On the morning of his return from Madras, as the train was sweeping into the station at Puranapore, Mark Cheveril noticed among the passengers gathered on the platform for the up train the Mahomedan, Zynool Sahib. He had never exchanged words with him since the morning at the Kutchery, of which he retained an unpleasant recollection. His feeling was evidently reciprocated by the Mussulman, for a scowl was distinctly visible on his ruddy brown face as soon as he caught sight of the Assistant-Collector.
"That man suggests the hatching of evil plots every time I set eyes on him," said Mark to himself, as he watched the heavy form lurching into one of the carriages for Madras. "Fortunately we give each other a wide berth!"
Mark stepped into his waiting bandy and was driven towards the cantonment, as it was still called though bereft of its military element. When about half-way to his bungalow, he perceived, under the shade of a spreading neem tree, two men apparently engaged in earnest conversation. Without difficulty he recognised one of them as Moideen, the Collector's trusted butler. His companion was surely none other than Zynool, though he had certainly seen his legs disappearing into a railway carriage some minutes ago and knew that he must now be on his way to the city. This then must be his double! Height, gestures, features, and the dense black beard, all seemed an exact facsimile of the Puranapore magnate. Mark, however, soon became preoccupied by other thoughts, and the incident faded from his memory for the time being.
He found the Collector busy in his office preparing for his intended tour on the following morning.
"I want to hear all your news presently, Cheveril," said Mr. Worsley, glancing up from his papers with kindly greeting. "How did the meeting go off—and your speech? Was your ideal Eurasian up to the mark? That isn't meant to be a pun, by the way, though it might be mistaken for one! And how is that charming friend of yours—Hester—hate to call her by her husband's name! You saw her too, eh? Well, come and tell me all about her to-night at dinner. I'll warn Moideen to excel himself in the menu!"
The Collector settled himself to his files again, and Mark to his yesterday's arrears.
When they met at dinner, Mr. Worsley was in his happiest mood and encouraged his guest to give a detailed account of all his doings in Madras. He seemed really interested in the opening of the new hall and reading-room in Vepery, for the benefit of which he had gladdened Mr. Morpeth's heart by sending a handsome donation. He was also eager to hear the latest accounts of Hester, to whom he always referred in a tone of warmest admiration mingled with pity. The incident at the close of the ball at Government House still rankled.
"The worst of it is that the fellow scored—actually scored," he said, describing the scene to Mark. "That sweet girl was punished for my having angered her husband by a chilly attitude when we were introduced earlier in the evening. I simply sat dumfounded on that sofa after the wretch had, one might say, dragged her off! What a life she is bound to have—what a vista of misery!" There was a sorrowful light in the Collector's eyes as he spoke, and he went on: "I declare it's more deadly for a woman to be tied to a bad husband than for a man to be mated to a selfish, unprincipled wife! In the latter case one can sometimes keep the seas between as a protecting barrier; but for that poor child I can only foresee a cruel future. How different things might have been—should have been," he added, darting a keen glance at his companion, whose face looked grave and troubled.
"Well, the sea does protect her just at this moment," returned Mark, rousing himself. "Rayner has taken himself off to Calcutta on a visit to some acquaintance there. But even about that, according to Colonel Fellowes whom I chanced to meet at the station, he behaved badly. The trip was first meant to include Hester, and she was looking forward to it, when Rayner is said to have stumbled on an undesirable acquaintance who persuaded him to go to Bombay and have what he called a 'good time' there."
"And so his poor wife was thrown overboard! Well, she's better without him, anyhow!"
"I was glad to see her looking so well and happy. She was evidently enjoying her visit to the Fellowes."
"I'm truly glad to hear it," said Mr. Worsley warmly. "She needs a respite from that thraldom. Yes, Mrs. Fellowes looks good, and her husband is an excellent fellow, quite the best type of sepoy officer, and has a splendid record. Did very well at the Mutiny."
The dinner was now over, and the soft-footed servants having arranged the fruit and wine, had retired. When Mark saw Moideen's retreating figure, he was reminded of the incident of the morning.
"Has Zynool a twin-brother in town or anywhere?" he asked.
"I hope not; one of Zynool's kidney is quite enough!"
"I ask because I saw, on my way from the station, a man exactly like him in close conversation with your butler."
"Zynool himself, no doubt! I wish he would let Moideen alone. I suspect there has been more mischief done than I'm aware of by these two hobnobbing," said the Collector irritably.
"No, it couldn't have been Zynool. There's the puzzle. Because I happen to have seen Zynool stepping into the train for Madras. It's really mystifying, now I come to think of it! If the man was not Zynool, as is physically impossible, it must have been his double."
"I have it," exclaimed Mr. Worsley. "It must have been myTahsildarat Lerode, Mahomet Usman. I once saw him and Zynool side by side, and I own the likeness was remarkable. I happened to mention the fact and observed they both looked displeased. Mahomet Usman looked particularly glum and vowed he was no relative of Zynool's. But if the man is about to-day, why did he not present himself at the office? However, I shall clear the matter up soon, for I have intimated a visit to him to-morrow. I wonder he didn't look in when he was here. But there's no use trying to fathom these natives. Let's get to our cheroots and pass to pleasanter topics."
Mr. Worsley seemed in such comfortable health and spirits when Mark bade him good-night, that he was not a little surprised next morning when, at the hour appointed for starting on tour, one of the clerks who was to accompany the party called at his bungalow to say that the Collector was reported very unwell—quite unable to move from his bed, far less to travel.
Mark hurried to his chief to find him haggard and suffering. He wished at once to summon the doctor, but the Collector had a prejudice against all medical surveillance and would not hear of it, setting down his symptoms to mere biliousness caused by Moideen's efforts to please his palate. He certainly recovered wonderfully before evening, but on Mark's visiting him early next morning he found him suffering violent pain and attacked at intervals by severe sickness. This time he did not wait to consult the sufferer, but went at once to summon Dr. Campbell, just catching him before he started for the Dispensary in the town.
The doctor soon showed by his manner that he regarded the case as serious. The patient was fast sinking into a comatose condition. After a minute examination Dr. Campbell turned to Mark, and taking him aside told him that he had no doubt it was a case of poisoning, probably an overdose administered last night, which, with the help of the milder one on the previous night, was threatening to prove very serious.
"The action of the poison has been more effective than the poisoner intended probably," remarked the doctor.
"This is very serious," said Mark, alarm written on his face.
"Serious! I should say so! But I'll try to save him yet. I'll be back in a minute. Meanwhile, Cheveril, see you keep close watch by his bed. Don't leave him for an instant," whispered the doctor, and hurried away. He returned in a short time followed by his assistant, and the needful antidotes were skilfully applied with good result.
Neither the doctor nor Mark ever quitted the patient's bedside till the sun went down. Mr. Worsley seemed to be having some peaceful sleep, though his face looked as drawn and haggard as if he were emerging from a long illness.
Putting his arm through Mark's, Dr. Campbell drew him to the verandah which adjoined the bedroom.
"He's safe now, Cheveril, but it's been a close shave. Look here, this has been Moideen's work. It must be brought home to the villain at once."
"Yes," answered Mark. "I'm confident that man is at the root of it. But what if the Collector won't believe it? He has a very soft side to Moideen, you know."
"Too well I know it! But the man's a criminal and must be brought to justice. We dare not let his master be in his power a day longer."
Suddenly Mark recalled his glimpse of the butler in close conversation under the neem tree with Zynool's double. That the interview was in some way closely connected with the barely averted catastrophe, he did not doubt? But how to prove it?
The doctor had now left, and he sat watching the patient, noting the stronger breathing of the sleeping man, and trying to unravel the tangle of recent events without success. He had always distrusted Moideen since that first evening when he had watched his brown be-ringed feet planted behind the screen door while the Collector explained some of the difficulties of the government of Puranapore. He had no doubt of Moideen's present villainy, but how to get the Collector to admit it to his mind and to send from his side the capable servant of years, would prove a difficulty. The doctor's statement he would impatiently brush aside when he returned to health, and would point out that in this country one is always liable to such visitations; milk, fruit, and water all having possibilities of deadly effects. That this evil man should continue to have his master's confidence would, Mark felt certain, prove fatal sooner or later. Not that Moideen wished to kill his master, far from it. Probably he only exercised his unscrupulous power when he desired to further his own or his accomplices' nefarious designs. The evil spell must be broken, he resolved—but how?
Help came from an unexpected quarter! The "maty boy," a humble individual, and for a wonder, a Hindu, for Moideen generally saw to it that his staff was composed of Mahomedans, now thrust in his turbaned head at the door, but withdrew it again in an instant. Mark, perceiving that something was amiss, went to see. On looking out he perceived the "maty" and another servant exchanging dumb signs of dismay. On inquiring what the matter was, they told him in chorus:
"Butler done gone—also Ismail"—the latter being the Collector's dressing boy. "Not one left in godown; all empty, wife, children, all done gone!"
The intelligence was certainly unexpected. As the doctor's assistant appeared at that moment to relieve Mark at his post by the patient's bedside, he felt free to investigate this extraordinary piece of news for himself. Moideen was certainly nowhere to be seen; moreover, when Mark was conducted by the "maty" to Moideen's godown, by which humble name the comfortable and commodious quarters fitted up by the Collector for his favoured servant were still called, he found them empty. A sense of relief at once began to prevail. The man had by his flight sentenced himself. Without being arraigned, he had realised his position too well. Possibly the sight of Dr. Campbell's resolute face had struck terror into his conscience-stricken heart, or perhaps he had overheard the doctor's words in the verandah. Anyhow Mark felt that it was the best news he could have heard, though the big Jailer shook his head over it, when, on coming to inquire for the sick man, he was informed of the unexpected event.
"I've a good mind to have him tracked and convicted. What do you say, Judge?" he asked, turning to Mr. Goldring, who had also arrived to ask after the Collector.
"If anybody except Worsley was in question I'd have no hesitation in setting everything in train for a capture, but you know, Samptor, what Worsley is! He'll simply set himself to obstruct justice in this case. He'd hate the publicity of the affair," added the Judge, his blue eyes full of perplexity.
"Well, after all, the wretch is jolly well punished," returned the Jailer. "He's lost his fine soft berth and 'master's favour,' and all the rest of it. But I don't believe we've got to the bottom of this affair yet. Moideen didn't want to put an end to his master, be you sure of that!"
"No, the doctor thinks it was an accident," broke in Mark, "an overdose of the poison which acted with more deadly effect than was intended. Probably he was frantic when he saw what he had done. There may be a clue."
Mark proceeded to narrate his seeing of Moideen with the man whom the Collector seemed to have no doubt was the Tahsildar of Lerode.
"A clue indeed!" exclaimed Samptor, much interested. "Mahomet Usman no doubt desired for reasons of his own to have the Collector's visit postponed for a few days. That's all—though a valuable life was to be risked to attain that end. We're not unfamiliar with such methods, are we, Judge?"
"Unfortunately not," responded Mr. Goldring, shaking his head.
"Something wrong with his accounts," suggested Mark. "That's the conclusion I've come to. If the Collector will give me permission, as soon as he's able to be left, I'll hurry off to Lerode and look into the matter. We must get to the bottom of Mahomet Usman's tricks. Who knows what frauds may have been going on!"
"Let me tell you, you'll find Mahomet Usman's books in perfect order," returned Samptor. "He only wanted the extra day or two to accomplish that. They'll not be a pie wrong! It was to prevent any such discovery, don't you see, that our poor Collector has nearly been sacrificed. By all means, Cheveril, go to Lerode, but the wily Mussulman has got the start of you. His revenue collection will be all square by to-morrow or the next day. No doubt Moideen had his orders to keep the Collector quiet till then. That comes of letting those natives creep so close! Moideen was a clever dog, made himself indispensable to his master's comfort. Poor Worsley, pity his wife isn't of the sort to be at his side with the sharp eyes of my wife!"
Events turned out as Mr. Samptor predicted. Not the most searching examination of Mahomet Usman's books disclosed the slightest defalcation, though Mark felt convinced that theTahsildarwas aware that the new Assistant was watching for his halting, and also knew the reason why. As to finding any explanation of his conspiracy with the absconding Moideen, Mark was completely baulked.
The Collector had been very irritable and impatient when his health admitted of his being told the cause of his illness, and the certain proof which Moideen had given of his guilt by his flight only intensified his annoyance. He seemed indeed aggrieved by the whole incident and desirous of ignoring it.
Mark felt a new sense of anxiety and a need for greater daily vigilance in the combination of circumstances in which he was now placed. The relations of the Hindus with the Mahomedans in the town were increasingly unsatisfactory, even threatening; though there remained a difference of opinion as to who was the aggressive party. Dr. Campbell continued to hold a brief for the Hindus, as indeed did all the members of the little community except the Collector. Moideen had been replaced by a Mahomedan from Madras bearing a good certificate from his former master, and who seemed a much less complex character than the sinister Moideen.
Perhaps there was no one concerned in the situation who took a graver view of the possibilities of a disturbance among the seething masses of the native town than did the young Assistant-Collector, who went about his daily work with a watchful air and an anxious heart.
On the morning of the third day after her visit to Mr. Morpeth, as Hester sat with Mrs. Fellowes at early tea in the verandah at Royapooram, a chit was handed to her and the butler announced that her carriage was waiting. The note was from her husband telling her of his arrival at Clive's Road.
"Do, my darling Hester, hurry to me at once," it ran. "I am pining to hold you in my arms. I have only just arrived, but this horrid south wind is making a wreck of me already. I feel so nervous I can hardly hold a pen."
Having shared her news with her hostess, Hester rose to make hasty preparations for her departure.
"This is a blow to me," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I hoped at least to keep you a week longer with us. Your husband has evidently changed his plans."
"He has seemingly. But why should this wind be troubling him? I was just thinking how refreshing it was."
"Ah, but your husband is right there. This south wind is an enemy we dread, it is baleful in its effects, I assure you. When it first blows on one it does seem refreshing, but the very next moment one begins to feel its bad influence. It is like a gust of hot damp air blown over marshes, penetrating to one's joints and marrows."
"Alfred evidently resents it," returned Hester. "I fear it will blow away all the good effects of his change. I wonder what can have made him hurry back so soon," she added, with a sigh she repressed at once and turned to her friend, saying, "How can I thank you for all that has made this time so pleasant to me? I shall never forget these days."
The tears sprang to her eyes as she clasped her friend's hand. "I feel as if I were leaving Paradise for the thorns and thistles of the wilderness," she murmured; and in this remark she laid bare more of her heart than she had ever done, even to her trusted friend, who now looked at her with keen concern.
"But I mustn't put it like that," she added. "Poor Alfred needs me. I must go back strong and cheerful!"
Presently Mrs. Fellowes stood in the verandah with a sorrowful face watching her departing guest.
"You don't mean to say the fellow has come back already like a bad shilling and requisitioned that wife of his a whole week earlier than we reckoned on!" exclaimed the colonel with vexation, when he returned from his morning's work and heard of Hester's sudden summons to Clive's Road. "That is a blow! Why, she should have sent back the landau empty and told him he still owed her a week's release from his presence!"
"Though you say that, Joe, you know it would not be like the faithful wife she is to take things into her own hands like that," returned his wife. "But somehow my heart misgives me about her. I feel as if she were going down into a valley of suffering. But she never complains, and we must not probe her secret sorrow."
Meanwhile the pair of swift Walers had borne their mistress to her destination.
"How ill you look, Alfred!" she exclaimed, when her husband met her on the verandah steps. "What is the matter? Had you a bad passage? Surely the south wind can't affect you so much when you've only just arrived!"
"That's all you know, Hester! It's made a perfect wreck of me already. The fact is I feel more miserable than ever I did in my life," said Rayner with a groan, and threw himself on to a lounging chair, welcoming the baleful wind as the excuse of his haggard looks, of which he was fully conscious.
The revelation made to him at the Shrine of Kali seemed still to scorch his nature like a flame, and his return to familiar scenes appeared only to intensify his misery. He scanned his wife's face anxiously to see whether by any unlucky chance she might already be in possession of the hateful secret; but he perceived nothing except sweet kindness in her demeanour, and at once began to think how foolish he had been to let the matter gnaw his heart as he had been doing. The whole story was probably trumped up by Truelove Brothers, he tried to persuade himself with a juggler-like effort at self-deception. More than likely the Eurasian clerk was the firm's tool in a conspiracy. Alternating hopes and fears still haunted him, however, as he listened to his wife's soothing talk. At length, feeling so comforted by it, he decided to absent himself from the High Court and spend the whole day in her society. Then he changed his mind, and, to Hester's surprise, his mail-phaeton instead of his office bandy was hastily ordered after breakfast. He drove off, saying he would return early and have a drive with his wife when the south wind had abated.
Hester was already experiencing the languor that accompanied the gusty wind she had at first welcomed as a friend. She tried to occupy herself with various household duties which claimed her attention after her absence. With her ayah's help she set about arranging all her possessions, taking her books and ornaments from their retreat, but was dismayed to find that the wind was bringing in its train, not only damp, but also clouds of dust. She had recourse to closing the glass doors of the drawing-room, which had always stood open since her arrival in the tropical clime, before she felt safe to spread out her treasures. She gave Mr. Morpeth's gift an honoured place among them, smiling as she laid a packet of her mother's letters in the precious casket.
When the time came for her husband's return she was surprised to see him drive up in a hired bandy instead of the mail-phaeton.
"What have you done with your phaeton?" she asked.
"You may well ask, Hester, but wait till I've taken refuge from the hurricane behind the glass doors, which I see you've been sensible enough to have closed, and I'll tell you," he said cheerfully; and linking his arm in hers, he led her to one of the sofas in the drawing-room.
"Well, what do you think I've done with my fine phaeton? Been and gone and sold it, horses, harness and all! I was going to add the syce, for he was also thrown in! I met a Mahomedan who was so enamoured of the whole turn-out that I concluded the bargain there and then!"
Hester, not being of an inquisitive turn of mind, did not ask the name of the phaeton's purchaser, and her husband preferred to withhold it. The transaction was the result of an interview with Zynool Sahib. He had appeared that morning at the High Court in an agitated state and begged to see La'yer Rayner, who had invited him to accompany him to Waller's Stables, where he had left the phaeton for some small repair. They could have a freer talk driving, Mr. Rayner had decided, than in the precincts of the High Court.
"Things are going from the bad to the worst at Puranapore," said Zynool, shaking his head dolefully. "Nothing but insults from these pigs of Hindus, backed up by that great enemee of mine, Doctor Campbell. Whatt's the good to us of the Government order stopping tom-toms and conchs at certain hours onlee. By Allah, our mosque is open day and night for prayer. These swinish sounds must not pass its door. We must stop them, La'yer Rayner," he wound up, with a significant glance at his companion.
"Yes, Zynool, that bit by the river, so near the mosque too, would make a fine site for a garden-house for you, such as you want. You desire an order to move the Hindu burning place from there, don't you?"
"That is so," returned the Mahomedan brightening. "You're a clever one, La'yer Rayner!"
"Wouldn't it be best to get up a little thunderstorm? It would clear the atmosphere if you could combine and give it hot to these troublesome Hindus. Pack the town beforehand with your people from outlying villages, and the fire won't need much fanning to burst into a flame. But take care you only mine underground. Complicity found might mean the Andaman Islands!"
Zynool's fat body shivered.
"By the holy Prophet there is need for a fight! They come when we are at our prayers, sounding and bellowing those horrible conchs fit to break the drums of our ears."
"The Mohurram will soon be on," said Mr. Rayner. "There's a chance for you! When you're passing in one of your processions along the streets arrange to go for some howling crowd that may be annoying you, and the fat will be in the fire! May I be there to see, Zynool Sahib! You'll slay many a craven wretch with that brawny arm of yours."
The Mahomedan laughed complacently as he spat on the floor of the bandy.
"Believe you are right, La'yer Rayner. I will say a word to one or two of the Faithful and try to get them up to the scratch, as you say."
"A regular dressing down is what they need. And it will give Worsley and that puppy, his sub., a scare into the bargain," said Rayner with a malicious smile. He had been surprised that the rash granting of the site for the mosque had not caused more acute trouble to the Collector of Puranapore, and his malice now prompted him to wish that he should be reprimanded or made to suffer in some way. There were possible ugly aspects in the agreeing to that site which might be used to Mr. Worsley's disadvantage, he thought with a gratified smile, though he did not share these conclusions with his companion. A breaking of the peace would do excellently well as a first move in the game.
On their arrival at Waller's, Zynool was so fascinated by the smart mail-phaeton that he at once proposed taking it over there and then as part payment of Rayner's debt to him. As his financial embarrassments were pressing, Rayner decided to part with his once much-prized possession, though he made it the occasion to ask the usurer for another loan. To this the Mahomedan willingly agreed, though he demanded higher interest. A cheque was transferred to Rayner's pocket which he went forthwith to cash at the bank; while Zynool, with childish glee, made arrangements with Waller for the sending of his latest possession to his stables at Puranapore.
Hester seemed more disturbed by her husband's news regarding the sale of his mail-phaeton than he expected.
"Surely it was too hurried a step to part with it like that," she faltered, her home ideas being against such raw haste in an important matter.
"How do you know I did it without premeditation? You women always jump to such hasty conclusions! Let me tell you, Hester, it has been at least four days simmering in my mind," returned her husband; then he stopped and bit his lip. To be sure, he thought, he must tell his wife sooner or later some tale about his quarrel with Truelove Brothers. That they were cheating him out of his rights—that was how he would put it—but he would not spoil the first day of his return by such communications. It would surely impress her favourably, for the time being, that he had in this self-sacrificing manner begun by abandoning one of his chief luxuries.
Perceiving that she seemed to regret his self-denial, he set about to make light of it, assuring her that with such a sweet wife he could afford to dispense with bachelor delights. The load of misery which had weighed him down so heavily these last days seemed already to be rolling away as he sat by Hester's side in the drawing-room shut in from the raging wind, and listened to her beautifully modulated tones as she read aloud to him.
Though he laughingly declared he was not an invalid, and did not require to be coddled when she placed her softest cushions under his head, her quick eyes discerned that from whatever cause her husband's holiday had been no gain to his health, but very much the reverse. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes lustreless, and his step had an uncertain tread which she had never observed before.
Dinner was over, and they had again taken refuge in their sheltered retreat, for as the wind still raged the verandah was impossible. Mr. Rayner began to pace up and down the room as he listened to Hester's playing, which he seemed to appreciate as he had seldom done. In his walk he was suddenly attracted by the ivory box which lay on his wife's writing table.
"Hallo, Hester, where came you by this treasure? What a beauty! This one is real ivory and no mistake. My poor bone fellow must hide its head for ever now. Why this is a genuine work of art! What splendid carving! Did Mrs. Fellowes present this as a supreme proof of her admiration of my wife? Or did you dip deep into your own purse? I shouldn't have thought these things were in the market nowadays. Where did you pick it up?"
"Well, Alfred, I'll tell you," answered Hester slowly, as she wheeled round on the piano-stool to face her husband. "It ought to seem a peace-offering to you, for you once behaved so badly to the dear old man. Mr. Morpeth actually gave it to me the other day when Mrs. Fellowes and I paid him a visit in his most interesting house."
"You got it fromhim? You paidhima visit? You actually dared to enter that man's house?" panted her husband, growing deadly pale, his eyes flashing, and his lips quivering in uncontrolled passion. "You shall not—you shall not keep it."
As he spoke he lifted the box high above his head and dashed it on the floor, where it lay dismembered. Then with a savage gesture he stamped on the fragments, crushing them to atoms with his foot.
Hester sat staring at him as if spell-bound. She gazed alternately at her husband's face and at the ruins of her priceless box. Ignorant as she was as to the source of his wild emotion, she realised that there was something quite exceptional in his attitude. It seemed nothing less than frenzy. She rose, appalled and trembling from head to foot, her courage for once deserting her. She made a movement to cross the room and escape by the glass door to seek refuge under the dark blue heavens. Then she sank down on her seat again and, covering her face with her trembling hands, bursted into a torrent of tears.
At length she raised her eyes to her husband, who still stood with folded arms and ghastly pale, looking silently down on her. She rose from the music stool and quietly picked up, one by one, the broken fragments of the ivory box which had been so precious to her. Gathering them in the folds of her muslin gown as a child might guard its treasure, she hurried away and went up-stairs, leaving her husband standing motionless and silent.
When she reached her room she sank down under the light of the lamp as if she meant to examine the broken fragments. Instead of doing so she sat holding them covered up in her lap, for there was a greater tragedy gripping her heart than the ruin of the box. Her thoughts were involuntarily following the same train as Mr. Worsley's when in his pity for the young wife he had remarked to her friend, "What a vista of misery lies before her!"
Yes, it was some glimmering of this vista which Hester was seeing now more clearly than she had ever done before. Was it to be in a succession of such scenes that she was to pass all her earthly years till death released her? They might be many, for she was young and strong of body. What would it matter now if to-morrow her husband were to greet her gaily and seemingly forgetful of the wounds which he had inflicted on her heart, or even if he expressed himself penitent and desirous to atone for his fit of demoniac fury? Could he efface by a light word, a manufactured smile—as he flattered himself he was able to do—the recollection of his blighting words and deeds?
Love for him was dead, but Pity was now knocking gently at the door of her tender heart. A true compassion for that disordered soul came creeping in. Surely this desperate pass made a stronger claim for her to put forth every effort to help her husband. She might perhaps, when he was calmer, be able to show him the misery which he was inflicting on both their lives by these ungoverned outbursts. She must be more brave and firm for the right than she had been in the past. Other disordered lives had been won over by patience; and was not the great patient Love of One the source of all hope and trust? To that never-failing Love she carried her burden now and found there the promised peace.
Unfolding her muslin dress, she drew forth the pitiful fragments of the shattered thing of beauty, and opening heralmirah, brought out an old box which had been one of the treasures of her childish days. Into it she reverently laid the relics, wrapping them in a fold of paper on which she wrote the words: "The True," and the date of the tragedy. She stowed the box safely away, fearing lest even her ayah should discover it and marvel at the fate of the much-prized treasure.
Joy and bustle reigned supreme in the corner house of Salamander Street, Vepery. Even its shabby exterior, with patches of chunam peeling off, disclosing its flimsy walls of lath and mud, was sharing in the dawn of coming prosperity. For had not its tenant, Mrs. Baltus, received a letter from Mrs. Matilda Rouat, her well-to-do widowed sister-in-law in Calcutta, announcing that she was desirous of paying her a lengthened visit as a paying guest? The impulse which prompted the decision was an unselfish one in the main. Rumours had lately reached Mrs. Rouat that her sister-in-law was in straitened circumstances. Being a shrewd and not unkindly soul, she decided that she might lighten the domestic burden and at the same time break the monotony of her days in Chandrychoke, the Eurasian quarter of the city where she had lived all her life.
Mrs. Rouat had even been thoughtful enough to forward "an advance"—without which important adjunct it is well nigh impossible to set the wheels of labour moving among Eastern artizans. A basket-work mender squatted in the verandah splicing the dilapidated bamboo chairs which formed the principal furniture of the bungalow rooms. Another was deftly patching the rattan-matting on the floors in case Aunt Tilly's ponderous form should be laid prone by reason of its many dangerous slits. The butler, a newly enlisted functionary—having been dismissed from higher service owing to the discovery of clumsy pilfering—was flying about in a crumpled tunic, a relic of better days, his turban all awry, trying to impress "missus" with his zeal in her service. On the little gravel sweep with its border of burnt-up grass, stood a miscellaneous collection of furniture, almirahs, cots, washstands, all receiving, at the hands of a scantily clad coolie, a coat of liquid which he called "Frenchee polishee," but which was really a cheap decoction that, in spite of the strong sun-rays, would retain its stickiness till it proved the object of much vituperation to all whose fingers came in contact with it. Mrs. Baltus, however, was charmed with its rejuvenating effect on her ancient furniture, and stepped about briskly trying to get her money's worth out of the various workers, while her daughter Leila sat darning rents in the muslin curtains, and pondering as to what were her most pressing needs and desires when she got Aunt Tilly to open her purse at the drapery counter of Messrs. Oakes & Co.
Mrs. Rouat was a great contrast to her lean, brown-skinned sister-in-law. She was almost blonde in colouring, her cheeks were ruddy, and her suffused watery eyes distinctly blue; while her treble chin, stout figure, and condition of well-to-do preservation suggested that she belonged to one of the lower orders of the British race rather than to one who had any admixture of Oriental blood. Being considerably upset by her three days at sea, Mrs. Rouat at first was quite satisfied to recline in a long bamboo chair while she listened to her sister-in-law's narrations concerning the hard times they had undergone, or was entertained by her niece playing a jingling tune on the wheezy old piano.
Presently, however, Aunt Tilly got tired of the four chunam walls of the sitting-room, though they had been washed gleaming white for her benefit. She decided that she might even forego in some measure the benefit of the punkah which was swung from the centre of the high ceiling, and shift her quarters to the window where she could entertain herself by watching the passers-by, which she perceived was the chief recreation of her niece.
Being installed there one afternoon she happened to catch sight of one with whose appearance she had once been familiar. In spite of the flight of years which had whitened his head and bent his shoulders, she at once recognised him.
"Well now, Leila, if thatt ain't David Morpeth—him as used to live in the best Eurasian quarter in Calcutta in my back days!"
"Oh, he's no rare sight," returned Leila contemptuously. "You can see him passing any day of the week. He goes in for meetings and clubs—for the good of us Vepery folk, if you please! I give him, and the likes of him, a wide berth."
"And for whatt do you do thatt?" asked Aunt Tilly, in a disapproving voice.
"Oh, they'd like to catch me and tie me to a mission stool. But I'm a match for the likes of them!"
"Well now, Leila, it strikes me you're standin' in your own light as regards thatt one, any way. He was always a good sort, was David Morpeth. I might say one of the best, for his papa and mamma were well set folk in Daramtalla, and David had a grand post in Truelove Brothers. They say he was the first Eurasian they ever made a partner. But whatt did he do but spoil himself with his marriage to a flibberty-gibbet, Rosina Castro, and never had a day's happiness till she died when their boy was born. Flo, her sister, took the boy away to England with her—as if his native land wasn't good enough for him! I don't know whatt became of them. I lost sight of the whole lot. But, Leila, since you say thatt David lives near and often passes, I've a mind to waylay him and have a chat about old times. No, I'll do better than thatt. I'll just make bold and give him a call—and take you with me. Suppose we hire thatt littlee bandy you were speaking of? We can go first to Morpeth's place and then take a drive to the fashionable beach. Yes, thatt will do veree nicely. I'd like to go drivin' up in prettee style to Morpeth's place," she wound up, patting her cinnamon-tinted curls with an air of satisfaction.
"Verree well, Aunt Tilly," replied Leila, delighted to hear that her suggestion of a drive to the beach was responded to, and deciding not to oppose the proposed-visit to Mr. Morpeth, though the project was by no means to her liking. "As like as not his boy will say 'Master can't see,'" she said to herself, "but if he does let us in and he begins coaxin' me about thatt Girls' Club, I'll stand firm. Never will I set foot within thatt door again to be patronised by the like of her"; and Miss Baltus bent over her work with an angry heart.
The hired bandy, its syce arrayed in an out-at-the-elbows blue tunic and turban, arrived duly one afternoon at the door of the house in Salamander Street. The carriage had to wait some time till Mrs. Rouat and her niece had given the finishing touches to their gay visiting toilettes. At length the older lady sank down with a sigh of satisfaction on the cushions provided by her sister-in-law as a needful addition to the springless seats of the country vehicle.
"What a grand bungalow and what a prettee garden!" she exclaimed as the carriage drew up at Mr. Morpeth's house. "It's easy to see he's a man of substance, Leila!"
She inquired in anxious tones if she could have a sight of the master. Mootoo at once showed the visitors into the long library, which was untenanted. The pair remained in a standing posture, Mrs. Rouat's eyes wandering over the room with keen curiosity, while even her niece could not restrain her interest in the interior of the abode with whose exterior she had been familiar all her life.
"Whatt an expense all these prettee books must have been to ship over the black water!" remarked Mrs. Rouat, glancing with awe at the well-filled shelves. "I wonder now if he reads them," she added, recalling with a sigh how long it took her to toil through a single page of print. Leila, who devoured many second-hand yellow backs, smiled with secret scorn at her aunt's remark.
A step was heard approaching, and the master of the house appeared in the doorway. His face wore a puzzled expression as he could not recall that rotund figure with the flabby face framed by cinnamon-hued curls, who rose to meet him with a broad smile and outstretched hands. Leila he knew by sight, and from Mrs. Fellowes' description was able to identify her as the girl who had obtruded herself mysteriously into the verandah at Clive's Road. He decided that the visit must have some connection with her—perhaps she had repented of her resentful attitude and was wishing to connect herself with the Girls' Club.
With this thought passing rapidly through his mind he begged his visitors to be seated; but Mrs. Rouat did not long leave him in doubt as to the reason of her call.
"You don't recognise an old acquaintance, Mr. Morpeth?" she asked, setting her head on one side and looking up into his face. "Leastways, an acquaintance of your late wife, Rosina. Ah, she was a prettee creature!" she added, with a heavy manufactured sigh.
Mr. Morpeth still looked mystified, so she continued in a higher key:
"So you don't mind Tilly Buttons as used to live next door to your Rosina in Chandrychoke? But I've got one of the best houses in the quarter now, though I'm onlee a poor widow. I was well endowed by the late Mr. Rouat. Ah, he was a good husband."
Recollection was dawning on Mr. Morpeth.
"Yes, I remember your name," he said slowly. "And you are a widow now. Time brings changes!"
He glanced now at Leila, who sat with a constrained air, averting her eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Morpeth," said Mrs. Rouat, mopping her face with her damp handkerchief. "It is true whatt you say! How beautifulee you put it. Time does bring changes! And to you, too, time has brought changes."
"And you, have you left Calcutta and come to live in Vepery?" Mr. Morpeth asked, preferring to divert the conversation from matters personal to himself.
"Live in Vepery! No thank you, not when I have the most beautiful up-stair house in all Chandrychoke, besides a good bit of house property round about! No, I'm onlee on a visit to my poor widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Sarah Baltus."
"Ah, yes, and you are Mrs. Baltus' daughter?" said Mr. Morpeth, looking with a kindly smile on Leila.
"She is, and as nice a girl as ever stepped," chimed in Mrs. Rouat with a gratified air, "though I allow she's a bit stand-offish in manner for her station in life," she added apologetically, noting her niece's defiant, sulky air. "But things is going to look up now thatt I've come. I'm going to give them a good lift up before I've done. Some fine parties and some nice drives to the fashionable beach will set them up wonderful." Mrs. Rouat rolled her eyes upon her niece, who still sat with a sullen air; Mr. Morpeth made no comment on the programme.
"And so you live all alone in this veree fine house?" continued Mrs. Rouat, now fixing her eyes interrogatively on Mr. Morpeth's face. "Ah, wouldn't this grand bungalow have pleased Rosina! She was thatt fond of style! Ah, well, she's gone, but it was a thousand peeties you didn't keep hold on thatt child—a fine boy he was. But Rosina had set her heart on sending him across the black water to make an Englishman of him, and so you let Flo take him. Oh, it was a peety! Just think what a comfort he might have been to you now."
Mrs. Rouat's benevolent face looked with concern on the bent frame of the acquaintance of her youth. "What's become of him? I hope he is still in the land of the livin'?" she asked, seeing Mr. Morpeth's face grow grey and drawn.
He seemed to hesitate whether he should break the silence. At length, with evident effort, he replied:
"No, my son is not dead. He still lives."
Then, determining to change the subject, he turned to Leila and fixed his searching eyes on her.
"And you take care of your mother in Salamander Street?" he said encouragingly.
"Mrs. Baltus is quite able to take care of herself," she returned. "I live with her because I've been jilted and have nowhere else to live," said the girl, tossing her head.
"Oh, my gracious, what rubbishee stuff is this?" cried her aunt with uplifted hands. "Never did I hear the like."
Deciding that since Leila was so sulky and her host so "stuck-up," she would rather enjoy the hired bandy in bowling along the Madras roads than remain longer surrounded by those awe-inspiring books. She rose to take leave, much to the relief of her niece, who later recounted to her mother that "it was quite a wasted hour. The man was as stiff as a poker and wished Aunt Tilly and her twaddle at the bottom of the sea!"
Mrs. Rouat took her seat among the cushions in the bandy with a sense of disappointment. Her visit had evidently not been a pleasure to her old acquaintance.
"Sure, I wanted nothing more from David Morpeth but a hearty word for the sake of old times!" she sighed.
"Maybe, Aunt Tilly, but the man's so used to Eurasian beggars he could only credit us with being on some such whining errand."
"Oh, fie, Leila Baltus, youarebitter! How could he class us with such? But I don't think he half liked my rippin' up his old mess by referrin' to Rosina though," added Mrs. Rouat musingly. "'Pon my word, he turned as white as a pucka Englishman at the veree mention of her name."
"My gracious, from whatt you've been tellin' me about Rosina I think he must have been precious glad to be rid of her—and her brat too! But it was when you spoke of the son thatt he grew so white. I was sharp enough to see thatt. Anyhow I'm glad I choked off any fuss about my joinin' the Girls' Club. He didn't even get a word in sideways about thatt, though I read in his eye he'd have liked to have a try!"
"And whatt if he did? It would only be for your good! But whatt ever was thatt nonsense you were speakin' about bein' jilted? Was it all a make-up?"
"A make-up! I wish it were," returned Leila bitterly. "I suppose I am not the onlee woman who has had thatt trouble. But if she's not a fool she'll get even with the man, as I mean to do yet!"
This remark was lost on Mrs. Rouat, owing to the jingling of the bandy on the laterite road, and conversation flagged amid the distractions of the surroundings.
The drive to the beach was such an unwonted experience to Leila that she soon recovered her equanimity, while her aunt enjoyed herself lolling back among the cushions. The growing heat of the day made the comparative coolness of the evening welcome to the jaded dwellers in Madras. The south wind with its accompaniment of damp and red dust was now replaced by gentle zephyrs from the golden west. Leila was anxious to make the most of her rare opportunity of seeing "the quality," and also desirous to impress her aunt with the elegance of her surroundings. She directed the bandy-wallah to drive along Government Park Road and cross the fine bridge over the Cooum from where they could catch a better glimpse of the island which, in spite of the waxing heat, still glimmered green, so that one could hardly believe the close grimy streets of Black Town were not a mile distant from the verdant retreat.
There was still a number of carriages driving beach-wards, although the exodus to the hills had begun. Those whose lot it was to linger on the hot plains, having less energy for paying calls or taking part in gymkhanas, always at this evening hour drove to the shore to breathe the sea air. The occupants of the various carriages were often content to conduct conversations with each other while sitting in their respective chariots. Some, more enterprising, alighted and took a stroll on the well-kept promenade which flanked the expanse of sand sloping to the waves, where a little company of pale-faced English babies trotted about, pecking at the wet sand with their tiny spades, guarded by their ayahs and boys who squatted beside them, ever their devoted slaves, patiently erecting mimic sand forts and bridges to be imperiously annihilated by their little lords and masters.
Desirous of getting the full benefit of each phase of the evening, Mrs. Rouat insisted that her bandy should take a good place among the ranks of carriages. She reclined for some time talking volubly, watching with delight the English children disporting themselves, and taking a keen interest in the growing throng of carriages, estimating their owners by the elegance of their equipages, while the smart morning toilettes, fresh from the latest box from home, were a source of inspiration to both aunt and niece, and projects were set on foot for their imitation as nearly as might be reached by thedersai.
Presently Mrs. Rouat announced that she desired to alight and mingle with the strollers, which seemed the "most chic thing to do," as she expressed it, especially as she realised that the bandy did not make such an elegant setting for herself and her handsome niece as she desired.
With Leila's help her ponderous person was safely landed on the pavement, and the pair set out on their promenade to make a closer inspection of the "fine societee."
"Now, Leila, here comes whatt I call a downright handsome pair," Mrs. Rouat remarked enthusiastically, as a young couple came towards them. "Oh, my, whatt a lovelee lady! I haven't seen such a beautee all my days!"
Her niece had caught sight of the pair a moment before as they drove up in their shining landau. Her keen eye had watched the gentleman help the lady to alight, and she knew that she was coming face to face with Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Rayner. With darkening visage and beating heart she walked by her aunt's side, who fortunately, in her excitement over the "prettee lady," had unlinked her arm from her niece's, else she would have felt the tremor that was passing over the girl's frame.
Mrs. Rouat's stare was so marked that Hester could not help being conscious of it. She decided that she must be some Vepery mother who knew her, then she caught sight of the girl's haughty face marked by rage and hate as she fixed her gaze on her husband, who met it with a stony stare of well-assumed unrecognition.
"Oh my gracious me, whatt's the matter now, Leila Baltus?" exclaimed her aunt. "You look all the colours of the rainbow! Has this walking business been too much for you? Come, let's turn! My legs has got a straightenin'. But, girl, whatever's ailin' you? Why are you glowerin' after thatt couple as if you could stick them? They ain't no friends of yours, surelee! They're too high up for thatt."
"Friends of mine!" echoed the girl with a harsh laugh. "The devil's my friend if that man is! I'll not hide it from you, Aunt Tilly, now you've spotted him. He's the veree one that jilted me most foully—went off and wed thatt one in England when he should have wedded me. Oh, I hate her! Don't tell me she's a beautee! My feelin's won't bear it"; and the girl threw herself into the bandy, covered her face and sobbed convulsively.
"Well I never! This is a prettee kettle of fish! You in an open carriage sittin' howlin' like a babee. Come now, Leila, be sensible! Put your hat straight, fan your eyes, and tell me all about this jilt of yours. My word, he looks bold enough! He seems to feature someone to my mind. Whatt's his name, Leila?"
"Alfred Rayner," responded the girl, her wild paroxysm being succeeded by a sullen air.
"Alfred Rayner, did you say?" exclaimed Mrs. Rouat in open-mouthed astonishment. "Why, if thatt isn't the veree name I was chasin' after in my head when I sat in that fine libraree of David Morpeth's. Rayner was Flo's name, and Rosina called her boy Alfred, thinkin' it a veree grand name. He's Rosina's boy! He's handsome, but a pert lookin' baggage, the very image of his mother! Well, if this isn't an odd meetin' on the Madras beach!"
"Then Alf Rayner's old Morpeth's son? La, whatt a lark!" said the girl, with an alert expression coming into her eyes. "Do you know, Aunt Tilly, he sets up for hating us Eurasians like poison—and he's as much a half-caste as any of us!"
"Of course he is! Did you ever doubt it, you silly? With my fair complexion—I pass, but Rosina's son—never!"
"Oh my gracious, but this is a joke," laughed Leila harshly. "Why, I've begun to be even with the man already! Didn't he taunt my mother that he never dreamed of marryin' among the like of us? This is a prime secret you've let us into, Aunt Tilly! I'm sure his elegant wife doesn't know he's a half-caste!"
"More than like the lad don't know it himself," returned her aunt, shaking her head. "His Aunt Flo was as big a fibber as was goin', and a boaster into the bargain! She'd never have let him into the truth—not if she could keep it from him!"
"I say, Aunt Tilly," said Leila eagerly. "Wouldn't it be a good joke to look in on them one fine afternoon when you have the bandy again and let out the secret on them? 'Twould be a bombshell to Alf as well as to thatt proud English ladee! She don't look half such a beautee as she did when I first caught sight of her. Well, whatt do you say to my plan?"
"Wouldn't it be kind of spiteful?" objected Mrs. Rouat. "Mind you, Leila, I don't go in with malice!"
"Well then, couldn't we just pay them a visit as you did Mr. Morpeth? Your veree clever at managing, and you would get a sight of their lovelee fine house into the bargain."
"I own I'd like to have another good look at Rosina's boy and that prettee wife of his. But I can't afford to hire the bandy again for a bit."
"Oh, as to thatt, Alf won't run away. A call will do any time," the girl wound up, resolving that before many days elapsed she would lead Aunt Tilly triumphantly to Clive's Road and at last "be even" with the man she hated.
"There are only half-caste bounders crawling about here, Hester," said Alfred Rayner irritably, after the encounter with Leila Baltus and her aunt. "Mrs. Glanton and all our acquaintances have gone to the hills. Go where you will, seemingly, you only get stared at by these odious creatures. Suppose we go towards the Ice House, where we may get a chance of the pavement to ourselves."
Hester agreed, nothing loth to prolong her walk, and they wandered on facing the coast with its circling outlets and the great swelling ocean flooded now by the evanescent afterglow of the setting sun. Hester's eye was fascinated by the tender spreading light. She was gazing intently seaward, and did not notice the solitary pedestrian who was slowly approaching them. Her husband did, however, and now and here in this peaceful gloaming was to be enacted a supreme tragedy for two lives. Not till they were face to face did Hester perceive that the solitary walker was none other than David Morpeth. Her heart throbbed uneasily, for she had remarked that more than once even the mention of his name had been the signal for a furious outburst on her husband's part. Her face betrayed her nervousness as she bowed and smiled. But to-night David Morpeth had no eyes for his sweet young friend who held such a warm place in his heart. A letter had reached him from Mr. Fyson of Truelove Brothers some days ago which definitely told him that Alfred was now aware of their close relationship, though Mr. Fyson had refrained from sharing with him the cruel words in which Alfred announced that for the future he rejected with disdain his father's allowance. This was a crucial moment for both—their first meeting since the son was in possession of the secret of his birth. For a second he stared with a searching, fascinated glance at his father's face; while the father, as he raised his hat to Hester, was casting a yearning look of love and longing upon his son. Then he held out his hand, not to Hester, but to his son. Had Alfred willed it, a moment more and life might have been changed for both these defrauded ones! But the young man's corrupted will leant all the other way. He held his hand stiffly by his side, saying:
"Come along, Hester, the breeze is getting chilly!" He put his arm in hers and almost pulled her away. "Didn't I tell you the beach was simply crawling with these half-castes to-night," he muttered, as he pushed past his father with an angry scowl.
The old man's hand dropped. His face took an ashen hue. The bedrock of trouble had been fathomed. He gazed after his son with a face of unutterable sorrow.
"Oh my God!" he groaned. "Save him from the curse of spurning a father's love! Is this my punishment for the sore blunder I made in keeping a rash vow?" And he moved on with the step of a broken man.
"Alfred, how could you? Oh, this is terrible," murmured Hester, with a look of horror mingled with fear as she glanced at her husband's scowling face. She felt she must protest, whatever it cost her. "Did you not see he wanted to speak to us?—to you particularly? He even held out his hand to you and you were so cold—oh, so cruel!"
"Yes, I meant to be! There's no other way of choking off these half-castes. I tell you, Hester, if you want to be a good wife to me you'll cut all that connection with Vepery. It's only a perpetual annoyance to both of us."
Hester made no reply, and was glad to take refuge in the carriage and be driven swiftly home without exchanging words with her husband. She absented herself from dinner with a sense of physical illness upon her as well as a heart sick with sorrow and shame.
Had she known it, her husband's waking thoughts that evening, as well as his dreams that night, might have found a place in Dante's Inferno. His haggard aspect was piteous to behold when he came down to late breakfast next morning. There had been no rising with the dawn for him; his feverish dreams did not vanish with the night, but made part and parcel of all his daylight hours.
The first frenzy, which succeeded the reception of the secret imparted to Alfred Rayner at the Shrine of Kali had subsided. Never again after the terrible scene in the drawing-room at Clive's Road when he had crushed the ivory box with such ferocity, and the still more poignant one in which he had spurned his father when brought face to face with him, had the unhappy man given way to any ebullition of temper.
Though these incidents were graven as if by hot iron on his wife's heart, she made no allusion to them and even tried to forget them. Her attitude towards her husband was now more like that of a mother to a weak, erring child than that of a young wife to the husband of her choice. Alfred's evident efforts at self-restraint were very patent to her and touched her tender heart many times every day. He seemed in fact to cling to her with almost child-like affection, and she spared no efforts to make the days pass harmoniously. Being deprived of his mail-phaeton, he now accompanied her in her evening drives, never lingering at the Club or other resorts as he had formerly done. The occasion on which they were met by Mrs. Rouat and her niece was one of the many in which no untoward incident had happened. They walked peacefully on the beach or sat in their landau enjoying the rising of the evening breeze, so welcome after the airless hours of the long hot day. But Leila Baltus judged truly when she said that Hester's brilliant beauty had gone. She looked pale and wan, and there was an air of languor about her whole bearing. Her pretty frocks too were becoming stained by the damp red dust, and she was at no pains to replace them. Even her books grew spotted with the red powdering, and she could not open an old favourite without seeing its baleful traces. Intense lassitude invaded her, and sometimes her effort to greet her husband cheerfully seemed well-nigh impossible, though she still kept a brave heart and a cheerful mien, and still joined Mrs. Fellowes at the meeting for the Eurasian girls.
Her friend, however, perceived that there was a subtle change in her. She seemed less frank and accessible than formerly. Recalling with what pleasure she had welcomed the visit to Mr. Morpeth, Mrs. Fellowes suggested they should repeat it one afternoon, but Hester had rejected the proposal almost coldly. Neither did Mrs. Fellowes fail to note how pathetic Mr. Morpeth looked when in a conversation with him she had dwelt on her anxiety concerning their mutual friend. On confiding to him that she and the colonel felt convinced her marriage was not a happy one, she observed that, though he had been about to make some reply, he suddenly lapsed into pained silence and seemed unable to even rouse himself to interest over his schemes for the good of the Vepery people. Alfred Rayner had so often of late come back from the High Court with an air of depression that Hester was surprised one evening when he returned home in his office-bandy in high excitement.
"I've great news for you, my darling," he greeted her gleefully, as he hurried up the verandah steps. "I've been and gone and shaken the pagoda tree, as the natives say, and I've brought down a crop of gold! To the hills at once, Hester, and gather your English roses once more. I can't stand those pale cheeks a day longer."
"But, Alfred," she faltered, recalling her last disappointment and deciding not to be too sanguine. "Why this sudden idea?"
"It's not sudden, I've been thinking of it for some time, and now I can do it," he cried, with an excited laugh. "Is it to be Ooty or Conoor? Which does your fancy turn to?"
"Oh, Ooty would be my choice if we were really going to the hills. Those Blue Mountains—those great grassy slopes they talk about have always fascinated my imagination," replied Hester, with a dreamy smile.
"Well, Ooty, be it! I think you're right. I shall wire at once and see if we can get rooms at an ideal boarding-house I know. I'm particularly anxious to be off at once. I've a case in Court to-morrow, but the day after we can start. Now, all you've got to do is to pack up and 'Come away all for the sake of a holiday'"; and humming the then popular song, Rayner hurried off to his writing-room for the telegram forms.
The evening was spent in talk concerning the coming holiday and the planning of expeditions, for Mr. Rayner had spent a vacation month at Ootacamund previous to his furlough and knew it fairly well. He decided that it would be well to send a letter to follow his telegram to the lady-manager of the boarding-house where he hoped to get rooms. On leaving for the High Court next morning he carried the letter with him.
"I'll not even trust it with my othertappalin case of misadventure," he remarked. "When the reply to my wire arrives be sure to open it so that you may not be kept an unnecessary moment from your happy prospect. Won't it be joy to me to carry you off from these vile plains to the glorious Blue Mountains! It'll be worth everything," he added enigmatically, as he drove off.
Her husband's delight in the prospect was infectious. Hester smiled in sympathy and began to busy herself with preparations, bringing forth her warmest garments which had been stowed away in camphor by her careful ayah.
The day passed all too quickly. The hour for Mr. Rayner's return and the evening drive had arrived, when a shabby bandy was driven up to the verandah steps. Two visitors descended from it and were shown to the drawing-room by the butler. Hester, on going to receive them, at once recognised one of them as the haughty-looking girl who had mysteriously presented herself at the "Friendly" and in her verandah. It was, however, the older woman, unknown to her, who took the lead. She rose from the comfortable chair in which she had seated herself and addressed Hester with a broad smile on her face.
"Maybe you'll not know me. I'm Mistress Rouat from Chandrychoke, Calcutta, on a visit to my sister-in-law—this young lady's mother in Vepery."
"I'm glad to see you, Mrs. Rouat," said Hester, deciding that at last the wilful niece had been brought as a prospective member of the Girls' Club by this benevolent-looking aunt, though on glancing at the girl she was obliged to admit that her haughty demeanour was not hopeful. She made no response to Hester's friendly outstretched hand, but stood quite still, then with a nod to her aunt she resumed her seat.
Mrs. Rouat leaned back in her chair and fixed her eyes on Hester.
"Though you don't know me, my dear, and maybe your husband won't either, seeing he was but a babee when he last saw me, yet believe me, Mrs. Rayner, I am a veree old friend of the family! Your husband's dead mother, Rosina Castro, and me was veree chief when we lived next door in Chandrychoke—thatt's the Eurasian quarter—or one of them, in Calcutta, in case you don't know, bein', as I hear, new from England. Also Mr. David Morpeth, your husband's father, was well known to me. In fact I had the pleasure of calling for him the other day——"
"Mr. Morpeth! I don't quite understand," faltered Hester. "I think you are making some mistake. Mr. Morpeth is in no way related to my husband."
"Ain't he just," said Leila, with a harsh laugh.
"It's you thatt's makin' the mistake, ladee," Mrs. Rouat went on. "Alfred Rayner is David Morpeth's veree own son, born in lawful wedlock, I do assure you, and there's others can vouch for thatt as well as me. The good man himself will not deny it if you was puttin' it to him, he was always a truth-lovin' man was David, veree different from his late wife, Rosina."
Mrs. Rouat glanced uneasily at Hester, and reminded herself that she must keep in mind the close relationship of the "parties."
"Your information is incorrect," said Hester firmly. "Unfortunately my husband has no relatives in India or anywhere else. His father and mother both died when he was a child," she added placidly, never doubting the truth of her assertion.
"Tell thatt to your grandmother," interjected Leila, with a rude laugh. "It's easy to see, Aunt Tilly, she's been taken in by Alfred's lies same as I was till he jilted me," ended the girl, with a spiteful glance on the paling face of the woman she hated.
Hester rose from her chair, folded her hands, and said in a restrained voice:
"I must ask you to excuse me! Boy, call the carriage," she added, calling the butler. Then she passed out of the room, leaving the aunt and niece staring at each other with discomforted air.
"Perhaps I acted a little suddenly," murmured Hester to herself, as she climbed the stair to her room. "But Alfred may be here at any time, and if he found these two Eurasians seated in the drawing-room, I really could not answer for the consequences! I suppose their extraordinary tale has been manufactured by that fat person. It does seem very odd—and what was that the girl said about Alfred having jilted her? Perhaps she is under some hallucination, but I dare not mention it to Alfred. One of these terrible fits of temper would be sure to follow, and just when we are going to try to be happy and throw off all our worries on the Blue Mountains."
But the longer Hester's thoughts dwelt on the visitors' tale, the more uncomfortable she felt. She recalled how the woman had mentioned Mr. Morpeth, and decided that her husband's aversion to the good Eurasian must be known to the community.
"There was evident malice in it all. What a cruel plot to spring upon us all of a sudden!" she said to herself, as she busied herself with preparations for the coming journey, finding relief from her troubled thoughts.
Soon, however, she began to wonder why her husband was delaying his return. The landau had been waiting for some time for the evening drive, but at length she dismissed it to the stables, not being inclined for a solitary drive. The hour for dinner arrived and still he did not appear, nor was there any message from him which surprised her, since he had been unfailingly punctual of late. After her lonely dinner she betook herself to her home-letters for the outgoing mail on the following day, eager to share with her dear ones the great news that she was to exchange the hot winds and red dust for the breezy Neilgherry Hills.
It was not till nearly midnight that she began to grow really anxious about her husband's non-appearance. All was silent about the house. The butler had gone for the night to his own home in one of the villages near. The other servants had retired to their godowns, and the maty-boy in charge lay on his mat in deep slumber in a back verandah. Even the ayah had retired to her corner in the room next to her mistress's, having first paid one or two visits to see whether "Dosani" was not thinking of going to bed. Still Hester sat in the verandah, looking out on the vivid dark blue of the cloudless sky, inhaling the penetrating scents of the aromatic shrubs which bounded the gravel sweep. Sometimes she fancied she caught the sound of an approaching footfall, but decided it was only a stirring among the ghost-like trees. Once or twice she dozed, to awaken with a start as if someone was whispering her name, but only the mingling eerie sounds of the Indian night fell on her listening ear.