diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/68996-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68996-0.txt | 11699 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11699 deletions
diff --git a/old/68996-0.txt b/old/68996-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index aedc781..0000000 --- a/old/68996-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11699 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Angel, by Bithia Mary Croker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Angel - A sketch in Indian ink - -Author: Bithia Mary Croker - -Release Date: September 16, 2022 [eBook #68996] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS, Brian Wilsden and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANGEL *** - -Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - - - - -ANGEL - - - - - "A woman is a foreign land - Of which, though there he settle young, - A man will ne'er quite understand - The customs, politics, and tongue." - THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. - - - - -[Illustration: - ANGEL - - A SKETCH IN - INDIAN - INK - - _By_ B. M. CROKER - - _Author of_ "Beyond the Pale," - "Infatuation," etc. - - NEW YORK - - Dodd, Mead & Company - 1901 - R -] - - - - - Copyright, 1901, - - By Dodd, Mead & Company. - - THE BURR PRINTING HOUSE, - NEW YORK. - - - - - DEDICATED TO - - A. PERRIN - - - - -CONTENTS - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. PATIENCE ON A GATE, 1 - - II. IN THE VERANDAH, 10 - - III. AN EARLY VISIT, 19 - - IV. ANGEL IN EXCELSIS, 27 - - V. THE LUCKNOW ROAD, 34 - - VI. LATE FOR MESS, 42 - - VII. MRS. DAWSON'S DRESSES, 48 - - VIII. THE PICNIC, 58 - - IX. THE BEQUEST, 66 - - X. A CHALLENGE, 78 - - XI. WHO IS SHE? 92 - - XII. ANGEL IMPARTS A SECRET, 98 - - XIII. ANGEL'S WINGS ARE CLIPPED, 105 - - XIV. PHILIP'S LOVE AFFAIR, 115 - - XV. LOLA, 126 - - XVI. GRANDMAMMA, 134 - - XVII. THE UNEXPECTED, 146 - - XVIII. DINNER FOR TWO, 159 - - XIX. THE PARTING GUESTS, 175 - - XX. A DESTROYING ANGEL, 183 - - XXI. "THINK IT OVER," 193 - - XXII. "A WHITE ELEPHANT AND A WHITE ROSE," 209 - - XXIII. ANGEL DECLINES A PENNY FOR HER THOUGHTS, 217 - - XXIV. THE SOOTHSAYER, 228 - - XXV. THE CHITACHAR CLUB, 239 - - XXVI. IN ANGEL'S TENT, 255 - - XXVII. "THE SIN," 266 - - XXVIII. MAKING FRIENDS, 277 - - XXIX. LAST YEAR'S NEST, 286 - - XXX. A WHITED SEPULCHRE, 291 - - XXXI. FISHING FOR AN INVITATION, 296 - - XXXII. BY PROXY, 303 - - XXXIII. EXPLANATION, 313 - - XXXIV. A REFUGEE, 320 - - XXXV. A GOOD BILLET, 330 - - XXXVI. JOINT HOSTESS, 337 - - XXXVII. IN GARHWAL, 344 - - XXXVIII. INTERLOPERS, 355 - - XXXIX. TO DIE WITH YOU, 365 - - XL. THE INTRUDER, 375 - - - - -ANGEL - - - - -CHAPTER I - -"PATIENCE ON A GATE" - - -IT was the middle of March in the North-West Provinces, and the hot -weather had despatched several heralds to Ramghur, announcing its -imminent approach. Punkahs were swinging lazily in barrack rooms, the -annual ice notice had made a round of the station, many families had -quitted the sweltering cantonments for the misty Himalayas, and the -brain fever bird had arrived! Moreover, the red-capped tennis boys were -on half-pay, the polo ground was abandoned, the club reading-room had -cancelled all the ladies' papers, and its long dim verandah presented a -melancholy vista of empty chairs. - -Outside in the gardens, and all over the district, cork trees, acacias, -and stately teak upheld their naked branches, as if in agonised appeal -to a pitiless blue sky, whilst their leaves, crisp and shrivelled, -choked the neighbouring nullahs, or were chased up and down the dusty -plains and roads by a howling hot wind. - -At a corner where two of these roads met, and about a mile from the -club, stood a large irregular bungalow, with a thatched roof and -walls of a vivid pink complexion, as if it were blushing—as well -it might—for its straggling and neglected compound. The gate of -this was closed, and through its wooden bars a white-faced shabby -little girl was gazing intently. Otherwise the premises appeared to -be deserted; the servants were presumably smoking and gossiping in -the bazaar, the stables were empty, the very dogs were out. No, there -was not a living creature to be seen, except a couple of quarrelsome -crows and this solitary child. Although Angel Gascoigne had elevated -herself by standing on the second rung of the gate, she was unable -to lean comfortably on the top bar, but peered below like some caged -creature, for she was remarkably small for her age. Indeed, if any of -her acquaintance had been suddenly called upon to name it, they would -have answered, "Oh—Angel! She is about six." Nevertheless, it was nine -years, and long, long years to Angel, since she had come into the world -in a damp little bungalow in distant Dalhousie. - -She wore a limp cotton frock, a pinafore to correspond, black -stockings, much darned at the knees, and shapeless sand shoes -ludicrously large for her fairy feet. Her arms and head were bare, the -latter covered with a mane of sun-bleached locks; her face was small, -pinched, and prematurely wise, but the features were delicate, and -the whole countenance was illuminated by a pair of painfully wistful -blue eyes. The child's pose was touching. She looked exactly what she -was—forlorn, desolate, and neglected. For a whole hour she remained -motionless at her post, and while she watched and waited, various -vehicles had passed; among these, a large landau containing two -languid women propped up with cushions and waving date leaf fans. They -smiled and nodded affably to Angel, and as they rolled slowly by, young -Mrs. Gordon said to the lady who was taking her for an airing: - -"There is that poor child of Mrs. Wilkinson's. What a weird little -face! It is positively disgraceful the way she is overlooked and left -to servants." - -"Yes," agreed her companion. "The result of her mother's second -marriage. Colonel Wilkinson is wrapped up in his bank-book and his -boys. Mrs. Wilkinson is wrapped up in her clothes. I do believe -that woman's heart is composed of a reel of cotton, and unfortunate -Cinderella is left in the kitchen—there is no fairy godmother for -_her_. She ought to have been sent home years ago," continued Mrs. -Jones, with the authority of one who is dealing with her friend's -expenditure. - -"There is no doubt of that," assented Mrs. Gordon, a very pretty Irish -girl who had recently come to India as the wife of a civilian. "Some -one told me the other day that Angel is twelve years of age." - -"Oh, dear no," replied Mrs. Jones, with a touch of irritation, "I -remember when she was born. I remember her mother when she came up to -Simla, such a lovely girl, and that is not more than ten years ago. She -had a host of admirers, and of course she took the least desirable; -handsome, penniless, reckless Tony Gascoigne. They could not have done -worse, either of them, if they had tried." - -"And now since he is dead, and his widow has married again, it seems -to me that it is poor little Gascoigne who suffers for that foolish -match," declared the other lady. "The child should be at school—if -only the money was forthcoming." - -"But with Colonel Wilkinson's economies, and Lena Wilkinson's -extravagances, there is not much prospect of _that_," rejoined Mrs. -Jones, and the subject dropped. - -The landau was succeeded by a smart victoria, in which was seated a -stiff-backed lady in a dainty muslin gown. This was Mrs. Dawson, the -Judge's wife, who vouchsafed no notice of Angel beyond a glance of -stern disapproval. Next came an ekka packed with chattering native -women, who laughed and made merry signals to the little figure on -the gate, but the child took no notice of their blandishments, her -face still retained its expression of rigid expectation. At last she -stirred, there was a faint sound of muffled hoofs in the sandy lane -which bordered the compound wall, and in another moment two men on -horseback came into sight. These were comrades, who chummed together in -a dilapidated bungalow at the back of Colonel Wilkinson's abode. The -slight dark man, riding a few paces in advance, was Philip Gascoigne, -a Royal Engineer, reputed to be the owner of the hardest head and the -softest heart in the station. His companion, following on a flea-bitten -grey, was Wilfred Shafto, subaltern in a crack regiment of native -cavalry, a loose-jointed, long-legged youth, whose curly locks, gay -blue eyes, and admirable profile, went far to justify his nickname of -"Beauty Shafto." Besides his good looks, Shafto was endowed with an -exuberant vitality and a stock of animal spirits, that even the hot -weather failed to subdue. Both he and his chum were popular in the -cantonment, being keen soldiers, cheery comrades, and, above all, -good fellows; but Shafto only was a universal favourite, for he was a -ladies' man. Yet, strange to say, it was not Shafto but Gascoigne who -reined up in order to speak to the little girl at the gate. _He_ merely -gazed, grinned, and jeered, saying, "Hullo, a case of confined to -barracks, young 'un!—in disgrace again, eh? I say, there's a five-act -tragedy in that face, Phil. Don't be late for rackets," and shaking up -his old Arab, he heartlessly cantered away. - -"Well, Angel, what's the meaning of this?" inquired Gascoigne, leaning -over his pony's neck. "Not in trouble, I hope?" - -The child raised her great eyes to his, and slowly shook her head. - -"Then what is the matter?" he repeated. "What have you been doing now?" - -"_I've_ not been doing anything," she protested in a clear but woeful -treble. "Mother and Colonel Wilkinson have gone to Dolly Tollemache's -birthday party, and taken all the children—but—I had"—here two -crystal tears escaped from her long lashes—"no hat." - -"Poor little soul!" exclaimed Gascoigne, "that was bad luck. What -happened to your hat?" - -"Beany threw it in the tank, and oh—I wanted to go so much." Her voice -rose to a pitiful wail as she added, "Dolly is _my_ friend—and there -was a bran pie." - -"And I am your friend as well as Dolly, am I not?" he urged. - -"Oh, yes," and she gazed up at him with swimming eyes. "Of course—you -are my cousin Philip—but you don't live with me, and I am so -miserable," she faltered. "The servants push me about, and the children -pinch me, and Colonel Wilkinson calls me a liar and—a little devil." - -Here she broke down and, resting her head on her skinny arms, sobbed -hysterically. - -"He did not mean it, Angel," protested her cousin. "I am sure Colonel -Wilkinson was not in earnest; he is a kind-hearted man, and looks the -soul of good humour." - -"_Looks!_" she flashed out furiously. "Yes, and he is good-humoured -with the children, but you should see him when the bearer brings his -account, or when a shop bill comes in. I wish you saw his looks then! -And he hates me. Only this morning he said I was a viper on his hearth -and a curse. Oh," with another outburst, "I wish I was dead—like my -own father." - -Gascoigne dismounted hastily and putting his hand upon her shoulder, -said, "Come, Angel, this is very bad. You are a silly child, and -imagine things—it's all the hot weather, and you are feeling a bit -slack and out of sorts. You will soon be up in the hills, gathering -pine cones and orchids." - -"No, indeed I shan't," she rejoined, as she raised her head and -confronted him with an expression of despair on her small tear-stained -face. "Mother says she can't afford it this year. She is going to -send baby to Mrs. Browne, but we must all stay down. Oh, how I -hate Ramghur," and her eyes roved over their brick-coloured, dusty -surroundings, "I wish I was dead." - -"My poor Angel! this is melancholy news. Why should you cut yourself -off at the age of nine? I hope you have a long and merry life before -you." - -"Why should I live?" she demanded fiercely, "no one wants _me_." - -"Don't you think your mother wants you?" - -"No," she answered breathlessly in gasps, "she has the children—she -would never miss me. They went off in the bullock bandy, so dressed -up and noisy, Pinky in mother's own blue sash, all going to enjoy -themselves, and not one of them even looked back. The servants are at a -funeral, and I've been alone the whole evening." - -This pitiful tale was illustrated by a pathetic little face streaming -with tears. - -"Now then, listen to me, Angel," said the young man, impressively, "I -believe you've been running about in the sun, and have got a touch of -fever, and besides, you take things too much to heart." - -"No I don't," she answered passionately, "everyone says I have no -heart—and no one cares for me." - -"That's bosh," he protested, "your mother cares—and so do I." Here he -stooped, and dried her tears with his own handkerchief. - -"Do you really, cousin Phil?" suddenly seizing his hand with her hot -nervous fingers. "Really—not make-believe?" - -"I never make-believe—really." - -"Then—I am—glad," and now the elf clasped his arm, and looked up at -him fixedly, "for I _do_ love you, as much as mother, yes, and more -than the whole big world." - -"That's a large order, my child," stroking her cheek. "You have not -seen the world yet—you won't repeat that in ten years' time. And now I -must be off, or I shall be late. Look here," speaking from the saddle, -"I'll come over to-morrow, and ask your mother if I may take you for a -drive. How will that be, eh?" - -"Not," clapping her hands ecstatically, "with Sally Lunn!" - -"Why not with Sally, and for a good ten mile spin into the country -beyond the railway." - -"Oh, how splendid. And it's moonlight, too. I shan't sleep one wink for -thinking of to-morrow." - -"In that case I warn you, I shall leave you behind," he announced as he -gathered up his reins. "Cheer up, Angel, and don't let me hear any more -about dying. Good-bye," and wheeling his impatient pony, he turned her -head towards the maidan, and galloped away over the flat parade ground -which lay between the bungalow and the club, raising as he went a cloud -of red dust. - -Angel stood motionless staring after him, till a huge peepul tree hid -him from her gaze. "A drive in his beautiful dogcart," she said to -herself, "with its dark blue cushions and red wheels, and crazy Sally, -the fastest trotter in Ramghur. Phil never took grown-up ladies for a -drive—yet she was invited—she hoped he would go right through the -bazaar so that everyone might see them! The Wallace children and that -sneering Dodd boy. How delicious! But what was she to do for a hat?" -As she stood pondering this momentous question, with an old, care-worn -expression on her child's face, a fat ayah suddenly appeared near the -bungalow and shrieked out in Hindustani: - -"Missy Angel—what you doing there? Come away from the road, oh -shameless one! Wicked child, without hat or topee. Supper is ready, -come therefore at once. Think of what the Colonel Sahib will say if he -sees thee thus." - -This shrill invocation was all delivered in one breath. When it had -concluded, the child turned about, slipped off the gate, and with -unexpected alacrity ran up the drive, and was presently swallowed by -the shadows of a long verandah. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -IN THE VERANDAH - - -BEFORE the station clock had chimed six the following morning, every -soul in the Wilkinsons' bungalow was astir. The portly head of the -house, clad in lily-white drill, and mounted on a lily-white charger, -had ambled off at daybreak, to preside over the cantonment rations. -In the long west verandah, the bamboo blinds were already down in -order to keep out the blinding glare, and behind these "chicks" the -entire family was assembled. Three podgy, pasty-faced children were -solemnly playing at bazaar, and buying, selling, and chaffering, in -ludicrous but unconscious imitation of their elders. The fourth was a -mere spectator in the arms of the fat ayah who with her understudy kept -order among the infants. Occasionally a shrill exclamation, a whimper, -or a howl, arose from their corner, but taking them _en masse_, Beany, -Pinky Tod, and Baba were unemotional and well-behaved infants. They ate -well, slept well, and conducted themselves sedately. Nevertheless, it -must be confessed that they were not fair to see, but then we all know -that it is better to be good than beautiful. A painful illustration of -this axiom was beside them, in the shape of their half-sister Angel, -who with puckered brows and compressed lips, was labouring away at -a handsewing machine, and turning out yards of faultlessly hemmed -frills. She was pretty, all the ladies said so—indeed, she said so -herself—but even the dog boy was aware that Missy Angel was not good, -did not want to be good, and made no secret of the terrible fact. -Angel assured her brothers that it was a thousand times nicer to be -wicked. She would not eat cold curry, she refused to go to bed at seven -o'clock, she laughed at her kind papa, and sang when the ayahs scolded -her. - -Not far from Angel squatted the dirzee, a thin, grave-eyed man in -spotless white clothes and turban. He was holding a piece of muslin -between two of his toes, and cutting down a neatly marked crease with -a pair of gigantic scissors. This was Kadir Bux, a capable workman, -and Mrs. Wilkinson's much coveted treasure. Nor was Mrs. Wilkinson -herself idle, although she reclined on a long cane lounge, propped up -with cushions. She was intently occupied in trimming a smart evening -bodice. One glance proved sufficient, to assure us that the lady was -clever with her fingers, for she turned and twisted the lace with the -audacious familiarity of a practised hand. It is said, that could -they but discover it, everyone is endowed with a special gift; there -are thousands of mortals who go through life unconscious of their own -capacities, but Mrs. Wilkinson was one of those more fortunate beings -who had found her metier, and gloried in its exercise. She was an -accomplished milliner and a really firstclass dressmaker. In all the -province there was not a woman who could put in a sleeve, tie a bow, or -hang a skirt as well as Angel's mamma. Once upon a time—and that time -not very distant—Mrs. Wilkinson had been a beauty, but continuous hot -seasons on the plains, harassing money cares, and indifferent health -had combined to filch her of her good looks. There were hard lines -about her mouth, her cheeks had fallen in, and her complexion—only -appeared in the evening. Of course, in early morning _deshabille_ we do -not expect to see a lady at her best. Still, her carelessly arranged -hair was abundant, her features were delicate, and her blue eyes had -not yet lost the power of their spell. Black-lashed, plaintive blue -eyes, what had they not achieved for their owner? How much she owes -to them. What difficulties surmounted, what favours granted—what -friends! They resembled in potency some fabled talisman; their mistress -had but to wish, look, and possess. Fortunately, Mrs. Wilkinson's -ambition was of a moderate character. She merely desired to be the -best-dressed woman in her circle, that is to say station, and hitherto -her pre-eminence had been supreme. - -"The Mrs. Wilkinson who dresses so well," enjoyed a fame that went -beyond the bounds of her own province, and had even been echoed in much -maligned Madras. - -Just at present this celebrity, her eldest born, and her faithful -dirzee were labouring hard in order to maintain this far-reaching -reputation. The scene in which they slaved was no bad imitation -of the workroom of some smart dressmaker. Chairs were piled with -materials, the matting was littered with scraps of lace, muslin, and -calico; patterns and fashion-plates lay scattered around, and in the -foreground was a wicker dress-stand, surmounted by an exact model -of Mrs. Wilkinson's own graceful figure—a costly but indispensable -possession. At this moment it was attired in an elaborate white ball -skirt and low satin bodice, and at a little distance appeared to be one -of the party in the verandah. - -To slave for days, nay weeks, at her sewing machine, to cut up, -contrive and piece, scanty materials; to ponder for hours over -patterns, confer with an unimaginative native, cope with failures, -and plunge into debt, were a few of the drawbacks to Mrs. Wilkinson's -pre-eminence. But inconvenience, anxiety, and self-denial were -forgotten when she appeared in an incomparable "success," conscious of -triumph, aware that she was the cynosure of all eyes, and that even -in church she absorbed the attention of half the congregation. It is -true that certain rivals, women with ungrudging husbands, replenished -their wardrobes from London and Paris. Nevertheless, with even these, -this talented artiste was able to compete, for she was endowed with the -gift of wearing, as well as of designing, her matchless toilettes. Her -figure was slender and graceful, and in a smart evening gown, with just -the least little touch on her cheeks, Mrs. Wilkinson still held her own -in a ballroom; her dancing was perfection, and, next to dress, her sole -passion. - -As for the lady's past, despite her craze for dress and dancing, it was -extraordinarily monotonous, and uneventful. - - * * * * * - -Miss Lena Shardlow, a charming but penniless orphan, had arrived at -Simla, some years before this story opens, on a cold weather visit to -distant relations, who invited her out, in the benevolent hope that -Lena's pretty face would prove her fortune. If, as they afterwards -declared, she had played her cards properly, Lena might have married -a member of Council; it was true that he had already seen the grave -close over two wives, also that he was neither young nor comely, but he -could offer Lena a splendid position as his wife, and a fine pension as -his widow. The girl had many admirers—indeed, she was the success of -the season. Among these admirers was Tony Gascoigne, a feather-brained -junior subaltern in the Silver Hussars. Tony was handsome and well -connected, but reckless and impecunious. In an evil moment a brother -officer had advised him "not to make a fool of himself with the little -Shardlow girl," and the warning proved immediately fatal. He married -her within six weeks—her friends were not present at the ceremony—and -brought his lovely bride down to Umballa in insuppressed triumph. -Sad to relate, this triumph proved but short-lived—it was cruelly -slain in the regimental orderly room, and died by the hand of Tony's -commanding officer. Colonel St. Oriel had a strong prejudice against -married subalterns, and a married subaltern of a year's standing was -only surpassed by the notorious miscreant who had actually joined his -regiment with a wife and a perambulator. - -It was whispered in the mess, that when "the old man" received cards -and cake, he had actually gnashed his teeth. At any rate, the proud -bridegroom was sent on detachment within twenty-four hours. A year -later, when Tony and his wife were on leave in the hills, one wet -black night, his pony lost his hind legs over the brink of a slippery -khud, and Tony's book of life was closed at page twenty-three. He left -a widow and a puny infant in a cheap bungalow, not a hundred yards from -the scene of the tragedy. He also left many debts. At first poor Mrs. -Gascoigne was stunned, then inconsolable, although her kind neighbours -came forward to her assistance in a fashion peculiar to India. For -weeks she remained in cloister-like seclusion, waiting for the monsoon -to abate, before returning to England, where it would be her fate to -live on distant relations and a pension of thirty pounds a year. Ere -three months had elapsed, it was noticed that Major Wilkinson, of the -Commissariat, despatched baskets of tempting fruit and rare flowers -to a certain retired bungalow. These, as days went by, he boldly -followed in person, and long before the year was out, an engagement was -announced, and all the world of Dalhousie declared, that little Mrs. -Gascoigne had done remarkably well for herself and her child. Major -Wilkinson was neither young nor dashing, he had also the reputation of -being "careful with his money." On the other hand, he was a sensible -man, with savings in the Bank of Bengal, and a small property in New -Zealand. The middle-aged Major was unmistakably in love with the pretty -blue-eyed widow, but, to impart a secret, he had never exhibited the -smallest enthusiasm for her offspring, and now that he had four sturdy -olive branches of his own, indifference had developed into unconcealed -aversion. Perhaps (for he was a model parent) he may have been a little -jealous of his step-daughter's airy grace and high-bred features. -Angel was an aristocrat to the tips of her shocking sand-shoes, whilst -his own beloved progeny were undeniably _bourgeois_—stumpy, stolid, -heavy children, whose faces recalled the colour and contour of a cream -cheese. Although Colonel Wilkinson scaled sixteen stone, he was an -active, bustling man—indeed some people considered him "fussy"—an -excellent organiser and administrator in his official capacity, whilst -at home in the domestic circle he saw to everything himself, thus -relieving his Lena of all housekeeping cares. He checked the bazaar -accounts, gave out the stores, oil and fodder, ordered the meals and -hectored the servants—he even instructed the ayah, and harried the -milkman—the only person over whom he had no control was the dirzee. -Consequently Lena had nothing to do but compose costumes, amuse -herself, and look pretty. In her heart of hearts, Angel, her firstborn, -was her mother's favourite child, but no whisper of this weakness -ever escaped her lips. She was too painfully aware, that Richard was -excessively jealous of the claims of his family, whom he idolised. - -Of course Angel ought to have been sent home, no one was more alive to -this duty than her parent, but unhappily Mrs. Wilkinson had no private -income; she was compelled to ask for every rupee she expended, and -it was with difficulty she obtained a slender sum for the children's -clothes. As for her own toilettes, her husband liked to see her in -pretty gowns, he was proud of them, and of her, but when it came -to paying—oh! that was another affair altogether. Every bill she -presented to him entailed a battle—or at least an argument, and what -of those bills, those frightful bills, she dared not let him see? - -If Colonel Wilkinson growled savagely when called upon to disburse for -Angel's meagre wardrobe, how could her mother hope for a substantial -cheque to defray her outfit, passage, and education? Much as Colonel -Wilkinson disliked the child, he had not the heart to open his purse -strings and provide for her removal to another home and hemisphere. - -Angel was naturally intelligent, and had picked up the art of reading -and writing, without perceptible labour. The occasional lessons of an -Eurasian schoolmistress had introduced her to the multiplication table, -and the outlines of history and geography. She spoke Hindustani with -the facility and correctness of an Indian-born child. She could sing -the "Tazza Ba Tazza," and dance like a nautch girl, and the servants -alternately bullied and feared her. They were all somewhat distrustful -of "Missy Angel." She knew too much—she was too wise. - -As Angel sat on the floor of the verandah, her sharp white face bent -intently on the needle, her thin arm tirelessly turning the handle -of the sewing machine, her thoughts were not with her task. She was -wondering why the ayah's sister happened to wear a jacket of similar -stuff to the piece which was sliding through her hands? Stolen of -course—how, and when? Oh, what a pig Anima was; and it was late, and -Philip had not come. Had he forgotten his promise, he who never forgot -a promise? She rose stealthily, and went to a "chick," pulled it a -little aside and peered out. Nothing to be seen but the brick-coloured -compound, the sandy drive, the cork trees, a quiver in the heated air. - -"Missy Angel, what you doing?" screamed the ayah, "what you looking -for? Go back and sit down." - -Angel returned to her post with noiseless steps, but as she resumed her -task, she held up the muslin towards the ayah, and said: - -"You see this, Anima? Some is stolen. I was only looking for the thief. -Do _you_ know her?" - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AN EARLY VISIT - - -ANIMA ayah pounced upon the gage thus recklessly flung at her, and was -proceeding to pour out the seven vials of her wrath in a lava-like -stream, when, luckily for her challenger, the sound of hoofs outside, -a spurred heel on the steps, created a diversion. Then a man's voice -called up, "Hullo, Lena, are you at home?" - -Instantly the dirzee seized the half-clad figure in his arms, and -eloped with it indoors, whilst Angel sprang to the blind, dragged it -back, and ushered in Philip Gascoigne. - -"Well, little one," he said, taking her limp hand in his, "How are you -to-day? Lena, please don't move." For Mrs. Wilkinson had struggled up, -and now sat erect on her long cane lounge, vainly endeavouring to make -the end of her old tea gown cover the toes of her shabby slippers. - -"I'm only going to stay five minutes," continued her visitor, seating -himself astride a chair. "How did you enjoy the children's party?" - -"Not much," she answered with a laugh. - -"And Angel—not at all, eh?" - -"Angel!" cried Mrs. Wilkinson, suddenly raising her voice, "do stop -that horrible machine, and run away and learn your lessons." - -Angel paused in her labours, drew her beautifully marked eyebrows -together, and looked curiously at her mother. Then she rose, handed her -frill to the dirzee, and obediently withdrew, vanishing through one of -the many doors into the interior of the bungalow—but not to learn her -lessons. Oh no, she went straight to Mrs. Wilkinson's bedroom, hunted -about for a certain library book, and settled herself comfortably on -a sofa. There, stretched at full length, with a couple of cushions -carefully arranged at her back, she resembled a small edition of her -mother! Presently she opened the novel, found her place, and began to -read. The name of the novel was "Moths." - -In the meanwhile conversation in the verandah was proceeding; as soon -as her daughter had disappeared, Mrs. Wilkinson resumed: - -"I left Angel at home as a punishment; it's only the punishment she -feels." - -"She feels a good many things," rejoined Gascoigne. "What has she been -up to now?" - -"Oh, never mind," retorted the lady, with a touch of irritation. "You -think Angel _is_ an angel." - -"Excuse me, I do not; but she is only a child—we were children -ourselves. Why are you all so rough on her?" - -"I'm sure I'm not rough on her," protested Mrs. Wilkinson in a highly -injured key, "but she is always rubbing Richard up the wrong way—he -is so sensitive, too, and only the other day she called him a 'mud -cart officer.' Really, I can't imagine where she picks up her awful -expressions." - -"She picks up everything, I fancy—chaff and corn," remarked her -cousin. - -"At any rate, Richard simply detests her," continued Mrs. Wilkinson. "I -keep her out of his way as much as possible, as he hates the very sight -of her. He says you never know what she is going to do next; she plays -the most unexpected tricks, she is heartless, untruthful, and fond of -luxury." - -Gascoigne broke into a short, incredulous laugh. "What! that thin, -shabby little child. My dear Lena, she does not know what the word -luxury means." - -Her mother heaved a profound sigh as she answered, "Remember, I do not -say these horrid things. I know that Angel is not heartless; she has -strong feelings, she is devoted to me—and she simply worships _you_." - -"Oh, bosh!" he exclaimed, with a gesture of protest. - -"But it is true, I assure you, that in Angel's eyes you are something -between a Fairy Prince and a Holy Saint, and quite perfect. She -actually threw a milk jug at Pinky, because he said you were ugly." - -Gascoigne laughed a hearty laugh, displaying his nice white teeth. He -could well afford to despise Pinky's opinion, for, although no rival -to Beauty Shafto, Gascoigne was a good-looking fellow, and made a -conspicuous and agreeable figure in that somewhat squalid verandah, -with his trim uniform and well-groomed air. His forehead and jaw were -square, his eyes dark, cool, and penetrating; the whole expression -indicated keen intelligence and absolute self-control. - -Altogether it was an interesting face. A face that had left its impress -on most people's memories. - -"Threw the milk jug," he repeated; "that was scarcely the retort -courteous; but I'm glad to see she made a bad shot," and he glanced at -Pinky's round and stolid countenance. "What's all this finery for?" he -continued, timidly touching the satin in her lap. - -"To make me beautiful," she answered. "Men's garments are so hideous -that women have to do double duty. I am going to wear this at the -Giffards' cotillion to-morrow night." - -"A dance, this weather. What lunacy!" - -"It may seem so to you, who never enter a ballroom, but I must do -something to keep myself going, and it's cool enough as yet, after -eleven o'clock. Half-a-dozen waltzes are a better tonic for me than any -amount of quinine." - -"Long may you live to say so," he exclaimed, "but waltzing with the -thermometer at 100, I should call the dance of death. Mind you don't -overdo it, Lena mia," and he looked at her narrowly. - -Lena Wilkinson was a delicate woman, thin and worn, with an insatiable -appetite for excitement and amusement. Her social triumphs and secret -labours drew heavily on the bank of a frail constitution, and no one -but herself ever guessed how often she trembled on the verge of a -serious breakdown. - -"I say," resumed Gascoigne, "I came to ask if I may take Angel for a -drive this evening? You have no objection, have you?" he added, as Mrs. -Wilkinson's expression conveyed blank amazement. "At any rate, it will -clear her out of Wilkinson's path for a couple of hours," he concluded -persuasively. - -"But she will think so much of it, and be so flattered and -cock-a-hoop," protested her mother. - -"Lena," and his eyes sparkled angrily, "do you grudge the poor kid even -this little pleasure?" - -"No, I don't," hastily relenting, "and I'm horrid. I was thinking that -you never took _me_ out." - -"I shall be only too honoured. You have but to name your own time. I -thought you hated a two-wheeled trap, or I'd have offered long ago." - -"It's quite true, I do loathe high dog carts and pulling trotters. I've -no courage now, and that Sally of yours goes like an express train. -Ten years ago, how I should have loved it! What a curse it is to have -nerves!" - -"I expect you want a change to the hills. Angel tells me you are not -going to stir this hot weather. Mind you, Lena, it is a mistake." - -"Oh, I know; but Richard declares that he cannot possibly afford two -establishments, and he must stay down. Angel looks bleached. Three hot -seasons are enough to take the colour out of anyone, and are trying to -a child. That is what makes her so cross, and dainty, and discontented." - -"You ought to go away, Lena, if only for two months. You look run down -yourself." - -"Yes, and I feel run down, too." Here she paused, took up her work for -a moment, and put in two or three stitches. "I sometimes wonder——" -she began, and said no more. - -"What do you sometimes wonder?" he inquired. - -"It is only when I lie awake at night, listening to the jackals—they -always make me feel so desperately depressed, and when I am quite -in the blues I cannot help asking myself what would become of Angel -if—anything happened to me?" - -"What a dismal idea, an odious little blue devil!" he exclaimed. "You -should light a lamp and read some cheery novel; that would soon chase -him away." - -"And I might fall asleep, and set the bungalow on fire." - -"Look here, Lena," he resumed, hitching his chair a little closer, "you -know I'm pretty well off; no debts, no wife." - -"Fancy naming them in the same breath!" she protested with a laugh. - -"Well, sometimes one brings the other," and he nodded his head gaily; -then, lowering his voice, he continued, "I daresay it is hard for -Wilkinson to make both ends meet, with heavy insurances, and all that -sort of thing"—Wilkinson was scrupulously saving and investing half of -his pay—"so—so——" Then, with a sudden rush, "If you'll just run up -to the hills for three months, and take Angel and the boys—I'll make -it all right—you know I'm your cousin." - -"Yes," she assented rather bitterly, "and the only Gascoigne who ever -deigned to take the smallest notice of me; but it can't be done, Phil. -You are a dear good fellow to suggest it, and if the matter lay with me -I'd accept it like a shot and be off to-morrow; but Richard would not -hear of it." - -"Well, then, let me send Angel, with an ayah, to some good -boarding-house where the lady will look after her. Surely, he would -make no objection to that. She would be out of his sight for months." - -"Perhaps not; but he has such odd ideas, and although he does not -want her here, I doubt if he would allow her to go elsewhere. There," -starting up, "I hear him now. He is coming." - -"At any rate, you might sound him, Lena, and I'll call in for Angel at -half-past five." - -"Hullo, Gascoigne—you here?" and a stout, breathless little man, with -prodigious moustache and a shining round face, came puffing up the -steps. "I tell you," he panted, "this day is going to be a corker!—my -reins were mad hot, and Graham says there are five cases of heat -apoplexy in hospital. Lena, we must have the cuscus tatties up at once." - -"They say this season is to be something quite extra," remarked -Gascoigne, who had risen to his feet. - -"Yes, yes," cried Colonel Wilkinson, "the usual bazaar talk. But," -mopping his face, "if this is the beginning, where shall we all be in -the end of May—eh, Lena?" - -"In the cemetery, perhaps," she suggested gravely. - -"Come, come, old woman—none of your ghastly jokes. Hullo, Beany boy; -well, my Pinkums. Ayah," in a sharper key, "what do you mean by letting -Master Beany wear his best shoes?" - -"They are all he has got, sahib—others done fall to pieces," she -answered sullenly. - -"Fall to grandmother! Let _me_ see them. And I say, the children are -to have plenty of ice in their milk to-day. I've ordered in two seers -extra. Has Master Baba had his tonic? Here—you must all clear out -of the verandah—it's like a furnace. Away you go!" and, raising his -arms as if driving a flock of geese, he hustled the whole family -precipitately indoors, whilst Gascoigne snatched up his whip and fled. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -ANGEL IN EXCELSIS - - -PUNCTUAL to the moment, Philip Gascoigne arrived to take his little -cousin for the promised drive, and Angel's eyes shone like stars when -she descried his smart dogcart spinning up the approach. Sally Lunn, or -"Mad" Sally, a good-looking bay, stud-bred, in hard condition, enjoyed -the reputation of being the fastest trotter, as well as the most -hot-tempered and eccentric animal, in the station; only those blessed -with a cool head and no nerves were competent to manage her. Here she -came, pulling double, and tossing flecks of foam over her bright brass -harness. - -Mrs. Wilkinson felt a secret thrill of thankfulness that it was not -about to be her lot to sit behind this excitable creature, the author -of a lengthy chapter of accidents. However, Mrs. Wilkinson's little -daughter did not share these fears. She had been dressed and ready for -an hour, and now ran quickly down the steps, in a clear starched frock, -her hat restored, her hair elaborately crimped, climbed into the cart -with the agility of a monkey, and took her place with the dignity of -a queen. It is true that her shapely little black legs dangled in a -somewhat undignified fashion. Nevertheless she declined a footstool -with a gesture of contempt—nor was Sally disposed to linger. In -another moment the dogcart swung out of the gate, and was humming down -the road at the rate of eleven miles an hour. Angel, very upright, with -her hair streaming behind her, elation in her pose; Gascoigne sitting -square and steady, giving his full attention to his impetuous trapper. - -"Thank goodness, Philip is a first-rate whip," exclaimed Mrs. -Wilkinson, as she turned her eyes from this fleeting vision and rested -them on her husband, "otherwise I would never trust the child with that -animal." - -"Bah, there's no fear," protested Colonel Wilkinson from his long -chair, taking up a paper as he spoke. "You may trust _her_ with any -animal; and Gascoigne knows what he's about—he understands horses; but -I'm blessed if I understand him. He must be hard up for company when he -calls for that brat." - -"She is his cousin, you see," answered her parent, "and—Richard——" a -pause; long pauses were a peculiarity of Mrs. Wilkinson's conversation. - -"Well?" impatiently. "What?" - -"He thinks she looks so white and thin, and he has offered to send her -up to the hills for three months—at his own expense. What do you say?" - -Colonel Wilkinson reflected for some seconds behind the pages of his -"Pioneer." He detested Angel; an arrogant, insolent little ape, whose -shrill treble broke into and amended his best stories, who never shed -a tear, no matter what befell her at his hands, and who laughed in his -face when he stormed. He would be rid of her—but he would also be -renouncing his authority. Angel was his step-daughter—Gascoigne was -only her father's cousin. Her keep was nominal, and the station would -talk. No—certainly _no_. - -"What do I say?" he repeated, emerging with considerable crackling from -behind his screen. "I say no, and I call the offer confounded cheek on -the part of Gascoigne. What is good enough for my own children is good -enough for her. They are not going to budge this season." - -"But the boys are so much younger, Richard, dear," ventured his wife. - -"Well, I won't have Gascoigne interfering with a member of my family, -cousin or no cousin. Some day he will find out what a little devil she -is, for all her angel name and angel face," and with this depressing -prophecy Colonel Wilkinson retired once more behind his "Pioneer." - -Meanwhile the "little devil" was in the seventh heaven, as she and her -Jehu bowled along the straight flat road, overtaking and passing every -other vehicle—a triumph dear to Angel. - -"Look here, young 'un, where would you like me to drive you—you shall -choose the route," said Gascoigne suddenly. - -"Right in front of the club, then past the railway station and through -the bazaar," was her prompt and unexpected answer. - -"Good Lord, what a choice! And why?" - -"Just that people may see me," replied Angel, and she put out her hand -and touched his arm, as she added, "See me—driving with _you_." - -"No great sight; but, all the same, you shall have your way—you don't -often get it, do you?" - -Angel made no reply beyond a queer little laugh, and they sped through -the cantonments, meeting the remnant who were left taking their dutiful -airing. These did not fail to notice the "Wilkinson's Angel," as she -was called, seated aloft beside Captain Gascoigne, pride in her port, -her little sharp face irradiated with the serene smile of absolute -content. The two Miss Brewers, in their rickety pony carriage, envied -the child fully as much as she could have desired. Mrs. Dawson stared, -bowed, and looked back; so did some men on their way to rackets. - -"Well, Gascoigne was a good sort, and it was just the kind of thing he -would do—give up his game to take a kid for a spin into the country. -Why, he was making straight for the bazaar." The bazaar was narrow and -thronged with ekkas, camels, bullock carts, and cattle, as well as -crammed with human beings. As Gascoigne steered carefully in and out -of the crowd, a bright idea flashed upon him. There was Narwainjees, a -large general shop which sold everything from Paris hats to pills and -night lights. He pulled up sharply at the entrance and said, "I say, -Angel, I want you to come in here and choose yourself a hat." - -"A hat," she echoed. "Oh, Philip, I—I—shall be too happy." - -"All right, then," lifting her down as he spoke; "you can try what it -feels like to be too happy. I can't say I know the sensation myself." - -As the oddly-matched couple now entered the shop hand in hand, the -smart, soldierly young man and the shabby little girl, an obsequious -attendant emerged from some dark lair. At this time of year business -was slack, and the atmosphere of the ill-ventilated premises was -reeking with oil, turmeric, and newly-roasted coffee. - -"I want to look at some trimmed hats for this young lady," explained -her cavalier. - -"Oh, Phil," she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly in her tiny -grasp, "it's the very first time I've been called a young lady." - -"And won't be the last, we will hope," he answered. - -"Have some iced lemonade, sir?" said a stout man in a gold skull-cap -and thin white muslin draperies. - -"No, thank you—but you, Angel—will you have some?" asked her cousin. - -"I should love it," and she put her lips greedily to a brimming -tumbler of her favourite beverage. Undoubtedly Angel was tasting every -description of pleasure to-day. - -"And now for the hats; here they come!" announced her companion, as a -languid European assistant appeared with two in either hand. - -"Oh, how lovely!" cried Angel, setting down the glass and clasping her -hands in rapturous admiration. - -These hats, be it known, were the usual stock in trade of a native -shop up country, models that no sane woman in England would purchase -or be seen in; massive satin or velvet structures, with lumps of -faded flowers and tarnished gilt buckles, one more preposterous -than another, all equally dusty, tumbled, and expensive, and all -intended for full-grown wearers—if such could be beguiled into buying -them. Gascoigne took a seat and proceeded to watch his protégée's -proceedings with the keenest amusement, and exhibited no desire to cut -short her few blissful moments. Angel was absolutely happy, not had -been, or was to be, but actually happy in the present moment—and the -sight of such a condition is extremely rare. - -The mite in short frock treated the shopwoman with all the airs of a -grown customer, and was even more _difficile_ and critical than her -own mamma. First she tried on one hat, then another; and to see the -little top-heavy figure, glass in hand, strutting and backing in front -of a great spotty mirror, and contemplating herself from every point -of view with the most anxious solemnity, was to all concerned a truly -entertaining spectacle. Several torpid assistants had collected at a -respectable distance, enjoying the comedy with faint grins as Angel -gravely appeared, and disappeared, under various monstrosities. For a -time she was sorely divided between a scarlet plush tam-o'-shanter and -a green straw with yellow flowers. Finally it was a bright blue satin -toque with mother-of-pearl buckles which captured her affections. She -put it on, and took it off, then put it on again, whilst Gascoigne and -the European attendant watched her attentively. - -"I say, Angel, that won't do," he said, breaking the spell at last; -"no, nor any single one of the lot. You'd look like an owl in an ivy -bush." - -"Oh, Philip, not really," she protested, and her eyes grew large with -amazement. - -"No, none of them are suitable. That thing you've on weighs pounds; -you'd want a man to carry it. I'll tell you what, perhaps this young -lady here will fit you out with a nice straw hat, and trim it." - -"Oh, yes, sir," she assented briskly. "I believe I have what will -answer exactly," producing a pile of plain straws. "Try this on, missy." - -But it was such a bare, uninteresting-looking article. Two great tears -stood in Angel's eyes. These she bravely winked away, and said with a -gulp, "Very well, Phil; I suppose you know best." - -"I'll make it so smart, missy," said the sympathetic attendant, "with -big bows of fresh white ribbon." - -"And roses? Oh, Philip, say I am to have roses?" she pleaded with -clasped hands, and a voice that was tragic. - -"Yes, roses by all means, if they are indispensable to your happiness." - -"Oh, they are—and pink ones." - -"Then we will leave the matter entirely to you," said Gascoigne to the -milliner, as he stood up; "a child's hat, you know, not a May bush." - -And Miss Harris, who was rarely favoured with such a customer, gave Mr. -Gascoigne an emphatic promise, and her sweetest smile. As a solace from -being parted from her beloved blue toque, her cousin presented Angel -with a large box of chocolates, a bottle of perfume, a silver thimble, -and a doll, and the little creature returned to the dogcart with her -arms full and her face radiant. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE LUCKNOW ROAD - - -"AND now for a good spin along the Lucknow road," said Gascoigne when -they had extricated themselves from the teeming bazaar. - -Oh, Lucknow road! How many times have you resounded to the steady tramp -of armed men, the clattering of hoofs, the rumble of guns! What battles -have been fought to guard you, what nameless graves of gallant fellows -are scattered among the crops in your vicinity! But to-night all is -peace; the moon rides high in the heavens, and the whole landscape -seems flooded in silvery white. The pace at which Sally travelled -created a current of fresh air, as she sped past tombs, shrines, -villages, and between long avenues of trees. The bare, flat plains -were just forty miles from the foot of the Himalayas, and in the cold -weather the scene presented an unbroken stretch of rich cultivation. -A sea of yellow waves, wheat and barley, sugar-cane, feathery white -cotton, and acres and acres of poppies. Now the crops were gathered, -and all that remained was a barren expanse parched to a dull dusty -brown. The very trees, with their grey trunks and leafless branches, -gave the scene a bleak and wintry appearance, although the air was like -a furnace. It was a still, breathless night, save for the croaking of -frogs, or the humming of a village tom-tom, and the couple in the -dogcart were as silent as their surroundings, absorbing the swiftly -changing scene without exchanging a word, each being buried in their -own reflections. Angel's thoughts were pleasant ones; her busy brain -was occupied with visions of future triumphs—not unconnected with her -present position, and her new hat. - -Gascoigne's inner self was far, far away across the sea. He was -driving with a little girl through deep country lanes, a girl then -his playfellow, later his divinity, now lost to him, and figuratively -laid in a grave and wrapped in roses and lavender. On the tombstone -the strong god Circumstance had inscribed, "Here lies the love of -Philip Gascoigne." The man was thinking of his love, the child of her -new hat, and the four-legged animal of her supper. Once or twice he -had been on the point of turning, but a piteous little voice beside -him had pleaded, "Oh, please, not yet; oh, just another mile, well, -half-a-mile," and they had passed the tenth milestone before Sally was -pulled up and her head set once more towards Ramghur. - -"Oh, dear," cried Angel, coming out of a dream, "I'm so sorry we are -going back. I began to think I was in heaven." - -"Upon my word, you are a funny child," exclaimed her cousin. "I don't -fancy the hot weather in the North-West is many people's notion of -Paradise." - -"But there are horses and chariots there. At all events," she argued, -"the Bible says so." - -"Do you read the Bible much, Angel?" - -"Yes. I love the Book of Revelations, which tells all about gold and -jewels and horses. I always read it on Sundays." - -"And what do you read on week-days?" - -"I have not much time. I sew a good deal for mother, and there are -lessons, and going out walking with those children to the club gardens -twice a day," and she gave a little impatient sigh. Gascoigne looked -down at the small figure perched beside him, with pitying eyes, and -thought of her dreary, colourless life. - -"I'm reading a book now," she announced complacently. - -"And what is it called?" - -"The Mysteries of Paris." - -"The _what_?" - -"The Mysteries of Paris," raising her thin voice. "I heard Mrs. Du -Grand telling mother it was thrilling—and so wicked. She rooted it out -of the old stock in the Library." - -"It's not fit for you to read." - -"Have _you_ read it?" she asked sharply. - -"No, and don't want to. Does your mother allow you to read such stuff?" - -"Mother does not know—she would not mind." - -"I'm certain she would—it's a bad—I mean a grown-up book, and not fit -for you." - -"I've only read as far as two chapters—and it's so stupid." - -"Then mind you don't read more, Angel, nor any grown-up books, if you -would like to please _me_. Hullo, sit tight," he added quickly, as a -white bullock suddenly rose from beside a shrine, starting Sally out -of her wits. She made a violent spring across the road—a spring that -tested every buckle in her harness—and nearly capsized the cart. Then -she broke away into a frantic gallop, with the trap rocking at her -heels. - -"No fear, Angel; you hold on to me," said Gascoigne. - -"But I'm not afraid," rejoined a bold, clear voice. "I'm never afraid -when I'm with you, Philip." - -"It's all right," he said presently, as Sally's racing pace slackened -and she gradually came back to her bit. "Sally is a coward; she thought -she saw a ghost." - -"Yes; and it was only an old bullock," scoffed the child. "But, cousin -Phil, there _are_ real ghosts, you know." - -"Where?" - -"Oh," spreading out her hands, "everywhere, all over the world—in the -station—yes, and in your bungalow." - -"My poor, simple Angel! Who has been cramming you with this rot?" - -"The servants," she promptly replied; "and I've heard other people -talking. The cook's brother is your bearer, and yet, he would not go -into your compound after dark if you gave him one hundred rupees." - -"Then he is a foolish man," pronounced Gascoigne; "not that I am likely -to offer him his price." - -"They say," resumed the child, "where you keep your boxes and polo -sticks used to be the dining-room, and that servants in queer old -liveries can still be seen there." - -"Then I wish to goodness they'd clean up my saddles whilst they wait. -And is that all?" - -"No; an officer in uniform, a strange uniform not worn now, comes -running in with a drawn sword, and chases a pretty lady from room to -room. She wears a white muslin dress, and black satin shoes. He kills -her in the front verandah—and her screams are awful." - -"Dear me, Angel, what a blood-curdling tragedy! but you don't mean to -say you believe it?" - -"Oh, yes; Ibrahim says it is well known. There is another—I heard Mrs. -Jones telling it to mother, and she said she knew it was true. Shall I -go on?" - -"Yes, if you like—it is quite an Indian night's entertainment." - -"Well," beginning in a formal little voice, "some gentlemen were -driving up from the station; they were very late, and they saw a mess -house all lit up, and the compound packed with carriages and bullock -bandies, and they said, 'Why, it is a big ball, and we never heard a -word about it.' So they stopped on the road and looked on. They could -see right into the room, and there were crowds of people dancing—but -the strange thing was, there was not one face they knew." - -"Well, I'm not surprised at that," exclaimed her listener derisively. - -"Please don't interrupt—they drove on after a while——" - -"They ought to have gone in to supper." - -"_Philip!_" she expostulated. "Next morning they asked about the great -ball in the cavalry lines, and people thought they were joking; there -had not been a dance for weeks, but these men were quite positive, and -they rode down to have a look at the house. It had not been used for -years and years, and was crammed with rubbish and old broken furniture; -the compound was all grass and weeds, and there was not a trace or mark -of a carriage." - -"And what did they make of that?" inquired Gascoigne. - -"Oh, people just shook their heads, and said something about an old -story, and the mutiny, and that a great many ladies were killed in that -messhouse one night—and the servants have heaps of tales." - -"I don't want to hear their tales, and I wish you would not listen to -them," he said sharply. - -"Why?" with a look of bewildered injury, "how can I help it, when they -are talking all round me? The ayah's sister and her niece come in, and -bring a huka and sit on the floor of the nursery and gossip when mother -is out, and I can't sleep; they talk, ever so much, all the station -gup, oh, _such_ stories. Why are you so solemn, cousin Phil?" she asked -suddenly, gazing up at his face in the moonlight; "why are you so -grave; what are you thinking about?" - -"Then I will tell you, Angel; I am thinking about _you_—it is full -time you were at home." - -"So I am at home. Here we are—the gate is open. Oh, what a shy!" as -Sally executed a deep curtsey to a long black shadow. - -"I mean England," giving Sally a flip; "would you not like to go there?" - -"No; for I don't want to leave mother. Anyway, she cannot afford to -send me to school. She owes such a _lot_ of money; there she is on -the verandah watching for us; and oh! I am so sorry this drive is -over—thank you a million thousand times." - -"I am afraid we are rather late," he called out to Mrs. Wilkinson, "but -I've brought her back safe and sound." - -"Yes, thank goodness; it is after eight o'clock, and I began to be -nervous." - -"I'm sorry I am behind time, but it is such a fine moonlight night, and -Angel has been telling me stories." - -"Oh, she's good enough at that!" sneered Colonel Wilkinson, with -terrible significance. "Now, Angel, go off to your bed," he added -peremptorily; "the ayah has kept some cold rice pudding for you—mind -you eat it," and he waved her out of his sight. Then, turning his -attention to the child's charioteer, and refusing to notice his wife's -anxious signals, he continued, "I say, Gascoigne, if you don't mind, -you'll be late for mess!" - -It was all very well for Lena to suggest his staying to share pot -luck, but Lena was not the housekeeper, or aware that the bill of fare -consisted of a little soup and some brain cutlets. - -"The bugle went five minutes ago," he concluded. Gascoigne promptly -accepted the hint (not that he craved for an invitation—were not -Colonel Wilkinson's dinners notorious?) and with a hasty good-bye -immediately drove away. - -Surely, this must have been one of the happiest days of Angel's -existence; her mother was prepared to find her in raptures, when she -came to see her in her cot that night. She was therefore astonished to -discover the child in tears, sobbing softly under her breath—the cold -rice-pudding untouched, and spurned. - -"Darling, what is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Wilkinson anxiously. "Are -you sick?" - -"No," sniffed her daughter in a lachrymose key. - -"But you have not eaten your supper," she expostulated; "are you sure -you are quite well, dearie?" - -"I am—quite—well." - -"Then," now stirred to indignation, "do you mean to tell me, that after -your delightful drive, and all your beautiful presents, you greedy, -insatiable child, you are crying yourself to sleep?" - -A heartrending sob was the sole reply to this question. - -Mrs. Wilkinson's thoughts flew to her spouse; he had been particularly -impatient of Angel lately. She bent over the cot, and whispered into -the ear of the little head buried in its pillow: - -"Tell me, darling, what has happened? What is the trouble—who——?" - -And a muffled voice moaned like some wounded animal: - -"Phil—cousin Phil—he—he——" a burst of sobs interrupted her. - -"He what?" impatiently. - -"Oh, mummy, he never said good-bye to me." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LATE FOR MESS - - -THE bungalow occupied by Captain Gascoigne and his friend was one -of the largest in Ramghur. Sixty years previously, it had been the -residence of the general commanding the district, and now it was let -to a couple of bachelors, at the miserable rental of thirty rupees a -month, for it happened to be deplorably out of repair, inconveniently -out of the way, and enjoyed the reputation of being haunted. This -unfortunate habitation stood in a spacious compound, whose limits were -absorbed in the surrounding terra-cotta coloured plain, covered with -yawning fissures, and tufts of bleached grass. A few mango trees, guava -trees, and a dry well, indicated the remains of a once celebrated -garden, whilst under the tamarinds were three or four weather-worn -tombs, the resting-place of Mahomedan warriors, who had been buried on -the battlefield long before the days of the English Raj. - -An imposing range of servants' quarters (at present crowded, as the -retinue harboured all their relations, as well as lodgers) and a long -line of stables testified to the former importance of this tumble-down -abode, whose big reception-rooms, once the heart of social life, were -now filled with boxes, empty packing-cases, saddlery, and polo sticks, -and were the resort of white ants, roof cats, and scorpions. - -The present tenants had naturally selected the most weather-tight -quarters, and these were in opposite ends of the venerable residence. -As Gascoigne came whirling through the entrance gate, he was waylaid by -three dogs, a fox-terrier, an Irish terrier, and a nondescript hound, -and it was immediately evident that he belonged to them, from their -yelps of hearty welcome, and the manner in which all three scuttled up -the drive in the wake of Sally Lunn. - -As the cart stopped, and the syce sprang down, Shafto appeared in the -verandah. He wore the usual hot-weather mess dress, spotless white -linen, and a coloured silk cummerband, and looked strikingly handsome -as he stood bare-headed in the moonlight, gravely contemplating his -comrade. - -"Upon my soul, Phil, I began to think the brute had smashed you up -at last! I've been sitting here listening hard for twenty minutes, -precisely as if I were your anxious grandmother. I know Sally's trot -half a mile away. What kept you?" - -"Down dogs, down," cried their master, as he descended. "I had no -notion it was so late, and for a drive, this is the best time of the -whole day." - -"Whole night you mean," corrected Shafto; "it's half-past eight—where -have you been? Sally looks as if she had had enough for once." - -"She's had about twenty-two miles," admitted her owner, now taking off -his cap and subsiding into one of the two long chairs which furnished -the verandah. "The Lucknow road is like a billiard table, and we made -our own wind." - -"_We?_" ejaculated his listener. - -"Yes, I took that child Angel from next door; it was a rare treat for -the poor little beggar, and she coaxed me to go on mile after mile." - -"Oh, did she! Well, as long as she is only the angel next door I don't -mind," said Shafto, tossing away the stump of a cigarette; "an angel in -the house, I bar. This establishment is already the home of rest for -lost dogs"—pointing to the trio—"ill-used ekka ponies, and a lame -bullock. Don't, for God's sake, bring in a child." - -"You need not alarm yourself," said his friend composedly. "I should -not know what to do with her. The animals, at least, are grown up." - -"And so is Angel—as old-fashioned as they make 'em. By the way, I -forgot to ask you what she wanted yesterday?" - -"Nothing," replied Gascoigne, stretching out his arms. "I say—Sally -can pull—only to tell me that she was rather down on her luck." - -"Not much luck to be down on, eh?" sneered his listener. "What with -a smart mamma, a saving step-papa, and a squad of greedy little -Wilkinsons, she must be a bit out of it, I should say. I wonder her -father's people don't do something." - -"Here you are," cried Gascoigne. "I am her father's cousin." - -"Well, I won't permit you to interfere, or take her in; by Jove, no," -said Shafto, springing to his feet. "Charity does not begin at this -home. They say that, for all her fluffy hair and ethereal eyes, she is -a cocksy, sly, mischievous little cat." - -"Poor mite! Can't 'they' let even a child alone? They must be short of -subjects." - -"You allude to the station gossips, and no doubt times are bad—so -many of their 'cases' are in the hills. Personally, I don't care for -little girls with wistful eyes and a craving for chocolate." - -"I know you don't," assented the other promptly. "_You_ prefer -well-grown young women with seductive black orbs and a craving for -sympathy." - -"Bosh! There's the mess bugle. You take half-an-hour to tub and change; -you'll be late for dinner." - -"Oh, I'll get something when I go over." - -"Here," said Shafto, motioning to a syce to bring up his pony. Then, -turning to his comrade, "You are a rum customer. Harder than nails, yet -soft as putty in some ways." - -"Oh, not as soft as Billy Shafto," he protested with a laugh. - -"Yes. If a fellow is in a scrape—Gascoigne. Duty to do—Gascoigne. -For the sick and afflicted—Gascoigne. Dinnerless to humour a -child—Gascoigne." Whilst he spoke he put his foot in the stirrup and -mounted, and as he wheeled about he gave a view hulloa, shouted "Vive -Gascoigne!" and galloped down the avenue _ventre à terre_. For a moment -Gascoigne and the dogs sat staring at the cloud of dust the pony's -hoofs had raised behind him, and then the three animals gathered round -to have a word or two with their master. - -Each of these waifs had a history of his own. Train, the fox-terrier, -was found in the railway station, a lost, distracted dog, evidently -a stranger in a strange land, for he did not understand a word of -Hindustani, and he shrank appalled from the blandishments of the -Telegraph Baboo. He was middle-aged, English, and a gentleman. What was -his past? Gunner, an Irish terrier, possibly country-born, had been -left behind by a battery of artillery, suddenly ordered up country, and -for weeks he had haunted their lines, heart-broken and starving; even -now he constantly called at his old quarters, to see if _they_ had come -back? - -Toko was a stray, brought in, in an emaciated condition, by the two -others, and was believed to have been the property of a man who had -died of cholera the previous rains. These three casuals were now beyond -the reach of want, and were well looked after. They employed a dog -boy, whose duty it was to wash, feed, and exercise them; but they were -fiercely independent, and objected to going out for a walk at the end -of a chain, merely to be tied up, whilst their attendant gambolled -behind a wall with various other urchins. When not enjoying a scamper -with their master they took themselves out with great decorum, and -it was a funny sight to meet the three strolling leisurely along, -precisely like their superiors, or cantering across the maidan almost -abreast. Naturally, their friends and foes were identical, and it was a -truly brave dog who dared to raise his bristles at the trio. They had -their various individual tastes, and Train and Toko secretly felt that -it was a pity to see a dog of Gunner's age and size so passionately -addicted to chasing sparrows. - -Gascoigne and the trio sat in the moonlight in front of the old -bungalow, silently enjoying one another's society, till a neighbouring -gurra, striking nine, warned Gascoigne that it was time to dress -and dine. All the same he was not in the least hungry, and only -for the susceptibilities of his bearer,—who was an abject slave -to convention, and would have considered his conduct erratic and -peculiar,—he would gladly have remained sitting in the verandah with -his three dumb friends. Gascoigne's drive with Angel had resulted in a -paradox—it had effectively taken away his appetite, and supplied him -with food for reflection. Poor little neglected ne'er-do-well! What was -to be her fate? - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MRS. DAWSON'S DRESSES - - -THE hot weather was in full possession of Ramghur, and, as a natural -consequence, the station became deserted. Various bragging individuals, -who had announced their determination to "face it this year," had at -the first boom of its artillery—that fierce midday blast,—closed -their bungalows, distributed their pets and flowers, lent their cows, -and carriages, among their friends, and departed precipitately to -cooler regions. It was a sickly season; already the bazaar prediction -had been more than justified. Only those whom duty or poverty chained -to the cantonment were to be found at their posts, and these were to -be seen, very late or very early, driving about the dusty roads, with -haggard white faces. - -It is a well-established fact, that one hot weather endured in -company draws people more nearly together than a dozen cold seasons. -There is a general relaxing of stiffness, a putting off of armour, -a reliance on one another, and a liberal exchange of sympathy—and -secrets;—undoubtedly a fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind. For -example, if a cynic happened to remark what friends two sharply -contrasting ladies had become, "Oh, they spent a hot weather together -in Kalipore," would be accepted as an unanswerable reply. Moreover, -it is undisputed, that some of the best matrimonial prizes have been -snatched out of the heat of the plains, by maidens who clung to their -parents, and braved the consequences. Thus, they occasionally made -the acquaintance of some bored and solitary bachelor, who, failing to -obtain leave, presently consoled himself with a wife. - -The band of the Native Cavalry,—Mr. Shafto's Regiment,—played thrice -a week in the club gardens, and then the pale remnant of Europeans -(and many brilliant Eurasians) assembled to what the natives term "eat -the air" and exchange the contents of letters from the hills, and the -delinquencies of their domestics. - -Everywhere beyond the gardens the atmosphere was that of a brickkiln. -Within, among the trees, shrubs, and glistening foliage plants, the -nostrils were greeted by the smell of hot earth, and a recently watered -greenhouse,—that is an aroma peculiar to India. In the early morning, -immediately after sunrise, the club was at its best; thronged with -members who came to study the telegrams, glance at the papers, and pick -up any stray crumbs of local news. It was thus that the youngest Miss -Brewer first allured Mr. Pontefract into conversation on the subject -of "a fire in the Bazaar." Hitherto he had thought of her (if he ever -did think of her) as a plain, heavy young woman, who could neither ride -nor dance, but just lob over the net at tennis. Now he discovered, -thanks to the hot weather, that she was a surprisingly taking girl, -with a good deal in her, including brains. She talked well (and shared -his views on the subject of the club soda-water, and Sunday tennis); -moreover, she was a devout listener. - -Between listening and talking, the moments flew; at last, the -increasing heat, and the clamour of the coppersmith bird, awakened -the pair to the fact that it was seven o'clock, and much too late an -hour to be abroad; and then, as Miss Brewer's pony carriage boasted -a hood, she offered a seat to her new acquaintance, and enjoyed the -pleasure and triumph of conveying the rising civilian to his own door. -She carried him off in every sense of the word, in fact—she was a -particularly "taking" girl. This drive was the prelude to greater -events—to meetings at dawn, to walks after dark, to little dinners, -little presents,—and an engagement. Yes, it was quite true, Tilly -Brewer, the unprepossessing, the dowdy, was about to marry the best -_parti_ in Ramghur; and when the young ladies in the hills heard the -tidings, they each and all registered a mental vow to remain below -next season. It is so easy to make such resolutions when you are in a -perfect climate. - -The talk of the engagement created an agreeable break in the long -monotonous days, and mere acquaintances exhibited quite an affectionate -interest in Tilly's trousseau, presents, and prospects. - -However, early in May, another topic cropped up which entirely eclipsed -the marriage preparations, and afforded food for incessant discussion -until the end of the rains; in fact, the story of "Mrs. Dawson's -dresses" created such an uproar and commotion, that it got into some of -the local papers, and every one of the letters home. - -Mrs. Dawson, the Judge's wife, was a prim, spare woman of a certain -age—and, it was said, uncertain temper. She had a cool, stiff manner, -and an air of critical aloofness that seriously discounted her -popularity. This lady was Mrs. Wilkinson's most serious rival in the -matter of dress, and if her taste was less artistic, and her ideas -lacked courage, she employed a court milliner, and owned a long purse. -It must be admitted that her toilettes were both varied and expensive. -"Stiff and old-maidish," was Mrs. Wilkinson's verdict—for she never -soared to that lady's daring transformations, and condemned her -dazzling triumphs as "theatrical and loud." Twice a year Mrs. Dawson -received a large box or two from home, containing a fashionable outfit -for the approaching season, and the envious pangs the arrival of these -treasures occasioned Mrs. Wilkinson, no one—no, not even her closest -friend—had ever guessed. - -A consignment of costumes had recently arrived per ss. _Arcadia_, and -Mrs. Dawson invited all her neighbours to inspect them. The dresses -were to be on view for two succeeding afternoons, but their owner -omitted to despatch a little note to Mrs. Wilkinson. She would see all -the toilettes later on in public, and, meanwhile, as she might steal -some of the novel ideas, and was quite capable of carrying away a -Paris pattern "in her eye," the poor lady was cruelly excluded. Late -one evening Mrs. Rattray dropped in on Mrs. Wilkinson, _en route_ from -the exhibition. She was a lively, fair woman, with an immense stock of -superfluous enthusiasm. As soon as she had found a seat, and unfurled -her fan, she began, - -"Well, my dear, I've never seen such frocks as she has got this time." - -"No," cried her hostess eagerly; "you have been to the show—do tell me -all about them. I am dying to know what the dresses are like. French, -of course—she said so." - -"Yes," drawing a long breath. "There is a grey _crêpe de chine_ and -silver, like the moon in a mist, with very long, tight sleeves, and -a sort of double skirt—it's a dream. There is a lemon satin with -Egyptian embroidery and a long train, a black silk canvas with lace -sleeves, piece lace—_you_ could easily copy that; and there is a -lovely mauve tea-gown, with a yoke of point d'Alençon, and knots of -black velvet with long ends, to which I lost my heart—it's quite my -style—but she never lends a pattern, you know." - -"Yes," agreed her listener, "we all know that." - -"Then there are hats, and toques, and feathers, and silk petticoats. I -never saw so many pretty things all at once. I think she got some smart -cousin to choose them, for they are not in the same style as her usual -dresses—really, you won't know her." - -Further details, descriptions, and even sketches, prolonged the -interview for more than an hour. Meanwhile Angel sat growing in a -corner, totally unnoticed, but absorbing every word of the conversation -with a curious expression on her little elfish face. - -"I must say, it is most marked, her not inviting you," said Mrs. -Rattray, as she rose at last. "Several people noticed it, and Mrs. -Gordon was wondering why you had not come; 'the show was so much in -your line.' Of course, I did not tell her why you stayed away; at any -rate, you will see one of the frocks on Sunday, a white Chinese silk, -much too young for Mrs. Dawson; I'm sure she is long past forty. Well, -good-bye, dear, I knew you'd be dying to hear all about the exhibition, -so I just ran in to tell you." And then Mrs. Rattray bustled out to her -victoria, leaving her stricken hostess to digest her news as best she -might. Alas! what were two or three pretty muslins, or even a new lilac -foulard, against Mrs. Dawson's battle array, gowns direct from Doucet -and Rouff? Oh, money must tell in the end! and, burying her face among -her sofa cushions,—for she was weak and run down,—Mrs. Wilkinson wept -long and bitterly, she who but five minutes ago had been all animation -and smiles. - -Two mornings later, Mrs. Rattray encountered Mrs. Dawson in the club -library. Greatly to her surprise, the latter accosted her at once; for, -as a rule, she merely bestowed a cool nod. - -"Have you heard about my dresses?" she began excitedly. - -"But you forget that I have inspected them," said the other; "I never -saw anything half so exquisite, or so——" - -"Exquisite no longer!" broke in Mrs. Dawson with a catch in her voice; -"what do you think? I had some friends to my little show yesterday, all -the gowns laid out in my bedroom, just as when you came,—and then we -went into the drawing-room to tea. After they had left, I sent for the -ayah, intending to help her to fold the things, and put them in tissue -paper." Here she paused for breath, and seemed curiously agitated. - -"Why, yes, of course," assented Mrs. Rattray. She stood with her hands -on the back of a chair, facing the narrator, and wondering at her -emotion. It was something novel to see Mrs. Dawson, of all people, thus -mentally dishevelled. - -"When I went into my room with a light," she resumed, "I found that all -my beautiful things had been cut to pieces—into little—little bits!" - -"What!" cried Mrs. Rattray, raising her voice till it was almost a -scream. - -"Yes, every one of them, and done most systematically—nothing escaped, -not even my poor feather fan, nor a hat, or a blouse. The ayah kept -crying, 'Look, look, look,' till I was sick of looking. Sleeves were -hacked out of dresses, great pieces slashed out of the bodices, skirts -cut right across, in all directions; even the artificial flowers were -torn to pieces, and the fingers snipped off my evening gloves." She -paused, and there was a dead silence, for Mrs. Rattray could find no -words adequate to the occasion. She simply stared, with her topee -pushed back, from her forehead, and her lips wide apart. - -"And—the grey _crêpe_?" she stammered out at last. - -"A rag now. The lemon satin only fit for patchwork. There is not -even enough left to make a sofa cushion. It was all done in about -half-an-hour—and with a huge pair of dirzee's scissors." - -"But who did it?" cried her listener, breathlessly. "Have you no -suspicions?" - -"No, that is the strange part of it; not a soul was seen or heard -about the premises. All the doors in the verandah were wide open, the -chokedar was on duty, and he saw no one." - -"Then what does the ayah say?" inquired Mrs. Rattray judicially. - -"Oh, she vows it was an evil spirit, and if she had not been idling -in her godown, but had come in directly the visitors had left, -this frightful affair would not have happened." Here Mrs. Dawson's -voice became husky; however, she soon recovered her self-possession, -and continued, "Nothing was taken—no, not even an inch of -ribbon—everything is there. So it was no thief. My husband will have -it that it was Captain Moore's monkey." - -Mrs. Rattray drew a long breath. At last she inquired, with studied -deliberation: - -"And what is your own opinion?" - -"I believe it was the work of some one who knew more about clothes than -a dumb animal," responded the victim of the outrage; "and yet, it is -like a monkey's trick, so unnecessary, and so mischievous." - -"So wicked, I call it," cried Mrs. Rattray. "I must say you are bearing -it marvellously well. It is more than I could do. I have no fortitude." - -"What is the good of worrying? The thing is done; no amount of worrying -will restore my pretty frocks, and I cannot afford to replace them for -some time; that lemon satin cost forty guineas, and I'd be ashamed to -tell you what I paid for the lilac tea-gown." - -"You have no clue?" reiterated Mrs. Rattray. - -"Unfortunately, I have not even that small consolation. Monkey or -demon, it left no trace. Well now, I must be going—the sun is getting -so strong I have a dreadful headache as it is." - -And Mrs. Dawson went sadly down the steps, crawled into her carriage, -and was driven away. - -But Mrs. Rattray lingered yet awhile, despite the temperature, in order -to discuss the tragedy with Mrs. Jones. Ere they separated, she said, -"How pleased Mrs. Wilkinson will be! She will have it all her own way -now." - -"Yes," assented her companion, "she lives to dress, and dresses to -live—it is only her clothes that hold her to earth. She is a mere -shadow. Don't you think she looks frightfully ill, and that it is -disgraceful that Colonel Wilkinson has kept her and the children down -for three hot weathers? I declare it is next door to murder, and if she -dies he ought to be hanged." - -"She wants a change badly," admitted Mrs. Rattray, "but this news will -act as a restorer, equal to two months' hill air." - -"Colonel Wilkinson is a shameless screw," resumed the other; "everyone -knows that he puts away half his pay monthly, that he never subscribes -to anything—'poverty and a large family' his cry—and that poor -Mrs. Wilkinson finds it almost impossible to get him to give her a -twenty-rupee dress." - -"I think Mrs. Dawson might have asked her to her show; leaving one out -is always so pointed." - -"But it was intended to be pointed. Mrs. Dawson was so afraid of having -her gowns copied," pleaded her friend. - -"Not much to copy now, is there?" retorted Mrs. Rattray; "and is it not -strange that they have no suspicions, and no clue?" - -"No, neither the one nor the other," rejoined Mrs. Jones, shaking her -head solemnly. But Mrs. Jones was mistaken; there _was_ a clue had Mrs. -Wilkinson's ayah suffered it to pass from her hands. - -For one whole morning the dirzee's scissors were nowhere to be found, -and a dirzee, minus his scissors, is as a dragon without his horse. - -Kadir Bux called upon all his gods to witness that he had left them in -his basket the previous day. Who, then, had taken them? At last, after -much loud talk, and an exhaustive search, the scissors were discovered -under a fashion book in the drawing-room, and, behold! there was a tiny -scrap of lemon satin stuck fast between the blades. - -Then the ayah, who had unearthed them, looked Angel straight in the -eyes, and cried, "O child of the devil!" - -But she put the tell-tale scrap into the cook-house fire,—and held her -tongue. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE PICNIC - - -THE ruthless destruction of Mrs. Dawson's dresses supplied a subject -for conversation, not merely in the station, but also in the "Burra -Bazaar," where the most private concerns of the sahibs, and mem-sahibs, -are openly debated and discussed. - -Speculation was active, but neither the station nor the bazaar could -hazard the vaguest conjecture, or trace even the ghost of a clue. - -The devil theory was dismissed with the contempt which it deserved; the -monkey suggestion was equally scorned, since the defamed ape was dead, -having departed this life two days previous to the outrage, and thereby -established an unimpeachable _alibi_. If not the monkey, who then? And -echo cried, Who? all over the arid, torpid cantonment. There was no -reply, and the destruction of Mrs. Dawson's Europe frocks, like one of -the historical crimes that have baffled humanity, remains undiscovered -until the present day. - -The next sensation was a moonlight picnic, given by the bachelors of -Ramghur; the rendezvous was the Chinglepat road five miles out, on a -low mound between the highway and the river. On the occasion the lady -moon appeared unusually large and brilliant, as if aware that she was -responsible for the feast; the night was still and breathless, but the -hock was still iced. Like most bachelor entertainments, the picnic was -a success; around and across the cloth flew corks, crackers, jokes, -and chaff; the poor hot-weather folk were eating, drinking, and making -merry just as if the thermometer did not stand at 98, and the merriest -and most animated member of the company was Mrs. Wilkinson. She wore a -charming white toilette, in which she totally eclipsed her rival, and -was not unconscious of the fact; but she was also aware at the back -of all her smiles that she herself was present entirely without her -doctor's knowledge, and felt like an escaped prisoner, who was bound -to be captured some day. But then she wanted so much to wear her new -dress. It was modelled from Mrs. Rattray's vivid description of one of -Mrs. Dawson's celebrated costumes, and was so exceedingly novel and -becoming that she felt it no more or less than her duty to exhibit this -ghost of a Paris toilette to her many admirers. To Mrs. Dawson it was -indeed a phantom frock. - -All the world knew that Mrs. Wilkinson was amazingly clever, but how -could she reproduce a garment which she had never seen? Here was yet -another mystery. Angela, who by all domestic laws should have been -in bed and asleep, had been permitted to join the company as Mr. -Gascoigne's guest, and was supremely happy. She wore her new hat, -lavishly trimmed with roses, and her best and simplest manners. Her -host had brought her in his cart; indeed, he now drove her out daily, -as he believed that it did the wan little creature good to get fresh -air, such as it was, and it afforded one means of removing her from her -stepfather's orbit. - -During these drives her cousin occasionally endeavoured in an awkward, -clumsy fashion to improve the young mind, which was at present "wax to -receive, and marble to retain;" his teaching was more adapted to a boy -than a girl. His lessons—a mere sentence—brief, but pithy, showed -her his abhorrence of lying, cowardice, and all mean actions. (Poor -Angel listened with a tingling face, for she lived in an atmosphere -of falsehood, and was conscious of certain small acts that were not -creditable, chiefly connected with jam, hair ribbons, and beads; but -in her heart Angel knew that she was no coward.) These seeds, casually -cast by the wayside, and as casually received, were planted, and -subsequently bore fruit, in the child's somewhat rocky little heart. - - * * * * * - -To return to the moonlight picnic. Colonel Wilkinson was present -in a grey dirzee-made flannel suit rather tight for his rounded -proportions; his moustache was waxed to exaggeration; he wore a new -pink washing tie, and he made himself conspicuous in ushering guests -to their places, arranging the viands, concocting the salad, and -distributing the iced hock—for he was always exceedingly hospitable -in other people's houses. At present the company were assembled under -the vault of heaven, but the stout little officer presided at the end -of the tablecloth, with his fat legs crossed Buddha-wise, carved the -cold Guinea fowl and ham, and pressed delicacies on his neighbours so -assiduously, that a casual arrival would have supposed that in him -he beheld the host. No one could be more genial or convivial at his -neighbour's board than Richard Wilkinson, Lieutenant-Colonel. - -Angel shared a rug with her mother, and now and then stole her hand -into hers and squeezed it gently, sure token of her absolute content; -the pair were seated exactly opposite to Mrs. Dawson, who looked -depressed and commonplace in an old-fashioned brown tussore garment. -The child contemplated her gravely, with a mysteriously complacent -expression in her large eyes; her stare exasperated the lady to such a -pitch that more than once she was on the point of addressing her; the -hot weather has a knack of warping people's tempers and reducing their -nerves to fiddle-strings, and the combination of Angel's curious gaze -and her mother's "model gown" was almost too much for Mrs. Dawson's -equanimity. - -After dinner there were songs and games, and some wandered away in twos -and threes down to the river. This was a tributary of Mother Gunga, a -holy river, now much shrunken; its waters moved along with a deliberate -solemnity befitting a sacred stream. The farther bank was clothed with -tall reeds, and was the well-known haunt of alligators. Mrs. Wilkinson -and Mr. Shafto were looking for one in company, and as they gazed up -and down the banks more than one grey log of wood had misled them. Had -Mrs. Wilkinson's doctor been of the party, he would have assured her -that in those thin shoes and transparent dress, as she stood breathing -malaria on the brink of the sluggish stream, she was boldly courting -death. - -"There are generally three or four big fellows at the bend," said -Shafto. "I've seen them when I come to that jheel to shoot snipe;" and -he stooped to pick up a stone. - -"Oh, Mr. Shafto," gasped an agonised voice, "did you see it?" - -"The alligator?" flinging a stone as he spoke. "Yes; there he goes. -Mark over. Watch him scuttling into the river." - -"No, no, no," stammered Mrs. Wilkinson. "The face—the face of a -woman—floating past. It was just under the water." - -"Why, I declare, you are quite upset!" exclaimed her companion. "I'm -most frightfully sorry you've seen—anything. Of course, you know that -the natives bring all their dead to the river?" - -"Yes, yes," she assented, with a shiver. "I've not lived in Ramghur for -four years for nothing; but it gave me a shock. It looked like the face -of—a white woman." - -"That was simply the effect of the moonlight," he responded. "Come -along; the river is making you morbid, and it's not a sound thing to -loiter near it after sundown—you know they say it's full of malaria. -Let me turn your thoughts inland. Now, there is something worth looking -at," and he pointed to the northern horizon, on which glimmered the -long line of snows. - -"Ah, yes," she ejaculated. "How I love the Himalayas! my happiest days -have been spent there, and my saddest. I wonder if I shall ever see -them nearer than I do now?" and she sighed profoundly. - -"Why, of course you will," rejoined Shafto promptly. "We shall all be -there next season, please goodness, and have a ripping time; and, I -say, Mrs. Wilkinson, at our first ball up there let me here and now -engage you for the first waltz." - -"Very well," she agreed, with a forced laugh; "it's rather a long way -ahead, is it not?" - -"Nothing like taking time by the forelock—a year soon runs round. Here -comes the Colonel," as the little squat figure bore down on them. - -"I say, you good people," he bawled, "what about refreshments? Does -anyone want some iced coffee? Lena, I can recommend the brew of iced -milk punch." - -His wife waved a negative, and then exclaimed, "Why, I see they are -beginning to go; the Gordons and the Rattrays are off." - -"What a shame!" protested her host. Yes, two carriages had just driven -away—people who are obliged to rise at four o'clock cannot afford -to keep late hours, and by half-past ten the scene of recent revelry -was utterly deserted. A family of jackals supped right royally on the -remains of the cold viands, and an inquisitive alligator gulped down an -empty soda-water bottle. - - * * * * * - -Angel, who was half-asleep, accompanied her mother in the victoria, and -Colonel Wilkinson accepted a seat in Mr. Gascoigne's dogcart. He was -by no means as stout-hearted as his figure would suggest, but held on -convulsively with one hand as they dashed up the bridge, and halted in -the middle of a sentence which he did not conclude until they were a -quarter of a mile away on the other side. - -He had been discoursing of his own health, and then of his wife's -health, and imparting his fears to his Jehu. - -"Lena was so delicate now, and so subject to fever," he declared. "She -has a weak heart, too, and must go to the hills next season; in fact, -they all wanted a change." - -"Indeed they do," assented Gascoigne, with considerable warmth, -"especially Angela. She is too old to be in India." - -"Then I wish I saw my way to sending her out of it," rejoined her -stepfather, "and the chance of never seeing her again." - -To this aspiration Gascoigne made no reply. - -"I suppose you think I'm a brute, now, don't you?" inquired his -companion. - -"Since you will have it, I think you are a stepfather—that's all." - -"But like a fellow in a story-book, eh? Come, now. Well, I'm an -honest, plain man"—the latter fact was sufficiently manifest—"and -I'll tell you the truth. I could have liked the child—not the same -way as my own, of course—but still well enough; and the only girl -too. But I cannot stand her; she is a double-faced, dangerous imp and -extraordinarily daring. When you think she is quiet and on her good -behaviour she is certain to be hatching something awful; she has a -talent for bringing off the most unexpected things. Ah, you laugh, but -I warn you, Gascoigne——" - -Here he paused, for the sensitive mare had taken fright at a hideous -hog, who, with his great bristles all erect, went grunting across the -road, and broke into a wild gallop. - -"Now, I say, young fellow," he shouted in agonised alarm, "no -foolery—no larking—don't let her get away, for God's sake! Remember, -I've a family depending on me," and as he spoke he clutched Gascoigne's -arm with the grip of the drowning. - -"Oh, you'll be all right," answered the driver, angrily shaking off the -grasp; "there's no fear." He was disgusted with his guest, for whose -cowardice and meanness he had the most supreme contempt. He did not -permit Sally to "get away," but he suffered her to go at a pace that -brought his companion's heart into his mouth, and, as a natural result, -the remainder of the drive was silence. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE BEQUEST - - -ALTHOUGH the temperature was that of a bake-house, and not a breath -of air stirred the drowsy bamboos, or the long seed-pods of the bare -acacias; yet, as Mrs. Wilkinson was driven homewards, her teeth -chattered, and her hands were as cold as ice—premonitory symptoms -of a severe attack of fever. Bitterly she now blamed herself for her -folly in lingering by the riverside, and she recalled what the river's -bosom carried with a gasping shudder. Was it a warning to her? No, no; -she was but nine-and-twenty—her life was not yet half spent. She drew -the sleeping child into her arms, and oh, how warm the little creature -felt, in her own deathly cold embrace! - - * * * * * - -In a day or two it became widely known that Mrs. Wilkinson was -dangerously ill—hers was no mere ordinary local fever, but a really -grave case. The doctor's closed gharry drove into the corner compound -three times a day; kind neighbours came late and early, bringing ice, -jelly, and all manner of delicacies, hoping to tempt the appetite of -the invalid, and to eke out Colonel Wilkinson's meagre catering. Mrs. -Rattray, who had no family cares, took up her post in the sick-room, -and relieved a trained nurse, whilst other ladies—and this is ever -an action of fatal significance—carried off the children with their -toys, ayahs, and sleeping-cots; but Angel ran home every night and lay -on the mat outside her mother's door. - -"If you move me, or touch me, I shall _scream_," such was her -diabolical threat, and as Angel was known to be a child of her word, -she was suffered to remain undisturbed. There she stayed, hour after -hour, wide awake, and motionless as a stone. In spite of all efforts -on the part of the doctor and nurses, the patient grew worse—the -fever, like an internal fire, seemed to consume the slender thread -of her existence. The verandah was now utterly deserted, even by the -dirzee; the plants were withered and black from want of water; insolent -crows promenaded over the matting, and the voices of the servants were -hushed. One could almost guess from the exterior of the premises that -the mistress of the house lay dying within. Colonel Wilkinson sat alone -in his dim little office; he had not the heart to read or write, or -even to tot up his accounts. An occasional low conference with Mrs. -Rattray or the doctor, and a spare and solitary meal, alone broke the -hot, heavy hours. - -These whisperings conveyed bad news; his wife's condition was extremely -grave, and he could not hold himself blameless. Instead of investing -those six thousand rupees in jute and cotton mills, he ought to have -sent her and her children to the hills. He was face to face with his -own conscience. He confessed to himself that he was too fond of money. -Was this a case of saving money and losing life? Remorse is a stern -acquaintance, and Colonel Wilkinson blamed himself bitterly. Sad to -relate, in spite of all these searchings of heart, such is the force -of habit, and so strongly was he held by the grasp of avarice, within -half an hour of his self-condemnation Colonel Wilkinson was out in the -compound announcing to the milkman "that, now the children were from -home, one measure was sufficient;" and he took the same opportunity of -informing his cook "that a _two_ anna chicken was ample for broth." - -That same evening the bulletin was more favourable; the patient -had recovered consciousness; she ceased to ramble about gores and -whalebone, dresses and debts; she slept for several hours, and in the -morning begged to see the children. Afterwards she talked for some time -with Colonel Wilkinson, and gave him two bills to settle—bills which -she would never have ventured to show him had she been in her normal -state of health. - -"Please pay these, Richard," she faltered; "they have been a terrible -nightmare on my mind for months." Colonel Wilkinson pooh-poohed the -accounts, and thrust them unexamined into his pocket. His spirits -rose—he became sanguine. He declared to Mrs. Rattray that "when Lena -could think of bills she was on the mend, and he was determined to -write for a house at Mussouri by the night's post (even now he grudged -a rupee or two for a telegram) and move her at once. She would be all -right as soon as she was out of Ramghur. All she wanted was a change." -In the midst of their conference, both Colonel Wilkinson and Mrs. -Rattray were a good deal taken aback by hearing the sick woman express -a desire to speak to Philip Gascoigne. - -"Gascoigne, my dear," expostulated her husband; "what an extraordinary -idea! Oh, you must not think of seeing him—it would be extremely bad -for you." - -"It will be worse for me if I do not see him," she answered, with an -unexpected force. "I have something to say to him; please do not worry, -but send for him at once." - -An invalid's whim must necessarily be humoured, and whilst her husband -went away to despatch a note, Lena Wilkinson desired her ayah to dress -her hair—yes, to get the irons and crimp and curl it, and then array -her in a pink satin tea-jacket, fasten a row of pearls round her -neck, and bring her her rings and bangles. Mrs. Rattray assisted at -this melancholy toilette; she was well aware of the patient's ruling -passion—a passion strong in death. There, in the open wardrobe from -which the ayah had brought the tea-jacket, hung rows of pretty gowns, -and conspicuous among them that copy of Mrs. Dawson's white silk which -she and Mrs. Wilkinson had manufactured with such mischievous enjoyment. - -As soon as the dressing up of the weak and gasping moribund was -concluded, when she was propped up with pillows, her fan and -handkerchief placed beside her, she faltered out: - -"Give me some of the medicine—a double dose—yes, and when Mr. -Gascoigne comes show him in at once." Then, as she looked at Mrs. -Rattray, "I wish to see him alone—on family business." - -"Cannot Colonel Wilkinson——" began her friend persuasively. - -But she cut her short with a quick gesture of dissent. - -"Very well, dear," agreed her nurse, "I will bring him in the moment he -arrives; but promise me not to talk much, or to let him stay more than -five minutes." - -"Oh, I promise nothing; it is for him to do that," panted the invalid. -"But I—won't keep him long." - -When the visitor, greatly bewildered, was ushered into a large darkened -room, with a slowly moving punkah, he was prepared to see a certain -change in his cousin Lena, but he was horrified when he beheld her, -half sitting up, arrayed in pink satin and pearls, her hair elaborately -dressed, her eyes glittering with fever—death in her face. Oh, why did -Mrs. Rattray lend herself to this frightful mockery? He glanced over at -that blameless lady, who obviously avoided his eye. - -"Well, Phil—so good of you to come," said the invalid in a weak voice. -"I'm a little better to-day, and I want so much to have a talk with -you." - -As she concluded, Mrs. Rattray, who had placed a chair for the visitor, -stole out on tip-toe, dropping the purdah softly behind her. - -"You should not talk, or see anyone, Lena," he protested, still -standing, "and I am not going to stay." - -"Oh, yes, just for a few minutes," she pleaded, laying a burning hand -on his wrist, "for I have something most urgent to say to you, and -until I say it I cannot rest in peace. It is about Angel; sit down, -won't you," pointing to the chair, "and where I can see you." - -Gascoigne obeyed her in silence. - -"Philip," she continued, gazing at him with her wonderfully eloquent -blue eyes, "I am—going to die." - -He raised his hand in a quick gesture of protest. - -"No," she resumed. "Listen—you can speak for the next forty years—I -shall be dumb for ever—in a few hours. Philip, I shall die happy—yes, -quite happy—if you will promise me one thing." - -He glanced at her, and bent his head. - -"Will you—take charge of Angel?" - -This request was succeeded by a silence only broken by the wheezy -creaking of the punkah rope. Philip Gascoigne was not naturally -impulsive, a promise from him carried its full weight. The singular -difference between Philip and his house-mate was this, that Shafto -performed less than he promised, whilst Gascoigne was ever better than -his word. He turned away his gaze from those two all-compelling tragic -eyes, looked down on the floor, and strove to rally his scattered -senses. He must immediately realise what this promise signified. It -meant that he should educate Angel, and become her guardian; there -was no one else to accept the post, as far as he could see. Tony's -relations had cast him off when he married; Lena was a penniless -orphan. There remained but Colonel Wilkinson. As he pondered the -question, the dying woman seemed to devour him with her eyes. At last -he looked up and met them steadily, and said: - -"Yes, Lena, I will." - -"I know I am asking an enormous favour," she whispered. "I am imposing -on your youth and generosity, but I am desperate, and to whom else -can I turn? You are the only Gascoigne I know, and you understand -that Richard and Angel could never live together. He detests her; she -loathes him. On the other hand—she loves you." - -Gascoigne was about to speak, but once more she prevented him. - -"It is a strange legacy to bequeath to a young man, and you are but -six-and-twenty, Phil—I am leaving in your charge a child of nine, -uneducated, undisciplined, and born and bred in India. But you are well -off—you have a private income, and she will not cost you much. Once -educated, she can earn her own living, and give you no more trouble—if -you will only tide her over the next seven years. Philip," she -continued in a louder voice, suddenly raising herself with an immense -effort, "if you will do this good action, I believe it will bring you a -great blessing—dying people see far, and I can see—that." - -Here she paused, and fell back on her pillows completely exhausted. - -"I will certainly carry out your wishes, Lena," he answered -impressively. "I will send Angel home, educate her, provide for her, -and watch over her always—or until she marries." - -"Oh, you dear, dear fellow!" sobbed Mrs. Wilkinson, with tears running -down her sunken cheeks. "Words cannot thank you—Angel will—give -you—deeds." - -"After all, she is my cousin, Lena—I have no belongings——" - -"No, not yet," interposed his listener; "and it is not to every man I -would trust the child; but you are honourable and high-minded—you -will be her big brother." - -"I will be her guardian; I am nearly twenty years older than she is." - -"Only seventeen, Philip," corrected his cousin. "Well, at any rate, -some day Angel will repay you—I feel an inspiration to tell you this." - -"But I don't want any payment, Lena." - -"You have lifted a load from my heart. It would have been impossible -for Angel to have remained with Richard; they are like fire and oil, -and what would have been her fate? Oh, Philip, it is such a tender -little heart, and how she will miss me! Poor Dick, he only sees -her faults, not her good qualities. She is strong-willed, jealous, -reckless, and revengeful, but she will do anything for love. She would -die for a person she loved. Remember that love is the key to her -nature, _never_ forget that. I may confess to you now that Angel is my -favourite child, my own little fluffy-haired baby; when we two were all -alone in the world, then she was all the world to me." - -"Lena," he said, suddenly leaning forward, and speaking with a touch of -passion in his voice, "you may rely on me—I will do all I can to make -her happy." - -"I know you won't be stern, Philip; you will make allowances for her -odd, wild ways; you will love her a little—and oh, do forgive me for -the charge I am laying on your young shoulders." - -"There is nothing to forgive—that's all nonsense, you know," he said. -"Anyway, I would have looked after Angel; I am her next of kin out -here." - -"Yes, poor darling; and only for you she would be destitute indeed. I -have nothing to leave her but these," and Mrs. Wilkinson touched, as -she spoke, her pearl necklace and bangles. "Her father was lavishly -extravagant and gave me this," indicating a splendid diamond ring, "and -though often hard up, I have never parted with it. I somehow felt that -Angel had a claim on it. Let her have it when she is eighteen." - -"Certainly," he answered; "but I trust you may live to wear it -yourself, Lena. Why should you not pull through?" - -"Oh, I don't know—I may—I may," she faltered; "but now I have -told you my wishes I will not keep you. Good-bye," and she held out -her hand, and as he took it she turned away her face and burst into -low, agonising sobs. She had entirely exhausted her last reserve of -strength. Mrs. Rattray now entered the room and beckoned the visitor -out, saying: - -"Lena is completely overwrought; she has been talking too long, but she -was so painfully anxious to see you—we could not refuse her." - -The trained nurse came forward, and as Mrs. Rattray dropped the -curtain before the door of the sick-room, she looked up at Gascoigne -interrogatively. - -"She wanted you to promise something," she said. - -"Yes; if she should die, I am going to take charge of Angel." - -The lady's face expressed the blankest amazement. - -"You," she repeated—"you. Why, you are only a boy yourself." - -"I am six-and-twenty, and seventeen years older than the child—a -pretty good start." - -"Yes, now; but not much of a start when she grows up—and girls grow up -so fast, once they enter their teens." - -"At present Angel is in single figures," he rejoined, "and small for -her age—I think I shall be able to look after her." - -"Well, I must say you are very generous," exclaimed Mrs. Rattray, "and -I'm sure you have set poor Lena's mind at rest. I admire you—no, you -need not blush—for your Quixotism, but I think you have undertaken a -thankless and a dangerous task." - -With these words Mrs. Rattray once more raised the purdah and -disappeared. In the drawing-room Gascoigne found Angel all alone; her -eyes looked dim; they had great purple marks round them, the result of -weeping and wakefulness. Her wan little face seemed smaller than ever, -but it was calm and tearless. - -She stood for a moment gazing intently at her cousin, and nursing her -elbows, a favourite attitude. At last she said: - -"Cousin Philip, do you think she is going to die?" Her face convulsed -as she asked the question, but she went on, "Answer me as if I were -grown up." - -"I hope not," he replied; "your mother is very ill still, but a shade -better than she was yesterday. We will hope for the best. Would you -care to come out with me for a little turn?" - -But Angel shook her head impatiently, and darted away out of sight. - - * * * * * - -That same evening Mrs. Wilkinson gave Mrs. Rattray full elaborate -directions respecting her funeral, and the children's mourning, -no black except sashes—they had ribbon of the exact width at -Narainswamy's—she hated the idea of a shroud, and desired to be buried -in a white dress, "_the_ white dress," she added, "since in it I caught -my death." - -All these injunctions, delivered in a low voice and quiet, every-day -manner, were a severe ordeal for her friend. Presently, when Colonel -Wilkinson came in to say good-night, he was bidden a solemn good-bye. -He was much startled, agitated, and shaken, and broke down completely. -Then her mother sent for Angel, who ran in in stockinged feet, climbed -on the bed, and threw her arms tightly about her, as if she would never -release her again. - -"Oh, my own poor baby," murmured the sick woman, "I am going—to leave -you." - -"No, mummy," she returned breathlessly; "no, no, never!" - -"I can only talk to you a little, darling, and you must listen to every -word I say," urged her mother in a whisper. "Philip will take care of -you—I have given you to him. He has promised to send you to England -and have you educated. Never forget how generous this is—always obey -him and be good. I have promised for you—I want you to be so happy." - -"And oh, mummy, I only want to go with you!" was the answer in a -smothered voice. - -"You will try and overcome your faults, darling—and be good for my -sake—won't you?" - -"I'll be good—I'll be anything," she wailed, "only don't leave me! -Oh, mummy, mummy!" and the child clung tightly to the dying woman, and -broke into hard, dry sobs. - -"Very well, darling, you shall stay," and her mother put her arm round -her as she spoke; "no one shall separate us—yet." - -Colonel Wilkinson was much disturbed and incensed when he heard that, -whilst he had been dismissed with a few hurried sentences, Angel had -been suffered to pass the night on her mother's bed. - -Worn out with watching and grief, the little creature had fallen into -the deep sleep of utter exhaustion, and was barely conscious as Mrs. -Rattray took her in her arms and carried her away. - -When the fierce May sun rose and glared down into the corner bungalow, -Angela's mother still slumbered—but hers was the sleep of death. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A CHALLENGE - - -THUS ended the butterfly career of pretty Lena Wilkinson, who looked -surprisingly fair and girlish, as she lay with her hands crossed on -her heart, surrounded by white flowers. She had passed at dawn; sunset -witnessed her interment, and a considerable company—in fact, the whole -station—followed the coffin, which was covered with pale blue and -silver, by the dead woman's particular desire. The ground in the arid -cemetery was almost as hard as rock, and the _cortège_ was compelled -to halt for a time, whilst the grave was made ready and enlarged. -What a depressing scene for a newly-arrived exile! The brick-coloured -ground, weather-stained headstones, haggard clergyman, and wan-faced -assembly—the gay and glittering coffin waiting till inhospitable alien -soil was prepared to receive it. Over all was the stare of a triumphant -red sun, sinking slowly into the arms of a tropical night. - -At last the service was concluded, and whilst the earth was noisily -flung upon the blue and silver coffin and the mourners were dispersing, -the station cynic, as he walked towards the gate, pronounced the -epitaph of the deceased: - -"Poor Mrs. Wilkinson, she was like some delicate flower without -perfume, and as she never did anything bad, she will soon be forgotten." - -A few days after the funeral Colonel Wilkinson was faintly surprised -to receive a visit from Philip Gascoigne. After one or two commonplace -remarks, the latter explained his errand. - -"I came to speak to you about Angel," he said. "I do not know if Lena -told you that I am to take charge of her." - -"By Jove! No, not a word," rejoined the widower, and his eyes -glistened. "Man alive, you don't mean that you are in _earnest_?" - -"Yes," assented his visitor; "I propose to educate her, and as soon as -I can find a school and a travelling companion, to send her to England." - -"Uncommonly handsome of you, I must say," exclaimed her stepfather. "It -will cost you a couple of hundred a year." - -"Then you are satisfied that I relieve you of the child?" continued -Gascoigne, ignoring the money question. - -"Satisfied," repeated his host; "satisfied, my dear fellow, -is not the word that expresses my feelings—devoutly -thankful—happy—enchanted—is more like it. My poor wife and I never -agreed about the child. I may say that she was the only subject on -which we ever disagreed. From my point of view she is a headstrong, -malicious little devil, who cannot be trusted her own length—you never -know what mine she will explode on you! My poor Lena held another -opinion, and believed her to be 'a little saint.'" - -"Perhaps she is something between the two extremes," suggested her -cousin drily. - -His companion's answer was a doubtful grunt, as he paced the room -tugging at his moustache. "I've been making plans," he resumed, now -pointing to a table littered with letters and officials; "I've decided -to chuck the service. This has been a great blow, and sickened me with -India. How can I soldier, and lug a family about with me? I shall go -and settle on my own property in New Zealand. Of course, I am bound to -marry again—this seems a heartless thing to say, and Lena only dead -a week, but what am I to do with all the children? It is a necessity -from a common-sense point of view—a housekeeper and a governess would -entail no end of bother and er—er——" - -"Expense," suggested his companion sarcastically. - -"Expense! Just so," seizing the word, "and I've been wondering what -I'm to do with Angel, badgering my brains with all sorts of schemes, -when in you walk and take her off my hands. It seems almost like a -miracle—the interposition of Providence," he added piously; "and now I -understand why Lena was so anxious to see you." - -"Yes; it was to talk about Angel, and tell me her wishes respecting -her." - -"And what were they?" - -"That I was to be her guardian, and have absolute control over the -child," replied the young man. "I intend to educate and provide -for her. Oh yes, by the way, her mother wished her to have all her -jewellery." - -"All her jewellery!" repeated Colonel Wilkinson. "Oh, I don't know -about that! I believe it is my property in the eye of the law—there -was no will, you see." - -"But you have no girls, and at least you will scarcely care to keep -what Angel's father gave her mother?" - -"I suppose you mean the diamond ring?" stammered Colonel Wilkinson, a -little cowed by the young man's manner. "Well, I'll think it over; but -look here, Gascoigne, I'm a firm believer in pen and ink; would you -mind writing me a letter, a formal letter, to say that you propose to -relieve me from all charges or responsibilities connected with Angela -Gascoigne?" - -"Certainly, with pleasure; and on your side, I shall expect you to hand -me over any jewellery that belonged to her mother—at least, before she -became your wife." - -"Um," grunted Colonel Wilkinson, "that ring is rather a big thing. -I've had it valued, and it's worth a hundred pounds." He took another -turn to the end of the room and back, then he halted in front of his -visitor and said, ungraciously, "Well, it's a bargain—you can have the -ring, and all the bangles, too; it's a cheap exchange for your written -agreement to rid me of a plague." - -Philip Gascoigne experienced a most disagreeable sensation; he felt -precisely as if he had just purchased the child for a hundred pounds. -He instantly rose to end the interview, and said, "I will send you the -document as soon as I go home." - -"And when will you be prepared to take over charge?" inquired the -anxious stepfather. - -"Whenever I can make arrangements for her passage." - -"And mourning," supplemented the other sharply; "you will provide -mourning, of course?" - -"Yes; Mrs. Rattray will perhaps undertake her outfit for me. There is a -good deal to be done—we must wait until after the monsoon has broken; -but I think I can promise you that in six weeks you will have seen the -last of Angela." - -"Thank God!" was the fervent rejoinder; "that will suit me down to -the ground. I won't be moving until the cold weather, not for several -months. I say, you won't forget the document, like a good fellow? Oh, -must you go? I say, have a lime and soda? No, by the way, we are out -of soda-water. Well, then, good-bye—I've a heap of business to get -through—you know your way out? Ta, ta." - -As the visitor was about to cross the verandah a little figure issued -from a side door, and sprang on him and seized his arm in her grasp. -"I've been waiting for you for ages, Phil. Why did you stay with him so -long?" - -"I've been telling Colonel Wilkinson that you are to be my charge, -Angel," responded her cousin, "and that in a few weeks' time I hope to -send you to England." - -"And how much are you to pay?" she demanded bluntly. - -"Pay," repeated the young man; "why should I pay anything?" - -"Because he never gives without something in exchange." Angel had a -bad opinion of her fellow-creatures, and a piercing eye for a hidden -motive. "What do you think Ayah Anima is doing now by his orders?" - - "She gave them some broth without any bread, - She whipped them——" - -"No," interrupting the quotation with angry emphasis, "but selling all -my mummy's pretty frocks and hats in the patchery and bazaar! She is -taking them round among the soldiers' wives in barracks, _now_." - -Gascoigne made no comment on this pitiful illustration of Colonel -Wilkinson's thrift; in his mind's eye, he already beheld various -reproductions of Mrs. Wilkinson at band and race meeting. - -He diplomatically opened a fresh subject by asking, "How will you like -to go to England, Angel?" - -"Oh, I shall be glad to get away from hateful Ramghur," she answered, -"but dreadfully sorry to leave you. I've no one but you now—have I, -Phil?" - -"Oh, you'll make heaps of friends when you get home," was his evasive -reply. - -"Who is to take me to England?" she asked sharply. - -"I'm not certain," he replied, "and I've not had time to make -inquiries, but perhaps Mrs. Dawson." - -"Mrs. Dawson," she echoed with an odd, elfish laugh; "she does not -like me—lots of people don't like me, cousin Phil," and she looked at -him wistfully—such a frail, friendless little creature, his heart was -filled with pity as he answered: - -"I like you, Angel—that is something to begin with? Would you care to -come over and have tea with us this afternoon at four o'clock?" - -"Oh yes, yes!" dancing up and down as she gleefully accepted; "and may -I pour it out?" - -"You may, if we can raise a small teapot. Now there's the bell; run -away to your dinner." - -A proud, not to say puffed-up, child was that which ran across to the -big bungalow in a newly starched frock and wide black sash. In the -verandah Angel found the two young men, who welcomed her cordially, -and made her sit between them and pour out tea. And what a pouring out -it was; what a slopping of milk it entailed, a dropping of the lid -of the teapot into the sugar-basin, and a spoon into the hot water! -Hosts and guest made tea and made merry together. There was a cake, -too, in which "the three" evinced a profound interest, and Angel -chattered incessantly to them and to her companions. Her satisfaction -was complete when she was conducted all over the premises and into the -stables, where Sally Lunn condescended to eat a piece of sugar-cane -from her hand. This visit was the precursor of many. Angel was accorded -the freedom of the bungalow, and spent many happy hours within its -walls, looking at pictures, making tea, or mending gloves for her -bachelor hosts. - -Discipline at home was considerably relaxed. Colonel Wilkinson was -feverishly busy making ready for his move, and Great Sale, getting old -furniture re-covered, glued up, and varnished. Already the catalogue -was in the printer's hands, and the adjectives "splendid," "unique," -"handsome," and "magnificent" were in extraordinary prominence. - -Thanks to the preparations, which were going forward, Angel was spared -to her neighbours for many an afternoon. She was not a tiresome child, -as Shafto freely admitted; she was noiseless, the dogs liked her, the -bearer tolerated her, and when Gascoigne was absent she was content to -curl herself up in a chair with a book or a stocking. - -Whenever he could afford time her cousin treated her to a drive; but in -these, the last days of a truly fearful hot season, driving had ceased -to be a joy. All the world was waiting for the rains, and gazing with -strained expectation at the great bank of black clouds to the westward, -on which the sheet lightning danced every night in dazzling diagrams. -This cloud-bank coming nearer, oh, so slowly! embodied the longed-for -rains. - -For advice and guidance respecting his new charge, her cousin repaired -to Mrs. Rattray. Mrs. Rattray had been Mrs. Wilkinson's friend, and she -was a kind-hearted, practical woman. There were other ladies who would -gladly have advised the inexperienced young guardian, but he did not -believe in a multitude of counsellors. - -Mrs. Gordon was charming, but she was too young—a mere girl herself! -Mrs. Dawson did not care for children, and was alarmingly stiff and -formal; so when it was possible he snatched half-an-hour in order -to confer with Mrs. Rattray over letters and telegrams, and matters -connected with Angel's passage, outfit, and destination. - -Late one afternoon he called on this lady by appointment. Angel was -with him when he drove up to the Rattrays' neat bungalow, which stood -back from the road in a small enclosure, full of pretty shrubs and -flowering trees. It had two gates, both opening into the principal -thoroughfare in Ramghur. - -"I'm going in here, Angel," announced her cousin. "I won't be more than -ten minutes, and you can wait in the cart." - -"All right," she assented, but tendering two eager hands; "may I hold -the reins?" - -"Very well; but only for show, mind," he said as he relinquished them. -"Promise me you won't attempt to drive." - -"Yes, I'll promise," she assented reluctantly, for she had entertained -a glorious vision of trotting out at one gate, and whirling in at the -other. - -With a brief order to the syce to remain at Sally's head, Gascoigne -went indoors. He had come to decide finally the choice of school for -Angel. - -Mrs. Rattray could hardly restrain a smile, as she sat _vis-à-vis_ to -this good-looking young bachelor, who, with his elbows on the table and -his hands in his hair, was anxiously comparing two prospectuses. It was -really astonishing how soon he had accommodated himself to his novel -situation. - -"I must say it is very good of you to adopt——" - -"Don't!" he protested, raising his hand. "Please, Mrs. Rattray—every -second person I meet tells me the same thing—it is not." - -"Very well," she interrupted; "then I will tell you something you have -not heard yet. I think you are rashly adventurous." - -"I don't see that at all," he replied. - -"You will find that Angela requires a strong hand—she is not the least -like any child I've ever known. I've not known many intimately—it is -true. She will soon pick up an education at home, for she is quick and -bright; but she has another education to forget, the education she has -acquired out here from servants." - -"Oh, she's bound to forget that," said her cousin. - -"Is she?" rejoined the lady doubtfully; "I hope so. Now I wonder if you -even faintly realise what you have undertaken?" - -"I am not sure that I have come down to the bedrock of my -responsibilities—but I will do my best." - -"Of course, I know that," said the lady. "But pray bear in mind that it -is not a stray pony or a lost dog to whom you are playing Providence. -You have assumed the charge of a human life, a child with a strange -nature, and who will be an extraordinary woman some day." - -"Yes; but at present the woman, thank Heaven, is in the far-away -future, and I have only to do with a child." - -"I hope Angel will never give you reason to regret your generosity." - -"I'm sure she will be all right. You make far too much of the business. -I'm only sending my poor cousin's little orphan to school. She will -turn out well, if she falls into good hands," and here he held up -several letters and said: "It is for you to choose to whose keeping I -entrust her." - -In the meantime the subject of this conversation sat in the cart -outside, enormously impressed by the importance of her position. To -other children who passed the gate she nodded with an air of splendid -condescension; they stared and stared and looked back enviously at the -little Gascoigne girl all alone in a dogcart, holding the reins. Truly, -these were some of Angela's proudest moments. - -But one acquaintance, a bare-legged, freckled boy, in a striped cotton -suit, boldly walked up the drive between the shrubs, and proceeded to -interview little Gascoigne. This intruder was Toady Dodd, a youth of -eight, son of an impecunious house, and Angel's mortal enemy. - -"Hullo!" he shouted, standing with hands in pockets and legs wide -apart; "what a swell we are, cocked up there!" - -"Yes—miles up above you," she retorted sharply; "run away and steal -some more macaroons," a malicious reminder of some past evil deed. - -"Are you going to drive?" he inquired, calmly ignoring the rude -suggestion, "or are you just there for show?" - -Angel gave a brief nod. - -"_What_ a show!" cried Toady, cutting a caper, and making a series of -hideous grimaces. Angel now leant over and lifted the whip out of its -socket, and began to handle it significantly. - -"You're afraid to drive, ain't you?" he screamed. No reply; his -adversary was far too proud to record her promise. - -"Drive out of the gate and back," urged the tempter, "and I'll never -say you're a coward again." - -"I'm not a coward, you ugly, freckled toad," she screamed. "If you -don't mind, I shall hit you with the whip." - -"First catch me," he shouted derisively, executing a war dance just out -of reach. Come now—I dare you—dare you—to hit the horse." - -To touch Sally with the whip was not driving, argued the child with -herself; and consumed by a feminine desire to show off, and exasperated -by her tormentor, with a force really intended for _him_, she brought -the lash suddenly down on Sally's shining flank. - -Instantly there was a vicious bang against the splash-board; Angel -felt herself shot into the air, and remembered no more. The shrieks -of Toady, the yells of the syce, and the sound of thundering hoofs -summoned Gascoigne to the steps. There he saw the syce picking himself -up with great care, he saw a white bunch and two black legs in the -middle of a croton bush, he saw a great cloud of dust flying down the -road—and that was all! He ran to the shrub and disentangled Angel, -who had gone in head foremost and was merely stunned and speechless. -The servant, however, found his tongue, when he discovered that his -injuries were not mortal. - -"Missy Baba—beating with whip—horse done gone!" - -Such was his brief explanation. - -Meanwhile the real cause of all the mischief lurked under a great -creeper, and remained a palpitating spectator of the scene. As soon -as Angel had recovered her senses she began to exculpate herself in -sobbing gasps, "Oh, Philip, I didn't drive—I did _not_ drive. I only -touched Sally with the whip." And she burst into a storm of tears, -whilst the syce ran limping out, in order to raise the station and -catch the runaway. - - * * * * * - -It was in a second-class "fitton" that Angel returned home. A fitton -is a ramshackle phaeton, drawn by a pair of bony ponies, and a -second-class fitton is precisely what it claims to be. From this lowly -equipage the delinquent was delivered over to her ayah, who awaited -her on the verandah with stolid dignity. - -"And the dogcart and big horse," she cried, "what hath befallen -them?" But Miss Gascoigne merely shrugged her shoulders and stalked -off into her own apartment. Her cousin did not escape so easily; he -had dismissed the conveyance, and was proceeding on foot, when he -encountered his chum. - -"I say, where are Sally and the trap?" asked Shafto. - -"I've no notion," he answered; "in Jericho, for all I know." - -"But," pulling up, "I say—bar jokes." - -"Oh, yes, I bar jokes," agreed Gascoigne; "I left Angel holding the -reins when I was in at the Rattrays'. I heard a scrimmage, and when -I ran out Angel was in the bush, the syce on his back, and Sally was -nowhere. I believe the child touched her with the whip—at any rate, -she went through the station like greased lightning." - -"Great Scotland!" ejaculated his friend, "and with the cart at her -heels—a mare that is worth a thousand rupees, and the trap new from -Dykes' last season. So much for Angel! Has she broken her neck?" - -"No, but she is breaking her heart, poor little soul." - -"Odious little beast, she has no heart to break—that's where you make -a mistake. Where are you off to?" - -"To send out all the syces in the place to chase Sally—she went -towards the railway." - -"Oh, I'll run her down; but, mind you, Phil, next time you see her -she'll have broken knees," and with this agreeable prophecy he galloped -away. There was no sign of Sally all that night, but various rumours -respecting her were afloat in the Club. One lady had seen a ghostly -horse and trap dash up at her door at dark, and when a servant ran to -the steps the horse had wheeled sharp round, plunged through a low -hedge, cart and all, and vanished. - -Later, an empty vehicle and a galloping steed had been viewed beyond -the jail. At eight o'clock the next morning the syce reappeared with -a quadruped said to be the runaway animal, coated from head to tail -with sweat and red dust; her very eyes were half closed. Who could -believe that this dirty, demoralised, limping creature was smart Sally -Lunn? Yet it was Sally, and, marvellous to relate, her knees were -unblemished. She had been captured five miles out in the open country -on her back in a dry nullah, with the trap under her. The shattered -remains of the vehicle followed soberly on the Ryot's bullock cart—it -was minus a wheel, a shaft, also mats, lamps, cushions, but these were -subsequently collected in various parts of the cantonment—and their -owner came to the conclusion that he had got out of the business far -better than he expected. Sally was terribly nervous and wild for weeks; -the cart was despatched to Lucknow to be repaired—and there were no -more drives for Angel. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -WHO IS SHE? - - -THE monsoon had broken at last, and the rain descended and the floods -came in drenching sheets. Red plains sprang to life, and became a -delicate green, frogs croaked hilariously, snakes were washed out of -their holes, sickly vegetation revived as if touched by some magician's -wand, and all the oleanders were in flower. - -During the long, wet days, when nullahs were racing torrents and the -avenue a running stream—a joy to the ducks—Angel was constantly to -be found at the big bungalow, playing the _rôle_ of _enfant de la -maison_. She was permitted to wander through the empty rooms, and to -amuse herself to her heart's content. Her guardian was a good deal from -home; since the first burst of the rains had sorely tried the piers of -the new bridge over the Ram Gunga, every morning at an early hour he -wrapped himself in a mackintosh and leggings, mounted his horse, and -splashed away. Even in the afternoons Shafto and Angel frequently had -the premises to themselves; the former took but scant notice of his -companion, for ever since the "Sally episode" she had been unpardoned -and in his black books. - -One afternoon he was enjoying a lazy spell, a sporting paper and -a cheroot, in the verandah; the "Imp," as he mentally called her, -was presumably amusing herself in the interior with the dogs or -the bearer's little girl—or both. He had, in fact, forgotten her -existence, and was absorbed in the weights for the Leger, when three -cold, moist fingers were laid on his cheek, and between his eyes and -the printed page was thrust a large photograph. - -Naturally he started, exclaimed, and stared. Then he became conscious -that he was looking at the charming picture of a beautiful girl of -nineteen, with glorious eyes and a faint but bewitching smile. Shafto, -the ever-susceptible, seized the portrait in both hands and examined -it exhaustively. It had something to say for itself, too; across one -corner was inscribed, in a dashing calligraphy, the name "Lola." He -continued to study the face with a puzzled air, then turned and stared -at the child interrogatively. - -Was this one of her mother's friends? To the best of his recollection, -he had never seen the face in Mrs. Wilkinson's drawing-room. - -"Do you think she is pretty?" inquired Angel eagerly, as she met his -glance. - -"Ra—ther," was his emphatic reply. "But who is she?—where the dickens -did you unearth her?" - -"In Philip's room," was the unexpected response. "Oh, you need not -look so shocked, Mr. Billy Shafto," she cried audaciously; "I've not -stolen it! I was only searching for some paper to draw on—he generally -has lots—and I opened his shabby old leather box and found some. Two -lovely bits of cardboard, and in the middle—between them—this. Who -is she, do you know? Do you think—he is in love with her?" she asked -anxiously. - -"I'll tell you what I do think," said Shafto, suddenly sitting erect, -"I think you ought to be well whipped." - -Angel's pale face became pink to the roots of her hair. - -"How dare you go and pry among Mr. Gascoigne's papers," he resumed, -"you infernal little monkey? You are a horrid, sneaking, sly little -imp." - -"But what have I done?" she protested in a shrill key. "I was only -looking for something to draw on—and why shouldn't he have _one_ lady, -when you have eleven in your room? Yes, all in frames, and two of Mrs. -Giddy on your writing-table." - -This was carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance! -For a moment her companion, who was now at boiling-point, struggled -desperately for composure and speech. At last he said with an effort: - -"You just march back at once and put that photograph where you found -it." - -As he spoke he drew the silver paper carefully over the face, as if -he would hide Philip's sweetheart from the elf's prying eyes. Angel -snatched it out of his hand with a jerk, and walked away without one -word; but she deliberately studied the photograph till she learnt the -face by heart. She learnt something more also, for as she replaced it, -on its original wrapping she read on the paper in the same bold scrawl, -"To Phil—with Lola's love." - -So that was Philip's secret, thought Shafto; that was Philip's -lady-love, who, by all accounts, had chucked him. She had a lovely -face, a haunting face; what bad luck for poor old Phil!—and that -meddlesome imp had discovered his hidden skeleton, had dragged it -forth into daylight, and possibly exhibited it all round the servants' -quarters, and finally come to him and asked in her little fluting -voice, "_Who is she?_" - -And here came Phil at last, in dripping condition on a dripping -horse—what a pair of drowned rats! - -As soon as he had changed his clothes Gascoigne appeared in the -verandah, looked about, and said: - -"Hullo, where is Angel? I thought she was coming over to make tea?" - -"Oh, she has been here all right enough," rejoined his comrade grimly; -"very much here. I believe she has departed. I saw her flying across -the compound just now. Phil, that child, instead of making tea, has -been making hay in your room." - -"Oh, has she?" he responded carelessly, as he lit a cheroot. "Well, she -can't do much harm there." - -"I'm not so sure of that," retorted Shafto with tragic significance. -"She found the photograph of one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen, -and brought it out for information—awfully keen to know all about it." - -Gascoigne jumped up suddenly, and took the cigar out of his mouth. His -face was stern as he looked fixedly at his friend. - -"Billy, this is some of your chaff." - -"I swear it's not," protested Shafto forcibly. "That prying imp was -rooting in your despatch box. Ah!" he concluded in a significant -undertone, as Gascoigne hurriedly left him. - -After a short absence his friend returned, and resumed his seat without -one word. - -"I made her put it back," continued his companion. "I always knew that -you'd be let in by that child, somehow." - -"No," rejoined the other; "I let myself in—as you call it." - -"You can't deny that she has made a rather brilliant beginning. -Smashing up a new dogcart, unearthing your most sacred possession, and -flaunting it round the house. What on earth are you going to do with -her?" - -"I'm going to send her to school next week." - -"And afterwards?" - -"She will make her home with some nice family." - -"Nice prospect for the nice family," remarked Shafto. "And after she -has quite done with the nice family?" - -"That is far enough ahead," replied Gascoigne with a touch of -impatience. "Angel won't be grown up for years, and we may all be dead -by that time." - -"Now, I call that a really cheerful way of looking at it. One thing is -certain, whoever is dead, Angel won't weep. She has no more heart than -a paving-stone." - -"Why do you say that?" demanded her cousin quickly. - -"Simply because it is patent to all the world that she has forgotten -her mother already. She never mentions her name——" - -"That does not matter—that is no sign," argued her champion; "she -thinks more of her mother than the whole Wilkinson family put together. -The other morning, when there was a break in the rains and I was out -early, I saw a small figure staggering over towards the cemetery, -carrying a pot as large as herself. I kept behind, of course, and did -not let her see me; it was Angel, taking a plant to her mother's grave. -There's no stone up yet." - -"No, nor ever will be," supplemented Shafto. - -"The cemetery is more than a mile away," continued Gascoigne; "so you -will allow that it was rather a big job for a child of her age." - -"Oh, yes," admitted her implacable adversary; "Angel's jobs are -generally on a large scale." - -"She steals off every morning almost before light," resumed her -defender. - -"What is the ayah about, to allow her to prowl at such an hour?" - -"Oh, the ayah allows her to go her own way now; she can't control her," -confessed her cousin. - -"No, nor anyone else," muttered Shafto. "Look here," he added suddenly, -"I'll tell you something, Phil. That child is going to be a beauty." - -"Nonsense—not she. You are mad about beauty," rejoined his friend -contemptuously. - -"Yes, she is, and something out of the ordinary, too, if I am any -judge. This, I imagine, will complicate matters. Oh, my poor old boy, I -wouldn't be in _your_ shoes for a thousand pounds!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -ANGEL IMPARTS A SECRET - - -IT was the evening before Angel's departure for England. Her -luggage was carefully labelled, her roll of wraps was strapped, all -arrangements were complete. She was to travel under the neatly trimmed -wing of Mrs. Dawson, leaving Ramghur at dawn. Gascoigne had intended -accompanying his charge to Bombay, but duty could not spare him—no, -not even to escort her to the railway station; he had just received an -urgent telegram which called him away that night, and had walked over -to take leave of Angel, followed by the three. They were all pacing up -and down Colonel Wilkinson's desolate verandah, the man and child side -by side, the dogs in close attendance. It was a cool evening in the -rains, and the sun had recently set in a blaze of dramatic magnificence. - -"Now, Angel," said the young man after a short silence, "you are going -to be a credit to me, I know." - -"Yes, I am," she answered with superb self-confidence; "I'll do -anything you like, only tell me what I am to do." - -"Think three times before you speak," he suggested. - -"Oh, I shall hate that," she rejoined with a shrug. - -"But you know you often blurt out things that you really don't mean, -and that get you into trouble." - -"Um—yes," she admitted with a pout, "and what else?" - -"Never be afraid to speak the truth." - -"I'm not—not a little bit," she proclaimed. - -"Mind you stick to that—it's more than most of your elders can say. -You will write to me every week, and let me know how you get on?" - -"Yes; and you will answer my letters—they will be the only ones I -shall get." - -"You may be sure I shall write, and the dogs, too; they shall send you -their photographs." - -"Oh, Philip," she exclaimed, "how I wish you were coming home before -two long years! I shall mark off the weeks till I see you, beginning -to-morrow; and I'll save up every single one of my secrets to tell you." - -"I don't think they will give you much trouble." - -"Oh, won't they? I know quantities of secrets. Shall I tell you one -now?" - -"Yes, if you like," he rejoined indifferently, "as long as it is your -own property; I don't want to listen to other people's affairs." - -"But this one is my own, my very own—Philip. You must promise me not -to tell anyone _ever_." - -"How solemn and important you look!" he laughed; "what can this mighty -secret be? Yes, I see you are panting to tell me—I promise. Now for -it." - -"Then listen," she began mysteriously, "no—first come inside," and she -beckoned him to follow her into the drawing-room; then she ran to the -different half-doors and peeped furtively around, whilst her cousin -waited to hear the important disclosure with an expression of amused -toleration. What a little actress she was, darting about from door to -door! At last she came up to him, looked him straight in the face, -folded her hands, and said in a voice that quivered with triumph: - -"It was _I_—who cut up Mrs. Dawson's dresses." - -"What do you say?" gasped her companion, staring incredulously into the -small white face. - -"She wouldn't let me go home with her, if she knew, would she?" and -Angel cracked the joints of all her fingers, native style, as if she -were letting off a succession of squibs. - -"You are not in earnest, Angel?—not about the dresses?" he -expostulated, with bated breath. - -"But I am," she retorted sharply; "she never asked mother to see -them—and mother cried. So I just took the dirzee's scissors and -ran out in the dusk," illustrating the action with her skinny arms, -"through your compound; then I crawled into Mrs. Dawson's verandah—I -believe the chokedar took me for a dog. No one else was watching—I -stole into her room and just cut everything to pieces. Oh, my, it was -fun—snipping the feathers, tearing the _crêpe_, and hacking away at -the satin. You should have seen the room. I was very sorry for the -pretty things—but I had to do it, and all quick, quick as lightning, -for of course if Mrs. Dawson had caught me she would have killed me. -Then I crept out, and got behind a pillar and away into the shadows, -through a hole in the wall, and home." She paused breathless with -exultation, and her listener, as he scrutinised the small, ruthless -countenance, began to realise that his responsibilities were heavier -than he anticipated, and that there was more of the imp than the angel -in his little ward. - -"Why do you look so queer?" she cried suddenly. "I only did it because -I loved my mummy; I would do as much for _you_ to-morrow. Why don't you -speak?—are you shocked?" - -"Yes—I should think I was. I am wondering what your mother would have -said to this," he demanded sternly. - -"Oh, mummy would have scolded and pretended to be angry," she answered, -with an air of serene conviction, "but in her heart all the time she -would be _so_ glad." - -And as she pronounced this opinion, she nursed her elbows and nodded -her head reassuringly. - -"Well, Angel," said her cousin after a painful silence, "I would not -have believed this story from any lips but your own. I can hardly -credit what you tell me. I am sorry to find that you are different to -what I thought you were, a mischievous, vindictive, cunning child." - -For an instant the little culprit looked stunned, as if she could not -believe her ears. - -"Oh, Phil!" she cried in a voice of intense anguish. "Don't say it—I'm -not—I'm not—and I'm going away to-morrow, and you are angry with me. -Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?" - -And she wrung her tiny hands in a wild frenzy of grief. - -"It is certainly time you went home, Angel," he returned steadily, -"and if you love me, as you say, I implore you to play no more of -these monkey tricks. I hate treacherous, underhand ways. Think of all -the damage you did. You destroyed what must have cost a great deal of -money." - -"But, Phil, you don't understand," she pleaded, and tears rained down -her face; "I did all for mummy, my own mummy, and now"—her voice -rising to a wail—"she is dead, and you are angry—oh, what shall I do, -what shall I do?" - -She flung herself downwards on the sofa in the abandonment of her -grief, and buried her head in the cushion. - -"Come now, Angel," said her cousin, stooping over her, "don't cry like -this—your secret has given me an unexpected shock, and shown me a side -of your character that—frightens me—but," as her sobs shook her, "sit -up and dry your eyes, little girl. As this is our last evening, I will -say no more. You will be good, won't you?" he whispered, stroking her -hair. - -"Yes, yes, if you will love me," and she raised herself and looked at -him with piteous, entreating eyes. - -"All right, then," he agreed, "that's a bargain. I will love you if you -are good. Hullo, here comes Colonel Wilkinson." - -"Oh, then," starting up, "we must say good-bye." Gascoigne sat down -beside the child, and was about to stoop and kiss her, when she flung -her arms round his neck and pressed her lips to his with the passion of -a desolate, forlorn creature who was parting, perhaps for ever, with -her only friend. - -Her action was the more surprising, since she was a child who recoiled -from endearments, and coldly turned away her face when ladies would -have caressed her. As suddenly as she had embraced her cousin, she -released and pushed him from her with violence and ran out of the room. -Her stepfather, who encountered Angel in the doorway, now advanced, -rubbing his hands complacently. - -"So she's quite broken down, I see. That's just her one redeeming -point—her affection for you. She has no feeling for anyone else. Just -fancy, she never expressed the smallest regret at being parted from her -dear little brothers, and when the ayah said, 'This is the last time -you will ever have tea together,' she tossed her head and said, 'So -much the better.' Can you imagine such appalling heartlessness? I tell -you candidly, Gascoigne, that you will have your hands full." - -"I think not," rejoined her visitor; "not in the sense you mean—I -suppose you will be leaving before long?" - -"Yes, I'm getting rid of all the big things by degrees," replied the -Colonel, "the bullock, bandy, and piano and victoria; I advertised -them, and got my price," and as he announced this gratifying fact he -seemed to swell with triumph. It was true that he had obtained double -their value for his shabby, worn-out possessions, and had administered -severe disappointments to various harmless and deluded people; in whose -nostrils the very name of Wilkinson stinks until the present day. - -"I am sending some refreshments with Angel," he continued with a gust -of generosity, "hard-boiled eggs, lemonade, and biscuits. You will see -that I get the bottles and basket back from Bombay, won't you—like a -good fellow?" - -"It will be rather difficult," rejoined the good fellow, wondering if -the avaricious wretch, who grudged the value of a few annas, would also -require the egg-shells. "But I'll see what can be done." After a few -words respecting luggage, labels, tickets, and, above all, an early -start, the men parted. Gascoigne strolled back to his quarters, a prey -to some anxious thoughts. What passion was embodied in the child's puny -embrace, and was it to be, as Shafto predicted, a millstone about his -neck as long as ever he lived? There was no blinking the fact, that -he had accepted a serious charge. Angel was totally apart from other -little girls of her age who cared for chocolates and dolls. She was -only interested in human puppets, in the serious things of life, her -feelings and emotions far transcended her years. She was a child in a -thousand, for good or evil. Clever, resolute, unscrupulous, secret, -yes, she was all that, but she was also devoted, unselfish, and -faithful. - -Her future would be a matter of profound anxiety; fortunately the -thread of her fate lay in no hand save his own. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ANGEL'S WINGS ARE CLIPPED - - -LADY AUGUSTA GASCOIGNE was the daughter of a marquis, the widow of a -baronet, and our little Angel's grandmamma. She lived in a small house -in Hill Street, with her daughter Eva, a plain, awkward, distressingly -shy woman of seven-and-thirty, who remained on her parents' hands as a -hopelessly unmarketable article, when her two younger sisters had made -brilliant matches, and covered their chaperon with glory. But Eva's -sole suitor was an ineligible, who had been dismissed with indignation -and contumely, and as Miss Gascoigne disliked society and dress, she -had subsided into genteel obscurity—her mother's housekeeper and -drudge. - -Lady Augusta was blessed with an iron constitution and the vigor of -perpetual youth; with her slender figure, well-poised head, and active -movements, she appeared at a little distance to be about thirty, albeit -the remorseless Peerage stated her years to be three-score. She wore -her clothes with grace, employed a French maid—well versed in "the -art of beauty"—and got all her gowns in Paris. She patronized the -turf, the theatre, and the most popular foreign Spas; her supper and -roulette parties were renowned. She carried on her correspondence by -telegram, and lived in a perpetual whirl. Her ladyship still retained -the remains of considerable beauty; her nose was delicately chiselled -(and came out well in her photographs); her eyes were blue, very -quick, and rather closely set together; her hair, which had once been -red, had faded to a pale sandy shade, and was marvellously crimped -and curled—and matched. She was exceedingly vivacious, cheery, and -popular, always well-dressed, always well posted in the earliest news, -the newest story, and the coming scandal, and men thronged around -Lady Augusta like flies about a pot of honey. She was constantly in -evidence; her comings and goings, her little dinners and race parties -were faithfully recorded. She was smart, her friends were smart, her -turn-out was smart, and when she appeared at church parade "wearing her -sables," or at the opera "wearing her diamonds," or merely driving down -Sloane Street with "a bunch of violets tucked into her coat," were not -all these doings chronicled in the Society papers? - -Lady Augusta was thoroughly satisfied with her surroundings and -herself, and put all painful thoughts, such as the memory of her two -dead sons, far from her. She was entirely without heart or sympathy, -and turned her back on sickness, suffering, and all disagreeables. She -was quick to seize on, and enjoy, every passing pleasure, and declared -herself a philosopher—but people who disapproved of this callous and -volatile lady called her by another name. - -Immediately after the death of Mrs. Wilkinson, Philip Gascoigne wrote -to Lady Augusta, and informed her that he had undertaken the charge -of her granddaughter, and if not actually requiring her sanction, at -any rate deferring to her opinion, and asking advice respecting the -child's education. To this announcement, Angel's grandmamma replied -by the following mail, declaring that she had hitherto been under the -impression that Tony's child had _died_ in infancy, and that whilst -she warmly applauded Philip's benevolence, she failed to feel the -faintest interest in the offspring of the late Mrs. Wilkinson, and that -any authority that might be supposed to lie with her, she transferred -to him with all her heart. Her ladyship went on to say that he was a -bold man to saddle himself with a girl of nine; born and brought up in -India, and that his wisest course would be to send her to some cheap -hill school, or convent out there, when, later on, she could become a -governess or a nun. When was he coming home, and when was he going to -marry? With a few items of society gossip, the letter was concluded by -his affectionate Aunt Augusta. A more cool and heartless epistle the -recipient had never perused. As soon as he had mastered its contents, -he tore it into little pieces across and across, and tossed it into the -paper basket—even Colonel Wilkinson was not more anxious to repudiate -the child than her own grandmother. - -By this time the friendless little waif had arrived in England safely, -and one of her early letters will best describe her impressions. It -was written over three sheets of foreign paper, with much underlining, -scratching out, and bad spelling. - - "TENTERDEN HOUSE, WIMBLEDON. - - "MY DEAR PHIL,—I sent you one letter from Suez, and I now write this - from school which I hate, and every moment I wish I was back in - your verandah playing with the dogs, and mending your soks. This is - a half-holiday and instead of going to the hokky I am scribbling to - you. I have so much to tell you. First of all about Mrs. Dawson, she - was middling kind to me on borde ship but I ran all messages and sowed - buttons on her boots, and brought her brandy when she was very sick. - All the time I was making up my mind to _tell her_ about the dresses, - I hated to have to do it, but I felt that she ought to know and not - have to wonder all her life. So one day when she was awfully ill and - week, lying back with her eyes shut, some voice inside my head said - _Do it now_, now is the time, she cannot beet you. And I said, Mrs. - Dawson I am going to make your mind easy, it was I who cut up all - your dresses. I am very sorry, they were beautiful, and if I could - give them back now I would. I've nothing to give you to make up with, - but my gold bangell, the only nice thing that I have cousin Phil, and - that you gave me; so I took it off, and offered it to her. She had - opened her eyes ever so wide, and at first looked quite stupid and - queer; then she got very red and fierce and wriggled up and panted - for breath. At last she said only you are a little orfan I don't know - what I would do with you, land you at Malta I believe. There's your - bangell and she flung it out of the port hole, and said now tell me - you little feend what you did it for. And I told her the truth that it - was to punish her for her unkindness to my mummy, and this made her - quite crazy. She jumped up, and took me by the shoulders and turned - me out of the cabbin. She never speekes to me now, but she has told - everyone, and no one ever talks to me, and one child said go away you - little cat my mama says I am not to allow you to come near me you - ought to be in Jale. So I did not gain much by telling the truth that - time you see. I lost all my friends and my dear dear bangell. This - school is a big red house with long passages and great bair rooms and - a bell rings for everything, getting up prayers lessons play. Oh I do - hate that bell. There are forty girls and I am not the youngest only - the smallest in the lowest class. Miss Morton thinks me dreadfully - bakward, and so I am, except in sowing, but she was surprised to hear - that I had read Vanity Fair and Byron's pomes and could say Shelly's - skylark by hart. The other girls are very prim, some tell lies as bad - as Anima any day, some are greedy, as greedy as Pinky, some are very - nice, but they all think me odd and wild. I like to make them stair, - so I jabber Hindustani and crack my finger-joints. I have no friends - here except the second housemaid the cat and the drill serjant. He - says I am made of yres, and he has been in India but only in Madras. - I have been in lots of skrapes already dear Phil I don't believe I am - suitable for skool, I'de much rather have lived with you, and had a - pretty young governess like Miss Dove who teeches embroidrey. There - are some pretty girls too, they all think me so ugly, but I don't - mind. Give each of the dogs a kiss from me and three to Sally just in - the middle of her nose, and tell the bearers little girl I have not - forgotten her, and tell Toady Dodd I am learning french and german and - dancing and am going to be akom—clever, I cant spell the big word, it - will vex him awfully. Be sure you write me long long long letters, - you cannot think how I watch the clock on male days. If you forget me, - I pray that I may take small pox and dye,—I am every yours truly, - - "ANGEL." - -But Angel was not forgotten. Some description of letter found its way -into her eager hands, two out of four mail days. Her quivering white -face, as the letters were distributed, caused a pang of pity in the -hearts of the womenkind who witnessed it. Angel's feelings were ten -years in advance of her age and her associates. As weeks and months -went on, she began to spread her short wings, and to evince her -personality, and was presently notorious as the most idle, clever, -mischievous, and unruly girl in the whole school. She could learn, -she had unusual capabilities, but she much preferred playing tricks, -scribbling poetry, and affording unlimited fun to her class, among -whom, thanks to the freshness and audacity of her ideas, she assumed -the position of ring-leader and queen. She received punishment with -the most staggering _sang-froid_. What was to be done with a child who -did not mind being sent to bed, rather liked dry bread than otherwise, -and heartily enjoyed her own society? Her example was spreading like -an epidemic among the juniors; idleness, daring feats, and flat -disobedience were the fashion since the Indian child had introduced -them. At last Miss Morton sent for the culprit, and interviewed her in -her own sanctum, a room that had witnessed not a few tears and scenes. -Miss Morton was a clever, handsome woman of forty, admirably fitted -for her position. All her girls looked up to her, not a few loved her; -her influence bore fruit in many and many a future home. - -When the slight fair child in deep mourning was ushered in, and -surveyed the room and its occupants with critical blue eyes, she said: - -"Little Angela Gascoigne, you may sit down," Angela took a seat, and -sedately folded her arms. This action, did Miss Morton but know, -portended mortal defiance. - -"Angela, you are old and intelligent beyond your years," continued her -teacher; "you are not yet ten, but you have seen as much of life as -many girls of eighteen." - -Angela's eyes complacently admitted the fact. - -"I therefore talk to you, as if you were almost grown up," resumed -Miss Morton. Angela inclined her head gravely in acknowledgment of -the compliment. "I must confess, that although you have read the most -advanced literature, your mind is pure and child-like. On the other -hand, in your small way, you are an anarchist, you rebel against every -law. What do you propose to do with your life? You have influence, you -have brains, have you decided to grow up an ill weed, and to do as much -harm as you can?" - -No reply. Angela gazed at the flowers, the water-colours, the clock, -finally into Miss Morton's eyes. - -"Angela Gascoigne," she continued, "answer me." - -"No," breathed Angel in a quick whisper. - -"Very well, then bear in mind that you will have to change your ways; -you must work as do other girls, conform to the school rules. You -have been endowed with gifts that are uncommon, and yet you only -misuse them, in order to make your companions as idle and reckless as -yourself. Unless you undertake to improve, and give me your word that -you will show a good example for the future, I shall be obliged to -write to your guardian, and ask him to remove you at once." - -Angel's face grew pale, her eyes looked black, and tragic. - -"I hate school!" she burst out, passionately. - -"In that case, you may be sure that school will hate you," was the -prompt rejoinder, "and the sooner you leave it the better. But why do -you hate school?" - -"I don't know." - -"What a silly answer for an intelligent girl! Then I can tell you; the -reason is, because you are unaccustomed to rules, and regularity; it -is a different life to the one you have led. I am aware that you are -an orphan. Tell me, dear child," now leaning towards her, "do you love -no one in the whole world, not even yourself? Come—won't you speak to -me?" she pleaded very low. - -"Yes," rejoined the child, straightening her little figure, "I love -Philip." - -"You mean Mr. Gascoigne, your guardian?" - -Angel nodded, and her face worked, despite her precocious self-control. - -"Then don't you think he will be very sorry to hear that you refuse to -accept any of the advantages he has provided for you? I know that he -hopes to see you an accomplished girl, and you can easily learn if you -please. Don't you think it will grieve him when I am compelled to say -that I cannot keep you among my pupils—because of your idleness; that -with your intensely strong individuality, you influence them for ill, -and I am obliged to remove a bad example from among them?" - -"Are you going to write—_this_—to Philip?" cried Angel, with a -gesture of horror. - -"Yes, and at once, unless you will promise me that it is not necessary." - -"I will promise anything—to please him." - -"Then address yourself to your lessons—begin to-day—put away your -foolish impish tricks, Angel," urged her companion; "your success lies -in your own hands. Don't you think it will be much better for your -guardian to be proud of you than to hear you are expelled?" - -"Does that mean sent away in—disgrace?" stammered the child with -characteristic directness. - -"Yes, but I see that you have made up your mind; and, instead of being -a trial to myself and others, you can, and will be, a help. You have -some one to please, some one to surprise, some one to whose coming you -can look forward—have you not thought of that?" - -"Oh, I am always thinking of that," rejoined Angel, impetuously, -and, to Miss Morton's amazement, she wept, as she faltered, "I have -only Philip in all the world. I would rather die than that he should -think—badly of me—I will try, yes, I will work. Oh, I never dreamt -of Philip. Tell me what I am to do, and I will do everything to please -him and surprise him when he comes home.—Yes, and I wish to please -you too." - -Then Miss Morton took the little rebel in her arms and kissed her -tenderly, and Angel quietly submitted to her caress; since her mother -died few women had kissed her. From that hour, she won the child's -heart. - -Tea was brought in, and the teacher and her pupil had a nice, long, -comfortable talk about India. Angel gave her companion many fresh views -of the natives of Hindustan, and the sun went down upon another of Miss -Morton's conquests. - -In a short time, the weird-faced, wiry little Anglo-Indian had made -extraordinary progress, she worked conscientiously and incessantly—to -please Philip. - -Her letters were a source of surprise and embarrassment to her -guardian, written in a clear, small hand, with unexceptional -orthography; they breathed a spirit of passionate attachment, a -selfless love, that was inexhaustible. - -And what had he to offer in exchange for this dear child's -single-hearted devotion? Nothing but a trivial, and lukewarm, -affection. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -PHILIP'S LOVE AFFAIR - - -PHILIP GASCOIGNE, whom this history chiefly concerns, was the only -child of a distinguished officer who late in life had prevailed on a -beautiful and charming woman to accept his gallant heart and honorable -name. General Gascoigne had settled down in a fine old manor house -in the heart of Kent, and there turned his sword into a ploughshare, -which latter implement, according to his old club comrades, had dug -his grave. He died when his boy was nine years of age, having survived -sufficiently long to imbue the little fellow with some of his own -high ideas of truth and honour, discipline and self-command. Within a -short distance of "Earlsmead" Manor was Earlsmead Park, the stately -home of the Craven-Hargreaves. Venetia Gascoigne and Mary Hargreaves -had been schoolfellows and were close friends, and little Philip -grew up almost as one of the Hargreaves family, which consisted of -two fine manly boys, and a girl named Lola—a child with a cloud of -frizzy bronze hair, and a pair of irresistible dark eyes; she was the -youngest of the three, and the spoiled darling of the household. Mr. -Craven-Hargreaves was an agreeable, dapper little gentleman, who had -been in debt ever since he left Eton, and was existing (and more or -less enjoying life) on the forbearance of his creditors. He was rarely -at home, save in the shooting season, and the burthen of the family -cares fell on his wife's graceful shoulders. The boys had to be sent -to school, and the _pros_ and _cons_ connected with this outlay cost -their mother many anxious hours. Philip Gascoigne preceded them to -Harrow, there being no question of expense regarding his education, -for when his father died, honoured and regretted, he left behind him -the best traditions of a soldier and a gentleman, he also left an -unexpectedly large provision for his family. Philip was three years -older than Lola, and had been her bond slave ever since she could -walk alone. It was always "Phil and Lola" who were partners in games, -forays, excursions, and scrapes. What halcyon days those were, when the -eldest of the quartette was but twelve; and everything they entered -into was a pure and unalloyed delight, from nutting, and fishing, and -cricket, and riding, to play—at robbers and smugglers in the woods, -making fires and roasting apples, potatoes—also, sad to relate, -blackbirds and thrushes—returning home grubby, weary, and happy, with -but scant appetite for schoolroom tea. One day Philip and Lola, who -had been despatched on an errand to the village, surprised some boys -who were drowning a puppy in a pond. Philip instantly interfered to -save it, tore off his jacket and swam to the rescue. Subsequently, all -dripping like a water-god, he had fought Bill Lacy, of the "Leg of -Mutton Inn," and had thrashed him soundly, whilst Lola stood by with -the shivering puppy in her arms, alternately screaming encouragement -and defiance. Then when the bruised and bleeding victor turned to her, -for his jacket, and his meed of praise, she had rewarded him in her -own impulsive fashion—she kissed him then and there before all the -boys in Earlsmead village. It was an unseemly and indecent spectacle -in the eyes of Mrs. Grundy (who lived over the Post Office), Miss -Craven-Hargreaves, of the Park, acting as backer in a street fight, -and awarding as prize her kisses. It was true that she was but eight -years of age and her champion eleven, and consequently the misdemeanour -was suffered to pass. Some said she was a fine courageous little miss; -others, that she was a bold piece, who would come to no good yet, but -all agreed that she had plenty of pluck, and would sooner or later -marry the General's boy. - - * * * * * - -When Lola was seventeen—and oh! what a fascinating sweet -seventeen—Philip found his tongue, and they became engaged. -Contemporary matrons lifted their hands in horror. A lad of twenty, who -had only just left Sandhurst! But other far-seeing and less ambitious -individuals pointed out that young Gascoigne was a fairly good match, -he must succeed to at least a thousand a year, and expectations, whilst -the Hargreaves might expect the bailiffs at any moment. - -Within the next twelve months Philip lost his mother—whom he -worshipped; even Lola had not disturbed her from her niche—and the -long impending crash came at the Park. Mr. Hargreaves fled with a -portmanteau to the south of France—his plea was health—and left his -wife to face the storm alone. The storm developed into a typhoon, a -tempest of howling creditors; mortgages were foreclosed, the park was -let to graziers, and, as a final climax, there was a sale—an auction, -at the house itself. The family pictures, portraits by Gainsborough, -Raeburn, and Romney, went to the highest bidder. The treasured silver -and tapestries, as well as carriage and horses, were scattered far and -wide. After a storm—a calm—the Hargreaves boys obtained commissions, -the Park had found a tenant, Mrs. Hargreaves and Lola went abroad, and -Philip Gascoigne, now a full-blown sapper, was despatched to Gibraltar. -He and Lola corresponded faithfully. They were to be married when he -was four-and-twenty, and already he was collecting rugs, Moorish trays, -and old carpets suitable for a lady's drawing-room, when he received a -letter from Lola to say that her father was once more in difficulties, -_frightful_ difficulties; he had been gambling on the Stock Exchange, -hoping to recoup his fortune, and had had every penny of his own (as -well as other people's pennies) swept away. Philip wired to place -all his available funds at Lola's disposal; but what was a mere five -thousand pounds, when the deficit amounted to ten times the sum? Mr. -Hargreaves did everything on a grand scale. He was a born gambler, it -was hereditary; his grandfather had once lost thirty thousand pounds, -after playing two nights and a day, and sitting up to his knees in -cards. His worthy descendant had gone even more rapidly to work, -staked all on a "chance" and lost—lost the estates which had been in -the family since the reign of Edward the Fourth—lost his head—his -hopes—his honour. - -The next mail brought still heavier news to a certain good-looking -subaltern in barracks at Gibraltar. - -Lola wrote formally to dissolve her engagement. She was about to marry -Mr. Reuben Waldershare, one of her father's creditors, who would cancel -his debt, and buy back Earlsmead. Thus she saved her parent, and -averted ruin from her people. Mr. Waldershare was enormously rich and -generous. - -Philip succeeded in obtaining leave on urgent private affairs that same -hour, and journeyed to England that same night. - - * * * * * - -The Craven-Hargreaves had taken a house in London for the season. At -four o'clock in the afternoon Gascoigne presented himself at 146 Mount -Street, and inquired for Miss Hargreaves. The man—who was not an -Earlsmead servant, and knew not Master Philip—said: - -"Yes, sir, Miss Hargreaves is at home. Who shall I say?" and he -preceded the visitor up the stairs, and ushered him into a pretty green -and white drawing-room with a resonant—"Mr. Gascoigne, if you please." - -Secretly, the lady did not please. - -Lola was alone, sitting on a low sofa, with her back to the light, and -surrounded by morocco and velvet jewel-cases. She was dressed in a -white gown, and wore a large picture hat, her gloves and parasol lay -on a chair near her, and in her hands she held a row of great pearls. -A tea equipage waited, the spirit-lamp flamed, and Lola's toilette -betokened careful thought. The room was fragrant with exquisite -La France roses, an arm-chair was drawn up invitingly near the -sofa—evidently some one was expected, but obviously that some one was -not Philip Gascoigne. - -"Philip," she almost screamed, as the door closed and she rose to her -feet, her face white to the lips, "_what_ has brought you?" - -"You can easily guess," he replied, as he came forward; "your letter." - -"Yes—of course," and she held out both her hands; "but, oh, why did -you come?—it only makes it harder." - -"You are talking in riddles," he answered sharply. "I want you to -tell me the truth—face to face. Why do you wish to break off our -engagement? Why does my return make anything _worse_?" - -"Because—seeing you brings everything back—and I am going to marry -Mr. Waldershare." - -She turned away and averted her face to hide her emotion. - -A long silence followed this announcement, and at last Philip said: - -"Well, I don't suppose anything could be worse than that!" - -As he spoke, Lola sank back on the sofa, and stealthily displaced some -of the jewel-cases under the big brocade cushions. - -"Will you listen to me?" she said piteously. - -"Oh, yes, I am here to listen. I have come a thousand miles since -Monday to listen—and to speak." - -"Phil, when you hear all you will be twice as sorry for me as you are -for yourself. Do you know that we are ruined?" - -"I gathered as much," he replied gravely. - -"Father has been gambling on the Stock Exchange—he has lost -everything. Earlsmead, that has been centuries in the family; and not -only that—it is not merely ruin—it is disgrace," and as she spoke, -Lola put her hands over her eyes. - -"Disgrace," repeated Gascoigne. "It is impossible." - -"It is not really father's doing," she sobbed. "He got mixed up with -shady people, and lent them his good name—and now it is smirched, or -will be—the catastrophe is impending—the only door of escape is—Mr. -Waldershare. He will advance money—he will stifle scandal—he is -enormously rich——" - -"And the reason for his liberality?" demanded Philip in a harsh key. - -"Is here," replied Lola, laying her hand on her breast. "I marry him to -save our good name—and Earlsmead." - -"In short, you sell yourself for your family?" he cried. - -"I think you might say—sacrifice myself—for my family," she answered -softly, and her eyes were eloquent. - -"And _I_ am also to be sacrificed?" - -"Always remember that you are free—whilst I am bound—for life." - -"And you are prepared to throw me over, to marry a man old enough to be -your father?" he questioned. - -"Yes; but, after all, what is age! and"——(home-thrust) "your own -mother—dear Aunt Venetia—did the same." - -Philip now began to pace the room, whilst Lola looked furtively at the -clock. At last he came to a halt, and said: - -"What does your mother say?" - -"Nothing, poor dear, for she _knows_. The boys, Edgar and Billy, are -simply furious with me. They have not seen the family skeleton—they -think I am doing this—because—Mr. Waldershare is fabulously rich—and -they say I have no more heart than a sea anemone. Bill declares that I -was always greedy, and took more than my share of jam and the pony, and -neither of them will come to the wedding. They will never forgive me, -and neither will you——" and Lola buried her face in a cushion, and -wept—that is to say, drew long, gasping sighs. - -"Listen to me, Lola," said her lover, authoritatively; "I have a -suggestion to make." She looked up quickly, and dried her eyes with a -scrap of lace. "My idea is not as mad as it sounds. I have ten thousand -pounds in the funds. It is my own, and yours. Let us pay your father's -most pressing claims with this—always remember that it is yours as -much as mine. I will leave the service, and we will all go to New -Zealand, you and I—your father and mother—and the boys, if they like?" - -Lola sat erect, and stared at him fixedly and gasped; but he was too -full of his subject, and too profoundly in earnest, to notice her -expression. - -"You see," he resumed, "I am a really fair practical engineer, and I'll -build our quarters; your father and I can farm. There is a splendid -breed of horses, a fine climate, a fine country; we will make a fresh -start in life; we shall all be together—what do you say, Lola? If you -agree, I'll set about the move to-day," and he confronted her eagerly. - -"What do I say to, emigrating to New Zealand?" she repeated, in a -queer, choked voice, "to living in a back block, and—doing the -washing?" Then, in a totally different key. "Of course, I'd be -happy—anywhere with _you_, Phil, in 'No Man's Land' or Timbuctoo—your -offer is like yourself—it reminds me of the time you sold your watch -to help Billy out of a hole. But this hole is too big—ten thousand -would be a mere drop in the ocean. Philip," she continued, as she -rose and came towards him, "it is no use trying to play hide-and-seek -with fate. My fate is to redeem my father's name. You are the man I -love—Mr. Waldershare is the man I shall marry. Can't you see it with -my eyes? You know our home—you are one of _us_—don't make it harder -for me. I must go my own way." - -"And I am to go to the devil," he said hoarsely. - -"Oh, don't talk like that," she remonstrated; "it is not like you——" - -"I don't know what I'm like—or where I am to-day. In one blow I lose -everything." - -"How?" she inquired. - -"You were everything to me." - -"And in future I must be nothing but a memory. Mr. Waldershare has -had a hint—a girl told him—of our boy and girl attachment. He is -desperately in love." - -"So am I," cried her companion. - -"Desperately jealous." - -"So am I," he reiterated. - -"I may never see you or write to you again, Phil; it will be the -best," she urged piteously, and never had she looked so lovely. "It is -terrible for you—it is ten times worse for me. Some day you will be -sorry for me—not now, you are too sorry for yourself." - -She was alarmingly pale and nervous, her eyes wandered anxiously to the -clock; nothing that Philip could urge would shake her from her purpose. -She remained as white and as immovable as marble; her decision was -irrevocable—the step was irretrievable. She was sacrificing herself -for others, and "it"—the announcement of the engagement—was already -in the papers. - -With urgent entreaties to leave her, an impassioned farewell, and -a torrent of tears, Lola sent Philip from her presence—and, oh! -the relief, when she saw him depart! As he stood on the doorstep, a -hansom dashed up, and for a moment Gascoigne beheld his supplanter. -The man descended heavily, a clumsy, elderly individual, with a -big nose, bulging eyes, and a short grey beard. In a second the -visitor recognised his rival, a well-set-up, gallant young fellow, -whose handsome face looked white and haggard, a man of attractive -personality, in short, a most formidable opponent. No, no, he and Lola -were best apart; there would be no correspondence, no old playfellow -nonsense, no sentiment. He was peculiarly alive to the disparity in his -and Lola's age, and set his face as a flint against younger men. Mr. -Waldershare was in the iron trade; his first wife had been a homely -body, who had assisted him to lay the foundation of his colossal -fortune. He might almost call himself "the Iron King;" now he was in -quest of an "Iron Queen," and that with the eye of a keen, practical -man of business. She must be the very best article on the market; -young, well-born, and an undeniable beauty. Lola Hargreaves answered -these requirements; added to which she had a certain amount of indolent -ambition, and a delicate appreciation of the good things of life. - -It was true that her father was on the verge of bankruptcy, and mixed -up with a sultry business connected with a mine, but his forebears had -been crusaders, their monuments and deeds were extant in print and -marble. Mr. Waldershare respected a fine pedigree—the one thing his -thousands could not purchase—so he decided to marry Lola Hargreaves. -That Lola had "a friend," he was aware; he had unexpectedly come face -to face with him, a good-looking, manly young fellow, he did not -propose to place himself in competition with a man of half his years, -so he issued an edict—"Lola must drop young Gascoigne," and Lola -obeyed. The interview in Mount Street had changed the whole course of -Philip's life at one stroke; he had lost friends, sweetheart, home—for -Earlsmead would be closed to him, and the boys naturally would avoid -the man their sister had jilted. He exchanged immediately into the -Indian service, with the stern resolve to woo the goddess of war, and -to enlist under the standard of ambition. By-and-by, as she predicted, -he became intensely sorry for Lola. He admired her lofty principles, -her noble character, her unselfish devotion, and she was enshrined in -his memory with the lustre of a treasure that is lost. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -LOLA - - -SINCE Angel had left Ramghur the hot winds of three seasons had swept -over her mother's grave, killed the plants in pots, and defaced the -lettering on the cheap headstone (Mr. Shafto was in error for once.) -The dead woman who lay beneath was absolutely forgotten, even by her -dirzee, who now owned a thriving shop in the bazaar. A community -fluctuates in an Indian station more than in any part of the Empire, -and to the present inhabitants of the cantonment, the name of Lena -Wilkinson failed to conjure up any figure whatever, much less a pretty -face and an unrivalled toilette. The Ram Gunga bridge was complete at -last, and Philip Gascoigne was free; free to enjoy a year's holiday in -Europe, and the weeks and days in Angel's almanac were now crossed off -down to the one which had a big red circle drawn around it, the date -when he was due to arrive in London. To do the young man justice, after -he had called upon his tailor, his first visit was to a certain girl's -school at Wimbledon. How _distraite_ Angel had been all the morning, -secretly trembling with anticipation and agitation; and her hands -were as ice, her heart was beating in her throat, as she opened the -drawing-room door. There stood a gentleman in a long frock coat, with a -hat in his hand. He had Philip's eyes. Somehow she had always pictured -him in his khaki uniform or blue patrol jacket. - -For his part, when a tall, graceful girl glided into the room, he -scarcely recognised her. But it was the old Angel who flew at him with -a cry of "Philip," flung her arms round his neck, and sobbed for joy. -Then she led him to the window, and there they scrutinised one another -exhaustively. He was but little altered, though there were lines on -his forehead, and two or three silver hairs on his temple. Angel was -naturally the most changed of the two; her thin, pinched features; her -white, dried-up skin, had given place to the bloom of health and a -delicate complexion; her blue eyes were no longer sharply suspicious, -but soft and gentle; and the hard little mouth was wreathed in happy -smiles. - -Yes—Shafto was right. The child was going to be a beauty after all. - -"Let me have a good look at you," said Gascoigne, he was Captain -Gascoigne now; "I want to see if I can find any trace of the old Angel?" - -She coloured, and laughed, as she replied, "No—not even a goose quill, -or a pin feather. I've forgotten every word of Hindustani. I can't -dance or crack my fingers, and I hate the sight of curry. Well, what do -you think of me?" she asked, tossing back her hair with a laugh, and a -heightened colour. - -"I think you have grown—at least four inches," he responded -deliberately. - -"And you have grown grey," she retorted quickly; "I see some grey hairs -there above your ear." - -"Then, Angel," he said, "I hope you will respect them." - -"Always, always," she promised gaily. "Oh, cousin Philip, I began to -be afraid you were never coming home; I do hope you will think I have -worked well." - -"I am sure of that; I felt immensely proud of your sketches, and I have -given your swagger tea-cosy to Mrs. Gordon." - -"It was intended for you—and for the old red teapot," she protested. - -"Far too smart for that, Angel; and I hear you are proficient in French -and dancing, and the riding master's best pupil." - -"Just because I'm not afraid and always take the pulling chestnut," she -responded, "and that is only an amusement. I'm not good at German or -arithmetic. People think I am cleverer than I am." - -"Oh, people do think you clever?" he said with affected surprise. - -"Only" (with a blush) "the other girls." - -"You and I must have some holidays together, Angel, and go up the -river, and see the pictures and do some _matinées_. I shall be in -London for a couple of months." - -"Only a couple of months," she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, "and how -the time will fly—and then?" - -"Then I am going to Norway to fish—and now I must be returning to -town." - - * * * * * - -Captain Gascoigne proved as good as his word. He frequently came -down to Wimbledon and took Angela and one of her schoolfellows to -_matinées_, picture-galleries, flower-shows, dog-shows, and concerts, -gave them tea and ices, and delivered them at home ere nightfall. -Latterly he invited Angel alone, as he became aware that she was -excessively jealous of his society, grudged every word he spoke to her -friend, and desired to have him all to herself. In spite of her gentle -and refined manners, her cultured accent and docility, he was conscious -that beneath that disguise, lived the old impetuous, forcible spirit, -who loved him with the same fierce love which she had lavished upon -her mother. The sight of this flame, when it occasionally burst out, -in a word or a glance, seriously alarmed him. He had nothing wherewith -to meet it but a cool affection, and a certain vague pride in the -pretty, charming child, the delicate rosebud that had developed out of -a wild little thorn-bush. What he could not repay in affection, Philip -endeavoured to make up in indulgence: as it was, the pair went on the -river, and to Hampton Court; he loaded her with gifts, and every one of -the other girls envied Angel her guardian. One misfortune they shared -in common: neither of them had a home. Angel was compelled to spend -her holidays at school, and he, to make his headquarters in rooms at -Duke Street. Mrs. Craven-Hargreaves was dead, Mr. Hargreaves lived in -Paris, the boys were abroad, Earlsmead was let, and Lola was the only -member of the family in England. Mrs. Waldershare was a notable beauty; -were not her full-length portraits exhibited in the Academy and the New -Gallery? She had fulfilled her husband's hopes, and proved to be a wife -to dazzle the multitude, a star of the chandeliers, of garden parties, -of race lawns, and stately receptions. Where was the Lola who cooked -blackbirds, climbed trees, and ran wild? There was no trace of her in -the capricious beauty who was admired, worshipped, and spoiled. - -On a certain May morning when the Row was crowded, and the -rhododendrons were a blaze of colour, as Philip and Angela sauntered -onwards, they found themselves face to face with a party of four—two -smart guardsmen, and two brilliant ladies. One of these came to a -sudden halt, and gave a little faint exclamation, as she offered her -white gloved hand to Captain Gascoigne. - -"Who would have thought of seeing you?" she drawled. "Are you in -England?" - -"He is in London," burst out the old Angel with an irrepressible flash -of Ramghur, for Philip's speech was slow in coming. The other lady -tittered, and the two men took the measure of this grave stranger whom -"Mrs. Wal" had distinguished with her notice. - -"I came home a month ago," he said at last. - -"And who is the child?" she continued, in her leisurely voice. - -"A little cousin—Angela Gascoigne." - -"I never knew you had one." - -"How are they all?" inquired Philip with an effort, "your father and -the boys?" - -"Billy is in Egypt and Edgar in India. Haven't you come across him?" - -"No; I wish I had, but India is larger than you suppose. Is your -father at Earlsmead?" he continued. - -"No, he lives in Paris by preference. Earlsmead is let, and so -modernised and changed—you'd hardly know it—electric light, white -paint, Tottenham Court Road furniture. You are horrified, but I don't -mind. I shall never see it again—and besides I am modern myself," and -she laughed. "Let me introduce you to Colonel Danvers." The men bowed. -"Captain Gascoigne is a very old friend of mine," she added gaily, -"our acquaintance dates from our high chairs in the nursery." As she -talked on, Angela stood by, regarding her with close attention and a -steady stare. A stare which absorbed every item of the face before -her, the languorous dark eyes, fluffy brown hair, delicate complexion, -and flexible red mouth. She also absorbed a general impression of -an elegant toilette, with soft lace and rustling silk, and drooping -feathers, a long glittering chain, and the perfume of heliotrope. This -was Lola, hateful, cruel, heartless woman—Lola of the photograph. - -"Where are you staying?" she resumed. "Oh, the Rag, I remember, is your -club. You'll come and see me, won't you, Phil?" - -"Thank you," he rejoined somewhat stiffly. - -"I'll look over my engagement book and drop you a line. We are blocking -up the whole place, I see. Good-bye," and she smiled, nodded, and moved -on. - -Angel turned and stared after her. She watched the pale lilac gown and -black plumed hat as their wearer made a majestic progress through the -crowd, with a nod here, a bow there; at last she stepped into an open -carriage, followed by the other lady, and was whirled out of the park. - -Then the child seemed to awake from a sort of trance, and realised that -her attitude was equally rude and remarkable. - -"What are you doing, Angel?" inquired her cousin; "what are you -thinking of?" - -"I'm——" and she glanced up at him—his face looked white, or was it -the glare?—"thinking, that I hate her." - -"What on earth do you mean?" he asked sharply. - -"I mean the lady in the black hat, who spoke to you—who knew you in -the nursery——" rejoined Angel in gasps. "I've seen—her before—she -is a doll—a wicked doll." - -"You are mistaken, you have never seen her in your life, and she -is neither a doll, nor wicked. You should not say such things," he -remonstrated sternly. - -"But I may think them," she retorted rebelliously. - -"No, you may not." - -"What is her name?" she asked, with a kind of sob. - -"Mrs. Waldershare—I have known her nearly all my life." - -They walked on for a considerable time in dead silence. - -"Are you vexed with me, cousin Phil?" faltered Angel at length, and in -a faint voice. Her eyes were deep with devotion and darkened with tears. - -"No, but I wish you would not take sudden dislikes to people, Angel, -and sit in judgment at a moment's notice." - -"I can't help it. I make up my mind, and I like and dislike then and -there. There is—love at first sight." - -"Is there? Well, you can't know anything about _that_." - -"No, but I can understand hate at first sight," and she drew a long, -intense breath. - -"The sooner you turn that current of thought out of your mind the -better for yourself, Angel. You should only look for good in other -people. It always pays. Come along now, and let us feed the ducks." - -With respect to Captain Gascoigne's own sensations, he had been -prepared for the encounter ever since he had returned to London, and -had steeled himself to meet his former _fiancée_ with true British -self-possession. Moreover, he had caught sight of her at a theatre and -dining in a smart restaurant, so the first edge of the sharp wind had -been tempered. - -In a short time he and Angel were absorbed in feeding the ducks, -oblivious of their recent little scene, and presently they went off -to lunch in Piccadilly, and "do" a _matinée_ in the Strand. This was -not the only momentous encounter that the couple experienced; within a -month a second was impending, which made a still greater impression on -them both. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -GRANDMAMMA - - -THREE weeks later, on a broiling June afternoon, as Angel and her -guardian were strolling down the shady side of Bond Street on their way -to strawberry ices, they passed a carriage waiting outside a shop, in -which was seated a slight, smart lady, with a great white feather boa -round her neck, a wonderful toque on her head, and a tiny dog on her -arm. She was directly facing them, and as the couple came closer she -beckoned to Philip imperiously; he approached at once, and swept off -his hat. - -"Do you mean to tell me that you were going to pass me by, Philip -Gascoigne?" she demanded in a high, reedy voice. "Don't you know who I -am?" - -"Why, of course I do, Aunt Augusta," he protested; "but I did not -recognise you at the moment—the light was in my eyes. I hope you are -well?" - -"Yes, I'm always well, thank you. I'm only just back from Aix. When did -you return?" - -"About two months ago." - -"And never called—or left a card. Oh, you young men of the present -day!" - -"I did call, but the house was in curl-papers," rejoined Philip. "I -gave my card to an old woman in the area." (He was not enthusiastic -about his aunt by marriage, between whom and his mother lay a great -gulf; Lady Augusta looked with scorn on her country sister-in-law, -who employed a local dressmaker, and was a frumpish, prudish, handsome -creature, devoted to her books, her garden, and her boy.) - -Lady Augusta's quick eyes presently travelled to Philip's companion; -the painted face behind the white veil grew rigid. At last she said, in -a strangely forced voice: - -"I need—not ask—who she is. She is—Antony's girl." - -As she spoke she fumbled for her long-handled glasses, and held them to -her eyes. Her hand and her voice were both shaking as she said, "Come -here, child." - -Angel gravely advanced in her most approved school manners, and -confronted the lady who was so curiously inspecting her, with serious -eyes. - -"Pray, do you know who I am?" - -"No, ma'am," answered Angel. - -"Can you guess?" asked the lady sharply. - -She shook her head and waited. - -"Well then, I'll tell you; I am your grandmother." - -"Grandmother," repeated Angel incredulously, and her face grew quite -pink. She glanced interrogatively at Philip. Was this lady joking, or -was she mad? - -"I see you can hardly believe your ears; it does seem ludicrous," -said Lady Augusta; "but I was married when I was not much older than -herself," she explained to her nephew in an aside, "Well, child, what -have you got to say? I suppose you have a tongue?" - -Poor Angel, thus adjured, immediately gave utterance to the wrong -thing. "Are—you my—mother's mother?" she inquired, and there was a -note of keen anxiety in her voice. - -"Oh dear, no," rejoined the newly-found relative in a tone of fierce -repudiation. "I am your father's mother, Lady Augusta Gascoigne; he was -my youngest son. Philip," turning to him, "I must have a talk with you. -Get into the carriage, and let me drive you both back to tea." - -As this was an offer not to be despised, an opportunity he dare not let -slip—for it might be of some benefit to Angel—Captain Gascoigne and -his charge accepted the unexpected invitation, and the next minute they -were seated in Lady Augusta's landau. Once arrived at Hill Street, she -led the way up to her drawing-room, and there discovered her daughter -extended on the sofa, engrossed in a book. Eva at once struggled up -awkwardly, letting a large piece of coarse knitting roll to the floor. -She was a thin, high-shouldered woman, with a mass of coarse red -hair and a droop in one of her eyelids, keenly sensitive of her own -shortcomings, and much prone to good nature and good works. - -"So this is what you call working for the Deep Sea Mission?" exclaimed -her parent as she rustled across the room. "See—I have brought Philip -Gascoigne." - -Philip advanced promptly and took her limp hand, and said, "It is ages -since we have met, cousin Eva." But she was not listening to him. Her -eyes were riveted on the tall child who followed him. - -"It is Antony's girl," explained her mother brusquely. "Yes, the -likeness is—amazing." - -Eva's face worked convulsively. Antony had been her favourite brother; -he, the flower of the flock, with his gay blue eyes and light-hearted -character; she, the wretched ugly duckling; yet they had been -inseparable, and she had cried herself to sleep for many nights after -his departure for India, full of spirits, hopes, and courage. Then had -come scrapes, debts, his deplorable marriage and his death; and now -after all these years—fifteen years—he seemed to have returned to -life in the steadfast face of his blue-eyed daughter. For a moment she -could not speak for emotion; then she came forward and took both of -Angel's hands in hers, and said: - -"Oh, my dear, my dear—I am glad to see you—I am your Aunt Eva!" - -"Eva is my second name," said Angel softly. Miss Gascoigne's white face -coloured vividly. - -"And what is your first?" - -"Angel." This was another family name. - -Tea was brought in by two men-servants with considerable circumstance -and pomp, and Angel's little worldly heart beat high when she -realised that all these fine things, the silver, the footmen, the -pretty pictures and surroundings, belonged to her grandmamma—and her -grandmamma belonged to her. Meanwhile Lady Augusta talked incessantly -to Philip, questioned him sharply respecting his service and his -prospects, wandering away to race-meetings and her book on Goodwood, -with here and there a highly-spiced item of news; but all the time she -watched her granddaughter narrowly, her manners, her way of eating, -sitting, speaking. Fortunately Miss Morton's pupil came forth from that -ordeal unscathed. Angel, for her part, glanced uneasily from time to -time at this old young lady, with the pretty slim figure, the pretty -fresh toilette, the faded eyes and wrinkled hands, the beautiful -complexion, and the wealth of sandy hair. - -"Eva," said her mother suddenly, "you can take this child away to the -conservatory and show her the canaries. I want to have a quiet chat -with Philip now; and you may make each other's acquaintance," she added -indulgently. Miss Gascoigne rose with alacrity, and led the way to a -small greenhouse which jutted out over the back landing, where hung -various cages of shrill canaries. But the visitors did not look at -these—only at one another. - -"Dear child, how glad I am to know you!" said her aunt, taking Angel's -face between her hands and gazing once more into a pair of sweet -familiar eyes. "I hope we shall often see you. Now my mother never told -me of your existence. She is a strange woman—but I believe she is -pleased with you." - -"I did not know that I had a grandmother—or an aunt—until to-day," -said the child. "I am so astonished—the girls will be so surprised -when I tell them I have a grannie and an aunt all this time in London. -I always thought—grandmothers—were different." - -"Your grandmother is different to most people," granted her aunt. - -"And why has she never asked me here—nor written to me—why does -she stare at me as if there were something odd about me? _Is_ there -anything odd about me, Aunt Eva." - -"No indeed, my dear." - -"There must be some reason—do please tell me—why I never heard of -you till to-day. I am twelve years old." - -"Your grandmother was very much vexed when your father married," -explained Miss Gascoigne with obvious reluctance. - -"Why?" came the question, like a blow. - -"Oh, because he was a mere boy, only twenty-two, and she did not like -your mother. My dear, you must never speak of her here," she continued, -lowering her voice till it became a whisper. - -"Do you suppose that I shall ever come to a house where I may not speak -of my mother?" blazed Angel. - -"There, I see you have your father's spirit!" exclaimed her aunt. "He -and I were always such friends, I nearly broke my heart when he died. -You will come here, Angel, I know—because you would like to give me -pleasure—you will love me for his sake." - -"Oh, well—perhaps," acquiesced the girl, to whom her father's name -conveyed no impression beyond that derived from a faded photograph of a -fair youth in a gorgeous uniform. - -"Have I any more aunts or uncles?" - -"Two aunts—Lady Harchester and Lady Lorraine. You are not likely to -meet them—they seldom come here. You and I are going to be great -friends, Angel. You must write to me and I will write to you—and go -and see you—often." - - * * * * * - -"Not much of the Shardlow about the child," remarked Lady Augusta -complacently. "Quite a Gascoigne, or rather—I see a great resemblance -to myself." - -Philip made no reply. He was unable to agree with this opinion, and put -his hand to his mouth to hide a smile. - -"And now I want to ask your plans. What are your ideas? So far, I must -confess, she does you credit." - -"She does credit to Miss Morton and herself. I believe I shall keep her -at school till she is eighteen," he answered thoughtfully, "and then -try and place her with some nice people who will take an interest in -her and make her happy. Indeed, I am at the present moment looking out -for some such family who will receive her for her holidays; it's rather -rough on her to have to spend them at school." - -"If you mean that as a hit at me, Philip," said his listener, "I do not -mind in the least; my conscience is clear. When her father disgraced -himself by that wretched marriage, he and his were _dead_ to me. Still -when I saw the child this afternoon, something in her expression gave -my heart-strings a tug. I felt agitated—besides the child resembles -me—the only grandchild that is like me. It will be rather odd if, -after all, Antony's girl turned out to be the prop of my old age. But I -am going too fast, am I not?" - -"Well, I don't quite follow you—yet." - -"Look here, Philip," she resumed briskly, "I am willing to receive -Angela for her holidays"—this was an unexpected concession. "She can -come up for a week-end at first; if she pleases me I will give her a -home—when she leaves school; but on payment. I may as well have the -money as strangers. My jointure is but moderate, and I have great -expenses. Angela will require a maid, and to be suitably dressed and -taken about and properly introduced, as befits my granddaughter. What -do you think of my proposal?" - -"I think it is an excellent idea, and I agree to it most heartily," he -answered; "that is, if you approve of Angela, and she is happy with -you." - -"Oh, she is sure to be happy with me," was the vainglorious reply; "and -of course I shall feel the greatest interest in her, and take good care -that she makes a brilliant match. She shall marry to please _me_." - -If Philip knew anything of Angel, there would be two opinions on that -subject. - -"She will be a far more congenial companion than Eva, who, since -her silly love affair with a doctor she met at Aix, has been the -personification of seven wet blankets." - -"Why did she not marry him?" inquired the simple bachelor. - -"Because I put my foot down. A widower with two children—a mere -nobody, too. Eva declared that he was the best, most benevolent and -brilliant of men, and devoted to her. But that was rubbish; he only -wanted her ten thousand pounds." - -After this visit there were several teas and luncheons in Hill Street, -not a few conferences in the drawing-room, and confidences in the -conservatory. On one of these occasions—when all the preliminaries had -been successfully arranged—Lady Augusta plumed herself like one of her -own canaries as she remarked: - -"It was a lucky day for you, Philip, when you met me in Bond Street. I -have relieved you of your 'young girl of the sea,' otherwise I'm sure I -don't know what would have been your fate—such an impossible position -too—you, quite a young man, guardian to a pretty girl; you would -either have had to marry her—or get a chaperon." - -"Oh, I should never have come to that," he replied with unexpected -decision. "Angel will be in England, if not with you, with others; -and with six thousand miles of sea and land between us, surely we can -dispense with a chaperon." - - * * * * * - -In due time Captain Gascoigne returned to the East, _via_ America and -Japan, and Angel passed into the hands of her grandmother. She grew -up and left school with sincere regret, and many injunctions from -Miss Morton, who deplored the departure of her favourite pupil, and -contemplated her future with considerable apprehension. She had heard -of Lady Augusta Gascoigne as a lively, worldly matron, fond of cards, -racing, and racketing. What a guide and counsellor for a girl of -eighteen! - -"Miss Angel Gascoigne—by her grandmother, Lady Augusta Gascoigne," was -a notification in a _Morning Post_, succeeding a March Drawing Room, -and the "imp" was launched. She came out and enjoyed her first season, -and was warmly welcomed in a set in which the only disqualification was -a failure to be smart! - -Angel was not the least afraid of granny, whom she alternately amazed, -amused, delighted, and defied. She reversed the situation of aunt -and niece, and was Eva's steady support, confidante, adviser, and -idol. She made the house gay with her songs, her light laugh, her -flitting foot, her radiant young personality. Her cousins and aunts -were electrified when they first met "Miss Gascoigne;" her aunt was -almost always "Poor Miss Eva." Their attempts at patronage were easily -disposed of; the quick wit and cool self-possession of the Angel of -Ramghur combined with the grace and _aplomb_ of the Angel of Hill -Street was more than a match for the Harchesters and Lorraine girls. -Seeing that she refused to pose as a mere nobody and a poor relation, -they changed their point of view and became her sworn allies, admirers, -and friends. Immediately after the London season Lady Augusta and her -family left Hill Street for Aix-les-Bains. - - * * * * * - -During the time when Angel had been growing up and blooming into a -beautiful and somewhat despotic girl, her guardian and cousin had -developed into an enthusiastic worker, a would-be Empire builder. At -first, his duty had been among the canals and the distribution of -the water supply; he had to see that every village received its due -share of water; in the slack season he had to superintend works of -construction and repair. He had no society, and no amusements. These -years of solitude had a certain effect on his character. He spent -his time marching from one canal to another, accumulating stores of -experience regarding the conditions under which the peasants lived; -his work was tedious and monotonous, but Gascoigne was a young man of -active habits and observant eye; he was never dull, and his character -was setting into the solitary mould. His manners were a little stern. -His feelings were under iron control, but he was always tender to -animals and suffering. From the canals Gascoigne was promoted to the -frontier, thanks to a little war. Here he had distinguished himself so -brilliantly that he was decorated, and wrote D.S.O. after his name. -He enjoyed the hardships; the keen, exciting existence, the smell of -powder, the chances of life and death, stirred his pulses. Indeed, -once or twice he and death had met face to face; but he kept these -encounters to himself, and they were only talked about in the men's -tents, or a word was dropped in the messroom. He never got into the -papers—and yet he was known by hundreds as "Sangar" Gascoigne. - -It happened when the night had closed in rain, and rolling clouds -blotted out the camp lights, that he and a handful had gone back in -the dark to look up some stragglers, and had beaten off the wolfish -Afghans, and stood by their wounded till dawn and relief. It was an -experience to turn a man's hair white and it turned one man's brain. -Let those who know what night brings to the wounded and "cut off" -testify if their fears were not well founded? - -The hardships, the horrors, the honours, of a short but fierce campaign -had left their marks on Philip; this and the two years' solitary canal -duty had changed him, perhaps, even more in the same period than his -pretty cousin Angela. - -He was again in the North-West Provinces, responsible for a great -district, and well worthy of responsibility, though but thirty-seven -years of age. He was self-reliant, able, and energetic, and if -reserved and given to sarcasm, Gascoigne was popular, being generous -and hospitable to a fault. His bungalow was well appointed; all that -it wanted was a mistress (so said the ladies of the station). But -Philip Gascoigne's thoughts did not lean towards matrimony; his tastes -were solitary and simple; when away on duty or on the frontier, no one -lived a harder or more frugal life. He was well inured to the Indian -climate, master of several tongues; he had a capital head for ideas, a -mathematical mind; his heart was in his work, his profession was his -idol. Work with him amounted to a passion, and had effectually chased -love from his thoughts. He was one of the men whom luxury and decadence -had left untouched, and upon whom the executive business of the Empire, -in its remoter parts, could depend. Gascoigne was so good-looking, -cheery, popular, and eligible that many women spread their nets in the -sight of that _rara avis_, an agreeable, invulnerable bachelor. Over a -series of years he had successfully eluded every effort to "catch him," -and kept all would-be mothers-in-law politely at a distance. - -By this time he was given up as a hopeless case, and one indignant -matron had said in her wrath: - -"Major Gascoigne will let every chance of a suitable wife go by, and -when he is in his dotage will make a fool of himself by marrying a girl -in her teens." - -But so far Major Gascoigne was a long way from dotage, or the -fulfilment of this disastrous prediction. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE UNEXPECTED - - -IT was the month of September in the Himalayas, when the rains are -heaviest, landslips frequent, and whole hillsides crumble and slide -into the valley with a sound of thunder, that Major Gascoigne was -summoned up to Kumaon in order to cope with a series of disasters. -Bridges had been destroyed by racing torrents, roads were washed away; -such floods had not visited these regions for twenty years, so said the -hill folk, and traffic between the stations of Shirani and Chotah-Bilat -was practically at an end. It was not that the roads were impassable, -but that there were no roads whatever. The common route by the river -(to reach the so-called staircase) was now a boiling torrent, which -had risen in its fury and torn away pieces of the great cart road, -and dragged down and swallowed walls, buttress, bridges. Under these -circumstances, when troops were waiting to march, and most people were -moving towards the plains, transport and traffic were paralysed, and -loud was the outcry. - -Major Gascoigne had taken possession of the engineers' house, a -little building far away from road and river, perched high among the -rhododendrons over the valley, consisting merely of two rooms, verandah -and cook-house, and furnished to meet the simple requirements of one -man. Philip liked the isolated spot, where he heard nothing but the -crow of the jungle cock and the roar of the water. It was one of his -favourite halting-places when he came up on inspection duty. No cell -could be more solitary, or absolutely out of the track of the world. -Here he worked at his book on fortifications, here he kept a store of -favourite authors, here he was happy; it was his asylum—his cave. The -cave was beautifully situated, and, although it commanded a sweeping -view of the neighbouring hills and distant snows, yet, to the cursory -eye, the little brown house was almost buried amid rhododendrons, -oak and tall tree ferns. The last week in September witnessed many -landslips, several accidents, and much rain. Since daybreak the -"Engineer Sahib" had been personally superintending the damming of -a fissure and the construction of a temporary bridge. Towards three -o'clock in the afternoon, tired, mud-stained, and extremely hungry, he -set his pony's head towards home. After a long _détour_ they scrambled -up the slippery, greasy path, crossed with great tree-roots, and at -last reached their destination. - -Here Gascoigne gave the pony to his attendant, and called out -impatiently, "Qui hye." - -Instead of the usual prompt answer to this summons, the glass door into -the verandah opened very slowly and a grey-haired ayah, in a red cloth -jacket, appeared and signed to him to be silent. But Gascoigne was not -a man to take orders from strangers in his own house, and he walked up -the steps, motioned her aside, and entered the sitting-room. - -There on the shabby cane lounge was extended a fair-haired woman—a -mere girl, with one hand under her head, the other hanging limply -down, fast, fast asleep. A little cloth jacket was thrown over her -feet, a hat with wet feathers lay on his writing-table among all his -most sacred papers, and a damp umbrella dripped steadily in a corner. - -Evidently a traveller who had mistaken his cave for the Dâk Bungalow. -This was Gascoigne's first idea. He looked at her a second time, and it -struck him that there was something familiar in the shape of the face, -the pencilled dark brows, the delicate nostrils, and he experienced a -sudden spasm of horror as he realised that he was contemplating—Angel! -Angel, whom he believed to be established with her grandmother in -Haute Savoy, from whom he had received a cheery letter quite recently. -Unquestionably her talent for executing the unexpected was supreme. It -bordered on the miraculous. He suddenly recalled Shafto's prophecy that -"her future course was incalculable," as he closed the door softly, -and, beckoning the ayah to a distance, said: - -"Where have you come from?" - -"Bombay, sahib," was her prompt reply. "Missy and one lady engaged me -two days ago, the other mem-sahib going up country. At junction, my -missy asking there, and people telling sahib no in Marwar, sahib in -jungle and all roads gone," she paused to take breath, and resumed, -"but that missy coming all the same, plenty bad way, no littley small -path for one dog, missy never fraiding, she only laugh and tell coolie -men to go on—go on—I plenty fraiding, missy only wanting to come to -sahib—soon—soon—quick." - -The sahib impatiently motioned the woman away, and she swiftly -disappeared in the direction of the cook-house. Here was a pretty -business, a nice dilemma in which Angel had placed him. Major -Gascoigne, as he sat on the steps, an outcast from his own retreat, was -in what Billy Hargreaves would have termed one of his "cold" passions. -He had looked upon Angel as a solved problem—a charge made over to her -grandmother on payment of so much per annum. She sent him charming, -vivacious, and, yes, affectionate letters—such as a girl would -write to an uncle or a brother; some day he expected she would marry -(according to her grandmother, her admirers were as the sand of the sea -in multitude), and then the last fraction of responsibility would fall -from his shoulders. - -Oh, why had he ever been such a cursed fool as to take the child at -all? he asked himself bitterly, but when he recalled her mother's -eyes—those eloquent, dying eyes, his heart told him the reason. He -must get rid of Angel at once, but how, when, and where? The bearer -now humbly craved his attention. He assured him that he had done all -in his power to "keep the missy out;" as he spoke his expression -became so tragic that Gascoigne was compelled to smile. As well as his -recollection served him, should that Miss wish to enter, "to keep her -out" was a hopeless task. He desired his somewhat ruffled factotum to -prepare dinner, to pitch his tent, and make him some sort of shakedown; -"the Miss Sahib" would occupy the bungalow that night, and leave early -in the morning. - -It would be impossible to take Angel away that evening; the roads were -unsafe, and there was another storm brewing. As he stood watching the -clouds rolling up, and listening to the rumble of distant thunder, his -mind groping for some means of speeding this most unwelcome "Angel in -the house," a slight movement caused him to turn his head. There was -his ward in the doorway, and against the dark background she stood -forth a vision of youth, beauty, and joy. Yes, although her hair was -tumbled, and she was obviously but half awake, Angela was a sight to -make an old man young! - -She came quickly towards him with outstretched hands. No, _no!_ he was -certainly not going to kiss her. - -"Oh, Phil!" she exclaimed. "Dear old Phil—of course you are horrified -to see _me_," and she looked up with lovely laughing eyes into his -grave face. "But I really could not stand granny any longer—her -gambling, and her friends, and her behaviour were quite too much for -me. I just made up my mind at a moment's notice—and came away. When -I explain everything, I am as certain of your approval as that I am -standing here." - -"Had you better not sit down?" said her host, dragging forward a -verandah chair. - -"Thank you," sinking into it and looking about her. "How perfectly -delicious it is! Well, to go on with my story—I said to myself, why -endure this dreadful life—when I can always go to Philip? He is my -guardian, not grandmamma—so I sold my diamond ring for ninety pounds, -and came straight off. I did not wire or write, in case you might -forbid me to start. Now I'm here, of course, you cannot send me back. -Now I've come such a long, long way to find you—oh, do look a little -bit glad to see me," and she leant forward and laughed. - -Angel was completely at her ease; her manner was that of a girl who had -had all men under her feet. To Major Gascoigne the world had suddenly -become topsy-turvy; this was Angel's house, he was the unexpected -interloper, the runaway ward—and her attitude represented gracious -welcome. - -"Yes; but, Angel," he began, making a vague effort to withstand this -momentary vertigo, "although I am glad to see you, I am not pleased to -see you—here." - -"But why not?" she asked with an air of bewildered injury. "This is my -native land—you are my legal guardian. I belong to you, and not to -grandmamma. Oh, dear cousin Philip, do be nice. We have not met for -six years—think of that—do not look so stern—please be glad to see -me. _Please_," urged this audacious and distracting creature, with the -indescribable eyes and smile. - -Well, after all, Philip Gascoigne was only a man. He succumbed, he -relaxed, he threw dull care and dull disapproval from him—figuratively -tumbled them both over the khud. - -"You must be starving," he said; "what would you like to have?" - -"Tea, please," was the prompt reply; "and I will make it. It will be -like old times. I suppose the dear red teapot is no more?" - -"Strange to say, it still exists, and is here." - -"Then I shall be glad to meet it immediately; and remember, I shall -never forgive you for giving the tea-cosy to that Mrs. Gordon. You -don't know the pains it cost, the hours, and the tears, I stitched -into it—my first piece of fancy work." - -No doubt the ayah had already ordered tea, it was so speedily brought -into the verandah. Angel made it, and poured it out, chattering all the -time, whilst the solemn, black, bearded servant watched her furtively -with shocked but admiring eyes. Truly, these white women were handsome, -but shameless. A quick order in fluent Hindustani caused him to start; -the old familiar tongue had run to meet Angel in Bombay—in three days -it was once more her own. - -When tea was over and cleared away the young lady placed her elbows on -the table, and resting her pretty face between her hands, said: - -"I know you are dying to hear all about me—and I will tell you." - -"May I smoke?" inquired the master of the house. - -"Certainly you may, and I will keep you company," was the startling -rejoinder, as Angel suddenly produced a pretty silver cigarette-case, -held out her hand for a match, and proceeded to light up. - -"You must know"—here she blew a cloud—"if you did not guess it from -my letters, that granny and I did not hit it off. Of course my holidays -were like trial trips, and nothing really to go by; our boilers did not -explode, and we did not ram one another; but when I left Wimbledon last -Christmas, and became a permanent affliction in Hill Street, it was -different. I was too independent for granny; I did not take to racing, -or cards, or the young men of her set." - -"But they took to you, by all accounts," interposed her listener. - -"Oh, yes; but I soon let them see that the three-tailed Basha—pick up -my handkerchief—come when you're called—style they affected to other -girls would not go down with me. I snubbed them severely for a little -change, and they liked it; the more I snubbed them, the more they -grovelled, thankful for a word, ready to die for a smile. That is the -attitude young men should assume towards young ladies," and Angela blew -a ring of smoke, and watched it with calm approval. "When I came away, -snubbing was the latest craze—the rage." - -"It would depend upon who she was," said Gascoigne. "How would it work -if the young lady were snub-nosed?" - -"Oh—that is too difficult a question," said Angela with a gesture of -fatigue. - -"Why were you so death on these unfortunate youths? Why did they not -meet with your approval?" - -"Who could approve of creatures with a quarter of a yard of collar, -and an inch of forehead, and whose only two adjectives were 'rippin' -and 'rotten'?" demanded Angel. "Granny was vexed because I would not -afford her the glory of a fashionable wedding, for she looked upon my -obstinacy as a sinful waste of good matches. I would not marry myself," -continued the girl imperturbably, "but I got Aunt Eva married—not -quite the same thing in granny's eyes! Oh, she _was_ furious. Her -match-making fizzled out"—extending her hand dramatically—"but mine -was a grand success." - -"So Eva married the doctor after all?" - -"Oh yes, an old love affair—lights like tinder," and Angel blew a -great cloud of smoke from her nostrils. "Aunt Eva was my father's -favourite sister, otherwise the butt of the family, because she was -plain, unselfish, good, and cowardly. Dr. Marsh, who attended granny, -noted her, admired her, and proposed. Eva would have been only too -madly, wildly happy to say yes, but there was an uproar in the house. -Granny nearly had a fit. She set her sisters on to talk poor Eva to -death, and Eva submitted and caved in. She was very miserable, just -granny's drudge; when I came to Hill Street I soon found that I was to -be aunt—and she niece. I advised, scolded, lectured, and comforted -her; assured her that she had her own life to live, not granny's, -who had had a very good time. In short, I raised the standard of -rebellion!" Here Angel laughed, and looked over at her companion with -mischievous and triumphant eyes. - -"And there was war in Hill Street," said Gascoigne, wondering how -he was to deal with this daring insurrectionary charge, in whom the -elements were mixed indeed. - -"Civil war, I should call it," she responded. "I took the poor little -love affair in hand and patched up the pieces. I scraped acquaintance -with Dr. Marsh. He is a good man, works among the poor as well as the -rich, and has a very keen sense of honour." - -Gascoigne now threw away his unfinished cheroot and sat forward with -folded hands. Was he dreaming, or was he listening to little pig-tailed -Angel? - -"He could not endure snubs," she continued composedly. "He had a modest -opinion of himself, and had retired into his shell. By the way," she -asked suddenly, "am I boring you? All this interested me so keenly that -I forget that it may be deadly dull to other people." - -"No—no, pray go on. I am all ears, and keenly interested too." - -"Well, I had a long talk with Dr. Marsh; then I met him in the Academy -by appointment. I told him I wanted him to explain a subject to me; -when he arrived Eva was with me. They were mutually surprised. I told -him the 'subject' was in the gem room—and then—I lost them. Was I not -clever?" and she laughed like a child of nine. - -"Very," came the somewhat gloomy assent. - -"Aunt Eva has money of her own; she is past forty, quite old. Why -should she not choose her own life, and have some little happiness -before she dies?" - -"Why not indeed?" he echoed mechanically. - -"Because she was so yielding, so timid, so old-fashioned, so afraid of -granny, who used the fact of her being her mother—a thing poor Eva -could not help—as a reason for making her a slave for life. But I set -her free," she announced in a clear, ringing voice. "Yes, Dr. Marsh was -at Aix; he married Eva there. I was bridesmaid, witness, everything. -They went off to spend the honeymoon in the Tyrol, and I was left to -face—grandmamma." - -"But you dared not—and bolted—I see." - -"No, no," indignantly. "I'm not like that. Grandmamma was furious at -first, but I talked her round in two days. Dr. Marsh is a gentleman, -cultivated, and presentable. He has a large practice. Granny began to -see reason and to calm down. It was partly over an Italian Prince that -we came to grief: Granny was so insistent, so shamelessly throwing -me at his head, I could not endure it. He got on my nerves—and so -did Aix. The dressing four times a day, the baths, the gossip, the -gambling. I said to myself, I really must get away from all this, or -I shall develop into a woman like granny. Granny can have one of the -Lorraine girls to launch into life instead of me—she is not half so -stiff-necked or headstrong." - -"Are you stiff-necked and headstrong?" - -"Oh, yes, so Miss Morton used to say. A friend of mine, Mrs. Friske, -heard my groans and lamentations, and said, 'Why don't you go out to -your guardian? He is elderly; your home is really with him. India is -much better than this.' We talked it all over one night—she is very -quick, clever, and impulsive—and I thought it out, and made up my -mind to leave granny. I would not have done it so suddenly, but that -one evening we had a terrible scene, oh——" and she caught her breath -sharply. "I can never forget the things she dared to say of my—mother. -We had not spoken of her before. I just packed up all my smart French -frocks, sold my ring, Mrs. Friske took my passage from Marseilles, -and away we went on board the _Arabia_. It was all so easy. We had -a delightful time—lots of nice people coming out—and Mrs. Friske -chaperoned me to Basaule Junction. In spite of the awful state of the -hills, I came on straight, the wretched ayah gibbering and screaming -behind me, for I particularly wanted to arrive before grandmamma's -letter." Angel drew a long breath, and said, "That's all—I've -finished. Now it is your turn to speak, cousin Philip. Since I am here, -what are you going to do with me?" and she looked up at him with a gaze -of amused expectation. - -"I shall take you down to Marwar to-morrow," was his prompt reply, "and -as soon as the monsoon is over, send you—home." - -"No, no, no, Philip," she remonstrated in a piteous key. "I won't go -back. I realise now," putting her cigarette into the ash-tray, "that -I have been—mad. I'd no idea you were so young." As she spoke she -faltered a little, and a sudden wave of colour dyed her cheeks. It was -her first and sole token of embarrassment. "You are not the grey-haired -fatherly person I expected to see. You were getting grey years ago, -and I thought—you'd be different. I've so much imagination—I've an -excellent memory. I remembered how good you were to me when I was -an odious, friendless child, and I—imagined—that you—would be -pleased—to have me." - -Her lower lip quivered as she concluded, and her eyes darkened with -unshed tears. This was more than Saint Antony could have withstood. -Philip Gascoigne was amazed to hear himself saying—or surely a -stranger spoke: "Why, Angel, of course I am delighted to see you. -Your coming has taken me aback, that is all; and I am a hardened old -bachelor, not at all accustomed to young ladies." - -"No, nor being turned out of your house into the wet jungle," she -supplemented with a watery smile. - -"If I am not so old as you expected, you are much older than I dreamt -of. I always seem to see you in my mind's eye with a fair pigtail, and -frock just reaching to your ankles." - -"If you wish, I can return to both within the hour," she rejoined with -a hysterical laugh. At this moment the ayah made her appearance round a -corner, and said in her whining voice: - -"Gussal tiar, Miss Sahib." - -"It's my bath," she said. "I really must go and change. I feel such a -grub ever since I left Bombay. _Au revoir_," and she sprang up, and -left her guardian to his undisturbed reflections. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -DINNER FOR TWO - - -WHILST the young lady was changing her dress Gascoigne had another -interview with his bearer, ere retiring into the damp tent to remove -his wet clothes. - -"Look here," he said, "you must do all you can to make the place nice -for the Miss Sahib—tidy it up—and, I say, isn't there a lamp-shade?" - -Abdullah assented with solemn complacency. - -"There are no flowers, or dessert, but there's some chocolate—and see -that the cook does not spare his stores, and has an eye to the ayah and -coolies; they have all to be ready for an early start to-morrow." And -having issued these orders, he departed to his damp quarters, where he -experienced exasperating difficulties in finding his belongings, which -had been hurled into the tent pell-mell. He had no looking-glass; he -was actually obliged to do his tie at the back of his silver flask. How -a woman upset a house! As Gascoigne searched wildly for a handkerchief, -his thoughts were inhospitable—his mental expressions impassioned. - -Meanwhile the bearer, thus put on his mettle, bustled about with -feverish activity; he, like all natives, thoroughly enjoyed a crisis, -an unexpected situation, a novelty, a commotion. He was also full of -resource, but here his resources were so limited he had nothing to -draw upon save his master's wardrobe, and he put it under contribution -without delay. - -The old lamp-shade was gracefully draped with yards of soft red -silk—his master's cummerbund; the effect was so splendid and -stimulating that he brought forth a certain treasured red and gold -dress sash, and twisted it round the lamp with a quantity of beautiful -forest leaves. This was the table decoration, and it looked extremely -pretty and elegant. A blue military cape covered the deficiencies of a -table, a plaid railway rug draped the shabby cane lounge, Gascoigne's -two most cherished silk ties looped back the short window curtains, -and when the deft-handed Abdul had placed lighted candles in every -available spot and considered his work critically, he felt a thrill of -honest satisfaction—the warm glow of an artist who beholds his ideal -realised! The result was a transformation, and a success. - -When dinner was ready, he went and knocked on the visitor's door; -it opened promptly, and the young lady appeared; such a dazzling -apparition that Abdul fell back three paces. Angel had dressed her hair -elaborately—she abjured a fringe—it was parted in the middle, and -turned back in great masses, and gathered up in a knot low on her neck, -with one or two rebellious little curls peeping over her forehead. She -wore a dark trailing skirt, and a white silk and lace blouse, with -close-fitting lace sleeves. Nor were the little decorative touches -which add so much to a toilette omitted; she wore turquoise ornaments, -a picturesque silver belt, and a band of black velvet enhanced the -whiteness of her throat. All three items gave Angel an impression -of "full dress," and Gascoigne, as he surveyed this dainty vision, -mentally did homage. - -"I am rather smart—compared to what I was an hour ago," she said, -addressing her host, "and considering that I only brought one small box -with me—I left my luggage at the Junction, tons of trunks—oh, I am so -fond of my frocks!" An hereditary passion, reflected her guardian. - -(As Angel talked she was furtively scrutinising Philip, who had -exchanged his wet riding kit for the irreproachable white shirt, black -tie, and dinner coat of the period.) - -"You are dazzling, I admit," he exclaimed, with a smile. "I feel as if -I could only look at you through smoked glass." The girl laughed as she -seated herself and glanced round. - -"What a transformation scene—how pretty the table is! Why, we might -be dining _tête-à-tête_ at Prince's, and going on to a theatre. But I -remember how clever native servants are—how they make a grand show out -of nothing." - -Here Philip recognised with a gasp his wardrobe, so to speak, -decorating the table—yes, and the room. - -"Especially our troupe," she continued; "Colonel Wilkinson saw to that." - -"Have you any news of him?" - -"Oh, yes," carefully helping herself to salt; her hands and wrists were -exquisite. "He married again years ago, a woman with no end of money. -She must have escaped from some lunatic asylum; don't let us talk of -him. Let us eat, drink, and be merry." - -"You won't get very merry on soda-water," he protested. "Have some -claret?" - -"I never touch it, thank you. Granny said it made one's nose red." - -"And so you and Lady Augusta never hit it off after all?" he remarked. - -"No; she was such a Saturday-to-Monday sort of grandmother! Always -rushing here, and there, and back again, never at home except when -she was asleep, always 'showing herself' somewhere, as she called it, -always in the movement. I did not mind until she began to drag me with -her, and insisted on showing _me_. Then she always dressed like my -twin sister. Pray, what granddaughter could tolerate that?" Angel's -expression became tragic, and Gascoigne laughed, quite a gay young -laugh. - -"I assure you that granny has the ditto of this very blouse I'm -wearing; and," speaking with increased energy, "one of the last -scenes I had with her was to prevent her wearing a white muslin -gown; of course, it was drowned in lace, but imagine white muslin at -sixty-five," and she gave an impatient and despondent sigh. - -"It might have been seventy in the shade," acquiesced Gascoigne, -ironically. "I'm afraid she must have been an immense responsibility. I -can sympathise with you there." - -"Oh, it was not really that," and Angel's voice suddenly became the -grave utterance of a much older woman. Her eyes looked dark and tragic -as she leant a little forward and said, "It was the closed door between -us—we never spoke of my mother." Angel communicated this fact as if -she were alluding to some holy saint, and Philip, the hypocrite, bent -his head in profound sympathy. "No, never till that once," resumed -the girl. "It was the first and the last time. Our opinions were so -opposed, it was as if two furious, long-leashed creatures had been -suddenly let loose at one another's throats." After a little silence, -during which she meditatively broke up bread, Angel suddenly looked -over at her companion, and said: "Tell me, how do you like the way I do -my hair now?" - -Philip gasped mentally, but brought out an adequate reply. -"Immensely—last time you wore it down your back." - -"And so"—here she leant her elbows on the table, and locked her pretty -hands, and looked over them at her guardian, "you are really going to -take me down to Marwar to-morrow." - -"I am really," he answered promptly, "weather permitting." - -"How I hope the weather will not permit. I'd a million times rather -stay up here in the jungle, the real delightful jungle, within reach of -white bread, the post-office, and hairpins. I could sit and read, and -dream, and sketch, and ride up and down the valleys for months, and be -so happy. What a shame it is that one cannot enjoy what one _likes_." - -"Unfortunately we often like what is bad for us," said her guardian -drily. - -Angel drew a sigh of assent, and then resumed, "We never would have -found this place, only for one of my jampannis, whose brother is in -your service; he knew the way; was it not luck?" - -"Yes," agreed Major Gascoigne. (But _was_ it?) - -"The road was _nil_—in places it had slipped a hundred feet. We just -crawled along the precipices inch by inch, clinging on to roots and -branches, tooth and nail." - -"I must say it was very plucky of you to come." - -"Oh, I did not mind a bit," said Angel carelessly. "And so your home is -in Marwar?" - -"Yes; I'm only up here on duty. There are several people you know in -Marwar." - -"Really?" raising her perfectly pencilled brows. - -"Mrs. Gordon, for instance." - -"Yes, to whom you presented my tea-cosy. I shall certainly take it -back. Wasn't she a pretty dark-eyed woman, with a horrid old bearish -husband?" - -"What a memory you have!" he exclaimed. "And there is Shafto." - -"Who always hated me," making room for the bearer to remove the cloth; -"you cannot deny that." When the bearer had departed she put her elbows -on the table, and, confronting her companion, said: - -"Cousin Philip, I try to speak the truth to you—and I'll speak -it now. I see that in rushing out here to you I've acted on a mad -impulse—worse, perhaps, than cutting up Mrs. Dawson's dresses. I -don't stop to think; I act; when I shop, I buy what I want, and—think -afterwards if I can afford it. I never count the cost." She paused for -breath. "I did not leave grandmamma without good-bye. I walked into her -room when she was going to bed. I wanted to catch the night _rapide to_ -Marseilles, and said: 'I've come to say good-bye—as I'm off.' 'Where -to?' she screamed. 'India,' I replied. I won't repeat what she said, -but—well, she prophesied evil things. Her prophecy will not come true. -I am resolved to be prudent, and obedient. I will do whatever you -wish, but oh! cousin Phil," stretching out her pretty hands, "please -don't send me home—oh, please don't!" - -"Very well, then, I won't," he replied, little knowing that he had thus -sealed his fate; but, thanks to the sorceress, he was in a condition of -mind in which to-day blotted out to-morrow. - -It was an extraordinary experience. Would he awake and find he had been -dreaming? or was he really sitting _tête-à-tête_ in this lonely spot, -with the most bewitching girl he had ever seen? As he sat endeavouring -to focus his somewhat slow ideas—perhaps he was too reflective to -be quite good company—Angela rose and began to walk about the room, -critically inspecting the contents. - -"I always made very free with your belongings, and your house," she -said, "and"—with a laugh—"your horse. I see several little things -that I remember so well," and she touched them as she spoke. "This -old battered blotter and ink-bottle, and the frame with your mother's -likeness—how sweet she looks." She took up the faded photograph, gazed -at it for a long time, kissed it, and put it down very gently. "I see -you have a lot of books—um—um-um—Fortifications—Mathematics—how -dry! except 'Soldiers Three' and 'Vanity Fair.' I love 'Vanity Fair,' -and, do you know," turning about with the volume in her hand, "I was -always a little sorry for Becky." - -"Pooh! she would have sneered at your sympathy," rejoined Gascoigne. -"She never pitied herself." - -"No, she despised herself. How I wish Dobbin had not been endowed with -such large feet, otherwise I believe he would be almost my favourite -hero." - -"Only his feet stand in the way—alas! poor Dobbin." - -"Yes—ah, here you have something modern," opening another book: - - "La seul rêve interesse - Vive sans rêve qui est ce. - Et J'aime La Princesse Lointaine!" - -she quoted; "what a swing it has! Why, it is only seven o'clock," she -announced, with one of her sudden changes of manner. "What can we do to -amuse ourselves?" - -And he realised, as she looked eagerly at him, that here was a young -thing full of spirit and playfulness. - -Angel, as she turned and surveyed her guardian where he still sat at -table, the rose-shaded lamp throwing a becoming light on his clear-cut, -dark face, and deep-set eyes, acknowledged with a sudden stab that here -was a man as young, attractive, and marriageable, as many of her late -admirers. The title of uncle or guardian was a ridiculous misfit. - -For his part, he was wondering what he was to do with this graceful, -radiant creature, full of life, will, vitality, and imagination. -Perhaps it was just as well that she had broken away from Lady Augusta -and her pernicious influence; but where was she to live? What was he to -do with her? If he had been twenty years older. - -Her question roused him, and he answered: - -"I have no accomplishments whatever, and I throw myself upon your -generosity." - -"Well, I am very frivolous," she acknowledged, airily; "it is in my -blood, and I know some parlour tricks." As she concluded she swept -into the next room, and presently returned carrying a gaily-beribboned -mandoline, and two packs of cards. "These were so useful on board -ship," she explained, as she sat down; "made me quite run after. Ever -so many people invited me to stay, but I told them I was coming out to -my guardian." She paused, and then coloured vividly as she recalled -the extraordinary contrast between the ideal grey-haired picture she -carried in her mind's eye, and this young and vigorous reality. As she -talked, she dealt out the cards. What pretty hands!—Gascoigne assured -himself that he was in love—with her hands. "You play cards, of -course?" she enquired, looking up at him with her direct gaze. - -"Yes; whist only—strict whist, mind you; no Bumble puppy." - -"Oh, that is because you belong to a scientific corps," with a shrug -of extreme commiseration. "Nevertheless, your education is far from -complete. I'll teach you euchre, poker, picquet, and ever so many good -games of patience. Here is one for two," and she began to deal and -explain. - -The lesson proved so interesting that the couple were completely -absorbed, and deaf to the rising of the storm, the crashing and -clashing of trees around them, the roar of the downpour on the roof, -and the thunder of the mountain torrents. - -After the cards, music. Angel took up and tuned her gay mandoline, -seated herself in a low chair, and began to play and sing. Her -voice was not powerful; it was sweet, it was delicious, and had -been admirably taught. The fair syren sang several songs to -Philip—spell-bound (as well as an enraptured audience of servants, -jampannis, and coolies, who were secretly jostling one another in the -back verandah, and among them was the ayah, who assumed the airs of a -manager who introduces to the public a wonderful "Diva" whom _he_ has -discovered). - -Philip leant back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the singer; she was -giving "La Belle Napoli" with extraordinary charm and verve. What a -pretty picture she presented, with her gay mandoline, her expressive -face, her graceful pose—he would never forget this evening—never. It -seemed as if the very goddess of youth and joy had descended on his -shabby little home! Suddenly the music ended with a crash, and Angela -half rose and cried: - -"Who—are those women—looking in through the window?" - -Gascoigne started up as if he had been struck; he followed her glance, -and beheld a pair of weird visages glowering through the darkness. The -face of Mrs. Flant—a woman with a tongue—and the face of her sister, -Miss Ball, both acquaintances from Marwar. - -These two ladies had been in desperate extremities; they had, in spite -of all advice, insisted on descending—roads or no roads—to Marwar -for a ball. Their jampannis and coolies had missed the path, night -had fallen, the storm had burst, and there they all were benighted -in the jungle. Even the hill-men were at a loss, and grunted to one -another interrogatively. One man remembered, as if by inspiration, -the engineer's bungalow, and to this, after a weary toil and many -interruptions, they made their way. There was a light—how welcome to -the poor, forlorn ladies struggling far below in outer darkness. At -last they reached the long-prayed-for shelter, crawled out of their -jampans, and looked in at the window, whilst some of their bearers ran, -shouting, to the servants' quarters. The recent and somewhat noisy -arrival was, to the inmates, drowned by the roar of the elements. The -two ladies gazed in—there was barely room for both their faces in the -little window, and this was what they saw. An extravagantly-illuminated -room, a crimson-shaded lamp on the table, cards scattered in all -directions, comfort to correspond. Major Gascoigne, in evening dress, -leaning back in his chair, smoking, listening with obvious rapture to a -pretty girl—yes, a smartly-dressed girl—a complete stranger to them, -who was evidently supremely at home, and singing to a gaily-decorated -mandoline. What a picture of dissipation! Could they believe their -eyes? Was this how Major Gascoigne, the eligible but impregnable -bachelor, spent the time when he was supposed to be deeply immersed in -his work—and his duty? - -Mrs. Flant rapped her knuckles against the window pane; the summons was -imperious. Gascoigne jumped to his feet; his face was a shade graver, -as he said: - -"It is some people who have lost their way." - -"Why, of course, it never rains but it pours," said Angel, putting -down the mandoline with a gesture of impatience, as her cousin opened -the door and admitted the drenched wayfarers. - -These entered with cold, suspicious eyes, and brought with them a gust -of icy, driving rain, which caused the lamp to flare. - -"We lost our way," announced Mrs. Flant, from the depth of the prim -waterproof, "and were so thankful to see your light, Major Gascoigne. I -declare, when it came in sight I said a little prayer." - -"I'm glad you managed to make me out," was his mendacious reply. "Let -me introduce Miss Gascoigne, my cousin," indicating Angel; "she will -look after you. Angel, this is Mrs. Flant and her sister, Miss Ball. I -leave them in your hands, whilst I see about their coolies and dinner." - -"How cosy," said Mrs. Flant, "how—ah"—searching for an -adjective—"comfortable you are." - -"Yes, a charming little—hiding-place, an ideal retreat," echoed her -sister, with peculiar significance. - -"Is it not?" assented Angel, hastily gathering up the cards, and -putting away the mandoline, whilst the weather-beaten, hungry women -devoured her with their eyes. - -A graceful, willow-like figure, light brown hair, dressed by a maid; -a pretty face and such lovely clothes, a French gown, turquoise -ornaments, a vague sniff of violets—an up-to-date young lady, with a -pair of extremely penetrating dark blue eyes, and a self-possession -that was at once colossal and superb. - -"Do let me help you—I can lend you some dry things," she said, -ushering them into her bedroom, already made comfortable. - -On the dressing-table her silver-backed brushes and mirrors were -arranged, her scent-bottles, books, dressing-gown, and slippers, all -indicated the bower of a dainty and somewhat extravagant occupant. -Angel gave practical assistance. She lent her dressing-gown and -tea-jacket—her shoes were, unfortunately, too small—she assisted her -visitors to remove their dripping garments, summoned the ayah, gave her -voluble directions, and took her departure. - -The bearer, who was now positively at his wits' end with three ladies -to provide for—as well as all their retinue to house—was almost -in despair. However, he provided soup, a stew, and anchovy toast. -Meanwhile the new arrivals conferred together in hissing whispers. - -"Well," said Mrs. Flant, "I would not have believed it. I'll never -trust a man again." - -To which announcement her sister replied with a snort: - -"Yes; and, of all people, Major Gascoigne—a sort of monk, whom all the -world believes to be a hardworking recluse, and to only tolerate women -when he comes down to Marwar. That he should have—this person—hidden -away——" - -"Well, we must just put a good face on it," said Mrs. Flant -philosophically, "and be civil—any port in a storm, you know." - -"Did you notice her gown?" said her sister, speaking, as it were, in -italics. "It must have cost a fortune—simple—yet so French; and look -at her dressing-case," and Miss Ball cast up her eyes in pious horror. - -After the ladies had reappeared in the "person's" garments, -refreshments were brought in, to which they paid serious attention. -They partook of whiskies and sodas, began to recover from their fright -and their astonishment, and found their tongues. - -"You never saw anything like the road between this and Shiram's," -remarked Mrs. Flant. - -"Oh, I think I can imagine it," replied Angel, "as I came over part of -that way this morning." - -"You? Not really?" in an incredulous key. - -"Yes, I only arrived a few hours before you"—the girl was obviously -speaking the truth; she was a lady—"I came out in the _Arabia_ on -Monday." - -"Then the Mactears were on board?" with a judicial air. - -"Yes, they were in the next cabin to us—to the friend I came out with." - -"I'm afraid you won't have a favourable first impression of India," -said Miss Ball. - -"Oh, but I was born here. I was in India till I was nine years old. -Philip is my guardian, you know," and then she laughed, as she added, -"We have all taken him by storm to-day." - -"But you were expected, surely?" - -"No—no more than you were." - -"We never heard that Major Gascoigne had a ward," remarked Miss Ball, -trenchantly. - -"If you had been in Ramghur nine years ago, you would have heard all -about me. Here he comes," as Philip entered and beheld the ladies -cheered and clothed, and in a right state of mind. Evidently they were -getting on capitally with Angela, and this was important, though she -was too simple to guess at her guardian's reason for being particularly -civil to his guests. Mrs. Flant had a sharp tongue; she lived in his -station, knew all his friends, and was capable of making a very fine -story out of this evening's _rencontre_. Angel rather wondered at her -cousin's affability, and how well he talked. After a while he said: - -"You three ladies had better turn in soon, as you'll have a long day -to-morrow; you will have to share the same room," he explained, "and to -rough it a good deal, I'm afraid." - -"Not half as much as you in a wet tent," cried Angela. - -"Oh, I'm all right. To-morrow," addressing himself to Mrs. Flant, "I -will do my best to get you on down to Khartgodam." - -"You are so anxious to be rid of us," cried Miss Ball, coquettish, in -Angel's charming tea-jacket with its faint perfume of lilac. - -"Oh, no, not at all, but my cousin is most anxious to get down to Mrs. -Gordon." - -"Oh, do _you_ know Mrs. Gordon?" - -"She has known her since she was a child," replied Major Gascoigne. -Angel sat by and marvelled. "I will accompany you myself, and put you -across the bad bits. But I cannot get leave—in fact, I would not -take it, the district is in such an awful condition, and I shall be -obliged if you will take charge of my cousin, and hand her over to Mrs. -Gordon." - -"Oh, we shall be only too delighted," said Mrs. Flant. "It will be so -nice all travelling together. It was quite providential our finding the -bungalow." - -"For me also," he replied. "I was just wondering how Angel really was -to travel, and your turning up here is a piece of wonderful good luck." - -Angel opened her eyes to their widest extent. Was her guardian an -accomplished hypocrite? His countenance, when he had descried those two -white faces peering in at the window, had expressed amazement, horror, -and disgust. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE PARTING GUESTS - - -THE morning succeeding the arrivals, and the storm, was cloudless. -There are few things more beautiful, or more treacherous, than a break -in the rains in the Himalayas. The sun shone brilliantly, the sky was -a dense turquoise blue, against which stood out a far-away range of -jagged white peaks. A stillness lay upon the deep, dim valleys beneath -the forest bungalow, there was scarcely a sound besides the twitter of -birds, and the thunder of a water-course. - -Miss Ball was standing in the verandah pulling on her gloves, and -contemplating the scene. The party were on the eve of departure. - -"What a delicious spot this is," she exclaimed, rapturously, to Major -Gascoigne; "isn't it perfectly lovely, Bella? I should like to come -here for my honeymoon." - -"You must first get hold of the bridegroom," declared her sister in -a tart voice. Fanny's disappointments had begun to have a wearing -effect upon that lady's patience, and this early start, and the natural -apprehension of a detestable, if not dangerous journey, had somewhat -darkened her outlook on life. - -"The bungalow is always at Miss Ball's disposal," replied the host -gallantly. "And now we must be getting under weigh, as we have a long -march before us." - -In ten minutes the verandah was empty, the last coolie had disappeared -among the trees, Abdul, the Khansamah, free from further anxieties, -retired to his charpoy, and his huka. It proved to be a day of -thrilling adventures, of almost hair-breadth escapes. Mrs. Flant -emphatically declared that she could not face certain obstacles, but -she managed to progress, thanks to her escort's cool determination, -and ruthlessly deaf ear to her agonised exclamations. Miss Ball, on -the back of a stalwart hill-man, cut a sufficiently ridiculous figure; -she had not the nerve to skirt a certain frowning precipice on her -own feet. The path was narrow, the drop apparently fathomless, her -fears and protestations entailed twenty minutes' delay. She angrily -refused to follow her sister's example to be led across blindfolded by -Gascoigne, she simply sat in her jampan (hill-chair), and there lifted -up her voice and wept. - -Whatever Major Gascoigne's mental remarks were, outwardly, he was the -personification of politeness, encouragement, and cajolery. At last -the lady was persuaded, and was hoisted on the back of a grunting -Pahari with the shoulders of an Atlas, and with her eyelids squeezed -tightly together, her long feet dangling helplessly, was safely borne -to the other side. Thus she got across one of the "bad bits." Whatever -obstacles they encountered, their leader never flinched. He worked -hard in his shirt sleeves, with his own hands; he led, decoyed, and -coaxed the two sisters and the ayah along crumbling tracks, over -water-courses, and from rock to rock amid boiling torrents. It was -the hardest day's work that he ever remembered. If a fourth clinging -coward had been on his hands, Gascoigne felt that he was bound to -succumb. But Angel, luckily for him, had no fear. She was blessed -with a wonderful head and a cool courage, was amazingly active, and -swung herself from rock to rock, from root to root, or walked along a -six-inch path precisely as if she were a Pahari maiden. Her guardian's -time being engrossed with repairs, enticements, and the charge of -three agonised companions, he had but scant opportunity of talking to -her; but once, when the worst part of the journey was behind them, the -ladies were ahead in their jampans, the two fell into one another's -society, as they passed through a forest of rhododendrons. - -"Well—that's over!" said Gascoigne, as he drew a long breath, took off -his hat, and mopped his head with his handkerchief. - -"You won't offer to be squire of dames again in a hurry?" said Angel, -with a mischievous laugh. "I never saw such cowards. They were as bad -as the ayah—they gibbered." - -"I suppose it's constitutional," he replied; "they could not help their -feelings." - -"At least they might have concealed them," rejoined the girl, -indignantly. - -"Do you always conceal yours, Angel?" - -"I do my best—I'm trying hard; I can with some things," she answered, -"and if I were afraid, I'd rather die than show it." - -"I am quite certain of that," he replied, "but you have a stout heart, -I cannot fancy your being afraid of anything. I've a letter here for -Mrs. Gordon—will you give it to her? It will explain——" he hesitated. - -"—_me_," she supplemented briskly. - -"Yes, she will be delighted to have you. She is very much alone, her -husband is absorbed in his work—and they have no children." - -"Is she nice?" inquired his companion. - -"She is one of the best women I've ever known." - -"Yet she may be extremely disagreeable," argued Angela. - -"No, she is charming, and so popular. She is sympathetic, clear-headed, -and practical—everyone takes their troubles to Mrs. Gordon." - -"And you are sending her your trouble by rail?" - -"Nonsense, Angel, she will look upon you as a great boon, and be -infinitely obliged to me. I am sure you will like her." - -"Why should you be sure?" she protested; "sometimes I like the people I -ought not to like, and don't like the people I ought to like—and there -is no dependence on me." - -"What a way to talk," he exclaimed. "It will be strange if you and Mrs. -Gordon don't hit it off." - -"Do you think I shall shock her—as I do you?" - -"I was not aware that I was shocked. She is a good woman, who is not -narrow-minded, and her friends are many and various. Lucky is the young -man or girl, who, on first coming out, falls into her sphere. There -are very few people who have not been the better for Mrs. Gordon's -influence." - -"And yet she cannot influence her own husband," Remarked Angel drily. -"He is still a bear." - -"Unfortunately he is—and a grizzly bear at that," admitted Gascoigne. -"He has no interest in life beyond his work, which includes personal -ambition, a certain class of Persian love-songs—and perhaps—his -liver." - -"What a mixture!" she ejaculated. "Well, I shall insist on his taking -an interest in _me_, and before long, you will hear of his spouting -Persian love-songs, as we stroll up and down among roses, and bul-buls." - -Gascoigne burst into a loud, involuntary laugh, as the incongruous -picture tickled his imagination. His laugh rang down through the forest -trees, and reached the ladies, who looked at one another with peculiar -significance. - -"Oh, yes," resumed Angel, "I intend to influence ursa Major; through -him I shall influence his wife; through her, I shall influence the -whole province. I shall be like a pebble thrown into a pool, whose -ripples go far;" then in a voice, "When shall you be down, Philip?" - -"In three weeks or a month, and meanwhile I know, Angel, you will be -happy with Mrs. Gordon; she will introduce you to the people—and show -you the ropes." - -"Oh, but I know the ropes," said Angel, kicking a pine cone before -her, "I've not forgotten my India. Kind, hospitable, intimate old -India, with your mysterious under life, your tragedies, and comedies, -and scandals. I love you still," and she paused for a moment to kiss -her hand to a distant peep of the far-away blue plains. "Can anything -be more exquisite than this view?" she continued. "Look at the ferns -and moss growing on the trees, the carpets of wild orchids, the stern -purple mountains; I should like to remain in these hills—they seem to -draw me to them. I was born in the Himalayas, you know. Well, I suppose -I must leave them," and she heaved a sigh. "It is a pity, for I feel as -if I could be so _good_ up here." - -"I trust that you can be good anywhere?" said Gascoigne. - -"Oh, I don't know," she rejoined. "I am so sensitive to climate. I -love the sunshine, it makes me good-natured and generous, but I always -feel so wicked in an east wind! As for my sensations in a stuffy, -three-berth cabin, with two sea-sick companions—but I spare you. By -the way, one of my fellow-sufferers, a Mrs. Farquhar, gave me an urgent -invitation to visit her at Umballa." - -Gascoigne most devoutly wished that Angel had accepted this offer, and -thus given him even a few days' breathing-space. - -He looked at his ward, as she walked lightly beside him. She was so -natural, so simple, yet so worldly wise; and she was distractingly -pretty—not many men would have been so painfully anxious to rid -themselves of such a companion. - -She would certainly turn the heads of all the young fellows in Marwar. -What a prospect for him! Already he beheld himself at a wedding, giving -away the hand of the most lovely bride. Yes, of course, it would -not be long before Angel was carried off; she was a girl of unusual -attractions, and with this hope in his heart he became quite hilarious. -She would make a far happier marriage under his and Mrs. Gordon's -auspices than under that of her heartless and worldly old grandmother. - -On second thoughts, Major Gascoigne accompanied the party the whole way -to the railway, and saw them off, although it entailed an immense ride -afterwards. - -He wished to despatch a long explanatory wire to Mrs. Gordon, so that -Angel might not burst upon her as she had done on him; nor need the -child have all the awkwardness of announcing herself, and producing -her credentials. He secured tickets, saw to refreshments, baggage, -servants, and then came the taking leave of the three ladies. Angel -had half expected him to kiss her, but he merely gave her a warm -handshake. He was very funny now, so odd, and stiff, and changed, yet -just the same dear old Philip. And thus Angel set off in the little -tin-pot railway to Marwar, where she was to live under Mrs. Gordon's -chaperonage, turn the heads of all the young men, and to meet her -fate. As Philip turned his hired pony once more towards the hill, and -a thirty-five mile ride, leaving his own steed to follow, his thoughts -accompanied a party in the little black train now panting through the -Terai. - -And as he regained, late at night, his now deserted bungalow, his -thoughts dwelt, as he smoked, over the extraordinary incidents of the -last twenty-four to thirty hours. What experiences had been compassed -into them, like a meat-lozenge of emotions. - -As in his mind's eye, her guardian again beheld that charming child -flitting about his room; remembered her speaking and sunny eyes, -he told himself that his ward had far surpassed his expectations. -Surpassed?—his expectations had never ventured upon such an ideal, and -he made up his mind that he would be extremely difficult to please, -as her guardian, and that it was only some real good fellow who would -have his consent to marry Angel. Then he set his memory to work. He -deliberately passed all his friends, and his acquaintances, in critical -review—no, there was not one of them worthy to dust her shoes! - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -A DESTROYING ANGEL - - -CAPTAIN SHAFTO was taking tea with Mrs. Gordon in the great important -looking drawing-room, which befitted the wife of a Commissioner, -and future Lieutenant-Governor. She was, although five-and-thirty, -a strikingly attractive woman, with sweet dark eyes, a sympathetic -voice, a graceful carriage, and supreme tact. On the other hand, Billy -Shafto's beauty had been somewhat tarnished by several bad "go's" of -fever, a series of hot seasons in the plains, and roughing it on an -Afghan campaign, but he was still good-looking, popular, and unmarried. -As his hostess was about to add sugar to his tea, a telegram was -brought to her by a scarlet chuprassi, and presented with a deep salaam. - -She picked it carelessly off the salver, and, glancing at it, said, "It -is probably from Donald to say he cannot be home till to-morrow—the -new assessment is so tedious." But as she read the telegram she gave a -little gasp, and said, "From Major Gascoigne. You"—and she looked at -it again—"will never guess what it's about." - -"Of course I can," replied Shafto with the utmost confidence; -"he is going to be married, though I'm blessed if I can guess to -whom—everyone tells you first, you are the Queen of Matchmakers, and -the universal confidante—yes, poor Phil, gone at last." - -"No, you are quite cold—try again," she said. - -"Again——" he repeated, and his eyes travelled thoughtfully round the -pillared room, with its immense palms, imposing mirrors, and ottomans, -an awe-inspiring official room, offering dim suggestions of future -receptions. - -"I give it up—stop, no I don't," and he slapped his knee, "it's about -_Angel_." - -"Yes, you are wonderfully quick, I must say, but why did you think of -her?" - -"I always knew she'd give him trouble yet." - -"I don't know about the trouble, but she has joined him in the hills -without a moment's notice." - -Shafto gave a loud laugh. "That's Angel all the world over! I was -always dead against Phil taking over charge of that girl. I knew -he'd be let in. Here she comes out, I'll venture to say, as wild and -unmanageable as ever. What the dickens is he going to do with her?" - -"Well, for the present," said Mrs. Gordon with a faint smile, "he is -sending her down to _me_. I daresay, ultimately, he will arrange for -her return to England." - -"From what I remember of Angel I fancy there will be two words to that. -He might place her with some family; there are no end of girls out here -now, as paying guests—but it's a day after the fair. As long as she is -unmarried, he will be in hot water. You never know where you are with -Angel, or where she will have you." - -"You seem to have a bad opinion of her, poor girl," remarked the lady. - -"Well, yes—and with good reason. What does Phil say?" - -"'Angela arrived yesterday unexpectedly. Am sending her to you by four -o'clock train. Please meet, and receive her, and pardon P. G.'" - -"Umph," muttered Shafto, as he folded up the telegram, "she will be -here at ten to-morrow. Shall I meet her and bring her up? I knew her in -pinafores." - -"Thank you so much, for Donald expects me to be at breakfast. I will -send down the carriage and a chuprassi, and have the room all ready." - -"I wonder what she will be like?" said the man with a meditative air. - -"A little creature with fluffy hair—rather silent and frightened," -suggested the lady; and as Shafto always received whatever Mrs. -Gordon said as gospel, he was searching for the counterpart of this -description in the morning train. Mrs. Flant and her sister greeted him -agreeably, and he explained that he had not come to meet them—but that -Mrs. Gordon had sent him to receive a friend. - -"Perhaps I am the individual," suggested a tall, striking-looking -pretty girl; "is her name Gascoigne?" - -"You don't mean to say that you are Angel?" he exclaimed, grasping her -hand; "I never would have known you." - -"No," rather drily, "but I recognise you. You are Captain Shafto." -He coloured with pleasure, till she added, "who always so strongly -disapproved of me." - -"Now, there your excellent memory is at fault," was his mendacious -reply, "who could ever have disapproved of _you_?" for he had fallen -in love with this smiling vision on the spot. "Let me get your -luggage out—I suppose your ayah is somewhere—the carriage is here," -and he bustled about, proud and important, and all the way back to -the Commissioner's, as they sat opposite to one another in the roomy -landau, Shafto the Scorner was feverishly endeavoring to win the smiles -and good will of this exquisite and rather disdainful Angel. He was her -first victim—and by no means the last. - -Mrs. Gordon welcomed the traveller warmly, kissed her, took her to her -best guest chamber, and sent her in a _recherché_ breakfast. - -Meanwhile she read the epistle that was, so to speak, Angel's letter -of credit. So she had escaped from her grandmother, and all the -stimulating froth of modern society, and cast herself into the arms of -her guardian. Poor, poor Philip! never a ladies' man—though many women -found him most interesting and attractive—what was he to do, with this -wild and beautiful ward? - - * * * * * - -In a surprisingly short time Miss Gascoigne had made her presence -felt in Marwar. Mrs. Gordon had submitted to be enslaved; her stolid, -self-engrossed husband had expressed his admiration, Shafto was her -bond servant, and within a week Mrs. Gordon, popular Mrs. Gordon, had -never remembered in all her experience such a rush of young men's -cards and calls. Angel had unpacked her pretty toilettes—toilettes -that threw her mother's home-made costumes completely into the -shade—which she wore with an every-day grace. Lovely, fascinating, -maddening, was the station verdict, as they saw the girl in carriage, -or on horseback; such a creature had not adorned for twenty years, -and oh! what a charge for Philip Gascoigne. Meanwhile Angel revived -old memories, captured the affections of Mrs. Gordon, threw out many -queries respecting Philip, and embarked on a series of flirtations. - -Mrs. Flant and Miss Ball at first posed to the station as her original -friends and sponsors. They were important on the subject; she had been -given into their care by Major Gascoigne, and it was with them that -she had travelled from Khartgodam. She was a delightful companion, so -amusing and so vivacious. But as days flew by a change came o'er the -spirit of their dream, for among the crowd who had flocked to Angela's -standard was a certain Mr. Tarletan in the D. P. W., who had sworn, or, -at least whispered, allegiance to Fanny Ball. This put a completely new -complexion on Angela's character. Miss Ball was some years over thirty, -a slender young woman, whose admirers and good looks were visibly -deserting her, and her sister was painfully anxious to see Fanny -settled. Fanny had been foolish, and let so many good chances slip -through her fingers; Mr. Tarletan represented the last of these; it was -really a most serious matter. He had been asked to the house, lavishly -entertained, and taken out to dances; he had spent a whole expensive -month with the Flants in the hills, on the strength of his attentions: -did the man suppose he was going to get out of that for _nothing_? -But this mean-spirited miscreant ignored all bonds and claims, and -prostrated himself at the feet of the adorable Angel. His greetings to -Mrs. Flant were offhand and brief, his answers to her questions curt, -his pressing engagements fictional. As he had seven hundred rupees a -month, and good prospects, Mrs. Flant was not going to suffer him to -escape; she accordingly turned to her most seasoned and formidable -weapon—her tongue. - -As soon as Mrs. Flant began to "talk" there were whispers; hitherto -there were no two male opinions respecting Miss Gascoigne's beauty, her -figure, her vivacity, her charm—now there were no two female opinions -respecting her—reputation. Mrs. Scott had requested Mrs. Gordon in a -peculiarly pointed manner, not to bring Miss Gascoigne to her dance, -and Mrs. Gordon had replied with stately emphasis: "Certainly not, and -I shall remain at home with my guest." Then Mrs. Scott had grown pink, -red, scarlet—a Commissioner's wife is a dangerous woman to snub (in -India), and Mrs. Gordon was the wife of a Commissioner. "Of course you -are the last to hear the station scandal," she burst out, "and there is -such a thing as being too charitable. You don't know what people are -saying about Philip Gascoigne and his—ward." - -"You need not hesitate. She is his ward—what more?" - -"When Mrs. Flant discovered——" - -"Oh, Mrs. Flant is a Christopher Columbus for—new scandals and mare's -nests." - -"Well, at any rate, she surprised Major Gascoigne and his ward in a -lonely bungalow in the hills, perfectly happy and at home together. She -says she believes they were there for weeks." - -"And even so?" - -"Mrs. Gordon," rising and evidently preparing to shake the dust off -her feet, "if you had young people—you would never be so lax. Miss -Gascoigne is pretty in a certain odd French style—she is grown up, and -what is Major Gascoigne?" - -"Her guardian—her mother——" - -"No," interrupting wildly; "an attractive bachelor in the prime of -life—many people consider him the handsomest man in the station." - -"But what has that got to do with the question?" - -"Oh, my dear Mrs. Gordon!" Here Mrs. Scott shrugged her shoulders, -and with a dramatic "Good afternoon," stalked out of the great -drawing-room. It was in the air, and in people's eyes. Mrs. Gordon -felt it, and saw it, although Angel at her side, all white muslin, and -smiles, was as innocent as any May-day lamb, who fails to see in the -approaching figure in a blue overall—the arbiter of its fate. - - * * * * * - -Whilst the station was simmering to boiling-point, Major Gascoigne -returned to Marwar, and dined at the Gordons' on the night of his -arrival. He arrived late, just in time to take his partner in to -dinner; it was not a so-called "Burra Khana," but merely a friendly -informal affair, half-a-dozen of the station boys, a couple "passing -through," Angel, and himself. As for Angel, it seemed to him that his -prognostications had been fulfilled. She looked brilliantly lovely, -yes, that was the adjective, her colour was like a rose, her eyes -shone. She carried herself with an air, though she chattered any -quantity of fascinating nonsense. She was irresistible, and all the -boys bowed down before her, like the sheaves of Joseph's brethren. - -He thought Mrs. Gordon looked a little worn and anxious, possibly -her Indian bear had been unusually selfish and savage. Poor woman, -when she married Gordon twelve years previously, a pretty, simple -country clergyman's daughter, longing to see the East, and strongly -recommended to the bear by his maiden aunts—he had come home to look -for a wife precisely as he would for a camera or a bicycle—she little -dreamt of the life that she was doomed to live, the stones for bread, -the serpents for fish, and yet how she kept her sorrows to herself, -what reticence, self-control, and womanly dignity; who ever heard her -complain of a hard taskmaster, his iron rule, and her barren life? - -After dinner Angel sang; it seemed to be expected as part of the -evening's entertainment. Major Gascoigne leant against the wall in -the background, and marvelled and listened. She stood behind her -accompanist and facing the room, and when Angel opened her mouth to -sing she still continued to look charming. She wore a white dress -trimmed with shining silver, it had a low neck and long sleeves, -according to the fashion; a few crimson roses were fastened in the -bodice, a little chain and locket encircled her long throat; the -expression of her eyes was interesting to watch—what passion lay -dormant in those deep blue orbs—who would be the happy man on whom -they would ultimately smile? There was no question that his ward -possessed the fatal gift, and he could hardly realise that this -charming, enchanting and destroying Angel was the little forlorn -creature whom he had educated and befriended. He thought of her -grandmother's furious letter, which had swiftly followed on the -runaway; it was evidently written when the heart of the writer was hot -within her. It said, "Angel is her mother's own daughter, though I was -never brought into personal contact with that adventuress, who robbed -me of my youngest son. It was about this woman that we quarrelled, her -daughter and I; in a fury she left me, and fled to you; regardless of -appearances, duty, or gratitude. I wash my hands of her absolutely, and -I deplore your fate." - -When the party was breaking up, Philip Gascoigne snatched a few words -with his ward, who was closely invested by her admirers. They were -planning a riding party for the following morning; any number of -perfect horses were preferred for her selection, her usual mount being -lame. - -"I will send over a pretty little Arab, that will carry you perfectly," -suggested her guardian. - -"Thank you very much, Philip, but I've almost decided to ride Captain -de Horsay's polo pony, who can't bear women, and shies when he sees -one—riding him will be an experience." - -"You may say so," put in Captain de Horsay's rival, "much better ride -my stud bred—you'll never hold him." - -"Well, I shall try, and if he bolts, he can boast that he ran away with -a lady, and his character as a woman-hater will be gone. Yes, please, -Captain de Horsay, I'll have Schopenhauer at half-past six." - -The riding party, which consisted of Mrs. Gordon, Angel, Philip, -and four men, duly came off, and though Schopenhauer ran away with -the lady, she thought it great fun, but the pony's excitability -and eccentricities precluded all chance of enjoying a comfortable -_tête-à-tête_ with anyone. She was, however, an admirable horsewoman, -whatever her driving might be, and the black pony had undoubtedly met -his match. Gascoigne took leave of the party outside the Commissioner's -bungalow, and galloped straight home. As he entered his cool -sitting-room, he was rather surprised to discover the station chaplain -occupying his own especial arm-chair. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"THINK IT OVER" - - -THE Reverend Arthur Eliot, "Padre Eliot," as his people called him, -was a notable figure in society, an active, well-built man of six or -seven and thirty, with a square, clean-shaven face and an exceedingly -sweet smile. He never preached longer than fifteen minutes, he was -an admirable bowler, played a hard set of tennis and sang a good -song. All this went far to account for his popularity. He was also -unmarried—though this in India is unimportant—but, more than all, -he was a fearless, outspoken pastor, whose example and works did far -more good amongst his flock, especially the young men, than constant -services and ornate ritual. - -He worked indefatigably among the soldiers and Eurasians, their wives -and children, and strove to provide occupation and amusement for them -all, fully endorsing Dr. Watt's opinion respecting "Satan and idle -hands." In sickness and in health it was the Padre they all turned to, -and many a poor soul had leaned on his arm, as it groped its way to -another world. He lived plainly and simply in a little cheap bungalow, -and was a near neighbour to Major Gascoigne, between whom and himself -there existed a most cordial friendship. The Padre was such a busy -man that Gascoigne knew, the instant he saw him, that only important -business had brought him to call in the golden hours of the morning. - -"Hullo, Gascoigne," he said cheerily, as he entered, "I am glad to see -you back." - -"Yes, thank you, only arrived last night. I've had a tremendously big -job up the hills—they all seemed determined to run down into the -plains; I never remember such rains," and he threw himself into a -chair, and tossed his cap on the table. - -"And now you are home for good," said the Padre, and his face took a -more serious expression, as he sat erect and crumpled his terai hat in -his vigorous hands. - -"Look here, Gascoigne," he continued with an effort, "I've come to have -a good square jaw with you, about something that will be disagreeable, -but you know it's the Padre's duty to stand in the forefront, when -talking has to be done." - -"I know," assented his companion. "I suppose you want me to take back -Johnson, the overseer—I honestly would if I could—I'm sorry for his -family—I've given him two chances." - -"My dear fellow," interrupted the chaplain, stretching out his hand, -"it is not that at all. I've come to speak to you about Miss Gascoigne, -your ward." - -"What about Miss Gascoigne?" inquired her cousin. His manner stiffened, -and his voice assumed an Arctic coolness. - -"I suppose you know how a station gossips—in the billiard-room, -barracks, and bazaar?" - -"I suppose I do," he said contemptuously. - -"Have you any notion of the talk there has been respecting Miss -Gascoigne?" - -"Every new-comer has to pass through that ordeal—by tongue," -interrupted the other man with a gesture of impatience. - -"Please allow me to finish," protested his friend gravely. "Of course -you are not likely to hear a breath—no one would venture to tell you; -but the air is thick with rumours concerning your cousin and yourself." - -"And where do I come in?" he asked sharply, "in what character?" - -"The usual character a man assumes when a very pretty woman is in -question—the _rôle_ of lover." - -Gascoigne kicked over a footstool, and rose to his feet. He had grown -suddenly white. - -"Who dares to couple our names in that way?" he asked hoarsely. The -veins in his temples swelled, and his eyes flashed. - -"Most people," was the staggering reply; "you see, you and she -were alone at your forest bungalow. Mrs. Flant has been drawing a -highly-coloured picture of your _ménage_—she has thrown out hints." - -"To which no one who knows her will listen," broke in Gascoigne. - -"Oh, yes, I regret to say, that there is a large class who like to hear -ill-doings attributed to others—especially when those others have been -_sans peur_, and _sans reproche_." - -Gascoigne stared at the Padre for some seconds. At last he spoke. "I'll -tell you the plain facts, Eliot. Ten years ago I adopted my little -cousin, and took over the charge from her dying mother. I sent the -child to England and educated her; latterly her grandmother has given -her a home. They have had a violent quarrel, and the impulsive girl -came straight off to me. She arrived exactly two hours before Mrs. -Flant and her sister. I need scarcely say that her unexpected descent -embarrassed me a good deal. That's the whole affair—I know it is -unnecessary to explain myself to you"—— - -"Quite," was the laconic reply, "but you are in an awkward position, -as guardian to a young lady; and one of such a remarkable and out of -the common character. When you accepted the post she was a child—now -you have a beautiful woman on your hands. You are a young man, and -unmarried. This gives the enemy occasion to blaspheme." - -Gascoigne muttered something which is absolutely unsuitable for print. -Aloud he said, "I wish I were seventy years of age. I suppose that -would shut people's mouths?" - -"It would simplify matters, certainly," acquiesced the Padre. "Miss -Gascoigne did an extraordinarily foolish thing when she rushed out -to India and hurled herself into your charge. She never realised the -gravity of the step she was taking. I gather that she is a girl to act -first, and then to sit down and think? In the present instance she will -have to sit down and repent in sackcloth and ashes for the injury she -has done to herself—and you." - -"Oh, never mind me," broke in his companion impatiently, "what is to be -done about her? I cannot offer her a home here—I cannot leave her with -the Gordons—I have promised not to send her back to England—what _am_ -I to do?" and Gascoigne, who had been pacing the room with his hands -behind his back, suddenly came to a halt, directly in front of his -pastor. - -"Why cannot you have her to live here?" asked Mr. Eliot, gravely. - -"Why?" echoed the other man, "good Lord—is not your visit a plain -answer to the question? If people are such brutes as to make a scandal -out of—" - -Mr. Eliot extended his hand with a gesture of deprecation. - -"Oh, then, go on," said Gascoigne impatiently; "tell me what I can do? -Say the word." - -"You can—marry her," was the totally unexpected answer. - -Gascoigne's reply was equally astonishing; it took the form of a long -pause, and then a loud derisive laugh. "I—marry Angel!" he cried at -last. "Excuse me, but the idea is too absurd." - -"I fail to see anything ridiculous about it," rejoined the Padre. "I -think it would be a capital match. You are a man in the prime of life, -she is a charming girl—is there any just cause or impediment?" - -"Twenty." - -"Give me one, then," he asked impatiently. - -"She is a mere child." - -"No; she is a grown-up woman." - -"We—would be a most incongruous couple, a butterfly, and a black -working ant." - -"I cannot see that." - -"Besides, Angel is not to be disposed of in such a summary fashion; she -would laugh at the bare idea." - -"Is she not well disposed to you?" and Padre Eliot eyed him -searchingly. - -"Oh, yes; as a child she was extremely fond of me." - -"'_On revient toujours a ses premiers amours_,'" quoted his visitor -with significance. - -"Eliot, you are a clever fellow, and my friend," said Gascoigne, -suddenly, "but you are neither going to talk me, or quote me, into -matrimony. I have never—that is to say, not for years—thought of -marrying." - -"Then it is time you did," rejoined his visitor, with decision. "It is -a great mistake for a man to put off marrying too long; marriage is an -honourable estate. It is not good for man to live alone." - -"Well, I find the estate extremely comfortable. There was peace in Eden -till Eve appeared, and I, too, can quote scripture, 'Physician, heal -_thyself_.'" - -"Yes, I thought you knew," and Mr. Eliot's face grew grave; "I've had -my romance—she died." - -Gascoigne did not reply. - -"I've had my romance—she jilted me," he merely said. - -"I did not know." - -"Pardon me, I'm sorry for you; but marriage would change the whole -current of my life." - -"And make it deeper and broader and more unselfish," suggested his -visitor. - -"I never realised that I was selfish—I expect I am! I like my own -way, my own pursuits, my own friends. I would be selfish, indeed, if -I brought a gay young life to share my fossilised routine. Eliot," he -continued, still more forcibly, "speaking as man to man, surely there -is some way of escape from this situation? Help me, for my mind is not -fruitful in devices. I am thinking of Angel, not of myself. Is she -to be compelled to marry a man she has always looked on as a sort of -uncle, simply because a wicked woman has started an infernal scandal? -What is your opinion?" - -"You have already had it," now rising. "I have told you what I came -here to say. Scandal is hard to stifle, even when it has not a tittle -of foundation—evil minds continue to repeat. 'There is no smoke -without a fire.' I believe there is no fire, nothing but the cold, -wet sticks of early companionship. I say, that I know you to be a -good fellow, Gascoigne; Miss Angel is a beautiful, high-spirited, -warm-hearted girl. Accept what fate sends you—marry her if you can, -and be thankful." - -"That is your last word?" - -"Yes; I say no more. Think it over, my dear fellow," and here he laid -his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his friend; "you might see -Mrs. Gordon. Women are instinctively clever and quick-witted in these -affairs. Think it over," and with this injunction Mr. Eliot put his -terai hat on his head, and hastily took his departure. - - * * * * * - -For some time after the Padre had left him, Major Gascoigne remained -sitting in a chair, mentally benumbed. By-and-by he roused himself with -an effort, and set all his wits to work upon the subject so brusquely -brought to his knowledge. The more he reviewed the question, the less -he liked it. He knew how a breath of gossip can tarnish a stainless -name, whether at home or abroad; how no amount of rubbing will remove -the speck of rust which eats it away. Poor Eliot, he was sorry he had -raked up a dead memory. Eliot was too emotional, too sensitive about -his flock, very easily frightened—and all parsons were match-makers. -There must be _some_ way out of the wood. He would change his clothes -at once, swallow some breakfast, and ride over and talk the thing out -with Mrs. Gordon. She was generally sewing or writing all the morning -in the north verandah. Then he suddenly recalled the fact that his -hostess had seemed a little grave and preoccupied the previous evening; -that once or twice he had caught her gazing at him with a mysterious -expression—that once or twice she had been about to say something to -him during the morning ride, and paused; and that she had given him an -unusually pressing invitation to "come over soon—and tell her all the -news." - -Major Gascoigne was perfectly correct in his surmise. As he walked up -to the north verandah, Mrs. Gordon rose, and held out her hand; in the -other were several letters. - -"Do come and sit down," she said. "You are the very person I was -thinking about, and particularly wish to see." As she concluded she -held up a letter, and said: "This is _all_ about you." - -"Then it is bound to be stupid," he rejoined, heaving a dog out of -a chair, and taking its place. "I've come over to have a talk with -you—great wits, you see, jump together; but, bar all jokes, I shall be -glad if your wit will clear up a puzzle for me." - -Mrs. Gordon looked at him inquiringly, and faintly coloured as she -said: - -"You have had a visit from Mr. Eliot, good, brave man." - -"Good, yes; but there was no particular question of courage," said -Major Gascoigne, rather sharply. "Did you fear I would knock him down, -or shoot him?" and his tone was sarcastic. - -"I'm thinking of moral courage," she answered quickly. "It required a -certain amount to go and beard you—and tell you—that you had been -tried by the tribunal of the station and sentenced to—marry——" - -"Angel," he supplemented, half under his breath. - -"Yes, it appears that Mrs. Flant has been assiduously spreading -reports," continued his companion, "and nothing will appease Mrs. -Grundy—short of—your marriage." - -"And is it not shameful?" he broke out, with a ring of passion in his -voice, "that I should have to marry that poor child, in order to shut -Mrs. Flant's mouth?" - -"To shut everyone's mouth," corrected Mrs. Gordon; "even Donald says -it is desirable. Mrs. Flant has the pen of a ready writer, as well as -hosts of correspondents—she has a hideous mind, and, you see, you were -promoted over her brother's head." - -"Simply because he was incompetent. An unmitigated duffer—his work was -notorious. I'm still patching and repairing and destroying." - -"I always thought it was a hazardous experiment, your taking charge of -Angel," observed Mrs. Gordon, as she meditatively surveyed her visitor. - -What a handsome fellow he was! with his sun-bronzed, clear-cut face—at -present clouded with gloom. What an excellent husband he would make; -it was a pity he was unmarried, and only (she secretly felt assured) -some extraordinarily tidal wave of circumstance such as the present, -would ever sweep him into the net matrimonial. He would be so much -happier with a wife. And Angel? With a woman's instinctive knowledge -of another, Mrs. Gordon knew that Angel—beautiful, bewitching, -fascinating Angel—loved no one as she did this good-looking, dark-eyed -cousin, who lay back in his chair with his hands locked behind his -head, his gaze riveted on his well-cut riding boots, and an expression -of tragic protestation on his countenance. - -Angel was not in love yet. She loved him (there is a difference)—she -loved him as the champion of her childhood, the bond between her and -her mother, her ideal, champion, and friend. This love was well hidden -away from all unsympathetic eyes, for Angel had made no foolish boast, -when she had declared that she would conceal her feelings, but the -love, a rare, strong, pure love, was there. - -Once or twice it had peeped out timidly, and Mrs. Gordon had seen it. -She was a born match-maker; of her matches she was inordinately proud, -and generally with good reason. She felt that she had contributed to -the happiness of many, and that, just at the critical moment, she had -supplied the little look, or hint, or word, that brought the whole -story to a happy ending. - -As she sat with her eyes fastened reflectively on her visitor, she -rapidly made up her mind that he should marry Angel. The "talk" would -eventually blow over; in fact, if she were to dress herself up as a -Japanese, or a negress, and go to the club, the talk would instantly -be diverted to herself. So much for talk! Here was a tide in Philip's -affairs and Angel's, and she resolved to take it at the flood. - -"I think you and Angel would be an ideal couple," she said. "I'm sure -you would make her happy." - -"What!" he exclaimed, struggling back out of a day dream; "you are not -in earnest?" - -"You would be April and July." - -"No, but a March hare, and a Michaelmas goose," he retorted, -scornfully. "I'm much too old for her." - -Mrs. Gordon made no effort to combat this statement—her husband was -seventeen years her senior. Was not her bleak married life an awful -warning to other girls? - -"She would have someone to lean on," she resumed; "someone to guide -her." - -"I'm not sure that she'd care about _that_," her visitor protested, -with a short laugh. - -"She always—liked you—she likes you still. The king can do no wrong," -she urged, insistently. - -"He would do her a great wrong if he asked her to be his queen to -silence lying tongues. A gay young fellow of five-and-twenty, who -dances well and is a good polo player, is far more in Angel's line that -I am—even supposing she would have me—which she would not." Here -Mrs. Gordon made a gesture of dissent. "I'm too settled in my ways. -After a man passes the twenties, and gets on into the thirties without -marrying, he does not want a wife—she's a sort of extra." - -"What heresy," cried his listener, indignantly. - -"Besides, you know, I—was once—in love with another girl." - -"Oh, yes; but that was twelve years ago," said his listener, quickly; -"she is no girl now. You cannot pretend you have not got over that. We -all know that men's hearts, like crabs' claws, grow again." - -"What heresy," he repeated, with a laugh; "but, come, Mrs. Gordon, let -us be serious. Surely you can suggest some nice retired family in a -hill station who would receive Angel? I'll allow her four hundred a -year—a family with girls preferred." - -"No," she replied; "for although Mrs. Flant's hints are abominable -falsehoods, her lie has had three weeks' start. Whilst you have been -absent it has been travelling rapidly, and growing like a snowball. -How are you to overtake it? and what family of girls would receive a -young woman—with a—story?" The lady's methods were cruel, but it was -all for the good of the subject, and his ultimate happiness; the end -justified the means. "Angela's name has been bandied about; you must -change it from Miss to Mrs." - -"I'll be——" he began, and pulled himself up. "I shall go straight off -to Mrs. Flant, and cram her words down her throat, and make her eat -them. If she were a man, I declare, I would flog her. What is her tale?" - -"Merely a hill idyll—which she discovered one stormy evening." - -"But Angel came out in the _Arabia_; she had only the start of Mrs. -Flant by about one hundred moments, and there are two hundred witnesses -to prove it." - -"True, but if you make a stir, you stir up mud," was Mrs. Gordon's -damping rejoinder. "You will make matters worse. At present, talk is -confined within a certain limited radius; surely you don't wish Angel -to be the talk of India?" - -Here came Angel running, in a flowing, white gown, with a note in her -hand. She was accompanied by two frolicking puppies, and looked like -the spirit of youth. - -"Good morning again, Philip," she said; then glancing at her -friend, she continued, "I declare, you two are like a couple of -conspirators—where is the dark lantern? Who is to be the victim?" - -"You are," was Mrs. Gordon's unexpected reply. "We are meditating -carrying you off into camp for six weeks." - -"How delightful—there's nothing I shall enjoy so much. Are you going -to invite Philip?" glancing at him. - -"I don't think I can get away," he stammered—"at least, not for more -than a couple of days at a time." - -"I always had an idea that there was next to no work in India; that it -was all racing and polo, and dancing and flirting." - -"Well, my dear child, you see you were wrong," said Mrs. Gordon. "Who -is the note from, my dear?" - -"Only a line from Miss Lennox, to say that she and her sister regret -that they cannot come over to have a game of tennis this evening—such -a funny stiff little note," and she tendered it to her hostess between -two fingers, whilst Mrs. Gordon's and Major Gascoigne's eyes met in a -glance of quick significance. - - * * * * * - -As Major Gascoigne was walking home across the parade-ground, a -pony-carriage and pair of fat Pegu ponies drew up on the road, and -awaited him. Then a lady's head was poked out from under the hood, and -a smiling face, crowned by an Ellwood helmet, said: - -"So pleased to see you back again." - -"Thank you, Mrs. Wiggins," he rejoined. - -"I want to be the first to congratulate you on your beautiful -cousin—she is lovely—everyone is talking of her, and no wonder. And -when is it to be?" - -"When is—what to be?" he asked stiffly. - -"Oh, come, come, you need not play the ostrich with me," and with a -laugh and a flip at her ponies, the lady rattled rapidly away, and -subsequently bragged of her encounter. - -Angel's guardian frequently visited to the Commissioner's bungalow. -He came to dine, to early tea, to ride, to accompany Angel and Mrs. -Gordon to church or the band. Angel was radiantly happy, and, thanks -to her friend's precautions, totally unconscious of the net which was -closing round herself and Philip. Mrs. Gordon was merely an interested -looker-on, she saw both sides of the drama, she was both before and -behind the scenes. On one side there was Major Gascoigne, restrained, -reserved, reluctant, and yet who could resist the charm of the daily -companionship of the delightful girl who was his ward? There was Angel, -whose whole mind seemed to be centred in the wish to please Philip—and -to wonder what he thought of her? - -Public opinion was favourable to the marriage—public opinion was -strong. Those who envied Major Gascoigne his careless bachelor life, -those who resented his lack of reciprocity, those mothers whom he had -disappointed, all desired to hurry him to the altar. - -He could resist, but he had decided not to resist, for, after all, -Angel was the most beautiful and charming girl he knew. She was -unspoiled, he believed that she cared for him, and that he could make -her happy. - -Under these reassuring reflections, he decided to accept his -fate—Angel. It was not a hard fate, a fate much envied of many, and -particularly—of all people—by Shafto. It was true that he had spoken -of marriage as a mere "episode" in a man's life—he trusted the opinion -would never reach Angel's ears. He was not madly, wildly, in love, -no—but he thought he would be lucky if she became his wife. - -He would prefer to remain unmarried for the next ten years, and carve -out his career unweighted with an encumbrance. Truly, these were very -cold-blooded ideas to be harboured by the lover of a bewitching beauty -of nineteen. On the other hand, when he became grey, and stiff in the -joints, and the meridian of life and its glories had waned, he would be -nothing but a lonely, leather-faced veteran, with not a soul belonging -to him, and with no one to whom he could leave his money, except -Angel's children. Again the charm of his independent life rose into -his vision, his happy, quiet hours, his beloved book, his absorbing -interest for his work. Must this all be relinquished? Was it true, as -a comrade had declared, that his heart was composed of an entrenchment -tool? Swayed this way, and that, Philip was ashamed of his vacillation. - -For once he found himself in strange conflict with his own character. -The faculty of promptly making up his mind—what had become of it? -Fresh from the charm of Angel's voice and manner, he determined to -speak the very next day. - -But when the morning came, the cool, clear morning, it brought counsel, -it brought a multitude of papers that absorbed all his thoughts and -time. After several hours of this detachment, his mind returned to the -attitude of indecision, his ideas were again readjusted. - -Whilst Philip was thus balancing his feeling and weighing the _pros_ -and _cons_, the Gordons went away into camp, for the Commissioner's -usual cold weather tour, and they took Angel with them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -"A WHITE ELEPHANT AND A WHITE ROSE" - - -THE tour of a Commissioner in camp in the cold weather means a march -from place to place, visiting certain villages and districts, holding -official courts for the inhabitants, granting interviews, receiving -petitions, looking into taxation and the working of the code, -inspecting new works—such as canals and roads—and perhaps opening -a local hospital, or attending some high native feast. The tour is -intended to bring the great man into touch with the people. The camp -is struck every morning soon after dawn, and the party ride on to the -next encampment (there are invariably two sets of tents). Here they -arrive in time for early breakfast, after which the chief transacts -business, then comes the evening ride, a little shooting, a group -round the log fire, and early to bed. Such is the usual programme, and -as far as the working portion was concerned, an exact epitome of Mr. -Gordon's routine, but he rarely went for an evening ride, and seldom -joined his wife and her guest by the camp fire, and the two ladies -appeared gracefully resigned to his desertion. Donald Gordon's manners -were gruff, his conversation monosyllabic, his opinions startling; for -instance, he had been heard to suggest the lethal chamber for half -the women who were born! By a strange paradox, he burnt much midnight -oil, writing his great Persian epic, in praise of the beautiful -Shireen—Queen of Chrosroes of the Golden Spears—and her lover, -Ferhad the sculptor. But this streak of romance in his character never -appeared in broad daylight; the midnight poet, with his rushing pen, -his eyes aflame, one hand grasping his red, flowing beard, was by -midday surly, hard-headed, rugged Donald Gordon, the clear-sighted, -prompt, able administrator, who managed the great area over which -he ruled, and his various collectors and subordinates, with amazing -address; who said aloud things that others scarcely dared to whisper, -was a pillar of the Empire, and a genius in his way. - -Angel Gascoigne, who shared in all the pomp and circumstance of -the Commissioner's semi-royal progress, enjoyed this, her first -experience of a camp, most thoroughly. The life was interesting, it -was novel, it never hasted, never rested—what more could any girl -desire? The beautiful tract through which they passed, be it snipe -district or tiger district, waving crops, or forest lands, impressed -the new-comer with its free atmosphere, the Biblical simplicity of -the lives of the people, odd bits of folklore, and the weird stories -connected with their camping-grounds, each and all appealed to Angel's -quick imagination. She and her hostess enjoyed many rides and walks, -explorations, and _tête-à-tête_ discussions, though occasionally a -police officer or a collector joined the camp for a day or two, and -then the talk at dinner veered towards the revenue, the floods, or the -records. Now and then Major Gascoigne cut across the country, caught up -the party, and remained a short time. Angel hailed these visits with -a deep but secret joy—though he by no means gave her the lion's share -of his attention—it was a _solitude à trois_. He brought books and -papers, which he read to the ladies as they worked under the trees; he -brought them scraps of news, the latest station joke; he brought with -him a quickened enjoyment of the lazy, long days, and when he departed, -he left them the anticipation of his return. - -One evening Mrs. Gordon was detained by a servant just as they were -about to start for a stroll, and Major Gascoigne and his cousin went -on alone. They left the white tents behind them, and sauntered down to -a ruined well, such as one sees in the prints of Rebecca, or the Woman -of Samaria. When they had reached it, Angel sat down on a broken step -and said, "Let us wait here—she won't be long," nodding towards the -distant camp. "I have something to show you," she continued, looking up -at her companion. "I have had a long letter from grandmamma this mail." - -"Really?" he exclaimed; "and what has she to say?" - -"That she misses me dreadfully, and is sorry for our quarrel. If I will -forgive her, she will forgive me, and will be glad if I will return to -live with her—for nothing." - -Gascoigne gave a faint exclamation of surprise. - -"She will lodge my passage money at once," continued the girl. "I have -only to send a wire—perhaps you would read her letter?" and she held -it up to him. Philip took it and read it over, slowly; Lady Augusta's -writing was scratchy and illegible, but he gathered that she was -devoted to her grandchild, and the whole epistle breathed a passionate -longing to see her once more. - -Yes, it was all very well, he said to himself, as he mechanically -folded up the letter, but why should an injurious influence be exerted -over this fresh young life? Angel, although such an old, worldly-wise -child of nine, was, thanks to Miss Morton, and a curious twist in her -own character, as simple as nine, at the age of nineteen, simple-minded -and sincere, for all her gay flirtations and her physical sorceries. - -Yet this letter was the key to his difficulties. If Angel returned home -to her grandmother, the Lady Augusta Gascoigne, who dared lift up a -voice against her?—and he was free! He looked at the girl's profile -against the crimson sunset, and asked himself, Was he free? Had he not, -like all her acquaintance, fallen under the spell of this charming, -bewitching, destroying Angel? What was she thinking about as she sat -motionless, her face turned fixedly towards the West—that she would -return to the West once more? No, no, no. He would never suffer her to -pass into Lady Augusta's hands again. - -Suddenly the impulse came upon him there and then—he determined to -speak. - -"What do you say?" she asked. "Have you anything to suggest—any -alternative?" and her eyes were full of frank earnestness. - -"Yes," he replied, "that you remain out here." - -"How? Do you mean with Mrs. Gordon?—what an awful incubus for -her—always." - -"No—Angel——" and, as he spoke, he took off his cap and twisted it -in his hands, and stood before her bare-headed. "But as—_my wife_." - -"Wife," she repeated, and a flood of colour rushed into her face. "Of -course, this is a joke," she exclaimed, rising and speaking with a -firm, almost passionate dignity. - -"No—you and I are old friends, Angel—I—see—I've rather startled -you—but I've been considering this question for some time. I'm -seventeen years older than you are—I'm not the sort of lover—or -husband you might naturally expect—but I'll do—my very best to make -you happy." - -All the time he was speaking Angel looked at him steadily, her colour -had faded, she now was white to her lips. As he concluded, she cast -down her eyes, and seemed to address the stones at her feet, as she -whispered in a strange, subdued voice: "Why do you say all this? You -don't love me, cousin Philip—and I—look for so much love—because -I've had so little." Then raising her eyes by a strenuous act of will, -and speaking in a firmer tone, she continued: - -"You think I am a foolish, impulsive schoolgirl—you wish to give me a -home, but grandmamma offers me the same—a home, and to make me happy." - -"I believe I can do better than your grandmother." - -"And that would not be saying much, would it?" she retorted. "I -gathered from the way people looked, and hinted—you know I was always -clever at finding things out—that it was very wrong of me to have -rushed headlong to India. I placed you in a dilemma—you were quite at -your wits' end to know how to dispose of your white elephant—and now, -you are asking me to marry you—and thus settle the difficulty." - -Her faltering words cast a revealing glare on the situation—there was -absolute truth in what she said. - -"I am not," and she caught her breath sharply, "as silly as I seem—I -expect—in short—I will have more than you can give. You cannot make -me happy unless you love me—what you offer me is imitation. It is -not big enough, or strong enough, to hold me—I want real love, not -make-believe. I—am sure—it has cost you a great deal—to—to——" she -hesitated, "speak! and I thank you—but I will go home by next mail, -and live with grandmamma after all." - -As she came to this decision and a full stop, Angel sat down breathless -and trembling. But now that the treasure was slipping from his grasp, -the prize not so easily attained as he supposed, of course Gascoigne -closed his hand upon it greedily. - -"Angel, listen to me," he cried impetuously. "Don't talk of -make-believes, and your grandmother, and such wild nonsense—I do love -you—not in a romantic story-book fashion, but sincerely and faithfully -in my own way. I was engaged once to a girl—you know?" - -"Yes," she assented sharply. - -"That came to an end ten years ago. You are the only woman I shall ever -love again—I swear." He spoke in a tone of grave restrained emotion. - -Angel still sat with her eyes on the ground, and made no sign whatever. -Truly, this Angel was a stranger, an alien, and ill-understood! - -"It was for your own sake I have been holding back," he resumed with -an effort—was he sure that he was speaking the truth? "I am a busy, -self-centred man—I live in a groove—I feared your gay young life -would be dull—with me." - -"Never dull with you, Philip—you know that," she murmured under her -breath. - -"Will you think it over, and give me an answer when I come out on -Wednesday?" - -Angel made no reply. Her cousin looked at her downcast eyes, her -twitching nostrils, and resumed, "If you wish to return home, of course -I will do all in my power to help you." As he continued his voice was -less steady, some inward barrier seemed to have given way under a -confused pressure of emotion. "If you decide to stay—and I hope from -my heart you will—then," and he stooped and kissed her hand, "when I -come again, wear a flower in your dress." - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Gordon was sitting under the fly of her tent engrossed in a -novel, when Major Gascoigne galloped up on Wednesday afternoon, having -covered the forty miles which lay between Marwar and the camp in an -extraordinarily short time. He had three horses posted on the road, and -the bay Arab he rode was in a lather. Why this unusual haste? was Mrs. -Gordon's mental interrogation. The reply came in a flash of prophetic -insight. She interpreted her visitor's strange air of repressed -excitement, his reckless ride; he had spoken to Angel, and had come for -her reply. - -"Where is Angel?" he asked, as soon as he had dismounted and exchanged -a few words of greeting. - -"Down by the well near the tamarinds, reading. Perhaps you will take -her these letters?" suggested clever Mrs. Gordon, selecting two from a -budget he had delivered; "and bring her back to tea." - -"All right," he replied, "I'll be postman;" and without further -parley, but with suspicious alacrity, he departed. In a short time he -came in sight of Angel. She was sitting under the shade of an ancient -tamarind—no tree in all the world is more beautiful; a book lay -unheeded on her lap. - -Would it be yes?—or would it be no? Philip was astonished at the -fluttering of his nerves, the thumping of his heart. As he approached -nearer, Angel stood up, and then came slowly to meet him. He looked at -her eagerly; there were red roses in her cheeks—and a white one in her -dress! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -ANGEL DECLINES A PENNY FOR HER THOUGHTS - - -A TELEGRAPH peon and a mounted orderly are passing through an entrance -gate on which we find a board inscribed "Lieutenant-Colonel Gascoigne, -R.E." It leads to a large bungalow, one of the highest rented in -Marwar, and all its surroundings proclaim in a reserved and well-bred -fashion that expense is no object; from the long row of well-filled -stables—of which we catch a glimpse—to the smart, white-clothed -servant, with silver crests on belt and turban, who runs briskly down -the steps and extends a salver for our card. But we are not disposed -to make a formal call; we have merely dropped in to see Philip and -Angel, who have been man and wife for two years. They are to be -found in a great cool room, at opposite ends of a hospitably-sized -breakfast-table. Angel sits before the teapot in a listless manner; a -portly fox-terrier squarely squatting on his haunches begs from her in -vain. - -Philip, in undress uniform, is reading a blue official, with a wrinkle -between his brows. A pile of open telegrams lie at his right hand, -whilst his breakfast cools. One realises at a glance that Philip is -absorbed—that Angel is bored. - -"Sit down, John," she said, sternly addressing the dog; "you have had -two breakfasts already; you have no shame." - -"I say," exclaimed her husband, suddenly folding up his document; "this -is a nice business; I have to start for Garhwal at once." - -Angel gave a sharp exclamation. - -"There has been a tremendous landslip in the mountains, about a hundred -and thirty miles north of Nani Tal." - -"But if it is over, what can you do?" she protested. - -"Prevent more damage, if possible. It seems to have been a unique -catastrophe; a whole hill, four thousand feet high, has toppled over -and jammed up the end of the valley, and turned the river Bela-Gunga -into a lake five miles long." - -"Does that matter? These hill Tals are so picturesque." - -"Picturesque!" impatiently. "It won't be so picturesque when the snows -melt and the rains come, and the lake which is filling slowly now -bursts and floods a hundred and fifty miles of country." - -"Oh, do you think it will be as bad as that?" - -"I can tell you after I have inspected the place. I'm afraid I must be -off to-morrow. I shall have a heap of things to get and do." He paused -to summon a servant, and give an order in fluent Hindustani; "it's a -God-forsaken spot, where there are no supplies," he resumed. - -"Can't I go with you? Do take me for once," pleaded Angel. "I don't -mind roughing it—I should enjoy it." - -"You don't know what you are talking about," he interrupted. "There is -scarcely a goat track; there will be little or no food—I'll sleep in -a native hut and be out all day. It is a wild, lonely spot—impossible -for a lady." - -"You never take me," remonstrated Angel; "you volunteer, too—you -_like_ going." - -"I do—it's my work," he answered coolly, now standing up and rapidly -collecting his letters. Then he glanced over at his wife. - -"Look here, old lady, I'll try and get back in three weeks. You must -not take it to heart." - -"I won't—if you will promise me one thing." - -"Very well, I'll do my best, only"—now beckoning to his syce—"look -sharp." - -"Take me, the next time you go out in camp—promise?" - -"All right, I will—if it is possible," he assented briskly. "Warn -Hassan—he has to come with me and order in stores—usual thing. I must -be off—I shall not be back to tiffin," and he hurried out. - -"How keen he is to go, John, isn't he?" said Angel, leaning back in her -chair, and bending her head so as to catch a glimpse of a rider and a -bright bay horse dashing off from under the porch. - -"Now I wonder what is to become of you, and me, and Sam?" - -Their fate was speedily arranged. Angel went once more on tour with the -Gordons; she was too young and attractive to be left at home alone, -and since it was impossible for her husband to take her with him into -Garhwal, Mrs. Gordon, who was extremely fond of Angel, and keenly -enjoyed her companionship, carried her off into camp. - -On the present occasion they were a party of four, which included Mr. -Lindsay, collector of the district through which they were moving. As -the Commissioner was obliged to consult with him for the purpose of -inquiries into the loss of crops in these parts, owing to great floods, -and hailstones, and the consequent required reduction of the demand -for revenue. It was a serious business; the district had suffered -heavily, the tax-gatherer must withhold his hand, and Mr. Lindsay's -presence and assistance were essential. He had been a month in the -camp, but he was an old friend of the Gordons—years ago Mrs. Gordon -had nursed him through a dangerous attack of enteric, and they had been -intimate ever since. - -Moreover, he was one of Mr. Gordon's favourite collectors, unmarried, -brilliantly clever, first man of his year, an exceedingly welcome -figure in society. Nor did the fact that he had golden prospects -detract from his popularity. He was a tall, spare, clean-shaven man, -with a slight stoop, a square forehead and jaw, wavy chestnut hair, -deep china blue eyes, and a well-cut, eloquent mouth; indeed, it was -almost as eloquent as his clever blue eyes. He could talk well, think -closely, act wisely; but he was neither an athlete nor a sportsman; -every snipe in its jeel, or tiger in the Terai, might rest in peace -without fear of Alan Lindsay. His tastes were social and academic, -and found other outlets than a spinning fishing-reel, or central-fire -cartridges. - -One day, by a strange chance—in the whirligig of time—Angel found -herself back in the same neighbourhood where she had accepted her -guardian as her husband. She walked down to the old well and the -tamarind trees one afternoon quite alone. Angel had come there on -purpose to meditate and review the past, and found the locality -absolutely unchanged. There were the same tufts of grass, the same -cracked stones, the same red sunset—possibly the very same black -ants. One might have quitted the scene but yesterday. She, too, was but -little altered; only for the wedding ring on her finger it might almost -be the very self-same Angel who had pledged her troth at this spot two -years previously. She sat with her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on -the stretching plains, her thoughts very far away, as anyone could see, -contemplating with an inward gaze the last two years. She recalled the -whirl, the excitement, the importance of being a bride, a married girl -with a fine house of her own, lovely presents, lovely frocks, tribes of -friends, servants, carriages, horses—and a husband. - -A domestic sovereign, her wishes were law. She was indulged and -cherished in every possible way, but at the back of her mind there -was a want; Philip, her first friend, did not love her as she loved -him—she had bestowed her love with a fatal prodigality, whilst he -merely cared for her as a pretty child, whom it was his pleasure to -protect and indulge. Undoubtedly in his eyes—no matter what he said -to the contrary—he still seemed to see her as a girl in a pigtail, -instead of a woman who was clothed in the dignity of marriage. Nor -had he attempted to bridge the gap of years—he was generally so -serious—would it not have been wiser to have returned to grandmamma, -who took nothing seriously but the pleasures of life! and—perhaps she -would have married the young baron who had adored her. Surely it was -better to be the one who was booted and spurred, than the one who was -saddled and bridled. - -Philip was entirely engrossed in his work. He had developed into an -official of importance. His life seemed to belong not to himself, -much less to her, but to the Imperial Government; telegraph peons, -mounted orderlies, and busy messengers crowded round his office, and -it was often seven o'clock in the evening when he appeared in her -sitting-room, looking utterly weary and fagged. Nevertheless she was -bound to confess that he never forgot to ask her how she had spent the -day? who had been to see her? whom she had been to see? how she had -amused herself? This was her _rôle_; she was to play, whilst he worked. -Then when they went out to dinners he scarcely glanced at her dress, -and, of course, during the evening she never exchanged a word with him. -Little did his partners guess how his wife envied them! Clever men and -clever women absorbed all her husband's attention as their right—and -she was deserted. - -Philip never appeared to realise that she looked for anything beyond -a pretty home, pretty frocks, horses and dogs, flowers and books, and -a running stream of amusement. He was thoughtful of her health and -comfort, most particular in the choice of her servants and horses, and -then, having loaded her with luxuries, he withdrew into his work, and -it never seemed to occur to him that her life lacked anything, least of -all his own companionship. Angel was proud, and she kept her sorrow to -herself. Only on one occasion her feelings had broken their prison, and -she had thrown out a hint to Mrs. Gordon, who promptly said: - -"Where, oh Princess, is the crumpled roseleaf? What is your desire? -What do you lack?" - -"Love." - -"My dear Angel!" she ejaculated. - -"Yes—I've never had enough," she answered. "I feel something always -starving and crying in my heart," she answered with a slight sob, and -eyes full of tears. - -"You silly, sentimental goose!" cried Mrs. Gordon. "You mean the sort -of stuff one reads about in poetry, that flames and flares up, and goes -out like a fire of straw?" - -"No," rejoined the girl in a tone of repressed passion, "but a love -that cannot endure separation—that turns away from everything in the -world to you—that thinks of you—dreams of you—cannot live without -you—and would die for you." - -"My goodness, Angel!" exclaimed her friend, aghast; "but," she went -on reflectively, "I believe I understand what you mean, though I have -never experienced it myself, and"—with a short sigh—"never shall. I -am thirty-six years of age, and I shall go to my grave never having -seen what you speak of. The love you dream of is rare—it never came -into _my_ life." - -"And what do you accept instead?" asked the girl sharply. - -"Oh—community of interests—mutual forbearance and respect." - -"Which means that you forbear—and all the world respects," broke in -the old impulsive Angel. "Oh, Elinor," startled at her companion's -face, "forgive me." - -"Certainly, my dear; but of what have you to complain?" - -"Philip," was the unexpected answer. "He treats me as a pretty petted -child, who has to be cared for, amused, and supplied with toys." - -"You forget that he has his work, his career. 'Love is of man's life -a thing apart, 'tis woman's whole existence.' Do you want him to sit -holding your hand, and swearing daily that he adores you?" - -"Yes, I do," was her reckless reply. "I should never be tired of -hearing it." Her companion looked at her helplessly. - -"But, my dear child, Colonel Gascoigne has outgrown that age; he loves -you very dearly." - -"As one does a canary bird," broke in Angel; "I'm a woman—not a -domestic pet." - -"You are both," said Mrs. Gordon. - -"I've tried my very best to make him jealous." - -"What? Oh, Angel, you must be mad. That was playing with matches in a -powder-mill. Do you want to ruin your life? Pray what was the result of -your experiment?" - -"Ignominious failure. Philip likes me to be popular and admired. I -thought he would be annoyed if I went out driving with Major Shafto, -who makes amends for his former hatred by an unbounded appreciation. -I rode and drove with him, I danced with him five times running, and -sat out conspicuously where Philip _must_ see me; and all he said for -my trouble and hours of boredom was, 'I'm so glad to find that you and -old Billy are such capital friends. 'Twas never thus in childhood's -hour!' and he laughed. I declare, I could have thrown a plate at him. -Then I flirted desperately with General Warner, such an old darling! -and Philip merely remarked, 'My dear child, the General is enchanted -with you—poor old boy—he has a daughter of your age at home. I've not -seen him so happy and so lively for ages.' Now," concluded Angel with a -dramatic gesture, "what can you do with a husband like that?" - -"I should leave him severely alone and try no more experiments. Pray -tell me, Angel, could you be jealous?" - -"I should think so," she answered in a flash, "furiously, fiendishly -jealous; but that is a secret." - -From this long digression we must return to Angel, where she was -perched on the edge of the old well, thinking hard, as she rested her -chin on her hand and watched with abstracted eyes the long line of -cattle going towards their village, amid the usual cloud of powdery -white dust. Suddenly she sat erect; she saw Mrs. Gordon and Alan -Lindsay approaching her. What good friends they were! and yet people -declared that there was no such thing as friendship between a man and -a woman, that platonics were invariably platonic on one side alone. -What would these scoffers say to Elinor Gordon and Alan Lindsay? Of -course the fact of Mrs. Gordon having literally dragged Alan Lindsay -out of the jaws of death was a strong and solid foundation for their -liking—a woman always feels tenderly towards the patient she has -nursed from infantile weakness back to strong, manly vigour; and they -had so much in common, their minds seemed to reflect one another, they -sometimes said the same thing, they liked the same books and authors, -they held similar opinions on various interesting questions, and when -they differed, it was delightful to hear them argue; it was like two -expert swordsmen fighting with foils—and occasionally without them. -They would talk and urge and exhort, whilst Mr. Gordon fell asleep -after dinner and snored lustily in the tent verandah, or returned to -his great Persian poem; and Angel, who took but scanty part in these -brilliant debates, being generally put to the sword at once, sat and -knitted a sock, full of thoughts of Philip. - -Angel watched the advancing pair with the critical, far-seeing eyes -of her childhood. How lovely Elinor was, with her soft dark eyes, -her high-bred air. How happy she looked, almost radiant. They made a -distinguished looking couple. They seemed born for one another. What a -pity that—that—well, did Alan Lindsay ever think it was a pity? Was -it honestly friendship only, on his part? Did she fancy that sometimes -his voice and eyes—oh, how hateful! How dared she imagine such vile -things? Was it possible that anyone would think of Elinor as aught -but a martyr and a saint? Nevertheless Angel felt the waking of a -presentiment as the couple arrived face to face with her, and within -speaking distance. - -"How solemn you look—what is the matter, Mrs. Gascoigne?" called out -Lindsay, "you might be Patience on a monument, or an angel looking for -truth at the bottom of this well." - -"Am I—so—solemn?" - -"I should think so," said Mrs. Gordon, laughing. "You look as if you -were trying to stare into the future. Pray what did you see—what were -you thinking about?—in short, a penny for your thoughts." - -Angel felt herself colouring warmly; what would that vivacious, -handsome couple say, were she to take them at their word, and tell them -that she had grave misgivings of their five-years'-old friendship? - -"No, no," she stammered with an effort at a joke, "my thoughts are not -in the market—they are too valuable to be bestowed." - -"I can guess where they were, my young Penelope—up in the Garhwal," -said her friend. "And now to return good for evil, I beg to inform you -that we were talking about you." - -"What have you been saying?" she asked. "If it is bad, you won't tell -me, of course?" - -"We were calling the roll of our acquaintance, and have come to the -conclusion that you are the most to be envied person we know in all the -wide world." - -"I?" with a short little laugh; "you are not in earnest?" - -"Certainly we are," replied Mr. Lindsay; "and you say that with such an -ungrateful air. You cannot deny that you have youth, health, sufficient -wealth—the beauty I leave you to fill in yourself—many friends—and a -devoted husband." - -"Oh, yes, you mean a husband devoted to his profession," she answered -with a smile. Was Mrs. Gascoigne in jest or earnest now? and Lindsay -looked at her narrowly. - -"We did not come out like the native women to spend our time holding -forth by the well," put in Mrs. Gordon impatiently. "Angel, the word -is—march. You must take a good stiff walk. Let us go over to the -village," pointing to a far distant clump of trees, "and call on the -weaver's wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE SOOTHSAYER - - -WEEK by week the great camp moved on in its stately, deliberate -fashion, through its accustomed districts. There was not as much -variety in the daily life as in the ever changing surroundings. Donald -Gordon was absorbed in heavy official work by day, and heavy unofficial -work by night. Mrs. Gordon and Alan Lindsay were unconsciously absorbed -in one another, and pretty Mrs. Gascoigne—with her old head on young -shoulders—appeared to be absorbed in her own thoughts. She was -curiously silent and grave; not a trace of gay, vivacious, chattering -Angel remained. - -Mr. Lindsay and Mrs. Gordon mutually wondered at the transformation, -and solemnly compared notes. Mrs. Gordon attributed her friend's -depression to the absence of her husband, whilst Alan Lindsay declared -that it was due to the absence of amusements. How little did either of -them suppose that the true cause of Mrs. Gascoigne's low spirits lay -in themselves. Angel's quick suspicion, which had sprung to existence -by the old well, had grown from that hour, till it became a strong, -able-bodied fact, which thrust itself on an unwilling confidante, -and made its voice heard; it declared lustily that there was more -than mere gratitude and pure idyllic friendship in Alan Lindsay's -attitude towards Elinor Gordon; something in his voice, in his manner, -told tales. Was it possible that at thirty-six years of age, love, -strong, impassioned love, had overtaken her friend after all? But no, -Elinor dared not entertain him; she was a woman who would bar such -an ill-timed visitor out—yes, with her own hand, she who had been -the adviser, comforter, example of so many, whose influence as a good -woman radiated afar, she to whom all the girls and young men came with -their difficulties, drawn by her personal magnetism, who helped so many -over "the bad places" of life, to whom everyone looked up. The noble, -unselfish wife of tyrannical Donald Gordon, was she likely to fall -from her high estate? As soon the moon and stars. Yet as the couple -talked together so earnestly and so exclusively, the truth became more -and more evident—it came and stared Angel in the face, and frightened -her; she felt as if she were looking on at some terrible human tragedy, -and of which she was the sole and helpless spectator. This man, Alan -Lindsay, had found his fate too late; his fate was a jewel belonging -to one who never valued it. And Elinor? To her thoughts and feelings -Angel had no clue; sometimes her spirits were unusually gay, her laugh -ringing and girlish; sometimes when she and Angel sat alone she looked -almost old and haggard; her book or her work lay forgotten in her lap, -her gaze was absent and introspective. Sometimes, as she sewed, she -heaved a sudden but profound sigh. - -Thus they passed their days, and moved on from camping-ground to -camping-ground, through the poppy-fields, and the cane crops of the -fairest province; the four who sat at table together, two whom the -inevitable had overtaken, the surly, unconscious husband, and the -conscious looker-on. - - * * * * * - -Occasionally the camp was pitched within a ride of some little station, -and visitors cantered out to early tea or tiffin. One day Mrs. Gordon -entertained three guests, a man in the Opium (the worst paid department -in India), his wife, and a girl who was on a visit with them, a pretty -little person with a round baby face, fluffy hair, a pair of hard -blue eyes, and an insatiable appetite for excitement. The party sat -out in the shade of the peepul trees after tea, within view of the -camp train—the horses and camels at their pickets, the dogs, the -cows, the groups of servants, the scarlet and gold chuprassis lounging -about waiting for orders, and the crowd of petitioners and villagers -besieging the office tent. - -Miss Cuffe, the spoiled beauty of a tiny station, condescended to -remark that the scene was quite imposing and picturesque. - -"Almost like what one would see at Drury Lane." - -"O horror! the pomp and glory of the Sirdar, as embodied in a great -Indian encampment, compared to a pantomime." - -"I suppose you miss the theatres, Miss Cuffe?" said Lindsay, who had -been released after a long day's work. - -"You are right," she answered with a coquettish simper. "I do like a -show. I did all the plays before I came out." - -"And we have nothing to offer you but snake-charmers, magic wallahs, -and fortune-tellers. I believe there is one in camp now, a renowned -Fakir who lives in this part of the world; his fame has travelled to -Agra." - -"Oh, Mr. Lindsay, do, do send for him," pleaded Miss Cuffe. - -"But I warn you that he is not pretty to look at; he generally -prophesies evil things, and is, as a rule, under the influence of -Bhang." - -"I don't care in the least," she cried recklessly. "Do—do send for -him. What do you say, Mrs. Gascoigne and Mrs. Gordon?" appealing to -them. - -"My fortune is told," replied Mrs. Gordon. "Fate cannot harm _me_; but -have the Fakir by all means, if Mr. Lindsay can persuade him to appear." - -In another moment two messengers had been despatched in search of the -soothsayer. Miss Cuffe resolved to make the most of the brilliant -opportunity of cultivating Mr. Lindsay, the popular collector, who was -said to be next heir to seven thousand a year. The best way to interest -him, thought the shrewd little person, is to talk of his district and -his work. - -"I am so ignorant, Mr. Lindsay," she remarked pathetically; "only just -two months in India. Do tell me what all the people round here," waving -her plump hands, "believe in?" - -"What an immense question!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean the peasants?" - -She nodded her head with an emphasis that was impressive, although all -the time she was neither thinking nor caring about the peasants, but -reflecting that here was a providential occasion for her to cement an -acquaintance with this charming and eligible _parti_; the coast was -clear from rivals; there was no one to absorb his devotion and claim -his attention but two stupid married ladies, who had been in camp for -weeks—and of whom he must be _so_ tired. - -"Well, the peasant's mental horizon is rather limited," said Mr. -Lindsay. "He has some sort of belief in a Providence whose benevolence -is shown in restricting malignant heavenly powers from doing mischief." - -"Yes," assented the girl, though she had not in the least grasped what -he meant. "And—what else?" - -"Oh, well," said Lindsay, secretly amazed at this intelligent social -butterfly, "he trusts in a host of godlings who inhabit the pile of -stones which form the village shrine. He believes that he would live -for ever, were it not that some devil or witch plots against his life." - -"And is that all that he believes in?" questioned Miss Cuffe; and she -raised her light blue eyes to her informant's dark ones, with a look of -tragic appeal. - -"By no means. He believes that it is good to feed a Brahmin, that it is -wrong to tell a lie, unless to benefit yourself. He believes that if he -does an impious act he may be reborn as a rat or a worm; he believes -that woman is an inferior creature whom you may bully with impunity. -With a man, you must be more careful." - -"But these are the extremely poor and uneducated," broke in Mrs. -Gordon. "The more enlightened are different; they encourage charity, -kindness, and simplicity; they are extremely devout—in that way they -put many of us to shame." - -"And the women, how do they live? Have they no amusements?" inquired -Miss Cuffe, turning pointedly from her hostess to the more attractive -collector. - -"Amusements? They do not know the meaning of the word. They work—I am -speaking of the peasants—from dawn till dark, helping their husbands -with the cultivation of the land, drawing water, cooking, weaving—they -are hags at thirty, and their only release from drudgery is an -occasional pilgrimage. You may see them marching for days packed in a -country cart which crawls along from week to week and stage to stage; -at last they reach their goal, Hurdwar—or Benares. They bathe and -worship and offer sacrifice—it is the one event of their lives, and -assures their future." - -"One event," repeated Miss Cuffe. "How utterly miserable!—And what are -their every-day habits?" - -"Conservative—they wear the same fashion for twenty centuries, their -food never varies, a little pepper and spices, the only relish—the -plough, the spinning wheel, and loom, remain unchanged in a thousand -years; of course, I am speaking of the villagers; the townsfolk have -watches, sewing-machines, gramaphones, and all manner of Europe -goods, and rubbish, but the Ryot has no money or time to waste -on such luxuries; it is all work, work, work, from generation to -generation—the Ryot is the mainspring of the Empire." - -"Poor creatures," exclaimed Miss Cuffe, "what lives of hideous toil. I -suppose they don't know what happiness and love mean?" - -"Oh, yes, they are sufficiently happy when they bring off a good -bargain, and they love their plot of land, their ancestral acre, with a -fierce devouring ardour, passing the love of women." - -"How much you know," sighed Miss Cuffe admiringly; "how much you tell -me, that I never heard before." - -"And here comes one who will possibly impart some events which are yet -to come," and Mr. Lindsay indicated the tall lanky figure which was -advancing in the wake of the chuprassis. - -The Fakir was an old man, singularly emaciated. He wore a simple loin -cloth and a row of huge beads; his legs were bandy, his voice was bass, -his hair matted, in his eyes there was a piercing look bordering on -madness. He came straight up to Lindsay and salaamed, entirely ignoring -the opium wallah, and the three ladies. - -"Take off your wedding ring, and lend it to me," whispered Miss Cuffe -to Angel, "and we will see if we cannot puzzle him." - -"Shall I tell the stars of the Lord Sahib only?" asked the Fakir, "and -in his ear?" - -"Oh, no," responded Lindsay, "the stars of the company, and one by one, -so that all may hear—what the fates have in store for them." - -"Yes, what fun it will be," said Miss Cuffe. "Mrs. Ellis," to her -friend, "will you be done? Do, it will be so amusing." - -"No, thank you," said the lady, "I am quite willing to listen to your -fortunes, but I beg to decline hearing mine." - -"I have heard that this man is marvellous," said her husband, "and -greatly feared by all the neighbours." - -"Certainly his looks are not attractive," remarked Angel; "he seems to -be getting impatient. Shall I break the ice—in other words, be done?" - -There was an immediate chorus of assent, and she rose and came forward -to where the Fakir was squatting. He also rose and drew his lean form -to its full length. What a contrast the two figures presented, as they -stood face to face; denizens of the East and West. The pretty fair -English girl, with her dainty white gown, her little vanities of chains -and laces, her well-groomed air; and the half-naked Fakir, with his mop -of tangled hair, his starting ribs, his wild black eyes, his chest and -forehead daubed with ashes, and, as a background to the pair, a circle -of watching, eager retainers, the big tree stems, the white tents, and -the flat cultivated plains merging into the blue horizon. - -Angel put out her hand; the fortune-teller glanced at it curiously, -then he looked up in her face with a strenuous stare, and there was a -silence only broken by Miss Cuffe's titter. At last it came, a sonorous -voice speaking as if pronouncing judgment. - -"Oh, yea—thou art a wife." - -"The servants told," giggled Miss Cuffe in an audible voice. - -"Hush, hush," expostulated her friend, "he is speaking." - -"Thou wast given to a man by a dead hand—" another pause—"he married -thee at the bidding of a woman—his foot is on thy heart—it is well, -lo! he is a man—and to be trusted." He paused again and salaamed to -the earth, a sign that he had concluded, and once more squatted upon -his heels. - -"What? And is that all?" exclaimed Miss Cuffe, indignantly. - -"I should think a little of that went a long way," observed Alan -Lindsay, "what more would you have? He is not an ordinary magic wallah -I can see, who promises jewels and lovers. He takes himself seriously." - -The Fakir now beckoned solemnly to Mrs. Gordon, who, with a half -apologetic laugh, came forward. He looked her in the face with his -burning eyes, and said in a harsh voice: - -"Where love should be—is emptiness. Where love should not be—lo! -there it is." - -Angel glanced involuntarily at Mr. Lindsay; he had grown curiously -white. - -"A shade cometh—I see no more." And again he dismissed his victim with -a profound salaam. - -"Dear me, what rubbish it all is," protested Mrs. Gordon, as she took -her seat with a somewhat heightened colour. - -"He is like Micaiah, the son of Imlah, who prophesied evil things; see, -he is beckoning Mr. Lindsay. I wonder what terrible message he will -deliver to him?" - -"Lo, here are brains," announced the seer in his sonorous -Hindustani,—understood of all but the little spinster, "much riches. A -heart—some talk—sore trouble. Wisdom and honour come when the head is -white, and the heart is dead." - -"Now for me," cried Miss Cuffe, rubbing her hands gleefully, and -ignorantly rushing on her fate. "I declare I am quite nervous. I -cannot bear his eyes. Mr. Lindsay, do please stand close beside me and -interpret." Then she beamed coquettishly on the grim native, as if she -would exhort good fortune by her smiles. - -He looked at her, with fierce contempt, and said, "Lo, 'tis a weakling, -Miss Sahib, thou art a fool; the ring belongs to the tall sad girl, -with the hungry heart, and the daring spirit. Such a ring will never be -thine. I smell death." - -"What does he say?" cried Miss Cuffe, as soon as she was dismissed. "Do -tell me at once, Mr. Lindsay; I hope it was something good?" - -After an almost imperceptible pause, Mr. Lindsay replied, "He said -the ring was not yours, it belonged to Mrs. Gascoigne. I think he was -annoyed because you tried to get a rise out of him—he wouldn't work -properly. I shouldn't wonder if he had cast the evil eye upon the whole -lot of us." - -"What a wretch!" she protested. "I am so sorry I asked you to send for -him. I never dreamt that he would be a repulsive old skeleton dealing -bad luck all round. It has not been such fun after all. Oh, here is -Mr. Gordon! Oh, Mr. Gordon," she cried, "do come and have your fortune -told;" and her little hard eyes glittered. Miss Cuffe did not like -the Commissioner, and saw no reason why he should be spared, when -misfortune was being dealt out. - -"Give him ten rupees and he will make you a Viceroy," suggested the -opium wallah with a laugh. "Where is the fellow? Has he gone?" - -Yes, he was nowhere to be seen; he had vanished mysteriously and -without payment. By Mr. Gordon's orders, the Fakir was searched for, -high and low; he desired to question him respecting a certain peculiar -murder case, but all search proved unavailing; the soothsayer had -disappeared. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE CHITACHAR CLUB - - -THIS long, leisurely tour through the crops, the villages, the jungles, -brought Angel into more intimate touch with India than in all the -previous years she had been in the country. Her knowledge of the -language was an immense assistance to her; she had a keen enjoyment -of the picturesque, a quick eye for character, and the rural life and -scenery offered her a profoundly interesting study. Many an afternoon, -accompanied by an escort of the camp dogs, including her own fox -terriers, Sam and John, she took long walks or rides in its vicinity. -These excursions afforded her far more pleasure than sitting under the -tent flies, watching, with irrepressible yawns the interminable chess -tournament between Mrs. Gordon and the collector—chess being a form of -amusement which was beyond her intellectual grasp—or listening to Mr. -Lindsay as he read aloud,—and he read extremely well,—choice bits of -Ruskin, Walter Pater, and Rossetti. - -But Angel required more variety—more actual life. She made her way -into the huts of the peasant women, and talked to them eagerly, as they -spun, or ground millet, or she joined the children among the crops, as -they scared the flocks of monkeys and parrots, and cut grass for the -buffaloes. Some were old friends she had made two years previously, and -one and all welcomed the fair lady, and confided to her their joys, -their sorrows, and their schemes. How well she appeared to understand; -she gave them small presents, of amazing magnificence in their eyes, -and a sympathy that was still more surprising. - -How hard their lives were, she said to herself continually—lives of -unceasing, monotonous toil, though they had not to bear the winter cold -and privations of the English poor, but too often famine and pestilence -stalked hand-in-hand through their land. And yet how cheerful they -appeared, how they loved their plot of land, trusted their affairs -to their family priest, their future to the village god, found their -amusements in the veriest trifles, and were content with their fate. - -But the beautiful, fair English lady was not content with her fate—oh, -no; much less with that which her clear eyes discerned, the fate which -was rapidly overtaking her best friend. - - * * * * * - -The camp sometimes found itself in the vicinity of a large station, -where it had its own quarters in the dignified seclusion of a mango -tope, far aloof from bungalows, barracks, and bazaar. It came to pass -that one morning Mr. Gordon's tents were pitched under a grove, not -far from Chitachar cantonment, an out-of-the-way place, with a small -garrison, and a sociable community. The chief residents called on Mrs. -Gordon, the party were made honorary members of mess and club, the -bazaar master sent an oblation of flowers and fruit, and the nearest -local Thalukdar galloped in with his ragged horsemen to pay his -respects to the Commissioner. Chitachar had been a post of importance -previous to the mutiny, much fighting had it witnessed; here and there -a small walled-in space, resembling a garden, exhibited not merely -shrubs and flowering trees, but tombstones. Desperate actions had been -fought in unexpected localities, and even now it was whispered that the -old commissariat stores,—formerly a fort,—were well supplied with -water and ammunition, "in case anything should happen." Surely nothing -could ever disturb the calm of this peaceful spot, with its plains of -green turf, the resort of cricketers and children, and its bungalows -embowered in roses, its majestic trees and English-looking church? - -Mr. Gordon liked Chitachar; it was his first station in India; thirty -years previously he had arrived here as a raw-boned Scotchman, dour, -clever, and sternly determined to get on. Here, he had lived in one -of the cheapest bungalows in the cheapest fashion; here he had learnt -Hindustani, self-confidence, and self-control. Here, he had nearly been -fool enough to marry the daughter of a railway contractor; here, he -returned a great man, travelling in semi-regal state, drawing a large -income, the little king of the whole district. - -Mrs. Gordon, Mr. Lindsay, and Angel, availed themselves promptly of the -use of the station club. It was a modest establishment in comparison -to the one at Ramghur: merely a long, flat-roofed building opening on -the road, and overlooking the green plain, surrounded with bungalows -and gardens. Immediately in front were two tennis courts, and a raised -structure resembling a band-stand, where people assembled to drink tea. -In the interior were two large rooms, divided by a screen; in one, -stood a venerable billiard table, in the other, a round table covered -with magazine and papers. The walls of both were lined with books, -and at the back ran dressing-rooms, and a lair, where the club peon -boiled hot water, and made out the accounts. The resources of the club -were pathetically limited, nevertheless it was most popular; all the -community assembled there every afternoon, and many people at home in -Cheltenham, Bayswater, and elsewhere, still cherish kindly memories of -the Chitachar club. - - * * * * * - -When Mrs. Gordon and her small party entered this popular resort, it -was empty; the members were playing badminton or polo, or riding and -driving in the neighbourhood (there was a choice of no less than four -routes, including the cutcha road, and the old boat bridge). No one was -to be found on the premises but a bearer, who was dressing the lamps, -and a dog, who lay in the verandah catching flies. - -"What furniture!" said Angel, looking about her. "Did you ever see such -a sofa, and such chairs—they must have come out of the ark." - -"More likely they came out of some bungalow looted in the Mutiny forty -years ago, and then sold back to 'the sahibs,'" said Lindsay; "what -tales they might tell!" - -"I am glad they are not gifted with speech," said Angel, with a shudder. - -"And the funny old prints, and the funny rules," said Mrs. Gordon, now -criticising in her turn. "Any new books? No, as old as the hills," -taking up two or three, "and the magazines of last year. I wonder how -it feels to live in such a sleepy hollow?" - -"Rather agreeable," replied Lindsay. "I think I shall come here for -the rest cure. I find they have the daily papers, including the _Pi_," -glancing at the _Pioneer_. "Mrs. Gascoigne, did you see that nice -little part about your husband? I meant to tell you yesterday." - -"Where?" asked Angel eagerly, coming to the table as she spoke. - -He placed the paper before her, and indicated the place, as she sank -into a chair. - -"Not much to do here?" he remarked, turning to the other lady, who was -now rooting among the book shelves, and raised a flushed face and pair -of dusty gloves. - -"What do you think?" she cried, "there is a first edition of 'Adam -Bede,' one volume missing, and a battered copy of Dr. Syntax—a first -edition of 'Vilette'—what treasures!" - -"I should not be surprised if you unearthed one of the books of the -Vedas in a place like this," said Lindsay, contemptuously, "or the -manuscript copy of 'Æsop's Fables.'" - -"I don't suppose the club has bought any new novels within the memory -of living man," said Mrs. Gordon. - -"Probably not," said Lindsay. "I have no doubt that local topics and -station gossip, amply supply the place of current fiction. There is -nothing novel or interesting in the place. I am convinced that even the -latest news is last year's scandal." - -"How you do despise this poor old place!" remonstrated Mrs. Gordon. "I -don't believe they ever gossip here, except about cooks and the price -of kerosene oil. It's not at all a bad little club; it is quiet and -unpretentious, and——" - -"And dull," supplemented Lindsay with energy. "Come, let us go for a -walk outside, and take a turn round the polo ground. What do you say, -Mrs. Gascoigne? Or are you too grand, in consequence of your husband's -achievements, to be seen with _us_?" - -"Thank you, I think I'll remain in this funny old club," she replied, -raising her head with a smile. "I want to look at the papers—perhaps -I shall steal some of the books, and hear some of the gossip? At any -rate, I can find my way back alone." - -As she spoke, she reached for a weekly illustrated, and the other two, -with an unacknowledged sense of relief, walked forth side by side into -the beautiful Eastern evening. - -Angel sat with her elbows planted on the table, absorbed in a story, -till she was roused by footsteps and voices, the sound of ponies -clattering up to the door, of men shouting for syces: people poured in, -as it were, in a body. She felt a little shy, and hid herself as well -as she could behind her paper. Those who noticed her casually, merely -saw the top of a hat, and a white sleeve, and took for granted that she -was one of the strangers from the camp. - -Billiard balls began to be knocked about, lamps were lit, several -ladies came to the table, some took up papers, and all talked. - -"And so the Evanses have got their orders," said a deep voice beside -Angel, addressing her _vis-à-vis_, a handsome, rather haggard woman of -thirty, dressed in a pretty pink cotton and a fashionable hat. - -"I'm very sorry," she responded, "we shall miss them dreadfully—I've -bespoke their cook." - -"Well, he will console you—being the best in the station. I wanted him -myself," said Deep Voice; "now I must wait till you go." - -"But I shall probably carry him off," retorted the other lady with a -laugh. "Any news in the papers?" - -"Not a word," replied Deep Voice, "I read them all this morning," -pushing over the _Pioneer_. "There is something about a man I knew when -I was a girl—a Colonel Gascoigne—he has got on wonderfully—he can't -be forty. We come from the same part of the world." - -"Oh!" indifferently, reaching for the paper with a jingling of bangles, -"was he, by any chance, the Gascoigne who broke his heart for Lola -Waldershare?" - -"Why," ejaculated Deep Voice, leaning forward and speaking with -unexpected animation, "of course he was—she was Lola Hargreaves then. -We lived within a mile of one another—my father was the rector of -Earlsmead. I remember as if it happened last week, how excited we were -when Philip and Lola were engaged; she was only about sixteen—they -had always been devoted to one another, and made such a pretty pair, -as romantic-looking as Paul and Virginia—and as young;" she paused, -slightly out of breath. - -"Do go on," drawled Pink Gown, "I know Virginia—she was not -drowned—and she did not marry Paul." - -"No, though they were engaged for years. Mr. Hargreaves, her father, -got into terrible difficulties, and Lola gave up Philip, and married an -enormously rich old man—simply to save her family from ruin." - -"Oh!" exclaimed the other lady—it was a most eloquent, incredulous -monosyllable—"and, pray, what became of Paul?" - -"He came tearing home from some place abroad, but it was all no -good—it was a question of money and mortgages, and keeping the old -place. He was frightfully cut up, for he was madly in love with Lola; -he went straight off to India, where, I believe, he has remained ever -since." - -All this time Angel was wedged in tightly between the deep voice on one -side, and a lady who was conscientiously doing the _World_ acrostic on -the other. Her parasol she had flung down on the middle of the table, -where it was now half covered with papers; she, herself, was entirely -concealed behind the weekly _Puppet Show_, though she could not see -a picture, or read a line of print. Should she dash down her screen, -snatch her parasol, and fly? While she was anxiously debating the -question, Pink Dress said: - -"Mr. Waldershare is dead, and his widow is not wealthy; in fact, she is -cut off with an annuity of four hundred pounds a year, so perhaps she -will come out here and look for her old love." - -"Too late," announced Deep Voice, with tragic emphasis (she had the -voice of a stage queen); "he is married—he married two years ago." - -"Oh, really; I did not know." - -"If you had been out here two years ago, you would have heard a good -deal about it. He married his ward, a giddy child, who ran away to him -from school. When she arrived, he was fearfully taken aback—and so was -the station." - -"I suppose Mrs. Grundy kicked and screamed?" - -"Yes; she did not believe in a guardian of six-and-thirty and a ward of -eighteen; so, although Major Gascoigne moved heaven and earth to get -out of it, he was forced to marry the girl." - -There was a choking gasp beside Deep Voice, which she attributed to a -dog under the table (for dogs and children were alike admitted into the -Chitachar club). - -"And how does Paul hit it off with the child of impulse?" inquired Pink -Dress. - -"Oh, pretty well—on the non-intervention system." - -"I see—gives her her head—and she turns the heads of the station -subalterns?" - -"I cannot say; I never heard anything about her, except that she is -very pretty. Her grandmother is Lady Augusta Gascoigne." - -"You don't say so! Then Virginia the second is no _ingénue_," and Pink -Gown nodded her hat till the feathers waved again. - -"Lola was lovely," continued her friend, with enthusiasm. "She was -deeply attached to Philip, and she sacrificed her happiness for her -family. Oh, it was wonderful." - -"You mean that she was really in love with this young Gascoigne?" - -"Oh, yes," speaking with all her heart. - -"Then if she ever comes across her first love—if they meet now she is -free——" - -This aspiration was just beyond the limits of Angel's fortitude; she -put down her screen very quickly, and exhibited a ghastly face, as -she bent over, murmured something to Mrs. Deep Voice, then rose to -her feet, with a faint, "Will you kindly?" to her neighbours, as she -extricated her chair; but she carried her head with the pride of all -the "De Roncevalles," as she walked slowly out of the Chitachar club. -Several men, who were smoking in the verandah, followed the girl's -graceful figure with approving eyes, as she stepped out into the cool -starlight. - -"One of the ladies from the camp," remarked one. "She is pretty enough -if she did not look so confoundedly seedy." - -There was a clear young moon, as well as the bright stars, to light -Angel back to the tent. Everyone else had their chokedar in waiting, -with his big stick and lantern, as the roads were frequented by -Karites—(a deadly form of small snake resembling a bit of a broken -branch on which the unwary may tread, and die within the hour). Karites -had no respect whatever for the moon—she belonged to them—but they -were afraid of big moons held close to them, accompanied by clumping -sticks, and slid away nervously when they were approaching. - -Angel hurried homewards, totally ignorant of her danger, and as she -rushed along, she noticed two figures,—at whom the young moon stared -with merciless severity. They were advancing very slowly—yes, halting -occasionally to talk—but oh, she had no heart for other people's -troubles now. To think of Lola, whom she had detested, giving up -Philip—the idea was almost too immense to grasp—and marrying an -old man, in order to save her family. Oh, what self-sacrifice, what -a common, selfish, every-day creature she was in comparison! Such -nobility was beyond her reach, and if Mr. Waldershare had died a year -sooner, if she had not rushed out so madly and hampered Philip with -herself, he and Lola might have been happy after all. As she stumbled -into her tent, and flung herself on her bed, she was once more the -old emotional Angel, agonising with the misery of her aching heart. -There were three people who were bound to be unhappy—two as long as -she lived and stood between them, and she was the younger by many -years. What a prospect! Angel was experiencing the hopeless agony of -an exceptional soul; the closing of adverse powers round a passionate -strength, that would carve its way freely, and as she crushed her face -into her pillow she moaned: - -"Oh, poor Philip—poor Lola—and poor me!" - - * * * * * - -"What did she say to you?" asked Pink Gown eagerly, as soon as Angel -had trailed away into the verandah. "I never saw such a pair of tragic -blue eyes; she was white to the very lips. Do you think she has been -taken ill? You know that tope is notoriously feverish." - -"You will never guess what she said," stuttered the other lady, who -was almost purple in the face, and whose expression and gaspings -threatened apoplexy. "She—she—said, 'Excuse me—but I think I ought -to tell you—that I am—Mrs. Gascoigne.'" - -Sensation. - - * * * * * - -A sensation which circulated round the table, and thrilled the little -circle; such a sensation had not been experienced since the hailstones -in the thunderstorm had broken the skylight, and hopped about on the -billiard-table. On the present occasion, the sensation was limited to -the ladies, and a proud woman was she, who could rehearse effectively -the little scene, as she sat at dinner, to the partner of her joys and -jokes. In about twenty minutes' time, when the ladies had somewhat -recovered from the shock, and had done their best to recall and -recapitulate what had been said—and what had _not_ been said—Mrs. -Fitzjohn and Mrs. Danvers, the deep-voiced matron, resumed their -conversation, the latter was really eager to talk of her old friend -Lola. - -"Is it not strange that you and I should be discussing Lola Hargreaves, -and that just here in this little out-of-the-way station, are two of -her friends. The world is a small place. Have you seen her lately?" - -"About a year ago; but I only know her as Mrs. Waldershare, and I would -not call myself—her friend——" - -"No?" sitting up rather aghast. "She used to be such a nice girl, and -so pretty, and popular." - -"Oh, she is very good-looking indeed, but I would scarcely label her as -_nice_. She is a desperate gambler—that is no secret. Mr. Waldershare -found her out, and had twice to pay enormous sums she lost at Monte -Carlo." - -"Dear me—it seems incredible." - -"Yes, for she is so charming and seductive—she deceives casual -acquaintances. All the world gaped when they read the epitome of Reuben -Waldershare's will, and that he left a million and a half, and to his -wife nothing but a pittance and her personal belongings." - -"Then—then——" stammered the parson's daughter, "I'm afraid—she must -have been foolish?" - -"If you mean that she flirted—no, never, unless there was something to -gain by it. But she is one of those what I call trampling women, who -are determined to get all the good out of life—no matter who suffers." - -"My dear Mrs. Fitzjohn," said Deep Voice, and in that voice there was -a loud note of indignation, "Lola Hargreaves was never like _this_. -She sacrificed herself entirely for her family, as I've told you. Mr. -Waldershare helped her father, and saved him from disgrace—saved the -estates, too. I was her bridesmaid," speaking as if this alone were -a certificate of virtue. "And I never saw anyone look so white in my -life. Oh yes, she sacrificed herself—we all felt that." - -"Sacrificed herself for—herself," retorted Pink Gown, vindictively, -"I'm afraid she must be greatly changed since you knew her." - -"I do not see why she should." - -"Her one passion is gambling." - -"Oh, well, of course it is in the family—her father ruined himself." - -"I went home with her on board ship from Egypt; she always made me -think of Cleopatra, the serpent of the old Nile; she was so long and -willowy, and seemed to twine and glide about, and to fascinate. She -only exercised her fascinations on rich men, and that but seldom; but -if they went and sat by her deck-chair they were lost! Mr. Waldush -would talk to them, and dazzle them, and then say: 'Shall we have -a little game?' She won large sums, and never showed the smallest -excitement, and when she gathered up her winnings with her long white -lingers, would say, in her sweetest manner, 'Oh, you should have played -this, or that, card.' She is a marvellous player; and has the brain of -a mathematician, the men declared." - -"I'm glad she has even that," rejoined her bridesmaid, with -considerable heat. "I speak of Lola as I found her, and I stick to the -fact that she gave up Gascoigne to save Earlsmead from going to the -hammer, and to provide for her mother and brothers," and there was more -than a suspicion of sharpness in the key. - -"And I," said Mrs. Fitzjohn, "stick to the fact that Earlsmead went to -the hammer; that the pecuniary help was comparatively insignificant. -I speak with authority, as my sister is married to Edgar Hargreaves, -Lola's eldest brother. The place is gone from him and his heirs for -ever; they can just barely get along, and no more. Lola had no idea -of marrying a sub. in the Sappers when she could marry a millionaire -with forty thousand a year—she said so; and I know that she gave -old Mr. Waldershare any amount of encouragement; in fact, she threw -herself at his feet." Mrs. Danvers, of the Deep Voice, threw up her -head indignantly, and glared at her opponent, but made no reply. "Lola -Waldershare is one of those women who knows exactly what she wants—and -gets it." - -"She did not gain much by her marriage, at any rate," argued her -bridesmaid, with a sneer. - -"Only ten years' enjoyment of every imaginable luxury," retorted the -other lady; "carriages, diamonds, society, admiration, excitement, the -spending of immense sums of money—on herself——" Mrs. Danvers merely -gave a dry, incredulous cough, and began to put on her gloves. "I fancy -she is rather at a loose end now," resumed Mrs. Hargreaves's sister, -speaking in a cool but acrimonious key; "roaming about, most likely, -seeking whom she may devour. If she ranges out here, she will probably -fasten on the Gascoignes; and I shall be sincerely sorry for that -pretty, conscientious girl, who gave us all such a shock just now." - -"If she 'ranges out here,' as you so elegantly express it, she will -have no occasion to fasten on anyone," rejoined Mrs. Danvers, with -temper; "her home will be with me, her girl friend, her bridesmaid. I -shall ask her—indeed, I shall wire to her—at once." - -"I doubt if she would find scope for her enchantments in Chitachar," -said Mrs. Fitzjohn; "there is not an open carriage, a roulette board, -or a rich man, in the station. However, you may send off your -telegram, and enjoy her society immediately," and she pointed to a list -of arrivals at Bombay. - -"The sooner I see her, the better I shall be pleased," said Mrs. -Danvers, in a voice resembling the trumpeting of an elephant. "I shall -send a wire now. I can't think how I overlooked the passenger lists." - -As she spoke she put down the paper, pushed back her chair, and left -the table. - -At any rate, she had secured that consolation prize, 'the last word.' -And if Lola Waldershare did nothing else, if she never set foot in -the station, at least she had been the means of occasioning a lasting -antagonism between two of the very few ladies, in the Chitachar Club. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -IN ANGEL'S TENT - - -SEVERAL guests from the station were added to the camp dinner -table, the Commissioner's Khansamah contrived an impressive -_mènu_, and a dazzling display of plate and flowers. The wine was -incomparable—though the host greatly preferred Scotch whisky—and -everything and everyone contributed to a pleasant evening, except -Donald Gordon, who, as usual, devoured the meal in silence, and Mrs. -Gascoigne, who was depressingly dumb, and most startlingly pale. In -answer to enquiries, she pleaded a bad headache, and after the ladies -had risen, departed to her tent. - -The camp moved on the following morning, and as Angel rode past the -insignificant little club, she gazed at it with a curious expression -on her face. To her, it represented the temple of truth. Well, after -all—truth was everything, she said to herself,—nothing else was of -the same value, hopes and fears, rights and wrongs, shrivelled to dust, -in the presence of truth. - -Days went by, and Angel still remained silent, pale, and self-absorbed, -her spirits occasionally rising to their normal height, then falling -far below zero. One evening, as she was going to bed, and sat brushing -her mane of hair with listless hand, the tent flap was abruptly raised, -and Mrs. Gordon entered. - -"My dear child," she said, "I'm not going to stand this any longer. -What is the matter? Even my husband has noticed you—it is something -more than a common headache. Now, Angel, surely you will tell me?" - -"Yes," she answered with sudden passion, and she tossed her hair back, -and looked fixedly at her visitor. "It is not a headache which hurts -me—but a terrible heartache." - -"What!" in a horrified voice. "Oh, no, Angel—no." - -"Yes—sit down there on my bed, and I will tell you all about it—and -then——" heaving a quick breath, "you will have to tell me—something." - -Mrs. Gordon accepted the invitation in puzzled silence, and Angel -pursued. - -"You remember the evening we were at Chitachar Club, rummaging among -all the fusty old books, and how I stayed behind, and joked about -listening to gossip—when you and Mr. Lindsay went out?" - -Mrs. Gordon nodded, and coloured faintly. - -"I heard more gossip than I expected! After a time a crowd came in, -and two ladies sat close beside me, so closely that I could hardly -move my elbows. They began to discuss a certain Mrs. Waldershare, a -widow"—here Angel stood erect in the middle of the tent, with a mantle -of flowing fair hair over her white dressing-gown—"who jilted Philip -years ago." Mrs. Gordon sat erect and gave a little gasp. "He was -always devoted to her, ever since they were playfellows,—now she is -free—but he is married." - -"Why, of course he is!" cried Mrs. Gordon, recovering her wits, "what -nonsense this is, Angel. Why are you so tragic? you only want a dagger -to be Lady Macbeth!" - -"Please let me go on—the lady said 'Yes, he is married to a mere chit, -a child, his ward, who ran away to him from school—he had to marry -her, though he moved heaven and earth to get out of it.' Now"—and here -Angel took a deep breath, and turned a pair of agonised eyes on her -companion—"tell me—dear—good friend—is this the truth, that the -station opinion was so strong, that Philip was—forced—to marry—me? -Yes, yes, you have grown red—my God!—it is true." And Angel threw -her brush to the end of the tent, and suddenly sank on the ground, and -buried her head in her hands. - -Mrs. Gordon instantly bent over, and put her arms tenderly round the -girl, whose form now shook with hard, dry sobs. - -"And, oh! I loved him so," she moaned, "and he married me from -pity—you remember what the fortune-teller said—that a man had married -me at the bidding of a woman—that woman was _you_—" she cried -suddenly, raising her head, and wrenching herself free. "Oh, how could -you degrade me like that? How could you—be so wicked?" - -"Now listen to me, Angel," urged her friend soothingly. "Do hear what I -have to say." - -"No, no, no," she sobbed, "you will try to excuse it—you will tell me -lies." - -"I will not, Angel—upon my honour." - -Angel flung back her hair, and stood up expectant, whilst Mrs. Gordon -resumed her place on the camp cot. - -"When—when—" she began, and her lips felt hard and dry, "you came -out so suddenly, you were guilty of a most unpardonable act—it was -very wrong." - -"It was very wrong to vilify my mother," interrupted the girl -passionately. - -"Perhaps so, but you know you undertook the trip, half as a joke, -thanks to your giddy young friend; you never realised the years that -had drawn you and Philip closer together, that he was comparatively -young, and unmarried, that you were a grown-up woman. If you had—you -would not have come—confess, that this fact struck you the instant you -met him? Come, now, Angel, be honest." - -"Yes, of course, I will be honest—you are right—it did, and I was -simply horrified," admitted Angel gravely. "I had expected a man, a -little stout, and bald, and grey—you see, I had no photograph to guide -me, and six or seven years are ages at my time of life, more than -twenty later on. The moment I saw Philip, I realised the awful mistake -I had made, and felt almost inclined to turn and run away back into the -wet jungle, but I pulled myself together, and did my best to carry it -off with a high hand; there was nothing else to do." - -"I know that Mrs. Flant and her sister discovered you -_tête-à-tête_—you, a young girl, and unchaperoned. Then it seems -that you attracted Miss Ball's admirer, this was too much for her -forbearance; to avenge herself she told a story to the station, she -and Mrs. Flant whispered that they did not believe you were only just -out—or as simple as you pretended. They said you had possibly—no, -I won't go on," as Angel's face grew fixed and ghastly. "The talk -had become a clamour by the time Philip appeared; perhaps you may -understand the whisperings, the silences, and the curt refusals of our -invitations, that puzzled us so much?" - -"I understand—all—_now_." - -"Then of course Philip had to be told. At first he absolutely refused -to believe his ears, but the lie had had a long start, and was strong -and unflinching. He did not wish to marry you——" - -"So the other woman said." - -"He thought you much too young; he declared you should see the world, -and make your choice, and not be put off with a dull old bachelor. He -was thinking of you, he was indeed, Angel," trying to reach Angel's -hand, but she twisted it away, "he loves you very sincerely, and -loyally in his own way. Has he not made you an admirable husband? There -is the answer to that silly woman's chatter. Don't you believe, my -dear," and she now took Angel's hand firmly in hers, "that he loves -you?" - -"Yes," rudely snatching her fingers away, "precisely as he did -when I was a little girl at school, not with all his soul, and all -his strength, as he loved Lola—not"—drawing a long breath, and -transfixing her friend with her eyes—"as Alan Lindsay—loves you." - -"Angel! What do you mean!" stammered the receiver of this rude shock, -and the slumbering fire in her dark eyes kindled to a blaze. "How dare -you?" - -"Why should I not dare?" demanded the girl fiercely, "this is the -place and time for plain speaking—lip to lip and eye to eye. Philip -is straight, as they called him—_he_ would never make love to a -married woman—not even," and she gave an odd laugh, "to his own wife. -He is careful of my health, of the horses I ride, the people I know, -he jumps up when I enter a room, he hurries to fetch me a wrap, but he -never—_never_ kisses my work, or my book, when I am not looking—nor -waits patiently for hours to have a word with me—alone—as a man we -know, waits for—you." - -"Angel—Mrs. Gascoigne," said her listener, who had suddenly assumed -all the dignity of the wife of the Commissioner, "you have taken leave -of your senses. You have had—a—a—sunstroke." - -"No—no—I am quite sane, thank you," she replied, "and perfectly -cool-headed; you may remember that as a child I was very sharp at -seeing things that never occurred to other people. The faculty has -not deserted me. I believe all women are possessed of an instinct, -and recognise love when they see it. Dear Elinor, do forgive me," she -pleaded, and her voice broke, "because I love you, and I have so few -to love. If I do not speak to you—who will dare? My sight is terribly -keen—I cannot help it—I cannot help seeing that Philip does not love -me—that Alan Lindsay does love you." She paused for a moment, threw -back her hair, and went on, standing directly before her companion, who -sat on the side of the cot with a countenance as expressionless as a -mask, "You are beautiful—you are sympathetic—you are good," continued -the girl in a clear ringing voice, "all the world knows you, as the -admirable wife of—a block—of Aberdeen granite. Half the young men -and the girls in the district have come under your influence—which -has always been noble and pure. It is as far-reaching and penetrating -as the sun—it is your responsibility; and now love has come to claim -you—and you are in danger, or why these long walks, and absorbing -conversations, and early strolls to see the sun rise, and late -strolls to see the moon rise? No one has recognised the danger but we -three—you and I and Mr. Lindsay. You must send him away—before it is -too late." - -With her white robe, flowing locks, and earnest and impassioned face, -Angel might almost have stood for a picture of her namesake. - -"It is strange," began her companion in a husky voice, "that you should -be exhorting me—a woman who is fourteen years older than yourself—who -remembers you a child." - -"Yes, it is strange—it is, I'm afraid, unpardonable. I expect you will -send me back to Marwar to-morrow, and I am ready to go. I feel that -I must speak, and risk your friendship—for your own sake;" then she -added, "Oh, have I not said, and seen—what is true?" - -The immediate answer was long delayed, then suddenly Mrs. Gordon bent -her head upon her hands, and burst into tears; at last she looked up -with streaming eyes, and said: - -"Yes, your vision is clear;—I will not palter or fight off, or -equivocate,—I do love Alan. Oh, what a relief it is to speak aloud, -what I have scarcely dared to whisper to my own heart. Love has come to -me at last; hitherto I have starved in the midst of plenty, now cruel -fate has brought me a great gift—which I may not accept. I nursed Alan -back to life—he had gone to the very edge of the grave, and he says -my voice recalled him; that he loved me, only dawned upon me recently; -he has never dared to tell me in so many words, but I know it, and -the fact fills me with almost intolerable joy. My husband is cold and -formal; I was freezing into the same mould. Alan has melted my heart; -I've warmed my hands before the fire of life——" - -"Yes," interrupted Angel, finishing the quotation, "but it does not -sink—nor are you ready to depart! Elinor, I beseech you, send Mr. -Lindsay away. You are not as other women—you have a name and example -to live up to; your influence has been like a star, which, if it falls, -means black darkness to hundreds." - -"You need not be afraid, Angel," said Mrs. Gordon with a sob; "I will -never succumb—with God's help—but you do not realise what it is, to -starve and shiver for years, and then be offered your heart's desire, -only to refuse it; a supreme influence seems to have taken possession -of me, undefinable, and impalpable, but real and actual, as light or -the electric current. But I see that you despise me; in your eyes I -have fallen from my high estate," and she rose and threw her arms -tightly round Angel. "Yes, I despise myself." - -"Promise me that you will send him away," whispered Angel. - -"Yes, yes—that I promise. When we return to Marwar, he goes to -England, and we shall never—never—meet again. Oh—never." - -"Goes to England?" repeated Angel, incredulously. - -"He succeeded to his property some time ago, but has kept the matter -quiet, and remains out in India for——" - -"For your sake," interrupted Angel; "I understand. Well, I hope he will -go soon." - -Mrs. Gordon shivered involuntarily. - -"It is strange—or is it not strange—that your husband has never -noticed how friendly Mr. Lindsay is—with you?" - -"No, no; he attributes it all entirely to himself. It would be -impossible for him to realise that I could attract anyone in that way." - -"And he is an old mole, grubbing away at the story of the love of -Shireen and Ferhad, and never sees the real story which is enacted -before his eyes." - -"Oh, Angel, don't say such things, my dear—they hurt—they hurt." - -"Yes, the truth is painful," acknowledged Angel. "I am brutal to -you—because it hurts me. It is the truth that my husband's heart -belongs to another woman. I cannot blame him; once and for ever, it is -as it should be—and she is so beautiful, not only her face, but her -character is lovely and noble. It is all a little hard on me, yet truth -forces me to confess that there is no one to reproach but myself. Oh, -what ease and comfort it would give me if I could blame some one. I -threw myself upon Philip without thought or reflection, and I have cast -myself between him and the woman he loves, and is now free to marry -him—only for me—only for me—they would both be happy. I learnt all -this at the little Chitachar Club. Listeners certainly hear bad news of -themselves." - -"My dear Angel, you are much too sensitive—you are morbid," -interrupted her friend; "but you know the saying, - - 'Le temps passe, - L'eau coule, - Le cœur oublie.' - -Philip has forgotten his first love years ago." - -"No, no; Philip never forgets anything, and I should never have heard -about Lola, only in the way I did. They loved each other as children. -They love one another still. As I lie there on this little bed, do you -know that I sometimes pray to die—a quiet, easy death—to sleep, and -never wake. It would mean so much happiness to others—and—here she -choked down a sob—"I don't think anyone would be very sorry, or miss -me much—except the dogs, and you." - -"Oh, Angel!" exclaimed her companion, "my dear child, you must -_not_ talk like this. I cannot imagine where you get hold of such -extraordinarily wild ideas. If anything happened to you—it would break -Philip's heart; he——" - -"He," interrupted his wife, "would marry Lola within six months—or -less. I hope so—tell him." - -"Elinor," growled a voice, outside the flap of the tent, "what the -devil do you mean by having lights burning at this hour and talking -and disturbing people, and keeping Mrs. Gascoigne out of her bed? Go -back to your own tent at once—come, don't dawdle," and Elinor, having -embraced her guest, swiftly obeyed her lord and master. - -It was noticed that the delightful cold weather camp, usually so -bracing and health-giving, had evidently been of no benefit to the two -friends. When they returned to the station, people declared that they -had never seen Mrs. Gordon look so fagged—no, not in the cholera year -even, when she had nearly worked herself to death; and pretty Mrs. -Gascoigne had not only lost her colour, but her spirits. - -What had they been doing to themselves, or one another? Was it possible -that they had quarrelled? - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -"THE SIN" - - -COLONEL and Mrs. Gascoigne sat in their cool matted verandah drinking -early morning tea, and watching the malees splashing water over the -plants from their primitive earthern chatties, and the syce cutting -luscious green lucerne for the expectant horses. Their only companions -were the fox-terriers, Sam and John, and any description of the -Gascoigne _ménage_ which omitted these gentlemen would be inadequate -and incomplete. They were twins, and as unlike in appearance and -disposition as it was possible to be. Sam was a remarkably handsome -dog, exhibiting all the best points of his race. He had a black -face, bright tan eyebrows, and silky white ears; his disposition was -sporting, affectionate, easy-going, and game, but his intellect was not -brilliant. On the other hand, his brother was endowed with the master -mind; _he_ planned, and Sam carried out. It was John's great brain -that found means to extricate them when they got into nasty scrapes -connected with breakages, pet rabbit-killing, and egg scandals. In the -clever discovery of other dogs' bone stores in ferreting out useful -short cuts and rare sport, John was prominently to the front. Sam was a -determined hatter—and, alas, "catter"—of unwearying energy and speed, -but not insensible to luxury, caresses, and praise. He liked to lie -on a lady's lap—although he weighed twenty-one solid pounds of bone -and muscle. He liked to be petted, and to have his throat scratched, -and to repose in the middle of a soft down quilt (he being muddy or -otherwise); but he was so handsome, and so insinuating, that his wishes -were generally gratified. - -Sam was a nice, simple, unaffected dog, and a general favourite. -John was stout, well set on his legs, with no approach to style or -pedigree; his head was too round, his nose too short—foolish people -declared he had "a pretty face," and judges admitted that his cat-like -paws were models. He abhorred all endearments and liberties—though -to gain certain ends he could beg and give the paw. He was fond of -music, and came and sat under the piano when Angel played, occasionally -accompanying her in soft, melodious howls. He also sang—to the -mandoline. He was a very duck in the water, which his brother loathed. -He was shamelessly greedy, and Sam was an ascetic. John was immensely -clever, and Sam was a fool. John was self-centred, impulsive, and -irritable. Occasionally he and his twin fought for no apparent reason, -almost to the death, and were only separated by being vigorously pumped -on, or torn, as it were, asunder. They were always badly mauled and -covered with blood; Sam was invariably the victor, and immediately set -himself to lick his brother's wounds, who received this Samaritan-like -attention with sullen toleration. On the sole occasion when John was -the best dog he bore himself most unchivalrously, lorded it over his -vanquished foe for twenty-four hours, and would not suffer him to come -into the presence of their joint mistress, or to approach within six -yards of his fat, vainglorious self. - -But John had delivered his brother from the disagreeable consequences -of murder and theft, secured him excellent sport, and on one occasion -saved his life, returning home in the middle of the night, rousing the -household by his terrific howls, and leading forth a rescue party to -where Sam—ever the most enterprising—was smothering in a snake hole. -The couple thoroughly appreciated camp life, and, no doubt, bragged -prodigiously of their feats and escapades to other less lucky dogs whom -they met at the band-stand or in the club compound. At the present -moment they were shivering to be taken out. John sat on his hind legs, -his gaze pathetically fixed on Gascoigne's last piece of toast, for his -greed and presumption were unique. Sam divided his attention between -driving sparrows out of the verandah—those vulgar street boys of the -world—and keeping a sharp eye on his master's movements. - -"I say," said Gascoigne, "these fellows have done themselves well in -camp! John is actually bloated; he has the figure of an alderman." -Angel laughed. "But I can't say as much for you," and he looked at her -steadily. - -He was thinking how soon India robs a girl of her good looks. Angel was -white, her cheeks were hollow, her features had sharpened. - -"I should hope not," she retorted; "surely you don't want _me_ to have -the figure of an alderman?" - -"I should like to see a little flesh on your bones," and he reached -over and took up her limp hand and wrist. "What have you been doing to -yourself, Angel?" - -"Nothing." - -"And no one has done anything to you? What is it? You seem rather down -on your luck." - -"Then appearances are deceitful," she answered, dragging away her hand. -"I—I"—Angel was unaccustomed to telling broad, flat-footed lies—at -last she brought out—"enjoyed myself _enormously_." - -"Though there were only the three of you! Donald Gordon is an able man, -but a murderous bore—the compressed essence of a dozen wet blankets. A -little of his society goes far. Oh, but I forgot—you had that fellow -Lindsay. How did you like him?" - -Angel coloured faintly; there was a moment's perceptible hesitation -before she said: - -"I don't dislike him." - -"Come! this _is_ enthusiastic praise! and yet he is quite a ladies' -man; far more at home reading poetry than pig-sticking; in fact, he -rides so badly that it makes me positively uncomfortable to see him. He -is an humbling spectacle on a horse." - -"Um—yes; but I don't think clever people generally ride well—as a -rule," said Angel. - -"Then there must be a crowd of clever people in Marwar! By the way, I'm -told that Lindsay came into his property about three or four months -ago—why on earth does he not clear out? A man with six thousand a year -is out of focus in India. What is his anchor out here, I wonder? A -woman?" - -Angel blushed furiously—guiltily. Gascoigne looked at her in mild -surprise. - -"How should I know?" she answered impatiently. - -"He likes his work, just as you do yourself—he worked very hard -indeed." - -"And when he had a little breathing time—how did he employ himself?" - -"He played chess, and went for long walks and he read aloud—Rossetti -and Browning." - -"Just what I would expect." - -"You need not scoff; you read to us yourself—once upon a time." - -"True, oh, Angel; but then—I was in love." - -"_Were_ you?" - -"Certainly I was. Shall I read to you now?" picking up the local paper. -"We are a little late this morning; my horse had to be shod." - -"Yes, do read," assented his wife; "but there is never anything in the -paper now, but the plague—and the rupee." - -"I say, listen to this," he exclaimed, beginning to read. "'Sad -Accident at Suchapore.' Why, you must have met her." - -"I don't in the least know what you mean, and I hope I do not." - -"It's a Miss Cuffe. 'We regret to record a fatal carriage accident at -Suchapore, which resulted in the death of Miss Mabel Cuffe, recently -arrived from England. She and a friend were driving in a dogcart, when -the horse took fright at an elephant, bolted, and upset the cart. The -unfortunate girl was thrown out, and killed on the spot. This painful -incident has thrown a gloom over the entire station.'" - -"I should think so," exclaimed Angel. "How dreadful—and how soon." - -"Dreadful—certainly," agreed Philip, looking at her interrogatively; -"but why soon?" - -"It is such a short time since I saw her; it seems only the other day -we all had our fortunes told by a Fakir, and he said, when he looked at -Miss Cuffe's hand, 'I see death.' Of course she did not understand—and -she was not told—and it was only a fortnight ago." - -"A mere coincidence," said Gascoigne; "I don't believe in these -predictions. Did you have your fortune told too?" - -"Oh, yes, we all had, including Mrs. Gordon." - -"And what did he tell you?" - -Angel looked at him meditatively; she seemed to be making up her mind. -At last she said: - -"He told me that I was married." - -"That was nothing new or strange." - -"No; but that my husband had married me at the bidding of—another -woman." - -"That, at least, has the merit of novelty." - -"And—truth?" she added quickly. - -"Now, is it likely? I would be far more inclined to marry because a -woman told me _not_ to marry you. But I did not want any telling, did -I, Angela _mia_?" and he bent over and brushed her cheek with his -glove, and John instantly sat up, believing that it was something to -eat. "You must cheer up, and come for a good gallop. Remember there is -a big dinner at the Residency this evening." - -"Do you think that a lively prospect?" - -"No; I dread big dinners of thirty." - -Here Gascoigne signed to the syces to bring up the horses, swung his -wife into her saddle, and in another moment they were crossing the -parade ground at a sharp canter, followed by Sam and John _ventre à -terre_. - - * * * * * - -A big official dinner in India is a solemnity, not a festivity; people -are invited, and accept as a matter of duty. They do not anticipate -enjoyment; but the women look forward with keen expectation to -receiving their rightful precedence, and to exhibiting their newest -gowns. Angel, though but twenty-three, was a lady who sat among the -chief guests, thanks to her husband's position. As these were many -years her senior, she was generally most desperately bored. On the -present occasion, she contemplated the prospect with an involuntary -sigh, as she swept down the steps in a graceful white gown, and got -into the brougham, followed by Gascoigne, in all the usual evening war -paint of a Colonel of the Royal Engineers. - -"What a dull evening we shall have!" she exclaimed, as she held out her -glove to be buttoned. "All oldish official people that we have met a -hundred times. We do take our pleasures sadly." - -"Yes, if you call this function a pleasure," said her husband, as he -neatly completed his task. "I've a heap of work at home I ought to get -through, instead of eating for two mortal hours, and listening to Lady -Nobb—she is generally my fate. Her idea of conversation is a monologue -on missionaries." - -"Well, at least, it saves you exerting yourself. Oh dear," and -Angel yawned, "if we could only have games or charades—or even -blindman's-buff." - -"What a profane suggestion," ejaculated her husband. - -"Yes, or see a few new faces; and here we are—and there is Lady Nobb -getting out of her carriage. Oh, Philip, she has on such a smart pink -silk petticoat—quite a wicked petticoat!" - -"Then I shall certainly make it the basis of our conversation," said -Gascoigne, as he opened the door and jumped out. - -In a few minutes "Colonel and Mrs. Gascoigne" had been received by the -aide-de-camp, and ushered into the great durbar room—a lofty, pillared -apartment, with palms, rare Persian carpets, rose-shaded lamps, -soft inviting lounges, beautiful curios, and many large photographs -scattered here and there (the signed gift of passing guests in return -for various favours received). In spite of Angel's melancholy forecast -it presented a brilliant scene, with brave men in uniform, and -beautiful women in their best array. - -The new arrivals were formally presented to their Excellencies, with -whom they were on a most friendly every-day footing, and then drifted -away into the crowd. - -"Quite a collection of strangers," said Alan Lindsay, as he attached -himself pointedly to Angel. "I must say I think it's hard lines on the -Lieutenant-Governor and Lady Eustace to have to invite every Tom, Dick, -and Harry who write their names in the book. I suppose you have seen -Mrs. Gordon to-day?" he added in a cautious undertone. - -"No," very sharply. - -"That is unusual, is it not?" he pursued; "she is not well—she was -'Darwaza Bund' when I called. I'm off in ten days' time, I—think." - -"Oh, are you?" said Mrs. Gascoigne, in a more cordial tone. "How glad -you must be!" - -"I'm not glad, you know I'm not, and why," he said, fixing her with -his keen eyes; "_you_ know all about it." He made a quick, eager -gesture and sat down on the sofa; then he bent his head towards her and -murmured, "Why—pretend?" - -Colonel Gascoigne, who was engaged in discussing hydrostatics -and flying levels with a brother sapper, noticed this little -scene,—Lindsay's assured attitude, his confidential pose. He stared -for a second as if struck by some new idea, but at that instant his -attention was required elsewhere. - -"Hullo!" exclaimed his companion, "I thought we were going to stay all -night, and I've seen the L. G. look twice at his watch. Here come the -Blaines, and a friend. By Jove, she _was_ worth waiting for." - -Philip turned and glanced casually toward the entrance, and saw Sir -Evans Blaine, K.C.B., and Lady Blaine, charged with apologies, and in -the act of presenting their friend, "Mrs. Waldershare." - -Lola! Yes, Lola herself, looking brilliantly lovely, a very queen of -society. She wore a long trailing black gown, which followed her in -sinuous lines along the soft white carpet, and shimmered as she moved, -like the scales of a fish. Her arms were covered with tightly-fitting -sleeves, her neck was very bare, according to the prevailing mode; the -black jet set off her white skin to great advantage. A slender chain of -diamonds encircled her throat and fell below her waist, and a diamond -comb or crown shone amid her piled-up dark hair. In one hand she held a -tiny painted fan, and she carried herself like a sovereign prepared to -receive the homage of her subjects. - -Lola made a beautiful picture, as she stood talking with animation to -the Lieutenant-Governor and became the immediate cynosure of every eye. -To Lola, these were the moments that made life worth living. - -Angel, who had been on the point of speaking sharply to Lindsay, -held her breath as this vision swam into her view. Horror, surprise, -admiration, chased one another through her brain. Her face looked white -and wan, all her girlish beauty seemed to shrivel up and fade, as she -realised that she and her rival were now within the lists. - -Mr. Lindsay caught a glimpse of her expression, and exclaimed: "Oh the -bewitching widow! Sandys of my service came out with her on board ship; -she's just arrived from home. Isn't she a wonderful creation—and quite -lovely." - -"Not very young," remarked a lady who sat near, "but well versed in the -arts of fascination. I would give a good deal to know the name of her -dressmaker!—what a wonderful gown." - -"Yes," agreed Lindsay, "dramatic and realistic—it's not a gown—but a -personality." - -"Do you know what she reminds me of," continued the lady eagerly—a -clever worn-looking woman, in a frumpish but expensive garment, a -woman whose children and whose heart were in England—"it is a picture -in a gallery in Munich. I stood before it for twenty minutes, and I -went back to look at it twice; it is of a beautiful woman, a dark -woman, with a face like hers—she is dressed entirely in a serpent, -a great dark blue serpent, wound round her body, whose head rests -confidentially over her shoulder. They are both beautiful, both -similar, both wickedly fascinating—and the name of the picture is 'The -Sin.'" - -"My dear Mrs. Frobisher," cried Lindsay, with affected horror, "how -shocking—surely sin and this enchanting stranger have not even a -bowing acquaintance." - -"Possibly not," she answered dryly, "but she and 'The Sin' are -identical in appearance." - -"And now we are on the move," said Lindsay. "I am so fortunate as to -have the honour of taking you in to dinner, Mrs. Gascoigne." - -Angel rose, and accepted the proffered arm in a sort of trance. -Had Lola and Philip met? Would they sit near each other? Her eyes -roved round anxiously, as she moved to her place at that exquisitely -decorated table, covered with lovely La France roses, shining silver, -and delicate ferns. - -No, but it was almost worse, she said to herself with an inward groan; -they were seated exactly opposite to one another; and Lola had such -eloquent eyes! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -MAKING FRIENDS - - -DURING that long official feast, Angel's thoughts were distracted and -confused. They were engrossed by a couple lower down the table—of -these she could only catch occasional glimpses—conveying a fleeting -vision of a handsome dark profile and gold shoulder cords, and a -lovely white throat, a dazzling chain, a dazzling face: besides all -the heart-sickness occasioned by this picture she had on her left hand -Alan Lindsay, sternly determined to endow her with his confidence—she -fiercely resolved not to receive it. What a situation for one helpless -young woman! No wonder that her appetite was miserable, her remarks -vague and erratic, her face white, and her expression fixed—Mrs. -Crabbe, who sat opposite, was delighted to hear her partner declare -that he had "never seen any one go off so soon as Mrs. Gascoigne."—To -know that her husband and his beautiful first love were dining -_vis-à-vis_, drinking to one another with their eyes—no—no—Philip -was not like that! To know, that beside her sat the avowed lover of -her dearest friend, who was only awaiting an opportunity to pour his -cause into her ear, was almost too much for the endurance of any girl -of two-and-twenty. And Angel's right-hand neighbour afforded her no -support; he was as useless as a stuffed figure, being both deaf and -shy. However, she summoned her courage, girded herself for the fray, -and rose to the occasion. Even as a child she had a wonderful spirit. -Time after time she turned the conversation when it approached her -friend. - -"How heartless you are!" exclaimed Lindsay, when they had arrived at -the first _entrée_. "I declare, you have no humanity, no sympathy—you -are a stone." - -"Very well—I am," she answered doggedly, "and I have no sympathy to -spare for you." - -"Pray, why not? Eve always thought you so broad, and so bright, almost -like an American girl. Certainly the American climate is favourable to -intellectual vivacity." - -"Intellect has nothing to do with the present case," said Angel -sharply, "and no American girl would support your views." - -"I'm not so sure of that, Mrs. Gascoigne. It is easy to get a divorce -in the States—they are sensible people; why should a man and woman -who are totally discordant be compelled to live together in misery all -their lives? It's worse than penal servitude—what is there to bind -them?" - -"Their vows," she answered gravely. - -Lindsay shrugged his shoulders, and gave a queer little laugh. - -"I am so glad you are going away," said Angel, with undeniable rudeness. - -"Yes, and so am I," he answered imperturbably, "if I do not go alone." - -"_Of course_, you will go alone." - -"Why of course? Why should not Elinor accompany me?" he asked, dropping -his voice. - -Mrs. Gascoigne became suddenly very red; her hand shook a little. - -"He will set us free—we will marry in six months, and begin a new -existence. What a maddening thing life is—a mass of mistakes. One's -hands are tied, and fate comes and mocks at us—but I intend to cut the -cords. Here is Elinor's life wasted with a boor, who values her less -than a quire of foolscap, whilst I would lay down my life for her." In -the midst of this heroic speech potatoes were offered and declined. - -"Listen," he continued eagerly, "my plan is this——" - -"Hush," said Angel, "not so loud. Mrs. Crabbe opposite is exhibiting -the liveliest interest in your conversation,—and I don't want to hear -any more." - -"You must hear," he said inflexibly. - -"Well, if I must, I suppose I must. I cannot escape from the table—I -won't agree with one word you say—so you are warned." - -"I want Elinor to come to England with me. I am now a wealthy man; -after six months she will become my wife, and we shall be unutterably -happy." - -"For a year—perhaps, and then you will both begin to realise your -mistake; you will regret your career, and she will be grieving for her -downfall. You will be each other's punishment; Elinor will feel intense -remorse, knowing what her evil example means to so many, and that her -life's work is destroyed. She will become old, worn, and unsatisfied, -and you will be disillusioned." - -"You talk like a seer, Mrs. Gascoigne," he sneered. - -"I am far-sighted," she admitted quietly. - -"Don't you know—do you not see that it would be for Elinor's happiness -to cast off this hideous life of pretence, and become my second self, -my wife, the mistress of my dear old home?" - -"She would be mad to listen to you," said Angel fiercely; "she will -suffer, when you leave; she will mourn as for a death—oh, it will be -a hard trial, but it is better to suffer and be strong now, and get it -over, than to endure agonies of shame later on, and always. She will -never listen to your plan. If she did, I would hold her back by main -force; if she went she would have to drag _me_ along with her. I will -never let her go." - -"I always thought you were her friend, and wished for her happiness." - -"I am her friend—and I do not wish for her disgrace." - -"Why are you so narrow-minded? Many _divorcés_ are in society; and -Elinor is so sweet and so good—her influence will always be felt -wherever she goes." - -"No, not when it is known that she has left her husband—with you. -You must practise before you preach; and if I have read Mr. Gordon's -character correctly, he will never divorce his wife." - -"So," after a long pause Lindsay said, "you are not on my side?" - -"No, nor ever will be—and what a discussion for a dinner-party!" - -"It was my only opportunity. I asked Du Visne—he's a pal of mine—to -send us in together if possible." - -"If he had known your object, he would have turned you out; now let us -talk of anything—or nothing else. Ah! I see people putting on their -gloves; thank goodness, we are going at last." - - * * * * * - -As Angel sat in the drawing-room, mechanically turning over a book of -photographs, too unnerved to mix with other women and talk gossip or -chiffons, she suddenly looked up and found Lady Eustace beside her, who -said: - -"Mrs. Gascoigne, here is a lady who is most anxious to make your -acquaintance. Let me introduce Mrs. Waldershare, a very old friend of -your husband's." - -Angel rose, and held out her hand in silence. - -Was this the pretty girl that they said Philip had married? mentally -asked Lola, as with one comprehensive glance she criticised her -substitute. Why, her complexion was like a sheet of white paper, and -her collar-bones stood out in pitiful prominence; but she had wonderful -eyes, and her figure was graceful, her dress elegant. - -"I felt that you and I ought to know one another as soon as possible," -said Lola in her drawling voice; "you know Philip and I are such old, -old friends; we were girl and boy together, and I should so much like -to be friends with his wife." - -"Thank you," said Angel, faintly. What a namby-pamby creature! thought -her listener—aloud, "Do let us go over and take possession of that -most delicious-looking sofa and have a good, comfortable talk—before -the men come," and she led the way with admirable grace. "I think," she -continued, settling herself with a cushion at her back, "these little -after-dinner chats are such opportunities for seeing something of other -women," and she nodded over at Angel with a delightful expression of -good fellowship; she was considerably startled by the expression in the -girl's eyes. What did they say? - -They conveyed a grave, almost awed admiration; now Lola loved -admiration, and accepted it greedily from any source, from a -crossing-sweeper upwards. That Philip's wife should admire her with -those great tragic blue eyes was funny. She always had an idea that -Philip's wife would not care for her. This simple chit would care for -her, and be exceedingly useful. She meant to place herself under the -dear child's nice white wing—yes, and her name was Angel. - -"Have you any children?" she asked softly. - -Angel blushed to the roots of her hair, and shook her head. - -"But dozens of dogs, I am sure! Philip was always crazy about dogs and -horses, yes, and all sorts of horrid things, toads and tortoises and -tadpoles. You are quite young," she resumed; "oh, how I wish I were -your age!" - -"I should not mind exchanging," said Angel, with a faint smile. - -"I only wish we could," rejoined Lola with emphasis; "oh, you can't -think how bitterly I cried the day I was thirty!" - -"Really? Why should you mind, and you look so young." And then with an -effort she asked, "Are you staying in Marwar, or just passing through?" - -"Oh, I am staying with the Blaines for a day or two, then going -up country to my brother Edgar. I've come out to spend a year in -India. I think I shall like it immensely, and I hope it will like -me. The country is so bright and sunny, and everyone so cheery and -so hospitable. I've met several people that I came out with on board -ship, and we feel quite like old friends. There's Captain Hailes of the -Muleteers, and the little Tudor boy, Sir Capel Tudor; we called him -Cupid. He is ridiculously devoted to me. By the way," she went on in -another key, "I suppose you have heard that Philip and I were engaged -once," and she looked at her with a half-bantering expression. - -"Yes, I know," responded the other gravely. - -"For quite a long time—nearly four years. You won't," and she raised -herself about half-an-inch and lightly touched Angel's hand, which hung -limply over the back of the sofa, "you won't like me any the less—for -being fond of him—will you, dear?" - -"No, certainly not," with an eloquent gesture. - -"In fact, it constitutes a bond between us—and you won't care for him -any less," and she looked up into Angel's serious eyes, "because he -used to like—me?" - -"No," and then ensued a long pause. - -"It was a funny marriage, was it not?" she resumed suddenly. - -"What—whose?" asked her bewildered listener. - -"Why, yours, dear. He was a hardened bachelor, and you were such a -child. But it has turned out very well," another pause, "hasn't it, -dear?" - -"Oh, yes," blushing, and feeling curiously embarrassed. - -"What a dear you are! I'm going to be so fond of you; I know at once, -when I like people or not. And you?" - -"No, I'm not like that—it is too soon." - -"Never too soon to begin a liking, dear." - -"But I admire you more than anyone I've ever seen," said Angel -impulsively. - -"Come, that's a good start," patting her arm with a touch of patronage. -"By-and-by, I believe, when you know me—you will pity me." - -"Pity _you_?" gazing at this lovely, languorous creature, with her -shining gown, her shining jewels, her shining eyes. - -"Ah! you are too young to know the tragedy of giving up, of -annihilating self; of being misrepresented, slandered, and beggared. -Well, I will tell you all about it some day. I'm coming to see you -to-morrow. I am told newcomers call first. And here are the men. Do -look at my little travelling friend, Sir Cupid. Ah, there is Phil," -and she beckoned him with her fan. "Dear old Phil, how good it is -to see you—how you bring back old times. Your wife and I have been -making such friends, and having a long chat. Now," as he looked -interrogatively from one to the other, "I'm going to have a good long -talk with _you_." As Lola spoke, she rose and laid a small hand upon -his sleeve, and with a little gay nod to Angel, glided away with Philip -into the great verandah. - -Angel sat up and gazed after the couple—Philip slight, erect, and -soldierly, his head a little bent, his hands behind his back. No, he -had not offered Lola his arm. - -And Lola moving beside him with her graceful, undulating walk, looking -up, and talking quickly all the time. She felt, as she watched them -slowly disappear into the sitting-out verandah, as if the sun had been -extinguished by a huge black cloud. - -Lola was an enchantress. She herself had felt her influence, and was -powerless. As she sat in a sort of dream, she heard a man's voice say, -"Is she not ripping? Old Graydon lost his heart to her coming out." - -"Yes," said another, "and young Tudor lost two hundred pounds to her, -which is ten times worse." But, of course, they were not alluding to -anyone she knew. - -The _tête-à-tête_ in the verandah lasted till carriages began to come -rumbling under the big porch, and when Philip and Lola reappeared, she -looked conspicuously radiant. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -LAST YEAR'S NEST - - -RESIDENCY parties invariably broke up in good time, and it was not more -than half-past ten when Colonel Gascoigne handed his wife into her -brougham, and set off, according to his custom, to walk home. To-night -he had unusual food for thought, as he proceeded at a leisurely pace, -smoking a most excellent Residency cheroot. So Lola had risen on the -horizon in the character of a fascinating widow, with all the liberty, -prestige, and self-possession usual to her class. How wonderful her -eyes were! He came to a momentary standstill as he recalled them, and -how her voice trembled as she talked of "long ago," and separation, -and the cruelty of circumstance, and misapprehension. She revived a -phase of his existence that he had almost forgotten; it was a little -difficult to realise that he had been madly in love with her once. -That was nearly fifteen years ago—how time flew—in the good old days -when she could play cricket and rounders, and did not know how to use -her eyes. These reflections were abruptly brought to a conclusion by -the appearance of a bare-headed lady in silvery opera cloak, who was -evidently awaiting him under an acacia tree by the edge of the maidan. - -It was Angel, who, acting on a sudden impulse, had stopped the brougham -and descended, and sent it home empty. She felt that she must escape -from her own company, her own terrible thoughts. She must talk -to Philip about Lola without delay. No, she could not wait, even -half-an-hour, for she was mentally staggering under the impact of a new -sensation—the name of the sensation was jealousy. Her very soul was in -a fever. Naturally highly-strung, fervent, and impetuous, Angel's whole -being was centred in the longing to know what her husband thought of -Lola—what of her—_which_ of them did he love? - -And as she stood by the roadside awaiting his coming, her heart seemed -to beat, "Lola, Lola, Lola," and the distant frogs chorussed "Lola, -Lola, Lola." - -They were holding a reception in a neighbouring tank, safe from the -barbarous paddy bird, and the ruthless crane. - - * * * * * - -"Oh, here you are at last!" said Angel; "it is such an exquisite night, -I thought I would walk home," adding apologetically, as she held up -her dainty shoe, "the road is as dry as a floor; let us go across the -parade-ground." - -"All right," he assented; "it is too early for snakes. How hot it was -in that drawing-room, with those big lamps." - -"It was," assented his wife, "but _you_ must have found it cooler—in -the verandah." - -There was a significant pause, and then Colonel Gascoigne boldly broke -the ice at the thickest part. - -"There is nothing so certain as the unexpected," he said; "who would -have thought of seeing Lola out here?" - -"Who, indeed?" echoed Angel coolly; "and we were wishing so much for a -new face, though her face is not new to you. Everyone comes to India -nowadays. It would never surprise me if grandmamma appeared. There she -goes." - -"What! your grandmother?" - -"No, Mrs. Waldershare." - -As she spoke a large open carriage bowled along the hard white road. It -contained the Blaines and their guest, who waved her fan to the pair, -with a gesture signifying approval and valediction. - -"What do you think of her?" asked Philip, abruptly, as the horses' -hoofs died away in a distant clip-clop. - -"I think she is beautiful," answered Angel, in a voice that carried -sincerity in its expression; "there can be but one opinion about that." - -"I shouldn't have thought she was your style." - -"Oh, yes, I admire dark people." - -"Thank you, Angel; that is one to me. But you did not approve of her as -a child." - -"No, I was prejudiced, and, of course, I was no judge; but now -that—that——" she hesitated. She was going to add, "that I know her -story——" - -"That you have arrived at years of discretion or indiscretion," he -supplemented. - -"Yes, now that I have arrived at years of experience, I do not wonder -that you adored her." - -Philip did not remark the little falter in her voice. - -"How do you know that I adored her?" - -"Did you not?" was her quick counter question. - -"Well, then—yes." - -"And were distracted with misery when she married Mr. Waldershare?" - -"So they said," and as he spoke he knocked the ash off his cheroot with -elaborate care. - -"You have forgiven her"—and Angel caught her breath; "you forgave her -to-night?" - -"I forgave her ten years ago; but, my dear child, do not let us rake up -the ashes of an old love affair that has been extinct for ages. I am -quite prepared to be civil to Lola, as an old playfellow and friend, -that's all. You will have to call on her, and ask her to dinner, and -all that sort of thing." - -Angel came to a sudden dead stop, and stood very straight in her long -silvery cloak; her face was white as she gazed at her husband in the -moonlight, with her extraordinarily piercing blue eyes. - -"Playfellow—friend," she repeated, "do you believe that she will ever -forget, or allow you to forget, that you were her old lover, her first -love—she _won't_," she added with sudden passion. "She reminded me of -it to-night, and declared that it was a bond between us." - -"Then, my dear Angel, I leave her entirely in your hands," rejoined -Philip, with a smile. He had a rare but beautiful smile, inherited from -his mother. "She is an odd creature; she has an embarrassing way of -speaking her thoughts aloud. She thought that, and unawares it escaped -her lips. Lola is not young, she has plenty of sense, she knows that -fifteen years roll between the—the old days—and these, and that," now -laying his hand impressively upon Angel's arm, "there are no birds—in -last year's nest." - -"But——" she began excitedly. - -"But," he echoed, turning his head sharply, "here comes young Hailes, -running after us. He little dreams that you and I are discussing -abstract sentiment at eleven o'clock at night, in the middle of the -parade-ground." - -"Oh, Mrs. Gascoigne," gasped Captain Hailes, breathlessly, "I believe -this is yours—you dropped it on the road—just now." - -"Yes, and how very kind of you to take so much trouble—it really was -not worth it," said Angel, who inwardly wished both glove and finder a -thousand miles away. She was anxious to pursue the subject of Lola, her -opportunities for a _tête-à-tête_ with Philip were so rare; and this -odious but well-meaning Captain Hailes accompanied them all the way to -their own gate. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -A WHITED SEPULCHRE - - -BEFORE continuing this history, it is necessary to say a few words -respecting Lola Waldershare. As Lola Hargreaves, ever lovely, -seductive, and smiling, by strangers and mere acquaintances, she was -looked upon as one of the most bewitching girls in the county. Her -beauty, youthful graces, and charm, threw a dazzling glamour over her -personality that her immediate surroundings were not blinded to her -faults; her brothers recognised her selfishness; her mother was aware -that her heart was hard as a nether millstone. Those who had little -dealings with Miss Hargreaves learnt that she was not particularly -truthful or scrupulous. The increasing straitness of the family -fortunes, the struggle to make a brave display abroad, the shifts, -shabbiness, and pinching, at home, the manœuvres to evade creditors, -and keep up appearances, had left their mark on Lola. Poverty was -hideous; humiliation was unendurable; and Lola was resolved to be rich. -A short season in London had shown her the value of her beauty; her -face was, and should be, her fortune; and long before Philip Gascoigne -had any idea of his fate, he had been mentally discarded by his -_fiancée_. Letters are deceptive, it is so much easier to deceive by -pen and ink than by word of mouth. What Mrs. Danvers had declared was -perfectly true; Lola had sacrificed herself—for herself. In marrying -Reuben Waldershare she attained her wishes—though she would have -been glad to eliminate two well-grown step-sons—and Mr. Waldershare, -for his part, was well satisfied with his bargain. Unfortunately, in -an evil moment he took his beautiful young wife to Monte Carlo, and -there the Hargreaves' demon, the gambling demon, awoke, and seized upon -her. The taint was in her blood; Lola was her father's own daughter. -At first she was contented to win small sums at roulette, which she -gleefully invested in hats and lace and trifling ornaments. After -a week, as the poison began to work, she increased her stakes, and -talked fluently of "douzaines" and "transversals" and "runs." She -relinquished expeditions to Nice, or into Italy. She grudged every -hour spent elsewhere than at the rooms. She had her own lucky table, -her lucky charm, and, above all, her system. Like most beginners, she -won largely, and Reuben Waldershare, who was obtrusively proud of his -clever, elegantly dressed, smart wife, liked to see people crane over -in order to watch her pretty eager face, as she sat with rolls of gold -rouleaux before her, her pencil busy, her eyes ablaze. - -Little did he know that he had fired a mine the day he placed three -hundred pounds to his wife's account at the Credit Lyonnaise, and told -her half in joke, that was "a little sum to play with." - -Mrs. Waldershare now played incessantly—and played high. - -"I like to put a 'mile' note on one number," she declared with a gay -laugh; "I agree with an old man who sat next me, 'Ca vous donne des -emotions.'" - -Mrs. Waldershare returned each winter to the Riviera as punctually as -a swallow, ostensibly in search of health, but in reality to gamble -continuously, extravagantly, and recklessly. She lost enormous sums; -her husband's pride now changed to alarm. The husband of the lovely -Mrs. Waldershare, who was winning to the envy and admiration of her -neighbours, was a different being to the man who had to disburse -staggering sums almost daily. Lola promised to give up gambling, and -never to touch a card or back a number. Her promises were invariably -broken—nothing would or could keep her away from the scene of her -gains and losses. She owed huge bills in London and Paris; the money -to pay these she had flung into the great gulf—she, whose luck was -astonishing, was now secretly selling her jewels—and wearing paste. -Mrs. Waldershare was again at Monte Carlo the year her husband died; -her fascinations were irresistible. A beautiful woman, thirty years his -junior, sweet, seductive, persuasive, her stolid elderly partner could -not withstand her. He was suddenly called away to Paris, on urgent -business, leaving Lola and her maid and many acquaintances at the Hotel -de Paris, but before he departed he extracted a solemn promise from -his wife that during his absence she would not enter the rooms, and -this promise she vowed to keep. The first day she went over to Nice, -the second day was wet, and seemingly endless, the third day something -drew her into the Casino in spite of herself. The talk of her friends, -of runs of colour, of great "coups," was too much for her miserable -little will; something, she afterwards declared, dragged her forcibly -into the Salle de Jeux. She went with a party, merely in order to -look on, but in twenty minutes' time, she was seated at the "trente et -quarante" with a card a pin, and a pile of gold in front of her. She -won—she won again the following day, and then she lost—lost—lost all -the money—lost her self-control—lost her head. She borrowed until she -could borrow no longer; in the frenzy of gambling, she drew a cheque -for a thousand pounds and signed it "Reuben Waldershare." All moral -sense expired, as she blotted the clever imitation of her husband's -signature. This money followed her other losses in one short day, and -then Lola was indeed desperate. She went at sundown and walked round -Monaco, and gazed thoughtfully over the wall at a spot which other -despairing eyes have measured, where there is a sheer precipice, lapped -by the blue-green Mediterranean. - -No, no—looking down always made her sick and giddy, she could _not_ do -it. Life was sweet. Reuben would certainly forgive her—after all, what -was his, was hers. - -When Mrs. Waldershare returned to the hotel, she found a telegram -awaiting her; it announced that her husband was ill with a sharp attack -of gout. She was requested to leave for Paris at once, and accompany -him home. After a few days, during which time Lola made herself -indispensable to the invalid, hourly hoping to seize a favourable -moment, and make her little confession; unfortunately the cheque -presented itself too promptly, and Reuben Waldershare, to whom such -an act as forgery appeared as great a crime as murder, was deaf to -all excuses and appeals. He raged with the deadly slow anger of a -phlegmatic nature; in this condition, he added a codicil to his will, -and having done so, died rather suddenly of gout in the stomach. And -now, Lola found herself a widow, with a small jointure and immense -debts. She endeavoured to patch up the wreck of her affairs, she tried -to beguile creditors, propitiate people she had snubbed, to make -friends with her cast-off relations, but she was alike in the black -books of her acquaintances and her tradespeople. She therefore resolved -to shift her sky, and come out to India, ostensibly to visit her -dearest brother Edgar (who had no desire for her company), and to see -something of the East. She brought with her a maid, a quantity of smart -gowns, a large stock of courage and enterprise, and a very small amount -of ready money. - -In short, she had come out to seek her fortune, precisely like the -young adventurer one reads of in books of fairy and other tales. Marwar -was a capital centre, she had gathered this information _en route_; -Indian people were approachable, hospitable, and not too inquisitive; -appearances go far, when one sails away from a—reputation. - -Then by a wonderful stroke of luck she encountered Philip Gascoigne; -as good-looking as ever; no longer the impetuous boy, the impassioned -subaltern, but a cool, self-reliant, distinguished Philip, with a fine -position, a heavy purse, and a dear, simple, appreciative wife. They -would be extremely useful, introduce her to the best society, save her -expense, and officiate as her sponsors. - -These were a few of Mrs. Waldershare's reflections, as she drove into -the Gascoignes' compound the afternoon succeeding the dinner-party. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -FISHING FOR AN INVITATION - - -MRS. WALDERSHARE presented a most charming picture, as she rustled into -Mrs. Gascoigne's great drawing-room, with her exquisitely gloved hands -eagerly extended. Her _entrée_ was accompanied by the rustling of silk, -a faint jingling of beads, and atmosphere of heliotrope. She wore an -elaborate white dress, a black plumed hat, both unmistakably French and -expensive. - -"Oh, I am so ashamed!" she exclaimed; "I had to pay one or two other -calls, and like a greedy child with sweets, I kept the best for the -last. I had not the faintest idea it was so late." - -"Better late than never," said her hostess, politely, and the gong at -that moment sounded for tiffin. - -"You will stay, won't you?" she urged, little knowing that her visitor -had carefully timed her arrival in order to be sure of catching Philip -at home; "I'll send away the gharry." - -"Oh, thank you, I must confess it is a great temptation; but do you -think the Blaines will mind?" and she looked at her hostess appealingly. - -"I can write a line if you like. Philip," turning about as her husband -entered, "here is Mrs. Waldershare—she will stay to lunch." - -Lola gave her former lover her hand, and a long, expressing glance; -then as Angel hurried out, she said: "What a charming home you have, -Philip." - -"I am glad you like it," he said cheerfully. - -"How funny to think of this being your house, Philip, and of you being -married and happy." She gazed up at him with soft interrogation as she -spoke, then dropped her voice and said, "And I am solitary and homeless -and poor—all my life, I've stood aside for others and—given up." -One of Lola's chief accomplishments was to tell the most dramatic and -delightful lies. - -"I can't say that you answer your own description," replied Gascoigne, -ignoring her touching insinuations. "I never saw anyone that looked -more fit." - -"Ah, appearances are deceitful," rejoined the lady with a sigh; "but -how well you are looking—so little changed," another wistful glance. - -"Won't you come into tiffin," said Angel, appearing suddenly. "I -have sent off a note to Mrs. Blaine," and she led the way into the -dining-room. - -"What a delightful bungalow this is," remarked Lola, after she had -helped herself carefully to mayonnaise; "so much larger than the -Blaines'. Quite double the size." - -"Yes, I suppose it is," assented Angel, carelessly. - -"They have only one spare room. Of course they are not old friends, -only board ship acquaintances, and it was so good of them to put me up; -but I've got to turn out." - -"You are going on to Edgar?" said her host. - -"Oh, no, such a bore. The Edgars are moving, and won't be settled for -a whole month. She is marching with the regiment to Seetapore, so I am -going to take my chance in the Imperial Hotel here." - -And Lola looked down, and sighed profoundly. - -"Will it be very bad, do you think?" she asked, suddenly raising her -eyes to Angel. - -"I'm sure I cannot say; I've never stayed in a hotel in India, but a -great many globe-trotters put up there in the cold weather." - -Philip gazed at his wife. Was she unable to recognise a broad hint, or -was she intentionally and exceptionally dense? - -"By the way," continued Angel, "have you not a friend at Chitachar? I -heard a lady mention that she had been your bridesmaid." - -"Oh, yes, my dear, pray don't speak of her—such a dull creature, with -a voice like a fog-horn. Philip, you remember Lucy Worsley at the -Parsonage?" - -"Oh, yes, of course I do. She was a good sort, and had a first-rate -Airedale terrier." - -"She was densely stupid, and always had chilblains, even in summer. -She is out here now, and telegraphed me to go and stay with her"—Mrs. -Waldershare had made full inquiries respecting Chitachar;—"but I -really cannot move again so soon." - -"What brought you out to India? What put it into your head to come -East?" - -"The instinct of exploration, I think; and I wanted so much to see dear -old Edgar again, and"—with a crooked smile—"you. As one grows older, -especially when one has no home or ties, one gets restless, and hankers -for the friends of one's childhood—don't you think so, Mrs. Gascoigne?" - -"No, I can't say that I ever hankered after the friends of my -childhood, except one," she replied; "I have four half-brothers, whom -I never wish to see again." - -Lola opened her eyes, until they looked a size larger, and gazed at -Angel in astonishment, and then broke into a laugh. - -"I suppose you had a different experience to mine—we had a very good -time, had we not, Philip?" she appealed to him in her sweet, persuasive -voice. - -"Yes, we made things fairly lively for ourselves and others." - -"It's one thing that cannot be taken from us—our memories. Do you -remember the day the piebald pony ran away with us, and jumped the -gate?" - -"That is hardly a happy memory." - -"No; but the picnics to Tancliffe Abbey, our cooking and dressing -up—our—oh"—with a quick little gesture of abandonment—"our -_everything_." - -Gascoigne laughed. "We were awfully keen on half-raw potatoes, the -cinders of birds, and corking our faces on the smallest provocation. -How one's tastes change!" - -"Aunt General Gascoigne, and dear Aunt Ven—how lovely she was," -continued the guest. Philip shrank like a sensitive plant; he did not -wish her to speak of his mother. Lola, with her quick perception, was -instantly aware of this, and added in almost the next breath, "And do -you remember the nest in the Clock Tower, that I dared you to get?" - -Philip rose and said, "I am afraid I must remember events of to-day, -and ask you to excuse me—I have to see the General before three. Angel -and you can have a talk, and she will drive you home after tea." - -"Oh, I cannot stay to-day, I've heaps to do," protested Lola piteously; -"but I'll just smoke a cigarette with Mrs. Gascoigne—no, I really must -call her Angel—I daresay she smokes?" - -"I did," acknowledged Angel, "but I've given it up." - -"Why?" - -Angel made no reply beyond a laugh; she had given it up to please -Philip. At last she said, "Well, I suppose we outgrow our habits." - -"Do we? I never outgrow mine, and smoking gives us all the pleasures of -hope and of memory. Let us sit in two corners of this sofa and talk; I -do want to know you." - -"It is very kind of you to say so," responded Angel quietly. Lola gave -a long comprehensive glance round the luxurious room, and blew a cloud -of smoke through her nostrils. - -"You must be very well off," she remarked suddenly. - -"We are," admitted her companion; "an old friend of Philip's mother, a -lover, I believe, died a year ago, and left him three thousand a year." - -"Nonsense," sitting erect; "fancy remaining in this country." - -"Philip likes it—his heart is in his work. He would hate to retire, -and just live in London clubs and in a house in Mayfair." - -"What do you know of Mayfair?" - -"Not much, but I lived there once." A pause, and then Angel suddenly -said, "Please tell me about Philip's mother." - -"Oh, Aunt Ven, as we called her. She was beautiful; such a lovely -face, a little sad—a good woman. It was said that in her first season, -she took London by storm, also her second, and at the height of her -glory she dropped out of the firmament; and was seen no more." - -"Was there not a reason?" - -"None, beyond a mere surmise; people hinted at a love affair—and -a mischief-maker. Ten years after she reappeared as Mrs. -Gascoigne—married someone who did not expect a whole heart-devouring -passion. Her son," again that crooked smile, "you see has done the -same." - -"You mean in marrying me," said Angel quickly. - -Lola pulled herself together. Had that glass of Burgundy gone to her -head? She must be more wary. This kind of talk was so full of pitfalls. - -"Of course," she replied, taking Angel's hand in hers, "you make him -far happier than I could have done, and you are just the right age—the -early twenties." - -"But you look in the twenties yourself. How do you manage it?" - -"Oh, I try to get the very most out of life, by keeping in touch with -what is pleasing. I never see or hear anything disagreeable—be gay, -and you remain young." And Lola released her companion's fingers with a -squeeze. - -"But if you feel things terribly, and are sorry for people, and -animals, and misery?" - -"Oh, that is fatal, it means bad nights, and wrinkles, and horrors; I -cannot afford to be emotional, I am a poor solitary woman. If you read -sad books, and sing sad songs, and mix with sad people, you become sad -yourself. Do you know that you look rather sad—it was the first thing -that struck me when I saw you." - -"Oh, but I'm not," rejoined Angel, and the colour rose to her face; -"I'm really supposed to be rather frivolous and——" - -"And here is my gharry coming back," interrupted the visitor, "and, -alas! I must go. I'll see you at the theatre this evening, won't I? -And you are going to see a great deal of _me_, dear. I hope you won't -mind." As she spoke, Mrs. Waldershare embraced the astonished Angel -with much _empressment_, went gracefully down the steps, ascended into -her hired conveyance, and was presently rattled away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -BY PROXY - - -IN a surprisingly short time, Mrs. Waldershare had become one of the -most interesting personalities in Marwar. Her beauty, her toilettes, -her seductive manners, her air of being accustomed to the best the -world could offer, went far to promote her success. She was accepted -at her own valuation, and incidentally as a very old friend of the -Gascoignes, and was invited, _fêted_, admired, and imitated. The lady's -victoria was surrounded at the band, or polo; men schemed and struggled -for the honour of escorting her. She had graciously accommodated -herself to the deficiencies of the Imperial Hotel, and established -terms of intimacy with an exploring widow, with whom she chummed, and -gave charming little teas, tiffins, and suppers. Mrs. Waldershare was -extremely exclusive, and desired it to be understood that she only -wished to know "the nicest people." As she was a regular attendant at -church, and her air and deportment were unexceptional, "the nicest -people" were delightful to cultivate her acquaintance. - -It is needless to mention that they knew nothing of the little games of -cards, which constituted such an attractive item at Mrs. Waldershare's -evening reunions, nor dreamt that it was close on sunrise when -they broke up, and that one or two of her guests returned to their -quarters with lighter pockets, and heavier hearts. There was never -a whisper of these gatherings in society, only in the bazaar, where -all is known, and where the fair widow was branded with a name that -we will not set down here. Captain Hailes and Sir Capel Tudor were -daily visitors at the Imperial Hotel; the former, on the strength of -a distant cousinship, the latter simply because he had enjoyed the -honour of being Mrs. Waldershare's fellow-passenger. He was a cheery, -boyish little fellow of two-and-twenty, keenly anxious to see, and do -everything. He and a friend had come out to India with the intention -of indulging their mutual taste for sport and mountaineering, but -Cupid had cast off his companion at Bombay, to follow the path of his -enchantress. - -In spite of his uproarious spirits, his round, boyish face, and -curly locks, Sir Capel Tudor could be as doggedly obstinate as any -commissariat mule; he was rich, he was his own master, and after a -somewhat stormy scene at their hotel, the two comrades had parted, Sir -Capel to come up country in order to visit Agra and Delhi and other -historical places, and Mr. Hardy to coast down to Travancore, mentally -cursing one particular young fool—and all widows. - - * * * * * - -Of course Mrs. Waldershare saw a good deal of the Gascoignes; she dined -with them, drove with Mrs. Gascoigne, who admired her still—admired -her graceful, gliding gait, her wonderful eyes, her wonderful gowns, -her wonderful and irresistible ways. - -Angel was always severely truthful to herself, and she drew painful -comparisons between Lola's beauty, her fresh, English complexion (oh, -most innocent Angel, it was pain), her attractive manners, and her own -white face, her dull wit, her inability to shine, or even to attempt to -shine, when Lola was present; and what a fund of friends, experiences, -and memories she and Philip had in common, events that had happened -when she was in her ayah's arms—yes, and before she was born. - -In this period, naturally the happiest of Philip's life, she had no -share; and as the pair talked, drawn on from subject to subject, -undoubtedly they sometimes forgot the third person, who sat half buried -in sofa cushions, aloof and silent, telling herself that she, not Lola, -was the outsider. She alone stood between Philip and this beautiful -woman, with whom he had so much in common—youth, dead and living -friends, memories, and first love. Angel had the power of keeping her -feelings to herself, but she could not keep her misery entirely out of -her face. Philip's anxious inquiries invariably met with a civil rebuff. - -"You are as grave as a little old owl," he said one day. "I wish I knew -what is the matter." - -"Nothing." - -"Is there such a thing as nothing?" - -"Don't ask absurd questions; I suppose I may look pale if I please." - -"But _I_ don't please." - -Angel quickly turned the conversation by a question: - -"Do you know that Mrs. Gordon is really ill?" - -"No; but I have not seen her about for ages—fever?" - -"Yes; malarial fever. I believe she caught it in the district. I'm -going over to visit her now." - -"All right; I'll call for you on my way from the club." - -"Oh, do go for a ride, and take Sam and John." - -"I'll see them further! Sam has killed two of the young pigeons, and -three of the Houdan chickens—quite a bag!" - -"Yes; I shut him up in a godown for punishment." - -"Much he cared." - -"John cared. He sat outside and howled for an hour, and what do you -think he did?" - -"Something with respect to refreshments." - -"Yes. He brought a bone and pushed it under the door." - -"I'll bet it was well picked. Now, I am off. Let me know if I can do -anything for Mrs. Gordon. You might take her over those new books and -picture-papers—and give her my love." - -"What will Mr. Gordon say?" and Angel gave a rather hysterical laugh. - -"Why should he say anything? He knows very well that we _all_ love her." - -Mrs. Gordon had been keeping her room for some time, and received no -one but Mrs. Gascoigne. She looked miserably ill, but refused to stay -in bed; and as her husband did not believe in making a fuss over women, -or in encouraging them to remain on the sick list and upset the house, -the invalid was left a good deal alone. - -Angel found her in her own special sanctum, wearing a soft silk -tea-gown, and an expression of utter weariness and lassitude. - -"Yes," she replied, in answer to her friend's exclamation, "I am indeed -a wretched-looking specimen. I've had this fever before, and I know how -it takes it out of me—between the fever in my blood, and the fever -in my mind, I am almost extinct. See," and she held up an envelope, -"he will keep on writing to me, although I never answer his letters. I -think it is so cruel of him: and he comes here every day. His steamer -leaves Bombay on Saturday, but he swears he will not leave India till -he sees me again." - -"Yes?" - -"He will never see me again. No more than if I had died—I am dead, my -heart is dead." - -"Oh, Elinor, don't say that. You love me a little, and so many, many -people love you." - -"If they knew what you and I know, do you think they would love me?" - -"Yes, and more than ever." - -"But do you realise that I ache—yes, that is the word—to see Alan, to -hear his voice, to look at him even once more—before he goes away," -and her voice shook, "for ever? Do you know that I have written to -him—oh, so many letters—mad, wild wicked letters, and destroyed them. -I believe there is another spirit in my body, not the old restrained -conscientious Elinor, but a mad, crazy spirit, who prates of love and -the world well lost. Oh, my dear, you see in me a very sick woman -mentally and physically—you are my doctor." - -"What can I do for you?" and Angel laid her cool hand on her -companion's burning head. "Tell me. I will do anything to help you." - -"You can meet Alan—take him my good-bye to-morrow. Tell him he must -leave on Saturday. People are all wondering why he stays on? and are -looking about for the inducement. Tell him I shall often think of him, -and pray for him, and pray that he may live a good unselfish life, -share his wealth with others, and be happy. When we are old, old people -we may perhaps meet—and that is all—except—good-bye." - -"I will give him this message, and _how_ he will hate me!" - -"No, no, he likes you." A long pause, then with an abrupt change of -tone, "And so Mrs. Waldershare is in Marwar?" - -"Yes. She stayed for a few days with the Blaines, and now she has gone -to the Imperial Hotel because she wishes to be independent." - -"What is she like?" - -"She is dazzlingly beautiful, with great dark eyes that seem to go -right across her face." - -"Yes, I hear she is very good-looking and alluring." - -"And most fascinating; all the world admires her, and is making a fuss -about her. We are giving a dinner for her to-morrow, and have asked -the little baronet, and the Blaines, and Captain Hailes. Well, now, I -must go; I hear Philip talking to your husband. What about to-morrow? -When shall I see Mr. Lindsay? If he calls on me the servants will -hear every word—our house is so open—there are twelve doors in the -drawing-room. We might walk in the garden if it——" - -"I'll tell you; drive down to the polo, and pick him up in your cart. I -hate to ask you to do this for me—do you think your husband will mind?" - -"Oh, no, Philip is never jealous, you know that—if the worst came to -the worst, I'd tell him." Mrs. Gordon sat up and gasped. "Yes, I would, -Elinor, and I warn you beforehand. But I hope there is no question of -that. I will meet Mr. Lindsay to-morrow, give him your message, and -tell him that he must go home, that if he stayed here for years he -would not see you, or hear from you again. I shall be firm. There," and -she kissed her companion's hand, "I must go." - -The following afternoon Colonel Gascoigne returned home early, in order -to take Angel for a ride; she looked wan and spiritless, like a flower -that was drooping. He blamed himself for leaving her in that great -empty bungalow; was it fair to her, to give up so much time to work, -and leave her alone? - -And there was something on her mind—what? - -"Could it be—Alan Lindsay?" he asked himself; and a voice answered, -"No; you deserve to be shot for the suspicion. Angel is not that sort." -No, retorted the little devil Jealousy; but most young women are "that -sort," when thrown for two months into the daily intimate, picturesque -society of one of the most well-endowed and irresistible of men. With -these voices still clamouring in his mental ears, he arrived at home, -and was informed that "the Mem Sahib had gone out in the cart, and -taken John Sahib and Sam Sahib towards the polo;" and he turned his -horse, and rode off in that direction. Angel was not at the polo, but -Mrs. Waldershare was there. She beckoned him gaily to her victoria, in -which sat two men, whilst a third worshipped upon the step. - -"Where are you going to, Philip?" she inquired, with an air of playful -authority. - -"Only for a ride. Have you seen Angel?" - -"Your good Angel—oh, yes. She drove away just now with such a -nice-looking man! They went up the road towards the old palace. You -don't mean to say you are going _too_?" and Lola gave a wicked little -laugh; but Philip affected not to hear, and cantered off. - -The palace was now used as a picture-gallery, it contained portraits of -many rajahs and nawabs, and stood in a beautiful garden. It lay beyond -the bazaars, about two miles from the polo. As Gascoigne rode along, -his head was in a whirl, the hot blood was thumping in his heart. What -did he mean to do? He could not say. He brought his horse to a walk, -and made an effort to control his rage, and endeavoured to analyse -his own sensations. What ailed him? Was this jealousy, or merely bad -temper? As he came in sight of the gates, he descried the portly figure -of John, just crossing the drive in chase of a squirrel. Yes, John had -betrayed the whereabouts of his mistress, and there, by the palace -entrance, stood her cart, pony, and syce. Meanwhile Angel had seen Alan -Lindsay at the polo, and carelessly offered him a seat. As he accepted -it with alacrity, she said: - -"I have a message for you—several messages." - -"Then don't deliver them here, for God's sake. Drive a bit up the road, -where we can talk face to face." - -"All right," she replied; "I'll go up as far as the Suchar Palace; the -dogs love the gardens," and, as she spoke, Angel turned her pony's -head, and drove rapidly away; all the time they flew along she never -once opened her lips. Once at the palace, she sprang out, gave the -reins to her syce, and said to her companion: - -"Let us go into the gallery; we can talk there undisturbed," and she -ran lightly up the stairs. - -The gallery was lined on two sides with gorgeous portraits of princes -in brocade, white muslin, steel armour, or jewels; but the couple never -cast a glance at one of them, and Lindsay broke the silence by asking, -in a hoarse voice: - -"Now, what is her message? What does she wish you to say for her?" - -"I am to say good-bye," replied Angel, looking at him steadfastly. - -"I won't listen to it." - -"You have no choice; you must. She implores you to go home at once. -What is the use of remaining out here?" - -"Because, even if I do not see her, I am near her—and that is -something." - -"It is madness. Will you not do as she wishes?" - -"You know well that I would die for her." - -"And she asks much less than your life—only to go—to go—to go." - -"One would suppose you were talking to a dog!" he said angrily. - -"I have a great respect for some dogs," replied Angel; "you have no -respect for Elinor's wishes. Her mind is fixed, she will never see you -again; will you force her to leave Marwar?" - -"I wish I could force her to leave it with me." - -"There, you waste your time and breath! She has a strong will, she -is passionately sorry for herself and you—she is at the same time -deeply humiliated to find that she, a married woman, could suffer such -anguish. If you have any regard for her, any love for her, I beseech -you to leave Marwar. She is ill, she is miserable, she—oh, if you only -saw her as I saw her, you would never hesitate,—you cruel man." - -By degrees Alan Lindsay, borne down by the force of Angel's arguments, -her expostulations, her appeals, gave way. The dusk had suddenly -fallen, as it does in India; these two, the pleader and the pleaded -with, could hardly distinguish each other's features. - -"Do you realise that I leave my heart—my very life—behind me?" he -exclaimed. - -"Yes, but you will be brave, you gain a victory; you will see it some -day as I see it—you will go." - -"Angel," said a voice from the dusk. It was her husband who spoke, he -was close beside her, and she gave a perceptible start, but instantly -recovering, rejoined, with surpassing nonchalance. - -"Oh, is it you, Philip? How unexpected. Mr. Lindsay and I—have been -looking at the pictures." - -"Yes—that is evident to the meanest intelligence," replied Gascoigne, -and his voice had a suppressed sound, and Angel for once distinguished -a touch of sarcasm, never heard by her before. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -EXPLANATION - - -"BUT you cannot study the Rajah's pictures any longer," continued -Colonel Gascoigne, in a rough and dominant tone, and as he spoke he -struck a match, and confronted, as he anticipated, Alan Lindsay—Mr. -Lindsay, white as a ghost, and evidently shattered by some great mental -storm. - -"Shall we go home?" he suggested politely, as he struck another match, -and lighted the way to the head of the stairs, the two picture-seers -following him down in somewhat awed silence. - -At the foot of the steps stood Angel's pony cart, with its lamps -alight, and her husband's horse. - -"Well, good-bye, Mr. Lindsay," she said in a cool, clear voice, as she -turned to him in the entrance. "I will write to you sometimes. Philip, -Mr. Lindsay is leaving for England." - -"Good-bye, Gascoigne," he said hoarsely, and he held out his hand, but -Colonel Gascoigne affected not to see it. - -"Oh, good-bye," he said, shortly. "Angel, get in. I will drive you -home"; to the syce, "bring on my horse." He whipped up the cob, and -they flew down the avenue, leaving Alan Lindsay in the dim, dewy -garden, to find his way back to the cantonment on foot and alone. - -Colonel Gascoigne drove very fast, but he never uttered one word, nor -did Angel. She was thinking of the miserable man from whom she had -been so unceremoniously parted, and a little of her husband. He was -extremely angry; never had she known him to be angry, but Angel was -not the least afraid of him. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, -and once or twice she had felt a mad, almost uncontrollable desire to -scream with laughter. Was Philip really jealous—at last? How funny! - -Philip's head was seething with new ideas. He saw himself from a novel -point of view, racked by many incongruous feelings—the furiously, -justly incensed husband. Should he speak now? No, he would wait till -after dinner, and then have it out with her. - -He dashed up under the porch, alighted, handed out his wife with his -usual courtesy, who walked up the steps without a word, and by the -light of the great verandah lamp he caught a glimpse of her face; it -recalled the Angel of Ramghur, when she was in one of her most defiant -moods. They had a dinner-party that evening, and Mrs. Gascoigne, -dressed with her accustomed taste, was exceptionally animated and gay, -and played hostess to perfection. Certainly Angel, as of old, had a -hard, fierce, untamed spirit; she met his glances without wincing, and -they spoke, when occasion required, with Arctic politeness. Then when -the last carriage had rumbled off, and his wife was trailing away to -her room, Gascoigne came in from the verandah, and said: - -"Stop—I wish to speak to you—Angel." - -"Yes?" The yes was interrogative—sinking gracefully into an easy-chair. - -"I am not a jealous man," he began, abruptly. - -"Who said you were?" It was the Angel of Ramghur who retorted. - -"I have"—struggling hard for complete self-command—"trusted you -absolutely, as if you were my very right hand, and eyes——" - -"But you could not believe your eyes this evening, I suppose?" she -interrupted carelessly, and she looked up at him, and then at her white -satin shoe. - -"No, I returned home early to take you for a ride; I heard you had gone -off towards the polo, and followed. At the polo, some one said, 'If you -are looking for Mrs. Gascoigne, I saw her driving towards the Palace.' -I came on, and discovered you there with—Lindsay—alone. I heard him -say, 'I leave my heart—my life behind me,' and you answered, 'You will -be brave—you will go.' He is going—you are to write to him. What does -it all mean?—Angel—for God's sake—tell me the truth?" - -"I invariably tell you the truth," she answered calmly; "they say that -children and fools always do that—I wonder which I am?" - -"But children and fools do _not_ always tell the truth," he objected -sharply. - -"When did I ever tell you a lie?" she demanded, and her eyes clouded -over,—sure prediction of a storm. - -"Never, I must honestly admit. Do you—and here I ask a plain -question—love Lindsay? He is handsome, he is fascinating, and madly in -love—all this I am sane enough to see." - -"You don't see much beyond your own nose in these matters," was Angel's -unexpected rejoinder. - -"At any rate, I won't see my name disgraced," he answered roughly. - -"It is my name—as much as yours," she retorted haughtily. "What are -you driving at?" - -"Lindsay—is he—no, I can't say it!" - -"I should hope not. My fancy flies with yours, you see. I am sorry you -are so much annoyed." - -"Annoyed!" he repeated. - -"Then the expression is inadequate; I conclude—that words fail you. -You wish to ask me if Alan Lindsay is my lover? Is that what you desire -to express?" - -He nodded his head. - -"He was out in camp with me for two months." - -"He was." - -"If I tell you a secret will you swear to keep it?" - -"Your secrets are generally startling, but on the present occasion who -runs may read. Lindsay was in camp with you for two months; picturesque -surroundings, propinquity, a very pretty married woman—I see it -all—he made love to you." - -"Wrong—guess again." - -"Why guess—there was no one else." - -"Pray, what do you call Mrs. Gordon?" - -"I call her the best woman I have ever known—surely her influence——" - -Angel raised her slender white hand in protest, and said: - -"Here is my secret—please keep it. Alan Lindsay is in love—with Mrs. -Gordon." - -"_Angel!_" cried her husband, with a vehemence that brought Sam out of -his bed, and caused the ayah to creep to a doorway. - -"It is perfectly true," she continued calmly. "He is madly, wildly, -irretrievably devoted to her." - -"And she?" with an incredulous jeer. - -"The same. It dawned upon me when I was in camp; I saw it coming long -before it occurred to them—I was always sharp, you know." - -Colonel Gascoigne suddenly sat down and rested his elbow on the table, -and stared hard at his wife. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting -ideas. Angel had never told him an untruth—no, not even at Ramghur; -and, as for Mrs. Gordon, had she not years of good deeds to speak for -her? - -"They are absolutely suited to each other," continued Angel, suddenly -changing her position; she no longer lounged with crossed knees, -dangling arms, and a swinging little satin-clad foot. She sat up, leant -forward with clasped hands and expressive eyes—"yes, they are made -for one another—their ideas and tastes are identical, but that wooden -old wretch, who always recalls the god Odin to me, sits between them -and bars their road to happiness." She drew a long breath. "Yes," and -her voice thrilled strangely, her colour rose and her eyes flashed, -"it seems a perfectly hopeless muddle; there are two lives wrecked for -a life which is selfish, stolid, emotionless, and cruel. If _I_ were -Elinor, I should run away with Alan Lindsay; why should I sacrifice -everything to a greedy, solid block of self, who merely regards his -wife as a cook-housekeeper, without wages—a housekeeper who may never -dare to give warning?" - -Gascoigne sat up electrified; was this fiercely eloquent, passionate, -beautiful creature the rather languid, limp, every-day Angel? - -"You look amazed," she cried triumphantly, "and well you may. Am I not -preaching heresy, I, a married woman? Since I have told you so much, I -will tell you more. She"—throwing out her arms dramatically—"would -have gone off with Alan only for me." Gascoigne stared at his wife; he -could not speak. - -"I am much stronger than I look," resumed Angel; "who would believe -that I, who am but two-and-twenty, could influence Mrs. Gordon, who, as -you once boasted to me, could influence a province!" - -"Who, indeed?" he echoed; but when he saw Angel in this exalted mood he -was prepared to believe in her victories. - -"She was only drawn gradually to the brink, inch by inch, step by step; -and, oh, she struggled so hard. Alan Lindsay is clever, plausible, -eloquent. I found her on the brink; I sounded the recall—the trumpet -of the assembly of good people, in her ear. I dragged her back by moral -force." - -"Yes?" - -"She is nearly dead, she is in a state of mental collapse, the fight -was so desperate, the struggle betwixt love and duty so severe. _I_ -fought for duty," and Angel nodded her head at her stupefied listener. -"I'm not sure that I shall do it always—I fought well—I turned the -tide of battle. Alan Lindsay has accepted his dismissal and his fate. -As a small, small alleviation, he may write to _me_." - -There was a long pause, broken only once more by the girl's thin, -clear voice inquiring: "What have you got to say to me, Philip?" - -He rose with a sudden impulse and came towards her. - -"I say—that you are an Angel—a wingless Angel," and he stooped down -and kissed her. - -"So much for jealousy!" she exclaimed, and laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -A REFUGEE - - -IT was seven o'clock in the morning, and under the neem trees at the -far side of the parade-ground, Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. Gascoigne are -walking their horses side by side. The former has completely recovered -from her sharp attack of fever, though her face is worn, and bears -the trace of suffering. She always appeared to great advantage in the -saddle, and sits her powerful black New Zealander with the ease of a -finished horsewoman. Mrs. Gordon is Irish. - -Angel, looking slim and girlish, is mounted on an excitable chestnut, -stud-bred, called Carrots, who keeps snatching alternately at his -bridle, and snapping at his neighbour—although they are old friends, -were out in camp together, and have travelled many miles in company. - -"I have a piece of news for you, Angel," said Mrs. Gordon. "I was -coming round to tell you, when we met. Donald has suddenly made up his -mind to go home for six months." - -"Oh, Elinor! what you have been longing for the last three years. You -want a change—I am so glad—and so sorry." - -"It was all thought of in the usual Indian eleventh hour scramble; -Donald finds he can get leave, and he is suddenly seized with a -desperate desire to see his book in print—the idea has been simmering -for a long time, last night it came to a boil. He wired for our -passages in the _Caledonia_ for next Friday." - -"Next Friday—so soon?" - -"Yes; and he has written to Alan Lindsay, telling him to meet us. He -thinks he will be so useful to him about publishing the book—and——" - -"And?" said Angel, interrogatively. - -"To Donald's surprise, I have decided to remain out here, and spend the -hot weather at Almora with the Byrnes." - -Angel pushed back her Terai hat with her whip hand, and stared fixedly -at her friend. - -"Mary Byrne is so delicate, and she has those four children to look -after—my god-child, the eldest little thing, is a cripple. No, I am -not going home." - -"I believe you are right," announced Angel, after a pause; "but oh! -what a terrible disappointment—think of your people." - -"I do think of them—and of many other things. I am always thinking -now. I wish to be a happy old woman—if ever I am an old woman—to try -and be faithful to my ideals, and to do my duty—nothing else matters." - -"Do you believe in the doctrine of compensation? If you don't have some -things—there are others?" - -"It would be a compensation, if you came to Almora, Angel." - -Angel shook her head. She was engaged with her irritable young horse, -who, maddened by a fly, had broken into a mad frenzy of kicking, -culminating in two passionate buck jumps. - -"He wants a good bucketing," said Mrs. Gordon; "you should take him -round the racecourse." - -"I should," agreed his rider, a little out of breath, "but it's too -late this morning. Have you seen Mrs. Waldershare yet?" - -"Yes; I returned her visit yesterday." - -Angel's eyes instantly asked a dozen questions, in reply to which Mrs. -Gordon said: "I do not admire her." - -"But don't you see that she is beautiful?" - -"I see that she is a woman of the world. I can understand her -attraction for some, but I don't care for a slow, coiling manner, or -that crooked smile and drawl." - -"Oh, Elinor, I've never known you so prejudiced," protested her -companion; "she sacrificed herself——" - -"To marry a millionaire," interrupted Mrs. Gordon. - -"And she has been so nice to me." - -Mrs. Gordon glanced quickly at Angel. Where were her keen -susceptibilities? what had become of her usually sharp sight? How had -this good-looking, ingratiating, self-seeking widow managed to throw -dust in those clear eyes? - -"So you don't like her," said Angel; "now I wonder why? You generally -classify people so indulgently—where would you place Mrs. Waldershare?" - -"In the reptile house at the Zoo!" was the startling rejoinder. "I do -not often take a dislike to people, but when I do it is invincible." In -answer to her friend's face of blank astonishment, she continued: "I -sincerely hope you won't see much of her, Angel?" - -"I cannot see much of her, even if I would, if that is any relief to -your mind, for I am going into Garhwal with Philip." - -"Ah, that would not be in her trail; she would not care for roughing it -in a hut on buffaloes' milk and goats' flesh. Dear me, how vindictive I -am," she exclaimed with a laugh. "I wonder if I am growing bitter in my -old age?" Then, in a different tone, she continued: "How I shall miss -you, dear; you have been my life preserver. I was swept away into very -dark waters, which nearly closed over me. Now I have struggled back to -land, and I believe I shall see the sun once more." - -"You will enjoy a great deal of sunshine yet, I hope," said Angel, -fervently. - -"Reflected only," she answered, "but quite as much as I deserve. To -descend from these metaphors, this morning's sun is getting too strong, -I must go in. I'll come round and see you this evening," and, with -a wave of her whip, Mrs. Gordon turned homewards; and Angel, giving -Carrots his head at last, galloped across the parade-ground at full -speed. When she had gone more than half-way, she descried a man, -followed by two small white objects. It was Philip, returning from the -brigade office on foot. He signalled with his hand, which was full of -officials, and she charged up to him at once. - -"Have your orders come?" she asked anxiously. - -"No, but I expect them hourly. It is too late for you to be out this -hot morning, and high time you were up in the hills." - -"Yes, in Garhwal—remember your promise, Phil." - -"You may follow later, but I could not possibly take you _now_." - -"Why not?" - -"I shall have to make arrangements, and put up some kind of a house. -Angel, I warn you most solemnly that the life will be monotonous; you -won't like it—you have evolved an elysium out of your imagination. The -reality is—Tartar faces, Tartar fare, forbidding, barren mountains, -and a distinct flavour of central Asian squalor." - -"So much the better," she answered recklessly. "I want to break new -ground, and explore a land beyond curling-pins and fashions; I am -longing for a change." - -"_That_ you may certainly reckon on." - -"I don't want a pretty hill station, with bands, and garden parties, -and three posts a day. I wish to get away from every one, among the -wild, bare mountains, catch the spirit of your work, and perhaps -overtake an adventure." - -"Or be overtaken by one, in the shape of a bear or a landslip. Well, I -suppose you must have your way. I have arranged to rent Rockstone, the -Warings' house at the Chotah Bilat—you know it. It is very pretty and -secluded, sufficiently aloof from the madding crowd, and close to the -Colliers, who will look after you. By the end of May I shall either -come and fetch you or send a strong escort to bring you into Garhwal. -How will that suit you, Mrs. G.?" - -"I suppose it will have to do," she answered, discontentedly; "but I -shall loathe being up at Bilhat by myself." - -"Perhaps you can find some companion—Mrs. Gordon?" - -"No, I've just been talking to her. Odin is taking six months' leave -to England, and she is going to Almora to do children's maid, and sick -nurse." - -"Penance," muttered Gascoigne under his breath. "Hullo, I say—what -are _we_ overtaking?" and he pointed to a large bullock cart which had -just turned into their gate. It was heavily laden with boxes and trunks -of all shapes and descriptions. On the summit of the pile a steamer -chair was poised precariously, on which we can distinguish (though they -cannot) the name "Waldershare" in full-sized letters. A sharp-looking, -elderly maid, carrying a white umbrella, and a square green crocodile -case, followed the luggage on foot. - -"Oh, some mistake," said Angel carelessly—"the wrong bungalow." - -"By the way, I have a note for you," said Colonel Gascoigne, suddenly -searching among the papers in his hand. "I forgot all about it—a peon -came with it to the office; he said it was important," and as he spoke -he handed it up. - -"Why, it's from Mrs. Waldershare," exclaimed Angel when she had torn -it open and glanced at the contents. She pushed her hat to the back of -her head—a trick of hers—pulled Carrots to a standstill, and read it -aloud. - - "DEAR ANGEL—You will be a good Angel to me, and take me under your - wing, when I tell you that there is a case of small-pox in the hotel - compound, a disease of which I have an unspeakable horror. I know - you have an empty spare room and I am sure that Philip would not like - to feel that his old playmate was enduring misery and risking danger. - I have packed and sent off my luggage. Do please say I may come at - once.—Your terrified, LOLA." - -"Well?" said Angel, as she concluded, and looked down into Philip's -eyes. - -"Of course your terrified Lola must come at once; we will send the -carriage over for her. I had no idea there was small-pox in the -station. The sooner you are off the better." - -"And pray, what can I do with Mrs. Waldershare?" she inquired, stuffing -the note into her saddle pocket. - -"Oh, she is bound to have made her own plans. By Jove, here she comes -in one of the hotel victorias." - - * * * * * - -After hastily welcoming her guest, Mrs. Gascoigne hurried away to make -her arrangements for Lola, her maid, and her belongings, leaving the -two old playfellows _tête-à-tête_ in the verandah. Mrs. Waldershare -was suitably dressed in a cool white cambric, and a shady hat; a great -bunch of heliotrope was stuck in her belt. Her face was pathetically -pale, and her dark eyes were tragic, as she turned to her host and -said, with a quick, dramatic gesture: - -"Oh, it is too bad of me to take you by storm in this way, but I am -such a miserable coward; though if anything did happen to me, there is -no one to care now," and her voice sank. "It is such a misfortune that -Edgar is on the march, and here I am, left adrift." - -"You must not talk like this, Lola," interrupted Philip. "I am glad you -came to us,—you know you are welcome here. Don't trouble your head, -but make yourself at home. Angel will be delighted to have you. We were -only saying a few minutes ago that she must have a companion when I go -away." - -"Oh," with a little gasp, "when are you going?" - -"In a day or two, on duty into Garhwal, and Angel will be all by -herself, at any rate, until she goes to the hills." - - * * * * * - -An hour later, Mrs. Waldershare, having seen her dresses unpacked, her -odds and ends arranged, and written off half-a-dozen notes—announcing -her change of address—dismissed Tile, her maid, and threw herself down -on a lounge with a sigh of inexpressible satisfaction. - -Yes, she had managed it capitally, taken the position at a rush—"now -established here," and she glanced round the comfortable bedroom; -"here" she determined to remain. - -"_J'y suis et j'y reste_," she murmured to herself with a smile. What -had become of the pale, distraught, excited, and apologetic Lola? - -Philip was perfectly right when he declared that Lola was certain to -have made her plans, but if he had been an accomplished thought-reader, -and been able to fathom them, his surprise would have been unbounded. - -Mrs. Waldershare's small supply of funds was ebbing rapidly; to -live in a suitable style, which includes a maid, a carriage, and -constant little dinners, costs a considerable sum even in India; and -at hotels, of course, it is a matter of ready money. The last week's -bill had proved a disagreeable surprise; the manager had thrown out -hints respecting late parties, and declared that other residents had -complained of loud talking, and carriage wheels, at unusual hours. - -Mrs. Waldershare's reply was extremely dignified and crushing, but she -realised that it was time to execute a fresh manœuvre. People were -beginning to talk of moving to the hills; what was to become of her? -Moneyless, friendless, abandoned on the plains? Edgar had written -such a cool letter, announcing that he was sending his wife home, and -spending the hot weather in Seetapore, where, if she liked, Lola could -join him. In one sense, there could hardly be a warmer invitation! But -this scheme did not commend itself to his sister, who lay with her eyes -half-closed lazily contemplating her castles in the air. The Gascoignes -were wealthy and liberal (so every one said); generosity undoubtedly -begins with old friends. She would lay herself out to cultivate -Angel—she would be cautious; she resolved to walk, so to speak, on -tip-toe, so as never to awaken the young woman's dormant jealousy, -which she instinctively felt would be easily aroused. She and Philip -would be on "brother and sister," "old friends" footing; indeed, Philip -was now so cool, so detached, so indifferent, she could hardly bring -herself to believe that he had ever been her lover, and that she might -have been his wife for years and years, the mistress of this charming -house. No, she and this Philip would never have assimilated; he was -much too masterful, too strait-laced, and too austere. - -She would play her cards carefully, with Angel; there must be fewer -cigarettes, and French novels, and _no_ roulette. As the older and more -experienced woman, she would influence her, and once they were alone, -she would gradually assume the lead, gain her confidence, and learn -her secrets; later on, accompany her to the delightful little chalet -that she heard had been rented in the hills, mix with the gay throng, -and marry. Possibly little Cupid—unless she could do better,—and -return home, Lady Tudor. All this would cost her nothing but a little -care, a little flattery, and a certain amount of invention. With -these satisfactory arrangements in her mind, Mrs. Waldershare's eyes -gradually closed, and she fell asleep into a deep and refreshing -slumber. - -Before proceeding further, it may as well be stated that the small-pox -scare proved to be completely unfounded and was subsequently traced to -Mrs. Waldershare's ayah, who waited on that lady's lady's-maid. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -A GOOD BILLET - - -THE unexpected guest, pleading a nervous headache (the result of -fright), did not appear at tiffin, but emerged later in the afternoon, -wearing a subdued expression, and a fantastic loosely-fitting garment, -which gave the uninitiated occasion to marvel how it was put on? and -why it did not come off? It was a confection from Paris, more suitable -to a Parisian artiste than a respectable British widow, and the dogs -looked at each other and winked. - -"I just slipped into this," explained Lola to her hostess. "It is so -deliciously light—quite the latest thing in tea-gowns," and she sank -into a chair with a complacent sigh. - -"Oh, is it really? I thought it was a _sauté du lit_." - -"You can have it copied if you like," kindly ignoring such deplorable -ignorance. - -"Thank you," said Angel, demurely, "but it is not a style which would -suit me." - -"No, dear, perhaps you _are_ a little too thin. I see you are having -tea out here," continued the uninvited guest. "How delightful! I -daresay some of my friends will drop in to inquire how I got over my -scare—you won't mind?" - -"No, of course not; I shall be delighted to see them. Excuse me for a -moment, while I take this telegram to Philip," and Mrs. Waldershare was -left for a moment alone with Sam and John. - -They both disliked her most cordially. She jeered at John, and made -rude remarks about his figure—he was extremely sensitive to ridicule. -She sat in Sam's favourite chair, and had once flung him off her lap -with a violence that hurt him. Then they abhorred the atmosphere of -heliotrope and pearl powder, and felt instinctively that the intruder -hated animals, and was a "human" to be most carefully avoided. As -they sat glaring at the interloper, and exchanging their opinions -of her, the lady's friends appeared in a hired landau, Sir Capel, -General Bothwell, and Mrs. Alley-Lacy, who was profanely known as Mrs. -Laissez-Aller, an exuberant, talkative woman of uncertain age and -proclivities, but who was obviously rich, agreeable, and beautifully -dressed, and had come to India, she declared, solely on account of her -health. She could not endure the English climate, and India was an -interesting change from Egypt, where she had wintered hitherto. Mrs. -Lacy might be classed as "an hotel lady," for she had no permanent -home and no permanent ties, and seemed well acquainted with all the -principal hostelries in Europe. - -The third visitor was General Bothwell, retired; a wiry, dapper little -man, with a large authoritative-looking nose, a voice to correspond, -and a pointed snow-white beard. He entertained an extremely high -opinion of R. Bothwell, K.C.B., who once upon a time had carried out -an insignificant but successful expedition—and had lived upon his -reputation ever since. He was a terrible correspondent, the high priest -of bore, and his chief enjoyment in life consisted in asking questions, -expounding his views, and proclaiming what ought to be done under -certain circumstances. He had mentally conducted every recent campaign, -and, according to his own account, all the chief men at the War Office -were his personal friends, and he was their valuable adviser. A -widower with ample means, and ample time on his hands, he had just run -down to re-visit his old haunts in order to ascertain how the great -Indian Empire was getting on without him. The General had made Mrs. -Waldershare's acquaintance at the Imperial Hotel and admired her from a -paternal standpoint; her attitude to him and others was that of serene -friendliness and warm interest. - -"Oh, how could you desert us, Mrs. Waldershare?" said Sir Capel, -accosting her dramatically. - -"See, we have all come in a body to take you back," added Mrs. Lacy, -with a careful kiss. - -"You have stolen a march," proclaimed the General; "these are -comfortable free quarters—a good billet. Better than the Imperial!" - -"Yes; the Gascoignes have been most pressing," said Lola; "so kind. -They were greatly averse to my staying at an hotel." - -She paused. The couple were coming out on the verandah, to find her and -the table thus surrounded. After a few minutes' greetings and talk, -General Bothwell said: - -"So I hear you are off, Gascoigne. I met Hawkins at the gate, and he -told me." - -"Yes; I've had a wire, and I leave to-morrow for Garhwal." - -"About this lake scare—most unnecessary fuss, don't you think so, eh?" - -"No; I'm on the other tack—better be sure than sorry." - -"Please do explain all about it," said Mrs. Lacy; "I am so interested." - -"The explanation is, that an enormous landslip has dammed up a large -valley, and a mountain river, and turned it into a lake, five miles -long and four hundred feet deep." - -"That's big enough for canoeing," remarked Sir Capel. - -"It's filling at the rate of three feet a day, and as soon as the water -reaches the top of the dam—say in a month or six weeks—the dam will -burst and flood a hundred and fifty miles of country." - -"What a sight it will be! I'd give a lot to see it," said Sir Capel. -"Niagara broke loose in India." - -"It will certainly be an unprecedented sight." - -"And what measures are you engineer chaps taking?" inquired General -Bothwell, with his mouth full of bread and butter. - -"Merely precautions. We cannot let the water off under control; all we -can do is to ensure that it escapes down the river bed—without loss of -life." - -"Can't be many lives to lose up there," he argued. - -"Yes; besides the villagers, there are thousands of pilgrims who pass -down to Hurdwar in May and June, and we are bound to know to a day—in -fact, to an hour—when the flood is due." - -"What can you do?" - -"We have established a temporary telegraph line from the lake to ten -stations where pilgrims halt, and at good points, from which to control -the traffic. Pillars are erected every half-mile to show the safe -limits out of reach of the flood, and all the principal bridges are -being dismantled. As soon as the water reaches the crest of the dam, -the official in charge will send a warning telegram, for the flood will -travel fast." - -"I suppose the natives are terrified out of their senses?" asked Mrs. -Lacy. - -"No, not in the least; they think it will pass quietly over the river -bed, and this is the view of the pilgrims, who are furious because -their ordinary route is forbidden." - -"By Jove, and I don't wonder," said General Bothwell, combatively. -"Instead of arranging for the outlet of the water, a telegraph line has -been erected—no doubt at immense cost—to apprise people of the danger -of a flood which may come in a month, a year—or never!" and he laughed -derisively. "I think, whoever has hit on the _telegraph_ as a means of -dealing with an engineering difficulty, will look uncommonly foolish." - -"I am the culprit," coolly confessed Gascoigne. "To divert the lake -otherwise would cost two million of rupees; India is poor, and there is -not time to erect masonry weirs, outfalls, and shoots." - -"And so," said Sir Cupid, "you have resolved to let it slide? And you -believe there will be a big flood?" - -"Yes, I am sure of it," replied Gascoigne, with emphasis. - -"How I should like to see it." - -"I shall see it," announced Angel. "Philip has promised to take me with -him." - -"Much against his will," he supplemented, with a laugh. - -"But I am going in spite of him," she answered, with a glance of gay -defiance. "I was born in the Himalayas; I am a hill woman." - -"Yes; that is certain," said Sir Capel, promptly. - -"Pray, how do you know?" - -"Because you are not a plain woman." - -"How can you be so ridiculous?" she remonstrated, impatiently. - -"Surely you are not going off immediately," said Mrs. Alley-Lacy, "to -see this wonderful dam?" bringing out the last word with considerable -unction. - -"No, not just yet. I wish I were!" - -"And what will become of you?" - -"Mrs. Gascoigne and I are going to look after one another," volunteered -Mrs. Waldershare, laying her hand on Angel's arm with an air of -affectionate proprietorship. "I shall take care of her. She is left -in my charge, is she not, Philip?" and she appealed to him with her -eloquent eyes. - -Philip was considerably taken aback, but he rallied with his usual -elasticity, and said: - -"Oh, Angel has an old head on young shoulders. I shall make her -responsible for the house—and I shall ask Padre Eliot to keep an eye -on both of you." - -"Well, Gascoigne," said General Bothwell, standing up and shaking -crumbs out of his beard, "I must confess that I am amused at this -scheme of yours—_I_ don't believe in scaring people, you know. I think -you are on the wrong tack—the wrong tack—but you Engineer chaps are, -in my experience, the most pig-headed branch of the service." - -"Still, sir, I think you must admit that we earn our bread and butter?" - -"Butter—oh, yes!—you get more than enough of that," retorted the -General, pointedly. - -"You won't get any butter in Garhwal," announced Sir Capel, "of any -sort or kind; only black bread and cucumbers—awful grub! I've been up -reading a lot about this water-shoot—all the same I wish you'd take me -with you, Gascoigne." - -"In what capacity." - -"Oh, as dhoby, dog boy, special correspondent—anything," and Sir Capel -put his hands together, and his head on one side, and looked extremely -ridiculous. - -"No, no, my dear fellow," rejoined Gascoigne with a laugh, and a -significant glance at Mrs. Waldershare. "How could the ladies spare -you?" - -In two days' time Colonel Gascoigne had left home, and Angel for once -was not disconsolate. She analysed her feelings, dug down deeply into -her motives, and the sensation she there discovered was not sorrow, but -relief. She had been dimly aware of a vague uneasiness, an intangible -dread of developments. All this was at an end now. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -JOINT HOSTESS - - -AND thus Mrs. Waldershare was established as Mrs. Gascoigne's chaperone -and companion; and the station, who considered it a most excellent -arrangement, and but yet another proof of her husband's good sense, -cried Wah! wah! They had been duly informed of the ancient friendship -which had existed between his parents and Mrs. Waldershare's. There -was no mention of a love affair—crafty Lola had set back the intimacy -a whole generation—it was discreetly cloaked in the mantle of years. -Mrs. Nobbs, who acted as spokeswoman for Mrs. Grundy, eagerly assured -every one she met that she highly approved of the move. It was most -unbecoming (favourite word) for a young married woman to be left -alone, and Mrs. Waldershare was such a quiet, sensible, charming -chaperone,—and so clever. Truly she was marvellously clever; in some -gradual, inexplicable fashion, she assumed the lead of the household. -Yes, without sound, or beat of drum. She was joint hostess, not guest; -there was a solid, resistless force in her character that Angel was -powerless to combat. At early morning, or afternoon tea, it was no -uncommon thing for her to find Mrs. Waldershare already seated before -the teapot. This position carries a certain status with it, and -Lola's visitors went so far as to assume from the air of nonchalant -hospitality with which she offered cream and cakes, that she was -"sharing expenses." - -This was precisely how she wished it to be understood. To Angel, a -sort of guest at her own table, she offered playful apologies, and -assurances that "she was the best tea maker in England, and liked to -save her dear child trouble." - -But there was one lady who regarded the new _ménage_ with the gravest -misgivings, and this was Mrs. Gordon, who, before departing to the -hills, had confided her fears to Padre Eliot. - -"I do not trust Mrs. Waldershare," she said. - -"Why not?" he asked, "she is quiet, and handsome, and ladylike." - -"She is a clever, crafty woman, not too scrupulous in money matters. I -believe"—lowering her voice—"that she gambles! Of course, I have no -business to have prejudices and to hear gossip." - -"It is not like you, certainly," he said, with his broad smile. "I -believe there has been gambling in the station somewhere, recently; one -or two boys have been hard hit,—but why suspect a lady?" - -"It is more than suspicion. How I wish Colonel Gascoigne had not left -Angel with that woman. It is like leaving a lamb to a wolf." - -"She shall not devour her—I'll see to that," he said, playfully. - -"No, but she will use her as her blind, and her banker." - -"Well, I think you may trust Mrs. Gascoigne," he said, "her conduct -has always given evidence of extraordinary good sense, and a certain -amount of latent force." As Mrs. Gordon had excellent reason to -acquiesce in this dictum, she was silent. - -But her instinct had not deceived her, day by day—nay, hour by hour, -Angel fell more and more under the elder woman's influence. It was as -if she had been hypnotised, she surrendered her will to her, and took -up a subordinate position with unquestioning resignation. Although the -clever widow was careful not to offend any of the girl's prejudices -and susceptibilities, the household was ordered to Mrs. Waldershare's -liking,—and the servants hated her almost as bitterly as the dogs. -Never put out, never excited, the lady rolled along over all little -obstacles, a veritable Juggernaut of self. She instituted late -hours—Angel was naturally an early bird. She enjoyed elaborate and -dainty meals, Angel preferred very simple fare; she liked long drives -in the moonlight, sometimes keeping the horses out till midnight; -occasionally she took Mrs. Lacy with her, or Sir Capel, and Angel -remained at home. Lola was so clever, so seductive, so persuasive, -that everything she said or did had the air of being absolutely -faultless—the one and only speech or action possible under the -circumstances. - -She and her hostess sat a good deal together in the darkened -drawing-room, for now that the weather was warmer, punkahs were moving, -"tatties" were installed. Mrs. Waldershare knitted silk ties and -socks with firm white fingers, whilst Angel drew, and sometimes they -scarcely exchanged a word in an hour. Lola was not talkative, she never -talked simply for the sake of conversation. Her silence impressed -Angel far more than speech; she felt that Lola could tell her so much -if she would, yes, so much about Philip, and she was sensible of a -certain awe, and the strivings and painful contortions of a never-to-be -appeased curiosity, and what was worse, a sleepless jealousy. She was -humbly conscious that she was far inferior to this calm, beautiful, -dignified creature, and as she stole long glances at her companion, -she would tell her envious heart that Philip had been engaged to her -for four years, twice as long as she had been his wife. He had known -Lola for thirty years! How could a man outgrow a love like that? It was -rooted in his very childhood. Lola had some dim intuition of what was -passing in her companion's thoughts, and smiled, saying to herself, -"Silly girl, she is always wondering. How wretched I could make her if -I chose!" - -Although the station was emptying, there were still a number of people -in Marwar, and Mrs. Gascoigne, at Mrs. Waldershare's suggestion, -had a few friends to dinner now and then. On the occasion of Lola's -birthday—so-called—Angel gave a little party and asked the heroine of -the occasion to invite her own guests. Mrs. Lacy, Sir Capel, Captain -Hailes, and the General were among these, and the little affair went -off admirably. As usual, all the organisation and trouble were Angel's -share; she took great pains with the mènu, the mènu cards, and the -flowers (Lola was so critical), whilst Lola had, as customary, all the -enjoyment. She was arrayed in a marvellous and filmy gown, and wore a -beautiful diamond heart and arrow—surprisingly similar to one that -Crackett, the Delhi hawker, had been offering for sale. Her health was -drunk, and she made a pretty speech. After dinner, there was music, and -at eleven o'clock the General and several others took their departure. -Then Mrs. Waldershare, with a widely encompassing flash of her dark -eyes, suggested "Cards," adding "the night is just beginning." Angel's -pale face expressed not merely fatigue but dismay, and her friend -exclaimed, "No, no, dear—we won't bore you. You look so tired, Mrs. -Lacy will excuse you, won't you?" appealing to that lady, who replied: - -"Certainly, I hope Mrs. Gascoigne will not be ceremonious with me." - -"And I'll play hostess, and see them off the premises," said Lola, -playfully. Accepting this assurance, and offering many apologies, -Angel, who had a bad neuralgic headache, thankfully retired to bed, -and after a long time fell asleep. She seemed to have slept for hours -when she awoke with a violent start, aroused by a sound like the -overturning of a chair. Could it be burglars? She sat up and listened -with a beating heart. Then she heard a cock crow—it must be close on -dawn. She struck a match, lighted a candle, jumped out of bed, and got -into her dressing-gown, and waited. Surely there were steps and voices -outside; was it in the ante-room, or where? Had she obeyed her first -impulse, and gone into the drawing-room, she would have discovered the -cardparty, consisting of four men and two ladies, just breaking up. -They had risen from the table. - -"Look here," said Lola, carelessly handing a bit of notepaper to -Captain Hailes. "I make it that." - -He glanced at the total, and became suddenly white—nay, grey—but -rallied, and said, "It's all right, I expect." - -"Been hard hit, eh, Hailes?" enquired the little baronet, playfully. "I -come off only seventy to the bad." - -Yes, they had been gambling; and how dissipated it all looked, the -candles flaring in their sockets, the lamps smoking, tablecloth awry, -and cards scattered over the floor. - -Angel, who had looked at her watch, and seen that the hour was four -o'clock, came out into the ante-room, candle in hand. Here she was -suddenly confronted by a figure with a shawl over her head—Tile. - -"Oh, what is the matter?" she enquired, breathlessly. - -"I've been feeling so ill, ma'am," she moaned, "such a turn as I've -had. It's this climate as does not suit me. I feel like dying and I -was—coming to ask if you had such a thing as a medicine chest?" - -"Of course I have," replied Mrs. Gascoigne, profoundly relieved; "it is -in my own room. Come with me and I will doctor you," turning back as -she spoke. "How do you feel?" - -"All cold and shivers like—and a sort of quaking in my inside." - -"Oh then, perhaps," opening a cupboard, "this cordial will do you -good. At least it will do you no harm." As Angel spoke, she seized a -bottle, and a measuring-glass. - -By-and-by, as Tile crept stealthily to her own quarters, she -encountered her mistress, who had been extinguishing lamps and candles, -and setting the drawing-room straight. - -"I met her in the doorway," she whispered with a scared face. "I told -her I was took ill, and she gave me a cordial—she is as innocent as a -lamb." - -"My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Waldershare, her eyes widening in alarm, -"that _was_ a narrow escape." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -INTO GARHWAL - - -ROCKSTONE Chotah-Bilat, the joint address of Mrs. Gascoigne and Mrs. -Waldershare, was a large well-appointed bungalow, overlooking the -prettiest side of the station, approached through a steep terraced -garden, full of great bushes of ancient geraniums, and straggling rose -trees, and flanked by a few pines. - -The house was sufficiently roomy to accommodate half a dozen people; -and here the two inmates lived their separate lives, together and yet -apart. The partnership was so harmonious as to excite a certain degree -of admiration as well as envy; for it is a painful fact that these -house-sharing schemes are not invariably a success. - -Mrs. Waldershare was charmed with what she termed "a Himalayan -Paradise"; her own chief friends were comfortably established at the -Casino Hotel, or the Club, and she made a number of new acquaintances. -The constant whirl of picnics, tiffins, dinners, dances, incidental to -a gay hill station, the opportunity of exhibiting her toilettes, of -living without expense, and of enjoying an occasional "game"—all this -comprised a phase of existence supremely to Lola's taste. She possessed -her own roulette board, and both board and owner were in flattering -request. The board accompanied Mrs. Waldershare to luncheon parties, -and to teas and dinners at "the Wigwam," and elsewhere. The Wigwam was -a pretty little house, occupied by a smart married couple, much given -to play of every description; their gay suppers were notorious, and -their guests might have been discovered guiltily creeping in to their -respective homes, with the dawn. Angel had not paid the usual round -of calls, or embarked on the flood-tide of entertainments. She felt -no inclination to dance, and suffered from constant neuralgia, and -depression. One or two of her friends had sought her, but she declined -their invitations; and when a lady resides in an out-of-the-way -locality, in a sequestered bungalow, and is disinclined to entertain, -or to be entertained, people in the full swing of the season have no -leisure to cultivate such a recluse—and leave her severely alone. Mrs. -Gascoigne was to be seen at church (at St. John's, in the Wilderness) -on Sunday; on week days, rambling far along the unfrequented -hill-tracks, merely accompanied by two dogs. To Angel's intimates, -Mrs. Waldershare professed a devoted attachment to the dear, sweet -girl, a keen anxiety respecting her health, and declared that she was -"just a little bit run down," all this being accompanied by effusive -encomiums. To her own circle she proclaimed that her house-mate was -"peculiar." This, with a significance that led strangers to suppose -that Mrs. Gascoigne was eccentric to the verge of imbecility. Lola's -manner to Angel was perfect. A mixture of the tender elder sister, and -the sincerely attached friend; but she and her hostess did not see -much of one another, except at breakfast. Soon after this meal, Mrs. -Waldershare's gaily-costumed jampannies (they wore black and yellow -livery, and yellow turbans) carried their charming burden away for the -whole day, she merely returning home in order to dress, or occasionally -to receive the General and Sir Capel. No apologies were necessary, -for Angel appreciated solitude, and they each went their own way; for -that was understood in an unwritten bond. But when the monsoon broke -in the middle of June, the rain descended in steady gray sheets, and -roared and battered on the zinc roof of Rockstone, there were no more -gay jaunts or excursions down into Chotah-Bilat. The six hill-men -shed their wasp-like costumes, and huddled in their brown blankets, -or "cumlies," squatted round like a huka, talking scandal and money -matters, in their quarters among the pines. - -Their employer sat indoors, beside a blazing log fire, inditing sweet -little notes on a knee-pad, and knitting ties in becoming shades of -purse silk. Angel crouched on the large, square-shaped fender-stool -(which was hollow underneath, and a retreat dear to the dogs) and read, -and sewed, and talked. For a whole week these two were condemned to -a species of solitary confinement. At first, they discoursed of the -elements (how Mrs. Waldershare railed against the rains!—the life of -India), the forthcoming great fancy ball, and the Chamoli Lake. From -lake to Philip was but a short step, and by-and-by Angel found herself -listening with eager ears, to stories of her husband's childhood and -boyhood. By degrees these anecdotes were merged into tales of Philip as -a youth, as a young man—as (here Angel's interest was breathless)—a -lover. - -Clever Lola drew a sketch of those four supreme years with the hand -of a true artist, permitting the listener's warm imagination to colour -and fill in the outlines. Angel contemplated the picture which her own -brain completed, with a mixture of anguish, jealousy, and despair. How -Philip had loved Lola! though Lola never once said so in plain, cold -English; but a broken-off sentence, a look, a quick sigh, imparted more -than words. And he had written to _her_ daily, whilst she, his wife, -hungered for two weeks for a line. But then, oh most exacting Angel, -there is no daily post in Garhwal; letters had to come one hundred and -fifty miles by a very casual Dâk runner. - -Lola gave her companion the impression of recalling these poignant -recollections, with the deepest reluctance, and all the time the -game—which lasted for eight whole days—afforded her the keenest -enjoyment. She was as a cat playing with a mouse, and at the end of the -play her victim's heart was as lacerated as any little tortured corpse. -Angel acknowledged that she had brought this misery entirely upon -herself; her anxiety for information had led her into a very cavern of -despair. Philip still loved Lola, for according to that lady's dictum, -which she humbly accepted, "It is a law of the universe, for a man to -love one woman, and none other"; and when Lola turned her wonderful -eyes upon her—those eyes, large, mysterious, sad, and visionary—Angel -felt that she could not be otherwise than truthful and good. Oh, she -must tear that secret feeling of repulsion out of her heart, and be as -sincerely attached to Lola, as Lola was to her. She would love her, and -befriend her, loyally and faithfully—for Philip's sake. - -A gleam of fine weather, a break in the rains, released the two -prisoners, and each hastened to repair to her familiar haunts; Lola -to the assembly rooms, the Wigwam, and the polo-ground, Angel to take -her walks abroad, as far as possible from the giddy throng. She longed -to see Philip again, to contemplate him from a new point of view, to -endeavour to discover his real attitude towards Lola. But perhaps he -would never tell her the truth, he could be a mystery when he chose. -Lola was, and ever would be, first in his heart, and she must make up -her mind to accept the second place. Angel was absolutely miserable, -and as she lingered on the hillsides, watching the ghostly white mists -creeping up between the mountains, and filling every ravine and valley, -till they touched the spot where she stood, and overwhelmed her, she -felt as if a great cloud from which there was no escape, had suddenly -descended upon her life. - -In these days of their mistress's inaction and depression, Sam and -John offered much mute sympathy, and protection. They did not forsake -her in order to seek their own amusement—no, not even to meet their -friends and foes upon the Mall, but formed her constant bodyguard. At -night, Sam occupied the most comfortable chair in her room, whilst John -sprawled outside the door on a mat. And he never failed to rise and -bark, in order to announce the tardy return of the other lady,—for -which officious act, Mrs. Waldershare would have gladly had him -poisoned. - -Early one morning in July, an imposing head overseer, two chuprassis, -and a dozen stout hill-men, were to be found assembled in front of -Rockstone. The overseer had brought a letter from "Gascoigne Sahib," -and the lady was to start at once, before there was more rain. Angel's -heart leaped at the message, it was her order of release. She made -joyful preparations for immediate departure—indeed, these preparations -had been completed for weeks. - -"And pray what is to become of poor me?" inquired Lola in a doleful -voice, "where am I to go?" - -"You can stay here, till the end of our term of course," responded her -hostess. - -"And the servants?" - -"They can remain too—I am only taking the ayah with me." - -"Then I shall ask Mrs. Lacy to keep me company," announced the guest. -"I shall be so wretched without you, you dear, sweet, unselfish girl." -And this bold lie had a flavour of the truth,—Lola would miss Angel in -many ways. - -"Very well," assented her hostess, "do just what you please." She was -so anxious to depart that she was prepared to promise anything—oh -anything, in order to escape. Yes, it had come to that. As long as -she was within reach of Lola's extraordinary personal charm, she felt -benumbed, a strange, unhappy, powerless mortal. Lola's magnetism -and will force were so strong, that Angel shivered inwardly as she -realised that if her companion had exerted them to throw obstacles -in her path, she would have succumbed, and relinquished this journey -to Garhwal. But Lola was content to be left in sole possession of an -extremely comfortable bungalow,—which I regret to say, subsequently -became notorious as a gambling den; in fact, the Wigwam sank into -insignificance in comparison to Rockstone, for here the play was -higher, the seclusion unsurpassed, and the dinners (at Colonel -Gascoigne's expense) quite admirable. How little did that officer -suppose that the house which he rented, and of which he was the -ostensible master, went by the name of "The Den of Thieves." - -Angel was presently carried away in her dandy, and as she reached the -shoulder of the first hill, drew a long breath—she was conscious of a -delightful sense of being released at last, of a sundering of bonds, a -recovery of her own individuality. She thoroughly enjoyed the journey, -and being borne along higher, and yet higher, into a cooler, clearer -atmosphere. First through a part of Kumaon (oh most beautiful Kumaon, -with your forests, and lakes, ravines and passes, your exquisite -glimpses of the snows, and the plains!) The party gradually left behind -them, flat-roofed houses with carved fronts, standing deep in waving -yellow crops, and jungles of dahlias and sunflowers, and surrounded by -walnut and peach trees. They encountered long strings of melancholy -pack ponies with deformed hocks, the result of their bondage from -foal time, square-faced women, wearing short heavy skirts and silver -ornaments—these latter heirlooms—and now and then a stout little -Ghoorka or a shikari. Each night Angel and her ayah halted at a dâk -bungalow, where elaborate preparations had been made for the reception -of the Engineer's mem sahib. As they advanced further into Garwhary, -they met flocks of little goats, laden with salt and borax, herded by -Bhotias—dirty-looking people with Tartar features, and greasy black -hair. The country grew stranger and sterner, they passed along the -edges of fathomless ravines, between rugged inaccessible mountains, and -Angel realised for the first time the inspiring effect of a wild and -brooding solitude, where the almost awful silence was only broken by -the muttering of her Pahari bearers, as they passed about the Huka, the -scream of a kite, or the bleating of a belated sheep. - -One march out of Chamoli, Philip met the party. He seemed glad to see -Angel, not to speak of Sam and John, who had journeyed thus far in -charge of the coolies, and howled passionate protests at being carried -through such splendid sporting country. And what did they not descry, -as they were borne along? Monkeys, great lungoors, who threw stones, -and gibbered at the party—what dogs of flesh and blood could endure -such indignities! - -"And how is your lake getting on?" inquired Angel; "nearly full?" - -"Rising—slowly but surely. I think it will brim over in about three -weeks—perhaps less. It depends on the rains. I'm glad you've got away -all right, before the next burst, which is bound to be heavy." - -"I began to despair of coming at all—and oh, I was so sick of Bilat." - -"How is Lola?" he inquired. - -"Very well." - -"She is not sick of Bilat, I gather from your letter?" - -"No—she is very gay—and in immense request." - -"When does she join Edgar?" - -"Possibly not at all. I think she is going to join the little baronet -in holy matrimony." - -"No?" incredulously. "You are not serious?" - -"At least he is anxious to marry her,—and honoured me with his -confidence." - -"Oh, did he?" ejaculated her listener, and for a whole half-mile Philip -never once opened his lips, and Angel's heart was sore, she felt -convinced that he was thinking of Lola. No, on the contrary, he was -buried in a somewhat abstruse mathematical calculation connected with -the rainfall. He seldom thought of Lola—now. - -"I hope you will be comfortable, Angel," he said at last, "we have run -you up a sort of little cabin, well above the water-line; some of the -fellows are in tents, and native huts." - -"Why, how many are there?" she asked. - -"Only three or four. Evans of the Civil Service; Hichens Jones of the -D.W.P.; young Brady of the Engineers, a boy with the richest brogue in -India." - -"How nice—I love a brogue." - -"Then you will certainly take to Brady. He is a bright lad—though not -very polished—and here is the Lake coming into view—look." - -Angel got out of her jampan, and stood to gaze at it, where it lay -locked among the mountains. Chamoli Lake was much larger and far -more beautiful than she expected. It looked majestically still and -dignified, as if it had been lying in the lap of the mountains from -ages remote, instead of being the three months' old child of the rains -and the snows. In colour it was a wonderful limpid green, its face was -placid and inscrutable, and yet it embodied the dread of thousands. -The slip, which left a mark like a scar, had fallen from the side of a -precipitous hill, five thousand feet above the bed of the river, and -carried the rocks and débris from the right bank, across the valley, -and half-way up the hill. There, its energy expended, the mass slipped -down into the bed of the stream, forming a dam, composed of masses -of enormous rocks. Close to this barrier, but well above it, was a -telegraph station, and half a mile further on, at a point outside the -dam, and overlooking the lake, and the valley into which it would -escape, was a collection of flat stone-roofed huts, the village of -Dhuri. Further still, an encampment, a large rest house, and several -recently erected wooden huts. One of these had been reserved for Mrs. -Gascoigne, and furnished with a certain amount of rude comfort. As -she stood at the entrance of her dwelling, and surveyed the great -still lake among its towering mountains, the narrow rocky valley -with its twisting gorges, and precipitous walls, she found the scene -extraordinarily soothing to her spirit—it was so wild—so strange—and -so peaceful. - -A considerable amount of life was stirring in the camp, and among -the huts. There were goats, and big Bhotia ponies, as well as -Bhotias themselves. Government officials, telegraph men, signallers, -sub-inspectors, and linesmen, also various eagerly interested -villagers. There appeared to be incessant traffic between the village, -the telegraph, post, and the encampment. Mrs. Gascoigne was elected a -member of the little Mess in the Inspection House. They were a cheery -party of six in all, who laid their hearts at the feet of this girl -resembling a white slender delicate flower (the stalk was of steel). -The new recruit's contribution of stores, newspapers, and books proved -extremely welcome, and she soon felt perfectly at home, and became the -established housekeeper and hostess of the party. Angel took a keen -interest in the action of the lake, the gradual rising of the water, -the precautions, and daily measurements and calculations. Colonel -Gascoigne, on whom lay the responsibility, locked up in that sheet -of water, was engaged continually, riding down to other telegraph -stations, inspecting cuttings, and protecting the canal works. But his -subordinate, Mr. Brady, occasionally took Mrs. Gascoigne about with -him. She explored the villages and scrambled up the mountains, rode -down the valley on a shaggy Bhotia pony; and in the exquisite mountain -air, with its slight hint of the adjacent snowy range, recovered her -colour and her spirits. One morning, as she and Mr. Brady and the two -dogs were climbing a hill in search of butterflies, he suddenly called -out, as he craned over a rock: - -"By the pipers that played before Moses! I see a party below on the -road making for the camp—a lady—no less, in a dandy—and two men. We -shall be a fashionable hill station before we know where we are. Who -can they be?" - -Angel stood up and leant over to survey the travellers, and controlled -her disagreeable surprise as she recognised Lola, Sir Cupid, and the -general. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -INTERLOPERS - - -"SEE what a magnet you are!" cried Sir Capel, striking a comic attitude -as Angel descended the path towards him—the other travellers had -passed on unconscious of her vicinity. - -"Am I? I was not aware of it before," she said. "Sir Capel Tudor, let -me introduce Mr. Brady, my husband's assistant." - -"—who is worked to death," he supplemented with a grin and a bow. - -"You do not appear to be in any immediate danger," rejoined Sir Capel, -pointing derisively to the butterfly net, "is it very laborious?" - -"Oh, merely an hour off duty. What has brought you out to the back of -beyond?" - -"An all-consuming curiosity," replied the little traveller, addressing -himself particularly to Angel. "I've been hearing no end about the -flood that is to be, and will be, the sight of the century, and I am -mad keen to see it." - -"But why?" - -"A great lake bursting from its prison at a stated hour. The telegraph -bell rings, and half a province is instantly inundated. That's about -it? So here I am." - -"So I see," said Angel. "But what has brought Mrs. Waldershare and the -general?" - -"She came because she required a complete change, and wanted to be with -you—she's awfully fond of you, you know. And the general is here -for the diametrically opposite cause to that which has brought me. He -swears it's all a mare's nest, and has come to see what will _not_ -happen, and to crow." - -"Rather a long journey to undertake to see nothing," remarked Mr. Brady -drily, "and I think his crow will turn into a cackle. I wonder where -the dickens you're all going to live. We are a tight fit as it is, and -there's a lot of rain coming—you won't care about a tent?" - -"I don't care where you stick me, I'm not particular. When do you think -the great water-shoot will come off?" - -"Within the next two days, according to the Colonel's calculation. -He has gone twenty miles down the Alakanda valley to-day, to inspect -the preparations; bridges have been dismantled, the canal protected, -villages cleared out, cattle driven off—and all is ready." - -"Did you bring any letters, or papers, or news?" inquired Angel, who -had been puzzling her brains as to how these three newcomers were to be -lodged and fed. - -"No, I believe the general has a couple of papers. By the way," and -his merry face became grave, "there _is_ a bit of news—bad news at -that—you remember Hailes?" - -"Captain Hailes? Why, of course I do." - -"Well, he has been awfully down on his luck lately, severe financial -crisis, talked of losing his commission, and all that. I thought it was -just a touch of liver; I'd no idea he was really so hard up." - -"Old Hailes likes to gamble a bit," remarked Mr. Brady. - -"Poor chap, he will gamble no more. Last Monday he went out to the -Tarani dâk bungalow, saying he was going to shoot shicor, and, by -George," and the round merry eyes looked tragic, "he shot himself." - -"How frightful," said Angel, pausing aghast, "accidental, of course." - -"No," shaking his head, "on purpose. It seems he had been playing high -and lost his last shilling, and had not the courage to begin life at -the foot of the ladder. He left a note for his mother, and one for Mrs. -Waldershare, which she destroyed. They asked for it at the inquest, but -she said it was private and most painful. Chotah-Bilat is enormously -exercised. Mrs. Waldershare feels the business terribly, she knew him -so well; you see, he was a sort of connection—that is partly what -brought her here, to get away from the talk—and the—place. She is all -right on the march, and has picked up, and been quite cheerful. Indeed, -to hear the general squabbling with his coolies over a few annas was -enough to make a cat laugh. But mind you don't breathe a word—about -Hailes." - -"You may be sure I won't," she answered emphatically. - -"I'm glad I caught sight of you," continued Sir Capel in a confidential -undertone, "and was able to give you this hint about Lola. She's -awfully cut up. By Jove! women do say beastly things of one another. -They have all got their knives in her just because she's so much better -looking than themselves." - -By this time the party were descending the hill to the encampment, and -had overtaken the other travellers, who appeared to imagine that their -visit was not merely welcome, but to be accepted in the light of an -immense condescension. Mr. Brady, who was acting host in the absence -of his senior officer, was immediately enslaved by the charming widow -and her magical eyes. With such eyes, the gift of speech was almost -superfluous. - -"I wish I knew where to put you?" he said, helplessly, as soon as they -had partaken of an excellent lunch. "Mrs. Waldershare, you are most -welcome to my tent, and all my worldly goods." - -"Oh, I hate a tent," she answered, ungratefully; "it's always so dark, -I can never see to do my hair. The general finds that there are two -capital quarters side by side about a hundred yards lower down." - -"Yes," he added, "I took a look at them just now, not at all -bad—temporary wooden huts, apparently new and clean. Mrs. Waldershare -will have one, I'll occupy the other. Sir Capel prefers a tent. We -don't expect spring beds and electric light on the borders of Thibet." - -"If we get the common necessaries, we consider ourselves lucky," -said Angel; "supplies are so scarce, and there are hardly any tracks -passable for ponies. Those two huts were erected by mistake before -Philip came here, and are considered much too near the possible -flood-mark to be safe. They have been condemned." - -The general laughed disagreeably, and said: "My dear lady, the water -won't come within a hundred feet of them, even on the most imbecile -computation, and I shall have my things moved down at once, and yours," -turning to Mrs. Waldershare. - -Mr. Brady opened his mouth to remonstrate, but the general, armed -with the decision acquired by years of authority, silenced him by a -gesture. As General Bothwell herded a tribe of clamorous coolies in the -direction of these two somewhat tempting asylums, Mr. Brady turned to -Angel, and said: - -"It's no good my talking to the old boy; but when the Colonel comes -back, he will soon 'haunk' him out of that. There was a lot of rain -last night, and the water is within twelve feet of the top." - -"I think you had better share my hut," said Angel to her lady guest; -"it will be a squeeze, but those below are considered dangerous—at -least Philip says so." - -"Don't you think he is fidgety, and bothers too much about things," -rejoined Lola, who in her secret heart had a profound contempt for a -man she had hoodwinked, and rated his intellect at a far lower value -than her own, since her French fables, and her tenacious memory of the -dates of the English sovereigns had been, in schooldays, superior to -his. - -"No, no; I'll go and explore, dear, and do you come with me, and help -me to settle in." In a few minutes three figures might have been seen -scrambling down to a ledge far below the camp—Mrs. Waldershare, Angel, -and her ayah, laden with pillows, rugs, and bags. The "Interlopers," -as Mr. Brady termed them, had brought (as is usual all over the Bengal -Presidency) their own bedding, also tiffin baskets, spirit lamps, and -Indiarubber baths, and by the time that Colonel Gascoigne and his staff -rode up to the Government rest-house, the strangers were already footed -in the camp, and flowered forth at the dinner-table. Philip, who was -tired after a rough ride of forty miles, and a brain-exhausting day, -at first received the intelligence of the invasion with exasperating -incredulity; but when he heard the general's rasping voice, and Sir -Capel's reckless laugh, he realised that Angel, his wife, was not -jesting, but in deadly earnest. - -Then he asked himself angrily if it was not enough to have all the -strain of this unique and imminent catastrophe laid upon his shoulders, -and to have to make arrangements for the feeding and shelter of -about fifty fellow-workers, but to be saddled now, at the eleventh -hour, with three useless sightseers? Indeed, the general was not a -mere placid spectator, he was a most malignant critic, who wrote -his own impressions to the papers, both local and otherwise. That -evening, at dinner, eleven souls were crammed round the little dâk -bungalow tables, two joined together, and even in this place, on the -confines of civilisation, Angel was compelled to respect the order of -"precedence"—the general sat next her—as his right—and Lola was -placed at her host's right hand. - -"Oh, Philip, we have made ourselves so comfy," she remarked, playfully; -"I am afraid we have invaded you, but there are those two unoccupied -huts going a-begging." - -"Those huts are condemned, and you must turn out of them to-morrow," he -said shortly. - -"Pray why?" with a little defiant laugh. - -"Merely because they are unsafe." - -"So _you_ think. General Bothwell holds the opposite opinion. What an -alarmist you are." - -"No, I merely know my business, and I am responsible for your lives." - -"Supposing I elect to stay?" she said with an indolent smile. - -"I hope you will not, as I should be compelled to have you carried away -by force, the same as a fakir, who established himself in his old cave. -He has twice returned, and twice been ignominously removed." - -"Perhaps the third time will be the charm?" she said gaily. - -"The third time will be his death. The lake will not last more than -thirty-six hours." - -"Then we are just in the nick of time to see what Sir Capel calls the -great water shoot." - -"I doubt if you will see much; I believe the dam will go at night." - -"Oh, how depressing you are! When we have come all this distance in -order to see the sight and, as the guide books say, any other objects -of interest! What do you do of an evening?" she inquired. - -"We go to bed early, we are mostly dog tired; sometimes we have songs. -Angel has a mandoline, Brady has a voice, and occasionally we have a -round game of cards." - -"Cards!" and her eyes glittered, "oh, do let us have a round game -to-night." - -Mr. Brady figuratively leapt at the proposal, so did Mr. Jones -and Sir Capel; Angel was obliged to join as hostess, and -brought out cards and counters, but they only played for half -anna—_i.e._, half-penny—points, and by ten o'clock the lights -had been extinguished, the company had dispersed, led by Mrs. -Waldershare—_vingt-et-un_ at half-penny points! The game was a waste -of time, and in no sense worth the candle. - - * * * * * - -The windows of heaven had opened; there had been torrents of rain -during the night, now subsided to a thick penetrating mist; but there -was a sort of tension in the atmosphere, as if in preparation or -expectation of some awful revelation of nature. The general and Mrs. -Waldershare, in spite of the former's furious remonstrances, and her -pathetic appeals, had been driven out of their temporary shelter; she, -to share Angel's quarters, and he, to grumble in a leaky tent. - -"Gascoigne was incompetent, grossly ignorant, and pig-headed." These -were a few of General Bothwell's growls. He had arrived on the scene, -as special, uninvited correspondent, and hoped to make a good deal of -fun and some money out of the affair. Indeed he had already drafted a -terrible indictment of the engineer officer in charge. The thought of -this deadly document afforded him warm comfort, when he was face to -face with Gascoigne's cold iron will, which refused to relax one inch -of authority. - -General Bothwell scoffed at all precautions, he was a severely trying -guest. His jibes, suggestions, and opinions, were as maddening as the -stings of a swarm of hornets to a man whose hands are tied. - -About midday, a telegram from the station was sent all down the line -"Clear, lake overtopped." Telegrams now came incessantly to the -inspection house, only a mile below the station, and everyone was aware -that the great event was imminent. At two o'clock in the afternoon -the wire said, "Dam cutting back rapidly." At five o'clock, "A heavy -rush of water has passed over dam. Lake has fallen twenty feet." -Half-an-hour later, "Lake has fallen thirty feet." So far all seemed -to be going well. The flood was passing away slowly, but steadily; at -this rate, it would keep to the bed of the river, and not rise more -than twenty feet, and if the dam was not further breached there would -be no great flood! General Bothwell was boisterously jubilant, most -disagreeably triumphant, the long prepared for affair had ended in -smoke after all; nothing could be seen with the heavy rain and mist, -but the lake had commenced falling, and there was no Niagara—no -catastrophe. - -At seven o'clock the company, clad in mackintoshes, flocked in to -dinner; only two were absent, Mr. Brady and Mr. Hichens. - -Lola, who had been lying on Angel's bed reading a novel, appeared -yawning, with somewhat dishevelled hair and sleepy eyes. - -"So the great affair has fizzled out," she remarked, "and the mist is -so dense nothing can be seen. How boring!" - -The general appeared a little later. He had dropped a rupee in his -tent, and could not find it. He was singularly fond of money—if it -had been a copper coin he would have kept the company waiting all the -same. - -The dinner had commenced—indeed, it was half over—when there was a -shout outside, the usual stentorian cry of the telegraph boy, "Tal -agiar, tal agiar!" and a long message was handed to Gascoigne. He read -it, and with a hasty apology hurried out; but he returned in a moment -to say: - -"The lake will escape in an hour. I'm going up to the dam now." - -"But I thought it was _we_ who were to escape—not the lake," sneered -Lola, reaching for the salt. She paused, saltspoon in hand, and gave a -sharp exclamation. "My luck is gone—oh, I've lost my luck!" and the -face she turned to Angel was as white as a sheet. - -"Why, what do you mean? What is it?" - -"A little charm I always wear on my bangle. I would not lose it for -anything in the whole world. Oh, I shall never be happy until I find -it." - -"Perhaps it is in my hut," suggested Angel. "When did you last see it?" - -"This morning, when I was turning out of that other cabin—which now -seems to have been so unnecessary. Oh, I would not lose my lucky charm -for a thousand pounds." - -"I daresay we shall find it. I'll help you as soon as you have -finished. We will get a big hurricane lantern, and search everywhere. -Is it very valuable—and what is it like?" - -"It has brought me no end of fortune," said Lola, rising as she spoke. -"I must, and will find it—though it is only a little diamond skull." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -TO DIE WITH YOU - - -THE search in Angel's hut proved fruitless, although the dhurries were -taken up, and the ayah passed her slim nervous hand over every inch -of the floor, whilst her mistress held aloft the lantern, and Mrs. -Waldershare—otherwise passive—poured forth passionate lamentations. - -"I'm certain I lost it in the lower hut," she announced, with a catch -in her breath. "Give me the light, and I will go and look for it -myself—I can never rest until it is found." - -"But the lake," objected Angel. "There may be great risk. Philip says -it will come down in an hour." - -"Bah! I am not afraid," rejoined Lola, with profound scorn. "Those huts -are well above water-mark, and it is only eight o'clock. I shall not be -more than a few minutes; but I don't know the path in the dark. Ayah, -you come, and I will give you five rupees." - -In reply to this appeal and bribe, the ayah shook her head, and said: - -"No, no, mem sahib—that not good—plenty water soon—soon coming." - -"Then I'll have to go alone—for go I will," she announced excitedly. - -"I can show you the way," said Angel, putting on her waterproof, and -taking the lantern; "we can be there and back in twenty minutes, if we -hurry." - -In another instant the ladies had disappeared into the darkness, Angel -in advance, carrying the hurricane lantern. There was a heavy, dazzling -mist, through which they could barely discern great lights flaming -at the posts all the way down the valley (to mark the danger limit). -These, in the darkness, twinkled like a street of stars, and how the -lake growled within its prison, with the savage snarling of some wild -beast straining at its leash. - -"Where are you off to?" asked the general, as the couple hurried by the -mess verandah, in which he stood endeavouring to light his pipe. - -"To the lower hut to search for an ornament," promptly answered Mrs. -Waldershare. - -"Plucky woman! But I don't think you run any risk, beyond breaking your -necks in the dark. I shall come and look after you, as soon as I have -started this pipe." - -On their way to the hut, the couple encountered Mr. Brady—that is to -say, he met Mrs. Waldershare, for Angel was already half-way down the -path, her feet winged by some indescribable presentiment. - -"Hallo, I say! what are you doing here?" he panted, for he had been -running fast. - -"Only going to the hut for a moment to look for something I have lost." - -"For God's sake, don't," he cried. "Better lose what ever it is, than -your life—mind you, I warn you that the dam can only hold another ten -minutes." - -He had an important message to deliver, and could not delay, although -probably he would have done so had he dreamt that Mrs. Gascoigne was -already standing on dangerous ground. Lola smiled to herself as she -hurried downwards. What a fright they were all in. Lose her life! There -was no fear of that; and she would risk a good deal to find her little -diamond skull—her fetish. - -In five minutes' time Mrs. Waldershare was on her knees going over the -floor of the hut, ayah-fashion, with her bare hands; her hair had come -adrift, and fell in one great coil on her shoulders. Her companion -held the light a little way above the searcher's head. At last, after -considerable delay, Lola lifted her head. - -"Here it is," she cried, with an audible sob of relief, raising herself -in a kneeling position; "see, the ring is broken. A fortune-teller told -me that my star would be in the ascendant as long as I had the skull. -Now I have found it, I am happy. What luck! What," she repeated, in -another and a sharper key, as the hut rocked violently, and the rest of -the sentence was drowned in a long, loud, shattering crash. - -There was a peal of thunder, reverberating far among the mountains—the -roar of the lake released from bondage, rushing headlong to devastate -the country. - -"The dam—it is gone!" cried Angel, as the sound died away. "There is -not a second to lose; we must fly. Come," and she flung open the door. -As she did so the hut reeled over, and a wave of cold water splashed -across the threshold. Outside, the drizzle, as illuminated by the -lantern, was impregnated with thick red dust, which spread over an -area of ten miles. Lola was still on her knees, as if turned to stone, -apparently paralysed with horror. The flood was rising in the room, -and the hut shivered and trembled like some live thing. "Come, Lola, -you must make a dash for your life," urged Angel, placing the lamp in -the window, and reaching out to help her to rise. "Every moment it is -getting worse." - -As Lola staggered to her feet, a wave half filled the hut, and she -seemed to lose her reason, and broke into a shrill, wild, unbroken -scream—it was hardly like the human voice—minute after minute it -continued, and every minute it became wilder and more piercing. -Suddenly Gascoigne stood in the doorway. He had returned from the dam, -only to learn, to his horror, that his wife and Mrs. Waldershare had -gone down to the condemned quarters. - -"I can only take one," he said, huskily, and his eyes rested on Angel. - -She was farthest away; Lola cowered between her and the door. Lola was -crazy with terror, having the fear of death before her eyes, the sound -of many waters in her ears. As she stood, in a frenzy, panting like -some hunted creature, she was almost unrecognisable, transformed by her -emotions. Her livid face, starting eyes, wet, streaming hair, belonged -to another woman. - -"It means—death?" she questioned, with chattering teeth, and read the -tragic answer in the man's set, white face. "Then take—_me_—_me_!" -she shrieked, and she sprang on him like a leopardess, clung to his -neck with locked arms, and the whole weight of a strongly-built, -frantic, desperate woman. He was muscular, and in hard condition, -but could he ever have released himself from that cruel clutch, the -death-grip of mortal fear, the pitiless hold of the drowning? "Oh, -Philip, you loved me first," she sobbed; "save me—save me—_me_." - -Angel surveyed this terrible scene with a gaze of wide-eyed horror. Of -course he must save Lola. - -"Yes, Phil," she said, coming nearer, and her voice was clear and -decided. "Go; don't waste precious time. Philip, I intend to stay. Save -her first; you can," and she faltered for a second, "come back." - -Angel held aloft the lantern as she spoke, and her husband, without a -word, turned, and splashed with his burthen out into the black night; -the water swept him off his feet, for one or two strokes, whilst Lola, -who was now demented, and a dead weight, nearly dragged him under. - -"There is Jim Hailes. No, I'm not coming—they say I killed him—no, I -won't die—why should I die? Who said I won his money? There, take it -back—a shocking sight, they said. Don't let the Gascoignes hear—no, -no, _I'm_ not going to the funeral!" - -All this was screamed out at the pitch of her voice into Philip's -ear, as he staggered with her up the hill. He toiled onwards with the -strength of ten men, for the sake of the figure with the light in her -hand, whom he had abandoned for this miserable creature—Angel, his -wife. He was resolved to save her, or perish with her. He recalled her -face of lofty courage—how her eyes shone in the light, as if she were -inspired by the very spirit of self-sacrifice, whilst she held the -lantern and urged him to escape—with Lola. As soon as the party on -the hill descried Gascoigne, they rushed to meet him, and he hastily -relinquished his burden, and fled down the hill, passing a stricken -figure in a tree, whose shouts for help proclaimed that the General was -in difficulties. - - * * * * * - -When her husband had departed with his first love in his arms, Angel -stood in the doorway up to her knees in water, holding the lantern to -guide them to safety; then, as the flood rose higher and higher, she -began to realise the chilly fact, that they had escaped,—and that she -was left to face death alone. - -She endeavoured to fix her mind on the grim visitor who would claim her -young life within the next few minutes, but visions of a gay seaside -pier, with the waves lapping underneath and around, accompanied by the -strains of the Santiago waltz, into her brain. The memory, under such -circumstances, was inexpressibly awful. Was she to pass away with the -sound of dance music in her ears—here among the turbulent black waters -of a runaway lake in the heart of the Himalayas? Well, at least, she -had given herself for Lola—her life for that of another. The thought -soothed her, and comforted her heart, and Philip would never forget -her—sacrifice; she would live for ever, enshrined in his memory; to -attain this was—her recompense. - -The hut was above the strong mud-current, otherwise it would have been -immediately overwhelmed and carried away by the first rush of the -torrent; but, as it was, it still clung to its foundations, although -the water scoured enormous holes in the floor. Angel had climbed -up into the window-seat, where she crouched with her lantern, and -endeavoured to pray. How her heart plunged at each lurch the building -gave; the water was now half-way up the wall, and the end might come at -any moment. The hut would soon be swept away, then Philip would see her -light floating down on the wild flood, and be sorry when it went out. -Oh, he would know what _that_ meant! - -At this moment the door burst open, and Philip himself half swam, half -waded in. Yes, he had come back for her; she was desperately glad, and -yet it meant two lives, instead of one! He was exhausted, and almost -breathless, as he made his way over to her, and gasped out: - -"We have just one chance, Angel—the roof; you trust yourself to me." - -She nodded—for she could not speak. - -"We will have to go outside, and there is no time to spare." As he -spoke he lifted her down, and guided her through water, now shoulder -deep. Then he swung himself up by the door, took the lantern from her, -and drew her on the roof beside him. When this feat was accomplished he -gave a sigh of relief. - -"The hut is bound to go," he exclaimed; "if it capsizes don't grab hold -of me. I'll manage to keep you afloat. I know you have a stout heart, -Angel. We are luckily in a sort of backwater, and will only catch the -edge of the flood. We may be carried along and caught in some trees -lower down—that's just our one chance." - -The hut, which had been rocking and shivering as if about to take some -desperate plunge, suddenly staggered, gave a wild lurch, and went more -than half under water. - -"Oh, this must be the end, now we die," said Angel, clinging to Philip. -But no, the stout wooden structure righted itself, spun round, and -slowly embarked on the breast of the wild, dark current. What a sight -it was, the roaring volume of ungovernable water racing furiously -through the valley, and carrying with it, besides whole trees and logs -and branches, the frail raft on which these two human beings clung -together, with the hurricane lantern between them. The channel was in a -condition resembling a storm at sea, and more than once the couple were -nearly washed off the roof by the waves that broke over it. The night -was as black as a wolf's mouth. - -At first they maintained an unbroken silence as they were hurried to -what they both believed to be their death. Gascoigne, his arm around -Angel, held her closely to him. Then at last he spoke: - -"Why did you go down to the hut, Angel?" - -"For Lola, to show her the way—she had lost something—I thought there -was time." - -"But Brady had warned her, and—tell me why you stood back and implored -me to take her first?" - -"Because—it had to be—one or the other," she stammered. "I knew that -you loved her—I only—stood between you. You had escaped—oh, _why_ -did you come back?" and she gave a little sob. - -"Because I love you, Angel. Surely you know that?" and he drew her -still closer to him. "I don't say much—not half enough—I seem cold, -but I feel deeply. It is late in the day to tell you that now! It is -true that a man has two soul sides—one to face the world,—another -to show the woman he loves—you have scarcely seen—your—side—but I -swear by the God before whom we may appear in another moment—that I -would rather die with you, than live with Lola." - -Angel bent her head upon his shoulder. The long pent-up tide of -her misgivings and misery broke loose, and she wept from a mixture -of rapture and grief. Alas! death was now doubly bitter; it meant -shipwreck in sight of the haven. - -The flood travelled with great force and extraordinary velocity; in -less than ten minutes the roof was being dizzily whirled through a -mountainous gorge, and the branches of huge trees seemed extended like -arms, to bar its way and snatch it from its fate. By one hoary old -oak the hut became momentarily entangled; the opportunity, the _one_ -chance, had come. Gascoigne, who had tied the lantern to his arm, and -fastened Angel's mackintosh round her waist and to his belt, now sprang -for his life, for both their lives, caught the branch, and swung safely -into the tree. But not a moment too soon; the raft was already under -weigh, rapidly moving off, to be presently dashed to pieces among the -narrow, rocky gorges of the Alakanda valley. - -The tree, an old evergreen oak, was not a particularly safe asylum with -the hungry dark tide surging below, eager to swallow the refugees, but -a rescue party was approaching. - -When Sir Capel and Mr. Brady had hurried down to where the hut had -been, there was nothing to be seen but a racing tide of whirling black -water covered with blocks of solid foam: the hut was gone. But what was -that twinkling on the flood? a light far ahead—not a boat—what boat -could live in that mad current? - -"They are on the roof," yelled Mr. Brady, "and they may be caught in -the trees two miles down. Come on, come on," and, setting an example, -he started away at a run, followed by Sir Capel and half-a-dozen -others. Thanks to their timely assistance, in less than an hour the -two who had so narrowly escaped the great flood were brought into -camp, wet, benumbed, and exhausted, but profoundly thankful for their -deliverance. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -THE INTRUDER - - -THE great Chamoli landslip thus fulfilled its threat; the long-expected -catastrophe had come, and gone. The lake had fallen five hundred feet -in two hours, and worked the anticipated havoc over a large tract of -country; enormous masses of trees and débris came down with the flood, -bridges were carried away, and also many miles of roads. Of three -native towns, and several villages, not a vestige remained. The passage -of so large a volume of water through one hundred and fifty miles of -valley, in the darkest hour of the night, unattended by the loss of a -single life, was attributed to the services rendered by the temporary -telegraph line, and the excellent work accomplished by Colonel -Gascoigne, who received the thanks and congratulations of the Viceroy. - -The only individual who suffered personally from the effect of the -inundation was the once irresistible Lola Waldershare. For some months -after the disaster she remained with the Gascoignes, a helpless -imbecile, and ultimately returned to England under the charge of a -hospital nurse, a mental and physical wreck. - -The general and Sir Capel left Garhwal with a revised opinion of -themselves, and other people. To the younger man, the trip afforded a -magnificent experience. He had been brought into touch with Nature at -her grandest, with human unselfishness, and heroic courage. - -General Bothwell's nerves were shattered by his adventure during -the flood, and he who had come to crow departed, figuratively, -draggle-tailed and crestfallen. His carefully indited letters were -never despatched to the press, as his prognostications had been -stultified; and he returned to Chotah-Bilat in a condition of collapse, -a silent and much wiser man. Doubtless, by-and-by he will recover his -poise, and brag and bore and browbeat as mercilessly as ever. - -Donald Gordon died suddenly of heat apoplexy in the Red Sea, and the -story of the loves of Shireen and Ferhad is lost to the reading world. -It is unlikely that his widow will marry—her life is dedicated to -others and to good works, and her self-imposed penance has apparently -no end. She is godmother to Angel's infant, and as she placed her in -the arms of Padre Eliot at the font pronounced her name to be Elinor. - -Sam and John flourish, as they deserve. The sole drawback to their -domestic comfort is the baby. Between themselves—though never to other -dogs—they stigmatize her as an intruder and a nuisance. To impart the -truth, they are unaffectedly jealous. - -However, as Sam has more than once been discovered reposing in the -child's cot, and John accompanies the perambulator, and condescends -to accept sponge-cakes and rusks, she may yet be acknowledged by her -four-footed rivals, and all will be well. - - - * * * * * - - -Transcriber's Notes. - -1. Obvious punctuation errors repaired. - -2. Line 6601 Page 173: "We never heard that Major Gascoigne had a -ward," remarked Miss Brewer, trenchantly. - -'Miss Brewer' changed to 'Miss Ball'. Just three paragraphs earlier Mr. -Gasgoyne referred to the "THREE" ladies. Only three ladies were -present; Mrs. Flant, her sister Miss Ball and Angela. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANGEL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |