbling fragments of them on the plain, or away +beyond the battered Kashmir Gate--ground sacred to heroic memories--he +could wander at will for hours, isolated in body and spirit, yet +strangely content.... + +And there was yet a third Delhi, hard by these two; yet curiously aloof: +official, Anglo-Indian Delhi, of bungalows and clubs and painfully new +Government buildings. Little scope here for imaginative excursions, but +much scope for thought in the queer sensation, that beset him, of seeing +his father's people, as it were, through his mother's eyes. + +New as he was to Anglo-Indian life, these glimpses from the outskirts +were sufficiently illuminating. Once he was present in the crowd at a +big Gymkhana; and more than once he strolled through the Club gardens +where social Delhi pursued tennis-balls and shuttle-cocks--gravely, as +if life hung on the issue; or gaily, with gusts of laughter and chaff, +often noisier than need be. And he saw them all, now, from a new angle +of vision. Discreetly aloof, he observed, in passing, the complete +free-and-easiness of the modern maiden with her modern cavalier; +personalities flying; likewise legs and arms; a banter-wrangle interlude +over a tennis-racquet; flight and pursuit of the offending maiden, +punctuated with shrieks, culminating in collapse and undignified +surrender: while a pair of club peons--also discreetly aloof--exchanged +remarks whose import would have enraged the unsuspecting pair. Roy knew +very well they never gave the matter a thought. They were simply +'rotting' in the approved style of to-day. But, seen from the Eastern +standpoint, the trivial incident troubled him. It recalled a chance +remark of his grandfather's: "With only a little more decorum and +seriousness in their way of life out here, they could do far more to +promote good understanding socially between us all, than by making +premature 'reforms' or tilting at barriers arising from opposite kinds +of civilisation." + +Here was matter for the novel--or novels--to be born of his +errantry:--the 'fruit of his life' that _she_ had so longed to bold in +her hands. Were she only at Home now, what letters-without-end he would +be pouring out to her! What letters he could have poured out to +Aruna--did conscience permit. + +He allowed himself two, in the course of ten days; and the spirit moved +him, after long abstention, to indulge in a rambling screed to Tara +telling of his quest; revealing more than he quite realised of the inner +stress he was trying to ignore. The quest, he emphasised, was a private +affair, confided to her only, because he knew she would understand. It +hurt more than he cared to admit to feel how completely his father would +_not_ understand his present turmoil of heart and brain.... + +Isolated thus, with his hidden thwarted emotion, there resulted a +literary blossoming, the most spontaneous and satisfying since his slow +struggle up from the depths. Alone at night, and in the clear keen +dawns, he wrote and wrote and wrote, as a thirsty man drinks after a +desert march:--poems chiefly; sketches and impressions; his dearest +theme the troubled spirit of India,--or was it the spirit of +Aruna?--poised between crescent light and deepening shadow, looking for +sane clear guidance--and finding none. A prose sketch, in this vein, +stood out from the rest; a fragment of his soul, too intimately +self-revealing for the general gaze: no uncommon dilemma for an artist, +precisely when his work is most intrinsically true. Had he followed the +natural urge of his heart, he would have sent it to Aruna. As it was, he +decided to treasure it a little longer for himself alone. + + * * * * * + +Meantime Dyan--half forgotten--suddenly emerged. It was at a +meeting--exclusively religious and philosophical; but the police had +wind of it; and a friendly inspector mentioned it to Krishna Lal. The +chief speaker would be a Swami of impeccable sanctity. "But if you have +a sensitive palate, you will doubtless detect a spice of political +powder under the jam of religion!" quoth Krishna Lal, who was a man of +humour and no friend of sedition. + +"Thanks for the hint," said Roy--and groaned in spirit. Meetings, at +best, were the abomination of desolation; and his soul was sick of the +Indian variety. For the 'silent East' is never happier than when it is +talking at immense length; denouncing, inaugurating, promoting; and a +prolonged dose of it stirred in Roy a positive craving for men who shot +remarks at each other in 'straight-flung words and true.' But no stone +must be left unturned. So he went;--guided by the friendly policeman, +who knew him for a Sahib bent on some personal quest. + +Their search ended in a windowless inner room; packed to suffocation; +heavy with attar of rose, kerosene, and human bodies; and Roy as usual +clung to a doorway that offered occasional respite. + +The Swami was already in full flow:--a wraith of a man in a +salmon-coloured garment; his eyes, deep in their sockets, gleaming like +black diamonds. And he was holding his audience spellbound:--Hindus of +every calling; students in abundance; a sprinkling of Sikhs and Dogras +from the lines. Some form of hypnotism,--was it? Perhaps. Even Roy could +not listen unmoved, when the spirit shook the frail creature like a gust +of wind and the hollow chest-notes vibrated with appeal or command. Such +men--and India is full of them--are spiritual dynamos. Who can calculate +their effect on an emotional race? And they no longer confine their +influence to things spiritual. They, too, have caught the modern disease +of politics for the million. And the supreme appeal is to youth--plastic +and impressionable, aflame with fervours of the blood that can be +conjured, by heady words, into fervours infinitely more dangerous to +themselves and their country. + +In an atmosphere dense with spilled kerosene, with over-breathed air and +over-charged emotion, that appeal rang out like a trumpet blast. + +"It is to youth the divine message has come in all ages; the call to +martyrdom and dedication. 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' said +the inspired Founder of Christianity. So also I say in this time of +revival, suffer the young to fling themselves into the arms of the +Mother. My sons, she cries, go back to the Vedas. You will find all +wisdom there. Reject this alien gift--however finely gilded--of a +civilisation inferior to your own. Hindu Rishis were old in wisdom when +these were still unclothed savages coloured with blue paint. Shall the +sacred Motherland be inoculated with Western poison? It is for the +young to decide--to act. Nerve your arms with valour. Bring offerings +acceptable, to the shrine of Kali Mai. Does she demand a sheep? A +buffalo? A cocoanut? Ask yourselves. The answer is written in your +hearts----" + +His emaciated arms shot up and outward in a gesture the more impressive +because it was maintained. For a prolonged moment the holy one seemed to +hover above his audience--as it were an eagle poised on outspread +wings.... + +Roy came to himself with a start. His friend the policeman had plucked +his sleeve; and they retreated a step or two through the open door. + +"The Sahib heard?" queried Man Singh in cautious undertone. + +"There's hearing--and hearing," said Roy, aware of some cryptic message +given and understood. "I take it _they_ all know what he's driving at." + +"True talk. They know. But _he_ has not said. Therefore he goes in +safety when he should be picking oakum in the jail khana. They are +cunning as serpents these holy ones." + +"They have the gift of tongues," said Roy. "May one ask what is Mai +Kali's special taste in sacrifices?" + +The Sikh gave him an odd look. "The blood of white goats--meaning +Sahibs, Hazur."--Roy's 'click' was Oriental to a nicety.--"'A white goat +for Kali' is an old Bengali catchword. Hark how their tongues wag. But +there is still another--much esteemed by the student-_log_; one who can +skilfully flavour a _pillau_[16] of learned talk, as the Swami can +flavour a pillau of religion. Where he comes, there will be trouble +afterwards, and arrests. But no Siri Chandranath. He is off making +trouble elsewhere." + +"Chandranath--_here_?" Roy's heart gave a jerk, half excitement, half +apprehension. + +"Your Honour has heard the man?" + +"No. I'm glad of the chance." + +As they entered, the second speaker stepped on to the platform.... + +True talk, indeed! There stood the boy who had whimpered under Scab +Major's bullying, in the dark coat and turban of the educated Indian; +his back half turned, in confidential talk with a friend, who had set a +carafe and tumbler ready to hand. The light of a wall lamp shone full on +his friend's face--clean-cut, handsome, unmistakable.... + +_Dyan_! Dyan--and Chandranath! It was the conjunction that confounded +Roy and tinged elation with dismay. He could hardly contain himself till +Dyan joined the audience; standing a little apart; not taking a seat. +Something in his face reminded Roy of the strained fervour in his letter +to Aruna. Carefully careless, he edged his way through the outer fringe +of the audience, and volunteered a remark or two in Hindustani. + +"A full meeting, brother. Your friend speaks well?" + +Dyan turned with a start. "Where are _you_ from, that you have not heard +him?" He scrutinised Roy's appearance. "A hill man----?" + +Roy edged nearer and spoke in English under his breath. "Dyan--look at +me. Don't make a scene. I am Roy--from Jaipur." + +In spite of the warning, Dyan drew back sharply. "_What_ are you here +for--spying?" + +"No. Hoping to find you. Because--I care; and Aruna cares----" + +"Better to care less and understand more," Dyan muttered brusquely. "No +time for talk now. Listen. You may learn a few things Oxford could not +teach." + +The implied sneer enraged Roy; but listen he must, perforce: and in the +space of half an hour he learnt a good deal about Chandranath and the +mentality of his type. + +To the outer ear, he was propounding the popular modern doctrine of +'Yoga by action.' To the inner ear he was extolling passion and +rebellion in terms of a creed that enjoins detachment from both; +inciting to political murder, under sanction of the divine dictum, 'Who +kills the body kills naught ... Thy concern is with action alone, never +with results.' And his heady flights of rhetoric, like those of the +Swami, were frankly aimed at the scores of half-fledged youths who hung +upon his utterance. + +"What are the first words of the young child? What are the first words +in your own hearts?" he cried, indicating that organ with a dramatic +forefinger. "_I want_! It is the passionate cry of youth. By indomitably +uttering it, he can dislodge mountains into the sea. And in India to-day +there exist mountains necessary to be hurled into the sea!" His +significant pause was not lost on his hearers--or on Roy. +"'Many-branched and endless are the thoughts of the irresolute.' But to +him who cries ardently, '_I want_,' there is no impediment, except +paucity of courage to snatch the seductive object. Deaf to the anaemic +whisper of compunction, remembering that sin taints only the weak, he +will be translated to that dizzy eminence, where right and wrong, truth +and untruth, become as pigmies, hardly discerned by the naked eye. There +dwells Kali--the shameless and pitiless; and believing our country that +deity incarnate, _her_ needs must be our gods. 'Her image make we in +temple after temple--Bande Mataram?'" The invocation was flung back to +him in a ragged shout. Here and there a student leapt to his feet +brandishing a clenched fist. "Compose your laudable intoxication, +brothers. I do not say, 'Be violent.' There is a necromancy of the +spirit more potent than weapons of the flesh:--the delusion of +irresistible suggestion that will conquer even truth itself...." + +Abstraction piled on abstraction; perversion on perversion; and that +deluded crowd plainly swallowing it all as gospel truth----! To Roy the +whole exhibition was purely disgustful; as if the man had emptied a +dust-bin under his aristocratic nose. Once or twice he glanced covertly +at Dyan, standing beside him; at the strained intentness of his face, +the nervous clenched hand. Was this the same Dyan who had ridden and +argued and read 'Greats' with him only four years ago--this hypnotised +being who seemed to have forgotten his existence----? + +Thank God! At last it was over! But while applause hummed and fluttered, +there sprang on to the platform, unannounced, a wiry keen-faced man, +with the parted beard of a Sikh. + +"Brothers--I demand a hearing!" he cried aloud; "I who was formerly +hater of the British, preaching all manner of violence--I have been +three years detained in Germany; and I come back now, with my eyes +open, to say all over India--cease your fool's talk about +self-government and tossing mountains into the sea! Cease making +yourselves drunk with words and waving your Vedic flags and stand by the +British--your true friends----" + +At that, cries and counter-cries drowned his voice. Books were hurled; +no other weapon being handy; and Roy noted, with amused contempt, that +Chandranath hastily disappeared from view. + +The Sikh laughed in the face of their opposition. Dexterously catching a +book, he hurled it back; and once more made his strong voice heard above +the clamour. "Fools--and sheep! You may stop your ears now. In the end I +will make you hear----" + +Shouted down again, he vanished through a side exit; and, in the turmoil +that followed, Roy's hand closed securely on Dyan's arm. Throughout the +stormy interlude, he had stood rigidly still: a pained, puzzled frown +contracting his brows. Yet it was plain he would have slipped away +without a word, but for Roy's detaining grasp. + +"You don't go running off--now I've found you," said he good-humouredly. +"I've things to say. Come along to my place and hear them." + +Dyan jerked his imprisoned arm. "Very sorry. I have--important duties." + +"To-morrow night then? I'm lodging with Krishna Lal. And--look here, +_don't_ mention me to your friend the philosopher! I know more about him +than you might suppose. If you still care a damn for me--and the others, +do what I ask--and keep your mouth shut----" + +Dyan's frown was hostile; but his voice was low and troubled. "For God's +sake leave me alone, Roy. Of course--I care. But that kind of caring is +carnal weakness. We, who are dedicated, must rise above such weakness, +above pity and slave-morality, giving all to the Mother----" + +"Dyan--have you forgotten--_my_ mother?" Roy pressed his advantage in +the same low tone. + +"No. Impossible. She was _Devi_--Goddess; loveliest and kindest----" + +"Well, in her name, I ask you--come to-morrow evening and have a talk." + +Dyan was silent; then, for the first time, he looked Roy straight in the +eyes. "In her name--I will come. Now let me go." + +Roy let him go. He had achieved little enough. But for a start it was +not so bad. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 16: An Indian dish.] + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "When we have fallen through storey after storey of our vanity and + aspiration, it is then that we begin to measure the stature of our + friends."--R.L.S. + + +Next evening Dyan arrived. He stayed for an hour, and did most of the +talking. But his unnatural volubility suggested disturbance deep down. + +Only once Roy had a glimpse of the true Dyan, when he presented Aruna's +'_prasad_,' consecrated by her touch. In silence Dyan set it on the +table; and reverently touched, with his finger-tips, first the small +parcel, then his own forehead. + +"Aruna--sister," he said on an under breath. But he would not be drawn +into talking of her, of his grandfather, or of home affairs: and his +abrupt departure left Roy with a maddening sense of frustration. + +He lay awake half the night; and reached certain conclusions that atoned +for a violent headache next morning. First and best--Dyan was not a +genuine convert. All this ferment and froth did not spell reasoned +conviction. He was simply ensnared; his finer nature warped by the +'delusion of irresistible suggestion,' deadlier than any weapon of War. +His fanatical loyalty savoured of obsession. So much the better. An +obsession could be pricked like an air-ball with the right weapon at the +right moment. That, as Roy saw it, was his task:--in effect, a ghostly +duel between himself and Chandranath for the soul of Dyan Singh; and the +fate of Aruna virtually hung on the issue. + +Should he succeed, Chandranath would doubtless guess at his share in +Dyan's defection; and few men care about courting the enmity of the +unscrupulous. That is the secret power behind the forces of anarchy, +above all in India, where social and spiritual boycott can virtually +slay a man without shedding of blood. For himself, Roy decided the game +was worth the candle. The question remained--how far that natural +shrinking might affect Dyan? And again--how much did he know of +Chandranath's designs on Aruna? + +Roy decided to spring the truth on him next time--and note the effect. +Dyan had said he would come again one evening; and--sooner than Roy +expected--he came. Again he was abnormally voluble, as if holding his +cousin at arm's length by italicising his own fanatical fervour, till +Roy's impatience subsided into weariness and he palpably stifled a yawn. + +Dyan, detecting him, stopped dead, with a pained, puzzled look that went +to Roy's heart. For he loved the real Dyan, even while he was bored to +extinction with the semi-religious verbiage that poured from him like +water from a jug. + +"Awfully sorry," he apologised frankly. "But I've been over-dosed with +that sort of stuff lately; and I'm damned if I can swallow it like you +do. Yet I'm dead keen for India to have the best, all round, that she's +capable of digesting--yet. So's Grandfather. You _can't_ deny it." + +Dyan frowned irritably. "Grandfather's prejudiced and old-fashioned." + +"He's longer-sighted than most of your voluble friends. He doesn't +rhapsodise. He _knows_.--But I'm not old-fashioned. Nor is Aruna." + +"No, poor child; only England-infatuated. She is unwise not taking this +chance of an educated husband----" + +"And _such_ a husband!" Roy struck in so sharply that Dyan stared +open-mouthed. + +"How the devil can _you_ know?" + +"And how the devil can you _not_ know," countered Roy, "when it's your +precious paragon--Chandranath." + +He scored his point clean and true. "Chandranath!" Dyan echoed blankly, +staring into the fire. + +Roy said nothing; simply let the fact sink in. Then, having dealt the +blow, he proffered a crumb of consolation, "Perhaps he prefers to keep +quiet till he's pulled it off. But I warn you, if he persists, I shall +put every feasible spoke in his wheel." + +Dyan faced him squarely. "You seem very intimate with our affairs. Who +told you this?" + +"Aruna--herself." + +"You are also very intimate--with her." + +"As she has lost her brother, her natural protector, I do what I can--to +make up." + +Dyan winced and stole a look at him. "Why not make up for still greater +lack--and marry her yourself?" + +It was he who hit the mark this time. Roy's blood tingled; but voice and +eyes were under control. + +"I've only been there a few weeks. The question has not arisen." + +"Your true meaning is--it _could not arise_. They were glad enough for +her service in England; but whatever her service, or her loving, she +must not marry an Englishman, even with the blood of India in his veins. +That is our reward--both----" + +It was the fierce bitter Dyan of that long ago afternoon in New College +Lane. But Roy was too angry on his own account to heed. He rose +abruptly. + +"I'll trouble you not to talk like that." + +Dyan rose also, confronting him. "I _must_ say what is in mind--or go. +Better accept the fact--it is useless to meet." + +"I refuse to accept the fact." + +"But--there it is. I only make you angry. And you imply evil of the +man--I admire." + +He so plainly boggled over the words that Roy struck without hesitation. + +"Dyan, tell me straight--_do_ you admire him? Would you have Aruna marry +him?" + +"N--no. Impossible. There is--another kind of wife," he blurted out, +averting his eyes; but before Roy could speak, he had pulled himself +together. "However--I mustn't stay talking. Good-night." + +Roy's anger--fierce but transient, always--had faded. "There are some +ties you can't break, Dyan, even with your Bande Mataram. Come again +soon." + +Impossible to resist the friendly tone. "But," he asked, "how long are +you hanging about Delhi like this?" + +"As long as I choose." + +"But--why?" + +"To see something of you, old chap. It seems the only way--unless I can +persuade you to chuck all this poisonous vapouring, and come back to +Jaipur with me. Aruna's waiting--breaking her heart--longing to see +you...." + +He knew he was rushing his fences; but the mood was on; the chance too +good to lose. + +Dyan's eyes lightened a moment. Then he shook his head. "I am too much +involved." + +"You _will_ come, though, in the end," Roy said quietly. "I can wait. +Sunday, is it? And we'll bar politics--as we did in the good days. Don't +you want to hear of them all at Home?" + +"Sometimes--yes. But perhaps--better not. You are a fine fellow, +Roy--even to quarrel with. Good-night." They shook hands warmly. + +On the threshold, Dyan turned, hesitated; then--in a hurried +murmur--asked: "_Where_ is she--what's she doing now ... Tara?" + +He was obviously unaware of having used her name: and Roy, though +startled, gave no sign. + +"She's still in Serbia. She's been simply splendid. Head over ears in it +all from the start."--He paused--"Shall I tell her--when I write ... +about you?" + +Dyan shrugged his shoulders. "Waste of ink and paper. It would not +interest her." + +"It would. I know Tara. What you are doing now would hurt her--keenly." + +"Tcha!" The sharp sound expressed sheer unbelief. It also expressed +pain. "Good-night," he added, for the third time; and went out--leaving +Roy electrified; a-tingle with the hope of success at last. + +Tara was not forgotten; though Dyan had been trying to pretend she +was--even to himself. Ten chances to one, she was still at the core +everything; even his present incongruous activities.... + +Roy paced the room; his imagination alight; his own recoil from the +conjunction, overborne by immediate concern for Dyan. Unable to forget +her--who could?--he had thrust the pain of remembering into the dark +background of his mind; and there it remained--a hard knot of soreness +and bitterness--as Aruna had said. And all that bottled-up bitterness +had been vented against England--an unconscious symbol of Tara, desired +yet withheld; while the intensity of his thwarted passion sought and +found an outlet in fervent adoration of his country visualised as woman. + +Right or wrong--that was how Roy saw it. And the argument seemed +psychologically sound. Cruel to be kind, he must touch the point of +pain; draw the hidden thing into the open; and so reawaken the old Dyan, +who could arraign the new one far more effectually than could Roy +himself or another. Seized with his idea, he indulged in a more hopeful +letter to Aruna; and had scarcely patience to wait for Sunday. + + * * * * * + +In leisurely course it arrived--that last Sunday of the Great War. The +Chandni Chowk was a-bubble with strange and stirring rumours; but the +day waned and the evening waned--and no Dyan appeared. + +On Monday morning--still no word: but news, so tremendous, flashed half +across the world, that Dyan and his mysterious defection flickered like +a match at midday. + +The War was over--virtually over. From the Vosges to the sea, not the +crack of a rifle nor the moan of a shell; only an abrupt, dramatic +silence--the end! Belief in the utter cessation of all that wonderful +and terrible activity, penetrated slowly. And as it penetrated Roy +realised, with something like dismay, that the right and natural sense +of elation simply was not. He actually felt depressed. Shrink as he +might from the jar of conflict, the sure instinct of a soldier race +warned him that hell holds no fury and earth no danger like a ruthless +enemy not decisively smitten. The psychology of it was beyond +him--shrouded in mystery. + +Not till long afterwards did he know how many, in England and Prance, +had shared his bewildered feeling; how British soldiers in Belgium had +cried like children, had raged almost to the point of mutiny. But one +thing he knew--steeped as he was in the sub-strata of Eastern thought +and feeling. India would never understand. Visible, spectacular victory, +alone could impress the East: and such an impression might have +counteracted many mistakes that had gone before.... + +Tuesday brought no Dyan; only a scrawled note: "Sorry--too much +business. Can't come just now." _If_ one could take that at its face +value----! But it might mean anything. Had Chandranath found out--and +had Dyan not the moral courage to go his own way? + +He knew by now where his cousin lodged; but had never been there. It was +in one of the oldest parts of the city; alive with political intrigue. +If Roy's nationality were suspected, 'things' might happen, and it was +clearly unfair on his father to run needless risks. But this was +different. 'Things' might be happening to Dyan. + +So, after nearly a week of maddening suspense, he resolved--with all due +caution--to take his chance. + + * * * * * + +A silvery twilight was ebbing from the sky when he plunged into a maze +of narrow streets and by-lanes where the stream of Eastern life flows +along immemorial channels scarcely stirred by surface eddies of +'advance.' + +Threading his way through the crowd, he found the street and the +landmark he sought: a doorway, adorned with a faded wreath of marigolds, +indication of some holy presence within; and just beyond it, a +low-browed arch, almost a tunnel. It passed under balconied houses +toppling perilously forward; and as Roy entered it, a figure darkened +the other end. He could only distinguish the long dark coat and turbaned +head: but there flashed instant conviction--Chandranath! + +Alert, rather than alarmed, he hurried forward, hugging the opposite +wall. At the darkest point they crossed. Roy felt the other pause, +scrutinise him--and pass on. The relief of it! And the ignominy of +suddenly feeling the old childish terror, when you had turned your back +on a dark room. It was all he could do not to break into a run.... + +In the open court, set round with tottering houses, a sacred neem tree +made a vast patch of shadow. Near it, a rickety staircase led up to +Dyan's roof room. Roy, mounting cautiously, knocked at the highest door. + +"Are you there? It's Roy," he called softly. + +A pause:--then the door flew open and Dyan stood before him, in loose +white garments; no turban; a farouche look in his eyes. + +"My God--_Roy_! Crazy of you! I never thought----" + +"Well, I got sick of waiting. I suppose I can come in?" Roy's impatience +was the measure of his relief. + +Dyan moved back a pace, and, as Roy stepped on to the roof, he carefully +closed the door. + +"Think--if you had come three minutes earlier! He only left me just +now--Chandranath." + +"And passed me in the archway," added Roy with his touch of bravado. +"I've as much right to be in Delhi--and to vary my costume--as your +mysteriously potent friend. It's a free country." + +"It is fast becoming--not so free." Dyan lowered his voice, as if afraid +he might be overheard. "And you don't consider the trouble it might +make--for me." + +"How about the trouble you've been making for me? What's wrong?" + +Dyan passed a nervous hand across his eyes and forehead. "Come in. It's +getting cold out here," he said, in a repressed voice. Roy followed him +across the roof top, with its low parapet and vault of darkening sky, up +three steps, into an arcaded room, where a log fire burned in the open +hearth. Shabby, unrelated bits of furniture gave the place a comfortless +air. On a corner table strewn with leaflets and pamphlets ("Poisoned +arrows, up to date!" thought Roy), a typewriter reared its hooded head. +The sight struck a shaft of pain through him. Aruna's Dyan--son of kings +and warriors--turning his one skilful hand to such base uses! + +"What's wrong?" he repeated with emphasis. "I want a straight answer, +Dyan. I've risked something to get it." + +Dyan sat down near a small table, and took his head between his hands. +"There is--so much wrong," he said, looking steadily up at Roy. "I am +feeling--like a man who wakes too suddenly after much sleepwalking." + +"Since when?" asked Roy, keeping himself in hand. "What's jerked you +awake? D'you know?" + +"There have been many jerks. Seeing you; Aruna's offering; this news of +the War; and something ... you mentioned last time." + +"What was that ... Tara?" Roy lunged straight to the middle of the +wound. + +Dyan started. "But--how----! I never said...." he stammered, visibly +shaken. + +"It didn't need saying. Aruna told me--the fact; and my own wits told me +the rest. You're not honestly keen--are you?--to shorten the arm of the +British Raj and plunge India into chaos?" + +"No--no." A very different Dyan, this, to the one who had poured out +stock phrases like water only a week ago. + +"Isn't bitterness--about Tara, at the back of it! Face that straight. +And--if it's true, say so without false shame." + +Dyan was silent a long while, staring into the fire. "Very strange. I +had no idea," he said at last. The words came slowly, as if he were +thinking aloud. "I was angry--miserable; hating you all; even--very +nearly--_her_. Then came the War; and I thought--now our countries will +become like one. I will win her by some brave action--she who is the +spirit of courage. From France, after all that praise of Indians in the +papers, I wrote again. No use. After that, I hoped by some brave action, +I might be killed. Instead, through stupid carelessness, I am only +maimed--as you see. I was foolishly angry when Indian troops were sent +away from France: and my heart became hard like a nut."--He had emerged +from his dream now and was frankly addressing Roy----"I knew, if I went +home, they would insist I should marry. Quite natural. But for me--not +thinkable. Yet I _must_ go back to India. And there, in Bombay, I heard +Chandranath speak. He was just back from deportation; and to me his +words were like leaping flames. All the fire of my passion--choked up in +me--could flow freely in service of the Mother. I became intoxicated +with the creed of my new comrades: there is neither truth nor untruth, +right nor wrong; there is only the Mother. I was filled with the joy of +dedication and unquestioning surrender. It gave me visions like opium +dreams. Both kinds of opium I have taken freely,--while walking in my +sleep. I was ready for taking life; any desperate deed. Instead--Tcha! I +have to take money, like a common dacoit, because police must be +bribed, soldiers tempted, meetings multiplied...." + +"It takes more than the blood of white goats to oil the wheels of your +chariot," said Roy, very quiet, but rather grim. "And he's not the man +to do his own dirty work--eh?" + +"No. He is only very clever to dress it up in fine arguments. All money +is the Mother's. Only they are thieves who selfishly hide it in banks +and safes. Those who release it for her use are deliverers ..." he broke +off with a harsh laugh. "In spite of education, we Indians are too +easily played upon, Roy. If you had not spoken--of her, I might have +swallowed--even that. Thieving--bah! Killing is man's work. There is +sanction in the Gita----" + +"Sanction be damned!" Roy cut in sharply. "You might as well say +Shakespeare sanctioned theft because he wrote, 'Who steals my purse +steals trash!' The only sanction worth anything is inside you. And you +didn't seem to find it there. But let's get at the point. Did you +refuse?" + +"No. Only--for the first time, I demurred; and because the need is +urgent, he became very violent--in language. It was almost a quarrel." + +"Clear proof you scored! Did you mention--Aruna?" + +Dyan shook his head. "If _I_ become violent, it is not only +language----" + +"No. You're a _man_. And now you're awake again, I can tell you +things--but I can't stay all night." + +"No. He is coming back. Only gone to Cantonments--on business." + +"What sort of business?" + +Dyan chewed his lip and looked uncomfortable. + +"Never mind, old chap. I can see a church by daylight! He's getting at +the troops. Spreading lies about the Armistice. And after that----?" + +"He is returning--about midnight, hoping to find me in a more reasonable +mind----" + +"And by Jove we won't disappoint him!" cried Roy, who had seen his +God-given chance. Springing up he gripped Dyan by the shoulder. "Your +reasonable mind will take the form of scooting back with me, _jut +put_;[17] and we can slip out of Delhi by the night mail. Time's +precious. So hurry up." + +But Dyan did not stir. He sat there looking so plainly staggered that +Roy burst out laughing. + +"You're not half awake yet. You've messed about so long with men who +merely 'agitate' and 'inaugurate,' that you've forgotten the kind who +act first and talk afterwards. I give you ten minutes to scribble a +tender farewell. Then--we make tracks. It's all I came here for--if you +want to know. And I take it you're willing?" + +Dyan sighed. "I am willing enough. But--there are many complications. +You do not know. They are organising big trouble over the Rowlatt +Bill--and other things. I have not much secret information, or my life +would probably not be worth a pin. But it is all one complicated +network, and there are too easy ways in India for social and spiritual +boycott----" + +He enlarged a little; quoted cases that filled Roy with surprise and +indignation, but no way shook his resolve. + +"We needn't go straight to Jaipur. Quite good fun to knock round a bit. +Throw him off the scent, till he's got over the shock. We can wire our +news; Aruna will be too happy to fret over a little delay. And you won't +be ostracised among your own people. They want you. They want your help. +Grandfather does. The best _I_ could do was to run you to earth--open +your eyes----" + +"And by Indra you've _done_ it, Roy." + +"You'll come then?" + +"Yes, I'll come--and damn the consequences!" + +The Dyan of Oxford days was visibly emerging now: a veritable awakening; +the strained look gone from his face. + +It was Roy's 'good minute': and in the breathless rush that followed, he +swept Dyan along with him--unresisting, exalted, amazed---- + +The farewell letter was written; and Dyan's few belongings stowed into a +basket-box. Then they hurried down, through the dark courtyard into the +darker tunnel; and Roy felt unashamedly glad not to be alone. His feet +would hurry, in spite of him; and that kept him a few paces ahead. + +Passing a dark alcove, he swerved instinctively--and hoped to goodness +Dyan had not seen. + +Just before reaching the next one he tripped over something--taut string +or wire stretched across the passage. It should have sent him headlong +had he been less agile. As it was, he stumbled, cursed and kept his +feet. + +"'Ware man-trap!" he called back to Dyan, under his breath. + +Next instant, from the alcove, a shot rang out: and it was Dyan who +cursed; for the bullet had grazed his arm. + +They both ran now; and made no bones about it. Roy's sensations reminded +him vividly of the night he and Lance fled from the Turks. + +"We seem to have butted in and spoilt somebody's little game!" he +remarked, as they turned into a wider street and slackened speed. "How's +your arm?" + +"Nothing. A mere scratch." Dyan's tone was graver. "But that's most +unusual. I can't make it out----" + +"You're well quit of it all, anyhow," said Roy, and slipped a hand +through his arm. + + * * * * * + +Not till they were settling down for a few hours' sleep in the night +mail, did it dawn on Roy that the little game might possibly have been +connected with himself. Chandranath had seen him in that dress before. +He had just come very near quarrelling with Dyan. If he suspected Roy's +identity, he would suspect his influence.... + +He frankly spoke his thought to Dyan; and found it had occurred to him +already. "Not himself, of course," he added. "The gentleman is not +partial to firearms! But suspecting--he might have arranged; hoping to +catch you coming back--the swine! Naturally after this, he will go +further than suspecting!" + +"He can go to the devil--and welcome; now I've collared _you_!" said +Roy;--and slept soundly upon that satisfying achievement, through all +the rattle and clatter of the express. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 17: At once.] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "God uses us to help each other so." + --BROWNING. + + +It was distinctly one of Roy's great moments when, at last, they four +stood together in Sir Lakshman's room: the old man, outwardly +impassive--as became a Rajput--profoundly moved in the deep places of +his heart; Aruna, in Oxford gown and sari, radiant one moment; the +next--in spite of stoic resolves--crying softly in Dyan's arms. And Roy +understood only too well. The moment he held her hand and met her +eyes--he knew. It was not only joy at Dyan's return that evoked the +veiled blush, the laugh that trembled into tears. Conceit or no conceit, +his intuition was not to be deceived. + +And the conviction did not pass. It was confirmed by every day, every +hour he spent in her company. On the rare occasions, when they were +alone together, the very thing that must be religiously stifled and hid, +emanated from her like fragrance from a flower; sharply reawakening his +own temptation to respond--were it only to ease her pain. And there was +more in it than that--or very soon would be, if he hesitated much longer +to clinch matters by telling her the truth; though every nerve shrank +from the ordeal--for himself and her. Running away from oneself was +plainly a futile experiment. To have so failed with her, disheartened +him badly and dwarfed his proud achievement to an insignificant thing. + +To the rest, unaware, his triumph seemed complete, his risky adventure +justified beyond cavil. They all admitted as much;--even Vincent, who +abjured superlatives and had privately taken failure for granted. Roy, +in a fit of modesty, ascribed it all to 'luck.' By the merest chance he +had caught Dyan, on his own confession, just as the first flickers of +doubt were invading his hypnotised soul; just when it began to dawn on +him that alien hands were pulling the strings. He had already begun to +feel trapped; unwilling to go forward; unable to go back; and the fact +that no inner secrets were confided to him, had galled his Rajput vanity +and pride. In the event, he was thankful enough for the supposed slight; +since it made him feel appreciably safer from the zeal of his discarded +friends. + +Much of this he had confided to Roy, in fragments and jerks, on the +night of their amazing exit from Delhi; already sufficiently himself +again to puzzle frankly over that perverted Dyan; to marvel--with a +simplicity far removed from mere foolishness--"how one man can make a +magic in other men's minds so that he shall appear to them an eagle when +he is only a crow." + +"That particular form of magic," Roy told him, "has made half the +history of the world. We all like to flatter ourselves we're safe from +it--till we get bitten! You've been no more of a fool than the others, +Dyan--if that's any consolation." + +The offending word rankled a little. The truth of it rankled more. "By +Indra, I am no fool now. Perhaps he has discovered that already. I fancy +my letter will administer a shock. I wonder what he will do?" + +"He won't 'do.' You can bank on that. He may fling vitriol over you on +paper. But you won't have the pleasure of his company at Jaipur. He left +his card on us before the Dewali. And there's been trouble since; +leaflets circulating mysteriously; an exploded attempt to start a +seditious 'rag.' So they're on the _qui vive._ He'll count that one up +against me: but I'll manage to survive." + +And Dyan, in the privacy of his heart, had felt distinctly relieved. Not +that he lacked the courage of his race; but, having seen the man for +years, as it were, through a magnifying lens, he could not, all in a +moment, see him for the thing he was:--dangerous as a snake, yet swift +as a snake to wriggle out of harm's way. + +He had not been backward, however, in awakening his grandfather to +purdah manoeuvres. Strictly in private--he told his cousin--there had +been ungoverned storms of temper, ungoverned abuse of Roy, who was +suspected by 'the Inside' of knowing too much and having undue influence +with the old man. 'The Inside,' he gathered, had from early days been +jealous of the favourite daughter and all her belongings. Naturally, in +Dyan's opinion, his sister ought to marry; and the sooner the better. +Perhaps he had been unwise, after all, insisting on postponement. By now +she would have been settled in her lawful niche instead of making +trouble with this craze for hospital nursing and keeping outside caste. +Not surprising if she shrank from living at home, after all she had been +through. Better for them both, perhaps, to break frankly with orthodox +Hinduism and join the Brahma Samaj. + +As Roy knew precisely how much--or rather, how little--Aruna liked +working in the wards, he suffered a pang at the pathos of her innocent +guile. And if Dyan had his own suspicions, he kept them to himself. He +also kept to himself the vitriolic outpouring which he had duly found +awaiting him at Jaipur. It contained too many lurid allusions to 'that +conceited, imperialistic half-caste cousin of yours'; and Roy might +resent the implied stigma as much as Dyan resented it for him. So he +tore up the effusion, intended for the eye of Roy, merely remarking that +it had enraged him. It was beneath contempt. + +Roy would like to have seen it, all the same; for he knew himself +quicker than Dyan at reading between the lines. The beggar would not hit +back straight. But given the chance, he might try it on some other +way--witness the pistol-shot in the arcade; a side light--or a side +flash--on the pleasant sort of devil he was! + +Back in the Jaipur Residency, in the garden that was 'almost England,' +back in his good familiar tweed coat and breeches, the whole Delhi +interlude seemed strangely theatrical and unreal; more like a vivid +dream than an experience in the flesh. + +But there was Dyan to prove it no dream; and the perilous charm of +Aruna, that must be resisted to the best of his power.... + + * * * * * + +All this stir and ferment within; yet not a surface ripple disturbed +the flow of those uneventful weeks between the return of Roy and the +coming of Lance Desmond for Christmas leave. + +It is thus that drama most often happens in life--a light under a +bushel; set in the midst, yet unseen. Vincent, delving in ethnological +depths, saw little or nothing outside his manuscript and maps. Floss +Eden--engrossed in her own drawing-room comedy with Captain Martin--saw +less than nothing, except that 'Mr Sinclair's other native cousin' came +too often to the house. For she turned up her assertive nose at 'native +gentlemen'; and confided to Martin her private opinion that Aunt Thea +went too far in that line. She bothered too much about other people all +round--which was true. + +She had bothered a good deal more about Floss Eden, in early days, than +that young lady at all realised. And now--in the intervals of organising +Christmas presents and Christmas guests--she was bothering a good deal +over Roy, whose absence had obviously failed to clear the air. + +Not that he was silent or aloof. But his gift of speech overlaid a +reticence deeper than that of the merely silent man; the kind she had +lived with and understood. Once you got past their defences, you were +unmistakably inside:--Vinx, for instance. But with Roy she was aware of +reserves within reserves, which made him the more interesting, but also +the more distracting, when one felt entitled to know the lie of the +land. For, Aruna apart, wasn't he becoming too deeply immersed in his +Indian relations--losing touch, perhaps, with those at home? Did it--or +did it not matter--that, day after day, he was strolling with Aruna, +riding with Dyan, pig-sticking and buck-hunting with the royal cheetahs +and the royal heir to the throne; or plunging neck deep in plans and +possibilities, always in connection with those two? His mail letters +were few and not bulky, as she knew from handling the contents of the +Residency mail-bag. And he very rarely spoke of them all: less than ever +of late. To her ardent nature it seemed inexplicable. Perhaps it was +just part of his peculiar 'inwardness.' She would have liked to feel +sure, however.... + +Vinx would say it was none of her business. But Lance would be a help. +She was counting on him to readjust the scales. Thank goodness for +Lance--giving up the Lahore 'week' and the Polo Tournament to spend +Christmas with her and Roy in the wilds of Rajputana. Just to have him +about the place again--his music, his big laugh, his radiant certainty +that, in any and every circumstance, it was a splendid thing to be +alive--would banish worries and lift her spirits sky-high. After the +still, deep waters of her beloved Vinx--whose strain of remoteness had +not been quite dispelled by marriage--and the starlit mysteries of Aruna +and the intriguing complexities of Roy, a breath of Lance would be tonic +as a breeze from the Hills. He was so clear and sure; not in flashes and +spurts, but continuously, like sunshine; because the clearness and +sureness had his whole personality behind them. And he could be counted +on to deal faithfully with Roy; perhaps lure him back to the Punjab. It +would be sad losing him; but in the distracting circumstances, a clean +cut seemed the only solution. She would just put in a word to that +effect: a weakness she had rarely been known to resist, however complete +her faith in the man of the moment. + +She simply dared not think of Aruna, who trusted her. It seemed like +betrayal--no less. And yet...? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "One made out of the better part of earth, + A man born as at sunrise." + --SWINBURNE. + + +It was all over--the strenuous joy of planning and preparing. Christmas +itself was over. From the adjacent borders of British India, five lonely +ones had been gathered in. There was Mr Mayne, Commissioner of Delhi, +Vincent's old friend of Kohat days, unmarried and alone in camp with a +stray Settlement Officer, whose wife and children were at Home. There +was Mr Bourne--in the Canals--large-boned and cadaverous, with a +sardonic gleam in his eye. Rumour said there had once been a wife and a +friend; now there remained only work and the whisky bottle; and he was +overdoing both. To him Thea devoted herself and her fiddle with +particular zest. The other two lonelies--a Mr and Mrs Nair--were medical +missionaries, fighting the influenza scourge in the Delhi area; +drastically disinfected--because of the babies; more than thankful for a +brief respite from their daily diet of tragedy, and from labours +Hercules' self would not have disdained. For all that, they had needed a +good deal of pressing. They had 'no clothes.' They were very shy. But +Thea had insisted; so they came--clothed chiefly in shyness and +gratitude, which made them shyer than ever. + +Roy, still new to Anglo-India, was amazed at the way these haphazard +humans were thawed into a passing intimacy by the sunshine of Thea's +personality. For himself, it was the nearest approach to the real thing +that he had known since that dear and dreamlike Christmas of 1916. It +warmed his heart, and renewed the well-spring of careless happiness that +had gone from him utterly since the blow fell; gone, so he believed, +for ever. + +Something of this she divined--and was glad. Yet her exigent heart was +not altogether at ease. His reaction to Lance, though unmistakable, fell +short of her confident expectation. He was still squandering far too +much time on the other two. Sometimes she felt almost angry with him: +jealous--for Lance. She knew how deeply he cared underneath; because she +too was a Desmond. And Desmonds could not care by halves. + +This morning, for instance, the wretch was out riding with Dyan; and +there was Lance, alone in the drawing-room strumming the accompaniments +of things they would play to-night: just a wandering succession of +chords in a minor key; but he had his father's gift of touch, that no +training can impart, and the same trick of playing pensively to himself, +almost as if he were thinking aloud. It was five years since she had +seen her father; and those pensive chords brought sudden tears to her +eyes. + +What did Lance mean by it--mooning about the piano like that? Had he +fallen in love? That was one of the few questions she did not dare ask +him. But here was her chance to 'put in a word' about Roy. + +So she strolled into the drawing-room and leaned over the grand piano. +His smile acknowledged her presence, and his pensive chords went +wandering softly away into the bass. + +"Idiot--what _are_ you doing?" she asked briskly, because the music was +creeping down her spine. "Talking to yourself?" + +"More or less." + +"Well--give over. I'm here. And it's a bad habit." + +He shook his head, and went wandering on. "In this form I find it +soothing and companionable." + +"Well, you oughtn't to be needing either at Christmas time under _my_ +roof, with Roy here and all--if he'd only behave. Sometimes I want to +shake him----" + +"Why--what's the matter with Roy?"--That innocent query checked her rush +of protest in mid career. Had he not even noticed? Men were the +queerest, dearest things!----"He looks awfully fit. Better all round. +He's pulling up. _You_ never saw him--you don't realise----" + +"But, my dear boy, do _you_ realise that he's getting rather badly +bitten with all this--Indian problems and Indian cousins----" + +Lance nodded. "I've been afraid of that. But one can't say much." + +"I can't. I was counting on you as the God-given antidote. And there he +is, still fooling round with Dyan, when _you've_ come all this way ... +It makes me wild. It isn't _fair_----" + +Her genuine distress moved Lance to cease strumming and bestow a +friendly pat on her hand. "Don't be giving yourself headaches and +heartaches over Roy and me, darlint. We're going strong, thanks very +much! It would take an earthquake to throw us out of step. If he chose +to chuck his boots at me, I wouldn't trouble--except to return the trees +if they were handy! Strikes me women don't yet begin to understand the +noble art of friendship----" + +"_Which_ is a libel--but let that pass! Besides--hasn't it struck you? +Aruna----" + +"My God!" His hands dropped with a crash on the keyboard. Then, in a low +swift rush: "Thea, you don't _mean_ it--you're pulling my leg." + +"Bible-oath I'm not. It's too safely tucked under the piano!" + +"My God!" he repeated softly, ignoring her incurable frivolity. "Has he +_said_ anything?" + +"No. But it's plain they're both smitten more or less." + +"Smitten be damned." + +"Lance! I won't have Aruna insulted. Let me tell you she's charming and +cultivated; much better company than Floss. And I love her like a +daughter----" + +"Would you have her marry _Roy_?" he flung out wrathfully. + +"Of course not. But still----" + +"_Me_--perhaps?" he queried with such fine scorn that she burst out +laughing. + +"You priceless gem! You are _the_ unadulterated Anglo-Indian!" + +"Well--what _else_ would I be? What else are you, by the same token?" + +"Not adulterated," she denied stoutly. "Perhaps a wee bit less +'prejudiced.' The awful result, I suppose, of failing to keep myself +scrupulously detached from my surroundings. Besides, you couldn't be +married twenty years to that Vinx and not widen out a bit. Of course I'm +quite aware that widening out has its insidious dangers and limitation +its heroic virtues--Hush! Don't fly into a rage. _You're_ not limited, +old boy. You loved--Lady Sinclair." + +"I adored her," Lance said very low; and his fingers strayed over the +keys again. "_But_--she was an accomplished fact. And--she was one in +many thousands. She's gone now, though. And there's poor Sir Nevil----" + +He rose abruptly and strode over to the fireplace. "Tell you what, Thea. +If the bee in Roy's bonnet is buzzing to _that_ tune, some one's got to +stop it----" + +"That's my point!" She swung round confronting him. "Why not whisk him +back to the Punjab? It does seem the only way----" + +Lance nodded again. "Now you talk sense. Mind, I don't believe he'll +come. Roy's a tougher customer than he looks to the naked eye. But I'll +have a shot at it to-night. If needs must, I'll tell him why. I can +swallow half a regiment of his Dyans; but not--the other thing. I hope +you find us intact in the morning!" + +She flew to him and kissed him with fervour; and she was still in his +arms, when Roy strolled casually into the room. + + * * * * * + +There were only three outsiders that night: the State Engineer and two +British officers in the Maharajah's employ. But they sat down sixteen to +dinner; and, very shortly after, came three others in the persons of +Dyan and Sir Lakshman Singh, with his distinguished friend Mahomed +Inayat Khan, from Hyderabad. Nothing Thea enjoyed better than getting a +mixed batch of men together and hearing them talk--especially shop; for +then she knew their hearts were in it. They were happy. + +And to-night, her chance assortment was amazingly varied, even for +India:--Army, 'Political,' Civil; P.W.D. and Native States; New India, +in the person of Dyan; and not least, the 'medical mish' pair; an +element rich in mute inglorious heroism, as the villagers and 'depressed +classes' of India know. She took keen delight in the racial interplay of +thought and argument, with Roy, as it were, for bridge-builder between. +How he would relish the idea! He seemed very much in the vein this +evening, especially since his grandfather arrived. He was clearly making +an impression on Mr Mayne and Inayat Khan; and a needle-prick of remorse +touched her heart. For Aruna, annexed by Captain Martin's subaltern, was +watching him too, when she fancied no one was looking; and Lance, +attentively silent, was probably laying deep plans for his capture. A +wicked shame--but still...! + +As a matter of fact, Lance, too, was troubled with faint compunction. He +had never seen Roy in this kind of company, nor in this particular vein. +And, reluctantly, he admitted that it did seem rather a waste of his +mentally reviving vigour hauling him back to the common round of tennis +and dances and polo--yes, even sacred polo--when he was so dead keen on +this infernal agitation business, and seemed to know such a deuce of a +lot about it all. + +Lance himself knew far too little; and was anxious to hear more, for the +intimate, practical reason that he was not quite happy about his Sikh +troop. The Pathan lot were all right. But the Sikhs--his pride and +joy--were being 'got at' by those devils in the City. And, if these men +could be believed, 'things' were going to be very much worse; not only +'down country,' but also in the Punjab, India's sure shield against the +invader. To a Desmond, the mere suggestion of the Punjab turning traitor +was as if one impugned the courage of his father or the honour of his +mother; so curiously personal is India's hold upon the hearts of +Englishmen who come under her spell. + +So Lance listened intently, if a little anxiously, to all that Thea's +'mixed biscuits' had to say on that absorbing subject. For to-night shop +held the field: if that could be called shop, which vitally concerned +the fate of England and India, and of British dominion in the East. + +Agitation against the sane measures embodied in the Rowlatt Bills was +already astir, like bubbles round a pot before it boils. And Inayat Khan +had come straight from Bombay, where the National Congress had rejected +with scorn the latest palliative from Home; had demanded the release of +all revolutionaries, and wholesale repeal of laws against sedition. Here +was shop sufficiently ominous to overshadow all other topics: and there +was no _gene_, no constraint. The Englishmen could talk freely in the +presence of cultured Indians who stood for Jaipur and Hyderabad, since +both States were loyal to the core. + +Dyan, like Lance, spoke little and pondered much on the talk of these +men, whose straight speech and thoughts were refreshing as their own sea +breezes after the fumes of rhetoric, the fog of false values that had +bemused his brain these three years. Strange how all the ugliness and +pain of hate had shrivelled away; how he could even shake hands, +untroubled, with that 'imperialistic bureaucrat' the Commissioner of +Delhi, whom he might have been told off, any day, to 'remove from this +mortal coil.' Strange to sit there, over against him, while he puffed +his cigar and talked, without fear, of increasing antagonism, increasing +danger to himself and his kind. + +"There's no sense in disguising the unpalatable truth that New India +hates us," said he in his gruff, deliberate voice. "Present company +excepted, I hope!" + +He gravely inclined his head towards Dyan, who responded mutely with a +flutter at his heart. Impossible! The man could not suspect----? + +And the man, looking him frankly in the eyes, added: "The spirit of the +Mutiny's not extinct--and we know it, those of us that count." + +Dyan simply sat dumfounded. It was Sir Lakshman who said, in his guarded +tone: "Nevertheless, sir, the bulk of our people are loyal and +peaceable. Only I fear there are some in England who do not count that +fact to their credit." + +"If they ever become anything else, it won't be to _our_ credit," put in +Roy. "If we can't stand up to bluster and sedition with that moral force +at our backs, we shall deserve to go under." + +"Well spoken, Roy," said his grandfather still more quietly. "Let us +hope it is not yet too late. Sadi says, 'The fountain-head of a spring +can be blocked with a stick; but in full flood, it cannot be crossed, +even on an elephant.'" + +They exchanged a glance that stirred Roy's pulses and gave him +confidence to go on: "I don't believe it is too late. But what bothers +me is this--are we treating our moral force as it deserves? Are we +giving them loyalty in return for theirs--the sort they can understand? +With a dumb executive and voluble 'patriots,' persuading or +intimidating, the poor beggars haven't a dog's chance, unless we openly +stand by them; openly smite our enemies--and theirs." + +He boldly addressed himself to Mayne, the sole symbol of authority +present; and the Commissioner listened, with a gleam of amused approval +in his eye. + +"You're young, Mr Sinclair--which doesn't mean you're wrong! Most of us, +in our limited fashion, are trying to do what we can on those lines. +But, after spending half a lifetime in this climate, doing our utmost to +give the peasant--_and_ the devil--his due, we're apt to grow +cynical----" + +"Not to mention suicidal!" grunted the slave of work and whisky. "We +Canal coolies--hardly visible to the naked eye--are adding something +like an Egypt a year to the Empire. But, bless you, England takes no +notice. Only let some underbred planter or raw subaltern bundle an +Indian out of his carriage, or a drunken Tommy kick his servant in the +spleen, and the whole British Constitution comes down about our ears!" + +"Very true, sir--very true!" Inayat Khan leaned forward. His teeth +gleamed in the dark of his beard. His large firm-featured face abounded +in good sense and good humour. "How shall a man see justly if he holds +the telescope wrong way round, as too many do over there. It also +remains true, however, that the manners of certain Anglo-Indians create +a lot of bad feeling. Your so-called reforms do not interest the masses +or touch their imagination. But the boot of the low-class European +touches their backs and their pride and hardens their hearts. That is +only human nature. In the East a few gold grains of courtesy touch the +heart more than a _khillat_[18] of political hotch-potch. I +myself--though it is getting dangerous to say so!--am frankly opposed to +this uncontrolled passion for reform. When all have done their duty in +this great struggle, why such undignified clamour for rewards, which are +now being flung back in the giver's teeth. It has become a vicious +circle. It was British policy in the first place--not so?--that stirred +up this superficial ferment; and now it grows alarming, it is doctored +with larger doses of the same medicine. We Indians who know how little +the bulk of India has really changed, could laugh at the tamasha of +Western fancy-dress, in small matters; but time for laughing has gone +by. Time has come for saying firmly--all rights and aspirations will be +granted, stopping _short_ of actual government--otherwise----!" + +He flung up his hands, looked round at the listening faces, and realised +how completely he had let himself go. "Forgive me, Colonel. I fear I am +talking too much," he said in a changed tone. + +"Indeed no," Colonel Leigh assured him warmly. "In these difficult days, +loyal and courageous friends like yourself are worth their weight in +gold mohurs!" + +Visibly flattered, the Moslem surveyed his own bulky person with a +twinkle of amusement. "If value should go by weight, Inayat Khan would +be worth a king's ransom! But I assure you, Colonel, your country has +many hundreds of friends like myself all over India, if only she would +seek them out and give them encouragement--as Mr Sinclair said--instead +of wasting it on volubles, who will never cease making trouble till +India is in a blaze." + +As the man's patent sincerity had warmed the hearts of his hearers, so +the pointed truth of that last pricked them sharply and probed deep. For +they knew themselves powerless; mere atoms of the whirling dust-cloud, +raised, in passing, by the chariot-wheels of Progress--or perdition? + +The younger men rose briskly, as if to shake off some physical +discomfort. Dyan--very much aware of Aruna and the subaltern--approached +them with a friendly remark. Roy and Lance said, "Play up, Thea! Your +innings," almost in a breath--and crooked little fingers. + +Thea needed no second bidding. While the men talked, an insidious +depression had stolen over her spirit--and brooded there, light and +formless as a river mist. Half an hour with her fiddle, and Lance at his +best, completely charmed it away. But the creepiness of it had been very +real: and the memory remained. + + * * * * * + +When all the others had dispersed, she lingered over the fire with Roy, +while Lance, at the piano, with diplomatic intent, drifted into his +friend's favourite Nocturne--the Twelfth; that inimitable rendering of a +mood, hushed yet exalted, soaring yet brooding, 'the sky and the nest as +well.' The two near the fire knew every bar by heart, but as the liquid +notes stole out into the room, their fitful talk stopped dead. + +Lance was playing superbly, giving every note its true value; the +cadence rising and falling like waves of a still sea; softer and softer; +till the last note faded away, ghostlike--a sigh rather than a sound. + +Roy remained motionless, one elbow on the mantelpiece. Thea's lashes +were wet with the tears of rarefied emotion--tears that neither prick +nor burn. The silence itself seemed part of the music; a silence it were +desecration to break. Without a word to Roy, she crossed the room; +kissed Lance good-night; clung a moment to his hands that had woven the +spell, smiling her thanks, her praise; and slipped away, leaving the two +together. + +Roy subsided into a chair. Lance came over to the fire and stood there +warming his hands. + +It was a minute or two before Roy looked up and nodded his +acknowledgments. + +"You're a magician, old chap. You play that thing a damn sight too +well." + +He did not add that his friend's music had called up a vision of the +Home drawing-room, clear in every detail; Lance at the piano--his last +week-end from Sandhurst--playing the 'thing' by request; himself +lounging on the hearthrug, his head against his mother's knee; the very +feel of her silk skirt against his cheek, of her fingers on his hair.... +Nor did he add that the vision had spurred his reluctant spirit to a +resolve. + +The more practical soul of Lance Desmond had already dropped back to +earth, as a lark drops after pouring out its heart in the blue. In spite +of concern for Roy, he was thinking again of his Sikhs. + +"I suppose one can take it," he remarked thoughtfully, "that Vinx and +Mayne and that good old Moslem johnny know what they're talking about?" + +Roy smiled--having jumped at the connection. "I'm afraid," he said, "one +can." + +"You think big trouble is coming--organised trouble?" + +"I do. That is, unless some 'strong silent man' has the pluck to put his +foot down in time, and chance the consequences to himself. Thank God, +we've another John Lawrence in the Punjab." + +"And it's the Punjab that matters----" + +"Especially a certain P.C. Regiment--eh?" + +Lance was in arms at once:--that meant he had touched the spot. "No +flies on the Regiment. Trust Paul. It's only--I get bothered about a +Sikh here and there." + +"Quite so. The blighters have taken particular pains with the Sikhs. +Realising that they'll need some fighting stuff. And Lahore's a bad +place. I expect they sneak off to meetings in the City." + +"Devil a doubt of it. Mind you, I trust them implicitly. But, outside +their own line, they're credulous as children--_you_ know." + +"Rather. In Delhi, I had a fair sample of it." + +Another pause. It suddenly occurred to Lance that his precious Sikhs +were not supposed to be the topic of the evening. "You're quite fit +again, Roy. And those blooming fools chucked you like a cast horse----" +he broke out in a spurt of vexation. "I wish to God you were back with +your old Squadron." + +And Roy said from his heart, "I wish to God I was." + +"Paul misses you, though he never says much. The new lot from home are +good chaps. Full of brains and theories. But no knowledge. Can't get at +the men. You could still help unofficially in all sorts of ways.--Why +not come along back with me? Haven't you been pottering round here long +enough?" + +Roy shook his head. "Thanks all the same, for the invite. Of course I'd +love it. But--I've things to do. There's a novel taking shape--and +other oddments. I've done precious little writing here. Too much +entangled with human destinies. I _must_ bury myself somewhere and get a +move on. April it is. I won't fail you." + +Lance kicked an unoffending log. "Confound your old novel!"--A +portentous silence. "See here, Roy, I don't want to badger you. +But--well--if I'm to go back in moderate peace of mind, I want--certain +guarantees." + +Roy lifted his eyes. Lance frankly encountered them; and there ensued +one of those intimate pauses in which the unspeakable is said. + +Roy looked away. "Aruna?" He let fall the word barely above his breath. + +"Just that." + +"You're frightened--both of you? Oh yes--I've seen----" He fell silent, +staring into the fire. When he spoke again, it was in the same low, +detached tone. "You two needn't worry. The guarantee you're after was +given ... in July 1914 ... under the beeches ... at Home. _She_ +foresaw--understood. But she couldn't foresee ... the harder tug--now +she's gone. The ... association ... and all that." + +"Is it--only that?" + +"It's mostly that." + +To Lance Desmond, very much a man, it seemed the queerest state of +things; and he knew only a fragment of the truth. + +"Look here, Roy," he urged again. "Wouldn't the Punjab really be best? +Aren't you plunging a bit too deep----? Does your father realise? Thea +feels----" + +"Yes. Thea feels, bless her! But there's a thing or two she doesn't +_know_!" He lifted his head and spoke in an easier voice. "One queer +thing--it may interest you. Those few weeks of living as an Indian among +Indians--amazingly intensified all the other side of me. I never felt +keener on the Sinclair heritage and all it stands for. I never felt +keener on you two than all this time while I've been concentrating every +faculty on--the other two. Sounds odd. But it's a fact." + +"Good. And does--your cousin know ... about the guarantee?" + +"N--no. That's still to come." + +"_When----?_" + +Roy straightly returned his friend's challenging gaze. "Damn you!" he +said softly. Then, in a graver tone: "You're right. I've been shirking +it. Seemed a shame to spoil Christmas. Remains--the New Year. I fixed it +up--while you were playing that thing, to be exact." + +"Did I--contribute?" + +"You did--if that gives you any satisfaction!" He rose, stretched +himself and yawned ostentatiously. "My God, I wish it was over." + +Desmond said nothing. If Roy loved him more for one quality than +another, it was for his admirable gift of silence. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 18: Dress of honour.] + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of + pain--this gift of thine."--RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +It was the last day of the year; the last moon of the year, almost at +her zenith. Of all the Christmas guests Lance alone remained; and Thea +had promised him before leaving, a moonlight vision of Amber, the +Sleeping Beauty of Rajasthan. The event had been delayed till now, +partly because they waited on the moon; partly because they did not want +it to be a promiscuous affair. + +To Thea's lively imagination--and to Roy's no less--Amber was more than +a mere city of ghosts and marble halls. It was a symbol of Rajput +womanhood--strong and beautiful, withdrawn from the clamour of the +market-place, given over to her dreams and her gods. For though kings +have deserted Amber, the gods remain. There is still life in her temples +and the blood of sacrifice on her altar stones. Therefore she must not +be approached in the spirit of the tourist. And, emphatically, she must +not be approached in a motor-car; at least so far as Thea's guests were +concerned. Of course one knew she _was_ approached by irreverent cars; +also by tourists--unspeakable ones, who made contemptible jokes about 'a +slump in house property.' But for these vandalisms Thea Leigh was not +responsible. + +Her young ones, including Captain Martin, would ride; but, because of +Aruna, she and Vincent must submit to the barouche. So transparent was +the girl's pleasure at being included, that Thea's heart failed +her--knowing what she knew. + +Roy and Lance had ridden on ahead; out through the fortified gates into +the open desert, strewn with tumbled fragments of the glory that was +Rajasthan. There, where courtiers had intrigued and flattered, crows +held conference. On the crumbling arch of a doorway, that opened into +emptiness, a vulture brooded, heavy with feeding on those who had died +for lack of food. Knee-deep in the Man Sagar Lake, grey cranes sought +their meat from God; every tint and curve of them repeated in the quiet +water. And there, beside a ruined shrine, two dead cactus bushes, with +their stiff distorted limbs, made Roy think suddenly of two dead Germans +he had come upon once--killed so swiftly that they still retained, in +death, the ghastly semblance of life. Why the devil couldn't a man be +rid of them? Dead Germans were not 'in the bond.'... + +"Buck up, Lance," he said abruptly; for Desmond, who saw no ghosts, was +keenly interested. "Let's quit this place of skulls and empty +eye-sockets. Amber's dead; but not utterly decayed." + +He knew. He had ridden out alone one morning, in the light of paling +stars, to watch the dawn steal down through the valley and greet the +sleeping city that would never wake again--half hoping to recapture the +miracle of Chitor. But Amber did not enshrine the soul of his mother's +race. And the dawn had proved merely a dawn. Moonlight, with its eerie +enchantment, would be oven more beautiful and fitting; but the pleasure +of anticipation was shadowed by his resolve. + +He had spoken of it only to Thea; asking her, when tea was over, to give +him a chance:--and now he was heartily wishing he had chosen any other +place and time than this.... + +The brisk canter to the foothills was a relief. Thence the road climbed, +between low, reddish-grey spurs, to the narrow pass, barred by a +formidable gate, that swung open at command, with a screech of rusty +hinges, as if in querulous protest against intrusion. + +Another gateway,--and yet another: then they were through the triple +wall that guards the dead city from the invader who will never come, +while both races honour the pact that alone saved desperate, stubborn +Rajputana from extinction. + +Up on the heights, it was still day; but in the valley it was almost +evening. And there--among deepening shadows and tumbled fragments of +hills--lay Amber: her palace and temples and broken houses crowding +round their sacred Lake, like Queens and their handmaids round the +shield of a dead King. + +Descending at a foot's pace, the chill of emptiness and of oncoming +twilight seemed to close like icy fingers on Roy's heart; though the +death of Amber was as nothing to the death of Chitor--the warrior-queen, +ravished and violently slain by Akbar's legions. Amber had, as it were, +died peacefully in her sleep. But there remained the all-pervading +silence and emptiness:--her sorrowful houses, cleft from roof to +roadway; no longer homes of men, but of the rock-pigeon, the peacock, +and the wild boar; stones of her crumbling arches thrust apart by roots +of acacia and neem; her streets choked with cactus and brushwood; her +beauty--disfigured but not erased--reflected in the unchanging mirror of +the Lake. + +If Roy and Lance had talked little before, they talked less now. From +the Lake-side they rode up, by stone pathways, to the Palace of stone +and marble, set upon a jutting rock and commanding the whole valley. +There, in the quadrangle, they left the horses with their grooms, who +were skilled in cutting corners and had trotted most of the way. + +Close to the gate stood a temple of fretted marble--neither ruined nor +deserted; for within were the priests of Kali, and the faint, sickly +smell of blood. Daybreak after daybreak, for centuries, the severed head +of a goat had been set before her, the warm blood offered in a bronze +bowl.... + +"Pah! Beastly!" muttered Lance. "I'd sooner have no religion at all." + +Roy smiled at him, sidelong--and said nothing. It _was_ beastly: but it +matched the rest. It was in keeping with the dusky rooms, all +damp-incrusted, the narrow passages and screens of marble tracery; the +cloistered hanging garden, beyond the women's rooms, their baths +chiselled out of naked rock. And the beastliness was off-set by the +beauty of inlay and carving and colour; by the splendour of bronze gates +and marble pillars, and slabs of carven granite that served as +balustrade to the terraced roof, where daylight still lingered and +azure-necked peacocks strutted, serenely immune. + +Seated on a carven slab, they looked downward into the heart of +desolation; upward, at creeping battlements and a little temple of Shiva +printed sharply on the light-filled sky. + +"Can't you _feel_ the ghosts of them all round you?" whispered Roy. + +"No, thank God, I can't," said practical Lance, taking out a cigarette. +But a rustle of falling stones made him start--the merest fraction. +"Perhaps smoke'll keep 'em off--like mosquitoes!" he added hopefully. + +But Roy paid no heed. He was looking down into the hollow shell of that +which had been Amber. Not a human sound anywhere; nor any stir of life, +but the soft ceaseless kuru-kooing doves, that nested and mated in those +dusky inner rooms, where Queens had mated with Kings. + +"'Thou hast made of a city an heap, of a defenced city a ruin ...Their +houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, +and satyrs shall dance there,'" he quoted softly; adding after a pause, +"Mother had a great weakness for old Isaiah. She used to say he and the +minor prophets knew all about Rajasthan. The owls of Amber are blue +pigeons. But I hope she's spared the satyrs." + +"Globe-trotters!" suggested Lance. + +"Or 'Piffers' devoid of reverence!" retorted Roy. "Hullo! Here come the +others." + +Footsteps and voices in the quadrangle waked hollow echoes as when a +stone drops into a well. Presently they sounded on the stairs near by: +Flossie's rather boisterous laugh; Martin chaffing her in his husky +tones. + +"Great sport! Let's rent it off H.H. and gather 'em all in from the +highways and hedges for a masked fancy ball!" + +Roy stood up and squared his shoulders. "Satyrs dancing, with a +vengeance!" said he; but the gleam of Aruna's sari smote him silent. A +band seemed to tighten round his heart.... + + * * * * * + +Before tea was over, peacocks and pigeons had gone to roost among the +trees that shadowed the Lake; and the light behind the hills had passed +swiftly from gold to flame-colour, from flame-colour to rose. For the +sun, that had already departed in effect, was now setting in fact. + +"Hush--it's coming," murmured Thea:--and it came. + +Hollow thuds, quickening to a vibrant roar, swelled up from the temple +in the courtyard below. The Brahmins were beating the great tom-tom +before Kali's Shrine. + +It was the signal. It startlingly waked the dead city to discordant +life. Groanings and howlings and clashings, as of Tophet, were echoed +and re-echoed from every temple, every shrine; an orgy of demoniac +sounds; blurred in transit through the empty rooms beneath; pierced at +intervals by the undulating wail of ram's horns; the two reiterate notes +wandering, like lost souls, through a confused blare of cymbals and +bagpipes and all kinds of music. + +Flossie, with a bewitching grimace at Martin, clapped both hands over +her ears. Roy--standing by the balustrade with Aruna--was aware of an +answering echo somewhere in subconscious depths, as the discords rose +and fell above the throbbing undernote of the drum. It was as if the +claimant voices of the East cried out to the blood in his veins: 'You +are of us--do what you will; go where you will.' And all the while his +eyes never left Aruna's half-averted face. + +Sudden and clear from the heights came a ringing peal of bells, as it +were the voices of angels answering the wail of devils in torment. It +was from the little Shrine of Shiva close against the ramparts, etched +in outline, above the dark of the hills. + +Aruna turned and looked up at him. "Too beautiful!" she whispered. + +He nodded, and flung out an arm. "Look there!" + +Low and immense--pale in the pallor of the eastern sky--the moon hung +poised above massed shadows, like a wraith escaped from the city of +death. Moment by moment, she drew light from the vanished sun. Moment by +moment, under their watching eyes, she conjured the formless dark into a +new heaven, a new earth.... + +"Would you be afraid--to stroll round a little ... with me?" he asked. + +"Afraid? I would love it--if Thea will allow." This time she did not +look up. + +Vincent and Thea were sitting a little farther along the balustrade; +Lance beside them, imbibing tales of Rajasthan. Flossie and her Captain +had already disappeared. + +"_I'm_ going to be frankly a Goth and flash my electric torch into holes +and corners," Lance announced as the other two came up. "I bar being +intimidated by ghosts." + +"We're not going to be intimidated either," said Roy, addressing himself +to Thea. "And I guarantee not to let Aruna be spirited away." + +Vincent shot a look at his wife. "Don't wander too far," said he. + +"And don't hang about too long," she added. "It'll be cold going home." + +Though he was standing close to her, she could say no more. But, under +cover of the dusk, her hand found his and closed on it hard. + +The characteristic impulse heartened him amazingly, as he followed Aruna +down the ghostly stairway, through marble cloisters into the hanging +garden, misted with moonlight, fragrant with orange trees. + +And now there was more than Thea's hand-clasp to uphold him. Gradually +there dawned on him a faint yet sure intimation of his mother's +presence, of her tenderly approving love--dim to his brain, yet as +sensible to his spirit as light and warmth to his body. + +It did not last many moments; but--as in all contact with her--the clear +after-certainty remained.... + +Exactly what he intended to say he did not know even now. To speak the +cruel truth, yet by some means to soften the edge of it, seemed almost +impossible. But nerved by this vivid, exalted sense of her nearness, the +right moment, the right words could be trusted to come of themselves.... + +And Aruna, walking beside him in a hushed expectancy, was remembering +that other night, so strangely far away, when they had walked alone +under the same moon, and assurance of his love had so possessed her, +that she had very nearly broken her little chiragh. And to-night--how +different! Her very love for him, though the same, was not quite the +same. It seemed to depend not at all on nearness or response. Starved of +both, it had grown not less, but more. + +From a primitive passion it had become a rarefied emotional atmosphere +in which she lived and moved. And this garden of eerie lights and +shadows was saturated with it; thronged, to her fancy, with ghosts of +dead passions and intrigues, of dead Queens, in whom the twin flames of +love and courage could be quenched only by flames of the funeral pyre. +Their blood ran in her veins--and in his too. _That_ closeness of +belonging none could snatch from her. About the other, she was growing +woefully uncertain, as day followed day, and still no word. Was there +trouble after all! Would he speak to-night...? + +They had reached a dark doorway, and he was trying the handle. It opened +inwards. + +"I'm keen to go a little way up the hillside," he said, forcing himself +to break a silence that was growing oppressive. "To get a sight of the +Palace with the moon full on it. We'll be cautious--not go too far." + +"I am ready to go anywhere," she answered; and the fervour of that +simple statement told him she was not thinking of hillsides any more +than he was--at the back of his mind. + +Silence was unkinder than speech; and as they passed out into the open, +he scanned the near prospect for a convenient spot. Not far above them a +fragment of ruined wall, overhung by trees, ended in a broken arch; its +lingering keystone threatened by a bird-borne acacia. A fallen slab of +stone, half under it, offered a not too distant seat. Slab and arch were +in full light; the space beyond, engulfed in shadow. + +Far up the hillside a jackal laughed. Across the valley another answered +it. A monkey swung from a branch on to the slab, and sat there engaged +in his toilet--a very imp of darkness. + +"Not be-creeped--are you?" Roy asked. + +"Just the littlest bit! Nice kind of creeps. I feel quite safe--with +you." + +The path was rough in parts. Once she stumbled and his hand closed +lightly on her arm under the cloak. She felt safe with him--and he must +turn and smite her----! + +At their approach, the monkey fled with a gibbering squeak: and Roy +loosened his hold. Between them and the lake loomed the noble bulk of +the palace; roof-terraces and facades bathed in silver, splashed with +indigo shadow; but for them--mere man and woman--its imperishable +strength and beauty had suddenly become a very little thing. They +scarcely noticed it even. + +"There--sit," Roy said softly, and she obeyed. + +Her smile mutely invited him; but he could not trust himself--yet. He +might have known the moonlight would go to his head. + +"Aruna--my dear----" he plunged without preamble. "I took you away from +them all because--well--we can't pretend any more ... you and I. It's +fate--and there we are. I love you--dearly--truly. But...." + +How could one go on? + +"Oh, _Roy_!" + +Her lifted gaze, her low impassioned cry told all; and before that too +clear revealing his hard-won resolution quailed. + +"No--not that. I don't deserve it," he broke out, lashing himself and +startling her. "I've been a rank coward--letting things drift. But +honestly I hadn't the conceit--we were cousins ... it seemed natural. +And now ... _this_!" + +A stupid catch in his throat arrested him. She sat motionless; never a +word. + +Impulsively he dropped on one knee, to be nearer, yet not too near. +"Aruna--I don't know how to say it. The fact is ... they were afraid, at +Home, if I came out here, I might--it might ... Well, just what's come +to us," he blurted out in desperation. "And Mother told me frankly--it +mustn't be, twice running ... like that." Her stillness dismayed him. +"Dear," he urged tenderly, "you see their difficulty--you understand?" + +"I am trying--to understand." Her voice was small and contained. The +courage and control of it unsteadied him more than any passionate +protest. Yet he hurried on in the same low tone. + +"Of course, I ought to have thought. But, as I say, it seemed +natural.... Only--on Dewali night----" + +She caught her breath. "Yes--Dewali night. Mai Lakshmi knew. _Why_ did +you not say it _then_?" + +"Well ... so soon--I wasn't sure ... I hoped going away might give us +both a chance. It seemed the best I could do," he pleaded. "And--there +was Dyan. I'm not vamping up excuses, Aruna. If you hate me for hurting +you so----" + +"Roy--you _shall_ not say it!" she cried, roused at last. "Could I hate +... the heart in my own body!" + +"Better for us both perhaps if you could!" he jerked out, rising +abruptly, not daring to let the full force of her confession sink in. +"But--because of my father, I promised. No getting over that." + +She was silent:--a silence more moving, more compelling than speech. Was +she wondering--had he not promised...? Was he certain himself? Near +enough to swear by; and the impulse to comfort her was overwhelming. + +"If--if things had been different, Aruna," he added with grave +tenderness, "of course I would be asking you now ... to be my wife." + +At that, the tension of her control seemed to snap; and hiding her face, +she sat there shaken all through with muffled, broken-hearted sobs. + +"Don't--oh, _don't_!" he cried low, his own nerves quivering with her +pain. + +"How can I _not_" she wailed, battling with fresh sobs. "Because of your +Indian mother--I hoped.... But for me--England-returned--no hope +anywhere: no true country now; no true belief; no true home; everything +divided in two; only my heart--not divided. And that you cannot have, +even if you would----" + +Tears threatened again. It was all he could do not to take her in his +arms. + +"If--if they would only leave me alone," she went on, clenching her +small hands to steady herself. "But impossible to change all the laws of +our religion for one worthless me. They will insist I shall marry--even +Dyan; and I cannot--I _cannot_----!" + +Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the chance and +the hour and the grave tenderness of his assurance. No time for +shrinking or doubt. Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her +cloak--that had come unlinked--dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a +slim strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds. + +"Roy--_Dilkusha_!" Involuntarily her hands went out to him. "If it is +true ... you are caring--and if I must not belong to you, there is a way +_you_ can belong to me without trouble for any one. If--if we make +pledge of betrothal ... for this one night, if you hold me this one hour +... I am safe. For me that pledge would be sacred--as marriage, because +I am still Hindu. Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins--not worthy to +be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always _Swami +Bakht_--worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my heart." + +And Roy stood before her--motionless; stirred all through by the thrill +of her exalted passion, of her strange appeal. The pathos--the nobility +of it--swept him a little off his feet. It seemed as if, till to-night, +he had scarcely known her. The Eastern in him said, 'Accept.' The +Englishman demurred--'Unfair on her.' + +"My dear----" he said--"I can refuse you nothing. But--is it right? You +_should_ marry----" + +"Don't trouble your mind for me," she murmured; and her eyes never left +his face. "If I keep out of purdah, becoming Brahmo Samaj ... +perhaps----" She drew in her full lower lip to steady it. "But the +marriage of arrangement--I cannot. I have read too many English books, +thought too many English thoughts. And I know in here"--one clenched +hand smote her breast--"that now I could _not_ give my body and life to +any man, unless heart and mind are given too. And for me.... Must I tell +all? It is not only these few weeks. It is years and years...." Her +voice broke. + +"Aruna! Dearest one----" + +He opened his arms to her--and she was on his breast. Close and tenderly +he held her, putting a strong constraint on himself lest her ecstasy of +surrender should bear down all his defences. To fail her like this was a +bitter thing: and as her arms stole up round his neck, he instinctively +tightened his hold. So yielding she was, so unsubstantial.... + +And suddenly a rush of memory wafted him from the moonlit hillside to +the drawing-room at Home. It was his mother he held against his +breast:--the silken draperies, the clinging arms, the yielding softness, +the unyielding courage at the core.... + +So vivid, so poignant was the lightning gleam of illusion, that when it +passed he felt dizzy, as if his body had been swept in the wake of his +spirit, a thousand leagues and back: dizzy, yet, in some mysterious +fashion, reinforced--assured.... + +He knew now that his defences would hold.... + +And Aruna, utterly at rest in his arms, knew it also. He loved her--oh +yes, truly--as much as he said and more; but instinct told her there +lacked ... just something; something that would have set him--and +her--on fire, and perhaps have made renunciation unthinkable. Her acute, +instinctive sense of it, hurt like the edge of a knife pressed on her +heart; yet just enabled her to bear the unbearable. Had it been +..._that_ way, to lose him were utter loss. This way--there would be no +losing. What she had now, she would keep--whether his bodily presence +were with her or no---- + +Next minute, she dropped from the heights. Fire ran in her veins. His +lips were on her forehead. + +"The seal of betrothal," he whispered. "My brave Aruna----" + +Without a word she put up her face like a child; but it was very woman +who yielded her lips to his.... + +For her, in that supreme moment, the years that were past and the years +that were to come seemed gathered into a burnt-offering--laid on his +shrine. For her, that long kiss held much of passion--confessed yet +transcended; more of sacredness, inexpressible, because it would never +come again--with him or any other man. She vowed it silently to her own +heart.... + +Again far up the hillside a jackal laughed; another and another--as if +in derision. She shivered; and he loosed his hold, still keeping an arm +round her. To-night they were betrothed. He owed her all he had the +right to give. + +"Your cloak. You'll catch your death...." He stopped short--and flung up +his head. "What was that? There--again--in those trees----" + +"Some monkey perhaps," she whispered, startled by his look and tone. + +"Hush--listen!" His grip tightened and they stood rigidly still, Roy +straining every nerve to locate those stealthy sounds. They were almost +under the arch; strong mellow light on one side, nethermost darkness on +the other. And from all sides the large unheeded night seemed to close +in on them--threatening, full of hidden danger. + +Presently the sounds came again, unmistakably nearer; faint rustlings +and creakings, then a distinct crumbling, as of loosened earth and +stones. The shadowy plumes of acacia that crowned the arch stirred +perceptibly, though no breeze was abroad:--and not the acacia only. To +Aruna's excited fancy it seemed that the loose upper stones of the arch +itself moved ever so slightly. But _was_ it fancy? No--there again----! + +And before the truth dawned on Roy, she had pushed him with all her +force, so vehemently that he stumbled backward and let go of her. + +Before he recovered himself, down crashed two large stones and a shower +of small ones--on Aruna, not on him. With a stifled scream she tottered +and fell, knocking her head against the slab of rock. + +Instantly he was on his knees beside her; stanching the cut on her +forehead, binding it with his handkerchief; consumed with rage and +concern;--rage at himself and the dastardly intruder,--no monkey, that +was certain. + +His quick ear caught the stealthy rustling again, lower down; and, +yes--unmistakably--a human sound, like a stifled exclamation of dismay. + +"Aruna--I _must_ get at that devil," he whispered. "Does your head feel +better? Dare I leave you a moment?" + +"Yes--oh yes," she whispered back. "Nothing will harm me. Only take +care--please take care." + +Hastily he made a pillow of his overcoat and covered her with the cloak; +then, stooping down, he kissed her fervently--and was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + "Then was I rapt away by the impulse, one + Immeasurable ... wave of a need + To abolish that detested life." + --BROWNING. + + +Lithe and noiseless as a cat, Roy crept through the archway into outer +darkness. It was hateful leaving Aruna; but rage at her hurt and the +primitive instinct of pursuit were not to be denied. And she _might_ +have been killed. And she had done it for him:--coals of fire, indeed! +Also, the others would be getting anxious. Let him only catch that +mysterious skulker, and he could shout across to the Palace roof. They +would hear. + +Close under the wall he waited, all the scout in him alert. The cautious +rustlings drew stealthily nearer; ceased, for a few tantalising seconds; +then, out of the massed shadows, there crept a moving shadow. + +Roy's spring was calculated to a nicety; but the thing swerved sharply +and fled up the rough hillside. There followed a ghostly chase, unreal +as a nightmare, lit up by the moon's deceptive brilliance; the earth, an +unstable welter of light and darkness, shifting under his feet. + +The fleeing shade was agile; and plainly familiar with the ground. +Baulked, and lured steadily farther from Aruna, all the Rajput flamed in +Roy. During those mad moments he was capable of murdering the unknown +with his hands.... + +Suddenly, blessedly, the thing stumbled and dropped to its knees. With +the spring of a panther, he was on it, his angers at its throat, pinning +it to earth. The choking cry moved him not at all:--and suddenly the +moonlight showed him the face of Chandranath, mingled hate and terror in +the starting eyes.... + +Amazed beyond measure, he unconsciously relaxed his grip. "_You_--is +it?--you devil!" + +There was no answer. Chandranath had had the wit to wriggle almost clear +of him;--almost, not quite. Roy's pounce was worthy of his Rajput +ancestors; and next moment they were locked in a silent, purposeful +embrace.... + +But Roy's brain was cooler now. Sanity had returned. He could still have +choked the life out of the man, without compunction. But he did not +choose to embroil himself, or his people, on account of anything so +contemptible as the creature that was writhing and scratching in his +grasp. He simply wanted to secure him and hand him over to the Jaipur +authorities, who had several scores up against him. + +But Chandranath, though not skilled, had the ready cunning of the lesser +breeds. With a swift unexpected move, he tripped Roy up so that he +nearly fell backward; and, in a supreme effort to keep his balance, +unconsciously loosened his hold. This time, Chandranath slipped free of +him; and, in the act, pushed him so violently that he staggered and came +down among sharp broken stones with one foot twisted under him. When he +would have sprung up, a stab of pain in his ankle told him he was done +for.... + +The sheer ignominy of it enraged him; and he was still further enraged +by the proceedings of the victor, who sprang nimbly out of reach on to a +fragment of buttressed wall, whence he let fly a string of abusive +epithets nicely calculated to touch up Roy's pride and temper and goad +him to helpless fury. + +But if his ankle was crippled, his brain was not. While Chandranath +indulged his pent-up spite, Roy was feeling stealthily, purposefully, in +the semi-darkness, for the sharpest chunk of stone he could lay hands +on; a chunk warranted to hurt badly, if nothing more. The strip of +shadow against the sky made an admirable target; and Roy's move, when it +came, was swift, his aim unerring. + +Somewhere about the head or shoulders it took effect: a yell of rage and +pain assured him of that, as his target vanished on the far side of the +wall. + +Had he jumped or fallen? And what did the damage amount to? Roy would +have given a good deal to know; but he had neither time nor power to +investigate. Nothing for it but to crawl back, and shout to Aruna, when +he got within hail. + +It was an undignified performance. His twisted ankle stabbed like a +knife, and never failed to claim acquaintance with every obstacle in its +path. Presently, to his immense relief, the darkness ahead was raked by +a restless light, zigzagging like a giant glow-worm. + +"Lance--ahoy!" he shouted. + +"Righto!" Lance sang out; and the glow-worm waggled a welcome. + +Another shout from the Palace roof, answered in concert; and the mad, +bad dream was over. He was back in the world of realities; on his feet +again--one foot, to be exact--supported by Desmond's arm; pouring out +his tale. + +Lance already knew part of it. He had found Aruna and was hurrying on to +find Roy. "Your cousin's got the pluck of a Rajput," he concluded. "But +she seems a bit damaged. The left arm's broken, I'm afraid." + +Roy cursed freely. "Wish to God I could make sure if I've sent that +skunk to blazes." + +"Just as well you can't, perhaps. If your shot took effect, he won't be +off in a hurry. The police can nip out when we get back." + +"Look here--keep it dark till I've seen Dyan. If Chandranath's nabbed, +he'll want to be in it. Only fair!" + +Lance chuckled. "What an unholy pair you are!--By the way, I fancy +Martin's pulled it off with Miss Flossie. I tumbled across them in the +hanging garden. You left that door open. Gave me the tip you might be +out on the loose." + + * * * * * + +Desmond's surmise proved correct. Aruna's left arm was broken above the +elbow: a simple fracture, but it hurt a good deal. Thea, in charge of +'the wounded,' eased them both as best she could, during the long drive +home. But Aruna, still in her exalted mood, counted mere pain a little +thing, when Roy, under cover of the cloak, found her cold right hand +and cherished it in his warm one nearly all the way. + +No one paid much heed to Martin and Flossie, who felt privately annoyed +with 'the native cousin' for putting her nose out of joint. Defrauded of +her due importance, she told her complacent lover they must 'save up the +news till to-morrow.' Meantime, they rode, very much at leisure, behind +the barouche;--and no one troubled about them at all. + +Lance and Vincent, having cantered on ahead, called in for Miss Hammond +and left word at Sir Lakshman's house that Aruna had met with a slight +accident; and would he and her brother come out to the Residency after +dinner? + +Before the meal was over, they arrived. Miss Hammond was upstairs +attending to Aruna; and Sir Lakshman joined them without ceremony, +leaving Dyan alone with Roy, who was nursing his ankle in an arm-chair +near the drawing-room fire. + +In ten minutes of intimate talk he heard the essential facts, with +reservations; and Roy had never felt more closely akin to him than on +that evening. Rajput chivalry is no mere tradition. It is vital and +active as ever it was. Insult or injury to a woman is sternly avenged; +and the offender is lucky if he escapes the extreme penalty. Roy frankly +hoped he had inflicted it himself. But for Dyan surmise was not enough. +He would not eat nor sleep till he had left his own mark on the man who +had come near killing his sister--most sacred being to him, who had +neither wife nor mother. + +"The delicate attention was meant for me, you know," Roy reminded him; +simply from a British impulse to give the devil his due. + +"Tcha!" Dyan's thumb and finger snapped like a toy pistol. "No +law-courts talk for me. You were so close together. He took the risk. By +Indra, he won't take any more such risks if I get at him! You said we +would not see him here. But no doubt he has been hanging round Amber, +making what mischief he can. He must have heard your party was coming, +and got sneaking round for a chance to score off you. Young Ramanund, +priest of Kali's shrine, is one of those he has made his tool, the way +he made me. If he is in Amber, I shall find him. You can take your oath +on that." He stood up, straight and virile, instinct with purpose as a +drawn sword. "I am going now, Roy. But not _one word_ to any soul. +Grandfather and Aruna only need to know I am trying to find who toppled +those stones. I shall not succeed. That is all:--except for you and me. +Bijli, Son of Lightning, will take me full gallop to Amber. First thing +in the morning, I will come--and make my report." + +"But look here--Lance knows----" + +"Well, your Lance can suppose he got away. We could trust him, I don't +doubt. But what is known to more than two, will in time be known to a +hundred. For myself, I don't trouble. Among Rajputs the penalty would be +slight. But this thing must be kept between you and me--because of +Aruna." + +Roy held out his hand. Dyan's fingers closed on it like taut strips of +steel. Unmistakably the real Dyan Singh had shed the husks of +scholarship and politics and come into his own again. + +"I wouldn't care to have those at my throat!" remarked Roy, pensively +considering the streaks on his own hand. + +"Some Germans didn't care for it--in France," said Dyan coolly. "But +now----" He scowled at his offending left arm. "I hope--very soon ... +never mind. No more talking ... poison gas!" And with a flash of white +teeth--he was gone. + +Roy, left staring into the fire, followed him in imagination, speeding +through the silent city out into the region of skulls and eye-sockets--a +flying shadow in the moonlight with murder in its heart.... + + * * * * * + +Within an hour, that flying shadow was outside the gateway of Amber, +startling the doorkeepers from sleep; murder, not only in its heart, but +tucked securely in its belt. No 'law-courts talk' for one of his breed; +no nice adjustment of penalty to offence; no concern as to possible +consequences. The Rajput, with his blood up, is daring to the point of +recklessness; deaf to puerile promptings of prudence or mercy; a sword, +seeking its victim; insatiate till the thrust has gone home. + +And, in justice to Dyan Singh, it should be added that there was more +than Aruna in his mind. There was India--increasingly at the mercy of +Chandranath and his kind. The very blindness of his earlier obsession +had intensified the effect of his awakening. Roy's devoted daring, his +grandfather's mellow wisdom, had worked in his fiery soul more +profoundly than they knew: and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, +an act of expiation. At the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would +unhesitatingly have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi--the sane, +strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on the few +occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law of God or man, +then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this snake under his heel? + +One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind. The son of a +jackal should know who struck him. He should taste fear, before he +tasted death. And then--the Lake, that would never give up its secret or +its dead. Siri Chandranath would disappear from his world, like a stone +flung into a river; and India would be a cleaner place without him. + +He knew himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But--tcha! the man +was a coward. Let the gods but deliver his victim into that one +purposeful hand of his--and the end was sure. + +Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered him +securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted creature +nuzzled against him, as who should say, 'What need of speech between me +and thee'? Then--following Roy's directions--he made his way cautiously +up the hillside, where the arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath +had been injured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far. + +His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed. The +guardian gods of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For there, on the +fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its head in its hands. + +"Must have been stunned," he thought. Patently the gods were with him. +Had he been an Englishman, the man's hurt would probably have baulked +him of his purpose. But Dyan Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the +sportman's code of morals. He was frankly out to kill. His brain worked +swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed.... + +Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on its prey: +the long knife gripped securely in his teeth. Before Chandranath came to +his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his throat, stifling the yell +of terror at Roy's supposed return.... + +The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes Dyan had his man +down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful knees, that his one +available hand might be free to strike. Then, in a low fierce rush, he +spoke: "Yes--it is I--Dyan Singh. You told me often--strike, for the +Mother. 'Who kills the body kills naught.' I strike for the Mother +_now_." + +Once--twice--the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing between his +knees was still. + +He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the shore of the +Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp burden slung over his +shoulder. But his imagination did not run riot, like Roy's: and no +qualms of conscience perturbed his soul. He had avenged, tenfold, +Aruna's injury. He had expiated, in drastic fashion, his own aberration +from sanity. It was enough. + +The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted with +stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur, the Lake would +utter no sound.... + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + "So let him journey through his earthly day: + 'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way; + Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride-- + He, every moment, still unsatisfied." + --FAUST. + + +Next morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on the edge +of his bed; cautiously, circumstantially, telling him all. Roy, as he +listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer impetus of the +thing; and again he felt--as once or twice in Delhi--what centuries +apart they were, though related, and almost of an age. + +"This will be only between you and me, Roy--for always," Dyan concluded +gravely. "Not because I have any shame for killing that snake; but--as I +said ... because of Aruna----" + +"Trust me," said Roy. "Amber Lake and I don't blab. There'll be a nine +days' mystery over his disappearance. Then his lot will set up some +other tin god--and promptly forget all about him." + +"Let us follow their example, in that at least!" Grim humour nickered in +Dyan's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the proffered case. "You +gave me my chance. I have taken it--like a Rajput. Now we have other +things to do." + +Roy smiled. "That's about the size of it--from your sane, barbaric +standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do. As soon as this +blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to get at some of the +thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay; educated Indian men and +women, who honestly believe that India is moving towards a national +unity that will transcend all antagonism of race and creed. I can't see +it myself; but I've an open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur--'last, +loneliest, loveliest, apart'--to knock my novel into shape before I go +North. And _you_----?" He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin. +"Sure you're safe not to erupt again?" + +"Safe as houses--thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can be orthodox +Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I would like to join +'Servants of India' Society; and work for the Mother among those who +accept British connection as India's God-given destiny. In no other way +will I work again--to 'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps----" +he hesitated, averting his eyes--"to take vows of celibacy----" + +"_Dyan_!" Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had almost +forgotten that side of things. Right or wrong--a tribute to Tara indeed! +It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed him. + +"Unfair on Grandfather," he said with decision. "For every reason, you +ought to marry--an enlightened wife. Think--of Aruna." + +"I _do_ think of her. It is _she_ who ought to marry." + +The emphasis was not lost on Roy:--and it hurt. Last night's poignant +scene was intimately with him still. "I'm afraid you won't persuade her +to," he said in a contained voice. + +"I am quite aware of _that_. And the reason--even a blind man could not +fail to see." + +They looked straight at one another for a long moment. Roy did not +swerve from the implied accusation. + +"Well, it's no fault of mine, Dyan," he said, recalling Aruna's +confession that tacitly freed him from blame. "_She_ +understands--there's a bigger thing between us than our mere selves. +Whatever I'm free to do for her, I'll gladly do--always. It was chiefly +to ease her poor heart that I risked the Delhi adventure. I felt I had +lost the link with _you_." + +"Not surprising." Dyan smoked for a few minutes in silence. He was +clearly moved by the fine frankness of Roy's attitude. "All the same," +he said at last, "it was not quite broken. You have given me new life; +and because you did it--for her, I swear to you, as long as she needs +me, I will not fail her." He held out his hand. Roy's closed on it +hard. + +"Later in the morning I will come back and see her," Dyan added, in a +changed voice--and went out. + + * * * * * + +Later in the morning, Roy himself was allowed to see her. With the help +of his stick he limped to her verandah balcony, where she lay in a long +chair, with cushions and rugs, the poor arm in a sling. Thea was with +her. She had heard as much of last night's doings as any one would ever +know. So she felt justified in letting the poor dears have half an hour +together. + +Her withdrawal was tactfully achieved; but there followed an awkward +silence. For the space of several minutes it seemed that neither of the +'poor dears' knew quite what to make of their privilege, though they +were appreciating it from their hearts. + +Roy found himself too persistently aware of the arm that had been broken +to save him; of the new bond between them, signed and sealed by that one +unforgettable kiss. + +As for Aruna--while pain anchored her body to earth, her unstable heart +swayed disconcertingly from heights of rarefied content, to depths of +shyness. Things she had said and done, on that far-away hillside, seemed +unbelievable, remembered in her familiar balcony with a daylight mind: +and fear lest he might be 'thinking it that way too' increased shyness +tenfold. Yet it was she who spoke first, after all. + +"Oh, it makes me angry ... to see you--like that," she said, indicating +his ankle with a faint movement of her hand. + +Roy quietly took possession of the hand and pressed it to his lips. + +"How do you suppose _I_ feel, seeing _you_ like that!" Words and act +dispelled her foolish fears. "Did you sleep? Does it hurt much?" + +"Only if I forget and try to move. But what matter? Every time it hurts, +I feel proud because that feeble arm was able to push you out of the +way." + +"You've every right to feel proud. You nearly knocked me over!" + +A mischievous smile crept into her eyes. "I am afraid ... I was very +rude!" + +"That's _one_ way of putting it!" His grave tenderness warmed her like +sunshine. He leaned nearer; his hand grasped the arm of her long chair. +"You were a very wonderful Aruna last night. And--you are going to be +more wonderful still. Working with Dyan, you are going to help make my +dream come true--of India finding herself again by her own genius, along +her own lines----" + +He had struck the right note. Her face lit up as he had hoped to see it. +"Oh, Roy--can I really----? Will Dyan help? Will he _let_ me----" + +"Of course he will. And I'll be helping too--in my own fashion. We'll +never lose touch, Aruna; though India's your destiny and England's mine. +Never say again you have no true country. Like me, you have two +countries--one very dear; one supreme. I'm afraid there are terrible +days coming out here. And in those days every one of you who honestly +loves England--every one of _us_ who honestly loves India--will count in +the scale ..." + +He paused; and she drew a deep breath. "Oh--how you _see_ things! It is +you who are wonderful, Roy. I can think and feel the big things in my +heart. But for doing them--I am, after all, only a woman...." + +"An _Indian_ woman," he emphasised, his eyes on hers. "I know--and you +know--what that means. You have not yet bartered away your magical +influence for a mess of pottage. Because of one Indian woman--supreme +for me; and now ... because of another, they all have a special claim on +my heart. If India has not gone too far down the wrong road, it is by +the _true_ Swadeshi spirit of her women she may yet be saved. _They_, at +any rate, don't reckon progress by counting factory chimneys or seats on +councils. And every seed--good or bad--is sown first in the home. Get at +the women, Aruna--the home ones--and tell them that. It's not only _my_ +dream; it was--my mother's. You don't know how she loved and believed in +you all. I think she never _quite_ understood the other kind. The longer +she lived among them, the more she craved for all of you to remain true +women--in the full sense, not the narrow one----" + +He had never yet spoken so frankly and freely of that dear lost mother; +and Aruna knew it for the highest compliment he could pay her. Truly his +generous heart was giving her all that his jealous household gods would +permit.... + +Thea--stepping softly through the inner room--caught a sentence or two; +caught a glimpse of Roy's finely-cut profile; of Aruna's eyes intent on +his face; and she smiled very tenderly to herself. It was so exactly +like Roy; and such constancy of devotion went straight to her +mother-heart. So too--with a sharper pang--did the love hunger in +Aruna's eyes. + +The puzzle of these increasing race complications----! The tragedy and +the pity of it...! + + * * * * * + +Lance travelled North that night with a mind at ease. Roy had assured +him that the moment his ankle permitted he would leave Jaipur and 'give +the bee in his bonnet an airing' elsewhere. That assurance proved easier +to give than to act upon, when the moment came. The Jaipur Residency had +come to seem almost like home. And the magnet of home drew all that was +Eastern in Roy. It was the British blood in his veins that drove him +afield. Though India was his objective, England was the impelling force. +His true home seemed hundreds of miles away, in more senses than one. +His union with Rajputana--set with the seal of that sacred and beautiful +experience at Chitor--seemed, in his present mood, the more vital of the +two. + +And there was Lance up in the Punjab--a magnet as strong as any, when +the masculine element prevailed. Yet again, some inner irresistible +impulse obliged him to break away from them all. It was one of those +inevitable moments when the dual forces within pulled two ways; when he +felt envious exceedingly of Lance Desmond's sane and single-minded +attitude towards men and things. One couldn't picture Lance a prey to +the ignominious sensation that half of him wanted to go one way and half +of him another way. At this juncture, half of himself felt a confounded +fool for not going back to the Punjab and enjoying a friendly sociable +cold weather among his father's people. The other half felt impelled to +probe deeper into the complexities of changing India, to confirm and +impart his belief that the destinies of England and India were one and +indivisible. After all, India stood where she did to-day by virtue of +what England had made her. He refused to believe that even the insidious +disintegrating process of democracy could dissolve--in a brief fever of +unrest--links forged and welded in the course of a hundred years. + +In that case, argued his practical half, why this absurd inner sense of +responsibility for great issues over which he could have no shadow of +control? What was the earthly use of it--this large window in his soul, +opening on to the world's complexities and conflicts; not allowing him +to say comfortably, 'They are not.' His opal-tinted dreams of +interpreting East to West had suffered a change of complexion since +Oxford days. His large vague aspirations of service had narrowed down, +inevitably, to a few definite personal issues. Action involves +limitation--as the picture involves the frame. Dreams must descend to +earth--or remain unfruitful. It might be a little, or a great matter, +that he had managed to set two human fragments of changing India on the +right path--so far as he could discern it. The fruits of that modest +beginning only the years could reveal.... + +Then there was this precious novel simmering at the back of things; his +increasing desire to get away alone with the ghostly company that +haunted his brain. As the mother-to-be feels the new life mysteriously +moving within her, so he began to feel within him the first stirrings of +his own creative power. Already his poems and essays had raised +expectations and secured attention for other things he wanted to say. +And there seemed no end to them. He had hardly yet begun his mental +adventures. Pressing forward, through sense, to the limitless regions of +mind and spirit, new vistas would open, new paths lure him on.... + +That first bewildering, intoxicating sense of power is good--while it +lasts; none the less, because, in the nature of things, it is foredoomed +to disillusion--greater or less, according to the authenticity of the +god within. + +Whatever the outcome for Roy, that passing exaltation eased appreciably +the pang of parting from them all. And it was responsible for a happy +inspiration. Rummaging among his papers, on the eve of departure, he +came upon the sketch of India that he had written in Delhi and refrained +from sending to Aruna. Intrinsically it was hers; inspired by her. +Also--intrinsically it was good: and straightway he decided she should +have it for a parting gift. + +Beautifully copied out, and tied up with carnation-pink ribbons, he +reserved it for their last few moments together. She was still such a +child in some ways. The small surprise of his gift might ease the pang +of parting. It was a woman's thought. But the woman-strain of tenderness +was strong in Roy, as in all true artists. + +She was standing near the fire in her own sitting-room, wearing the pink +dress and sari, her arm still in a sling. Last words, those desperate +inanities--buffers between the heart and its own emotion--are difficult +things to bring off in any case; peculiarly difficult for these two, +with that unreal, yet intensely actual, bond between them; and Roy felt +more than grateful to the inspiration that gave him something definite +to say. + +Instantly her eyes were on it--wondering ... guessing.... + +"It's a little thing I wrote in Delhi," he said simply. "I couldn't send +it to Jeffers. It seemed--to belong to you. So I thought----" He +proffered it, feeling absurdly shy of it--and of her. + +"Oh--but it is too much!" Holding it with her sling hand, she opened it +with the other and devoured it eagerly under his watching eyes. By the +changes that flitted across her face, by the tremor of her lips and her +hands, as she pressed it to her heart, he knew he could have given her +no dearer treasure than that fragment of himself. And because he knew +it, he felt tongue-tied; tempted beyond measure to kiss her once again. + +If she divined his thought, she kept her lashes lowered and gave no +sign. + +He hoped she knew.... + +But before either could break the spell of silence that held them, Thea +returned; and their moment--their idyll--was over.... + + +END OF PHASE III. + + + + +PHASE IV. + +DUST OF THE ACTUAL + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "It's no use trying to keep out of things. The moment they want to + put you in--you're in. The moment you're born, you're done + for."--HUGH WALPOLE. + + +The middle of March found Roy back in the Punjab, sharing a ramshackle +bungalow with Lance and two of his brother officers; good fellows, both, +in their diametrically opposite fashions; but superfluous--from Roy's +point of view. When he wanted a quiet 'confab' with Lance, one or both +were sure to come strolling in and hang round, jerking out aimless +remarks. When he wanted a still quieter 'confab' with his maturing +novel, their voices and footsteps echoed too clearly in the verandahs +and the scantily furnished rooms. But did he venture to grumble at these +minor drawbacks, Lance would declare he was demoralised by floating +loose in an Earthly Paradise and becoming a mere appendage to a pencil. + +There was a measure of truth in the last. As a matter of fact, after two +months of uninterrupted work at Udaipur, Roy had unwarily hinted at a +risk of becoming embedded in his too congenial surroundings;--and that +careless admission had sealed his fate. + +Lance Desmond, with his pointed phrase, had virtually dug him out of his +chosen retreat; had written temptingly of the 'last of the polo,' of +prime pig-sticking at Kapurthala, of the big Gymkhana that was to wind +up the season:--a rare chance for Roy to exhibit his horsemanship. And +again, in more serious mood, he had written of increasing anxiety over +his Sikhs with that 'infernal agitation business' on the increase, and +an unbridled native press shouting sedition from the house-tops. A nice +state of chaos India was coming to! He hoped to goodness they wouldn't +be swindled out of their leave; but Roy had better 'roll up' soon, so +as to be on the spot, in case of ructions; not packed away in +cotton-wool down there. + +A few letters in this vein had effectually rent the veil of illusion +that shielded Roy from aggressive actualities. In Udaipur there had been +no hysterical press; no sedition flaunting on the house-tops. One hadn't +arrived at the twentieth century, even. Except for a flourishing +hospital, a few hideous modern interiors, and a Resident--who was very +good friends with Vinx--one stepped straight back into the leisurely, +colourful, frankly brutal life of the middle ages. And Roy had fallen a +willing victim to the charms of Udaipur:--her white palaces, white +temples, and white landing-stages, flanked with marble elephants, +embosomed in wooded hills, and reflected in the blue untroubled depths +of the Pichola Lake. Immersed in his novel, he had not known a dull or +lonely hour in that enchanted backwater of Rajasthan. + +His large vague plans for getting in touch with the thoughtful elements +of Calcutta and Bombay had yielded to the stronger magnetism of beauty +and art. Like his father, he hated politics; and Westernised India is +nothing if not political. It was a true instinct that warned him to keep +clear of that muddy stream, and render his mite of service to India in +the exercise of his individual gift. That would be in accord with one of +his mother's wise and tender sayings: (his memory was jewelled with +them) "Look always first at your own gifts. They are sign-posts, +pointing the road to your true line of service." Could he but +immortalise the measure of her spirit that was in him, that were true +service to India--and more than India. There are men created for action. +There are men created to inspire action. And the world has equal need of +both. + +He had things to say on paper that would take him all his time; and +Udaipur had metaphorically opened her arms to him. The Resident and his +wife had been more than kind. He had his books; his cool, lofty rooms in +the Guest House; his own private boat on the Lake; and freedom to go his +own unfettered way at all hours of the day or night. There the simmering +novel had begun to move with a life of its own; and while that state of +being endured, nothing else mattered much in earth or heaven. + +For seven weeks he had worked at it without interruption; and for seven +weeks he had been happy: companioned by the vivid creatures of his +brain; and, better still, by a quickened undersense of his mother's +vital share in the 'blossom and fruit of his life.' The danger of +becoming embedded had been no myth: and at the back of his brain there +had lurked a superstitious reluctance to break the spell. + +But Lance was Lance: no one like him. Moreover, he had known well enough +that anticipation of breakers ahead was no fanciful nightmare; but a +sane corrective to the ostrich policy of those who had sown the evil +seed and were trying to say of the fruit--'It is not.' Letters from +Dyan, and spasmodic devouring of newspapers, kept him alive to the +sinister activities of the larger world outside. News from Bombay grew +steadily more disquieting:--strikes and riots, fomented by agitators, +who lied shamelessly about the nature of the new Bills--; hostile crowds +and insults to Englishwomen. Dyan more than hinted that if the +threatened outbreak were not resolutely crushed at the start, it might +prove a far-reaching affair; and Roy had not the slightest desire to +find himself 'packed away in cotton-wool,' miles from the scene of +action. Clearly Lance wanted him. He might be useful on the spot. And +that settled the matter. + +Impossible to leave so much loveliness, such large drafts of peace and +leisure, without a pang; but--the wrench over--he was well content to +find himself established in this ramshackle bachelor bungalow, back +again with Lance and his music--very much in evidence just now--and the +two superfluous good fellows, whom he liked well enough in homoeopathic +doses. Especially he liked Jack Meredith, cousin of the Desmonds;--a +large and simple soul, gravely absorbed in pursuing balls and tent-pegs +and 'pig'; impervious to feminine lures; equally impervious to the +caustic wit of his diametrical opposite, Captain James Barnard, who +eased his private envy by christening him 'Don Juan.' For Meredith +fatally attracted women; and Barnard--cultured, cynical, Cambridge--was +as fatally susceptible to them as a trout to a May-fly; but, for some +unfathomable reason they would not; and in Anglo-India a man could not +hide his failures under a bushel. Lance classified him comprehensively +as 'one of the War lot'; liked him, and was sorry for him, +although--perhaps because--he was 'no soldier.' + +Roy also liked him; and enjoyed verbal fencing-bouts with him when the +mood was on. Still he would have preferred, beyond measure, the Kohat +arrangement, with the Colonel for an unobtrusive third. + +But the Colonel, these days, had a bungalow to himself; a bungalow in +process of being furnished by no means on bachelor lines. For the +unbelievable had come to pass----! And the whole affair had been carried +through in his own inimitable fashion, without so much as a tell-tale +ripple on the surface of things. Quite unobtrusively, at Kohat, he had +made friends with the General's daughter--a dark-haired slip of a girl, +with the blood of distinguished Frontier soldiers in her veins. Quite +unobtrusively--during Christmas week--he had laid his heart and the +Regiment at her feet. Quite unobtrusively, he proposed to marry her in +April, when the leave season opened, and carry her off to Kashmir. + +"_That's_ the way it goes with _some_ people," said Lance, the first +time he spoke of it; and Roy fancied he detected a wistful note in his +voice. + +"That's the way it'll go with you, old man," he had retorted. "I'm the +one that will have to look out for squalls!" + +Lance had merely smiled and said nothing:--the reception he usually +accorded to personal remarks. And, at the moment, Roy thought no more of +the matter. + +Their first good week of polo and riding and generally fooling round +together had quickened his old allegiance to Lance, his newer allegiance +to the brotherhood of action. He possessed no more enviable talent than +his many-sided zest for life. + +Lance himself seemed in an unusually social mood. So of course Roy must +submit to being bowled round in the new dog-cart and introduced to +special friends, in cantonments and Lahore, including the Deputy +Commissioner's wife and good-looking eldest daughter; the best dancer in +the station and an extra special friend, he gathered from Lance's best +offhand manner. + +Roy found her more than good-looking; beautiful, almost, with her +twofold grace of carriage and feature and her low-toned harmony of +colouring:--ivory-white skin, ash-blond hair and hazel eyes, clear as a +Highland river; the pupils abnormally large, the short thick lashes very +black, like a smudge round her lids. She was tall, in fine, and carried +her beauty like a brimming chalice; very completely mistress of herself; +and very completely detached from her florid, effusive, worldly-wise +mother. Unquestionably, a young woman to be reckoned with. + +But Roy did not feel disposed, just then, to reckon seriously with any +young woman, however alluring. The memory of Aruna--the exquisite +remoteness from everyday life of their whole relation--did not easily +fade. And the creatures of his brain were still clamant, in spite of +broken threads and drastic change of surroundings. Lance had presented +him with a spacious writing-table; and most days he would stick to it +for hours, sooner than drive out in pursuit of tennis or afternoon +dancing in Lahore. + +He was sitting at it now; flinging down a dramatic episode, roughly, +rapidly, as it came. The polished surface was strewn with an untidy +array of papers; the only ornaments a bit of old brass-work and two +ivory elephants; a photograph of his father and a large one of his +mother taken from the portrait at Jaipur. The table was set almost at +right angles to his open door, and the chick rolled up. He had a +weakness for being able to 'see out,' if it was only the corner of a +barren 'compound' and a few dusty oleanders. He had forgotten the +others; forgotten the time. All he asked, while the spate lasted, was to +be left alone.... + +He almost jumped when the latch clicked behind him and Lance strolled +in, faultlessly attired in the latest suit from home; a golden-brown tie +and a silk handkerchief, the same shade, emerging from his breast +pocket. By nature, Lance was no dandy; but Roy had not failed to note +that he was apt to be scrupulously well turned out on certain occasions. +And, at sight of him, he promptly 'remembered he had forgotten' the +very particular nature of to-day's occasion: the marriage of Miss Gladys +Elton--step-sister of Rose--to a rising civilian some eighteen years +older than his bride. It was an open secret, in the station, that the +wedding was Mrs Elton's private and personal triumph, that she, not her +unassuming daughter, was the acknowledged heroine of the day. + +"Not ready yet--you unmitigated slacker?" Lance exclaimed with an +impatient frown. "Buck up. Time we were moving." + +"Awfully sorry. I clean forgot." Roy's tone was not conspicuously +penitent. + +"Tell us another! The whole Mess was talking of it at tiffin." + +"I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about tiffin." + +It was so patently the truth that Lance looked mollified. "You and your +confounded novel! Now then--double. I don't want to be glaringly late." + +Roy looked pathetic. "But I'm simply up to the eyes. The truth is, I +can't be bothered. I'll turn up for the dancing at the Hall." + +"And I'm to make your giddy excuses?" + +"If any one happens to notice my absence, you can say something +pretty----" + +He was interrupted by the appearance of Barnard at the verandah door. +"Dog-cart's ready and waiting, Major. What's the hitch?" + +"Sinclair's discovered he's too busy to come!" + +"What--the favoured one? The fair Rose won't relish _that_ touching mark +of attention. On whom she smiles, from him she expects gold, +frankincense, and myrrh----" + +"Drop it, Barnard," Desmond cut in imperatively; and Roy remarked almost +in the same breath, "Thanks for the tip. I'll write to Bombay for the +best brand of all three against another occasion." + +"But this is _the_ occasion! Copy--my dear chap, copy! Anglo-India in +excelsis and 'Oh 'Ell' in all her glory!" + +It may be mentioned that Mrs Elton's name was Olive; that she saw +soldiers as trees walking. And subalterns retaliated--strictly behind +her back. + +But Roy remained unmoved. "If you two are in such a fluster over your +precious wedding, I vote you get out--and let _me_ get on." + +Barnard asked nothing better. Miss Arden was his May-fly of the moment. +"Come along, Major," he cried, and vanished forthwith. + +As Lance moved away, Roy remarked casually: "Be a good chap and ask Miss +Arden, with my best salaams, to save me a dance or two, in case I'm late +turning up!" + +Lance gave him a straight look. "Not I. My pockets will be bulging with +your apologies. You can get some one else to do your commissions in the +other line." + +Sheer astonishment silenced Roy; and Desmond, from the threshold, added +more seriously, "Don't let the women here give you a swelled head, Roy. +They'll do their damnedest between them." + +When he had gone, Roy sat staring idly at the patch of sunlight outside +his door. What the devil did Lance mean by it? Moods were not in his +line. To make a half-joking request, and find Lance taking it seriously, +wasn't in the natural order of things. And the way he jumped on Barnard, +too. Could there possibly have been a rebuff in that quarter? He +couldn't picture any girl in her senses refusing Lance. Besides, they +seemed on quite friendly terms. Nothing beyond that--so far as Roy could +see. He would very much like to feel sure. But, for all their intimacy, +he knew precisely how far one could go with Lance: and one couldn't go +as far as that. + +As for the remark about a swelled head, Lance must have been rotting. +_He_ wasn't troubling about women or girls--except for tennis and +dancing; and Miss Arden was a superlative performer; in fact, rather +superlative all round. As a new experience, she seemed distinctly worth +cultivating, so long as that process did not seriously hamper the +novel,--that was unashamedly his first consideration, at the moment. + +He loved every phase of the work; from the initial thrill of inception +to the nice balance of a phrase and the very look of his favourite +words. His childish love of them for their own sake still prevailed. For +him, they were still live things, possessing a character and charm all +their own. + +And now, the house being blessedly empty, his pencil sped off again on +its wild career. The men and women he had loved into life were thronging +his brain. Everything else was forgotten--Lance and Miss Arden and the +wedding and the afternoon dancing at the Hall.... + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Which is the more perilous, to meet the temptings of Eve, or to + pique her?"--GEORGE MEREDITH. + + +Of course he reached the Lawrence Hall egregiously late, to find the +afternoon dancing, that Lahore prescribes three times a week, in full +swing. + +The lofty pillared Hall--an aristocrat among Station Clubs--was more +crowded than usual. Half the polished floor was uncovered; the rest +carpeted and furnished, for lookers-on. Here Mrs Elton still diffused +her exuberant air of patronage; sailing majestically from group to group +of her recent guests, and looking more than life size in lavender satin +besprinkled with old lace. + +Roy hurried past, lest she discover him; and, from the security of an +arched alcove, scanned the more interesting half of the Hall. There went +little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, a fluffy pussy-cat person, with soft eyes and +soft manners--and claws. She was one of those disconnected wives whom he +was beginning to recognise as a feature of the country: unobtrusively +owned by a dyspeptic-looking Divisional Judge; hospitable and lively, +and an infallible authority on other people's private affairs. Like too +many modern Anglo-Indians, she prided herself on keeping airily apart +from the country of her exile. Natives gave her 'the creeps.' Useless to +argue. Her retort was unvarying and unanswerable. "East is East--and I'm +_not_. It's a country of horrors, under a thin layer of tinsel. Don't +talk to _me_----!" Lance Desmond had achieved fame among the subalterns +by christening her the Banter-Wrangle; but he liked her well enough, on +the whole, to hope she would never find him out. + +She whirled past now, on the arm of Talbot Hayes, senior Assistant +Commissioner; an exceedingly superior person who shared her views about +'the country.' Catching Roy's eye, she feigned exaggerated surprise and +fluttered a friendly hand. + +His response was automatic. He had just discovered Miss Arden--with +Lance, of course--looking supreme in a moon-coloured gown with a dull +gold sash carelessly knotted on one side. Her graceful hat was of gold +tissue, unadorned. Near the edge of the brim lay one yellow rose; and a +rope of amber beads hung well below her waist. + +Roy--son of Lilamani--had an artist's eye for details of dress, for +harmony of tone and line, which this girl probably achieved by mere +feminine instinct. The fool he was, to have come so late. When they +stopped, he would catch her and plead for an extra, at least. + +Meantime, a pity to waste this one; and there was poor little Miss +Delawny sitting out, as usual, in her skimpy pink frock and black hat, +trying so hard not to look forlorn that he felt sorry for her. She was +tacitly barred by most of the men because she was 'cafe au lait';--a +delicate allusion to the precise amount of Indian blood in her veins. + +He had not, so far, come across many specimens of these pathetic +half-and-halfs, who seemed to inhabit a racial No-Man's-Land. But Lahore +was full of them; minor officials in the Railway and the Post Office; +living, more or less, in a substratum of their own kind. He gathered +that they were regarded as a 'problem' by the thoughtful few, and simply +turned down by the rest. He felt an acute sympathy for them: also--in +hidden depths--a vague distaste. Most of those he had encountered were +so obviously of no particular caste, in either country's estimate of the +word, that he had never associated them with himself. He saw himself, +rather, as of double caste; a fusion of the best in both races. The +writer of that wonderful letter had said he was different; and +presumably she knew. Whether the average Anglo-Indian would see any +difference, he had not the remotest idea; and, so far, he had scarcely +given the matter a thought. + +Here, however, it was thrust upon his attention; nor had he failed to +notice that Lance never mentioned the Jaipur cousins except when they +were alone:--whether by chance or design, he did not choose to ask. And +if either of the other fellows had noticed his mother's photograph, or +felt a glimmer of curiosity, no word had been said. + +After all, what concern was it of these chance-met folk? He was nothing +to them; and to him they were mainly a pleasant change from the +absorbing business of his novel and the problems of India in transition. + +And the poor little girl in the skimpy frock was an unconscious fragment +of that problem. Too pathetic to see how she tried not to look round +hopefully whenever masculine footsteps came her way. Why shouldn't he +give her a pleasant surprise? + +She succeeded, this time, in not looking round; so the surprise came off +to his satisfaction. She was nervous and unpractised, and he constantly +found her feet where they had no business to be. But sooner than hurt +her feelings, he piloted her twice round the room before stopping; and +found himself next to Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who 'snuggled up' to him (the +phrase was Barnard's) and proffered consolation after her kind. + +"Bad boy! You missed the cream of the afternoon, but you're not _quite_ +too late. I'm free for the next." + +Roy, fairly cornered, could only bow and smile his acceptance. And after +his arduous prelude, Mrs Ranyard's dancing was an effortless delight--if +only she would not spoil it by her unceasing ripple of talk. His lack of +response troubled her no whit. She was bubbling over with caustic +comment on Mrs Elton's latest adventure in matrimony. + +"She's a mighty hunter, before the Lord! She marked down poor Hilton +last cold weather," cooed the silken voice in Roy's inattentive ear. "Of +course you know he's one of our coming men! And I've a shrewd idea he +_was_ intended for Rose. But in Miss Rose the matchmaker has met her +match! She's clever--that girl; and she's reduced the tactics of +non-resistance to a fine art. I don't believe she ever stands up to her +mother. She smiles and smiles--and goes her own way. She likes playing +with soldiers; partly because they're good company; partly, I'll swear, +because she knows it keeps her mother on tenter-hooks. But when it +comes to business, she'll choose as shrewdly----" + +Roy stopped dancing and confronted her, half laughing, half irate. "If +you're keen on talking--let's talk. I can't do both." He stated the fact +politely, but with decision. "And--frankly, I hate hearing a girl pulled +to pieces, just because she's charming and good-looking and----" + +"Oh, my _dear_ boy," she interrupted unfailingly--sweet solicitude in +her lifted gaze. "_Did_ I trample on your chivalrous toes? Or is +it----?" + +"No, it _isn't_." He resented the barefaced implication. "Naturally--I +admire her----" + +"Oh, naturally! You can't help yourselves, any of you! She's 'sooner +caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad.' No use +looking daggers! It's a fact. I don't say she flirts outrageously--like +I do! She simply expects homage--and gets it. She expects men to fall in +love with her--and they topple over like ninepins. Sometimes--when I'm +feeling magnanimous--I catch a ninepin as it falls! Look at her now, +with that R.E. boy--plainly in the toils!" + +Roy declined to look. If she was trying to put him off Miss Arden, she +was on the wrong tack. Besides--he wanted to dance. + +"One more turn?" he suggested, nipping a fresh outbreak in the bud. +"But, please--no talking." + +She laughed and shook her fan at him. "Epicure!" But after all, it was +an indirect compliment to her dancing: and for the space of two minutes, +she held her peace. + +Throughout the brief pause, she rippled on, with negligible interludes; +but not till they re-entered the Hall did she revert to the theme that +had so exasperated Roy. There she espied Desmond, standing under an +archway, staring straight before him, apparently lost in thought. + +She indicated him, discreetly, with her fan. "The Happy Warrior (that's +my private name for him) seems to have something on his mind. Can he +have proposed--at last? I confess I'm curious. But of course _you_ know +all about it, Mr Sinclair. Don't tell _me_!" + +"I won't!" said Roy gravely. "You probably know more than I do." + +"But I thought you were such _intimate_ friends? How superbly +masculine!" + +"Well--he is." + +"Oh, he is! He's so firmly planted on his feet that he tacitly invites +one to tilt at him! I confess I've already tried my hand--and failed. So +it soothes my vanity to observe that even the Rose of Sharon isn't +visibly upsetting his balance. Frankly, I'm more than a little intrigued +over that affair. It seems to have reached a certain point and stuck +there. At one time--I thought----" + +Her thought remained unuttered. Roy was patently not attending. Miss +Arden and the 'R.E. boy' had just entered the Hall. + +"Don't let me keep you," she added sweetly. "It's evident _she's_ the +next!" + +Roy collected himself with a jerk. "You're wiser than I am! I've not +asked her yet." + +"Then you can save yourself the trouble and go on dancing with me! She's +always booked up ahead----" + +Her blue eyes challenged him laughingly; but he caught the undernote of +rivalry. For half a second the scales hung even between courtesy and +inclination; then, from the tail of his eye, he saw Hayes bearing down +upon the other pair. That decided him. He had conceived an unreasoning +dislike of Talbot Hayes. + +"I'm awfully sorry," he said politely. "But--I sent word I was coming in +for the dancing; and----" + +"Oh, go along then and get your fingers burnt, as you deserve. But never +say _I_ didn't try and save them!" + +Roy laughed. "They aren't in any danger, thanks very much!" + +Just as he reached Miss Arden, the R.E. boy left her, and Lance, +forsaking his pillar, strolled casually to her side. + +She greeted Roy with a faint lift of her brows. + +"Was I unspeakable----? I apologise," he said impulsively; and her smile +absolved him. + +"You were wiser than you knew. You escaped an infliction. It was +insufferably dull. We all smiled and smiled, till there were 'miles and +miles of smiles'; and we were all bored to extinction! Ask Major +Desmond!" + +She acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance. He returned it +with a quick look that told Roy he had been touched on the raw. + +"As I spent most of the time talking to you--and as you've just recorded +your sensations, I'd rather be excused," he said with a touch of +stiffness. "Your innings, I suppose, old man?" And, with a friendly nod, +he moved away. + +Roy, watching him go, felt almost angry with the girl, and impetuously +spoke his thought. + +"Poor old Desmond! What did you give him a knock for? _He_ couldn't be +dull, if he tried." + +"N-no," she agreed, without removing her eyes from his retreating +figure. "But sometimes--he can be aggressive." + +"I've never noticed it." + +"How long have you known him?" + +"A trifle of fifteen years." + +"Quite a romantic friendship?" + +Roy nodded. He did not choose to discuss his feeling for Lance with this +cool, compelling young woman. Yet her very coolness goaded him to add: +"I suppose men see more clearly than women that--he's one in a +thousand." + +"I'm--not so sure----" + +"Yet you snub him as if he was a tin-pot 'sub.'" + +His resentment would out; but the smile in her eyes disarmed him. + +"Was it as bad as that? What a pair you are! Don't worry. We know each +other's little ways by now." + +It was scarcely convincing; but Lance would not thank him for +interfering; and the band had struck up. No sign of a partner. It seemed +the luck was 'in'. + +"Did Desmond give you my message?" he asked. + +"No--what?" + +"Only--that I hoped you'd be magnanimous.... Is there a chance----?" + +Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of resentment +flickered out. "More than you deserve! But this one does happen to be +free...." + +"Well, we won't waste any of it," said he:--and they danced without a +break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their circling and +swaying ceased with the last notes of the valse. + +That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for compliments; +and they merely exchanged a smile. He had felt the pleasure was mutual. +Now he knew it. + +Out through the portico they passed into the cool green gardens, freshly +watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of unnumbered +roses--a very whiff of Home: bushes, standards, ramblers; and +everywhere--flaunting its supremacy--the Marechal Niel; sprawling over +hedges, scrambling up evergreens and falling again, in cascades of +moon-yellow blossoms and glossy leaves. + +Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour and +evening lights--was still more alive to the silent girl at his side, who +seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antagonism of sex--in +itself an inverted form of fascination. + +They had strolled half round the empty bandstand before she remarked, in +her cool, low-pitched voice: "You really are a flagrantly casual person, +Mr Sinclair. I sometimes wonder--is it _quite_ spontaneous? Or--do you +find it effective?" + +Roy frankly turned and stared at her. "Effective? _What_ a question?" + +Her smile puzzled and disconcerted him. + +"Well, you've answered it with your usual pristine frankness! I see--it +was not intentional." + +"Why should it be?" + +"Oh, if you don't know--I don't! I merely wondered--You did say +definitely you would come to the reception. So of course--I expected +you. Then you never turned up. And--naturally----!" + +A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence. + +"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't flatter myself you'd notice----" Roy said +simply. There were moments when she made him feel vexatiously young. +"You see--it was my novel--got me by the hair. And when that happens, +I'm rather apt to let things slide. Anyway, you got the better man. And +if you found _him_ dull, I'd have been nowhere." + +She was silent a moment. Then: "I think--if you don't mind--we'll leave +Major Desmond out of it," she said; adding, with a distinct change of +tone: "What's the hidden charm in that common little Miss Delawny? I +saw you dancing with her again to-day." + +The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect, had it not +followed on her perplexing remark about Lance. As it was, he resented +it. + +"Why not? She's quite a nice little person." + +"I daresay. But we've plenty of nice girls in our own set." + +"Oh, plenty. But I rather bar set mania. I've a catholic taste in human +beings!" + +"And I've an ultra fastidious one!" Look and tone gave her statement a +delicately personal flavour. "Besides, out here ... there are +limits----" + +"And I must respect them, on penalty of your displeasure?" His tone was +airily defiant. "Well--make me out a list of irreproachables, and I'll +work them off in rotation--between whiles!" + +The implication of that last subtly made amends: and she had a taste for +the minor subtleties of intercourse. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind! You're perfectly graceless this +evening! I suspect all that scribbling goes to your head sometimes. +Sitting on Olympian heights, controlling destinies! I suppose we +earthworms down below all look pretty much alike? To discriminate +between mere partners--is human. To embrace them +indiscriminately--divine!" + +Roy laughed. "Oh, if it came to embracing----" + +"Even an Olympian might be a shade less catholic?" she queried with one +of her looks, that stirred in Roy sensations far removed from Olympian. +Random talk did not flourish in Miss Arden's company: delicately, +insistently she steered it back to the focal point of interest--herself +and the man of the moment. + +From the circular drive they wandered on, unheeding; and when they +re-entered the Hall a fresh dance had begun. Under the arch they paused. +Miss Arden's glance scanned the room and reverted to Roy. The last ten +minutes had appreciably advanced their intimacy. + +"Shall we?" he asked, returning her look with interest. "Is the luck in +again?" + +Her eyes assented. He slipped an arm round her--and once more they +danced.... + +Roy had been Olympian indeed had he not perceived the delicate flattery +implied in his apparent luck. Lance had not given his message. Yet two +dances were available. The inference was not without its insidious +effect on a man temperamentally incapable of conceit. + +The valse was nearly half over, when the least little drag on his arm so +surprised him that he stopped almost opposite the main archway;--and +caught sight of Lance, evidently looking for some one. + +"Oh--there he is!" Miss Arden's low tone was almost flurried--for her. + +"D'you want him?" + +"Well--I suppose he wants me. This was his dance." + +"Good Lord! What a mean shame," Roy flashed out. "Why on earth didn't +you tell me? Wouldn't for the world...." + +Her colour rose under his heated protest. "I never hang about for +unpunctual partners. If they don't turn up in time--it's their loss." + +Roy, intent on Lance, was scarcely listening. "He's seen us now. Come +along. Let's explain." + +It was Miss Arden who did the explaining in a manner all her own. + +"Well--what became of you?" she asked, smiling in response to Desmond's +look of interrogation. "As you didn't appear, I concluded you'd either +forgotten or been caught in a rubber." + +"Bad shots,--both," Desmond retorted with a direct look. + +"I'm awfully sorry ... I hadn't a notion----" Roy began--and checked +himself, perceiving that he could not say much without implicating his +partner. + +This time Desmond's smile had quite another quality. "You're very +welcome. Carry on. Don't mind me. It's half over." + +"A model of generosity!" Miss Arden applauded him. "I'm free for the +next--if you'd care to have it instead." + +"Thanks very much; but I'm not," Desmond answered serenely. + +"The great little Banter-Wrangle--is it? You could plead a +misunderstanding and bribe Mr Sinclair to save the situation!" + +"Hard luck on Sinclair. But it's not Mrs Ranyard. I'm sorry----" + +"Don't apologise. If you're satisfied, I am." + +For all her careless tone, Roy had never seen her so nearly put out of +countenance. Desmond said nothing; and for a moment--the briefest--there +fell an awkward silence. Then with an air of marked graciousness she +turned to Roy. + +"We are generously permitted to go on, with a clear conscience!" + +But for Roy the charm was broken. Her cavalier treatment of Lance +annoyed him; and beneath the surface play of looks and words he had +detected the flash of steel. It was some satisfaction that Lance had +given as good as he received. But he felt troubled and curious. And he +was likely to remain so. Lance, he very well knew, would say precisely +nothing. + +The girl, as if divining his thoughts, combated them with the delicately +pointed weapons of her kind--and prevailed. + +Again they wandered in the darkening garden and returned to find the +Boston in full swing. Again Miss Arden's glance travelled casually round +the room. And Roy saw her start; just enough to swear by.... + +Desmond was dancing with Miss Delawny----! + +The frivolous comment on Roy's lips was checked by the look in his +partner's eyes. Impossible not to wonder if Lance had actually been +engaged; or if----? + +In any case--a knock for Miss Arden's vanity. A shade too severe, +perhaps; yet sympathy for her was tinged with exultation that Lance had +held his own. Mrs Ranyard was right. Here was a man set firmly on his +feet.... + +Miss Arden's voice drew his wandering attention back to herself. "We may +as well finish this. Or are you also--engaged?" + +Her light stress on the word held a significance he did not miss. + +"To you--if you will!" he answered gallantly, hand on heart. "More than +I deserve--as you said; but still----" + +"It's just possible for a woman to be magnanimous!" she capped him, +smiling. "And it's just possible for a man to be--the other thing! +Remember that--when you get back to your eternal scribbling!" + +An hour later he rode homeward with a fine confusion of sensations and +impressions, doubts and desires seething in his brain. Miss Arden was +delightful, but a trifle unsettling. She must not be allowed to distract +him from the work he loved. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Shall I cool desire + By looking at those lovely eyes of hers, + That passionate love prefers + To his own brand, for setting hearts on fire." + --EDMUND GOSSE. + + + +But neither the work he loved, nor his budding intimacy with Miss Arden, +deterred him from accepting a week-end invitation from the Maharajah of +Kapurthala--the friendly, hospitable ruler of a neighbouring Sikh State. +The Colonel was going, and Lance, and half a dozen other good sportsmen. +They set out on Thursday, the military holiday, in a state of high +good-humour with themselves and their host; to return on Sunday evening, +renewed in body and mind by the pursuit of pig and the spirit of Shikar, +that keeps a man sane and virile, and tempers the insidious effect, on +the white races, of life and work in the climate of India. It draws men +away from the rather cramping station atmosphere. It sets their feet in +a large room. And in this case it did not fail to dispel the light cloud +that had hovered between Lance and Roy since the day of the wedding. + +In the friendly rivalries of sport, it was possible to forget woman +complications; even to feel it a trifle derogatory that one should be so +ignominiously at the mercy of the thing. Thus Roy, indulging in a +spasmodic declaration of independence; glorying in the virile excitement +of pig-sticking, and the triumph of getting first spear. + +But returning on Saturday, from a day after snipe and teal, he found +himself instinctively allotting the pick of his 'bag' to Miss Arden; +just a complimentary attention; the sort of thing she would appreciate. +Having refused a ride with her because of this outing, it seemed the +least he could do. + +Apparently the same strikingly original idea had occurred to Lance; and +by the merest fluke they found one another out. To Roy's relief, Lance +greeted the embarrassing discovery with a gust of laughter. + +"I say--this won't do. You give over. It's too much of a joke. +Besides--cheek on your part." + +Though he spoke lightly, the hint of command in his tone promptly put +Roy on the defensive. + +"Rot! Why shouldn't I? But--the _two_ of them...! A bit overwhelming!" +And suddenly he remembered his declaration of independence. "After +all--why should either of us? Can't we let be, just for four days? Look +here, Lance. You give over too. Don't send yours. And I won't send +mine." + +Lance--having considered that inspired proposal--turned a speculative +eye on Roy. + +"Lord, what a kid you are, still!" + +"Well, I mean it. Out here, we're clear of all that. Over there, the +women call the tune--we dance. Sport's the God-given antidote! Though it +won't be so much longer--the way things are going. We shall soon have +'em after pig and on the polo ground----" + +"God forbid!" It came out with such fervour that Roy laughed. + +"He doesn't--that's the trouble! He gives us all the rope we want. And +the women may be trusted to take every available inch. I'm not sure +there isn't a grain of wisdom in the Eastern plan; keeping them, so to +speak, in a separate compartment. Once you open a chink, they flow in +and swamp everything." + +Up went Lance's eyebrows. "That--from you?" And Roy made haste to add: +"I wasn't thinking of mothers and sisters; but the kind you play round +with ... before you marry. They've a big pull out here. Very good fun of +course. And if a man's keen on marrying----" + +"Aren't you keen?" Lance cut in with a quick look. + +"N-no. Not just yet, anyway. It's a plunge. And I'm too full up with +other things.--But what about the birds?" + +"Oh, we'll let be--as you sagely suggest!" + +And they did. + +More pig-sticking next morning, with two tuskers for trophies; and +thereafter, they travelled reluctantly back to harness, by an afternoon +train, feeling--without exception--healthier, happier men. + +None of them, perhaps, was more conscious of that inner renewal than +Lance and Roy. The incident of the game seemed in some way to have +cleared the air between them; and throughout the return journey, both +were in the maddest spirits, keeping the whole carriage in an uproar. +Afterwards, driving homeward, Roy registered a resolve to spend more of +his time on masculine society and the novel; less of it dancing and +fooling about in Lahore.... + + * * * * * + +A vision of his table, with its inviting disarray, and the picture of +his mother for presiding genius, gave his heart a lift. He promised +himself a week of uninterrupted evenings, alone with Terry and his +thronging thoughts; when the whole house was still and the reading-lamp +made a magic circle of light in the surrounding gloom.... + +Meantime, there were letters: one from his father, one from Jeffers; and +beneath them a too familiar envelope. + +At sight of it, he felt a faint tug inside him; as it were a whispered +reminder that, away at Kapurthala, he had been about as free as a bird +with a string round its leg. He resented the aptness of that degrading +simile. It was a new sensation; and he did not relish it. The few women +he intimately loved had counted for so much in his life that he scarcely +realised his abysmal ignorance of the power that is in woman--the mere +opposite of man; the implicit challenge, the potent lure. Partly from +temperament, partly from principle, he had kept more or less clear of +'all that'. Now, weaponless, he had rashly entered the lists. + +He opened Miss Arden's note feeling antagonistic. But its friendliness +disarmed him. She hoped they had enjoyed themselves immensely and slain +enough creatures to satisfy their primitive instincts. And her mother +hoped Mr Sinclair would dine with them on Wednesday evening: quite a +small affair. + +His first impulse was to refuse; but her allusion to the slain creatures +touched up his conscience. To cap the omission by refusing her +invitation might annoy her. No sense in that. So he decided to accept; +and sat down to enjoy his home letters at leisure. + +Lance, it transpired, had not been asked. He and Barnard were the +favoured ones,--and, on the appointed evening, they drove in together. +Roy had been writing nearly all day. He had reached a point in his +chapter at which a break was distracting. Yet here he was, driving +Barnard to Lahore, cursing his luck, and--yes--trying to ignore a +flutter of anticipation in the region of his heart.... + +As far as mere lust of the eye went--and it went a good way with Roy--he +had his reward the moment he entered Mrs Elton's overloaded +drawing-room. Rose Arden excelled herself in evening dress. The carriage +of her head, the curve of her throat, and the admirable line from ear to +shoulder made a picture supremely satisfying to his artist's eye. + +Her negligible bodice was a filmy affair--ivory white with glints of +gold. Her gauzy gold wedding-sash, swathed round her hips, fell in a +fringed knot below her knee. Filmy sleeves floated from her shoulders, +leaving the arms bare and unadorned, except for one gold bangle, high +up--the latest note from Home. For the rest, her rope of amber beads and +long earrings only a few tones lighter than her astonishing hazel eyes. + +Face to face with her beauty, and her discreetly veiled pleasure at +sight of him, he could not be ungracious enough to curse his luck. But +his satisfaction cooled at sight of Talbot Hayes by the mantelpiece, +inclining his polished angularity to catch some confidential tit-bit +from little Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. Of course that fellow would take her in. +He, Roy, had no official position now; and without it one was negligible +in Anglo-India. Besides, Mrs Elton openly favoured Talbot Hayes. Failing +Rose, there were two more prospective brides at Home--twins; and Hayes +was fatally endowed with all the surface symptoms of the 'coming man': +the supple alertness and self-assurance; the instinct for the right +thing; and--supreme asset in these days--a studious detachment from the +people and the country. In consequence, needless to say, he remained +obstinately sceptical as regards the rising storm. + +Very early, Roy had put out feelers to discover how much he understood +or cared; and Hayes had blandly assured him: "Bengal may bluster and +the D.C. may pessimise, but you can take it from me, there will be no +serious upheaval in the North. If ever these people are fools enough to +manoeuvre us out of India, so much the worse for them; so much the +better for us. It's a beastly country." + +Nevertheless Roy observed that he appeared to extract out of the beastly +country every available ounce of enjoyment. In affable moments, he could +even manage to forget his career--and unbend. He was unbending now. + +A few paces off, the dyspeptic Judge was discussing 'the situation' with +his host--a large unwieldy man, so nervous of his own bulk and unready +wit that only the discerning few discovered the sensitive, friendly +spirit very completely hidden under a bushel. Roy, who had liked him at +sight, felt vaguely sorry for him. He seemed a fish out of water in his +own home; overwhelmed by the florid, assured personality of his wife. + +They were the last, of course; nearly five minutes late. Trust Roy. Only +four other guests; Dr Ethel Wemyss, M.B., lively and clever and new to +the country; Major and Mrs Garten of the Sikhs, with a stolid +good-humoured daughter, who unfailingly wore the same frock and the same +disarming smile. + +The Deputy Commissioner's wife permitted herself few military intimates. +But she had come in touch with Mrs Garten over a _dhobi's_[19] chit and +a recipe for pumelo gin. Both women were consumedly Anglo-Indian. All +their values were social;--pay, promotion, prestige. All their +lamentations pitched in the same key:--everything dearer, servants +'impossible,' hospitality extinct, with every one saving and scraping to +get Home. Both were deeply versed in bazaar prices and the sins of +native servants. Hence, in due course, a friendship (according to Mrs +Ranyard) 'broad based on _jharrons_[20] and charcoal and kerosene'! + +The two were lifting up their voices in unison over the mysterious +shortage of kerosene (that arch-sinner Mool Chand said none was coming +into the country) when dinner was announced; and Talbot +Hayes--inevitably--offered his arm to Miss Arden. + +Roy, consigned to Dr Wemyss, could only pray heaven for the next best +thing--Miss Arden on his left. Instead, amazedly, he found himself +promoted to a seat beside her mother, who still further amazed him by +treating him to a much larger share of her attention than the law of the +dinner-table prescribed. Her talk, in the main, was local and personal; +and Roy simply let it flow; his eyes flagrantly straying down the table +towards Miss Arden and Hayes, who seemed very intimate this evening. + +Suddenly he found himself talking about Home. It began with gardens. Mrs +Elton had a passion for them, as her _malis_[21] knew to their cost; and +the other day a friend had told her that somebody said Mr Sinclair had a +lovely place at Home, with a _wonderful_ old garden----? + +Mr Sinclair admitted as much, with masculine brevity. + +Undeterred, she drew out the sentimental stop:--the charm of a _real_ +old English garden! Out here, one only used the word by courtesy. +Laborites, of course, were specially favoured; but do what one would, it +was never _quite_ the same thing--was it...? + +Not quite, Roy agreed amicably--and wondered what the joke was down +there. He supposed Miss Arden must have had some say in the geography of +the table.... + +Her mother, meantime, had tacked sail and was probing him, indirectly, +about his reasons for remaining in India. Was he going in for politics, +or the life of a country gentleman in his beautiful home? Her remarks +implied that she took him for the eldest son. And Roy, who had not been +attending, realised with a jar that, in vulgar parlance, he was being +discreetly pumped. Whereat, politely but decisively, he sheered off and +stuck to his partner till the meal was over. + +The men seemed to linger interminably over their wine and cigars. But he +managed to engage the D.C. on the one subject that put shyness to +flight--the problems of changing India. With more than twenty years of +work and observation behind him, he saw the widening gulf between rulers +and ruled as an almost equal disaster for both. He knew, none better, +all that had been achieved, in his own Province alone, for the peasant +and the loyal landowner. He had made many friends among the Indians of +his district; and from these he had received repeated warnings of +widespread, organised rebellion. Yet he was helpless; tied hand and foot +in yards of red tape.... + +It was not the first time that Roy had enjoyed a talk with him; a sense +of doors opening on to larger spaces. But this evening restlessness +nagged at him; and at the first hint of a move he was on his feet, +determined to forestall Hayes. + +He succeeded; and Miss Arden welcomed him with the lift of her brows +that he was growing to watch for when they met. It seemed to imply a +certain intimacy. + +"Very brown and vigorous, you're looking. Was it--great fun?" + +"It was topping," he answered with simple fervour. "Rare sport. +Everything in style." + +"And no leisure to miss partners left lamenting? I hope our stars shone +the brighter, glorified by distance?" + +Her eyes challenged him with smiling deliberation. His own met them +full; and a little tingling shock ran through him, as at the touch of an +electric needle. + +"_Some_ stars are dazzling enough at close quarters," he said boldly. + +"But surely--'distance lends enchantment'----?" + +"It depends a good deal on the view!" + +At that moment, up came Hayes, with his ineffable air of giving a cachet +to any one he honoured with his favour. And Miss Arden hailed him, as if +they had not met for a week. + +Thus encouraged, of course he clung like a limpet; and reverted to some +subject they had been discussing, tacitly isolating Roy. + +For a few exasperating moments, he stood his ground, counting on bridge +to remove the limpet. But when Hayes refused a pressing invitation to +join Mrs Ranyard's table, Roy gave it up, and deliberately walked away. + +Only Mr Elton remained sitting near the fireplace. His look of +undisguised pleasure, at Roy's approach, atoned for a good deal; and +they renewed their talk where it had broken off. Roy almost forgot he +was speaking to a senior official; freely expressed his own thoughts; +and even ventured to comment on the strange detachment of Anglo-Indians, +in general, from a land full of such vast and varied interests, lying at +their very doors. + +"Perhaps--I misjudge them," he added with the unfailing touch of modesty +that was not least among his charms. "But to me it sometimes seems as if +a curtain hung between their eyes and India. And--it's catching. In some +subtle way this little concentrated world, within a world, seems to draw +one's receptiveness away from it all. Is that very sweeping, sir?" + +A smile dawned in Mr Elton's rather mournful eyes. "In a sense--it's +painfully true. But the fact is--Anglo-Indian life can't be fairly +judged from the outside. It has to be lived before its insidiousness can +be suspected." He moistened his lips and caressed his chin with a large, +sensitive hand. "Happily--there are a good many exceptions." + +"If I wasn't talking to one of them, sir--I wouldn't have ventured!" +said Roy; and the friendly smile deepened. + +"All the same," Elton went on, "there are those who assert that it is +half the secret of our success; that India conquered the conquerors, who +lived _with_ her and so lost their virility. Yet in our earlier days, +when the personal touch was a reality, we _did_ achieve a better +relation all round. Of course the present state of affairs is the +inevitable fruit of our whole system. By the Anglicising process, we +have spread all over India a vast layer of minor officials some six +million persons deep! Consider, my dear young man, the significance of +those figures. We reduce the European staff. We increase the drudgery of +their office work--and we wonder why the Sahib and the peasant are no +longer personal friends----!" + +Stirred by his subject, and warmed by Roy's intelligent interest, the +man's nervous tricks disappeared. He spoke eagerly, earnestly, as to an +equal in experience; a compliment Roy would have been quicker to +appreciate had not half his attention been centred on that exasperating +pair, who had retired to a cushioned alcove and looked like remaining +there for good. + +What the devil had the girl invited him for? If she wished to +disillusion him, she was succeeding to admiration. If she fancied he was +one of her infernal ninepins, she was very much mistaken. And all the +while he found himself growing steadily more distracted, more +insistently conscious of her.... + +Voices and laughter heralded an influx of bridge players; Mrs Ranyard, +with Barnard, Miss Garten, and Dr Wemyss. A table of three women and one +man did not suit the little lady's taste. + +"We're a very scratch lot. And we want fresh blood!" she announced +carnivorously, as the pair in the alcove rose and came forward. + +The two men rose also, but went on with their talk. They knew it was not +their blood Mrs Ranyard was seeking. Roy kept his back turned and +studiously refrained from hoping.... + +"If you two have _quite_ finished breaking up the Empire...?" said Miss +Arden's voice at his elbow. She had approached so quietly that he +started. Worse still, he knew she had seen. "I was terrified of being +caught,"--she turned affectionately to her stepfather--"so I flung Mr +Hayes to the wolves--and fled. You're sanctuary!" + +Her fingers caressed his sleeve. Words and touch waked a smile in his +mournful eyes. They seemed to understand one another, these two. To Roy +she had never seemed more charming; and his own abrupt volte-face was +unsteadying, to say the least of it. + +"Hayes would prove a tough mouthful--even for wolves," Elton remarked +pensively. + +"He _would_! He's so securely lacquered over with--well--we won't be +unkind. _But_--strictly between ourselves, Pater--wouldn't you love to +swop him for Mr Sinclair, these days?" + +"My _dear_!" Elton reproached her, nervously shifting his large hands. +"Hayes is a model--of efficiency! But--well, well--if Mr Sinclair will +forgive flattery to his face--I should say he has many fine qualities +for an Indian career, should he be inclined that way----" + +"Thank you, sir. I'd no notion----" Roy murmured, overwhelmed, as +Elton--seeing Miss Garten stranded--moved dutifully to her rescue. + +Miss Arden glanced again at Roy. "_Are_ you inclining that way?" + +The question took him aback. + +"Me? No. Of course I'd love it--for some things." + +"You're well out of it, in my opinion. It'll soon be no country for a +white man. He's already little more than a futile superfluity----" + +"On the contrary," Roy struck in warmly, "the Englishman--of the +rightest sort, is more than ever needed in India to-day." + +Her slight shrug conceded the point. "I never argue! And if you start on +_that_ subject--I'm nowhere! You can save it all up for the Pater. He's +rather a dear--don't you think?" + +"He's splendid." + +Her smile had its caressing quality. "That's the last adjective any one +else would apply to him! But it's true. There's a fine streak in +him--very carefully hidden away. People don't see it, because he's shy +and clumsy and hasn't an ounce of push. But he understands the natives. +Loves them. Goodness knows why. And he's got the right touch. I could +tell you a tale----" + +"Do!" he urged. "Tales are my pet weakness." + +She subsided into the empty chair and looked up invitingly. "Sit," she +commanded--and he obeyed. + +He was neither saying nor doing the things he had meant to say or do. +But the mere beauty of her enthralled him; the alluring grace of her +pose, leaning forward a little, bare arms resting on her knees. No vivid +colour anywhere except her lips. Those lips, thought Roy, were +responsible for a good deal. Their flexible softness discounted more +than a little the deliberation of her eyes; and to-night, her charming +attitude to Elton appreciably quickened his interest in her and her +tale. + +"It happened out in the district. I heard it from a friend." She leaned +nearer and spoke in a confidential undertone. "He got news that some +neighbouring town was in a ferment. Only a handful of Europeans there; +an American mission; and no troops. So the 'mish' people begged him to +come in and politely wave his official wand. You must be very polite to +_badmashes_[22] these days, if you're a mere Sahib; or you hear of it +from some little Tin God sitting safe in his office, hundreds of miles +away. Well, off he went--a twenty-mile drive; found the mission in a +flutter--I don't blame them--armed with rifles and revolvers; +expecting-every-moment-to-be-their-next sort of thing; and the town in +an uproar. Some religious tamasha. He talked like a father to the +headmen; and assured the 'mish' people it would be all right. + +"They begged him to stay and see them through. So he said he would sleep +at the dak bungalow. 'All alone?' they asked. 'No one to guard you?' +'Quite unnecessary,' he said:--and they were simply amazed! + +"It was rather hot; so he had his bed put in the garden. Then he sent +for the leading men and said: 'I hear there's a disturbance going on. I +don't intimate you have anything to do with it. But you are responsible; +and I expect you to keep the people in hand. I'm sleeping here to-night. +If there is trouble, you can report to me. But it is for _you_ to keep +order in your own town.' + +"They salaamed and departed. No one came near him. And he drove off next +morning, leaving those Americans, with their rifles and revolvers, more +amazed than ever! I was told it made a great impression on the natives, +his sleeping alone in the garden, without so much as a sentry. And the +cream of it is," she added--her eyes on Elton's unheroic figure--"the +man who could do that is terrified of walking across a ballroom or +saying polite things to a woman!" + +Distinctly, to-night, she was in a new vein, more attractive to Roy than +all her feminine crafts and lures. Sitting, friendly and at ease over +the fire, they discussed human idiosyncrasies--a pet subject with him. + +Then, suddenly, she looked him in the eyes;--and he was aware of her +again, in the old disturbing way. + +Yet she was merely remarking, with a small sigh, "You can't think how +refreshing it is to get a little real talk sometimes with a cultivated +man who is neither a soldier nor a civilian. Even in a big station, +we're so boxed in with 'shop' and personalities. The men are luckier. +They can escape now and then; shake off the women as one shakes off +burrs----!" + +Another glance here; half sceptical, wholly captivating. + +"It's easier said than done," admitted Roy, recalling his own partial +failure. + +"Charming of you to confess it! Dare I confess that I've found the Hall +and the tennis rather flat these few days--without imperilling your +phenomenal modesty?" + +"I think you dare." It was he who looked full at her now. "My modesty +badly needs bucking up--this evening." + +Her feigned surprise was delicately done. "What a shame! Who's been +snubbing you? Our clever M.B.?" + +"Not at all. You've got the initials wrong." + +"_Did_ it hurt your feelings--as much as all that?" She dropped the +flimsy pretence and her eyes proffered apology. + +"Well--you invited me." + +"And mother invited Mr Hayes! The fact is--he's been rather in evidence +these few days. And one can't flick _him_ off like an ordinary mortal. +He's a 'coming man'!" She folded hands and lips and looked deliciously +demure. "All the same--it _was_ unkind. You were so unhappy at dinner. I +could feel it all that way off. Be magnanimous and come for a ride +to-morrow--do." + +And Roy--the detached, the disillusioned--accepted with alacrity. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 19: Washerman.] + +[Footnote 20: Dusters.] + +[Footnote 21: Gardener.] + +[Footnote 22: Bad characters.] + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "For every power, a man pays toll in a corresponding weakness; and + probably the artist pays heaviest of all."--M.P. WILLCOCKS. + + +It was the morning of the great Gymkhana, to be followed by the +Bachelors' Ball. For Lahore's unfailing social energy was not yet spent; +though Depot troops had gone to the Hills, and the leave season was +open, releasing a fortunate few; leaving the rest to fretful or stoical +endurance of the stealthy, stoking-up process of a Punjab hot-weather. +And the true inwardness of those three words must be burned into body +and brain, season after season, to be even remotely understood. + +Already earth and air were full of whispered warnings. Roses and +sweet-peas were fading. Social life was virtually suspended between +twelve and two, the 'calling hours' of the cold weather; and at sunset +the tree-crickets shrilled louder than ever--careless heralds of doom. +Human tempers were shorter; and even the night did not now bring +unfailing relief. + +Roy had been sleeping badly again; partly the heat, partly the clash of +sensations within him. This morning, after hours of tossing and dozing +and dreaming--not the right kind of dreams at all,--he was up and out +before sunrise, forsaking the bed that betrayed him for the saddle that +never failed to bring a measure of respite from the fever of body and +mind that was stultifying, insidiously, his reason and his will. + +Still immersed in his novel, he had come up to Lahore heart-free, +purpose-free; vaguely aware that virtue had gone out of him; looking +forward to a few weeks of careless enjoyment, between spells of work; +and above all, to the 'high old time' he and Lance would have together +beyond Kashmir. Women and marriage were simply not in the picture. His +attitude to that inevitable event was, on his own confession--'not yet.' +Possibly, when he got Home, he might discover it was Tara, after all. It +would need some courage to propose again. For the memory of that +juvenile fiasco still pricked his sensitive pride. A touch of the Rajput +came out there. Letters from Serbia seemed to dawdle unconscionably by +the way. But, in leisurely course, he had received an answer to his +screed about Dyan and the quest; a letter alive with all he loved best +in her--enthusiasm, humour, vivid sympathy, deepened and enlarged by +experiences that could not yet be told. But Tara was far and Miss Arden +was near; and, in the mysterious workings of sex magnetism, mere +propinquity too often prevails. + +And all the others seemed farther still. They wrote regularly, +affectionately. Yet their letters--especially his father's--seemed to +tell precious little of the things he really wanted to know. Perhaps his +own had been more reserved than he realised. There had been so much at +Jaipur and Delhi that he could not very well enlarge upon. No use +worrying the dear old man; and she, who had linked them, unfailingly, +was now seldom mentioned between them. + +So there grew up in Roy a disconsolate feeling that none of them cared +very much whether he came Home or not. Jerry--after three years in a +German prison--was a nervous wreck; still undergoing treatment; humanly +lost, for the time being. Tiny was absorbed in her husband and an even +Tinier baby, called Nevil Le Roy, after himself. Tara was not yet home; +but coming before long, because Aunt Helen had broken down, between war +work and the shock of Atholl's death. + +A queer thing--separation, mused Roy, as Suraj slowed down to a walk and +the glare of morning flamed along the sky. There were they--and here was +he: close relations, in effect; almost strangers in fact. There was more +between him and them than several hundred miles of sea. There was the +bottomless gulf of the War; the gulf of his bitter grief and the slow +climb up from the depths to Pisgah heights of revelation. Impossible to +communicate--even had he willed--those inner, vital experiences at +Chitor and Jaipur. And he had certainly neither will nor power to +enlarge on his present turmoil of heart and mind. + +Since his ride with Rose Arden, after the dinner-party, things seemed to +have taken a new turn. Their relation was no longer tentative. She +seemed tacitly to regard him as her chosen cavalier; and he, as tacitly, +fell in with the arrangement. No denying he felt flattered a little; +subjugated increasingly by a spell he could neither analyse nor resist, +because he had known nothing quite like it before. He was, in truth, +paying the penalty for those rare and beautiful years of early manhood +inspired by worship of his mother. For every virtue, every gift, the +gods exact a price. And he was paying it now. Deep down within him, +something tugged against that potent spell. Yet increasingly it +prevailed and lured him from his work. The vivid beings of his brain +were fading into bloodless unrealities; in which state he could do +nothing with them. Yet Broome's encouragement, and his father's critical +appreciation of fragments lately sent Home, had fired him to +fulfil--more than fulfil--their expectations. And now--here he was +tripped up again by his all-too-human capacity for emotion--as at +Jaipur. + +The comparison jerked him. The two experiences, like the two women, had +almost nothing in common. The charm of Aruna--with its Eastern mingling +of the sensuous and spiritual--was a charm he intimately understood. It +combined a touch of the earth with a rarefied touch of the stars. In +Rose Arden, so far, he had discovered no touch of the stars. She +suggested, rather, a day in early summer, when warmth and fragrance and +colour permeate soul and body; keeping them delectably in thrall; wooing +the brain from irksome queries--why, whence, whither? + +By now, the sheer fascination of her had entered in and saturated his +being to a degree that he vaguely resented. Always one face, one voice, +intruding on him unsought. No respite from thought of her, from desire +of her; the exquisite intolerable ache, at times, when she was present +with him; the still more intolerable ache when she was not. + +The fluidity of his own dual nature, and recoil from the Aruna +temptation, inclined him peculiarly to idealise the clear-eyed, +self-poised Western qualities so diversely personified in Lance and this +compelling girl. Yet emphatically he did not love her. He knew the great +reality too well to delude himself on that score. Were these the +authentic signs of falling 'in love'? If so--in spite of rapturous +moments--it was a confoundedly uncomfortable state of being.... + +Where was she leading him--this beautiful, distracting girl, who said so +little, yet whose smiles and silences implied so much? There was no +forwardness or free-and-easiness about her; yet instinctively he +recognised her as the active agent in the whole affair. Twice, lately, +he had resolved not to go near her again; and both times he had failed +ignominiously--he who prided himself on control of unruly emotions...! + +Had Lance, he wondered, made the same resolve and managed to keep +it--being Lance? Or was the Gymkhana momentarily the stronger magnet of +the two? He and Paul, with a Major in the Monmouths, were chief +organisers; and much practice was afoot at tent-pegging, bare-back +horsemanship, and the like. For a week Lance had scarcely been into +Lahore. When Roy pressed him, he said it was getting too hot for +afternoon dancing. But as he still affected far more violent forms of +exercise, that excuse was not particularly convincing. + +By way of retort, he had rallied Roy on overdoing the tame-cat touch and +neglecting the important novel. And Roy--wincing at the truth of that +friendly flick--had replied no less truthfully: "Well, if it hangs fire, +old chap, you're the sinner. _You_ dug me out of Paradise by twitting me +with becoming an appendage to a pencil! Another month at Udaipur would +have nearly pulled me through it--in the rough, at least." + +It was lightly spoken; but Lance had set his lips in a fashion Roy knew +well; and said no more. + +Altogether, he seemed to have retired into a shell out of which he +refused to be drawn. They were friendly as ever, but distinctly less +intimate; and Roy felt vaguely responsible, yet powerless to put things +straight. For intimacy--in its essence a mutual impulse--cannot be +induced to order. If one spoke of Miss Arden, or doings in Lahore, Lance +would respond without enthusiasm, and unobtrusively change the subject. +Roy could only infer that his interest in the girl had never gone very +deep and had now fizzled out altogether. But he would have given a good +deal to feel sure that the fizzling out had no connection with his own +appearance on the scene. It bothered him to remember that, at first, in +an odd, repressed fashion Lance had seemed unmistakably keen. But if he +would persist in playing the Trappist monk, what the devil was a fellow +to do? + +Even over the Gymkhana programme, there had been an undercurrent of +friction. Lance--in his new vein--had wanted to keep the women out of +it; while Roy--in his new vein--couldn't keep at least one of them out, +if he tried. In particular, both were keen about the Cockade Tournament: +a glorified version of fencing on horseback: the wire masks adorned with +a small coloured feather for plume. He was victor whose fencing-stick +detached his opponent's feather. The prize--Bachelor's Purse--had been +well subscribed for and supplemented by Gymkhana funds. So, on all +accounts, it was a popular event. There were twenty-two names down; and +Roy, in a romantic impulse, had proposed making a real joust of it; each +knight to wear a lady's favour; a Queen of Beauty and Love to be chosen +for the prize-giving, as in the days of chivalry. + +Lance had rather hotly objected; and a few inveterate bachelors had +backed him up. But the bulk of men are sentimental at heart; none more +than the soldier. So Roy's idea had caught on, and the matter was +settled. There was little doubt who would be chosen for prize-giver; and +scarcely less doubt whose favour Roy would wear. + +Desmond's flash of annoyance had been brief; but he had stipulated that +favours should not be compulsory. If they were, he for one would +'scratch.' This time he had a larger backing; and, amid a good deal of +chaff and laughter, had carried his point. + +That open clash between them--slight though it was--had jarred Roy a +good deal. Lance, characteristically, had ignored the whole thing. + +But not even the inner jar could blunt Roy's keen anticipation of the +whole affair. Miss Arden was his partner in one of the few mixed events. +He was to wear her favour for the Tournament--a Marechal Mel rose; and, +infatuated as he was, he saw it for a guarantee of victory.... + +In view of that intoxicating possibility, nothing else mattered +inordinately, at the moment: though there reposed in his pocket a letter +from Dyan--with a Delhi post-mark--giving a detailed account of serious +trouble caused by the recent _hartal_:[23] all shops closed; tram-cars +and gharris held up by threatening crowds; helpless passengers forced to +proceed on foot in the blazing heat and dust; troops and police +violently assaulted; till a few rounds of buckshot cooled the ardour of +ignorant masses, doubtless worked up to concert pitch by wandering +agitators of the Chandranath persuasion. + +"There were certain Swamis," he concluded, "trying to keep things +peaceful. But they ought to know resistance cannot be passive or +peaceful; and excitement without understanding is a fire difficult to +quench. I believe this explosion was premature; but there is lots more +gunpowder lying about, only waiting for the match. I am taking Aruna +into the Hills for a pilgrimage. It is possible Grandfather may come +too; we are hoping to start soon after the fifteenth, if things keep +quiet. Write to me, Roy, telling all you know. Lahore is a hotbed for +trouble; Amritsar, worse; but I hope your authorities are keeping well +on their guard." + +From all Roy heard, there seemed good reason to believe they were;--in +so far as a Home policy of Government by concession would permit. But +well he knew that--in the East--if the ruling power discards action for +argument, and uses the sceptre for a walking-stick--things happen to men +and women and children on the spot. He also knew that, to England's +great good fortune, there were usually men on the spot who could be +relied on, in an emergency, to think and act and dare in accordance with +the high tradition of their race. + +He hoped devoutly it might not come to that; but at the core of hope +lurked a flicker of fear.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 23: Abstention as sign of mourning.] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Her best is bettered with a more delight."--SHAKSPERE. + + +The great Gymkhana was almost over. The last event--bare-back feats of +horsemanship--had been an exciting affair; a close contest between Lance +and Roy and an Indian Cavalry officer. But it was Roy who had carried +the day, by his daring and dexterity in the test of swooping down and +snatching a handkerchief from the ground at full gallop. The ovation he +received went to his head like champagne. But praise from Lance went to +his heart; for Lance, like himself, had been 'dead keen' on this +particular event. He had carried off a tent-pegging cup, however; and +appropriately won the V.C. race. So Roy considered he had a right to his +triumph; especially as the handkerchief in question had been proffered +by Miss Arden. It was reposing in his breast pocket now; and he had a +good mind not to part with it. He was feeling in the mood to dare, +simply for the excitement of the thing. He and she had won the Gretna +Green race--hands down. He further intended--for her honour and his own +glory--to come off victor in the Cockade Tournament, in spite of the +fact that fencing on horseback was one of Lance's specialities. He had +taught Roy in Mesopotamia, during those barren, plague-ridden stretches +of time when the war seemed hung up indefinitely and it took every ounce +of surplus optimism to keep going at all. + +Roy's hope was that some other man might knock Lance out; or--as teams +would be decided by lot--that luck might cast them together. For the +ache of compunction was rather pronounced this afternoon; perhaps +because the good fellow's aloofness from the grand _shamianah_[24] was +also rather pronounced, considering.... + +He seemed always to be either out in the open, directing events, or very +much engaged in the refreshment tent--an earthly Paradise, on this +blazing day of early April, to scores of dusty, thirsty, indefatigable +men. + +Between events, as now, the place was thronged. Every moment, fresh +arrivals shouting for 'drinks.' Every moment the swish of a syphon, the +popping of corks; ginger-beer and lemonade for Indian officers, seated +just outside, and permitted by caste rules to refresh themselves +'English-fashion,' provided they drank from the pure source of the +bottle. Not a Sikh or Rajput of them all would have sullied his +caste-purity by drinking from the tumbler used by some admired Sahib, +for whom on service he would cheerfully lay down his life. Within the +tent were a few--very few--more advanced beings, who had discarded all +irksome restrictions and would sooner be shot than address a white man +as 'Sahib.' Such is India in transition; a welter of incongruities, of +shifting perilous uncertainties, of subterranean ferment beneath a +surface that still appears very much as it has always been. + +Roy--observant and interested as usual--saw, in the brilliant gathering, +all the outward and visible signs of security, stability, power. Let +those signs be shaken never so little, thought he--and the heavens would +fall. But, in spite of grave news from Delhi--that might prove a prelude +to eruption--not a ripple stirred on the face of the waters. The grand +_shamianah_ was thronged with lively groups of women and men in the +lightest of light attire. A British band was enlivening the interlude +with musical comedy airs. Stewards were striding about looking +important, issuing orders for the next event. And around them all--as +close as boundary flags and police would allow--thronged the solid mass +of onlookers: soldiers, sepoys, and sowars from every regiment in +cantonments; minor officials with their families; ponies and _saises_ +and dogs without number; all wedged in by a sea of brown faces and +bobbing turbans, thousands of them twenty or thirty deep. + +Roy's eyes, travelling from that vast outer ring to the crowded tent, +suddenly saw the whole scene as typical of Anglo-Indian life: the little +concentrated world of British men and women, pursuing their own ends, +magnificently unmindful of alien eyes--watching, speculating, +misunderstanding at every turn; the whole heterogeneous mass drawn and +held together by the love of hazard and sport, the spirit of competition +without strife that is the corner-stone of British character and the +British Empire. + +He had just been talking to a C.I.D.[25] man, who had things to say +about subterranean rumblings that might have startled those laughing, +chaffing groups of men and women. Too vividly his imagination pictured +the scenes at Delhi, while his eyes scanned the formidable depths of +alien humanity hemming them in, outnumbering them by thousands to one. +What if all those friendly faces became suddenly hostile--if the +laughter and high-pitched talk changed to the roar of an angry crowd...? + +He shook off the nightmare feeling, rating himself for a coward. Yet he +knew it was not fantastical, not even improbable; though most of the +people around him, till they saw with their own eyes, and heard with +their own ears, would not believe.... + +But thoughts so unsettling were out of place, in the midst of a Gymkhana +with the grand climax imminent. So--having washed the dust out of his +throat--he sauntered across to the other tent to snatch a few words with +Miss Arden and secure his rose. It had been given to one of the +'_kits_,' who would put it in water and produce it on demand. For the +affair of the favours was to be a private affair. Miss Arden, however, +in choosing a Marechal Niel, tacitly avowed him her knight. Lance would +know. All their set would know. He supposed she realised that. She was +not an accidental kind of person. And she had a natural gift for +flattery of the delicate, indirect order. + +No easy matter to get near her again, once you left her side. As usual, +she was surrounded by men; easily the Queen of Beauty and of Love. In +honour of that high compliment, she wore her loveliest race gown; soft +shades of blue and green skilfully blended; and a close-fitting hat +bewitchingly framed her face. Nearing the tent, Roy felt a sudden twinge +of apprehension. Where were they drifting to--he and she? Was he +prepared to bid her good-bye in a week or ten days, and possibly not set +eyes on her again? Would she let him go without a pang, and start afresh +with some chance-met fellow in Simla? The idea was detestable; and +yet...? + +Half irritably he dismissed the intrusive thought. The glamour of her so +dazzled him that he could see nothing else clearly. + +Perhaps that was why he failed to escape Mrs Hunter-Ranyard, who +skilfully annexed him in passing, and rained compliments on his +embarrassed head. Fine horsemanship was common enough in India; but +anything more superb----! Wide blue eyes and extravagant gesture +expressively filled the blank. + +"My heart was in my mouth! That handkerchief trick is _so_ thrilling. +You all looked as if you _must_ have your brains knocked out the next +moment----" + +"And if we had, I suppose the thrill would have gone one better!" Roy +wickedly suggested. He was annoyed at being delayed. + +"You deserve 'yes' to that! But if I said what I _really_ thought, your +head would be turned. And it's quite sufficiently turned already!" She +beamed on him with arch significance, enjoying his impatience without a +tinge of malice. There was little of it in her; and the little there +was, she reserved for her own sex. + +"I suppose it's a _dead_ secret ... whose favour you are going to wear?" + +"That's the ruling," said Roy; but he felt his blood tingling, and hoped +to goodness it didn't show through. + +"Well, I've got big bets on about guessing right; and the biggest bet's +on yours! Major Desmond's a good second." + +"Oh, he bars the whole idea." + +"I'm relieved to hear it. I was angelic enough to offer him mine, +thinking he might be feeling out in the cold!" (another arch look) +"and--he refused. My 'Happy Warrior' doesn't seem quite so happy as he +used to be----" + +The light thrust struck home, but Roy ignored it. If Lance barred +wearing favours, he barred discussing Lance with women. Driven into a +corner, he managed somehow to escape, and hurried away in search of his +rose. + +Mrs Ranyard, looking after him, with frankly affectionate concern, found +herself wondering--was he really quite so transparent as he seemed? That +queer visionary look in his eyes, now and then, suggested spiritual +depths, or heights, that might baffle even the all-appropriating Rose? +Did she seriously intend to appropriate him? There were vague rumours of +a title. But no one knew anything about him, really, except the two +Desmonds; and she would be a brave woman who tried to squeeze family +details out of them. The boy was too good for her; but still.... + +Roy, reappearing, felt idiotically convinced that every eye was on the +little spot of yellow in his button-hole that linked him publicly with +the girl who wore a cluster of its fellows at her belt. + +Time was nearly up. She had moved to the front now, and was free of men, +standing very still, gazing intently.... + +Roy, following her gaze, saw Lance--actually in the tent--discussing +some detail with the Colonel. + +"What makes her look at him like that?" he wondered; and it was as if +the tip of a red-hot needle touched his heart. + +Next moment she saw him, and beckoned him with her eyes. He came, +instinctively obedient; and her welcoming glance included the rosebud. +"You found it?" she said, very low, mindful of feminine ears. "And--you +deserve it, after that marvellous exhibition. You went such a pace. +It--frightened me." + +It frightened him, a little, the exceeding softness of her look and +tone; and she added, more softly still, "My handkerchief, please." + +"_My_ handkerchief!" he retorted. "I won it fairly. You've admitted as +much." + +"But it wasn't meant--for a prize." + +"I risked something to win it anyway," said he, "and now----" + +The blare of the megaphone--a poor substitute for heralds' +trumpets--called the knights of the wire-mask and fencing-stick into the +lists. + +"Go in and win the rosebud too!" said she, when the shouting ceased. +"Keep cool. Don't lose your head--or your feather!" + +He had lost his head already. She had seen to that. And turning to leave +her, he found Lance almost at his elbow. + +"Come along, Roy," he said, an imperative note in his voice; and if +_his_ glance included the rosebud, it gave no sign. + +As they neared the gathering group of combatants, he turned with one of +his quick looks. + +"You're in luck, old man. Every inducement to come out top!" he +remarked, only half in joke. "I've none, except my own credit. But +you'll have a tough job if you knock up against _me_." + +"Right you are," Roy answered, jarred by the look and tone more than the +words. "If you're so dead keen, I'll take you on." + +After that, Roy hoped exceedingly that luck might cast them in the same +team. + +But it fell out otherwise. + +Lance drew red; Roy, blue. Lance and Major Devines, of the Monmouths, +were chosen as leaders. They were the only two on the ground who wore no +favours: and they fronted each other with smiles of approval, their +respective teams--ten a side--drawn up in two long lines; heads caged in +wire-masks, tufted, with curly feathers, red and blue; ponies champing +and pawing the air. Not precisely a picturesque array; but if the plumes +and trappings of chivalry were lacking, the spirit of it still nickered +within; and will continue to flicker, just so long as modern woman will +permit. + +At the crack of a pistol they were off, full tilt; but there was no +shock of lance on shield, no crash and clang of armour that 'could be +heard at a mile's distance,' as in the days of Ivanhoe. There was only +the sharp rattle of fencing-sticks against each other and the masks, the +clatter of eighty-eight hooves on hard ground; a lively confusion of +horses and men, advancing, backing, 'turning on a sixpence' to meet a +sudden attack; voices, Indian and English, shouting or cheering; and +the intermittent call of the umpire declaring a player knocked out as +his feather fluttered into the dust. Clouds of dust enveloped them in a +shifting haze. They breathed dust. It gritted between their teeth. What +matter? They were having at each other in furious yet friendly combat; +and, being Englishmen, they were perfectly happy; keen to win, ready to +lose with a good grace and cheer the better man. + +In none of them, perhaps, did the desire to win burn quite so fiercely +as in Lance and Roy. But more than ever, now, Roy shrank from a final +tussle between them. Surely there was one man of them all good enough to +put Lance out of court. + +For a time Major Devines kept him occupied. While Roy accounted for two +red feathers, the well-matched pair were making a fine fight of it up +and down the field, to the tune of cheers and counter-cheers. + +But it was the blue feather that fell; and Lance, swinging round, +charged into the melee--seven reds now, to six blue. + +Twice, in the scrimmage, Roy came up against him, but managed to shift +ground, leaving another man to tackle him. Both times it was the blue +feather that fell. Steadily the numbers thinned. Roy's wrist and arm +were tiring, a trifle; but resolve to win burned fiercely as ever. By +now it was clear to all who were the two best men in the field, and +excitement rose as the numbers dwindled.... + +Four to three; blues leading. Two all. And at last--an empty dusty +arena; and they two alone in the midst, ringed in by thousands of faces, +thousands of eyes.... + +Till that moment, the spectators had simply not existed for Roy. Now, of +a sudden, they crowded in on him--tightly-wedged wall of +humanity--expectant, terrifying.... + +The two had drawn rein, facing each other; and for that mere moment Roy +felt as if his nerve was gone. A glance at the crowded tent, the gleam +of a blue-green figure leaning forward.... + +Then Lance's voice, low and peremptory, 'Come on.' + +In the same breath he himself came on, with formidable elan. Their +sticks rattled sharply. Roy parried a high slicing stroke--only just in +time. + +Thank God, he was himself again; so much himself that he was beset by a +sneaking desire to let Lance win. It was his weakness in games, just +when the goal seemed in sight. Tara used to scold him fiercely.... + +But there was Miss Arden, the rosebud.... + +And suddenly, startlingly, Roy became aware that for Lance this was no +game. He was fencing like a man inspired. There was more than mere skill +in his feints and shrewd blows; more in it than a feather. + +Two cuts over the arm and shoulder, a good deal sharper than need be, +fairly roused Roy. Next moment they were literally fighting, at closest +range, for all they were worth, to the accompaniment of yell on yell, +cheer on cheer.... + +As the issue hung doubtful and excitement intensified, it became clear +that Lance was losing his temper. Roy, hurt and angry, tried to keep +cool. Against an antagonist so skilled and relentless, it was his only +chance. Their names were shouted. _"Shahbash[26] Sinkin, Sahib,"_ from +the men of Roy's old squadron; and from Lance's men, _"Desmin Sahib ki +jai!"_[27] + +Twice Roy's slicing stroke almost came off--almost, not quite. The +maddening little feather still held its own; and Lance, by way of +rejoinder, caught him a blow on his mask that made his head ache for an +hour after. + +Up went his arm to return the blow with interest. Lance, instead of +parrying, lunged--and the head of a yellow bud dropped in the dust. + +At that Roy saw red. His lifted hand shook visibly; and with the +moment's loss of control went his last hope of victory.... + +Next instant his feather had joined the rosebud; the crowd were roaring +themselves hoarse; and Roy was riding off the ground--shorn of plume and +favour, furiously disappointed, and feeling a good deal more bruised +about the arms and shoulders than anything on earth would have induced +him to admit. + +Of course he ought to go up and congratulate Lance; but just then it +seemed a physical impossibility. Mercifully he was surrounded and borne +off to the refreshment tent; sped on his way by a rousing ovation as he +passed the _shamianah_. + +Roy, following after, had his full share of praise, and a salvo of +applause from the main tent. + +Saluting and looking round, he dared not meet Miss Arden's eye. Had he +won, she might have owned him. As it was, he had better keep his +distance. But the glimpse he got of her face startled him. It looked +curiously white and strained. His own imagination, perhaps. It was only +a flash. But it haunted him. He felt responsible. She had been so +radiantly sure.... + +Arrived in the other tent--feeling stupidly giddy and in pain--he sank +down on the first available chair. Friendly spirits ordered drinks, and +soothed him with compliments. A thundering good fight. To be so narrowly +beaten by Desmond was an achievement in itself; and so forth. + +Lance and Paul, still surrounded, were at the other end of the long +table; and a very fair wedge of thirsty, perspiring manhood filled the +intervening space. Roy did not feel like stirring. He felt more like +drinking half a dozen 'pegs' in succession. But soon he was aware of a +move going on. The prizes, of course; and he had two to collect. By a +special decree, the Tournament prize would be given first. So he need +not hurry. The tent was emptying swiftly. He _must_ screw himself up to +congratulations.... + +The screwing was still in process when Lance crossed the tent--nearly +empty now--and stopped in front of him. + +"See here, Roy--I apologise," he said hurriedly, in a low tone. "I lost +my temper. Not fair play----" + +Instantly Roy was on his feet, shoulders squared, the last spark of +antagonism extinct. + +"If it comes to that, I lost mine too," he admitted, and Lance smiled. + +"You _did_! But--I began it." There was an instant of painful +hesitation, then, "It--it was an accident--the favour----" + +"Oh, that's all right," Roy muttered, embarrassed and overcome. + +"It's not all right. It put you off." Another pause. "Will you take half +the Purse?" + +"Not I." Glory apart, he knew very well how badly Lance needed the +money. "It's yours. And you deserve it." + +They both spoke low and rapidly, as if on a matter of business, for +there were still some men at the other end of the tent. But at that, to +Roy's amazement, Lance held out his hand. + +"Thanks, old man. Shake hands--here, where the women can see us. You bet +... they twigged.... And they chatter so infernally.... Unfair--on Miss +Arden----" + +Roy felt himself reddening. It was Lance all over--that chivalrous +impulse. So they shook hands publicly, to the astonishment of interested +_kitmutgars_, who had been betting freely, and were marvelling afresh at +the strange ways of Sahibs. + +"I'll doctor your bruises to-night!" said Lance. "And I accept, +gratefully, _your_ share of the purse. She won't relish--giving it to +the wrong 'un." The last, barely audible, came out in a rush, with a +jerk of the head that Roy knew well. "Come along and see how prettily +she does it." + +To Roy's infatuated eyes, she did it inimitably. Standing there, tall +and serene, in her pale-coloured gown and bewitching hat, instinct with +the mysterious authority of beauty, she handed the prize to Desmond with +a little gracious speech of congratulation, adding, "It was a close +fight; but you won it--fairly." + +Roy started. Did Lance notice the lightest imaginable stress on the +word? + +"Thanks very much," he said; and saluted, looking her straight in the +eyes. + +Roy, watching intently, fancied he saw a ghost of a blush stir under the +even pallor of her skin. She had told him once, in joke, that she never +blushed; it was not one of her accomplishments. But for half a second +she came perilously near it; and although it enhanced her beauty +tenfold, it troubled Roy. + +Then--as the cheering died down--he saw her turn to the Colonel, who was +supporting her, and heard her clear deliberate tones, that carried with +so little effort: "I think, Colonel Desmond, every one must agree that +the honours are almost equally divided----" + +More applause; and Roy--scarcely crediting his ears or eyes--saw her +pick a rose from her cluster. + +The moment speech was possible, she leaned forward, smiling frankly at +him before them all. + +"Mr Sinclair, will you accept a mere token by way of consolation prize? +We are all agreed you put up a splendid fight; and it was no dishonour +to be defeated by--such an adversary." + +Fresh clapping and shouting; while Roy--elated and overwhelmed--went +forward like a man walking in a dream. + +It was a dream-woman who pinned the rosebud in his empty button-hole, +patting it into shape with the lightest touch of her finger-tips, +saying, "Well done indeed," and smiling at him again.... + +Without a word he saluted and walked away. + +She had done it prettily, past question; and in a fashion all her own. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 24: Marquee tent.] + +[Footnote 25: Criminal Investigation Department.] + +[Footnote 26: Well done.] + +[Footnote 27: Victory to Desmond Sahib.] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "Blood and brain and spirit, three-- + Join for true felicity. + Are they parted, then expect + Someone sailing will be wrecked." + --GEORGE MEREDITH. + + +On the night after the Gymkhana the great little world of Lahore was +again disporting itself, with unabated vigour, in the pillared ballroom +of the Lawrence Hall. They could tell tales worth inditing, those +pillars and galleries that have witnessed all the major festivities of +Punjab Anglo-India--its loves and jealousies and high-hearted +courage--from the day of crinolines and whiskers, to this day of the +tooth-brush moustache, the retiring skirts and still more retiring +bodices of after-war economy. And there are those who believe they will +witness the revelry of Anglo-Indian generations yet to be. + +Had Lance Desmond shared Roy's gift for visions, he might have seen, in +spirit, the ghosts of his mother and father, in the pride of their +youth, and that first legendary girl-wife, of whom Thea had once told +him all she knew, and whose grave he had seen in Kohat cemetery with a +queer mingling of pity and resentment in his heart. There should have +been no one except his own splendid mother--first, last, and all the +time. + +But Lance, though no scoffer, had small intimacy with ghosts; and Roy's +frequented other regions; nor was he in the frame of mind to induce +spiritual visitations. Soul and body were enmeshed, as in a network of +sunbeams, holding him close to earth. + +For weeks part of him had been fighting, subconsciously, against the +compelling power that is woman; now, consciously, he was alive to it, +swept along by it, as by a tidal wave. Since that amazing moment at the +prize-giving, all his repressed ferment had welled up and overflowed; +and when an imaginative, emotional nature loses grip on the reins, the +pace is apt to be headlong, the course perilous.... + +He had dined at the Eltons'--a lively party; chaff and laughter and +champagne; and Miss Arden--after yesterday's graciousness--in a +tantalising, elusive mood. But he had his dances secure--six out of +twenty, not to mention the cotillon, after supper, which they were to +lead. She was wearing what he called her 'Undine frock'--a clinging +affair, fringed profusely with silver and palest green, that suggested +to his fancy Undine emerging from the stream in a dripping garment of +water-weeds. Her arms and shoulders emerged from it a little too +noticeably for his taste; but to-night his critical brain was in +abeyance. + +Look where he would, talk to whom he would, he was persistently, +distractingly aware of her; and she could not elude him the whole +evening long.... + + * * * * * + +Supper was over. The cotillon itself was almost over; the maypole figure +adding a flutter of bright ribbons to the array of flags and bunting, +evening dresses, and uniforms. Twice, in the earlier figures, she had +chosen him; but this time, the chance issue of pairing by colours gave +her to Desmond. Roy saw a curious look pass between them. Then Lance put +his arm round her, and they danced without a break. + +When it was over, Roy went in search of iced coffee. In a few seconds +those two appeared on the same errand, and merged themselves in a lively +group. Roy, irresistibly, followed suit; and when the music struck up, +Lance handed her over with a formal bow. + +"Your partner, I think, old man. Thanks for the loan," he said; and his +smile was for Roy as he turned and walked leisurely away. + +Roy looked after him, feeling pained and puzzled; the more so, because +Lance clearly had the whip-hand. It was she who seemed the less assured +of the two; and he caught himself wishing he possessed the power so to +upset her equanimity. Was it even remotely possible that--she cared +seriously, and Lance would not...? + +"Brown studies aren't permitted in ballrooms, Mr Sinclair!" she rallied +him in her gentlest voice--and Lance was forgotten. "Come and tie an +extra big choc. on to my fishing-rod." + +Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to masculine +dignity. Six brief-skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood on chairs, each +dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of bamboo and coloured +ribbon. Before them, on six cushions, knelt six men; heads tilted back, +bobbing this way and that, at the caprice of the angler; occasionally +losing balance, and half toppling over amid shouts and cheers. + +How did that kind of fooling strike the '_kits_' and the Indian bandsman +up aloft, wondered Roy. A pity they never gave a thought to that side of +the picture. He determined not to be drawn in. Lance, he noticed, +studiously refrained. Miss Arden--having tantalised three aspirants--was +looking round for a fourth victim. Their eyes met--and he was done +for.... + +Directly his knee touched the cushion, the recoil came sharply--too +late. And she--as if aware of his reluctance--played him mercilessly, +smiling down on him with her astonishing hazel eyes.... + +Roy's patience and temper gave out. Tingling with mortification, he rose +and walked away, to be greeted with a volley of good-natured chaff. + +He was followed by Lister, 'the R.E. boy,' who at once secured the +elusive bait, clearly by favour rather than skill. The rest had already +paired. The band struck up; and Roy, partnerless, stood looking on, the +film of the East over his face masking the clash of forces within. The +fool he was to have given way! And _this_--before them all--after +yesterday...! + +His essential masculinity stood confounded; blind to the instinct of the +essential coquette--allurement by flight. He resolved to take no part in +the final figure--the mirror and handkerchief; would not even look at +her, lest she catch his eye. + +Her choice fell on Hayes; and Roy--elaborately indifferent--carried +Lance off to the buffet for champagne cup. It was a thirsty evening; a +relief to be quit of the ballroom and get a breath of masculine fresh +air. The fencing-bout and its aftermath had consciously quickened his +feeling for Lance. In the fury of that fight they seemed to have worked +off the hidden friction of the past few weeks that had dimmed the steady +radiance of their friendship. It was as if a storm-cloud had burst and +the sun shone out again. + +They said nothing intimate, nothing worthy of note. They were simply +content. + +Yet, when music struck up, Roy was in a fever to be with her again. + +Her welcoming smile revived his reckless mood. "Ours--_this_ time, +anyway," he said, in an odd repressed voice. + +"Yes--ours." + +Her answering look vanquished him utterly. As his arm encircled her, he +fancied she leaned ever so little towards him, as if admitting that she +too felt the thrill of coming together again. Fancy or no, it was like a +lighted match dropped in a powder magazine.... + +For Roy that single valse, out of scores they had danced together, was +an experience by itself. + +While the music plays, a man encircles one woman and another, from +habit, without a flicker of emotion. But to-night volcanic forces in Roy +were rising like champagne when the cork begins to move. Never had he +been so disturbingly aware that he was holding her in his arms; that he +wanted tremendously to go on holding her when the music stopped. To this +danger-point he had been brought by the unconscious effect of delicate +approaches and strategic retreats. And the man who has most firmly kept +the cork on his emotions is often the most unaccountable when it flies +off.... + +The music ceased. They were merely partners again. He led her out into +starry darkness, velvet soft; very quiet and contained to the outer eye; +inwardly, of a sudden, afraid of himself, still more afraid of the +serenely beautiful girl at his side. + +He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do; but not at all what he +wanted to say. For him, as his mother's son, marriage had a sacredness, +an apartness from random emotions, however overwhelming; and it went +against the grain to approach that supreme subject in his present fine +confusion of heart and body and brain. + +They wandered on a little. Like himself, she seemed smitten dumb; and +with every moment of silence, he became more acutely aware of her. He +had discovered that this was one of her most potent spells. Never for +long could a man be unaware of her, of the fact that she was before +everything--a woman. + +In a sense--how different!--it had been the same with Aruna. But with +Aruna it was primitive, instinctive. This exotic flower of Western +girlhood wielded her power with conscious, consummate skill.... + +Near a seat well away from the Hall she stopped. "We don't want any more +exercise, do we?" she said softly. + +"I've had enough for the present," he answered. And they sat down. + +Silence again. He didn't know what to say to her. He only craved +overwhelmingly to take her in his arms. Had she a glimmering +idea--sitting there, so close ... so alluring...? + +And suddenly, to his immense relief, she spoke. + +"It was splendid. A pity it's over. That's the litany of Anglo-India. +It's over. Change the scene. Shuffle the puppets--and begin again. I've +been doing it for six years----" + +"And--it doesn't pall?" His voice sounded quite natural, quite composed, +which was also a relief. + +"Pall?--You try it!" For the first time he detected a faint note of +bitterness. "But still--a cotillon's a cotillon!"--She seemed to pull +herself together.--"There's an exciting element in it that keeps its +freshness. And I flatter myself we carried it through brilliantly--you +and I." The pause before the linked pronouns gave him an odd little +thrill. "But--what put you off ... at the end?" + +Her amazing directness took him aback. "I--oh, well--I thought ... one +way and another, you'd been having enough of me." + +"That's not true!" She glanced at him sidelong. "You were vexed because +I chose the Lister boy. And he was all over himself, poor dear! As a +matter of fact, I'd meant to have you. If you'd only looked at me ...! +But you stared fiercely the other way. However, perhaps we've been +flagrant enough for to-night----" + +"Flagrant--have we?" + +Daring, passionate words thronged his brain; and through his inner +turmoil, he heard her answer lightly: "Don't ask me! Ask the +Banter-Wrangle. She knows to an inch the degrees of flagrance officially +permitted to the attached and the unattached! You see, in India, we're +allowed ... a certain latitude." + +"Yes--I've noticed. It's a pity...." Words simply would not come, on +this theme of all others. Was she indirectly ... telling him ...? + +"And you disapprove--tooth and nail?" she queried gently. "I hoped you +were different. You don't know _how_ tired we are of eternal disapproval +from people who simply know nothing--nothing----" + +"But I don't disapprove," he blurted out vehemently. "It always strikes +me as a rather middle-class, puritanical attitude. I only think--it's a +thousand pities to take the bloom off ... the big thing--the real thing, +by playing at it (you can see they do) like lawn tennis, just to pass +the time----" + +"Well, Heaven knows, we've _got_ to pass the time out here--_some_how!" +she retorted, with a sudden warmth that startled him: it was so unlike +her. "All very fine for people at home to turn up superior noses at us; +to say we live in blinkers, that we've no intellectual pursuits, no +interest in 'this wonderful country.' I confess, to some of us, India +and its people are holy terrors. As for art and music and +theatres--where _are_ they, except what we make for ourselves, in our +indefatigable, amateurish way. Can't _you_ see--you, with your +imaginative insight--that we have virtually nothing but each other? If +we spent our days bowing and scraping and dining and dancing with due +decorum, there'd be a boom in suicides and the people in clover at Home +would placidly wonder why----?" + +"But do listen. I'm not blaming--any of you," he exclaimed, distracted +by her complete misreading of his mood. + +"Well, you're criticising--in your heart. And your opinion's worth +something--to some of us. Even if we _do_ occasionally--play at being in +love, there's always the offchance it may turn out to be ... the real +thing." She drew an audible breath and added, in her lighter vein: "You +know, you're a very fair hand at it yourself--in your restrained, +fakirish fashion----" + +"But I don't--I'm not----" he stammered desperately. "And why d'you call +me a fakir? It's not the first time. And it's not true. I believe in +life--and the fulness of life." + +"I'm glad. I'm not keen on fakirs. But I only meant--one can't picture +you playing round, the way heaps of men do with girls ... who allow them +..." + +"No. That's true. I never----" + +"What--never? Or is it 'hardly ever'?" + +She leaned a shade nearer, her beautiful pale face etherealised by +starshine. And that infinitesimal movement, her low tone, the sheer +magnetism of her, swept him from his moorings. Words low and passionate +came all in a rush. + +"What _are_, you doing with me? Why d'you tantalise me. Whether you're +there or not there, your face haunts me--your voice. It may be play for +you--it isn't for me----" + +"I've never said--I've never implied--it was play ... for _me_----" + +This time perceptibly she leaned nearer, mute confession in her look, +her tone; and delicate fire ran in his veins.... + +Next moment his arms were round her; trembling, yet vehement; crushing +her against him almost roughly. No mistaking the response of her lips; +yet she never stirred; only the fingers of her right hand closed sharply +on his arm. Having hold of her at last, after all that inner tumult and +resistance, he could hardly let her go. Yet--strangely--even in the +white heat of fervour, some detached fragment, at the core of him, +seemed to be hating the whole thing, hating himself--and her---- + +Instantly he released her ... looked at her ... realised.... In those +few tempestuous moments he had burnt his boats indeed ... + +She met his eyes now, found them too eloquent, and veiled her own. + +"No. You are not altogether--a fakir," she said softly. + +"I'd no business. I'm sorry ..." he began, answering his own swift +compunction, not her remark. + +"_I'm_ not--unless you really mean--_you_ are?" Faint raillery gleamed +in her eyes. "You did rather overwhelmingly take things for granted. +But still ... after that...." + +"Yes--after that ... if _you_ really mean it?" + +"Well ... what do you think?" + +"I simply _can't_ think," he confessed, with transparent honesty. "I +hardly know if I'm on my head or my heels. I only know you've bewitched +me. I'm infatuated--intoxicated with you. But ... if you _do_ care +enough ... to marry me----" + +"My dear--Roy--can you doubt it?" + +He had never heard her voice so charged with emotion. For all answer, he +held her close--with less assurance now--and kissed her again.... + + * * * * * + +In course of time they remembered that a pause only lasts five minutes; +that there were other partners. + +"If we're not to be too flagrant, even for India," she said, rising with +unperturbed deliberation, "I suggest we go in. Goodness knows where +they've got to by now!" + +He stood up also. "It matters a good deal more ... where _we_'ve got to. +I'll come over to-morrow and see ... your people...." + +"No. You'll come over--and see me! We'll descend from the dream ... to +the business; and have everything clear to our own satisfaction before +we let in all the others. I always vowed I wouldn't accept a proposal +after supper! If you're ... intoxicated, you might wake +sober--disillusioned!" + +"But I--I've kissed you," he stammered, suddenly overcome with shyness. + +"So you have--a few times! I'm afraid we didn't keep count! I'm not +really doubting either of us--Roy. But still.... Shall we say tea and a +ride?" + +He hesitated. "Sorry--I'm booked. I promised Lance----" + +"Very well--dinner? Mother has some bridge people. Only one table. We +can escape into the garden. Now--come along." + +He drew a deep breath. More and more the detached part of him was +realising.... + +They walked back rather briskly, not speaking; nor did he touch her +again. + +They found Lahore still dancing, sublimely unconcerned. Instinctively, +Roy looked round for Lance. No sign of him in the ballroom or the +card-room. And the crowded place seemed empty without him. It was queer. + +Later on, he ran up against Barnard, who told him that Lance had gone +home. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + "Of the unspoken word thou art master. The spoken word is master of + thee."--_Arab Proverb_. + + +Roy drove home with Barnard in the small hours, still too overwrought +for clear thinking, and too exhausted all through to lie awake for five +minutes after his head touched the pillow. For the inner stress and +combat had been sharper than he knew. + +He woke late to find Terry curled up against his legs, and the bungalow +empty of human sounds. The other three were up long since, and gone to +early parade. His head was throbbing. He felt limp, as if all the vigour +had been drained out of him. And suddenly ... he remembered.... + +Not in a lover's rush of exaltation, but with a sharp reaction almost +amounting to fear, the truth dawned on him that he was no longer his own +man. In a passionate impulse, he had virtually surrendered himself and +his future into the hands of a girl whom he scarcely knew. He still saw +the whole thing as mainly her doing--and it frightened him. Looking +backward over the past weeks, reviewing the steps by which he had +arrived at last night's involuntary culmination, he felt more frightened +than ever. + +And yet--there sprang a vision of her, pale and gracious in the +starshine, when she leaned to him at parting.... + +She was wonderful and beautiful--and she was his. Any man worth his salt +would feel proud. And he did feel proud--in the intervals of feeling +horribly afraid of himself and her. Especially her. Girls were amazing +things. You seized hold of one and spoke mad words, and nearly crushed +the life out of her, and she took it almost as calmly as if you had +asked for an extra dance. Was it a protective layer of insensibility--or +super-normal self-control? Would she, Rose, have despised him had she +guessed that even at the height of his exultation he had felt ashamed of +having let himself go so completely; and that before there had been any +word of marriage--any clear desire of it even in the deep of his heart? + +That was really the root of his trouble. The passing recoil from an +ardent avowal is no uncommon experience with the finer types of men. +But, to Roy, it seemed peculiarly unfitting that the son of his mother +should, as it were, stumble into marriage in a headlong impulse of +passion, on a superficial six weeks' acquaintance; and the shy, +spiritual side of him felt alarmed, restive, even a little repelled. + +In a measure, Rose was right when she dubbed him fakir. Artist though he +was, and all too human, there lurked in him a nascent streak of the +ascetic, accentuated by his mother's bidding, and his own strong desire +to keep in touch with her and with things not seen. + +And there, on his writing-table, stood her picture mutely reproaching +him. With a pang he realised how completely she had been crowded out of +his thoughts during those weeks of ferment. What would she think of it +all? The question--what would Rose think of her simply did not arise. +She was still supreme, she who had once said, "So long as you are +thinking first of me, you may be sure That Other has not yet arrived". + +Was Rose Arden--for all her beauty and witchery--genuinely That Other? + +Beguiled by her visible perfections, he had taken her spiritually for +granted. And he knew well enough that it is not through the senses a man +first approaches love--if he is capable of that high and complex +emotion; but rather through imagination and admiration, sympathy and +humour. As it was, he had not a glimmering idea how she would consort +with his very individual inner self. Yet matters were virtually +settled.... + +And suddenly, like a javelin, one word pierced his brain--Lance! +Whatever there was between them, he felt sure his news would not please +Lance, to say the least of it. And, as for their Kashmir plan...? + +Why the devil was life such a confoundedly complex affair? By rights, he +ought to be 'all over himself', having won such a wife. Was it something +wrong with him? Or did all accepted lovers feel like this--the morning +after? A greater number, perhaps, than poets or novelists or lovers +themselves are ever likely to admit. Very certainly he would not admit +his present sensations to any living soul. + +Springing out of bed, he shouted for _chota hazri_[28] and shaving +water; drank thirstily; ate hungrily; and had just cleared his face of +lather when Lance came in, booted and spurred, bringing with him his +magnetic atmosphere of vitality and vigour. + +Standing behind Roy, he ran his left hand lightly up the back of his +hair, gripped the extra thickness at the top, and gave it a distinct +tug; friendly, but sharp enough to make Roy wince. + +"Slacker! Waster! You ought to have been out riding off the effects. You +were jolly well going it last night. And you jolly well _look_ it this +morning. Good thing I'm free on the fifteenth to haul you away from all +this". + +Perhaps because they had first met at an age when eighteen months seemed +an immense gap between them, Lance had never quite dropped the +elder-brotherly attitude of St Rupert days. + +"Yes--a rare good thing----" Roy echoed, and stopped with a visible +jerk. + +"Well, what's the hitch? Hit out, man. Don't mind me." + +There was a flash of impatience, an undernote of foreknowledge, in his +tone, that made confession at once easier and harder for Roy. + +"I suppose it was--pretty glaring", he admitted, twitching his head away +from those strong friendly fingers. "The fact is--we're ... as good as +engaged----" + +Again he broke off, arrested by the mask-like stillness of Desmond's +face. + +"Congrats, old man", he said at last, in a level tone. "I got the +impression ... a few weeks ago, you were not ready for the plunge. But +you've done it--in record time." A pause. Roy sat there +tongue-tied--unreasonably angry with himself and Rose. "Why 'as good +as...?' Is it to be ... not official?" + +"Only till to-morrow. You see, it all came ... rather in a rush. She +thought ... we thought ... better talk things over first between +ourselves. After all...." + +"Yes--after all," Lance took him up. "You do know a precious lot about +each other! How much ... does _she_ know ... about _you_?" + +"Oh, my dancing and riding, my temperament and the colour of my +eyes--four very important items!" said Roy, affecting a lightness he was +far from feeling. + +Lance ignored his untimely flippancy. "Have you ever ... happened to +mention ... your mother?" + +"Not yet. Why----?" The question startled him. + +"It occurred to me. I merely wondered----" + +"Well, of course, I shall--to-night." + +Lance nodded, pensively fingered his riding-crop, and remarked, "D'you +imagine now she's going to let you bury yourself up Gilgit way--with me? +Besides--you'll hardly care ... shall we call it 'off'?" + +"Well you _are_----! Of course I'll care. I'm damned if we call it +'off.'" + +At that the mask vanished from Desmond's face. His hand closed +vigorously on Roy's shoulder. "Good man," he said in his normal voice. +"I'll count on you. That's a bargain." Their eyes met in the glass, and +a look of understanding passed between them. "Feeling a bit above +yourself, are you?" + +Roy drew a great breath. "It's amazing. I don't yet seem to take it in." + +"Oh--you _will_." The hand closed again on his shoulder. "Now I'll clear +out. Time you were clothed and in your right mind." + +And they had not so much as mentioned her name! + + * * * * * + +But even when clothed, Roy did not feel altogether in his right mind. He +was downright thankful to be helping Lance with some sports for the men, +designed to counteract the infectious state of ferment prevailing in the +city, on account of to-morrow's deferred _hartal_. For the voice of +Mahatma Ghandi--saint, fanatic, revolutionary, which you will--had gone +forth, proclaiming the sixth of April a day of universal mourning and +non-co-operation, by way of protest against the Rowlatt Act. For that +sane measure--framed to safeguard India from her wilder elements--had +been twisted, by skilled weavers of words, into a plot against the +liberty of the individual. And Ghandi must be obeyed. + +Flamboyant posters in the city bewailed 'the mountain of calamity about +to fall on the Motherland', and consigned their souls to hell who +failed, that day, to close their business and keep a fast. To spiritual +threats were added terrorism and coercion, that paralysis of the city +might be complete. + +It was understood that, so long there was no disorder, the authorities +would make no move. But, by Saturday, all emergency plans were complete: +the Fort garrison strengthened; cavalry and armoured cars told off to be +available. + +Roy had no notion of being a mere onlooker, if things happened; and he +felt sure they would. Directly he was dressed he waited on the Colonel, +and had the honour to offer his services in case of need; +further--unofficially--to beg that he might be attached, as extra +officer, to Lance's squadron. The Colonel--also unofficially--expressed +his keen appreciation; and Roy might rest assured the matter would be +arranged. + +So he went off in high feather to report himself to Lance, and discuss +the afternoon's programme. + +Lance was full of a thorough good fellow he had stumbled on, a Sikh--and +a sometime revolutionary--whose eyes had been opened by three years' +polite detention in Germany. The man had been speaking all over the +place, showing up the Home Rule crowd, with a courage none too common in +these days of intimidation. After the sports, he would address the men; +talk to them, encourage them to ask questions. + +It occurred to Roy that he had heard something of the sort in a former +life; and--arrived on the ground--he recognised the very same man who +had been howled down at Delhi. + +He greeted him warmly; spoke of the meeting; listened with unmoved +countenance to lurid speculations about the disappearance of +Chandranath; spoke, himself, to the men, who gave him an ovation; and, +by the time it was over, had almost forgotten the astounding fact that +he was virtually engaged to be married.... + + * * * * * + +Driving out five miles to Lahore, he had leisure to remember, to realise +how innately he shrank from speaking to Rose of his mother. Though in +effect his promised wife, she was still almost a stranger; and the +sacredness of the subject--the uncertainty of her attitude--intensified +his shrinking to a painful degree. + +She had asked him to come early, that they might have a few minutes to +themselves; and for once he was not unpunctual. He found her alone; and, +at first sight, painful shyness overwhelmed him. + +She was wearing the cream-and-gold frock of the evening that had turned +the scale; and she came forward a trifle eagerly, holding out her hands. + +"Wonderful! It's not a dream?" + +He took her hands and kissed her, almost awkwardly. "It still feels +rather like a dream," was all he could find to say--and fancied he +caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Was she thinking him an odd +kind of lover? Even last night, he had not achieved a single term of +endearment, or spoken her name. + +With a graceful gesture, she indicated the sofa--and they sat down. + +"Well, what have you been doing with yourself--Roy?" she asked, palpably +to put him at ease. "It's a delightful name--Royal?" + +"No--Le Roy. Some Norman ancestor." + +"The King!" She saluted, sitting upright, laughter and tenderness in +her eyes. + +At that, he slipped an arm round her, and pressed her close. Then he +plunged into fluent talk about the afternoon's events, and his accepted +offer of service, till Mrs Elton, resplendent in flame-coloured brocade, +surged into the room. + +It was a purely civil dinner; not Hayes, to Roy's relief. Directly it +was over the bridge players disappeared; Mr Elton was called away--an +Indian gentleman to see him on urgent business; and they two, left alone +again, wandered out into the verandah. + +By now, her beauty and his possessive instinct had more or less righted +things; and her nearness, in the rose-scented dark, rekindled his +fervour of last night. + +Without a word he turned and took her in his arms, kissing her again and +again. "'Rose of all roses! Rose of all the world!'" he said in her ear. + +Whereat, she kissed him of her own accord, at the same time lightly +pressing him back. + +"Have mercy--a little! If you crush roses too hard their petals drop +off!" + +"Darling--I'm sorry!" The great word was out at last; and he felt +quaintly relieved. + +"You needn't be! It's only--you're such a vehement lover. And vehemence +is said--not to last!" + +The words startled him. "You try me." + +"How? An extra long engagement?" + +"N-no. I wasn't thinking of that." + +"Well, we've got to think, haven't we? To talk practical politics!" + +"Rather not. I bar politics--practical or Utopian." + +She laughed. There was happiness in her laugh, and tenderness and an +undernote of triumph. + +"You're delicious! So ardent, yet so absurdly detached from the dull +plodding things that make up common life. Come--let's stroll. The +verandah breathes heat like a benevolent dragon!" + +They strolled in the cool darkness under drooping boughs, through which +a star flickered here and there. He refrained from putting an arm round +her, and was rewarded by her slipping a hand under his elbow. + +"Shall it be--a Simla wedding?" she asked in her caressing voice. "About +the middle of the season? June?" + +"June? Yes. When I get back from Gilgit?" + +"But--my dear! You're not going to disappear for two whole months?" + +"I'm afraid so. I'm awfully sorry. But I can't go back on Lance." + +"Oh--Lance!" + +He heard her teeth click on the word. Perhaps she had merely echoed it. + +"Yes; a very old engagement. And--frankly--I'm keen." + +"Oh--very well". Her hand slipped from his arm. "And when you've +fulfilled your _prior_ engagement, you can perhaps find time--to marry +me?" + +"Darling--don't take it that way," he pleaded. + +"Well, I _did_ suppose I was going to be a shade more important to you +than--your Lance. But we won't spoil things by squabbling." + +Impulsively he drew her forward and kissed her; and this time he kept an +arm round her as they moved on. He must speak--soon. But he wanted a +natural opening, not to drag it in by the hair. + +"And after the honeymoon--Home?" she asked, following up her +all-absorbing train of thought. + +"Yes--I think so. It's about time." + +She let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "I'm glad it's not India. And +yet--the life out here gets a hold, like dram-drinking. One feels as if +perpetual, unadulterated England might be just a trifle--dull. But, of +course, I know nothing about your home, Roy, except a vague rumour that +your father is a Baronet with a lovely place in Sussex." + +"No--Surrey," said Roy, and his throat contracted. Clearly the moment +had come. "My father's not only a Baronet. He's a rather famous +artist--Sir Nevil Sinclair. Perhaps you've heard the name?" + +She wrinkled her brows. "N-no.--You see, we do live in blinkers! What's +his line?" + +"Mostly Indian subjects----" + +"Oh, the Ramayana man? I remember--I _did_ see a lovely thing of his +before I came out here. But then----?" She stood still and drew away +from him. "One heard he had married...." + +"Yes. He married a beautiful high-caste Indian girl," said Roy, low and +steadily. "My mother----" + +"Your--_mother_----?" + +He could scarcely see her face; but he felt all through him the shock of +the disclosure; realised, with a sudden furious resentment, that she was +seeing his adored mother simply as a stumbling-block.... + +It was as if a chasm had opened between them--a chasm as wide as the +East is from the West. + +Those few seconds of eloquent silence seemed interminable. It was she +who spoke. + +"Didn't it strike you that I had--the right to know this ... before...?" + +The implied reproach smote him sharply; but how could he confess to +her--standing there in her queenly assurance--the impromptu nature of +last night's proceedings? + +"Well I--I'm telling you now," he stammered. "Last night I +simply--didn't think. And before ... the fact is ... I _can't_ talk of +her, except to those who knew her ... who understand...." + +"You mean--is she--not alive?" + +"No. The War killed her--instead of killing _me_." + +Her hand closed on his with a mute assurance of sympathy. If they could +only leave it so! But--her people...? + +"You must try and talk of her--to me, Roy," she urged, gently but +inexorably. "Was it--out here?" + +"No. In France. They came out for a visit, when I was six. I've known +nothing of India till now--except through her." + +"But--since you came out ... hasn't it struck you that ... Anglo-Indians +feel rather strongly...?" + +"I don't know--and I didn't care a rap what they felt," he flung out +with sudden warmth. "Now, of course--I do care. But ... to suppose _she_ +could ... stand in my way, seems an insult to her. If _you_'re one of +the people who feel strongly, of course ... there's an end of it. You're +free." + +"_Free?_ Roy--don't you realise ... I care. You've made me care." + +"I--made you?" + +"Yes; simply by being what you are--so gifted, so detached ... so +different from the others ... the service pattern...." + +"Oh yes--in a way ... I'm different."--Strange, how little it moved him, +just then, her frank avowal, her praise.--"And now you know--why. I'm +sorry if it upsets you. But I can't have ... that side of me accepted +... on sufferance----" + +To his greater amazement, she leaned forward and kissed him, +deliberately, on the mouth. + +"Will _that_ stop you--saying such things?" There was repressed passion +in her low tone, "I'm not accepting ... any of you on sufferance. And, +really, you're not a bit like ... not the same...." + +"_No!_" She smiled at the fierce monosyllable. "All that lot--the poor +devils you despise--are mostly made from the wrong sort of both +races--in point of breeding, I mean. And that's a supreme point, in +spite of the twaddle that's talked about equality. Women of good family, +East or West, don't intermarry much. And quite right too. I'm proud of +my share of India. But I think, on principle, it's a great mistake...." + +"Yes--yes. That's how _I_ feel. I'm not rabid. It's not my way. But ... +I suppose you know, Roy, that ... on this subject, many Anglo-Indians +are." + +"You mean--your people?" + +"Well--I don't know about Pater. He's built on large lines, outside and +in. But mother's only large to the naked eye; and she's Anglo-Indian to +the bone." + +"You think ... she'll raise objections?" + +"She won't get the chance. It's my affair--not hers. There'd be +arguments, at the very least. She tramples tactlessly. And it's plain +you're abnormally sensitive; and rather fierce under your +gentleness----!" + +"But, Rose--I must speak. I refuse to treat--my mother as if she was--a +family skeleton----" + +"No--not that," she soothed him with voice and gesture. "Of course they +shall know--later on. It's only ... I couldn't bear any jar at the +start. You might, Roy--out of consideration for me. It would be quite +simple. You need only say, just now, that your father is a widower. It +isn't as if--she was alive----" + +The words staggered him like a blow. With an incoherent exclamation, he +swung round and walked quickly away from her towards the house, his +blood tingling in a manner altogether different from last night. Had she +not been a woman, he could have knocked her down. + +Dismayed and startled, she hurried after him. "Roy, my dear--dearest," +she called softly. But he did not heed. + +She overtook him, however, and caught his arm with both hands, forcing +him to stop. + +"Darling--forgive me," she murmured, her face appealingly close to his. +"I didn't mean--I was only trying to ease things for you, a little--you +quiver-full of sensibilities." + +He had been a fakir, past saving, could he have withstood her in that +vein. Her nearness, her tenderness, revived the mood of sheer +bewitchment, when he could think of nothing, desire nothing but her. She +had a genius for inducing that mood in men; and Roy's virginal passion, +once roused, was stronger than he knew. With his arms round her, his +heart against hers, it was humanly impossible to wish her other than she +was--other than his own. + +Words failed. He simply clung to her, in a kind of dumb desperation to +which she had not the key. + +"To-morrow," he said at last, "I'll tell you more--show you her +picture." + +And, unlike Aruna, she had no inkling of all that those few words +implied. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 28: Early tea.] + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "The patience of the British is as long as a summer's day; but the + arm of the British is as long as a winter's night."--_Pathan + Saying._ + + +They parted on the understanding that Roy would come in to tiffin on +Sunday. Instead, to his shameless relief, he found the squadron detailed +to bivouac all day in the Gol Bagh, and be available at short notice. + +It gave him a curious thrill to open his camphor-drenched uniform +case--left behind with Lance--and unearth the familiar khaki of Kohat +and Mespot days; to ride out with his men in the cool of early morning +to the gardens at the far end of Lahore. The familiar words of commands, +the rhythmic clatter of hoofs, were music in his ears. A thousand pities +he was not free to join the Indian Army. But, in any case, there was +Rose. There would always be Rose now. And he had an inkling that their +angle of vision was by no means identical.... + +The voice of Lance, shouting an order, dispelled his brown study; and +Rose--beautiful, desirable, but profoundly disturbing--did not intrude +again. + +Arrived in the gardens, they picketed the horses, and disposed +themselves under the trees to await events. The heat increased and the +flies, and the eternal clamour of crows; and it was nearing noon before +their ears caught a far-off sound--an unmistakable hum rising to a roar. + +"Thought so," said Lance, and flung a word of command to his men. + +A clatter of hoofs heralded arrivals--Elton and the Superintendent of +Police with orders for an immediate advance. A huge mob, headed by +students, was pouring along the Circular Road. The police were powerless +to hold them; and at all costs they must be prevented from debouching +on to the Mall. It was brisk work; but the squadron reached the critical +corner just in time. + +A sight to catch the breath and quicken the pulses--that surging sea of +black heads, uncovered in token of mourning; that forest of arms beating +the air to a deafening chorus of orthodox lamentation; while a portrait +of Ghandi, on a black banner, swayed uncertainly in the midst. + +A handful of police, shouting and struggling with the foremost ranks, +were being swept resistlessly back towards the Mall--the main artery of +Lahore; and a British police officer on horseback was sharing the same +fate. Clearly nothing would check them save that formidable barrier of +cavalry and armoured cars. + +At sight of it they halted; but disperse and return they would not. They +haggled; they imposed impossible conditions; they drowned official +parleyings in shouts and yells. + +For close on two hours, in the blazing sun, Lance Desmond and his men +sat patiently in their saddles--machine-guns ready in the cars behind +them--while the Civil Arm, derided and defied, peacefully persuaded +those passively resisting thousands that the Mall was not deemed a +suitable promenade for Lahore citizens in a highly processional mood. + +For two hours the human tide swayed to and fro; the clamour rose and +fell; till a local leader, after much vain speaking, begged the loan of +a horse, and headed them off to a mass meeting at the Bradlaugh Hall. + +The cavalry, dismissed, trotted back to the gardens, to remain at hand +in case of need. + +What the Indian officers and men thought of it all, who shall guess? +What Lance Desmond thought, he frankly imparted to Roy. + +"A fine exhibition of the masterly inactivity touch!" said he, with a +twitch of his humorous lips. "But not exactly an edifying show for our +men. Wonder what my old Dad would think of it all? You bet there'll be a +holy rumpus in the city to-night." + +"And then----?" mused Roy, his imagination leaping ahead. "This isn't +the last of it." + +"The last of it--will be bullets, not buckshot," said Lance in his +soldierly wisdom. "It's the only argument for crowds. The soft-sawder +lot may howl 'militarism.' But they're jolly grateful for a dash of it +when their skins are touched. It takes a soldier of the right sort to +know just when a dash of cruelty is kindness--and the reverse--in +dealing with backward peoples; and crowds, of any colour, are the +backwardest peoples going! It would be just as well to get the women +safely off the scene." + +He looked very straight at Roy, whose sensitive soul winced, at the +impact of his thought. Since their brief talk, the fact of the +engagement had been tacitly accepted--tacitly ignored. Lance had a +positive genius for that sort of thing; and in this case it was a +godsend to Roy. + +"Quite so," he agreed, returning the look. + +"Well--you're in a position to suggest it." + +"I'm not sure if it would be exactly appreciated. But I'll have a shot +at it to-morrow." + + * * * * * + +The city, that night, duly enjoyed its 'holy rumpus.' But on Monday +morning shops were open again; everything as normal as you please; and +the cheerful prophets congratulated themselves that the explosion had +proved a damp squib after all. + +Foremost among these was Mr Talbot Hayes, whose ineffable air of being +in the confidence of the Almighty--not to mention the whole Hindu +Pantheon--was balm to Mrs Elton at this terrifying juncture. For her +mountain of flesh hid a mouse of a soul, and her childhood had been +shadowed by tales of Mutiny horrors. With her it was almost an +obsession. The least unusual uproar at a railway station, or holiday +excitement in the bazaar, sufficed to convince her that the hour had +struck for which, subconsciously, she had been waiting all her life. + +So, throughout Sunday morning, she had been a quivering jelly of fear; +positively annoyed with Rose for her serene assurance that 'the Pater +would pull it off all right.' She had never quite fathomed her +daughter's faith in the shy, undistinguished man for whom she cherished +an affection secretly tinged with contempt. In this case it was +justified. He had returned to tiffin quite unruffled; had vouchsafed no +details; simply assured her she need not worry. Thank God, they had a +strong L.G. That was all. + +But authority, in the person of Talbot Hayes, was more communicative--in +a flatteringly confidential undertone. A long talk with him had cheered +her considerably; and on Monday she was still further cheered by a piece +of news her daughter casually let fall at breakfast, between the poached +eggs and the marmalade. + +Rose--at last! And even Gladys' achievement thrown into the shade! Here +was compensation for all she had suffered from the girl's distracting +habit of going just so far with the wrong man as to give her +palpitations. She had felt downright nervous about Major Desmond. For +Rose never gave one her confidence. And she had suffered qualms about +this new unknown young man. But what matter now? To your right-minded +mother, all's well that ends in the Wedding March--and Debrett! Most +satisfactory to find that the father _was_ a Baronet; and Mr Sinclair +_was_ the eldest son! Could anything be more gratifying to her maternal +pride in this beautiful, difficult daughter of hers? + +Consequently, when the eldest son came in to report himself, all that +inner complacency welled up and flowed over him in a volume of maternal +effusion, trying enough in any case; and to Roy intolerable, almost, in +view of that enforced reservation that might altogether change her tone. + +After nearly an hour of it, he felt so battered internally that he +reached the haven of his own room feeling thoroughly out of tune with +the whole affair. Yet--there it was. And no man could lightly break with +a girl of that quality. Besides, his feeling for her--infatuation +apart--had received a distinct stimulus from their talk about his mother +and the impression made on her by the photograph he had brought with +him, as promised. And if Mrs Elton was a Brobdingnagian thorn on the +stem of his Rose, the D.C.'s patent pleasure and affectionate allusions +to the girl atoned for a good deal. + +So, instead of executing a 'wobble' of the first magnitude, he proceeded +to clinch matters by writing first to his father, then to a Calcutta +firm of jewellers for a selection of rings. + +But he wavered badly over facing the ordeal of wholesale +congratulations--the chaff of the men, the reiterate inanities of the +women. + +On Tuesday, Rose warned him that her mother was dying to give a dinner, +to invite certain rival mothers, and announce her news with due eclat. + +"Hand us round, in fact," she added serenely, "with the chocs and Elvas +plums!--No! Don't flare up!" Her fingers caressed the back of his hand. +"In mercy to you, I diplomatically sat down upon the idea, and remained +seated till it was extinct. So you're saved--by your affianced wife, +whom you don't seem in a frantic hurry to acknowledge...!" + +He caught her to him, and kissed her passionately. "You _know_ it's not +that----" + +"Yes, _I_ know ... you're just terror-struck of all those women. But if +you will do these things, you must stand up to the consequences--like a +man." + +He jerked up his head. "No fear. We'll say to-morrow, or Thursday." + +"I'll be merciful, and say Thursday. It's to be announced this +afternoon. Have you mentioned it--to any one?" + +"Only to Lance." + +A small sound between her teeth made him turn quickly. + +"Anything hurt you?" + +"You've quick ears! Only a pin-prick." She explored her blouse for the +offending pin. "Do you tell each other everything--you two?" + +"Pretty well--as men go." + +"You're a wonderful pair." + +She sighed and was silent a moment. Then, "Shall it be a ride on +Thursday?" she asked, giving his arm a small squeeze. + +"Rather. There are Brigade Sports; but I could cry off. We'll take our +tea out to Shadera, have a peaceful time there, and finish up at the +Hall." + +So it was arranged, and so it befell, though not exactly according to +design. + + * * * * * + +On Thursday they rode leisurely out through the heat and dusty haze, +away from bungalows and the watered Mall, through a village alive with +shrill women, naked babies, and officious pariahs, who kept Terry +furiously occupied: on past the city, over the bridge of boats that +spans the Ravi, till they came to the green secluded garden where the +Emperor Jehangir sleeps, heedless of infidels who, generation after +generation, have picnicked and made love in the sacred precincts of his +tomb. + +Arrived at the gardens, they tethered the horses, drank thermos tea and +ate sugared cakes, sitting on the wide wall that looked across the river +and the plain to the dim huddled city beyond. And Roy talked of +Bramleigh Beeches in April, till he felt home-sick for primroses and the +cuckoo and the smell of mown grass; while, before his actual eyes, the +terrible sun of India hung suspended in the haze, like a platter of +molten brass, till the turning earth, settling to sleep, shouldered it +almost out of sight. + +That brought them back to realities. + +"We must scoot," said Roy. "It'll be dark, and there's only a slip of a +moon." + +"It's been delicious!" she sighed; and they kissed mutually--a lingering +kiss. + +Then they were off, racing the swift-footed dusk.... + +Skirting the city, they noticed scurrying groups of figures, shouting to +each other as they ran; and the next instant, Roy's ear caught the +ominous hum of Sunday morning. + +"Good God! They're out again. Hi--You! What's the _tamasha_?" he called +to the nearest group. + +They responded with wild gestures, and fled on. But one lagged a little, +being fat and scant of breath; and Roy shouted again. This time the note +of command took effect. + +"Where are you all running? Is there trouble?" he asked. + +"Big trouble, Sahib--Amritsar," answered the fleshly one, wiping the +dusty sweat from his forehead, and shaking it unceremoniously from his +finger-tips. "Word comes that our leaders are taken. Mahatma Ghandi, +also. The people are burning and looting; Bank-_ghar_,[29] Town +Hall-_ghar_; killing many Sahibs and one Mem-sahib. _Hai! hai_! Now +there will be _hartal_ again; Committee _ki raj_. No food; no work. +_Hai! hai!_[30] Ghandi _ki jai_!" + +"Confound the man!" muttered Roy, not referring to the woebegone one. +"Look here, Rose, if they're wedged up near Anarkali, we must change our +route. I expect the squadron's out; and I ought to be with it----" + +"Thank God, you're _not_. It's quite bad enough----" She set her teeth. +"Oh, _come_ on." + +Back they sped, at a hand-gallop, past the Fort and the Badshahi Mosque; +then, neck and neck down the long straight road, that vibrant roar +growing louder with every stride. + +Near the Church they slackened speed. The noise had become terrific, +like a hundred electric engines; and there was more than excitement in +it--there was fury. + +"Sunday was a treat to this," remarked Roy. "We shan't get on to the +Mall." + +"We can go through Mozung," said Rose coolly. "But I want to _see_--as +far as one can. The Pater's bound to be there." + +Roy, while admiring her coolness, detected beneath it a repressed +intensity, very unlike her. But his own urgent sensations left no room +for curiosity; and round the next swerve they drew rein in full view of +a sight that neither would forget while they lived. + +The wide road, stretching away to the Lahori gate, was thronged with a +shouting, gesticulating human barrier; bobbing heads and lifted arms, +hurling any missile that came to hand--stones, bricks, lumps of +refuse--at the courageous few who held them in check. + +Cavalry and police, as on Sunday, blocked the turning into the Mall; and +Roy instantly recognised the silhouette of Lance, sitting erect and +rigid, doubtless thinking unutterable things. + +Low roofs of buildings, near the road, were alive with shadowy figures, +running, yelling, hurling bricks and mud from a half-demolished shop +near by. Two mounted police officers made abortive attempts to get a +hearing; and a solitary Indian, perched on an electric standard, well +above the congested mass, vainly harangued and fluttered a white scarf +as signal of pacific intentions. Doubtless one of their 'leaders,' again +making frantic, belated efforts to stem the torrent that he and his kind +had let loose. + +And the nightmare effect of the scene was intensified by the oncoming +dusk, by the flare of a single torch hoisted on a pole. It waved +purposefully; and its objective was clear to Roy--the electric supply +wires. + +"That brute there's trying to cut off the light!" he exclaimed, turning +sharply in the saddle, only to find that Rose had not even heard him. + +She sat stone-still, her face set and strained, as he had seen it after +the tournament. "_There_ he is," she murmured--the words a mere movement +of her lips. + +He hated to see her look like that; and putting out a hand, he touched +her arm. + +"I don't see him," he said, answering her murmur. "He'll be coming, +though. Not nervous, are you?" + +She started at his touch--shrank from it almost; or so he fancied. +"Nervous? No--furious!" Her low tone was as tense as her whole attitude. +"Mud and stones! Good heavens! Why don't they _shoot_?" + +"They will--at a pinch," Roy assured her, feeling oddly rebuffed, and as +if he were addressing a stranger. "Stay here. Don't stir. I'll glean a +few details from one of our outlying sowars." + +The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan. Recognising Roy, he +saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes. + +"_Wah, wah!_ Sahib! This is not man's work, to sit staring while these +throw words to a pack of mad jackals. On the Border we say, _paili lath; +pechi bhat_.[31] That would soon make an end of this devil's noise." + +"True talk," said Roy, secretly approving the man's rough wisdom. "How +long has it been going on?" + +"We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have been nearly +one hour. Once the police-_log_ gave buckshot to those on the roofs. How +much use--the Sahib can see. Now they have sent a sowar for the Dep'ty +Sahib. But these would not hear the Lat Sahib himself. One match will +light such a bonfire; but a hundred buckets will not put it out." + +Roy assented, ruefully enough. "Is it true there has been big trouble at +Amritsar--burning and killing?" + +"_Wah, wah! Shurrum ki bhat._[32] Because he who made all the trouble +may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no concern--are +killed----" + +An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob. + +It was swaying ominously forward, with yellings and prancings, with +renewed showers of bricks and stones. + +"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher Khan with grim +irony. + +It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback, alone in the +forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make himself heard. Still he +pressed forward, urging, commanding; missiles hurtling round him. +Luckily the aim was poor; and only one took effect. + +A voice shouted, "You had better come back, sir." + +He halted. There was a fierce forward rush. Large groups of people sat +down in flat defiance. + +Again Rose broke out with her repressed intensity, "It's madness! Why on +_earth_ don't they shoot?" + +"The notion is--to give the beggars every chance," urged Roy. "After +all, they've been artificially worked up. It's the men behind--pulling +the strings--who are to blame----" + +"I don't care _who's_ to blame. They're as dangerous as wild beasts." +She did not even look at him. Her eyes, her mind were centred on that +weird, unforgettable scene. "And _our_ people simply sitting there being +pelted with bricks and stones ... the Pater ... Lance...." + +She drew in her lip. Roy gave her a quick look. That was the second +time; and she did not even seem aware of it. + +"Yes. It's a detestable position, but it's not of their making," he +agreed; adding briskly: "Come along, now, Rose. It's getting dark; and I +ought to be in Cantonments. There'll be pickets all over the +place--after this. I'll see you safe to the Hall, then gallop on." + +Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Shirking congrats again?" + +"Oh, drop it! I'd clean forgotten. I'll conduct you _right in_--and +chance congrats. But they'll be too full of other things to-night. +Scared to death, some of them." + +"Mother, for one. I never thought of her. We must hurry." + +For new-made lovers, their tone and bearing was oddly detached, almost +brusque. They had gone some distance before they heard shots behind +them. + +"Thank goodness! At last! I hope it hurt some of them badly," Rose broke +out with unusual warmth. She was rather unusual altogether this evening. +"Really, it would serve them right--as Mr Hayes says--if we _did_ clear +out, lock, stock, and barrel, and leave their precious country to be +scrambled for by others of a very different _jat_[33] from the stupid, +splendid British. I'm glad _I'm_ going, anyway. I've never felt in +sympathy. And now, after all this ... and Amritsar ... I simply +couldn't...." + +She broke off in mid-career, flicked her pony's flanks, and set off at a +brisk canter. + +Pause and action could have but one meaning. "She's realising," thought +Roy, cantering after, pain and anger mingled in his heart. At such a +moment, he admitted, her outburst was not unnatural. But to him it was, +none the less, intolerable. The trouble was, he could say nothing, lest +he say too much. + +At the Lawrence Hall they found half a company of British soldiers on +guard,--producing, by their mere presence, that sense of security which +radiates from the policeman and the soldier when the solid ground fails +underfoot. + +Within doors, the atmosphere was electrical with excitement and +uncertainty. Orders had been received that, in case of matters taking a +serious turn, the hundred or so of English women and children gathered +at the Club would be removed under escort to Government House. No one +was dancing. Every one was talking. The wildest rumours were current. + +At a crisis the curtains of convention are rent and the inner self peers +through, sometimes revealing the face of a stranger. While the imposing +Mrs Elton quivered inwardly, Mrs Ranyard--for all her 'creeps' and her +fluffiness--knew no flicker of fear. In any case, there were few who +would confess to it, though it gnawed at their vitals; and Roy's quick +eye noted that, among the women, as a whole, the light-hearted courage +of Anglo-India prevailed. It gave him a sharp inner tweak to look at +them all and remember that nightmare of seething, yelling rebels at +Anarkalli. He wished to God Rose had not seen it too. It was the kind of +thing that would stick in the memory. + +On their appearance in the Hall, Mrs Elton deserted a voluble group and +bore down upon them, flustered and perspiring. + +"My darling girl--thank God! I've been in a fever!" she cried, and would +have engulfed her stately daughter before them all, but that Rose put +out a deterring hand. + +"I was afraid you'd be upset--so we hurried," she said serenely; not the +Rose of Anarkalli, by any means. "But we were all right along the Mozung +road." + +That 'we,' and a possessive glance--the merest--at her lover, brought +down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations. Every one had +foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to _know_.... + +After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, "I say, I can't +stand any more. And it's high time I was off." + +"Poor dear! 'When duty calls...?'" Her cool tone was not unsympathetic. +"I'll let you off the rest." + +She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in the darkness +under the portico. + +"I shall dream to-night, Roy," she said gravely. "And we may not even +see the Pater. He's taken up his abode in the Telegraph Office. Mother +will want to bolt. I can see it in her eye!" + +"Well, she's right. You ought all to be cleared out of this, instanter." + +"Are you--so keen?" + +"Of course not." His tone was more impatient than loverly. "I'm only +keen to feel--you're safe." + +"Oh--safe!" she sighed. "_Is_ one--anywhere--ever?" + +"No," he countered with unexpected vigour, "or life wouldn't be worth +living. There are degrees of unsafeness, that's all. It's natural--isn't +it, darling?--I should want to feel you're out of reach of that crowd. +If it had pushed on here, and to Government House, Amritsar doings would +have been thrown into the shade." + +She shivered. "It's horrible--incredible! I suppose one has to be a +lifelong Anglo-Indian to realise quite _how_ incredible it feels--to +us." + +He put his arms round her, as if to shield her from the memory of it +all. + +"I'll see you to-morrow?" she asked. + +"Of course. If I can square it. But we shall be snowed under with +emergency orders. I'll send a note in any case." + +"Take care of yourself--on my account," she commanded softly; and they +kissed. + +But--whether fancy or fact--Roy had an under sense of mutual constraint. +It was not the same thing at all as that last kiss at Shadara. + +There they had come closer, in spirit, than ever yet. Now--not two hours +later--the thin end of an unseen wedge seemed to be stealthily pressing +them apart. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 29: House.] + +[Footnote 30: Alas, alas!] + +[Footnote 31: First a blow, then a word.] + +[Footnote 32: True talk. Shameful talk.] + +[Footnote 33: Caste.] + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "It has long been a grave question whether any Government not too + strong for the liberties of the people, can be strong enough to + maintain its existence in great emergencies."--ABRAHAM LINCOLN. + + +Back in Cantonments, Roy found strong detachments being rushed to all +vital points, and Brigade Headquarters moving into Lahore. + +It was late before Lance returned, tired and monosyllabic. He admitted +they had mopped things up a bit--outside; and left a detachment, in +support of the police, guarding the Mall. But--the city was in open +rebellion. No white man could safely show his face there. The +anti-British poison, instilled without let or hindrance, was taking +violent effect. He'd seen enough of it for one day. He wanted things to +eat and drink--especially drink. 'Things' were produced; and +afterwards--alone with Roy in their bungalow--he talked more freely, in +no optimistic vein, sworn foe of pessimism though he was. + +"Sporadic trouble? Not a bit of it! Look at the way they're going for +lines of communication. And look at these choice fragments from one of +their posters I pinched off a police inspector. 'The English are the +worst lot and are like monkeys, whose deceit and cunning are obvious to +high and low.... Do not lose courage, but try your utmost to turn these +men away from your holy country.' Pretty sentiments--eh? Fact is, we're +up against organised rebellion." + +Roy nodded. "I had that from Dyan, long ago. Paralysis of movement and +Government is their game. We may have a job to regain control of the +city." + +"Not if we declare Martial Law," said the son of Theo Desmond with a +kindling eye. "Of course, I'm only a soldier--and proud of it! But I've +more than a nodding acquaintance with the Punjabi. He's no word-monger; +handier with his _lathi_ than his tongue. If you stir him up, he hits +out. And I don't blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't +realise the inflammable stuff they're playing with----" + +"Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy. + +"M-yes--perhaps. But the one on the electric standard this evening +didn't exactly achieve a star turn!--You saw him, eh?" He looked very +straight at Roy. "I noticed you--hanging round on the edge of things. +You ought to have gone straight on." + +Roy winced. "We'd heard wild rumours. She was anxious about the D.C." + +Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe. "When does--Mrs Elton +make a move?" + +"The first possible instant I should say, from the look of her." + +"Good. She's on the right tack, for once! The D.C. deserves a +first-class Birthday Honour--and may possibly wangle an O.B.E.! I'm told +that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of police, pretty well saved the +station before we came on the scene. It's been a nearer shave than one +cares to think about. And it's not over." + +They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation, that +looked blacker every hour. And, till long after midnight, an uproarious +mob raged through the city and Anarkalli, only kept from breaking all +bounds by the tact and good-humour of a handful of cavalry and police; +men of their own race, unshaken by open or covert attempts to suborn +their loyalty--a minor detail worth putting on record. + + * * * * * + +Friday was a day of rumours. While the city continued furiously to rage, +reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides: further terrible +details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army and the police were being +tampered with and expected to join the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad +and Lyallpur, where seventy British women and children were herded, in +one bungalow, till they could safely be removed. Everywhere the same +tale: stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut. Fresh stories +constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger in the +blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women, longing to get +away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with natives, manned by +natives, who might be perfectly harmless; but, on the other hand, might +not.... + +It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these things, +one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other India, in the +good days when peaceful loyal masses had not been galvanised into +disaffection; when an Englishwoman, of average nerve, thought nothing of +travelling alone up and down the country, or spending a week alone in +camp--if needs must--secure in the knowledge that--even in a disturbed +Frontier district--no woman would ever be touched or treated with other +than unfailing respect. + +Yet a good many were preparing to flit: and to the men their departure +would spell relief; not least, to Roy--the new-made lover. Parting would +be a wrench; but at this critical moment--for England and India--the tug +two ways was distinctly a strain; and the less she saw of it all, the +better for their future chance of happiness. He felt by no means sure it +had not been imperilled already. + +But the exigencies of the hour left no room for vague forebodings. +Emergency orders, that morning, detailed Lance with a detachment for the +Railway Workshops, where passive resisters were actively on the +war-path. Roy, after early stables, was dispatched with another party, +to strengthen a cavalry picket near the Badshahi Mosque, on the +outskirts of the city, where things might be lively in the course of the +day. + +Passing through Lahore, he sent his _sais_ with a note to Rose; and, on +reaching the Mosque, he found things lively enough already. The iron +railings, round the main gate of the Fort, were besieged by a hooting, +roaring mob, belabouring the air with _lathis_ and axes on bamboo poles; +rending it with shouts of abuse and one reiterate cry, "Kill the white +pigs, brothers! Kill! Kill!" + +Again and again they stormed the railings, frantically trying to bear +them down by sheer weight of numbers--yelling ceaselessly the while. + +"How the devil can they keep it up?" thought Roy; and sickened to think +how few of his own kind there were to stand between the English women +and children in Lahore and those hostile thousands. Thank God, there +remained loyal Indians, hundreds of them--as in Mutiny days; but surely +a few rounds from the Fort just then would have heartened them and been +distinctly comforting into the bargain. + +The walls were manned with rifles and Lewis guns, and at times things +looked distinctly alarming; but not a shot was fired. The mob was left +to exhaust itself with its own fury. Part melted away, and part was +drawn away by the attraction of a mass meeting in the Mosque, where +thirty-five thousand citizens were gathered to hear Hindu agitators +preaching open rebellion from Mahommedan pulpits; and a handful of +British police officers--present on duty--were being hissed and hooted, +amid shouts of "_Hindu-Mussalman ki jai!_" + +From the city all police pickets had been withdrawn, since their +presence would only provoke disturbance and bloodshed. And the bazaar +people were parading the streets, headed by an impromptu army of young +hotheads, carrying _lathis_, crying their eternal '_Hai!_' and '_Jai!_' +with extra special '_Jai's_' for the 'King of Germany' and the Afghan +Amir. + +Portraits of Their Majesties were battered down and trampled in the mud; +and over the fragments the crowd swept on, shouting: '_Hai! hai! Jarge +Margya!_'[34] And the air was full of the craziest rumours, passed on, +with embellishments, from mouth to mouth.... + +Roy, on reaching Cantonments, was relieved to find that the decision had +already been taken to regain control of the city by a military +demonstration in force; eight hundred troops and police, under the +officer commanding Lahore civil area. Desmond's squadron was included; +and, sitting down straightway, Roy dashed off a note to Rose. + + "MY DARLING,-- + + "I'm sorry, but it looks like 'no go' to-morrow. You'll hear all + from the Pater. I might look in for tiffin, if things go smoothly, + and if _you_'ll put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the + fray! From what I saw and heard to-day, we're not likely to be + greeted with marigold wreaths and benedictions! Of course hundreds + will be thankful to see us. But I doubt if they'll dare betray the + fact. I needn't tell you to keep cool. You're simply splendid. + + "Your loving and admiring, + ROY." + +It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when that mixed +force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes acting in concert +with them, halted outside the Delhi Gate of Lahore City, while an order +was read out to the assembled leaders that, if shots were fired or bombs +flung, those aeroplanes would make things unpleasant. Then--at last they +were on the move; through the Gate, inside the City, aeroplanes flying +low, cavalry bringing up the rear. + +Here normal life and activity were completely suspended--hence more than +half the trouble. Groups of idlers, sauntering about, stared, spat, or +shook clenched fists, shouting, "Give us Ghandi--and we will open!" +"Repeal Rowlatt Bill and we will open." + +And, at every turn, posters exhorted true patriots--in terms often as +ludicrous as they were hostile--to leave off all dealings with the +'English monkeys,' to 'kill and be killed.' + +And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points--pausing that Mr +Elton might exhort the people to resume work--mere groups swelled to +crowds, increasing in number and virulence; their cries and contortions +more savage than anything Roy had yet seen. + +But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable market, +fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began. Here were +large excited crowds streaming to and fro between the Mosque and the +Mundi--material inflammable as gunpowder. Here, too, were the hotheads +armed with leaded sticks, hostile and defiant, shouting their eternal +cries. And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly the +centre of trouble. Exhortations to disperse peacefully were unheeded or +unheard. All over the open space they swarmed like locusts. Their +wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment. And the mosque acted as a +stronghold. Crowds packed away in there could neither be dealt with nor +dispersed. So an order was given that it should be cleared and the doors +guarded. + +Meantime, to loosen the congested mass, it was cavalry to the +front--thankful for movement at last. + +There was a rush and a scuffle. Scattered groups bolted into the city. +Others broke away and streamed down from the high ground into the open +plain, sowars in pursuit; rounding them up, shepherding them back to +their by-lanes and rabbit-warrens. + +"How does it feel to be a sheep-dog?" Lance asked Roy, as he cantered +up, dusty and perspiring. "A word from the aeroplanes would do the +trick. Good God! _Look_ at them----!" + +Roy looked--and swore under his breath. For the half-dispersed thousands +were flowing together again like quicksilver. The whole Hira Mundi +region was packed with a seething dangerous mob, completely out of hand, +amenable to nothing but force. + +And now from the doors of the Mosque fresh thousands, inflamed by +fanatical speeches, were swarming across the open plain to join them, +flourishing their _lathis_ with threatening gestures and cries.... + +It was a sight to shake the stoutest heart. Armed, they were not; but +the _lathi_ is a deadly weapon at close quarters; and their mere numbers +were overwhelming. Roy, by this time, was sick of their everlasting +yells; their distorted faces full of hate and fury; their senseless +abuse of 'tyrants,' who were exercising a patience almost superhuman. + +An order was shouted for the troops to turn and hold them. Carnegie, of +the police, dashed off to the head of the column that was nearing the +gate of exit; and the cavalry lined up in support of Mr Elton, who still +exhorted, still tried to make himself heard by those who were determined +not to hear. + +Directly they moved forward, there was a fierce, concerted rush; +_lathis_ in the forefront, bricks and stones hurtling, as at Anarkalli, +but with fiercer intent. + +A large stone whizzed past the ear of an impassive Sikh Ressaldar; half +a brick caught Roy on the shoulder; another struck Suraj on the flank +and slightly disturbed his equanimity. + +While Roy was soothing him, came a renewed rush, the crowd pushing +boldly in on all sides with evident intent to cut them off from the +rest. + +The line broke. There was a moment of sickening confusion. A howling +man, brandishing a _lathi_, made a dash at Roy, a grab at his charger's +rein.... + +One instant his heart stood still; the next, Lance dashed in between, +riding-crop lifted, unceremoniously hustling Roy, and nearly oversetting +his assailant--but not quite---- + +Down came the leaded stick on the back of his bridle hand, cutting it +open, grazing and bruising the flesh. With an oath he dropped the reins +and seized them in his right hand. + +"Rather neatly done!" he remarked, smiling at the dismay in Roy's eyes. +"Ought to have floored him, though--the murdering brute!" + +"Lance, you'd no business----" + +"Oh, drop it. This isn't polo. It's a game of Aunt Sally. No charge for +a shy----!" As he spoke, a sharp fragment of brick struck his cheek and +drew blood. "Damn them. Getting above themselves. If it rested with me +I'd charge. We can hold 'em, though. Straighten the line." + +"But your hand----" + +"My hand can wait. I've got another." And he rode on leaving Roy with a +burning inner sense as of actual coals of fire heaped on his unworthy +self. + +But urgent need for action left no leisure for thought. Somehow the line +was straightened; somehow they extricated themselves from the +embarrassing attentions of the mob. Carnegie returned with armed police; +and four files were lined up in front of the troops; the warning clearly +given; the response--fresh uproar, fresh showers of stones.... + +Then eight shots rang out--and it sufficed. + +At the voice of the rifle, the sting of buckshot, valour and fury +evaporated like smoke. And directly the crowd broke, firing ceased. A +few were wounded; one was killed--and carried off with loud +lamentations. An ordered advance, with fixed bayonets, completed the +effect that nothing else on earth could have produced:--and the Grand +Processional was over. + +It emerged from the Bathi Gate a shadow of itself, having left more than +half its numbers on guard at vital points along the route. + +"Scotched--not killed," was Lance's pithy verdict on the proceedings. +"As a bit of mere police work--excellent. As to the result--we shall +see. The C.O. must have been thankful his force wasn't a shade weaker." + +This, unofficially, to Roy, who had secured leave off for tiffin at the +Eltons', and had ridden forward to report his departure and inquire +after the damaged hand, that concerned him more than anything else just +then--not even excepting Rose. + +It had been roughly wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and Lance +pooh-poohed concern. + +"Hurts a bit, of course. But it's no harm. I'll have it scientifically +cleaned up by Collins. Don't look pathetic about nothing, old man. My +silly fault for failing to ride the beggar down. Just as well it isn't +your hand, you know. Unpleasant--for the women." + +"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in that vein had +him at a disadvantage, always. + +"Don't be too late," he added, as Roy turned to go. "We may be needed. +Those operatic performers in the City aren't going to sit twiddling +their thumbs by the look of them. When's ... the departure?" + +"To-morrow or next day, I think." + +"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't make a tale over +my hand." + +"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll be back +about six." + +He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love to Rose +damped by the fact that he had not been able to look Lance in the eyes. + +Things couldn't go on like this. And yet...? Impossible to ask Rose +outright whether there had been anything definite between them. If she +said "No," he would not believe her:--detestable, but true. If she--well +... if in any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find +it hard to control himself--or forgive her: equally detestable and +equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still.... + +He found the household ready for immediate flitting, and Mrs Elton in a +fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news from Kasur. + +"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up! Two of our +officers wounded and two warrant officers _beaten_ to _death_ with those +horrible lathis!" She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy +could even get near Rose. "It's official. Mr Haynes has just been +telling us. An English woman and three tiny children--miraculously saved +by two N.C.O.'s and a friendly native Inspector. Did you _ever_----! And +I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the +bodies of those poor men at Amritsar. So _now_ we know why the price ran +up and why 'none was coming into the country!' Yet they say this isn't +another Mutiny,--don't tell _me_! I was so thankful to be getting away; +and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it happened to _us_--to-morrow!" + +"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's cool tones had a +tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the trains. And Fakir Ali wouldn't +let any one lay a finger on us." + +Mrs Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well, _I_ don't +believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut--or worse," +she declared with settled conviction. + +"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!" Rose quizzed her cruelly, but +sweetly. "And now _perhaps_ I may get at Roy, who's probably tired and +thirsty after all those hours in the sun." + +The Jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but directly it +was over Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir--her own corner; its +atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl herself, after all the strife +and heat and noise of the city. + +They spent a peaceful two hours together. Roy detected no shadow of +constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday had passed off. For +himself--all inner perturbations were charmed away by her tender concern +for the bruised shoulder--a big bruise; she could feel it under his +coat--and the look in her eyes while he told the story of Lance; not +colouring it up, because of what he had said; yet not concealing its +effect on himself. + +"He's quite a splendid sort of person," she said, with a little tug at +the string of her circular fan. "But _you_ know all about that." + +"Rather." + +She drew in her lip and was silent. If he could speak now. In this mood, +he might believe her--might even forgive her.... + +But it was she who spoke. + +"What about--the Kashmir plan?" + +"God knows. It's all in abeyance. The Colonel's wedding too." + +"Will you be _allowed_--I wonder--to pay me a little visit first?" Her +smile and the manner of her request were irresistible. + +"It's just possible!" he returned, in the same vein. "I fancy Lance +would understand." + +"Oh--he _would_. And to-morrow--the night train? Can you be there?" + +He looked doubtful. "It depends--how things go. And--I rather bar +station partings." + +"So do I. But still ... Mother's been clamouring for you to come up with +us and guard the hairs of our heads! But I deftly squashed the idea." + +"Bless you, darling!" He drew her close, and she leaned her cheek +against him with a sigh, in which present content and prospective +sadness were strangely mingled. It was in these gentle, pensive moods +that Roy came near to loving her as he had dreamed of loving the girl he +would make his wife. + +"I'm still jealous of the Gilgit plan," she murmured. "And, of course, I +wish you were coming up to-morrow--even more than Mother does! But at +least I've the grace to be glad you're not--which is rather an advance +for me!" + +Their parting, if less passionate, was more tender than usual; and Roy +rode away with a distinct ache in his heart at thought of losing her; a +nascent reluctance to make mountains out of molehills in respect of her +and Lance.... + +Riding back along the Mall, he noticed absently an approaching +horsewoman, and recognised--too late for escape--Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. By +timely flight on Thursday, he had evaded her congratulations. Intuition +told him she would say things that jarred. Now he flicked Suraj with +the base intent of merely greeting her as he passed. + +But she was a woman of experience and resource. She beckoned him airily +with her riding-crop. + +"Mr Sinclair? What luck! I'm dying to hear how the 'March Past' went +off. Did you get thunders of applause?" + +"Oh, thunders. The Monsoon variety!" + +"I saw you all in the distance, coming in from my early ride. You looked +very imposing with your attendant aeroplanes!--May I?" She turned her +pony's head without awaiting permission, and rode beside him at a foot's +pace, clamouring for details. + +He supplied them fluently, in the hope of heading her off personalities. +A vain hope: for personalities were her daily bread. + +She took advantage of the first pause to ask, with an ineffable look: +"Are you still feeling _very_ shy of being engaged? You bolted on +Thursday. I hadn't a chance. And I'm rather _specially_ interested." The +look became almost caressing. "Did it ever occur to your exquisite +modesty, I wonder, that I rather wanted, you for _my_ cavalier. You +seemed so young--in experience, that I thought a little innocuous +education might be an advantage before you plunged. But she +snatched--oh, she did!--without seeming to lift an eyebrow, in her +inimitable way. Very clever. In fact, she's been distinctly clever all +round. She's eluded her 'coming man' on one side; and ructions over her +soldier man on the other----" + +"Look here--I'm engaged to her," Roy protested, trying not to be aware +of a sick sensation inside. "And you know I hate that sort of talk----" + +"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic eyes at him. +"But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry, Sir Galahad! You've won +the Kohinoor; and although you seem to live in the clouds, you've had +the sense to make things _pukka_ straightaway. 'Understandings' and +private engagements are the root of all evil!" + +"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out, his temper +rising. + +But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-whip at +him. + +"_Souvent femme varie!_ Have you ever heard that, you blessed innocent? +And the general impression is--there's already been one private +engagement--if not more. I was trying to tell you that afternoon to save +your poor fingers----" + +"It's all rot--spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing conviction made Roy +careless of his manners. "The women are jealous of her beauty, so they +invent any tale that's likely to be swallowed----" + +"Possibly, my dear boy. But I can't tell my neighbours to their faces +that they lie! After all, if you win a beautiful girl of six-and-twenty +you've got to swallow the fact, with a good grace, that there must have +been others; and thank God you're IT--if not the only IT that ever was +on land or sea!--After that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate +you. I've already congratulated her, _de mon plein coeur_!" + +"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only half mollified. +"But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond asked me not to be late." + +"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he rode away. + +Mrs Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his peaceful two +hours with Rose. After that--clash or no clash--he must have the thing +out with Lance, at the first available moment. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 34: "Hai! Hai! George is dead."] + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "In you I most discern, in your brave spirit, + Erect and certain, flashing deeds of light, + A pure jet from the fountain of all Being; + A scripture clearer than all else to read." + --J.C. SQUIRE. + + +Roy returned to an empty bungalow. + +On inquiry, he learnt that the Major Sahib had gone over to see the +Colonel Sahib; and Wazir Khan--Desmond's bearer--abused, in lurid terms, +the bastard son of a pig who had dared to assault the first Sahib in +creation. + +Roy, sitting down at his table, pushed aside a half-written page of his +novel, and his pen raced over the paper in a headlong letter to +Jeffers:--an outlet, merely, for his pent-up sensations; and a salve to +his conscience. He had neglected Jeffers lately, as well as his novel. +He had been demoralised, utterly, these last few weeks: and to-day, by +way of crowning demoralisation, he felt by no means certain what the end +would be--for himself; still less, for India. + +The damaged Major Sahib--untroubled by animosity--appeared only just in +time to change for Mess; his cheek unbecomingly plastered, his hand in a +sling. + +"Beastly nuisance; _Hukm hai_,"[35] he explained in response to Roy's +glance of inquiry. "Collins says it's a bit inflamed. I've been +confabbing with Paul over the deferred wedding. But, of course, there's +no chance of things settling down, unless we declare martial law. The +police are played out; and as for the impression we made this +morning--the D.C.'s just telephoned in for a hundred British troops and +armoured cars to picket and patrol bungalows in Lahore. Seems he's +received an authentic report that the city people are planning to rush +civil lines, loot the bungalows, and assault our women--damn them. So, +by way of precaution, he has very wisely asked for troops.--Are they +off--those two?" + +"To-morrow night," said Roy, feeling so horribly constrained that the +influx of Barnard and Meredith was, for once, almost a relief. + +Then there was Mess; fresh speculations, fresh tales, and a certain +amount of chaff over Desmond having 'stopped a brick'; Barnard, in +satirical vein, regretting to report a bloody encounter: one casualty: +enemy sprinkled with buckshot, retired according to plan. + +Before the meal was over, Roy fancied he detected a change in Lance; his +talk and laughter seemed a trifle strained; his lips set, now and then, +as if he were in pain. + +Later on he came up and remarked casually: "I'm not feeling very bright. +I think I'll turn in. Perhaps the sun touched me up a bit." Clearly +Roy's face betrayed him; for Lance added in an imperative undertone: +"_Don't_ look at me like that. I'm going to slip off quietly--not to +worry Paul." + +"Well, I'm going to slip off too," Roy retorted with decision. "I feel +used up; and my beast of a bruise hurts like blazes." + +"Drive me home, then," said Lance; and his changed tone, no less than +the surprising request, told Roy he would be glad of his company. + +They said little during the drive; Roy, because he felt vaguely anxious, +and knew it would annoy Lance if he betrayed concern, or inquired after +symptoms. It seemed a shame to worry the poor fellow in this state; but +silence had now become impossible. + +"Are you for bed, old man?" he asked when they got in. + +"Rather not. I just felt a bit queer. Wanted to get away from them all +and be quiet." + +His normal manner eased Roy's anxiety a little. Without more ado, they +settled into long veranda chairs and called for 'pegs.' The night was +utterly still. A red distorted moon hung just above the tree-tops. +Yelling and spitting crowds seemed to belong to another world. + +Lance leaned back in the shadow, the tip of his cigar glowing like a +fierce planet. Roy sat forward, tense and purposeful: hating what he had +to say; yet goaded by the knowledge that he could have no peace of mind +till it was said. + +He was silent a few moments, pulling at his cigar: then, "Look here, +Lance," he said. "I've got a question to ask. You won't like it. I don't +either. But the truth is ... I'm bothered to know what is ... or has +been ... between you and...." + +"Drop it, Roy." There was pain and impatience in Desmond's tone. "I'm +not going to talk about _that_." + +Flat opposition gave Roy precisely the spur he needed. + +"I'm afraid _I_'ve got to, though." The statement was placable but +decisive. "I can't go on this way. It's getting on my nerves----" + +"Devil take your nerves," said Lance politely. Then--with an obvious +effort--"Has she--said anything?" + +"No." + +"Then why the hell can't you let be!" + +"I _shall_ let be--altogether, if this goes on;--this infernal +awkwardness between us; and the things she says--the way she looks ... +almost as if she cares." + +"Well, I give you my oath--she doesn't. I suppose I ought to know?" + +"That depends how things were before I came up. She's twice let your +name slip out, unawares. And at Anarkalli she was extraordinarily upset. +And to-day--about your hand. Then, riding home, I met Mrs Ranyard. And +she started talking ... hinting at a private engagement----" + +"Mrs Ranyard deserves to have her tongue removed. She'd tell any lie +about another woman." + +"Quito so. But is it a lie? It fits in too neatly with--the other +things----" + +Lance gave him a sidelong look. Their faces were just visible in the +moonlight. + +"Jealous--are you?"--His tone was almost tender.--"You damned lucky +devil--you've no cause to be." + +That natural inference startlingly revealed to Roy that jealousy had +little or nothing to do with his trouble; and so great was the relief +of open speech between them, that instinctively he told truth. + +"N-no. I'm bothered about _you_." + +"Good God!" Desmond's abrupt laugh had no mirth in it. "_Me?_" + +"Yes--naturally. If it amounted to ... an engagement, and I charged in +and upset everything ... I can't forgive myself ... or her----" + +At that Desmond sat forward, obstructive no longer. "If you're going so +badly off the rails, you must have it straight. And ... confound you!... +it hurts----" + +"I can see that. And it's more or less my doing----" + +"On the contrary ... it was primarily _my_ doing ... as you justly +pointed out to me a week or two ago." + +Roy groaned. The irony of the situation stung like a whip-lash. "_Did_ +it amount to an engagement?" he persisted. + +"There or thereabouts." Lance paused and took a long pull at his cigar. +"_But_--it was quite between ourselves--in fact, conditional on ... the +headway I could manage to make. She--cared, in a way. Not--as I do. That +was one hitch. The other was Oh 'Ell's antipathy to soldiers, as +husbands for her precious family. She--Rose--knew there would be +ructions; a downright tussle, in fact. Well--she'll go almost any length +to avoid ructions; specially with her mother. I don't blame her. The +woman's a caution. So--she shirked facing the music ... till she felt +quite sure of herself...." + +"_Till_ she felt sure of herself, there should have been _no_ +engagement," Roy decreed, amazed at his own rising anger. "Unfair on +you." + +Desmond's smile was the ghost of its normal self. "You always were a bit +of a purist, Roy! Besides--it was my doing again. I pressed the point. +And I think ... she liked me ... loving her. She really seemed to be +coming my way--till _you_ turned up----" He clenched his hand and leaned +back again, drawing a deep breath. "I'm forcing myself to tell you all +this--since you've asked for it--because I won't have you blaming +_her_----" + +Roy said nothing. Remembering how, throughout, the initiative had been +hers, how hard he had striven against being ensnared, he did blame her, +a good deal more than he could very well admit to this friend, whose +single-hearted devotion made his own mere mingling of infatuation and +passion seem artificial as gaslight in the blaze of dawn.--But knowing +so much, he must know all. + +"How long--was it on?" + +"Oh, about three weeks before you came. _I_ was on a long while. Before +Christmas." + +"Since when has it been--off?" + +Lance hesitated. "Well--things became shaky after Kapurthala. That +day--the wedding, you remember?--I spoke rather straight ... about you. +I saw you were getting keen. And I didn't want you to come a +cropper----" + +"Why the devil didn't you tell me the _truth_?" + +Lance set his lips. "Of course I wanted to. But--it was difficult. She +said--not any one. Made a point of it. Not even Paul. And I was keen for +her to feel quite free; no slur on her--if things fell through. So--as I +couldn't warn you, I spoke to her. Perhaps I was a fool. Women are +queer. You can never be sure ... and it seemed to have quite the wrong +effect. Then I saw she was really losing her head over you---- Natural +enough. So I simply stood by. If she really wanted _you_--not me, that +was another affair. And it's plain ... she did." + +"But when--did she _make_ it plain?" Roy insisted, feeling more and more +as if the ground were giving way under his feet. + +"Just before the Gym. That ... was why...." He looked full at Roy now. +His eyes darkened with pain. "I felt like murdering you that day, Roy. +Afterwards ... well--one managed to carry on somehow. One always can--at +a pinch ... _you_ know." + +"My God! It's the bitterest, ironical tangle!" Roy burst out with a +smothered vehemence that told its own tale. "You _ought_ to have +insisted about me, Lance. I wouldn't for fifty worlds...." + +"Of course you wouldn't. Don't fret, old man. And don't blame _her_." + +"Blame or no, I can't pretend it doesn't alter things ... spoil things, +badly...." + +He broke off, startled by the change in Desmond. His face was drawn. He +was shivering violently. + +"Lance--_what_ is it? Fever? Have you been feeling bad?" + +Desmond set his lips to steady them. "On and off--at Mess. Touch of the +sun, perhaps. I'll get to bed and souse myself with quinine." + +But he was so obviously ill that Roy paid no heed. "Well, I'm going to +send for Collins instanter." + +"Don't make an ass of yourself, Roy," Lance flashed out: but his hands +were shaking: his lips were shaking. He was no longer in command of +affairs.... + +While the message sped on its way, Roy got him to bed somehow; eased +things a little with hot bottles and brandy; nameless terrors knocking +at his heart.... + +In less than no time Collins appeared, with the Colonel; and their faces +told Roy that his terror was only too well founded.... + +Within an hour he knew the worst--acute blood-poisoning from the _lathi_ +wound. + +"Any hope----?" he asked the genial doctor, while Paul Desmond knelt by +the bed speaking to his brother in low tones. + +"Too early to give an opinion," was the cautious answer. But the caution +and the man's whole manner told Roy the incredible, unbearable truth. + +Something inside him seemed to snap. In that moment of bewildered agony, +he felt like a murderer.... + + * * * * * + +Looking back afterwards, Roy marvelled how he had lived through the +waking nightmare of those two days--while the doctor did all that was +humanly possible, and Lance pitted all the clean strength of his manhood +against the swift deadly progress of the poison in his veins. It was +simply a question of hours; of fighting the devil to the last on +principle, rather than from any likelihood of victory. With heart and +hope broken, superhumanly they struggled on. + +For Roy, the world outside that dim whitewashed bedroom ceased to exist. +The loss of his mother had been anguish unalloyed; but he had not _seen_ +her go.... + +Now, he saw--and heard, which was worse than all. + +For Lance, towards the end, was constantly delirious; and, in delirium, +he raved of Rose--always of Rose. He, the soul of reserve, poured out +incontinently his passion, his worship, his fury of jealousy--till Roy +grew almost to hate the sound of her name. + +Worse--he was constrained to tell the Colonel the meaning of it all: to +see anger flash through the haunting pain in his eyes. + +Only twice, during the final struggle, the real Lance emerged; and on +the second occasion they happened to be alone. Their eyes met in the old +intimate understanding. Lance flung out his undamaged hand, and grasped +Roy's with all the force still left him. + +"Don't fret your heart out, Roy ... if I can't pull through," he said in +his normal voice. "Carry on. And--_don't_ blame Rose. It'll hurt her--a +bit. Don't hurt her more--because of me. And--look here, stand by Paul +for a time. He'll need you." + +Roy's "Trust me, dear old man," applied, mentally, to the last. Even at +that supreme moment he was dimly thankful it came last. + +Then the Colonel returned; and they could say no more; nor could Roy +find it in his heart to grudge him a moment of that brief blessed +interlude of real contact with the man they loved.... + +There could be no question of going to Lahore station on Sunday evening. +He was ill himself, though he did not know it; and his soul was centred +on Lance--the gallant spirit inwoven with almost every act and thought +and inspiration of his life. By comparison, Rose was nothing to him; +less than nothing; a mushroom growth--sudden and violent--with no deep +roots; only fibres. + +So he sent her, by an orderly, a few hurried lines of explanation and +farewell. + + "MY DEAR,-- + + "I'm sorry, but I _can't_ come to-night. We are all in dreadful + grief. Lance down with acute blood-poisoning. Collins evidently + fears the worst. I can't write of it. I do trust you get up safely. + I'll write again, when it's possible. + + "Yours, + ROY." + +Yes, he was still hers--so far. More than that he could not honestly +add. Beyond this awful hour he could not look. It was as if one stood on +the edge of a precipice, and the next step would be a drop into black +darkness.... + + * * * * * + +By Monday night it was over. After forty-eight hours of fever and +struggle and pain, Lance Desmond lay at rest--serene and noble in death, +as he had been in life. And Roy--having achieved one long, slow climb +out of the depths--was flung back again, deeper than ever.... + +It was near midnight when the end came. Utterly weary and broken, he had +sunk into Lance's chair, leaning forward, his face hidden, his frame +shaken all through with hard dry sobs that would not be stilled. + +Through the fog of his misery, he felt the Colonel's hand on his +shoulder; heard the familiar voice, deep and kindly: "My dear Roy, get +to bed. We can't have you on the sick-list. There's work to do; a great +gap to be filled--somehow. I'll stay--with him." + +At that, he pulled himself together and stood up. "I'll do my best, +Colonel," was all he could say. The face he had so rarely seen perturbed +was haggard with grief. They looked straight at one another; and the +thought flashed on Roy, 'I must tell him.' Not easy; but it had to be +done. + +"There's something, sir," he began, "I feel you ought to know. By +rights, it--it should have been _me_. That brute with the _lathi_ was +right on me; and he--Lance--dashed in between ... rode him off--and got +the knock intended for me. It--it haunts me." + +Paul Desmond was silent a moment. Pain and exaltation contended +strangely in his tired eyes. Then: "I--don't wonder," he said slowly. +"It--was like him. Thank you for telling me. It will be--some small +comfort ... to all of them. Now--try and get a little sleep." + +Roy shook his head. "Impossible.--Good-night, Colonel. It's a relief to +feel you know. For God's sake, let me do any mortal thing I can for any +of you." + +There was another moment of silence, of palpable hesitation; then once +again Paul Desmond put his hand on Roy's shoulder. + +"Look here, Roy," he said. "Drop calling me Colonel. You two--were like +brothers. And--as Thea's included, why should I be out of it. Let me--be +'Paul.'" + +It was hard to do. It was inimitably done. It gave Roy the very lift he +needed in that hour when he felt as if they must almost hate him, and +never wish to set eyes on him again. + +"I--I shall be proud," he said; and, turning away to hide his emotion, +went back to the bed that drew him like a magnet. + +There he knelt a long while, in a torment of mute, passionate protest +against the power of so trivial an injury to rob the world of so much +gallantry and charm. Resignation was far from him. With all the +vehemence that was in him, he raged against his loss.... + + * * * * * + +Next morning, they awoke, as from a prolonged and terrible dream, to +find Lahore practically isolated; all wires down, but one; the _hartal_ +continuing in defiance of orders and exhortations; more stations +demolished; more trains derailed and looted; all available British +troops recalled from the Hills. But for five sets of wireless plant, +urgently asked for, isolation would have been complete. + +By the fourteenth, the position was desperate. Civil authority flatly +defied; the police--lacking reserves--fairly played out; the temperature +chart of rebellion at its highest point. The inference was plain. + +Organised revolt is amenable only to the ultimate argument of force. +Nothing, now, would serve but strong action, and the compelling power of +Martial Law. + +Happily for India, the men who had striven their utmost to avoid both +did not falter in that critical hour. + +At Amritsar strong action had already been taken; and the sobering +effect of it spread, in widening circles, bringing relief to thousands +of both races; not least to men whose nerve and resource had been +strained almost to the limit of endurance. + +In Lahore, notices of Martial Law were issued. The suspended life of +the city tentatively revived. Law-abiding men of all ranks breathed more +freely; and for the moment it seemed the worst was over.... + +Roy, having slept off a measure of his utter fatigue, took up the dead +weight of life again, with the old sick sensation, of three years ago, +that nothing mattered in earth or heaven. But then, there had been Lance +to uphold and cheer him. Now there was only the hard unfailing mercy of +work to be pulled through somehow. + +There was also Rose--and the problem of letting her know that he knew. +And--their marriage? All that seemed to have suffered shipwreck with the +rest of him. He was still too dazed and blinded with grief to see an +inch ahead. He only knew he could not bear to see her, who had made +Lance suffer so, till the first anguish had been dulled a little--on the +surface at least. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 35: It is an order.] + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + "Why did'st thou promise such a beauteous day, + + * * * * * + + To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, + Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke!" + --SHAKSPERE. + + +And away up in Simla, Rose Arden was enduring her own minor form of +purgatory. The news of Lance Desmond's sudden death had startled and +saddened her; had pierced through her surface serenity to the deep +places of a nature that was not altogether shallow under its veneer of +egotism and coquetry. + +On a morning, near the end of April, she sat alone in the garden under +deodar boughs tasselled with tips of young green. In a border, beyond +the lawn, spring flowers were awake; the bank was starred with white +violets and wild-strawberry blossoms; and through a gap in the ilex +trees beyond, she had a vision of far hills and flashing snow-peaks, +blue-white in the sun, cobalt in shadow. Overhead, among the higher +branches, a bird was trilling out an ecstatic love-song. + +But the year's renewal, the familiar flutter of Simla's awakening, +sharpened, rather, that new ache at her heart; the haunting, incredible +thought that down there, in the stifling dusty plains, Lance Desmond lay +dead in the springtime of his splendid manhood; dead of his own generous +impulse to save Roy from hurt. + +Since the news came, she had avoided sociabilities and, unobtrusively, +worn no colours. Foolish and fatuous, was it? Perhaps. She only knew +that--Lance being gone--she could not make _no_ difference in her daily +round, whatever others might think or say. + +And the mere fact of his being gone seemed strangely to revive the +memory of his love for her, of her own genuine, if inadequate, +response. For she had been more nearly in love with him than with any of +his predecessors (and there had been several), who had been admitted to +the privileged intimacies of the half-accepted lover. More: he had +commanded her admiration; and she had not been woman could she have held +out indefinitely against his passionate, whole-hearted devotion. + +After months of patient wooing--and he by nature impatient--he had +insisted that matters be settled, one way or the other, before he went +on leave; and she had almost reached the point of decision, when Roy, +with his careless charm and challenging detachment, appeared on the +scene.... + +And now--Lance was gone; Roy was hers; Bramleigh Beeches and a +prospective title were hers; but still.... + +The shock of Roy's revelation had upset her a good deal more than she +dared let him guess. And the effect did not pass--in spite of determined +efforts to be unaware of it. She knew, now, that her vaunted tolerance +sprang chiefly from having ignored the whole subject. Half-castes she +instinctively despised. For India and the Indians she had little real +sympathy; and the rising tide of unrest, the increasing antagonism, had +sharpened her negative attitude to a positive dislike and distrust, +acutely intensified since that evening at Anarkalli, when the sight of +Lance and her stepfather, sitting there at the mercy of any chance-flung +missile, had stirred the slumbering passion in her to fury. For one +bewildering moment she had scarcely been able to endure Roy's touch or +look, because he was even remotely linked with those creatures, who +mouthed and yelled and would have murdered them all without compunction. + +The impression of those few nerve-wracking days had struck deep. Yet, in +spite of all, Roy's hold on her was strong; the stronger perhaps because +she had been aware of his inner resistance, and had never felt quite +sure of him. She did not feel fundamentally sure of him, even now. His +letters had been few and brief; heart-broken, naturally; yet scarcely +the letters of an ardent lover. The longest of the four had given her a +poignant picture of Lance's funeral; almost as if he knew, and had +written with intent to hurt her. In addition to half the British +officers of the station, the cemetery had been thronged with the men of +his squadron, Sikhs and Pathans--a form of homage very rare in India. +Many of them had cried like children; and for himself, Roy confessed, it +had broken him all to bits. He hardly knew how to write of it; but he +felt she would care to know. + +She cared so intensely that, for the moment, she had almost hated him +for probing so deep, for stamping on her memory a picture that would not +fade. + +His next letter had been no more than half a sheet. That was three days +ago. Another was overdue; and the post was overdue also. + +Ah--at last! A flash of scarlet in the verandah and Fazl Ali presenting +an envelope on a salver, as though she were a goddess and the letter an +offering at her shrine. + +It was a shade thicker than usual. Well, it ought to be. She had been +very patient with his brevity. This time it seemed he had something to +say. + +Her heart stirred perceptibly as she opened it and read:-- + + "DEAREST GIRL,-- + + "I'm afraid my letters have been very poor things. Part of the + reason you know and understand--as far as any one can. I'm still + dazed. Everything's out of perspective. I suppose I shall take it + in some day. + + "But there's another reason--connected with _him_. Perhaps you can + guess. I've been puzzled all along about you two. And now I _know_. + I wonder--does that hurt you? It hurts me horribly. I need hardly + say _he_ didn't give you away. It was things you said--and Mrs + Ranyard. Anyhow, that last evening, I insisted on having the truth. + But I couldn't write about it sooner--for fear of saying things I'd + regret afterwards. + + "Rose--what _possessed_ you? A man worth fifty of me! Of course, I + know loving doesn't go by merit. But to keep him on tenterhooks, + eating his heart out with jealousy, while you frankly encouraged + me--you _know_ you did. And I--never dreaming; only puzzled at the + way he sheered off after the first. Between us, we made his last + month of life a torment, though he never let me guess it. I don't + know how to forgive myself. And, to be honest, it's no easy job + forgiving you. If that makes you angry, if you think me a prig, I + can't help it. If _you'd_ heard him--all those hours of + delirium--you might understand. + + "When he wasn't raving, he had only one thought--mustn't blame + _you_, or hurt you, on account of him. I'm trying not to. But if I + know you at all, _that_ will hurt more than anything _I_ could say. + And it's only right I should tell it you. + + "My dearest Girl, you can't think how difficult--how strange it + feels writing to you like this. I meant to wait till I came up. But + I couldn't write naturally, and I was afraid you mightn't + understand. + + "I'm coming, after all, sooner than I thought, for my fool of a + body has given out, and Collins won't let me hang on, though _I_ + feel the work just keeps me going. It must be Kohat first, because + of Paul. Now things are calming down, he is getting away to be + married. The quietest possible affair, of course; but he's keen I + should be best man in place of Lance. And I needn't say how I value + the compliment. + + "No more trouble here or Amritsar, thank God--and a few courageous + men. Martial Law arrangements are being carried through to + admiration. The Lahore C.O. seems to get the right side of every + one. He has a gift for the personal touch that is everything out + here; and in no time the poor deluded beggars in the City were + shouting 'Martial Law _ki jai_' as fervently as ever they shouted + for Ghandi and Co. + + "One of my fellows said to me: 'Our people don't understand this + new talk of "Committee Ki Raj" and "Dyarchy Raj." Too many orders + make confusion. But they understand "_Hukm Ki raj_."'[36] In fact, + it's the general opinion that prompt action in the Punjab has + fairly well steadied India--for the present at least. + + "Well, I won't write more. We'll meet soon; and I don't doubt + you'll explain a good deal that still puzzles and hurts me. If I + seem changed, you must make allowances. I can't yet see my way in + a world empty of Lance. But we must help each other, Rose--not pull + two ways. Don't bother to write long explanations. Things will be + easier face to face. + + "Yours ever, + ROY." + +"Yours ever," ... Did he mean that? He certainly meant the rest. Her +hands dropped in her lap; and she sat there, staring before +her--startled, angry, more profoundly disturbed and unsure of herself +than she had felt in all her days. Though Roy had tried to write with +moderation, there were sentences that struck at her vanity, her +conscience, her heart. Her first overwhelming impulse was to write back +at once telling him he need not trouble to come up, as the engagement +was off. Accustomed to unquestioning homage, she took criticism badly; +also--undeniably--she was jealous of his absorption in Lance. The +impulse to dismiss him was mere hurt vanity. + +And the queer thing was, that deep down under the vanity and the +jealousy, her old feeling for Lance seemed again to be stirring in its +sleep. + +The love of such a man leaves no light impress on any woman; and Lance +had unwittingly achieved two master-strokes calculated to deepen that +impress on one of her nature. In the first place, he had fronted +squarely the shock of her defection--patently on account of Roy. She +could see him now--standing near her mantelpiece, his eyes sombre with +passion and pain; no word of reproach or pleading, though there +smouldered beneath his silence the fire of his formidable temper. And +just because he had neither pleaded nor stormed, she had come perilously +near to an ignominious _volte-face_, from which she had only been saved +by something in him, not in herself. If she did not know it then, she +knew it now. In the second place, he had died gallantly--again on +account of Roy. Snatched utterly out of reach, out of sight, his value +was enhanced tenfold; and now, to crown all, came Roy's revelation of +his amazing magnanimity.... + +Strange, what a complicated affair it was, for some people, this simple +natural business of getting married. Was it part of the price one had +to pay for being beautiful? Half the girls one knew slipped into it with +much the same sort of thrill as they slipped into a new frock. But those +were mostly the nice plain little things, who subsided gratefully into +the first pair of arms held out to them. And probably they had their +reward. + +In chastened moods, Rose did not quite care to remember how many times +she had succumbed, experimentally, to that supreme temptation. Good +heavens! What would her precious pair think of her--if they knew! At +least, she had the grace to feel proud that the tale of her conquests +included two such men. + +But Lance was gone--on account of Roy--where no spell of hers could +touch him any more; and Roy--was he going too ... on account of +Lance...? Not if she could prevent him; and yet ... goodness knew! + +The sigh that shivered through her sprang from a deeper source than mere +self-pity. + +Rattle of rickshaw wheels, puffing and grunting of _jhampannis_, +heralded the return of her mother, who had been out paying a round of +preliminary calls. It took eight stalwart men and a rickshaw of special +dimensions to convey her formidable bulk up and down Simla roads; and +affectionate friends hinted that the men demanded extra pay for extra +weight! + +A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in the air. + +"Oh, Rose--_there_ you are. I've had the shock of my life!" Waving away +her _jhampannis_, she sank into an adjacent cane chair that creaked and +swayed ominously under the assault. "It was at Mrs Tait's. My +dear--would you _believe_ it? That fine fiance of yours--after worming +himself into our good graces--turns out to be practically a +_half-caste_. A superior one, it seems. But still--the deceitfulness of +the man! Going about looking like everybody else too! And grey-blue eyes +into the bargain!" + +At that Rose fatally smiled--in spite of genuine dismay. + +"I can't see anything _funny_ in it!" snapped her mother. "I thought +you'd be furious. Did you ever notice----? Had you the least suspicion?" + +"Not the least," Rose answered, with unruffled calm. "I knew." + +"You _knew_? Yet you were fool enough to accept him--and wilfully +deceive your own mother! I suppose he insisted, and you----" + +"No. _I_ insisted. I knew my own mind. And I wasn't going to have him +upset----" + +"But if _I'm_ upset it doesn't matter a brass farthing?" + +"It does matter. I'm very sorry you've had such a jar." Rose had some +ado to maintain her coolness; but she knew it for her one unfailing +weapon. "Of course, I meant to tell you later; in fact, as soon as he +came up to settle things finally----" + +"Most con_sider_ate of you! And when he _does_ come up, _I_ propose to +settle things finally----" She choked, gulped, and glared. She was +realising.... "The _position_ you've put me in! It's detestable!" + +Rose sighed. It struck her that her own position was not exactly +enviable. "I've said I'm sorry. And really--it didn't seem the least +likely.... Who _was_ the officious instrument of Fate?" + +"Young Joe Bradley, of the Forests. We were talking of the riots and +poor Major Desmond, and Mrs Tait happened to mention Roy Sinclair. Mr +Bradley asked--was he the artist's son; and told how he once went to tea +there--when his mother was staying with Lady Despard--and had a stand-up +fight with Roy. He said Roy's mother was rather a swell native woman--a +_pucca_ native; and Roy went for him like a wild thing, because he +called her an ayah----" + +Again Rose smiled in spite of herself. "He would!" + +"Would he, indeed! That's all _you_ think of--though you know I've got a +weak heart. And I nearly fainted--if _that's_ any interest to you! The +Bradley boy doesn't know--about us. But Mrs Tait's a perfect little +sieve. It'll be all over Simla to-morrow. And I was so pleased and +proud----" Her voice shook. Tears threatened. "And it's so awkward--so +undignified ... backing out----" + +"My dear mother, I've no intention whatever of backing out." + +"And I've no intention what_ever_ of having a half-caste for a +son-in-law." + +Rose winced at that, and drew in a steadying breath. For now, at last, +the cards were on the table. She was committed to flat opposition or +retreat--an impasse she had skilfully avoided hitherto. But for Roy's +sake she stood her ground. + +"It was--rather a jar when he told me," she admitted, by way of +concession. "But truly, he _is_ different--if you'll only listen, +without fuming! His mother's a Rajput of the highest caste. Her father +educated her almost like an English girl. She was only seventeen when +she married Sir Nevil; and she lived altogether in England after that. +In everything but being her son, Roy is practically an Englishman. You +can't class him with the kind of people we associate with--the other +word out here----" + +Very patiently and tactfully she put forward every redeeming argument in +his favour--without avail. Mrs Elton--broadly--had the right on her +side; and the gods had denied her the gift of discrimination. She saw +India as a vast, confused jumble of Rajahs and _bunnias_ and servants +and coolies--all steeped in varying depths of dirt and dishonesty, greed +and shameless ingratitude. It did not occur to her that sharp +distinctions of character, tradition, and culture underlay the more or +less uniform tint of skin. And beneath her instinctive antipathy, burned +furious anger with Roy for placing her, by his deceitfulness (it _must_ +have been his) in the ironic position of having to repudiate the +engagement she had announced with such eclat only three weeks ago.... + +The moment she had recovered her breath, she returned unshaken to the +charge. + +"That's very fine talk, my dear, for two people in love. But Roy's a +half-caste: that's flat. You can't wriggle away from the damning fact by +splitting hairs about education and breeding. Besides--_you_ only think +of the man. But are you prepared for your precious first baby to be as +dark as a native? It's more than likely. I know it for a fact----" + +"Really, Mother! You're a trifle previous." Rose was cool no longer; a +slow, unwilling blush flooded her face. Her mother had struck at her +more shrewdly than she knew. + +"Well, if you _will_ be obstinate, it's my duty to open your eyes; or, +of course, I wouldn't talk so to an unmarried girl. There's another +thing--any doctor will tell you--a particular form of consumption +carries off half the wretched children of these mixed marriages. A +mercy, perhaps; but think of it----! Your own! And you know perfectly +well the moral deterioration----" + +"There's none of that about _Roy_." Rose grew warmer still. "And _you_ +know perfectly well most of it comes from the circumstances, the stigma, +the type of parent. But you can say what you please. I'm of age. I love +him. I intend to marry him." + +"Well, you won't do it from _my_ house. I wash my hands of the whole +affair." + +She rose, upon her ultimatum, a-quiver with righteous anger, even to the +realistic cherries in her hat. The girl rose also, outwardly composed, +inwardly dismayed. + +"Thank you. Now I know where I stand. And _you_ won't say a word to Roy. +You _mustn't_--really----" She almost pleaded. "He worships his mother +in quite the old-fashioned way. He simply couldn't see--the other point +of view. Besides--he's ill ... unhappy. Whatever _your_ attitude forces +one to say, can only be said by me." + +"I don't take orders from my own daughter," Mrs Elton retorted +ungraciously. She was in no humour for bargaining or dictation. "But I'm +sure _I've_ no wish to talk to him. I'll give you a week or ten days to +make your plans. But whenever you have him here, I shall be out. And if +you come to your senses--you can let me know." + +On that she departed, leaving Rose feeling battered and shaken, and +horribly uncertain what--in the face of that bombshell--she intended to +do: she, who had made Lance suffer cruelly, and evoked a tragic +situation between him and Roy, largely in order to avoid a clash that +would have been as nothing compared with this...! + +Her sensations were in a whirl. But somehow--she _must_ pull it through. +Home life was becoming intolerable. And--for several cogent reasons--she +wanted Roy. If need be, she would tell him, diplomatically; dissociating +herself from her mother's attitude. + +And yet--her mother had said things that would stick; hateful things, +that might be true.... + +Decidedly, she could not write him a long letter: only enough to bring +him back to her in a relenting mood. Sitting down again, she unearthed +from her black-and-silver bag a fountain pen and half a sheet of paper. + + "MY DARLING ROY" (she wrote),-- + + "Your letter _did_ hurt--badly. Perhaps I deserved it. All I can + say till we meet, is--forgive me, if you can, because of Lance. + It's rather odd--though you _are_ my lover, and I suppose you do + care still--I can think of no stronger appeal than that. He cared + so for us both, in his big splendid way. Can't we stand by each + other? + + "You ask me to make allowances. Will you be generous, and do the + same on a larger scale for your sincerely loving (and not + altogether worthless) + + ROSE?" + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 36: Government by order.] + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "She had a step that walked unheard, + It made the stones like grass; + Yet that light step had crushed a heart + As light as that step was." + --W.H. DAVIES. + + +At last, Roy was actually coming. The critical moment was upon them; and +Rose sat alone in the drawing-room awaiting him. + +Her mother was out; had arranged to be out for the evening also. The +strain between them still continued; and it told most on Rose. The +cat-like element in her loved comfort; and an undercurrent of clash was +peculiarly irritating in her present sore, uncertain state of heart. +Weeks of it, she knew, would scarcely leave a dent on her mother's +leathern temperament. When it came to a tug the tougher nature scored, +which was one reason why she had so skilfully avoided tugs hitherto. + +True, she was of age; and her father's small legacy gave her a measure +of independence. But how could one set about getting married in the face +of open opposition? And--how keep the truth from Roy? Or tone it down, +so that he would not go off at a tangent straightaway? + +Assuredly the Fates had conspired to strip her headlong romance of its +gilded trappings. But her moment for marriage had come. She was sick to +death of the Anglo-Indian round--from the unattached standpoint, at +least. Roy fascinated her as few men had done; and she had been +deliberately trying to ignore the effect of her mother's brutal +frankness. Their coming together again, in these changed conditions, +would be the ultimate test. Such a chasm of distance seemed to yawn +between that tender parting in her boudoir and this critical +reunion--in another world.... + +Sounds of arrival brought her to her feet; but she checked the natural +impulse to welcome him in the verandah. Her innate sense of drama shrank +from possible awkwardness, a false step, at the start. + +And now he appeared in the doorway--very straight and slim in his grey +suit, with the sorrowful black band on his arm. + +"Rose!" he cried--and stood gazing at her, pulses hammering, brain +dizzy. The mere sight of her brought back too vividly the memory of +those April days that he had been resolutely shutting out of his mind. + +His pause--the shock of his changed aspect--held her motionless also. He +looked older, more sallow; his sensitive mouth compressed; no lurking +gleam in his eyes. He seemed actually less good-looking than she +remembered; for anguish is no beautifier. + +So standing, they mutely confronted the change in themselves--in each +other; then Rose swept forward, both hands held out. + +"Roy--my darling--_what_ you must have been through! Can you--will +you--in spite of all----?" + +Next moment, in his silent, vehement fashion, he was straining her to +him; kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips; not in simple lover's +ecstasy, but in a fervour of repressed passion, touched with tragedy, +with pain.... + +Then he held her from him, to refresh his tired eyes with the sheer +beauty of her; and was struck at once by the absence of colour; the wide +black sash, the black velvet round her throat and hair. + +He touched the velvet, looking his question. She nodded, drawing in her +lip to steady it. + +"I felt--I must. You don't mind?" + +"_Mind_----?--Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever really _mind_ things +any more." + +His face worked. That queer dizziness took him again. With an incoherent +apology, he sat down rather abruptly, and leaned forward, his head +between his hands, hiding the emotion he could not altogether control. + +Rose stood beside him, feeling helpless and vaguely aggrieved. He had +just got back to her, after a two weeks' parting, and he sat there lost +in an access of grief that left her quite out of account. Inadvertently +there flashed the thought, "Whatever Lance might have suffered, he would +not succumb." It startled her. She had never so compared them before.... + +Then, looking down at his bowed head, compunction seized her, and +tenderness, that rarely entered into her feeling for men. She could +think of nothing to say that would not sound idiotically commonplace. So +she laid her hand on his hair, and moved it caressingly now and then. + +She felt a tremor go through him. He half withdrew his head, checked +himself, and capturing her hand, pressed it to his lips, that were hot +and feverish. + +"Roy--what is it? What went wrong?" she asked softly. + +He looked up now with a fair imitation of a smile. "Just--an old memory. +It was dear of you. Ungracious of me."--Pain and perplexity went from +her. She slipped to her knees beside him, and his arm enclosed her. +"Sorry to behave like this. But I'm not very fit. And--seeing you, +brought it all back so sharply! It's been--a bit of a strain, this last +week. A letter from Thea--brave, of course; but broken utterly. The +wedding too: and that beast of a journey fairly finished me." + +She leaned closer, comforting him by the feel of her nearness. Then her +practical brain suggested needs more pedestrian, none the less +essential. + +"Dearest--you're simply exhausted. How about tea--or a peg?" + +He pleaded for a peg, if permissible. She fetched it herself; made tea; +plied him with sandwiches and sugared cakes, for which he still retained +his boyish weakness. + +But talking proved difficult. There were uncomfortable gaps. In their +first uplifted moment all had seemed well. Love-making was simple, +elemental, satisfying. Beyond the initial glamour and passion of +courtship they had scarcely adventured, when the fabric of their world +was shattered by the startling events of those four days. Both were +realising--as they stepped cautiously among the fragments--that, for all +their surface intimacy, they were still strangers underneath. + +Roy took refuge in talk about Lahore; the high tribute paid to the +conduct of all troops--British and Indian--and police, under peculiarly +exasperating circumstances, the C.O.'s conviction that unless sterner +measures were taken--and adhered to--there would be more outbreaks, at +shorter intervals, better organised.... + +He hoped her charming air of interest was genuine, but felt by no means +sure. And all the while, he was craving to know what she had to say for +herself; yet doubting whether he could stand the lightest touch on his +open wound. Lance had begged him not to hurt her. Had it ever occurred +to that devout lover how sharply she might hurt him? + +Tea and a restful hour in an arm-chair eased the strain a little. Then +Rose suggested the garden, knowing him susceptible to the large healing +influences of earth and sky; also with diplomatic intent to draw him +away from the house before her mother's meteoric visitation. + +And she was only just in time. The rattle of rickshaw wheels came up the +main path two minutes after they had turned out of it towards a +favourite nook, which she had strangely grown to love in the last two +weeks. + +"Poor darling! You've just missed Mother!" She condoled with him, +smiling sidelong under her lashes; and she almost blessed her maternal +enemy for bringing back the familiar gleam into his eyes. + +"Bad luck! Ought we to go in again?" + +"Gracious, no. She's only tearing home to change for an early dinner at +Penshurst and the theatre. Anyway, please note, you're immune from the +formalities. We're going to have a peaceful time, quite independent of +Simla rushings. Just ourselves to ourselves." + +"Good." + +It was an asset with men--second only to her beauty--this gift for +creating a restful atmosphere. + +Her nook, in an angle above the narrow path, was a grassy bank, looking +across crumpled ranges--velvet-soft in the level light--to the still +purity of the snows. + +"Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning out of +doors; but I've spent several evenings here ... lately." + +"It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was tinged with +apprehension. Flinging off his hat, he reclined full length on the +gentle slope, hands under his head, and let the healing rays flow into +the deeps of his troubled being. + +Rose sat upright beside him, her fingers locked loosely round one raised +knee. She was troubled too, and quite at a loss how to begin. + +"So you've not been going out much?" he asked, after a prolonged pause. + +"No--how could I--with you, so unhappy, down there--and...."--She +deliberately met his eyes; and the look in them impelled her to ask: +"_What_ is it, Roy--lurking in your mind?" + +"Am I--to be frank?" + +She shivered. "It sounds--rather chilly. But I suppose we'd better take +our cold plunge--and get it over!" + +"Well"--he hesitated palpably. "It was only a natural wonder--if you +care ... all that ... now he's gone, how could you deliberately hurt him +so--while he lived?" + +She drew in her lip. It was going to be more unsteadying than she had +foreseen. + +"How _can_ a woman explain to a man the simple fact that she is +incurably--perhaps unforgivably--a woman?" + +"I don't know. I hoped you could--up to a point," said Roy, looking away +to the snows and remembering, suddenly, _that_ was where he ought to be +now--with Lance--always Lance: no other thought or presence seemed vital +to him, these days. Yet Rose remained beautiful and desirable--and +clearly she loved him. + +"It doesn't make things easier, you know," she was saying, in her cool, +low voice, "to feel you are patently regretting events that, unhappily, +did hurt--him; but also--gave me to you...." + +Her beauty, her evident pain, penetrated the settled misery that +enveloped him like an atmosphere. + +"Darling--forgive me!" He reached out, pulling her hands apart, and his +fingers closed hard on hers. "I'm only trying--clumsily--to +understand...." + +"And goodness knows I'm willing to help you," she sighed, returning his +pressure. "But--I'm afraid the little I can say for myself won't do much +to regild my halo--if there's any of it left! I gather you aren't very +well up in women, or girls, Roy?" + +"No--I'm not. Perhaps it makes me seem to you a bit of a fool?" + +"Quite the reverse. It's all along been a part of your charm." + +"My--charm?" + +There was more of tenderness than amusement in her low laugh. +"Precisely! If you didn't possess--_some_ magnetic quality, could I have +been drawn away from a man--like Lance, when I'd nearly made up my +mind--to face the music." + +For answer, he kissed her captured hand. + +Then: "Roy, if it doesn't hurt too much," she urged, "will you tell me +first--just--what Lance said?" + +It would hurt, horridly. But it was as well she should know; and not a +word need he withhold. Could there be a finer tribute to his friend? It +was his own share in their last unforgettable talk that could not be +reproduced. + +"Yes--I'll tell you," he said. And, his half-closed eyes resting on the +sunlit hills, he told her, in a voice from which all feeling was +carefully expunged. Only so could he achieve the telling; and she +listened without interruption, for which he felt grateful, +exceedingly.... + +When it was over he merely moved his head and looked up at her; and she +returned his look, her eyes heavy with tears. Mutually their fingers +tightened. + +"Thank you," she said. "It makes me ... ashamed, but it makes me proud." + +"It made _me_ angry and bewildered," said Roy. "If you really were ... +coming his way, what the devil did _I_ do to upset it all? Of course I +admired you; and I was interested--on his account. But--I had no +thought--I was absorbed in other things----" + +She nodded slowly, not looking at him. "Quite so. And I suppose--being +me--I didn't choose that a man should dance with me, ride with me, +obviously admire me, and yet remain absorbed in other things. And--being +you--of course it never struck you that, for my kind of girl, your +provocatively casual attitude almost amounted to a challenge. +Besides--as I said--you were charming; you were different. Perhaps--if +I'd felt a shade less sure--of Lance, if he'd had the wit even to +_seem_ keen on some one else ... he might have saved himself. As it +was--you were irresistible." + +She heard him grit his teeth; and turned with swift compunction. + +"My poor Roy! Am I jarring you badly? I suppose, if I talked till +midnight, I'd never succeed in making a man like you understand how +purely instinctive it all is. Analysed, like this, it sounds +cold-blooded. But, it's just--second nature. He--Lance--understood up to +a point. That's why he was aggressive that day: oh--furiously angry; all +because of you. The pair you are! He said if I fooled you, and didn't +play fair, he'd back out, or insist on a _pucca_ engagement. +And--yes--it did have the wrong effect. It made me wonder--if I _could_ +marry a man, however splendid, who owned such exacting standards and +such a hot temper. And there were you--an unknown quantity, with the +Banter-Wrangle discreetly in pursuit. A supreme inducement in +itself!--Yes, distinctly, that afternoon was a turning-point. Just Lance +losing his temper, and you coolly forgetting an arrangement with me----" + +She paused, looking back over it all; felt Roy's hold slacken and +unobtrusively withdrew her hand. + +"Soon after Kapurthala, he was angry again. And that time, I'm afraid I +reminded him that our engagement was only 'on' conditionally; that if he +started worrying at me, it would soon be unconditionally off----" + +"So it _should_ have been!" Roy jerked up on to his elbow, and +confronted her with challenging directness. "Once you could speak like +that, feel like that, you'd no _right_ to keep him hanging on--hoping +when there was practically no hope. It wasn't playing the game----" + +This time she kept her eyes averted, and a slow colour invaded her face. +There was a point beyond which feminine frankness could not go. She +could not--would not--tell this unflatteringly critical lover of hers +that it was not in her nature to let the one man go till she felt +morally sure of the other. + +Roy had only a profile view of her warm cheek, her sensitive nostril +a-quiver, her lip drawn in. And when she spoke, it was in the tense, +passionate tone of that evening at Anarkalli. + +"Oh yes--it's easy work sitting in judgment on other people. I told you +I hadn't much of a case--I asked you to make allowances. You clearly +can't. _He_ asked you--not to hurt me. You clearly feel you must. +Yet--in justice to you both--I'm doing what I can. I've never before +condescended to explain myself--almost excuse myself--to _any_ man; and +I certainly never shall again. It strikes me you'd better apply your own +indictment ... to your own case. If _you_ can think and feel ... as you +seem to do, better face the fact and be done with it----" + +But Roy, startled and penitent, was sitting upright by now; and, when +she would have risen, he seized her, crushing her to him, would she or +no. In her pain and anger she more than ever drew him. In his utter +heart-loneliness, he more than ever needed her. And the reminder of +Lance crowned all. + +"My darling--don't go off at a tangent, that way," he implored her, his +lips against her hair. "For me--it's a sacred bond. It can't be snapped +in a fit of temper--like a bit of knotted thread. I'll accept ... what I +can't see clear. We'll stand by each other, as you said. Learn one +another--Rose...! My dearest girl--_don't_----!" + +He strained her closer, in mingled bewilderment and distress. For +Rose--who trod lightly on the hearts of men, Rose--the serene and +self-assured--was sobbing brokenly in his arms.... + +Before the end of the evening, they were more or less themselves again; +the threatened storm averted; the trouble patched up and summarily +dismissed, as only lovers can dismiss a cloud that intrudes upon their +heaven of blue. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "Le pire douleur est de ne pas, pleurer ce qu'on a perdu." + --DE COULEVAIN. + + +But as days passed, both grew increasingly aware of the patch; and both +very carefully concealed the fact. They spent a week of peaceful +seclusion from Simla and her restless activities. Roy scarcely set eyes +on Mrs Elton; but--Rose having skilfully prepared the ground--he merely +gave her credit for her mother's unusual display of tact. + +Neither was in the vein for dances or tennis parties. They rode out to +Mashobra and Fagu. They spent long days, picnicking in the Glen. Roy +discovered, with satisfaction, that Rose had a weakness for being read +to and a fair taste in literature, so long as it was not poetry. He also +discovered--with a twinge of dismay--that if they were many hours +together, he found reading easier than talking. + +On the whole, they spent a week that should, by rights, have been ideal +for new-made lovers; yet, at heart, both felt vaguely troubled and +disillusioned. + +Pain and parting and harsh realities seemed to have rubbed the bloom off +their exotic romance. And for Rose the trouble struck deep. She had +deliberately willed to put aside her own innate shrinking from the +Indian strain in Roy. But she reckoned without the haunting effect of +her mother's plain speaking. At first she had flatly ignored it; then +she fortified her secret qualms by devising a practical plan for getting +away to a friend in Kashmir. There was a sister in Simla going to join +her. They could travel together. Roy could follow on. And there they two +could be quietly married without fuss or audible comment from their +talkative little world. + +It was not precisely her idea of the manner in which she--Rose +Arden--should be given in marriage. But the main point was that--if she +could help it--her mother should not score in the matter of Roy. _Could_ +she help it? That was the question persistently knocking at her heart. + +And she was only a degree less troubled by the perverse revival of her +feeling for Lance. Vanished--his hold on her deeper nature seemed +mysteriously to strengthen. Memories crowded in, unbidden, of their +golden time together just before Roy appeared on the scene; till she +almost arrived at blaming her deliberately chosen lover for having come +between them and landed her in her present distracting position. For now +it was the ghost of Lance that threatened to come between her and Roy; +and the irony of it cut her to the quick. If she had dealt unfairly by +these two men, whose standards were leagues above her own, she was not, +it seemed, to escape her share of suffering.... + +For Roy's heart also knew the chill of secret disillusion. The ardour +and thrill of his courtship seemed fatally to have suffered eclipse. +When they were together, the lure of her was potent still. It was in the +gaps between that he felt irked, more and more, by incipient criticism. +In the course of that first talk, she had unwittingly stripped herself +of the glamour that was more than half her charm; and at bottom his +Eastern subconsciousness was jarred by her casual attitude to the +sanctities of the man and woman relation, as instilled into him by his +mother. When he quarrelled with her treatment of Lance, she saw it +merely as a rather exaggerated concern for his friend. There was that in +it, of course; but there was more. + +Yet undeniably Desmond's urgent plea influenced his own effort to ignore +the still small voice within him, that protested against the whole +affair. At another time he would have taken it for a clear intimation +from his mother; but she seemed to have lost, or deserted him, these +days. All he could firmly hold on to, at present, was his loyalty to +Lance, his duty to Rose; and both seemed to point in the same +direction. + +It struck him as strange that she did not mention the wedding; and she +had been so full of it that very first evening. Once, when he casually +asked if any fixtures were decided on yet, she had smiled and answered, +"No; not yet." And some other topic had intervened. + +It was only a degree less strange that she spoke so often of Lance, +without attempting to disguise her admiration--and something more. And +in himself--strangest of all--this surprising manifestation stirred no +flicker of jealousy. It seemed a link, rather, drawing, them nearer +together. She frankly encouraged talk of their school-days that involved +fresh revealings of Lance at every turn: talk that was anodyne or +anguish according to his mood. + +She also encouraged him to unearth his deserted novel and read her the +opening chapters. In Lahore, he had longed for that moment; now he +feared lest it too sharply emphasise their inner apartness. For the +Indian atmosphere was strong in the book; and the Indian atmosphere +jarred. The effect of the riots had merely been repressed. It still +simmered underneath. + +Only once she had broken out on the subject; and had been distinctly +restive when he demurred at the injustice of sweeping indictments +against the whole country, because a handful of extremists were trying +to wreck the ship. Personally he blamed England for virtually assisting +in the process. It had come near to an altercation--very rare event with +Rose; and it had left Roy feeling more unsettled than ever. + +A few readings of his novel made him feel more uncomfortable still. Like +all true artists, he listened, as he read, with the mind of his +audience; and intuitively, he felt her antagonism to the Indian element +in his characters, his writing, his theme. + +For three days he persisted. Then he gave it up. + +They were sitting in their nook; Rose leaning back, her eyes half +closed, gazing across the valley. In the middle of a flagrantly Indian +chapter, he broke off: determined to take it lightly; not to make a +grievance of it: equally determined she should hear no more. + +For a few seconds she did not realise. Then she turned and looked up at +him. "Well----? Is that all?" + +"Yes. That's all--so far as you're concerned!" + +Her brows went up in the old beguiling way. He felt her trying to hide +her thought, and held up a warning finger. + +"Now, don't put it on! Frankly--isn't she relieved? Hasn't she borne the +infliction like a saint?" + +The blood stirred visibly under her pallor. "It was _not_ an infliction. +Your writing's wonderful. Quite uncanny--the way you get inside people +and things. If there's more--go on." + +"There's a lot more. But I'm not going on--even at her Majesty's express +command!--Look here, Rose ... let be." He suddenly changed his tone. "I +can feel how it bothers you. So--why pretend...?" + +She looked down; twisting her opal ring, making the delicate colours +flash and change. + +"It's a pity--isn't it?"--she seemed to muse aloud--"that more than half +of life is made up of pretending. It becomes rather a delicate +problem--fixing boundary lines. I _do_ admire your gift, Roy. And you're +so intensely human. But I confess, I--I _am_ jerked by parts of your +theme. Doesn't all this animosity and open vilification affect your own +feeling about--things, the least bit?" + +"Yes. It does. Only--not in your way. It makes me unhappy, because the +real India--snowed under with specious talk and bitter invective--has +less chance now than ever of being understood by those who can't see +below the surface." + +"Me--for instance?" + +He sighed. "Oh, scores and scores of you, here and at Home. And scores +of others, who have far less excuse. That's why one feels bound to do +what one can...." + +His thoughts on that score went too deep for utterance. + +But Rose was engaged in her own purely personal deliberations. + +"You might want to come out again ... afterwards?" + +"Yes--I should hope to. Besides ... there are my cousins...." + +"Indian ones----?" + +"Yes. Very clever. Very charming. Rose ... you've been six years in +India. Have you ever met, in a friendly way, a cultivated, well-born +Indian--man or woman?" + +"N-no. Not worth mentioning." + +"And ... you haven't wanted to?" + +He felt her shrink from the direct question. + +"Why press the point, Roy? It needn't make any real difference--need +it--between you and me?" + +Her counter-question was still more direct, more searching. + +"Perhaps not--now," he said. "It might ... make a lot ... +afterwards----" + +At that critical juncture their talk was interrupted by a peon with a +note that required immediate attention: and Roy, left alone, felt +increasingly disillusioned and dismayed. + +Later on, to his relief, Rose suggested a ride. She seemed suddenly in a +more elusive mood than he had experienced since their engagement. She +did not refer again to his novel, or to the thorny topic of India; and +their parting embrace was chilled by a shadow of constraint. + +"_How_ would it be--afterwards?" he wondered, riding back to the Club, +at a foot's pace, feeling tired and feverish and gravely puzzled as to +whether it might not--on all counts--be the greater wrong to make a +fetish of a bond so rashly forged. + +To-day, very distinctly he was aware of the inner tug he had been trying +to ignore. And to-day it was more imperative; less easily stilled. Could +it be ... veritably, his mother, trying to reach him--and failing, for +the first time? + +That thought prompted the test question--if _she_ were alive, how would +he feel about bringing Rose home as daughter-in-law, as mother of her +grandson ... the gift of gifts? If she were alive, could Rose herself +have faced the conjunction? And to him she was still verily alive--or +had been, till his infatuate passion had blinded him to everything but +one face, one form, one desire. + +That night there came to him--on the verge of sleep--the old thrilling +sensation that she was there--yearning to him across an impassable +barrier. And this time he knew--with a bitter certainty--that the +barrier was within himself. Every nerve in him craved--as he had not +craved this long while--the unmistakable _sense_ of her that seemed gone +past recall. Desperately, he strained every faculty to penetrate the +resistant medium that withheld her from him--in vain. + +Wearied out, with disappointment and futile effort, he fell +asleep--praying for a dream visitation to revive his shaken faith. None +came; and conviction seized him that none would come, until.... + +One could not, simultaneously, live on intimate terms with earth and +heaven. And Rose was earth in its most alluring guise. More: she had +awakened in him sensations and needs that, at the moment, she alone +could satisfy. But if it amounted to a choice; for him, there could be +no question.... + + * * * * * + +Next day and the day after, a sharp return of fever kept him in bed: and +a touch of his father in him tempted him to write, sooner than face the +strain of a final scene. But moral cowardice was not among his failings; +also unquestionably--if irrationally--he wanted to see her, to hold her +in his arms once again.... + +On the third morning he sent her a note saying he was better; he would +be round for tea; and received a verbal answer. Miss Sahib sent her +salaam. She would be at home. + +So, about half-past three, he rode out to the house on Elysium Hill, +wondering how--and, at moments, whether--he was going to pull it +through.... + +Her smile of welcome almost unmanned him. He simply did not feel fit for +the strain. It would be so much easier and more restful to yield to her +spell. + +"I'm so sorry. Idiotic of me," was all he said; and went forward to take +her in his arms. + +But she, without a word, laid both hands on him, holding him back. + +"_Rose!_ What's the matter?" he cried, genuinely upset. Nothing +undermines a resolve like finding it forestalled. + +"Simply--it's all over. We're beaten, Roy," she said in a queer, +repressed voice. "We can't go on with this. And--you know it." + +"But--darling!" He took her by the arms. + +"No ... _no_!" The passionate protest was addressed to herself as much +as to him. "Listen, Roy. I've never hated saying anything more--but it's +true. You said, last time,--'Why pretend?' And that struck home. I knew +I had been pretending hard--because I wanted to--for more than a week. +You made me realise ... one couldn't go on at it all one's married +life.--But, my dear, what a wretch I am! You're not fit...." + +"Oh, I'm just wobbly ... stupid," he muttered, half dazed, as she +pressed him down into a corner of the Chesterfield. + +"Poor old boy. When you've had some tea, you'll be able to face things." + +He said nothing; merely leaned back against the cushion and closed his +eyes--part of him rebelling furiously against her quiet yet summary +proceedings--while she attended to the sputtering kettle. + +How prosaic, after all, are even the great moments of life! They had +been ardent lovers. They had come to the parting of the ways. But a +kettle on the boil would wait for no man; and, till the body was served, +the troubles of the heart must stand aside. + +She drew the table nearer to him; carefully poured out tea; carefully +avoided his eyes. And--in the intervals between her mechanical +occupations--she told him as much of the truth as she felt he could bear +to hear, or she to speak. Among other things, unavoidably, she explained +how--and through whom--her mother had come to know about their +reservation---- + +"_That_ young sweep!" Roy muttered, so suddenly half-alert and fierce +that amused tenderness tripped up her studied composure. + +"You'd go for him now, just the same, I believe!" + +"I would--and a bit extra. Because--of you." + +She sighed. "Oh yes, it was a _mauvais quart d'heure_ of the first +order. And coming on the top of your crushing letter----" + +He captured her hand. Their eyes met--and softened. + +"No, Roy," she said, gently but inexorably releasing her fingers. "We've +got to keep our heads to-day, somehow." + +"Has yours so completely taken command of affairs?" + +"I'm afraid--it has." + +"Yet--you stood up to your mother?" + +"Oh, I did--as I've never done yet. But afterwards I realised--it was +only skin deep. She said ... things I can't repeat; but equally ... I +can't forget; things about ... possible children...." + +The blood flamed in Roy's sallow face. "Confound her! What does _she_ +know about possible children?" + +"More than I do, I suppose," Rose admitted, with a pathetic half smile. +"Anyway, after that, she refused to countenance the engagement--the +wedding----" + +Roy sat suddenly forward, scorn and anger in his eyes. + +"_Refused_----! After the infernal fuss she made over me, because my +father happened to have a title and a garden. And now----" his hand +closed on the edge of the table. "I'm considered a pariah--am I?--simply +on account of my lovely little mother--the guardian angel of us all!" + +His blaze of wrath, his low passionate tone, startled her to silence. He +had spoken so seldom of his mother since the first occasion, +that--although she knew--she had far from plumbed the height and depth +of his worship. And instinctively she thought, 'I should have been +jealous into the bargain.' + +But Roy had room just then for one consideration only. + +"Here have I been coming to her house on sufferance ... polluting her +precious drawing-room, while she's been avoiding me as if I was a leper, +all because I'm the son of a sainted woman, whose shoe she wouldn't have +been worthy ... oh, I beg your pardon----" He checked himself sharply. +"After all--she's _your_ mother." + +Rose felt her cheeks growing uncomfortably warm. "I did warn you, in +Lahore, some people felt ... that way." + +"Well, I never dreamed they would _behave_ that way. It's not as if I'd +been born and reared in India and might claim relations in her +compound." + +"My dear--one can't make her see the difference," Rose urged +desperately. + +"Well, I _won't_ stay any longer in her house. I won't eat her food----" + +He pushed aside his plate so impatiently that Rose felt almost angry. +But she saw his hand tremble; and covered it with her own. + +"Roy--my dear! You're ill; and you're being rather exaggerated over +things----" + +"Well, you put me in such a false position. You ought to have told me." + +She winced at that and let fall her hand. + +"That's all one's reward for trying to save you from jars when you were +knocked up and unhappy. And I told you ... I defied her ... I ... I +would have married you...." + +He looked at her, and his heart contracted sharply. + +"Poor Rose--poor darling!" He was his normal self again. "What a beast +of a time you must have had! But--how _did_ you propose to accomplish +it----?" + +She told him, haltingly, of the Kashmir plan; and he listened, half +incredulous, leaning back again; thinking: "She's plucky; but still, all +she troubled about really was to save her face." + +And she, noting his impatient frown, was thinking: "He's like a +sensitive plant charged with gunpowder. Is it the touchiness of----?" + +"I'm afraid I'd have kicked at that." His voice broke in upon her +thought. "Such a hole-and-corner business. Hardly fair on my father...." + +"Well, there's no question of it now," she reminded him, with a touch of +asperity. "I've told you--the whole thing's defunct. Later--we'll be +glad, perhaps, that I discovered in time that part of me could not be +coerced--by the other part, which still wants you as much as ever. We +should have been landed in disaster--soon or late. Better soon--before +the roots have struck too deep. But you're so furiously angry with the +_reason_--that you seem almost to forget ... the fact." + +His eyes brooded on her, full of pain and the old, half-unwilling +infatuation. He could not so hurt her pride as to confess that their +discovery had been mutual. Let her glean what satisfaction she could +from having taken the lead--first and last. Part of him, also, still +wanted her; though in the depths, he felt a glimmer of relief that the +thing was done--and by her. + +"No," he said, "I don't forget the fact. But--the reason cuts deep. I +want to know----" he hesitated--"is all this ... antipathy you can't get +over--you and your mother--the ordinary average attitude? Or is it ... +exceptionally acute?" + +She drew in her lip. Why _would_ he force her to hurt him more? For they +had got beyond polite evasion. Clearly he wanted the truth. + +"Mother's is acute," she said, not looking at him. "Mine--I'm afraid--is +... the ordinary average feeling against it. The exception would be to +find a girl--especially out here--who could honestly ... get over +it----" + +"_Unless_--she cared in the real big way," Roy interposed; his own pain +goading him to an unfair hit at her. "To be blunt, I suppose it's the +case--of Lance over again. You've found ... you don't love me +enough----?" + +"And _you_----?" she struck back, turning on him the cool deliberate +look of early days. "Do _you_ love me enough? Do you care--as he did?" + +"No--not as he did. I've cared blindly, passionately--somehow we didn't +seem to meet on any other plane. In fact, it ... it was realising how +magnificently Lance cared ... and how little you seemed able to +appreciate the fact, that made me feel--as I did, down there. In a +sense, he's been barring the way ... ever since...." + +"_Roy!_ How strange!" She faced him now, the mask of repression flung +aside. "It's been the same--with me!" + +"With _you_?" + +"Yes. Ever since I heard ... he was gone, he has haunted me to +distraction. I've seemed to see him and feel him in quite a different +way." + +"Good Lord!" Roy murmured--incredulous, amazed. "Human beings _are_ the +queerest things. If only ... you'd felt like that ... sooner----?" + +"Yes--if only I had----!" she lamented frankly, looking straight before +her. + +"I'm glad--you told me," said her unaccountable lover. + +"I nearly--didn't. But when you said that, I felt it might--ease things. +And that was his great wish--wasn't it?--to ease things ... for us both. +Oh--was there ever any one ... _quite_ like him?" + +Tears stood in her eyes, and Roy contemplating her--seeing, for the +first time, something beyond her beauty--felt drawn to her in an +altogether new way; and sitting there they talked of him quietly, like +friends, rather than lovers on the verge of parting for good. + +As real to them, almost, as themselves, was the spirit of the man who +had loved both more greatly than they were capable of loving one +another; who, in life, had refused to stand between them; yet, in death, +had subtly thrust them apart.... + +Then there came a pause. They remembered.... + +"We're rather a strange pair--of lovers," she murmured shakily. "I feel, +now, as if I can't bear letting you go. And yet ... it wouldn't +last.--Dearest, _will_ you be sensible ... and finish your tea?" + +"No. It would choke me," he said with smothered passion. "If I've got to +go--I'm going." + +He stood up, bracing his shoulders. She stood up also, confronting him. +Neither could see the other's face quite clear. + +Then: "Only six weeks!" she said very low. "Roy--we ought to be ashamed +of ourselves." + +"I am--heartily," he confessed. "I was never more so." + +She was looking down now, twisting her ring. "I'm afraid ... I'm not +talented in that line. Somehow ... except for Lance, I can't regret it." +She slid the ring over her knuckle. + +"Oh, _keep_ the beastly thing!" he flung out in an access of pain. "Or +throw it down the khud. I said it would bring bad luck." + +She sighed. "All the same--poor thing! It's too lovely...." + +"Well then, don't wear it; but keep it"--his tone changed--"as a +reminder. We have been something to one another ... if it couldn't be +everything." + +Her eyes were still lowered, her lips not quite steady. + +"You've been ... very near it to me. Yet--it seemed, the more ... I +cared, the less I could get over ... that. And I felt as if +you--wouldn't get over.. Lance." + +"My God! It's been a bitter, contrary business all round! I can't bear +hurting you. And--the talk and all that----" She nodded. For her that +was not the least bitter part of it all. "And you----? Oh, Lord--will +it be Hayes to the fore again?" + +"_No!_" Reproach underlay her vehemence. "Mother may rage. I shall go +with Dolly Smyth to Kashmir.--And you----?" + +"Oh, I'll go out to Narkhanda." + +"Alone? But you're ill. You want looking after." + +"Can't be helped. Azim Khan's a treasure. And really I don't care a damn +what comes to me." + +"Oh, but _I_ do----!" + +It was a cry from her heart. The strain of repression snapped. She +swayed, just perceptibly---- + +In a moment his arms were round her; and they clung together a long +while, in the only complete form of nearness they had known.... + +For Roy, that last passionate kiss was dead-sea fruit. For Rose, it was +her moment of completest surrender to an elemental force she had +deliberately played with only to find herself the sport of it at +last.... + +When it was over--all was over. Words were impertinent. He held her +hands close, a moment, looking into her tear-filled eyes. Then he took +up hat and stick and stumbled blindly down the verandah steps.... + + * * * * * + +Back in his bachelor room at the Club, he realised that fever was on him +again: his eyeballs burning; little hammers beating all over his head. +Mechanically, he picked up two letters that lay awaiting him: one from +his father, one from Jeffers, congratulating him, in rather guarded +phrases, on his engagement to Miss Arden. + +It was the last straw. + + +END OF PHASE IV. + + + + +PHASE V. + + +A STAR IN DARKNESS + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Thou art with life + Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; + Service still craving service, love for love ... + Nor yet thy human task is done." + --R.L.S. + + +In the verandah of Narkhanda dak bungalow Roy lay alone, languidly at +ease, assisted by rugs and pillows and a Madeira cane lounge at an +invalid angle; walls and arches splashed with sunshine; and a table +beside him littered with convalescent accessories. There were home +papers; there were books; there was fruit and a syphon, cut lemons and +crushed ice--everything thoughtfulness could suggest set within easy +reach. But the nameless depression of convalescence hung heavy on his +spirit and his limbs. + +He was thirsty; he was lonely; he was mentally hungry in a negative kind +of way. Yet it simply did not seem worth the trivial effort of will to +decide whether he wanted to pick up a book or an orange or to press the +syphon handle. So he lay there, inert, impassive, staring across the +valley at the snows--peak beyond soaring peak, ethereal in the level +light. + +The beauty of them, the pellucid clearness and stillness of early +evening, stirred no answering echo within him. His brain was travelling +back over a timeless interval; wandering uncertainly among sensations, +apparitions, and dreams, presumably of semi-delirium: for Lance was in +them and his mother and Rose and Dyan, saying and doing impossible +things.... + +And in clearer intervals, there hovered the bearded face of Azim Khan, +pressing upon his refractory Sahib this infallible medicine, that +'chikken brath' or jelly. And occasionally there was another bearded +face: vaguely familiar, though he could not put a name to it. + +Between them the two had brought out a doctor from Simla. He remembered +a sharp altercation over that. He wanted no confounded doctor messing +round. But Azim Khan, for love of his master, had flatly defied orders: +and the forbidden doctor had appeared--involving further exhausting +argument. For on no account would Roy be moved back to Simla. Azim Khan +understood his ways and his needs. He was damned if he would have any +one else near him. + +And this time he had prevailed. For the doctor, who happened to be a +wise man, knew when acquiescence was medically sounder than insistence. +There had, however, been a brief intrusion of a strange woman, in cap +and apron, who had made a nuisance of herself over food and washing, and +was infernally in the way. When the fever abated, she melted into the +landscape; and Roy had just enough of his old spirit left in him to +murmur, '_Shahbash!_' in a husky voice: and Azim Khan, inflated with +pride, became more autocratic than ever. + +The other bearded face had resolved itself into the Delhi Sikh, Jiwan +Singh. He had been on a tramp among the Hills, combating insidious +Home-Rule fairy-tales among the villagers: and finding the Sahib very +ill, had stayed on to help. + +This morning they had told him it was the third of June:--barely three +weeks since that strange, poignant parting with Rose. Not seven weeks +since the infinitely more poignant and terrible parting with Lance. Yet, +as his mind stirred unwillingly, picking up threads, he seemed to be +looking back across a measureless gulf into another life.... + +"The Sahib has slept? His countenance has been more favourable since +these few days?" + +It was the voice of Jiwan Singh; and the man himself followed it--taut +and wiry, instinct with a degree of energy and purpose almost irritating +to one who was feeling emptied of both; aimless as a jelly-fish stranded +by the tide. + +"Not smoking, _Hazur_? Has that scoundrel Azim Khan forgotten the +cigarettes?" + +Roy unearthed his case, and held it up, smiling. + +"The scoundrel forgets nothing," said he, knowing very well how the two +of them had vied with one another in forestalling his needs. "Sit down, +my friend--and tell me news. I am too lazy to read." He touched an +unopened 'Civil and Military Gazette.' "Too lazy even to cast out the +devil of laziness. But very ready to listen. Are things all quiet now? +Any more tamashas?" + +"Only a very little one across the frontier," said the Sikh with his +grim smile: and proceeded to explain that the Indian Government had +lately become entangled in a sort of a war with Afghanistan; a rather +'_kutcha bandobast_'[37] in Jiwan Singh's estimation; and not quite up +to time; but a war, for all that. + +"You mean----" asked Roy, his numbed interest faintly astir, "that it +was to have been part of the same game as the trouble down there?" + +"God has given me ears--and wits, _Hazur_," was the cautious answer. +"_That_ would be _pukka bundobast_,[38] for war and trouble to come at +one stroke in the hot season, when so many of the white soldier-_log_ +are in the Hills. Does your Honour suppose that merely by _chance_ the +Amir read in his paper of riots in India, and said in his heart, 'Wah! +Now is the time for lighting little fires along the Border'?" + +"N-no--I don't suppose----" + +"Does your Honour suppose Hindus and Moslems--outside a highly educated +few--are truly falling on each other's necks, without one thought of +political motive?" + +"No, my friend--I do not suppose." + +"Yet these things are said openly among our people: and too few, now, +have courage to speak their thought. For it is the loyal who +suffer--_shurrum ki bhat_![39] Is it surprising, _Hazur_, if we, who +distrust this new madness, begin to ask ourselves, 'Has the British Raj +lost the will--or the power--of former days to protect friends and smite +enemies'? If the noisy few clamouring for _Swaraj_ make India once more +a battlefield, _your_ people can go. We Sikhs must remain, with Pathans +and Afghans--as of old--hammering at our doors----" + +At sight of the young Englishman's pained frown, he checked his +expansive mood. "To the Sahib I can freely speak the thoughts of my +heart; but this is not talk to make a sick man well. God is merciful. +Before all is lost--the British Raj may yet arise with power, as in the +great days...." + +But his talk, if unpalatable, was more tonic than he knew; because Roy's +love for India went deeper than he knew. The justice of Jiwan Singh's +reproach; the hint at tragic severance of the two countries mingled +within him, waked him effectually from semi-torpor; and the process was +as painful as the tingling renewal of life in a frozen limb. By timely +courage, on the spot, the threat to India had been staved off: but it +was there still--sinister, unsleeping, virtually unchecked. + +'Scotched--not killed.' The voice of Lance sounded too clearly in Roy's +brain; and the more intimate pain, deadened a little by illness, struck +at his heart like a sword.... + + * * * * * + +Within a week, care and feeding and inimitable air, straight from the +snowfields, had made him, physically, a new man. Mentally, it had +brought him face to face with actualities, and the staggering question, +'What next'? + +At the back of his mind he had been dreading it, evading it, because it +would force him to look deep into his own heart; and to make decisions, +when the effort of making them was anathema, beclouded as he was by the +depression that still brooded over him like a fog. The doctor had +prescribed a tonic and a whiff of Simla frivolity; but Roy paid no heed. +He knew his malady was mainly of the heart and the spirit. The true +curative touch could only come from some arrowy shaft that would pierce +to the core of one or the other. + +This morning, by way of reasserting his normal self, he had risen very +early with intent to walk out and spend the day at Baghi dak bungalow, +ten miles on. Taking things easily, he believed it could be done. He +would look through his manuscript; try and pick up threads. Suraj could +follow later; and he would ride home over the pass in the cool of the +evening. + +He set out under a clear heaven, misted with the promise of heat: the +air rather ominously still. But the thread of a path winding through +the dimness and vastness of Narkhanda Forest was ice-cool with the +breath of night. Pines, ilex, and deodars clung miraculously to a +hillside of massive rock, that jutted above him at +intervals--threatening, immense; and often, on the _khud_ side, dropped +abruptly into nothingness. When the road curved outward, splashes of +sunlight patterned it; and intermittent gaps revealed the flash of +snow-peaks, incredibly serene and far. + +Normally the scene--the desolate grandeur of it--would have intoxicated +Roy. But the stranger he was carrying about with him, and called by his +own name, reacted in quite another fashion to the shadowed majesty of +looming rocks and forest aisles. The immensity of it dwarfed one mere +suffering man to the dimensions of a pebble on the path. And the pebble +had the advantage of insensibility. The stillness and chillness made him +feel overwhelmingly alone. A sudden craving for Lance grew almost +intolerable.... + +But Lance was gone. Paul, with his bride, had vanished from human ken; +Rose, a shattered illusion, gone too. Better so--of course; though, +intermittently, the man she had roused in him still ached for the sight +and feel of her. She gave a distinct thrill to life: and, if he could +not forgive her, neither could he instantly forget her. + +Still less could he forget the significance of the shock she had dealt +him on their day of parting. Patently she loved him, in her passionate, +egotistical fashion--as he had never loved her; patently she had +combated her shrinking in defiance of her mother: and yet...! + +Rage as he might, his Rajput pride, and pride in his Rajput heritage, +were wounded to the quick. If all English girls felt that way, he would +see them further, before he would propose to another one, or 'confess' +to his adored Mother, as if she were a family skeleton or a secret vice. +Instantly there sprang the thought of Aruna--her adoration, her exalted +passion; Aruna, whom he might have loved, yet was constrained to put +aside because of his English heritage; only to find himself put aside by +an English girl on account of his Indian blood. A pleasant predicament +for a man who must needs marry in common duty to his father and +himself. + +And what of Tara? Was it possible...? Could that be the meaning of her +final desperate, 'I _can't_ do it, Roy--even for you'! Was it +conceivable--she who loved his mother to the point of worship? Still +smarting from his recent rebuff, he simply could not tell. Thea and +Lance loved her too; yet, in Lance especially, he had been aware of a +tacit tendency to ignore the Indian connection. + +The whole complication touched him too nearly, hurt and bewildered him +too bitterly, for cool consideration. He only saw that which had been +his pride converted into a reproach, a two-edged sword barring the way +to marriage: and in the bitterness of his heart he found it hard to +forgive his parents--mainly his father--for putting him in so cruel a +position, with no word of warning to soften the blow. + +Perhaps people felt differently in England. If so, India was no place +for him. How blatantly juvenile--to his clouded, tormented brain--seemed +his arrogant dreams of Oxford days! What could such as he do for her, in +this time of tragic upheaval. And how could all the Indias he had +seen--not to mention the many he had not seen--be jumbled together under +that one misleading name? That was the root fallacy of dreamers and +'reformers.' They spoke of her as one, when in truth she was +many--bewilderingly many. The semblance of unity sprang mainly from +England's unparalleled achievement--her Pax Britannica, that held the +scales even between rival chiefs and races and creeds; that had wrought, +in miniature, the very inter-racial stability which Europe had vainly +fought and striven to achieve. Yet now, some malign power seemed +constraining her, in the name of progress, to undo the work of her own +hands.... + +All his thronging thoughts were tinged with the gloom of his unhopeful +mood; and his body sagged with his sagging spirit. Before he had walked +four miles, his legs refused to carry him any farther. + +He had emerged into the open, into full view of the vastness beyond. +Naked rock and stone, jewelled with moss and young green, fell straight +from the path's edge; and one ragged pine, springing from a group of +boulders, was roughly stencilled on blue distances empurpled with +shadows of thunderous cloud. + +A flattened boulder proved irresistible; and Roy sat down, leaning his +head against the trunk, sniffing luxuriously--whiffs of resin and +sun-warmed pine-needles. Oh, to be at home, in his own beech-wood! But +the journey in this weather would be purgatorial. Meantime, there was +his walk; and he decided, prosaically, to fortify himself with a slab of +chocolate. Instead--still more prosaically, he fell sound asleep.... + +But sleep, in an unnatural position, begets dreams. And Roy dreamed of +Lance; of that last awful day when he raved incessantly of Rose. But in +the dream he was conscious; and before his distracted gaze Roy held Rose +in his arms; craving her, yet hating her; because she clung to him, +heedless of entreaties from Lance, and would not be shaken off.... + +In a frantic effort to free himself, he woke--with the anguish of his +loss fresh upon him--to find the sky heavily overcast, the +breathlessness of imminent storm in the air. Away to the North there +were blue spaces, sun-splashed leagues of snow. But from the South and +West rolled up the big battalions--heralds of the monsoon. + +He concluded apathetically that Baghi was 'off.' He was in for a +drenching. Lucky he had brought his burberry.... + +Yet he did not stir. A ton weight seemed to hang on his limbs, his +spirit, his heart. He simply sat there, in a carven stillness, staring +down, down, into abysmal depths.... + +And startlingly, sharply, the temptation assailed him. The tug of it was +almost physical.... How simple to yield--to cut his many tangles at one +stroke! + +In that jaundiced moment he saw himself a failure foreordained; debarred +from marriage by evils supposed to spring from the dual strain in him; +his cherished hopes of closer union between the two countries he loved +threatened with shipwreck by an England complacently experimental, an +India at war with the British connection and with her many selves. He +seemed fated to bring unhappiness on those he cared for--Aruna, Lance, +even Rose. And what of his father--if he failed to marry? He hadn't even +the grit to finish his wretched novel.... + +He rose at last, mechanically, and moved forward to the unrailed edge of +all things. The magnetism of the depths drew him. The fatalistic strain +in his blood drew him.... + +He stood--though he did not know it--as his mother had once stood, +hovering on the verge; his own life--that she bore within her--hanging +in the balance. From the fatal tilt, she had been saved by the voice of +her husband--the voice of the West. And now, at Roy's critical moment, +it was the voice of the West--of Lance--that sounded in his brain: +"Don't fret your heart out, Roy. Carry on." + +Having carried on, somehow, through four years of war, he knew precisely +how much of casual, dogged pluck was enshrined in that soldierly phrase. +It struck the note of courage and command. It was Lance incarnate. It +steadied him, automatically, at a crisis when his shaken nerves might +not have responded to any abstract ethical appeal. He closed his eyes a +moment to collect himself; swayed, the merest fraction--then +deliberately stepped back a pace.... + +The danger had passed. + +Through his lids he felt the glare of lightning: the first flash of the +storm. + +And as the heel of his retreating boot came firmly down on the path +behind, there rose an injured yelp that jerked him very completely out +of the clouds. + +"Poor Terry--poor old man!" he murmured, caressing the faithful +creature; always too close by, always getting trodden on--the common +guerdon of the faithful. And the whimsical thought intruded, "If I'd +gone over, the good little beggar would have jumped after me. Not fair +play." + +The fact that Terry had been saved from involuntary suicide seemed +somehow the more important consideration of the two. + +A rumbling growl overhead reminded him that there were other +considerations--urgent ones. + +"You're not hurt, you little hypocrite. Come on. We must leg it." + +And they legged it to some purpose; Terry--idiotically +vociferous--leaping on before.... + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 37: Crude arrangement.] + +[Footnote 38: Sound arrangement.] + +[Footnote 39: Shameful talk.] + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "I seek what I cannot get; + I get what I do not seek." + --RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + + +Then the storm broke in earnest.... + +Crash on flash, crash on flash--at ever-lessening intervals--the +tearless heavens raged and clattered round his unprotected head. Thunder +toppled about him like falling timber stacks. Fiery serpents darted all +ways at once among black boughs that swayed and moaned funereally. The +gloom of the forest enhanced the weird magnificence of it all: and +Roy--who had just been within an ace of flinging away his life--felt +irrationally anxious on account of thronging trees and the absence of +rain. + +He had recovered sufficiently to chuckle at the ignominious anti-climax. +But, as usual, it was the creepsomeness rather than the danger that got +on his nerves and forced his legs to hurry of their own accord.... + +In the deep of a gloomy indent, the thought assailed him--"Why do I know +it all so well? Where...? When...?" + +An inner flash lit the dim recesses of memory. Of course--it was that +other day of summer, in the far beginning of things; the day of the +Golden Tusks and the gloom and the growling thunder; his legs, as now, +in a fearful hurry of their own accord; and Tara waiting for him--his +High-Tower Princess. With a pang he recalled how she had seemed the +point of safety--because she was never afraid. + +No Tara waiting now. No point of safety, except a very prosaic dak +bungalow and good old Azim, who would fuss like the devil if rain came +on and he got a wetting. + +Ah--here it was, at last! Buckets of it. Lashing his face, running down +his neck, saturating him below his flapping burberry. Buffeted +mercilessly, he broke into a trot. Thunder and lightning were less +virulent now; and he found himself actually enjoying it all. + +Tired----? Not a bit. The miasma of depression seemed blown clean away +by the horseplay of the elements. He had been within an ace of taking +unwarranted liberties with Nature. Now she retaliated by taking +liberties with him; and her buffeting proved a finer restorative than +all the drugs in creation. Electricity, her 'fierce angel of the air,' +set every nerve tingling. A queer sensation: but it was _life_. And he +had been feeling more than half dead.... + +Azim Khan, however--being innocent of 'nerves'--took quite another view +of the matter. + +Arrived at the point of safety, Roy found a log fire burning; and a +brazier alight under a contrivance like a huge cane hen-coop, for drying +his clothes. Vainly protesting, he was made to change every garment; was +installed by the fire, with steaming brandy-and-water at his elbow, and +lemons and sugar--and letters ... quite a little pile of them. + +"_Belaiti dak, Hazur_,"[40] Azim Khan superfluously informed him, with +an air of personal pride in the whole _bundobast_--including the timely +arrival of the English mail. + +There were parcels also--a biggish one, from his father; another from +Jeffers, obviously a book. And suddenly it dawned on him--this must be +the tenth of June. Yesterday was his twenty-sixth birthday; and he had +never thought of it; never realised the date! But _they_ had thought of +it weeks ahead: while he--graceless and ungrateful--had deemed himself +half forgotten. + +He ran the envelopes through his fingers--Tiny, Tara. (His heart jerked. +Was it congratulations? He had never felt he could write of it to her.) +Aruna; a black-edged one from Thea; and--his heart jerked in quite +another fashion--Rose! + +Amazing! What did it mean? She wasn't--going back on things...? + +Curiosity--sharpened by a prick of fear--impelled him to open her letter +first. And the moment he had read the opening line, compunction smote +him. + + "Roy--my Dear, I couldn't help remembering the ninth. So I feel I + must write and wish you 'many happy returns' of it--happier than + this one--with all my heart. I have worried over you a good deal. + For I'm sure you must have been ill. Do go home soon and be + properly taken care of, by your own people. I'm going in the autumn + with my friend, Mrs Hilton. Some day you will surely find a wife + worthier of you than I would have been. When your good day comes, + let me know and I'll do the same by you. Good luck to you + always.--ROSE." + +Roy slipped the note into his pocket and sat staring at the fire, deeply +moved. A vision of her--too alluring for comfort--was flashed upon his +brain. She was confoundedly attractive. She had no end of good points: +but ... with a very big B.... + +His gaze rested absently on the parcel from his father. What the deuce +could it be? To the imaginative, an unopened parcel never quite loses +its intriguing air of mystery. The shape suggested a picture. His +mother...? + +With a luxury of deliberation he cut the strings; removed wrapper after +wrapper to the last layer of tissue.... + +Then he drew a great breath--and sat spellbound; gazing--endlessly +gazing--at Tara's face:--the wild roses in her cheeks faded a little; +the glory of her hair undimmed; the familiar way it rippled back from +her low, wide brow; a hint of hidden pain about the sensitive lips and +in the hyacinth blue of her eyes. Only his father could have wrought a +vision so appealingly alive. And the effect on Roy was instantaneous ... +overwhelming.... + +Tara--dearest and loveliest! Of course it was her--always had been, down +in the uttermost depths. The treasure he had been far to seek had +blossomed beside him since the beginning of things: and he, with his +eyes always on the horizon, had missed the one incomparable flower at +his feet.... + +_Had_ he missed it? Had there ever been a chance? What, precisely, had +she meant by her young, vehement refusal of him? And--if it were not the +dreaded reason--was there still hope? Would she ever understand ... ever +forgive ... the inglorious episode of Rose? If, at heart, he could plead +the excuse of Adam, he could not plead it to her. + +Reverently he took that miracle of a picture between his hands and set +it on the broad mantelpiece, that distance might quicken the illusion of +life. + +Then the spell was on him again. Her sweetness and light seemed to +illumine the unbeautiful room. Of a truth he knew, now, what it meant to +love and be in love with every faculty of soul and body; knew it for a +miracle of renewal, the elixir of life. And--the light of that knowledge +revealed how secondary a part of it was the craving with which he had +craved possession of Rose. Steeped in poetry as he was, there stole into +his mind a fragment of Tagore--'She who had ever remained in the depths +of my being, in the twilight of gleams and glimpses ... I have roamed +from country to country, keeping her in the core of my heart.' + +All the jangle of jarred nerves and shaken faith; all the confusion of +shattered hopes and ideals would resolve itself into coherence at +last--if only ... if only----! + +And dropping suddenly from the clouds, he remembered his letters ... +_her_ letter. + +A sealed envelope had fallen unheeded from his father's parcel: but it +was hers he seized--and half hesitated to open. What if she were +announcing her own engagement to some infernal fellow at home? There +must be scores and scores of them.... + +His hand was not quite steady as he unfolded the two sheets that bore +his father's crest and the home stamp, 'Bramleigh Beeches.' + + "My Dear Roy (he read), + + "_Many_ happy returns of June the Ninth. It was one of our great + days--wasn't it?--once upon a time. All your best and dearest + wishes we are wishing for you--over here. And of course I've heard + your tremendous news; though you never wrote and told me--why? You + say she is beautiful. I hope she is a lot more besides. You would + need a lot more, Roy, unless you've changed very much from the boy + I used to know. + + "It is _cruel_ having to write--in the same breath--about Lance. + From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became. To + me it seems almost like half of you gone. And I'm sure it must seem + so to you--my _poor_ Roy. I don't wonder you felt bad about the way + of it; but it was the essence of him--that kind of thing. A verse + of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head ever since I heard it:-- + + 'Surely we knew it long before; + Knew all along that he was made + For a swift radiant morning; for + A sacrificing swift night shade.' + + "I _can't_ write all I feel about it. Besides, I'm hoping your pain + may be eased a little now; and I don't want to wake it up again. + + "But not even these two big things--not even your Birthday--are my + reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my + Bracelet-Bound Brother. _Do_ you remember? Have you kept it, Roy? + Does it still mean anything to you? It does to me--though I've + never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. _But_--I'm + going to, now. Not for myself. Don't be afraid! It's for Uncle + Nevil--and I ask it in Aunt Lilamani's name. + + "Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable. He's + never really got over losing her. And you've been sort of lost + too--for the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out + with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And + you--out there, probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite. I + _know_ you--and your ways. Also I know him--which is my ragged + shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think + better of it! + + "He has been an angel to me ever since I got back; and it seems to + cheer him up when I run round here. So I do--pretty often. But I'm + not Roy! And perhaps you'll forgive my bold demand, when I tell you + Aunt Jane's looming--positively _looming_! She's becoming a perfect + ogre of sisterly solicitude. As he won't go to London, she's + threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her + headquarters after the season! And he--poor darling--with not + enough spirit in him to kick against the pricks. If _you_ were + coming, he would have an excuse. Alone--he's helpless in her + conscientious talons! + + "If _that_ won't bring you, nothing will--not even my bracelet + command. + + "I _know_ the journey in June will be a nightmare. And you won't + like leaving Indian friends or Miss Arden. But think--here he is + alone, wanting what only you can give him. And the bangle I sent + you That Day--_if_ you've kept it--gives me the right to say + 'Come--_quickly_.' It may be a wrench. But I promise you won't + regret it. Wire, if you can. + + "Always your loving + TARA." + +By the time he had finished reading that so characteristic and endearing +letter his plans were cut and dried. Her irresistible appeal--and the no +less irresistible urge within him--left no room for the deliberations of +his sensitive complex nature. It flung open all the floodgates of +memory; set every nerve aching for Home--and Tara, late discovered; but +not too late, he passionately prayed.... + +The nightmare journey had no terrors for him now. In every sense he was +'hers to command.' + +He drew out his old, old letter-case--her gift--and opened it. There lay +the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish note; the 'ribbin' from +her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands of her hair. The sight of it +brought tears of which he felt not the least ashamed. + +It also brought a vision of himself standing before his mother, +demurring at possible obligations involved in their 'game of play.' And +across the years came back to him her very words, her very look and +tone: 'Remember, Roy, it is for always. If she shall ask from you any +service, you must not refuse--ever.... By keeping the bracelet you are +bound ...' + +Wire? Of course he would. + +Before the day was out his message was speeding to her: "Engagement off. +Coming first possible boat. Yours to command--ROY." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 40: English mail.] + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Did you not know that people hide their love, + Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?" + --WU-TI. + + +Sanctuary--at last! The garden of his dreams--of the world before the +deluge--in the quiet--coloured end of a July evening; the garden vitally +inwoven with his fate--since it was responsible for the coming of Joe +Bradley and his 'beaky mother.' + +Such gardens bear more than trees and flowers and fruit. Human lives and +characters are growth of their soil. With the wholesale demolishing of +boundaries and hedges, their influence may wane; and it is an +influence--like the unobtrusive influence of the gentleman--that human +nature, especially English nature, can ill afford to fling away. + +Roy, poet and fighter--with the lure of the desert and the horizon in +his blood--knew himself, also, for a spiritual product of this +particular garden--of the vast lawn (not quite so vast as he +remembered), the rose-beds and the beeches in the full glory of their +incomparable leafage; all steeped in the delicate clarity of rain-washed +air--the very aura of England, as dust was the aura of Jaipur. + +Dinner was over. They were sitting out on the lawn, he and his father; a +small table beside them, with glass coffee-machine and chocolates in a +silver dish; the smoke of their cigars hovering, drifting, unstirred by +any breeze. No Terry at his feet. The faithful creature--vision of +abject misery--had been carried off to eat his heart out in quarantine. +Tangled among tree-tops hung the ghost of a moon, almost full. +Somewhere, in the far quiet of the shrubberies, a nightingale was +communing with its own heart in liquid undertones; and in Roy's heart +there dwelt an iridescence of peace and pain and longing shot through +with hope---- + +That very morning, at an unearthly hour, he had landed in England, after +an absence of three and a half years: and precisely what that means in +the way of complex emotions, only they know who have been there. The +purgatorial journey had eclipsed expectation. Between recurrent fever +and sea-sickness, there had been days when it seemed doubtful if he +would ever reach Home at all. But a wiry constitution and the will to +live had triumphed: and, in spite of the early hour, his father had not +failed to be on the quay. + +The first sight of him had given Roy a shock for which--in spite of +Tara's letter--he was unprepared. This was not the father he +remembered--humorous, unruffled, perennially young; but a man so changed +and tired-looking that he seemed almost a stranger, with his empty +coat-sleeve and hair touched with silver at the temples. + +The actual moment of meeting had been difficult; the joy of it so deeply +tinged with pain that they had clung desperately to surface +commonplaces, because they were Englishmen, and could not relieve the +inner stress by falling on one another's necks. + +And there had been a secret pang (for which Roy sharply reproached +himself) that Tara was not there too. Idiotic to expect it, when he knew +Sir James had gone to Scotland for fishing. But to be idiotic is the +lover's privilege; and his not phenomenal gift of patience had been +unduly strained by the letter awaiting him at Port Said. + +They were coming back to-night; but he would not see her till +to-morrow.... + +In his pocket reposed a brief Tara-like note, bidding her 'faithful +Knight of the Bracelet' welcome Home. Vainly he delved between the lines +of her sisterly affection. Nothing could still the doubt that consumed +him, but contact with her hands, her eyes. + +For that, and other reasons, the difficult meeting had been followed by +a difficult day. They had wandered through the house and garden, very +carefully veiling their emotions. They had lounged and smoked in the +studio, looking through his father's latest pictures. They had talked +of the family. Jeffers would be down to-morrow night, for the week-end; +Tiny on Tuesday with the precious Baby; Jerry, distinctly coming round, +and eager to see Roy. Even Aunt Jane sounded a shade keen. And he, +undeserving, had scarcely expected them to 'turn a hair.' Then they +discussed the Indian situation; and Roy--forgetting to be shy--raged at +finding how little those at Home had been allowed to realise, to +understand. + +Not a question, so far, about his rapid on-and-off engagement, for which +mercy he was duly grateful. And of her, who dwelt in the foreground and +background of their thoughts--not a word. + +It would take a little time, Roy supposed, to build their bridge across +the chasm of three and a half eventful years. You couldn't hustle a +lapsed intimacy. To-morrow things would go better, especially if.... + +Yet, throughout, he had been touched inexpressibly by his father's +unobtrusive tokens of pleasure and affection: and now--sitting together +with their cigars, in the last of the daylight--things felt easier. + +"Dad," he said suddenly, turning his eyes from the garden to the man +beside him, who was also its spiritual product. "If I seem a bit +stupefied, it's because I'm still walking and talking in a dream; +terrified I may wake up and find it's not true! I can't, in a twinkling, +adjust the beautiful, incredible _sameness_ of all this, with the +staggering changes inside me." + +His father's smile had its friendly, understanding quality. + +"No hurry, Boy. All your deep roots are here. Change as much as you +please, you still remain--her son." + +"Yes--that's it. The place is full of her," Roy said very low; and at +present they could not trust themselves to say more. + +It had not escaped Sir Nevil's notice that the boy had avoided the +drawing-room, and had not once been under the twin beeches, his +favourite summer retreat. No hammock was slung there now. + +After a considerable gap, Roy remarked carelessly: "I suppose they must +have got home by now?" + +"About an hour ago, to be exact," said Sir Nevil; and Roy's involuntary +start moved him to add: "You're not running round there to-night, old +man. They'll be tired. So are you. And it's only fair I should have +first innings. I've waited a long time for it, Roy." + +"_Dads!_" Roy looked at once penitent and reproachful--an engaging trick +of schoolroom days, when he felt a scolding in the air. "You never +said--you never gave me an idea." + +"_You_ never sounded as if the idea would be acceptable." + +"Didn't I? Letters are the devil," murmured Roy--all penitence now. "And +if it hadn't been for Tara----" He stopped awkwardly. Their eyes met, +and they smiled. "Did you know ... she wrote? And that's why I'm here?" + +"Well done, Tara! I didn't know. I had dim suspicions. I also had a dim +hope that--my picture might tempt you----" + +"Oh, it _would_ have--letter or no. It's an inspired thing."--He had +already written at length on that score.--"You were mightily clever--the +two of you!" + +His father twinkled. "That as may be. We had the trifling advantage of +knowing our Roy!" + +They sat on till all the light had ebbed from the sky and the moon had +come into her own. It was still early; but time is the least ingredient +of such a day; and Sir Nevil rose on the stroke of ten. + +"You look fagged out, old boy. And the sooner you're asleep--the sooner +it will be to-morrow! A pet axiom of yours. D'you remember?" + +Did he not remember? + +They went upstairs together; the great house seemed oppressively empty +and silent. On the threshold of Roy's room they said good-night. There +was an instant of palpable awkwardness; then Roy--overcoming it--leaned +forward and kissed the patch of white hair on his father's temple. + +"God bless you," Sir Nevil said rather huskily. "You ought to sleep +sound in there. Don't dream." + +"But I love to dream," said Roy; and his father laughed. + +"You're not so staggeringly changed inside! As sure as a gun, you'll be +late for breakfast!" + +And he did dream. The moment his lids fell--she was there with him, +under the beeches, their sanctuary--she who all day had hovered on the +confines of his spirit, like a light, felt not seen. There were no words +between them, nor any need of words; only the ineffable peace of +understanding, of reunion.... + +Dream--or visitation--who could say? To him it seemed that only +afterwards sleep came--the dreamless sleep of renewal.... + + * * * * * + +He woke egregiously early: such an awakening as he had not known for +months on end. And out there in the garden it was a miracle of a +morning: divinely clear, with the mellow clearness of England; massed +trees, brooding darkly; the lawn all silver-grey with dew; everywhere +blurred outlines and tender shadows; pure balm to eye and spirit after +the hard brilliance and contrasts of the East. + +Madness to get up; yet impossible to lie there waiting. He tried it, for +what seemed an endless age: then succumbed to the inevitable. + +While he was dressing, clouds drifted across the blue. A spurt of rain +whipped his open casement; threatening him in playful mood. But before +he had crept down and let himself out through one of the drawing-room +windows, the sky was clear again, with the tremulous radiance of +happiness struck sharp on months of sorrow and stress. + +Striding, hatless, across the drenched lawn, and resisting the pull of +his beech-wood, he pressed on and up to the open moor; craving its +sweeps of space and colour unbosomed to the friendly sky that seemed so +much nearer earth than the passionate blue vault of India. + +It was five years since he had seen heather in bloom--or was it five +decades? The sight of it recalled that other July day, when he had +tramped the length of the ridge with his head full of dreams and the +ache of parting in his heart. + +To him, that far-off being seemed almost another Roy in another life. +Only--as his father had feelingly reminded him--the first Roy and the +last were alike informed by the spirit of one woman; visible then, +invisible now; yet sensibly present in every haunt she had made her own. +The house was full of her; the wood was full of her. But the pangs of +reminder he had so dreaded resolved themselves, rather, into a sense of +indescribable, ethereal reunion. He asked nothing better than that his +life and work should be fulfilled with her always: her and Tara--if she +so decreed.... + +Thought of Tara revived impatience, and drew his steps homeward again. + +Strolling back through the wood, he came suddenly upon the open space +where he had found the Golden Tusks, and lingered there a +little--remembering the storm and the terror and the fight; Tara and her +bracelet; and the deep unrealised significance of that childish impulse, +inspired by _her_, whose was the source of all their inspirations. And +now--seventeen years afterwards, the bracelet had drawn him back to them +both; saved him, perhaps, from the unforgiveable sin of throwing up the +game. + +On he walked, along the same mossy path, almost in a dream. He had found +the Tusks. His High-Tower Princess was waiting--his 'Star far-seen.' + +Again, as on that day--he came unexpectedly in view of their tree: +and--wonder of wonders (or was it the most natural thing on earth?), +there was Tara herself, approaching it by another path that linked the +wood with the grounds of the black-and-white house, which was part of +the estate. + +Instantly he stepped back a pace and stood still, that he might realise +her before she became aware of him:--her remembered loveliness, her new +dearness. + +Loveliness was the quintessence of her. With his innate feeling for +words, he had never--even accidentally--applied it to Rose. Had she, +too, felt impatient? Was she coming over to breakfast for a 'surprise'? + +At this distance, she looked not a day older than on that critical +occasion, when he had realised her for the first time; only more +fragile--a shade too fragile. It hurt him. He felt responsible. And +again, to-day--very clever of her--she was wearing a delphinium blue +frock; a shady hat that drooped half over her face. No pink rose, +however--and he was thankful. Roses had still a too baleful association. +He doubted if he could ever tolerate a Marechal Niel again--as much on +account of Lance, as on account of the other. + +Tara was wearing his flower--sweet-peas, palest pink and lavender. And, +at sight of her, every shred of doubt seemed burnt up in the clear flame +of his love for her:--no heady confusion of heart and senses, but a +rarefied intensity of both, touched with a coal from the altar of +creative life. The knowledge was like a light hand reining in his +impatience. Poet, no less than lover, he wanted to go slowly through the +golden mist.... + +But the moment he stirred, she heard him; saw him.... + +No imperious gesture, as before; but a lightning gleam of recognition, +of welcome and--something more----? + +He hurried now.... + +Next instant, they were together, hands locked, eyes deep in eyes. The +surface sense of strangeness between them, the undersense of intimate +nearness--thrilling as it was--made speech astonishingly difficult. + +"Tara," he said, just above his breath. + +Her sensitive lips parted, trembled--and closed again. + +"_Tara!_" he repeated, dizzily incredulous, where a moment earlier he +had been arrogantly certain. "_Is_ it true ... what your eyes are +telling me? Can you forgive ... my madness out there? Half across the +world you called to me; and I've come home to _you_ ... with every atom +of me ... I'm loving you; and I'm still ... bracelet-bound...." + +This time her lips trembled into a smile. "And it's not one of the +Prayer-book affinities!" she reminded him, a gleam of that other Tara in +her eyes. + +"No, thank God--it's not! But you haven't answered me, you know...." + +"Roy, what a story! When you know I really said it first!" Her eyes were +saying it again now; and he, bereft of words, mutely held out his arms. + +If she paused an instant, it was because she felt even dizzier than he. +But the power of his longing drew her like a physical force--and, as his +lips claimed hers, the terror of love and its truth caught her and swept +her from known shores into uncharted seas.... + +This was a Roy she scarcely knew. But her heart knew; every pulse of her +awakened womanhood knew.... + +Presently it became possible to think. Very gently she pushed him back a +little. + +"O-oh--I never knew ... you were ... like _that_! And you've crushed my +poor sweet-peas to smithereens! Now--behave! Let me _look_ at you ... +properly, and see what India's done to you. Give me a chance!" + +He gave her a chance, still keeping hold of her--to make sure she was +real. + +"High-Tower Princess, are we truly US? Or is it a 'bewitchery'?" he +asked, only half in joke. "Will you go turning into a butterfly +presently----?" + +"Promise I won't!" Her low laugh was not quite steady. "We're US--truly. +And we've got to Farthest-End, where your dreams come true. D'you +remember--I always said they couldn't. They were too crazy. So I don't +deserve----" + +"It's _I_ that don't deserve," he broke out with sudden passion. "And to +find you under our very own tree! Have you forgotten--that day? Of +course _you_ went to the 'tipmost top; and I didn't. It's queer--isn't +it?--how _bits_ of life get printed so sharply on your brain; and great +spaces, on either side, utterly blotted out. That day's one of my bits. +Is it so clear--to you?" + +"To _me_----?" She could scarcely believe he did not know.... +Unashamedly, she wanted him to know. But part of him was strange to +her--thrillingly strange: which made things not quite so simple. + +"Roy," she went on, after a luminous pause, twisting the top button of +his coat. "I'm going to tell you a secret. A big one. For me that Day +was ... the beginning of everything.--Hush--listen!"--Her fingers just +touched his lips. "I'm feeling--rather shy. And if you don't keep quiet, +I can't tell. Of course I always ... loved you, next to Atholl. But +after that ... after the fight, I simply ... adored you. And ... and ... +it's never left off since...." + +"Tara! My loveliest!" he cried, between ecstasy and dismay; and +gathering her close again, he kissed her softly, repeatedly, murmuring +broken endearments. "And there was _I_...!" + +"Yes. There were you ... with your poems and Aunt Lila and your dreams +about India--always with your head among the stars..." + +"In plain English, a spoilt boy--as you once told me--wrapped up in +myself." + +"No, you weren't. I won't _have_ it!" she contradicted him in her old +imperious way. "You were wrapped up in all kinds of wonderful things. So +you just ... didn't see me. You looked clean over my head. Of course it +often made me unhappy. But--it made me love you more. That's the way we +women are. It's not the men who run after us; it's the other kind...! I +expect you looked clean over poor Aruna's head. And if I asked her, +privately, she'd confess that was partly why ... and the other girl too +... if ..." + +"Darling--_don't_!" he pleaded. "I'm ashamed, beyond words. I'll tell +you every atom of it truthfully ... my Tara. But this is _our_ moment. I +want more--about you.--Sit. It's full early. Then we'll go in (of course +you're coming to breakfast) and give Dad the surprise of his life.... +Bother your old hat! It gets in the way. And I want to see your hair." + +With a shyness new to him--and to Tara, poignantly dear--he drew out her +pins; discarded the offending hat, and took her head between his hands, +lightly caressing the thick coils that shaded from true gold to warm +delicate tones of brown. + +Then he set her on the mossy seat near the trunk; and flung himself down +before her in the old way, propped on his elbows--rapt, lost in love; +divinely without self-consciousness. + +"I'm _not_ looking over your head now," he said, his eyes deep in +hers:--deep and deeper, till the wild-rose flush invaded the delicate +hollows of her temples; and leaning forward she laid a hand across those +too eloquent eyes. + +"Don't blind me altogether--darling. When people have been shut away +from the sun a long time----" + +"But, Tara--why _were_ you...?" He removed the hand and kept hold of it. +"I begged you to come. I wanted you. Why _did_ you...?" + +She shook her head, smiling half wistfully. "That's a bit of my old Roy! +But you're man enough to know--now, without telling. And I was woman +enough to know--then. At least, by instinct, I knew...." + +"Then it wasn't because ... because--I'm half ... Rajput?" + +"_Roy!_" But for all her surprise and reproach, intuition told him the +idea was not altogether new to her. "What made you think--of _that_?" + +"Well--because it partly ... broke things off--out there. That startled +me. And when Dad's miracle of a picture woke me up with a vengeance ... +it terrified me. I began wondering.... Beloved, are you _quite_ sure +about Aunt Helen ... Sir James...?" + +She paused--a mere breathing-space; her free hand caressed his hair. +(This time, he did not shift his head.) "I'm utterly sure about Mother. +You see ... she knows ... we've talked about it. We're like sisters, +almost. As for Father ... well, we're less intimate. I did fancy he +seemed the wee-est bit relieved when ... your news came...." The pain in +his eyes checked her. "My blessed one, I won't have you _daring_ to +worry about it. I'm feeling simply beyond myself with happiness and +pride. Mother will be overjoyed. She realises ... a _little_ ... what +I've been through. Of course--in our talks, she has told me frankly what +tragedies often come from mixing such 'mighty opposites.' But she said +all of you were quite exceptional. And she knows about such things. And +_she's_ the point. She can always square Father if--there's any need. So +just be quiet--inside!" + +"But ... that day," he persisted, Roy-like, "_you_ didn't think of +it----?" + +"Faithfully, I didn't. I only felt your heart was too full up with Aunt +Lila and India to have room enough for me. And I wanted _all_ the +room--or nothing. Vaguely, I knew it was _her_ dream. But my wicked +pride insisted it should be _your_ dream. It wasn't till long after, +that Mother told me how--from the very first--Aunt Lila had planned and +prayed, because she knew marriage might be your one big difficulty; and +she could only speak of it to Mummy. It was their great link; the idea +behind everything--the lessons and all. So you see, all the time, she +was sort of creating me ... for you. And the bitter disappointment it +must have been to her! If I'd had a glimmering ... of all that--I don't +believe I could have held out against you----" + +"Then I wish to heaven you'd had a glimmering--because of her and +because of _us_. Look at all the good years we've wasted----" + +"We've not--we've _not_!" she protested vehemently. "If it had happened +then, it wouldn't have come within miles--of this. You simply hadn't it +_in_ you, Roy, to give me ... all I can feel you giving me now. As for +me--well, that's for you to find out! Of course, the minute I'd done it, +I was miserable: furious with myself. For I couldn't stop ... loving +you. My heart had no shame, in spite of my important pride. Only ... +after _she_ went--and Mother told me all--something in me seemed to know +her free spirit would be near you--and bring you back to me ... somehow: +_till_ ... your news came. And--_look_! The Bracelet! I hesitated a long +time. If you hadn't been engaged, I'm not sure if I would have ventured. +But I did--and you're here. It's all been her doing, Roy, first and +last. Don't let's spoil any of it with regrets." + +He could only bow his head upon her hand in mute adoration. The courage, +the crystal-clear wisdom of her--his eager Tara, who could never wait +five minutes for the particular sweet or the particular tale she craved. +Yet she had waited five years for him--and counted it a little thing. Of +a truth his mother had builded better than she knew. + +"You see," Tara added softly. "There wouldn't have been ... the deeps. +And it takes the deeps to make you realise the heights----" + + * * * * * + +Lost in one another--in the wonder of mutual self-revealing--they were +lost, no less, to impertinent trivialities of place and time; till the +very trivial pang of hunger reminded Roy that he had been wandering for +hours without food. + +"Tara--it's a come down--but I'm fairly starving!" he cried +suddenly--and consulted his watch. "Nine o'clock. The wretch I am! Dad's +final remark was, 'Sure as a gun, you'll be late for breakfast.' And it +seemed impossible. But sure as guns we _will_ be! Put on the precious +hat. We must jolly well run for it." + +And taking hands, like a pair of children, they ran.... + + + + +CHAPTER THE LAST. + + "Who shall allot the praise, and guess + What part is yours--what part is ours?" + --ALICE MEYNELL. + + "Perhaps a dreamer's day will come ... when judgment will be + pronounced on all the wise men, who always prophesied evil--and + were always right."--JOHAN BOJER. + + +Two hours later Roy and his father sat together in the cushioned window +seat of the studio, smoking industriously; not troubling to say +much--though there was much to be said--because the mist of constraint +that brooded between them yesterday had been blown clean away by Roy's +news. + +If it had not given Sir Nevil 'the surprise of his life,' it had given +him the deepest, most abiding gratification he had known since his inner +light had gone out, with the passing of her who had been his inspiration +and his all. Dear though his children were to him, they had remained +secondary, always. Roy came nearest--as his heir, and as the one in whom +her spirit most clearly lived again. Since she went, he had longed for +the boy; but remembering her plea on that summer day of decision--her +mountain-top of philosophy, 'to take by leaving, to hold by letting +go'--he had studiously refrained from pressing Roy's return. Now, at a +word from Tara, he had sped home in the hot season; and--hard on the +heels of a mysteriously broken engagement--had claimed her at sight. + +Yesterday their sense of strangeness had made silence feel +uncomfortable. Now that they slipped back into the old intimacy, it felt +companionable. Yet neither was thinking directly of the other. Each was +thinking of the woman he loved. + +By chance their eyes encountered in a friendly smile, and Roy spoke. + +"Daddums--you've come alive! I believe you're _almost_ as happy over +it--as I am?" + +"You're not far out. You see"--his eyes grew graver--"I'm feeling ... +Mother's share, too. Did you ever realise...?" + +"Partly. Not all--till just now. Tara told me." + +There was a pause. Then Sir Nevil looked full at his son. + +"Roy--_I've_ got something to tell you--to show you ... if you can +detach your mind for an hour----?" + +"Why, of course. _What_ is it--where?" + +He looked round the room. Instinctively, he knew it concerned his +mother. + +"Not here. Upstairs--in her House of Gods." He saw Roy flinch. "If _I_ +can bear it, old boy, you can. And there's a reason--you'll understand." + +The little room above the studio had been sacred to Lilamani ever since +her home-coming as a bride of eighteen; sacred to her prayers and +meditations; to the sandalwood casket that held her 'private god'; for +the Indian wife has always one god chosen for special worship--not to be +named to any one, even her husband. And although a Christian Lilamani +had discontinued that form of devotion, the tiny blue image of the +Baby-god, Krishna, had been a sacred treasure always, shown, on rare +occasions only, to Roy. To enter that room was to enter her soul. And +Roy, shrinking apart, felt himself unworthy--because of Rose. + +On the threshold there met him the faint scent of sandalwood that +pervaded her. For there, in an alcove, stood Krishna's casket. In larger +boxes, lined with sandalwood, her many-tinted silks and saris lay +lovingly folded. Another casket held her jewels, and arranged on a row +of shelves stood her dainty array of shoes--gold and silver and pale +brocades: an intimate touch that pierced his heart. + +Near the Krishna alcove, hung a portrait he had not seen: a thing of +fragile, almost unearthly beauty, painted when her husband came +home--and realised.... + +An aching lump in Roy's throat cut like a knife; but his father's remark +put him on his mettle. And, the next instant, he saw.... + +"_Dad!_" he breathed, in awed amazement. + +For there, on the small round table stood a model in dull red clay: +unmistakably, unbelievably--the rock fortress of Chitor: the walls +scarped and bastioned; Khumba Rana's tower; and the City itself--no +ruin, but a miniature presentment of Chitor, as she might have been in +her day of ancient glory, as Roy had been dimly aware of her in the +course of his own amazing ride. Temples, palaces, huddled houses--not +detailed, but skilfully suggested--stirred the old thrill in his veins, +the old certainty that he knew.... + +"Well----?" asked Sir Nevil, whose eyes had not left his face. + +"_Well!_" echoed Roy, emerging from his trance of wonder. "I'm +dumfounded. A few mistakes, here and there; but--as a whole ... Dad--how +in the world ... could you know?" + +"I don't know. I hoped you would. I ... saw it clearly, just like +that----" + +"How? In a dream?" + +"I suppose so. I couldn't swear, in a court of law, that I was awake. It +happened--one evening, as I lay there, on her couch--remembering ... +going back over things. And suddenly, out of the darkness, +blossomed--that. Asleep or awake, my mind was alert enough to seize and +hold the impression, without a glimmer of surprise ... _till_ I came to, +or woke up--which you will. Then my normal, sceptical self didn't know +what to make of it. I've always dismissed that sort of thing as mere +brain-trickery. But--a vivid, personal experience makes it ... not so +easy. Of course, from reading and a few old photographs, I knew it was +Chitor: and my chief concern was to record the vision in its first +freshness. For three days I worked at it: only emerging now and then to +snatch a meal. I began with those and that----" + +He indicated a set of rough sketches and an impression in oils; a ghost +of a city full of suggested beauty and mystery. "No joke, trying to +model with one hand; but you wouldn't believe ... the swiftness ... the +sureness ... as if my fingers knew...." + +Roy could believe. Occasionally his own fingers behaved so. + +"When it was done, I put it in here," his father went on, masking, with +studied quietness, his elation at the effect on Roy. "I've shown it to +no one--not even Aunt Helen. I couldn't write of it. I felt it would +sound crazy----" + +"Not to me," said Roy. + +"Well, I couldn't tell that. And I've been waiting--for _you_." + +"Since--when?" + +"Since the third of March, this year." + +Roy drew an audible breath. It was the anniversary of her passing. "All +that time! How could you----? Why didn't you----?" + +"Well--_you_ know. You were obviously submerged--your novel, Udaipur, +Lance.... You wouldn't have forgone all that ... if I know you, for a +mere father. But you're here, at last, thank God. And--I want to know. +You've seen Chitor, as it is to-day...." + +"I've seen more than that," said Roy. "I can tell you, now. I +couldn't--before. Let's sit." + +And sitting there, on her couch, in her House of Gods, he told the story +of his moonlit ride and its culmination; told it in low tones, in swift +vivid phrases that came of themselves.... + +Throughout the telling--and for many minutes afterwards--his father sat +motionless; his head on his hand, half shielding his face from view.... + +"I've only spoken of it to Grandfather," Roy said at last. "And with all +my heart, I wish he could see ... that." + +Sir Nevil looked up now, and the subdued exaltation in his eyes was +wholly new to Roy. + +"_I've_ gone a good way beyond wishing," he said. "But again--I was +waiting for you. I want to go out there, Roy--with you two, when you're +married--and see it all for myself. With care, one could take the thing +along, to verify and improve it on the spot. Then--what do you say?--you +and I might achieve a larger reproduction--for Grandfather: a gift to +Rajputana--my source of inspiration; a tribute ... to her memory, who +still lights our lives ... with the inextinguishable lamp of her +spirit----" + +The last words--almost inaudible--were a revelation to Roy; an +illumining glimpse of the true self, that a man hides very carefully +from his fellows; and shows--at supreme moments only--to 'a woman when +he loves her.' + +Shy of their mutual emotion, he laid a hand on his father's arm. + +"You can count on me, Dad," he said in the same low tone. "Who +knows--one day it might inspire the Rajputs to rebuild their Queen of +Cities, in white marble, that she may rise again, immortal through the +ages...." + +When they stood up to leave the shrine their eyes met in a steadfast +look; and there was the same thought behind it. She had given them to +each other in a new way; in a fashion all her own. + + * * * * * + +For that brief space, Roy had almost forgotten Tara. Now the wonder of +her flashed back on him like a dazzle of sunlight after the dim sanctity +of cathedral aisles. + +And down in the studio it was possible to discuss practical issues of +his father's inspiration--or rather his mother's; for they both felt it +as such. + +Roy would marry Tara in September; and in November they three would go +out together. There were bad days coming out there; but, as Roy had once +said, every man and woman of goodwill--British or Indian--would count in +the scale, were it only a grain here, a grain there. The insignificance +of the human unit--a mere fragment of star-dust on sidereal shores--is +off-set by the incalculable significance of the individual in the +history of man's efforts to be more than man. In that faith these two +could not be found wanting; debtors as they were to the genius, +devotion, and high courage of one fragile woman, who had lived little +more than half her allotted span. + +They at least would not give up hope of the lasting unity vital to both +races, because political errors and poisonous influences and tragic +events had roused a mutual spirit of bitterness difficult to quell.... + +Conceivably, it _might_ touch the imagination of their India--Rajputana +(Roy was chary, now, of the all-embracing word), that an Englishman +should so love an Indian woman as to immortalise her memory in a form +peculiar to the East. For a Christian Lilamani, neither temple, nor +tomb, but the vision of a waste city rebuilded--the city whose name was +written on her heart. In their uplifted moment, it seemed not quite +unthinkable. + +"And it's India's imagination we have most of us signally failed to +touch--if not done a good deal to quench," said Roy, his eyes brooding +on a bank of purple-grey cloud, his own imagination astir.... + +It was his turn now to catch a flitting inspiration on the wing. + +Would it be utterly impossible----? Could they spend a wander-year in +Rajputana--the cities, the desert, the Aravallis: his father +painting--he writing? The result--a combined book, dedicated to her +memory; an attempt to achieve something in the nature of +interpretation--his arrogant dream of Oxford days; a vindication of his +young faith in the arts as the true medium of mutual understanding. In +any case, it would be a unique achievement. And they would feel they had +contributed their mite of goodwill, had followed 'the gleam.'... + +"Besides--out there, other chances might crop up. Thea, Grandfather, +Dyan.... And Tara would be in in it all, heart and soul," he +concluded--remembering, with a twinge, a certain talk with Rose. "And it +would do _you_ all the good on earth--which isn't the least of its +virtues, in my eyes!" + +The look on his father's face was reward enough--for the moment. + +"Well done, Roy," said Sir Nevil very quietly. "That year in Rajputana +shall be my wedding present--to you two----" + + * * * * * + +Later on the 'inspired plan' was expounded to Tara--with amplifications. +She had merely run home--escorted, of course, through the perils of the +wood--to impart her great news and bring her mother back to lunch, which +Roy persistently called 'tiffin.' Food disposed of, they stepped +straight out of the house into a world of their own--the world of their +'Game-without-an-End'; the rose garden, the wood, the regal splendours +of the moor, gleaming and glooming under shadows of drifting cloud: on +and on, in a golden haze of content, talking, endlessly talking.... + +The reserve and infrequency of their letters had left whole tracts, +outer and inner, unexplored. Here, thought Roy--in his mother's +beautiful phrase--was 'the comrade of body and spirit' that his +subconsciousness had been seeking all along: while he looked over the +heads of one and another, lured by the far, yet emotionally susceptible +to the near. Once--unbidden--the thought intruded: "How different! How +unutterably different!" + +Reading aloud to Tara would seem pure waste of her; except when it came +to the novel, of which he had told her next to nothing, so far.... + +And Tara carried her happiness proudly, like a banner. The deliciousness +of being loved; the intoxication of it, after the last spark of hope had +been quenched by that excruciating engagement! Her volcanic heart held a +capacity for happiness as tremendous as her capacity for daring and +suffering. But the first had so long eluded her, that now she dared +scarcely let herself go. + +She listened half incredulous, wholly entranced, while Roy drew rapid +word-pictures of the cities they would see together--Udaipur, Chitor, +Ajmir; and, not least, Komulmir, the hill fortress crowned with the +'cloud-palace' of Prithvi Raj and that distant Tara, her namesake. +Together, they would seek out the little shrine--Roy knew all about +it--near the Temple of the Mother of the Gods, that held the mingled +ashes of those great lovers who were pleasant in their lives and in +death were not divided.... + + * * * * * + +It was much later on, in the evening, when they sat alone near the twin +beeches, under a new-lighted moon, that Roy at last managed to speak of +Rose. In the dimness it was easier, though difficult at best. But all +day he had been aware of Tara longing to hear; unable to ask; too +sensitive on his account; too proud on her own. + +Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event: and if Sir +James had needed 'squaring' no one heard of it. Jeffers had arrived, +large and genial--his thatch of hair thinned a little and white as +driven snow. Healths had been drunk. It was long since the Beeches had +known so hilarious a meal. Yet the graceless pair had made haste to +escape, and blessed Lady Despard for remaining with the men. + +Tara was leaning back in a low chair; Roy on a floor cushion, very +close; a hand slipped behind her, his cheek against her arm; yet, in a +deeper sense, she wanted him closer still. Surely he knew.... + +He did know. + +"Tara--my loveliest--shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly. "Are you +badly wanting to hear?" + +"Craving to," she confessed. "It's like a bit of blank space inside me. +And I don't want blank spaces--about you. It's the house swept and +garnished that attracts the seven devils. And one of my devils is +jealousy! I've hated her _so_, poor thing. I can't hate her more, +whatever you tell----" + +"Try hating her less," suggested Roy. + +"Try and make me!" she challenged him. "Are you--half afraid? Were you +... fearfully smitten?" + +"Wonderful Tara! 'Smitten' is the very word." He looked up at her +moonlit face, its appealing charm, its mingling of delicacy and +strength. "I would never dream of saying I was 'smitten'--with _you_." + +For reward, her lips caressed his hair. "What a Roy you are--with your +words! Tell me--tell from the beginning." + +And from the beginning he told her: first in broken, spasmodic +sentences, with breaks and jars; then more fluently, more unreservedly, +as he felt her leaning closer--more and more understanding; more and +more forgiving, where understanding faltered, where gaps came--on +account of Lance, and of pain that went too deep for words. She had +endured her own share of that. She knew.... + +When all had been said, it was she who could not speak; and he gathered +her to him, kissing with a passion of tenderness her wet lashes, her +trembling lips---- + +At last: "Beloved--_has_ the blank space gone?" he asked. "Are you +content now?" + +"Content! I'm lifted to the skies." + +"To the tipmost top of them?" he queried in her ear; and mutely she +clung to him, returning his kisses, with the confidence of a child, with +the intensity of a woman.... + + * * * * * + +All too soon it was over--their one mere day: the walk back through the +wood--never more enchanted than on a night of full moon: Tara, dropped +from the skies, lost to everything but the sound of Roy's voice in the +darkness, deep and soft, like the voice of her own heart heard in a +dream. It seemed incredible that there would be to-morrow--and +to-morrow--and to-morrow, world without end.... + +Back in the garden, Jeffers--a miracle of tact--wandered away to commune +with an idea, leaving father and son alone together. + +Sir Nevil offered Roy a cigarette, and they sat down in two of the six +empty chairs near the beeches and smoked steadily without exchanging a +remark. + +But this time they were thinking of one woman. For at parting Tara had +said again, "It's all been her doing--first and last." And Roy--with +every faculty sensitised to catch ethereal vibrations above and below +the human octave--divined that identical thought in his father's +silence. Her doing indeed! None of them--not even his father--knew it +better than himself. + +And now, while he sat there utterly still in the midst of stillness--no +stir in the tree-tops, no movement anywhere but the restless glow of +Broome's cigar--the inexpressible sense of her stole in upon him, +flooding his spirit like a distillation from the summer night. Moment by +moment the impression deepened and glowed within him. Never, since that +morning at Chitor, had it so uplifted and fulfilled him.... + +Surely, now, his father could feel it too? Deliberately he set himself +to transmit, if might be, the thrill of her nearness--the intimacy, the +intensity of it. + +Then, craving certainty, he put out a hand and touched his father's +knee. + +"Dad," the word was a mere breath. "Can you feel...? She is here." + +His father's hand closed sharply on his own. + +For one measureless moment they sat so. Then the sense of her presence +faded as a light dies out. The garden was empty. The restless red planet +was moving towards them. + +On a mutual impulse they rose. Once again, as in her shrine, they +exchanged a steadfast look. And Roy had his answer. + +He slipped a possessive hand through his father's arm; and without a +word, they walked back into the house.... + + +_Parkstone, February_ 1920. + +_Parkstone, March_ 27, 1921. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Far to Seek, by Maud Diver + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAR TO SEEK *** + +***** This file should be named 15704.txt or 15704.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/7/0/15704/ + +Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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