“My dear, it was what you said that gave me courage to do it. I wanted to throw the plates at him, or box his ears, or something of that kind; and while I was trying to repress the impulse you answered him, and I was in such abject terror as to what he might go on to say that I spoke in desperation.”
“Nice little girl that—fine eyes,” said Mr Crayne to his nephew later. “The one who stood up for Keeling, I mean. Anything between them?”
“Certainly not, sir,” replied Ferrers with decision. “Quite the contrary.”
“Oho, that’s the way the wind blows, eh? Well, sir, understand me. There’s to be no talk of anything of the sort until you’re back from Gamara, d’ye hear? The Government won’t send a married man, and for once they’re right. If you do anything foolish, I’ll ruin you. No, it won’t be necessary—you’ll ruin yourself. Be off.”
Ferrers returned to his room at Colin’s quarters in a somewhat subdued frame of mind. He had fully intended to get Penelope to marry him before he started for Gamara, not so much, it must be confessed, with the idea of providing for her as of precluding any possibility of a change of feeling on her part. This was now out of the question; but it occurred to him as a consolation that the nature of his errand would appeal to her so strongly that he might feel quite secure. The future looked very promising as he mounted Colin’s steps; but even as he did so, his past rose up to greet him. A beggar was crouching in the shadow of one of the pillars of the verandah, and held up his hand in warning as Ferrers was about to shout angrily for the watchman to come and turn him off.
“It is I, sahib. The business is urgent. To-morrow you will see your desires fulfilled, but there is still one thing to be done. Give me an order to Jones Sahib at Shah Nawaz for two sowars, whom I shall choose, to accompany me on the track of a notorious marauder.”
“But what has this to do with our affair? Who’s the fellow?”
“Nay, sahib; have you not yet learnt that there are questions it were better not to ask? Fear not; the man shall be duly tracked and followed, but he shall not be brought in alive, nor shall his body be found. On this all depends.”
“Look here,” said Ferrers; “do you mean to tell me you are proposing to murder Major Keeling in cold blood, and hide his body in the sand? Give me a straight answer.”
“Nay, sahib,” said the Mirza unwillingly, “not Kīlin Sahib—it is the other. He must not be found to-morrow.”
“The other? What other?”
“Him that you know of. Why make this pretence? The man must die, or all our work goes for naught.”
“I don’t know of any one of the kind, and I’m hanged if I know what you’re driving at. But it seems you’re trying to get me to countenance a murder, and I’m going to have you put in prison.”
“Nay, sahib, not so,” said the Mirza softly. “There are many things I could tell Kīlin Sahib and Haigh Sahib’s Mem which they would like to know. And they would tell the Miss Sahib, and what then?”
Ferrers hesitated for a moment. Could he allow the facts to which the Mirza alluded to become public? His uncle might laugh at them, though there were details by which even he would be disgusted, but Colin and Penelope would never speak to him again—of that he was certain. He moved away from the steps.
“Go,” he said. “I will not give you the order you ask for, but if you keep secret what you know, I will allow you to escape.”
“Then you will let Kīlin Sahib go free?”
“Most certainly, if I can only convict him with the help of murder.”
“And all that I have done—my services, my duty to those who sent me forth—am I to have no satisfaction?”
“You shall have a halter if you don’t take yourself off. Never let me see your face again.”
“Nay, sahib, think not you can cast me off; our fates are joined together. Rāss Sahib and his sister may seem to have gained possession of you for a time, but it is not so. The contest is yet to come, and the victory will be mine. We shall meet, and before very long, and you will know the full extent of the power I have over you.” The confidence of the man’s tone made Ferrers’ blood run cold. He took a step towards him, but the Mirza seemed to vanish into the darkness, and, search as he would, he could find no trace of him.
Ferrers’ sleep was disturbed that night. He had often puzzled over the difficulty of breaking off his intercourse with the Mirza, but now that the Gordian knot had been cut for him he did not feel happy. It was clear that, for some reason or other, he could not imagine why, the evidence against Major Keeling was destined to break down, and this made it seem probable that he had been duped all along. And yet, as he had said to Penelope, how could he disbelieve the witness of his own eyes? He tossed and tumbled upon his bed, turning things over in his mind involuntarily and as if of necessity, as often happens in the wakeful hours of night. When at length he fell asleep, he woke again in horror, with a cold sweat breaking out all over him. What a detestable dream that had been! and yet it seemed to have no sense in it. There was a snake, and in some way or other the snake was also the Mirza, and Penelope was standing between him and it, trying to defend him. He himself seemed unable to move, and only wondered stupidly how it was that the snake did not attack Penelope. Then she stood aside for a moment, and he felt that the snake was beckoning to him—but how could it, when it was a snake?—and he slipped past Penelope, only to find that the snake was coiling itself round him. It was cold and clammy and stifling; its head was close to his face; it was just about to strike its murderous fangs into his temple, when not Penelope but Colin seized it by the neck and dragged it away, calling out, “George! George! get up!” With a vague idea that the snake had bitten Colin he sat up, to find that it was morning, and Colin was standing in the doorway of his room, and shouting to him to wake. For a moment he stared at him with eyes of horror, then looked round for the snake, and, realising that it was all a dream, smiled feebly.
“You must have been having frightful nightmare,” said Colin. “You were lying on your back and groaning shockingly, and the mosquito-net has fallen down, and you’ve got it all twisted round you. Your boy must have fastened it very carelessly.”
“Oh, I’ll blow him up about it. Enough to give one bad dreams, isn’t it? with this horrible row going on as well. Of course it’s the eclipse to-day.”
An eclipse had been predicted, to begin in the course of the morning, and all the Hindus in the town were doing their heroic best to rescue the sun from the clutches of the black monster which was intending to devour it. Tom-toms, gongs, and fireworks were among the remedies tried, apparently with the idea of frightening away the monster before he came near enough to do the sun any harm, and every native appeared also to think it his duty to howl, groan, or shriek with all his might. Ferrers and Colin took theirchoti hazirito the accompaniment of deafening uproar, and when one of the Haighs’ servants appeared to say that Mr Crayne desired his nephew’s presence at once at the fort, they could scarcely hear his message.
Ferrers was in no uncertainty as to the reason for this summons, for Colin had mentioned having seen Major Keeling riding by in the direction of the fort, doubtless to apologise to the Commissioner for his absence the evening before. The moment had come, and he mounted his horse and rode soberly through the town, feeling confident of the strength of his evidence, and yet nervous as to the result of the trial. On the verandah before the Haighs’ quarters Lady Haigh and Penelope were wandering restlessly with anxious faces, exchanging frightened whispers now and then, and starting whenever the sound of raised voices reached them from the drawing-room.
“What can it be?” asked Lady Haigh breathlessly, forgetting her dislike of Ferrers. “It must be something dreadful. They have been quarrelling frightfully.”
Ferrers made some excuse, he did not know what, and hurried indoors. In the drawing-room Mr Crayne was seated magisterially in the largest chair, Major Keeling was striding up and down with spurs and sword clanking, and Sir Dugald was leaning against the window-frame, looking unutterably worried and disgusted.
“So this,” said Major Keeling, pausing in his walk as Ferrers entered, and speaking in a voice hoarse with passion,—“this is the spy you employ to bring false accusations against me?”
“My nephew is no spy, sir, and it is for you to prove that the accusations are false,” said Mr Crayne, quailing a little under the fire of the other’s eyes.
“Oh, pardon me. When I find one of my own officers set to watch and report upon my movements—— Why, he doesn’t even do that. He invents movements for me, and founds lies upon them. Spy is not the word——”
“Keep cool, Major,” interjected Sir Dugald.
“You will not improve your cause by this violence, sir,” said Mr Crayne, relieved from his imminent fear of a personal assault. “I understand that Captain Ferrers’ attention was first drawn to your proceedings when he was following your advice and paying visits at night to different parts of his district to see that the patrols worked properly. It is for him to say what he has seen, and for you then to justify yourself. Captain Ferrers, you will be good enough to repeat what you told me some nights ago.”
Ferrers told his story, Major Keeling gathering up his sword and creeping to and fro with noiseless steps and set face, in a way which reminded the Commissioner unpleasantly of a tiger stalking its prey. When Ferrers ceased speaking, he turned upon Mr Crayne.
“I fancy I could shed a little light on the beginning of that story,” he said, with restrained fury, “but I won’t ask any questions now. You accuse me of personating the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and applying his allowance from the Company to my own use. Perhaps you accuse me of murdering him as well?”
“No,” murmured Sir Dugald, as no one answered, “they ‘don’t believe there’s no sich a person.’”
“Well, there is only one way of clearing myself, and that is to produce the Sheikh-ul-Jabal. I’ll have him here, dead or alive, before sunset, if I have to pull Sheikhgarh stone from stone to get him.”
“By all means,” said Mr Crayne. “The course you suggest would be far more effective than any amount of shouting.”
“Wait until you are accused as I am before you talk of shouting,” was the explosive answer. “Haigh, come with me.”
“Oh, what is it? what is it?” cried Lady Haigh and Penelope together as the two men emerged from the room.
“It’s a fiendish plot,” said Major Keeling. “Don’t come near me, Lady Haigh. If I have done what they say, I have no business to breathe the same air with you and Miss Ross.”
“But you haven’t! We know you haven’t—don’t we, Pen? Whatever it is, we know you didn’t do it. And you’re going to prove it, and make them ashamed of themselves! Don’t say you mayn’t be able to. You must.”
“Thanks, thanks!” He held out one hand to her and the other to Penelope. “While you two ladies and Haigh believe in me, there’s something to live for still. Haigh, you and I are going to make straight for Sheikhgarh, and try fair means first. I am glad I didn’t ride Miani this morning, in case I don’t come back. We will leave orders with Porter to march to our support if he gets a message.”
They rode out of the gateway, followed by Major Keeling’s two orderlies, gave Captain Porter his orders, and struck off across the desert to the south-west, in the direction taken by Ferrers and the Mirza a week before. By the time they reached the hills the eclipse was just beginning, and in the ghastly half-light, which seemed to be destitute of all warmth and to suck the colour from the rocks and sand, they pushed on towards the fortress. It was not long before they were challenged and their path barred by a patrol wearing the white and scarlet dress of the brotherhood. Major Keeling bade the orderlies remain where they were, taking precautions against surprise, and if neither Sir Dugald nor himself had returned in an hour, to ride for their lives to Alibad and Captain Porter.
“Tell the Sheikh-ul-Jabal,” he said to the men who had stopped him, “that his friend Keeling Sahib is here, and desires to see him on a matter of great importance to them both.”
One of the men was sent with the message, and presently returned to say that the Sheikh was willing to give audience to the visitors if they would consent to be blindfolded until they reached his presence. Sir Dugald demurred, whereupon his leader told him to stay with the orderlies if he liked, but not to cavil about trifles, and he submitted. Their horses led by a man on either side, they rode on, able only to distinguish that the path wound uphill and downhill a good deal, and was sometimes pebbly and sometimes rocky. Then they passed under an echoing gateway, where their guides warned Major Keeling to stoop, and across a paved courtyard, and were told they must dismount. Sir Dugald felt to make sure that his sword was loose in the scabbard and his pistols untouched, and allowed himself to be guided up a flight of steps. They entered some building, and the bandages were removed from the eyes of the two Englishmen. The light was very imperfect, for the eclipse was approaching totality, but they were able to distinguish a majestic bearded figure in white and scarlet facing them.
“Sheikh Sahib,” began Major Keeling impulsively; but he was interrupted by an involuntary exclamation from Sir Dugald—
“Why, the beggar’s the living image of you, Major!”
A smile passed over the features of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and he ordered the attendants to bring lights. Torches arrived, and Major Keeling gazed in astonishment into a face which was bewilderingly reminiscent of his own, while Sir Dugald compared the two feature by feature, and could find no difference.
“This explains the mystery, then!” he said.
“Why, so it does!” said Major Keeling, “and Ferrers is not quite the hound we thought him. Did you know of this likeness?” he asked of the Sheikh.
“I discovered it the night we met in the desert,” was the answer, “and the reports of my disciples would have informed me of it if I had not. It has had advantages for both of us,” and he smiled again.
“It will have very grievous disadvantages for both of us,” cried Major Keeling, “unless you will go to Alibad at once and see the Commissioner. He thinks I have personated you to get your allowance, and he is determined to thresh the matter out.”
The Sheikh considered the request gravely. “Will the Commissioner Sahib come here if I do not go to him?” he asked.
“If he doesn’t, Captain Porter will come, and the Khemistan Horse with him. The Commissioner means to satisfy himself about this, and he is not one to be turned aside.”
“I have heard of him. But what if he should keep me a prisoner?”
“I have thought of that. I will remain here as a hostage, while you go to Alibad with Lieutenant Haigh here. Never mind about your vow. It’s the best day you could have in the year, for the sun isn’t shining, and if it was, it would be better to dispense yourself from your vow than have your fort destroyed.”
“Kīlin Sahib speaks wisely,” said the Sheikh, stroking his beard. “Let the children be called,” he said to a servant. The two Englishmen waited in some perplexity while the three children whom Ferrers had seen were summoned from behind a curtain. The boys came forward with eager interest; but the girl, who drew her head-shawl across her mouth, eyed the visitors with unconcealed hostility.
“Ashraf Ali,” said the Sheikh to the eldest boy, “this Sahib will remain here as a hostage while I ride to Alibad with his friend. You will deal with him as the Sahibs there deal with me. If they kill me, you will kill him, and defend the fort to the last. Take your post in the gate-tower, and keep good watch, while your brother remains to watch the Sahib.”
The boy seemed perturbed, and drew the Sheikh aside. “He is armed,” they heard him say, looking askance at Major Keeling’s sword, “and while I am keeping watch he may frighten the women, and make them help him to escape.”
“I won’t give up my sword to any man on earth!” cried Major Keeling hotly, anticipating the demand which would follow; but after a pause, as the Sheikh looked round at him doubtfully, he added, regardless of Sir Dugald’s muttered expostulations, “I see your difficulty, and I’ll take a leaf out of your book, and dispense myself from part of my vow. I will intrust my sword to your daughter, if she will honour me by taking charge of it.”
“Wazira Begum,” said the Sheikh, “take the Sahib’s sword, and keep it safely until I ask for it again.”
The girl came forward reluctantly, and, darting a look of hatred at the Englishmen, took the sword as if it defiled her fingers, and retreated with it behind the curtain. Sir Dugald’s protests against Major Keeling’s remaining were met by a peremptory order to be off at once, and he unwillingly allowed himself to be blindfolded again. The Sheikh’s horse was brought round, and he rode away with Sir Dugald and a dozen followers. Major Keeling sat down on the divan, and prepared to wait with what patience he might. Suddenly a thought struck him.
“What a fool I am!” he cried. “It proves nothing to produce the Sheikh alone. If they don’t see us together, they may still make out that I am personating him. Haigh would be considered a biassed witness, I suppose. But it’s too late to change now, and I could never have left him here as the hostage.”
“They’recoming back!” cried Lady Haigh. She and Penelope had taken up a position upon the western rampart, and were straining their eyes in the direction of Sheikhgarh. To their extreme disgust Mr Crayne had followed them, and wishing to make himself agreeable, sent for his secretary to deliver an impromptu lecture on the subject of eclipses, being apparently under the impression that they had come up to get a good view of the sun. It was this lecture that Lady Haigh interrupted by her sudden exclamation.
“You must have wonderful sight, ma’am,” said Mr Crayne politely; “but you are accustomed to this sandy atmosphere, ain’t you?” The Commissioner’s manner of speech was not vulgar, only old-fashioned. Forty years before, when he had sailed for India, every one in polite society said “ain’t.”
“Oh dear, I wish it wasn’t so dark!” sighed Lady Haigh, disregarding the compliment. “I can only see that there are four riders in front, and some more behind. No, I caught a glimpse of Dugald that moment, and I saw the turbans of two troopers—no, three. Why, it is Major Keeling in native dress!”
“He throws up the sponge, then!” chuckled Mr Crayne grimly.
“Elma, what can you mean?” cried Penelope. “Major Keeling is not there at all.”
“My dear young lady”—Mr Crayne was decidedly shocked—“the warmth of your partisanship does you credit, but allow me to say that you are carrying it to extremes. Perhaps you observe that the guard is turning out and presenting arms?”
“Oh, but that shows it must be a distinguished stranger—doesn’t it?” said Lady Haigh, in rather a shaky voice. “Major Keeling does not go about turning out guards all day long.”
“Lend me your field-glass, please,” said Penelope sharply to the secretary, and when he complied she looked through it steadily at the approaching party. Then she thrust the glass into Lady Haigh’s hand with a gasp that was almost a sob. “There, Elma, look! I knew it wasn’t. It’s not in the least like him.”
“My dear Pen, I’m quite ready to agree that it isn’t Major Keeling if you say so, but it’s the image of him.”
“Oh, there may be a slight surface likeness, but there isn’t the least look of him really. The expression is absolutely different,” said Penelope calmly. “Let Mr Crayne look.”
“I can’t pretend to judge of expressions at this distance,” said Mr Crayne drily; “but it strikes me you are fighting in a lost cause, Miss Ross. Here is one of the troopers riding on first with a message, which will no doubt show you your mistake.”
But when the message was delivered, Mr Crayne’s face hardened. It was from Sir Dugald, to the effect that the Sheikh-ul-Jabal desired an audience of the Commissioner, and it would be well to receive him in the durbar-hall with the formalities due to his rank.
“So he means to brazen it out!” said Mr Crayne. “Well, see to it, Hazeldean. I don’t know what good it can do, though.”
The secretary descended the steps in a great hurry to beat up the Commissioner’s escort, and Mr Crayne followed more slowly. Lady Haigh and Penelope moved to the inside of the rampart, and awaited feverishly the appearance of Sir Dugald and his companion. At last they came, and riding up to the steps of the durbar-room, dismounted.
“You see, Elma?” whispered Penelope triumphantly.
“Look at the dogs!” was Lady Haigh’s only answer. Two terriers had rushed tumultuously from the Haighs’ verandah opposite, and were barking and jumping round Sir Dugald. One of them was his own dog, the other belonged to Major Keeling, who had left it at the fort lest the Sheikh-ul-Jabal should be offended if it approached the sacred precincts of Sheikhgarh. Even now the Sheikh withdrew himself ostentatiously from the demonstrations of the unclean animals, and as Sir Dugald ordered them to be quiet they sniffed suspiciously round the stranger at a respectful distance.
“Pen, an idea! I’ll send achitdown to the Major’s quarters to have Miani brought up here,” cried Lady Haigh. “He will never let a native ride him. It’ll be another proof,” and she called a servant to take the note.
Meanwhile Mr Crayne and his little court had received the Sheikh-ul-Jabal with due ceremony, and were now plunged in the most hopeless perplexity. The face before them was Major Keeling’s, but the voice differed very decidedly from his, and the visitor’s gestures and turns of speech served alternately to settle and to disturb their minds. The conversation, which was conducted in proper form through an interpreter, dealt first with the flowery compliments suitable to the occasion, and then with the momentous question of the health of Mr Crayne, the Governor-General, and Sir Henry Lennox on one side, and of the Sheikh and his household on the other. In all this there was nothing to decide the matter at issue. Then the Sheikh remarked that he had long desired to express his gratitude to the Company, which had provided him with an asylum and maintenance, and Mr Crayne seized the opportunity.
“And how long have you been the Company’s pensioner?” he asked.
“I have eaten the Honourable Company’s salt for ten years, more or less.”
“And in all that time you have never presented yourself before the Company’s representatives to express your gratitude?”
“It is true. Nevertheless I have served the Company in many ways.”
“But why have you never appeared at any of Major Keeling’s durbars?”
“By reason of the vow which I swore. If the sun were shining on the earth I should not be here now.”
“And yet you take long rides at night?”
“True. But is the sun shining then? Are durbars held at night?”
“What object have you in these rides of yours?”
“I am amurshid[religious leader], as the Commissioner Sahib knows. I gather my disciples together and exhort them to good deeds.”
“Are all the tribes of the desert your disciples?”
“Nay, they follow but at a distance, in hope of the rewards of discipleship.”
“And you have promised them the plunder of Nalapur? Complaints reach me continually of your intrigues.”
“Why should I intrigue against Wilayat Ali and his accomplice? They will receive from Allah the reward of their evil deeds in due time. What good would Nalapur be to me? I would not sit on thegadiwere it offered me. My disciples are many and faithful, I have a shelter for my head and bread to eat, I can sometimes help my friends. What more do I need?”
“You must understand that in no case will you be permitted to invade Nalapur from British territory.”
“Why should I invade Nalapur? The Commissioner Sahib may be assured that I will make no war without the consent of Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib.”
Mr Crayne was baffled. “If you wish to please the Company,” he said, “you will leave your fort in the hills and settle down to cultivate a piece of irrigated land. You shall be allotted sufficient for your servants, according to their number, and rank as one of the nobles of the province shall be granted you.”
“And I and my servants shall become subject to the ordinance that forbids the carrying of arms? Nay, if that were so, the Company would soon be seeking a new tenant for the land. When one of the Commissioner Sahib’s own house helps a Nalapuri spy to plot against me, am I a lamb or a dove that I should refuse to defend myself?” He pointed fiercely at Ferrers, who was dumb with astonishment.
“What does this mean, sir?” sputtered Mr Crayne, turning on his nephew. “How dare you accuse a British officer of plotting against you?” he demanded of the Sheikh.
“Because it is true,” was the calm answer. “Last night, as I returned from one of my journeys, I was attacked among the hills, not far from my fortress, by three men. The two in front I cut down with my sword; but the third, watching his opportunity while I was engaged with them, leaped upon me from behind, thinking to stab me in the back. But he knew not that I wear always under my garments a shirt of iron links, which has descended from one Sheikh-ul-Jabal to another since the founding of the brotherhood, and though the blow left a mark upon the mail, yet the dagger broke, and I took no hurt. I saw the man’s face in the moonlight as I turned round, and knew him to be one who had once been of the number of my disciples, but had broken his vows and stolen away. I would have slain him, but he was swift of foot, and my horse had been wounded by one of those who attacked in front, so that he escaped me, though I set the servants who came to my help to scour the neighbourhood for him. But one of the other men yet lived, and confessed to me before he died that he had been hired in the Alibad bazar by the Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq, who was in the employ of Firoz Sahib at Shah Nawaz, to assassinate me, and upon him and his fellow both we found five goldmohursof the Company’s money. Have I not need of protection, then?”
“What d’ye make of this, sir?” demanded Mr Crayne furiously of his nephew, and Ferrers pulled himself together.
“All I can say is, sir, that the Mirza came to me last night, and asked me to let him have two troopers. I understood he wanted to put some one out of the way, though I couldn’t make out who it was, and I threatened him with punishment, and told him to go to Jericho.”
“You let him go?” Mr Crayne’s voice was terrific. “And why, sir—why?”
Alas! Ferrers knew only too well why it was, but he could not disclose the reason. “Well, sir, he had not done anything, and I never thought of his going to work on his own account.”
“Yet you knew he was the kind of man who would commit a treacherous murder of the sort? You will do well to send to Shah Nawaz and have him arrested immediately, for your own sake.”
“I will go myself at once, if you will allow me, sir.” Ferrers spoke calmly; but as he left the durbar-room he saw ruin before him. He could only hope that the Mirza would not allow his desire for revenge to weigh against his personal safety, and would have made his escape before he arrived. If he had not, what was to be done? To connive at his getting away would be to confess himself an accomplice, to bring him to justice meant a full disclosure. If only the Mirza would have the sense to escape when he might!
Having disposed of this side-issue, Mr Crayne returned to the charge. He was not yet fully satisfied, although he was fairly convinced by this time that it was not Major Keeling who sat in front of him, baffling his inquiries so calmly.
“You appear to have a great regard for Major Keeling?” he said brusquely. “Why?”
The Sheikh permitted a look of surprise to become evident. “Why not? Does not the Commissioner Sahib know that Kīlin Sahib has changed the face of the border, making peace where once was war, and plenty where there was perpetual famine? The name of Kīlin Sahib and his regiment is known wherever the Khemistan Horse can go—and where is it that they cannot go?”
“And do I understand that you have been of assistance to Major Keeling in this work of his?”
“Surely. Is not Kīlin Sahib the channel through which the Company’s bounty flows to me? Has he not treated me as a friend, and shown himself a friend to me?”
“Then in what way have you helped him?”
The Sheikh stroked his beard, perhaps to conceal a smile. “I have bidden my disciples obey him in all things as though he were myself.”
“Oh—ah”—Mr Crayne was baffled again—“is it or is it not a fact that there is a great personal likeness between Major Keeling and yourself?”
“It may be. I have heard as much,” was the indifferent answer.
“Is there—are you aware of any relationship that would account for it?”
The Sheikh’s eyes blazed. “My house is of the pure blood of the sons of Salih, from the mountains above Es Shams [Damascus], and of Ali the Lion of God; and all men know the descent of Kīlin Sahib. Was not his father the great Jān Kīlin Bahadar of the regiment called Kīlin Zarss [Keeling’s Horse], who, after the death of his Mem vowed never to speak a word to a woman again, and kept his vow, as all men bear witness? It has pleased Allah to make two men—one from the East and one from the West—as like one another as though they were brothers born at one time of the same mother, and who shall presume to account for His will?”
“Quite so, quite so,” agreed Mr Crayne. “No insult was intended. Then you imply that a considerable amount of Major Keeling’s success on this frontier is due to you?”
“No; the Commissioner Sahib wrests my words. Kīlin Sahib would have done his work without my help, though not so quickly. But when I saw the manner of man he was, and how he dealt with those that resisted him, could I see my followers—even those among them that were ignorant, and not true disciples—slaughtered, and their land remaining desert? So I spoke with Kīlin Sahib, and found him not like the rest of the English, for he said, ‘We were wrong when we stormed Nalapur and slew Nasr Ali, thy friend and brother; I myself was wrong also. What is past is past, and the future is not ours, but thou and thine shall dwell safely while I am on the border.’ Then I knew he was a true man, and what I could do to help him I have done.”
“It is well,” said Mr Crayne, and gave the signal for the conclusion of the audience. When the closing ceremonies were over, and the Sheikh was escorted out into the grey light of the reappearing sun in the courtyard, he uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
“Surely that is Kīlin Sahib’s horse? He is heavier than mine, but save for that, they might be brothers.”
“Would you like to try him?” suggested Sir Dugald, to whom a note had been handed from his wife. He spoke in obedience to her imperious suggestion, but with misgivings. “I don’t know what the Major will think of my inviting a native to mount his beloved Miani,” he said to himself. “And I shall have the fellow’s blood upon my head in another minute!” springing forward to assist the Sheikh as Miani backed and plunged, resisting all attempts to calm him. “Let him alone, Sheikh,” he advised. “He is never ridden by any one but his master.”
“Nay,” was the indignant answer, “shall the Sheikh-ul-Jabal be beaten by a horse?” and forcing Miani into a corner, the Sheikh whispered into his ear. The horse stood stock-still at once, eyeing the stranger uneasily, and the Sheikh followed up his victory by stooping down and breathing into his nostrils. There was a sensation among the natives round. “Kīlin Sahib’s horse has received the blessing of the holy breath!” went from one to the other. “Now he will be doubly the devil he was before!” lamented the groom who had brought him to the fort. But at present Miani seemed completely subdued. There was a look of terror in his eye and his ears were laid back; but though he swerved away, as if with invincible repugnance, when the Sheikh led him out of the corner, he allowed himself to be mounted, and cantered obediently round the courtyard. The Sheikh laughed as he dismounted.
“He would come home with me if I bade him, and Kīlin Sahib would bear a grudge against me,” he said. “I will reverse the spell,” and he slapped the horse smartly on the muzzle, then whispered into his ear again, and retreated precipitately from the storm of kicks with which Miani sought to avenge his temporary subjugation. Sir Dugald and the groom caught the bridle in time to prevent a catastrophe, and Miani was led away in custody, his behaviour fully justifying the groom’s unfavourable prediction.
* * * * * * *
In the meantime Major Keeling, seated on an uncomfortably low divan in the Sheikh’s hall of reception at Sheikhgarh, was enduring the unwinking stare of the boy who had been left in charge of him, and who had curled himself up happily among the cushions. He seemed to find the stranger full of interest, and Major Keeling felt that he was anxious to pour forth a flood of questions, but conversation languished, for whenever the hostage made a remark the boy entreated silence, with an alarmed glance in the direction of the curtain. At last, under cover of a loud rasping metallic noise, which seemed to come from behind the curtain, he edged nearer to Major Keeling, and said in a low voice—
“The women are sharpening knives.”
“So I hear,” replied the visitor.
“It is to kill you,” the boy went on.
“Very kind of them to make sure the knives are sharp,” replied Major Keeling, smiling, and wondering whether the ladies thought so highly of his chivalry as to imagine he would sit still to be murdered.
“Then you are not afraid?” pursued the boy. “I thought Englishmen were all cowards. Wazira Begum says so.”
“I fear your sister is prejudiced. Where did she pick up her unfavourable idea of the English?”
“Oh, don’t you know? It is your fault that we have to live in the desert, and old Zulika says Wazira Begum ought to be married; but how can a proper marriage be made for her here, where no one ever comes?”
“If I were you, I think I should leave that to your parents,” said Major Keeling, much amused by this original reason for hatred. “Your father will make a suitable marriage for your sister when the right time arrives.”
“But it is my brother Ashraf Ali who would have to do it. The Sheikh-ul-Jabal is not——”
“O Maadat Ali! O my brother!” came from behind the curtain, and the boy realised that the knife-sharpening had ceased, and that his last remark had been audible. He tumbled off the divan, and evidently received urgent advice behind the curtain, to judge by the whispering that went on there, and returning, seated himself in an attitude of rigid sternness, with a frown on his youthful brow, and his eyes fixed threateningly upon the hostage. Major Keeling gave up the attempt to make him talk, and yielded himself to his own thoughts, which were coloured somewhat gloomily by the surroundings and by the absence of daylight. It seemed to him that many hours must have passed, although the shadow had not fully withdrawn from the sun, before the welcome sound of horses’ feet and of opening gates heralded the return of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal. Sir Dugald, who was led in after him by the boy Ashraf Ali, was blindfolded as before; but as soon as he was inside the house, he tore off the handkerchief and sprang at the Commandant.
“Thank God you’re all right, Major! I’ve been perfectly tormented with fear lest that little vixen should have attempted some treachery. But the whole matter is cleared up, and the Sheikh will ride down with us to the spot where we were first challenged, that the Commissioner, who has ridden out, may see you and him together, and be able to feel quite certain. Do let us get out of this place!”
“Why, Haigh, I never heard you say so much in a breath before. I should like to recover my sword first, if you are not in too great a hurry.” He turned to the Sheikh and repeated the request.
“Let Wazira Begum bring the Sahib’s sword,” said the Sheikh, but there was no response. He called again, raising his voice, and this time the curtain was pulled slightly aside and the sword flung through the opening, so that it fell clanging on the floor at Major Keeling’s feet. The Sheikh turned pale with anger, and took a step towards the curtain, but changed his mind suddenly.
“Ashraf Ali, kneel and restore Kīlin Sahib his sword,” he said, in imperious tones. The boy looked at him incredulously, but durst not disobey, and picking up the sword, knelt to give it into Major Keeling’s hands. In an instant his sister had sprung from behind the curtain and snatched the sword from him.
“Get up, get up!” she cried fiercely. “I am the dust of the earth in the presence of Kīlin Sahib Bahadar, but not thou,” and to Major Keeling’s horror she fell down before him, and tried to lift his foot to set it upon her head.
“Stand up, Wazira Begum,” said the Sheikh, and she obeyed, and stood glaring defiantly at the Englishmen, her whole form shaking with passion. “Now give the Sahib his sword, and remember that if evil befalls me, it is to him I commend you all. He is your friend. Go!”
The girl vanished immediately, and the Sheikh led the way down the hall. At the door he stopped. “Swear to me,” he said, “that you will not betray the secrets of this place, nor that these children dwell here with me. I will not blindfold you again.”
“We promise, by all means,” said Major Keeling; “but it is only fair to tell you that Captain Ferrers and the spy who guided him here saw the children a week ago. Ferrers I can silence, but the other——”
“It is destiny,” said the Sheikh, mounting his horse. “The man has long sought my life, and I knew not that he dwelt almost at my doors. Long ago, having fallen into disgrace in Nalapur, he was promised his life by the other Mullahs if he could avenge them on me, and he became one of my disciples by means of false oaths. But when he should have been advanced to the next stage of discipleship, he was refused, for I suspected him and desired to prove him further, whereupon, thinking he was discovered, he made his escape. What did he tell Firoz Sahib concerning the children?”
“Nothing, so far as I know. But perhaps I ought to tell you that from something the younger boy let drop, I gathered that they were not yours.”
“It is true, but I will not tell you whose they are; and I beseech you not to inquire into the matter, that if you are asked you may not be able to answer. Their lives, as well as mine, will be in jeopardy if Fazl-ul-Hacq succeeds in discovering anything about them.”
“Bring them in to Alibad,” suggested Major Keeling.
“No, they are safer here, where no one is admitted without my orders. But if evil should befall me——”
“Then bring or send them in to Alibad, or send a message to me for help,” said Major Keeling. “I owe you a good turn for to-day.”
“Come! all’s well that ends well,” said Major Keeling to Sir Dugald, as they rode into the town after escorting Mr Crayne back to the fort. “I don’t remember ever feeling so happy before.”
“I don’t wonder,” was the laconic reply.
“But I do. After all, Ferrers’ charge was a preposterous one. Why should I feel so extraordinarily glad to have cleared myself? The relief seems out of all proportion to the trouble.”
“I hope you are not fey, Major, as we say in Scotland?”
“If you are asking whether I have a presentiment of approaching misfortune, I never was freer from it in my life.”
“No, it’s just the other way. You feel particularly happy, and you can’t see any reason for it. Then you know that misfortune is on its way.”
“Oh, that’s what it is to be fey? Haigh, I’ll tell you what would have been a misfortune—if your wife and Miss Ross had turned against me.”
“Do you think they’re fools?” growled Sir Dugald.
“No; but the charge must have seemed very serious to them. By the way, I don’t think they ever asked what the charge was, though!” He laughed, a great ringing laugh. “They acquitted me on trust. On my honour, Haigh, if those two women had believed me guilty, I should have been ready to blow out my brains!”
“The ladies ought to be flattered,” said Sir Dugald soberly. Major Keeling gave him a sharp look, but he was gazing straight between his horse’s ears, with an absolutely impassive face. No one looking at him would have guessed that he was trying to break through his natural reserve so far as to inform the Commandant of Penelope’s engagement. What instinct impelled him to the effort he could not have told, and the fear of committing a breach of confidence combined with his Scottish prudence to keep his mouth shut. Major Keeling leaned over from his tall horse and slapped him on the back.
“Don’t look so doleful, Haigh!” he commanded. “We shall see better things for the frontier from to-day. The old man’s apology was really handsome, and I like him better than I should ever have thought I could like a civilian. I can even forgive Ferrers, if he doesn’t do anything to put my back up again before I see him next.”
Sir Dugald turned and looked at him in silence—a look which Major Keeling remembered afterwards; but if he had at last made up his mind to speak, his opportunity was gone, for Dr Tarleton came flying out of his surgery to demand whether all was right. In spite of the secrecy Mr Crayne had honestly tried to preserve, some rumour of the crisis had got about through the gossip of the servants at the fort, and every white man in Alibad felt that he was standing his trial at the side of the Commandant. One after another dropped in at Major Keeling’s office, all with colourable excuses, but really to learn the news, and were received and sent on their way again with a geniality that astonished and delighted them. Better days must indeed be in store for the frontier if the Chief had time not to be curt.
Sir Dugald had gone round to the artillery lines after leaving the office, and returned thither in the course of an hour or two, expecting to find Major Keeling still at work; but the room was empty, save for the presence of young Bigg, the European clerk, and the native writers. Bigg looked up and grinned when Sir Dugald entered.
“Want the Chief? He’s gone up to the fort.”
“Already? Why, dinner isn’t for two hours yet.”
“I didn’t say he had gone to dinner, did I? If you asked me, I should say he had gone for something quite different. I heard him giving his boygali[a scolding] because his spurs were not bright. What does that look like, eh?”
“Looks to me as if you wanted your head punched. It’s like your impudence to go spying on the Chief,” said Sir Dugald gloomily, but Bigg chuckled unabashed.
At the fort Lady Haigh, immersed in preparations for the dinner-party, found herself suddenly addressed by Major Keeling.
“Miss Ross is not helping you?” he said.
“No, she was worn out after all the excitement this morning, so I made her go and rest in the drawing-room with a book. I wanted her to be fresh for to-night.”
“Then I will go and find her.” There was repressed excitement in his manner, and Lady Haigh, looking after him, found herself confronted with the question her husband had already faced. Ought she to tell him?
“No,” she said to herself, setting her teeth with a snap. “Dugald forbade me to interfere in the matter in any way, and I won’t. And I only hope the Major will be able to persuade her to have him and give up Ferrers.”
Penelope, in the shaded drawing-room, lifted her heavy eyes from the book she had obediently chosen, and saw Major Keeling’s tall figure framed in the doorway. She had heard him ride up, had heard his voice speaking to Lady Haigh, and had assured herself, with what she thought was relief, that he would come no further. Mr Crayne had brought him in, when he returned to the fort, and demanded the congratulations of the ladies on his behalf, and what more could he have to say? But here he was, entering the room with the care which had aroused Ferrers’ derision months before, and trying to lower his voice lest it should be too loud for her.
“Shall I worry you, Miss Ross, or may I come and talk to you a little? I feel as if I couldn’t work this afternoon.”
“I don’t wonder,” said Penelope, surprising herself in a sudden pang as she thought how splendid he looked. “Won’t you sit down?”
To her surprise he took a chair at some distance from her, and seated himself thoughtfully. “I am going to ask you to let me talk about myself,” he said—“unless it would bore you?”
“Oh no!” she answered quickly. “I should like to hear it very much.”
He looked at her with a questioning smile. “You know they call me a woman-hater?” he said. “I wonder whether you agree with them? Don’t believe it, please; it is not true. A woman-worshipper—at a distance—would be nearer the truth. But I see you think I must be off my head to begin in this way. Well, it was thinking of the way I was brought up that made me do it. My mother died when I was barely three years old: I can just remember her. When she died my father simply withdrew from society altogether. It was said he had vowed never to speak to a woman again: I don’t know whether that was true, but he never did. It was easier for him than for most men to drop out of the usual run of life, for he was not in the regular army. He had raised a body of horse towards the end of the Mahratta Wars, and done such good service that when they were over his commission was continued, and his regiment recognised as irregular cavalry. But Keeling’s Horse was never brigaded with other regiments. He had ajaghir[fief] of his own from the Emperor of Delhi, and lived there among his men and their relations, with only one other white man, his second in command. They both fell in love with the same woman, the daughter of a King’s officer, and agreed to draw lots who should speak to her first, the loser to abide loyally by the lady’s choice. My father won, and was accepted—though how it happened I don’t know, for my mother’s friends swore to cast her off if she married him, and did it, too. The two of them lived perfectly happily away from other Europeans, except poor old Franks, whose friendship with my father was not a bit interrupted, and when my mother died, those two chummed together again as they had done before the marriage. They both kept a sharp eye on me, and brought me up something like the Persian boys—to ride and shoot and to speak the truth. I shall never forget the day when I came out with something I had picked up from the servants—of course I was a restless little beggar, always about where I had no business to be. My father gave me the worst thrashing I ever had in my life, and he and Franks rubbed it into me that I had disgraced my colour and my dead mother. I feel rather sorry for myself when I remember that night, for I knew my father’s high standard, and I felt as if I could never look a fellow-creature in the face again. After that the two were always consulting together, and at last they announced to me that Franks was going to take me home and put me to school. That was how they settled it: my father could not leave his people and his regiment, but Franks took the business upon himself without a murmur, and he did his duty like a man. The funny thing was, that we were almost as solitary on the voyage and in England as we had been in India. Franks must have grown out of the society of his kind,—I had never known it. We took lodgings in a little country town; there was a school there recommended by the captain of the Indiaman we came home in. I think the country-people looked on us as a set of wizards, Franks and I with our brown faces and queer nankeen clothes, and his boy who couldn’t speak English. The boy cooked for us, and we managed to get along somehow. I went to school, and hated the place, the lessons, the usher, and the boys about equally. My only happy time was when I could get home to Franks and talk Hindustani again. I suppose there must have been kind people who would have been good to us if we had let them, but we were both as wild and shy as jungly ponies, and they seemed to give it up in despair. I think the general opinion was that Franks had sold himself to the devil, and was bringing me up to follow in his footsteps, and yet, except my father, I never knew a more honourable, simple soul. Well, the years passed on, and we began to feel that the end of our exile was at hand. When I was fifteen we might come back to India, my father had said. And so I did go back, but not poor Franks. Our last winter was a frightfully severe one, and he fell ill. He gave me full directions about going back, sent messages to my father, and died. The clergyman of the place was kind, and it was only by piecing together what the people said as they whispered and nudged one another when I passed that I learned they grudged my dear old friend a grave in consecrated ground. However, the parson put that right, and found some one who would take me up to London and secure a passage back to India for me. This time I was so desperately lonely that I made friends among the youths of my own age on board as much as they would let me. They thought me rather a swell, travelling with a boy of my own, and only a few of them turned up their noses at me because my father was nothing but a commandant of black irregulars, and lived away among the natives. There were several ladies on board, but I never attempted to go near them. I should as soon have thought of trying to make the acquaintance of so many angels. When we reached Calcutta, I spent only a few days in the town, and hurried up-country as fast as I could, for I heard tales of my father that made me anxious. He had resigned the command of his regiment two or three years before, on learning that it was to be assimilated with the rest of the irregular cavalry, and people said that he had become quite a native in his way of living. Very few had ever seen him, for when travellers came in his direction, he had a way of leaving his house and servants at their disposal, and retiring to a garden-house at some distance, where he shut himself up till they were gone. Well, I found him, and the pleasure of seeing me seemed to give him new life for a while. He took me out shooting, and taught me all I know ofshikar. But he was not satisfied; he would not have me live on among natives when he was gone, and suddenly he astonished me by saying he had managed to get me attached as a volunteer to the —th Bombay Cavalry. The Commander-in-chief was an old friend of his, and had promised to nominate me for a commission on the first opportunity, and meanwhile I was to pick up my drill and any other knowledge that might be useful to me. This time I was fairly thrown out to sink or swim, for I had no Franks to take refuge with when I was off duty, and a pretty tough fight I found it. I got on well enough with my comrades, though there has always been a prejudice against me for entering the army by a backdoor, as they say, and it has been against me with my superiors too. And then I was not the kind of chap who makes himself pleasant and gets liked. I have always been a sort of Ishmael, and I suppose I always shall be. As for the ladies—well, I tried hard to get in with them at first to please my dear old father, who had no idea that he and poor Franks between them had made me a regular wild man of the woods. But I couldn’t do it. I could never talk of things that interested them, or pay them compliments, or do the things that it seemed natural to them to expect. One or two kind creatures did take me in hand, but they dropped me like a hot coal, and at last I gave it up. I got my commission in the end, and I told my father I meant to marry my regiment. He agreed with me, I am glad to say, for it was the last time I saw him. Hisjaghirlapsed to the Emperor, for I was on the frontier by that time, and never meant to go back to the jungle. My chance came when it fell to me to raise the Khemistan Horse, and I knew I had found my place in the world. Sir Henry Lennox put me here, and I have given all my thoughts and every rupee I could lay my hands on to the frontier ever since. I made up my mind almost at once that I would have no married men up here. A wife was a drag to a man in such a service as this, I said, and even if she was content to endure it, it was not fair to her. Then—you know the way I was taken in about Haigh and his wife?” Penelope smiled. “Then you came,” he went on, “and you were different from any woman I had ever met. When I saw you first, I knew that you would help a man, not hinder him, in his work, and you have helped me all these months. I could talk to you of what I was doing and hoped to do, and you would understand and sympathise. You can never guess what it has been to me, and until this morning I thought there was nothing more I could want. But it is not enough. I want more.”
“Don’t! don’t! oh, please don’t!” entreated Penelope, covering her eyes with her hands as he rose and stood over her.
“You must let me finish what I have to say. I will speak very quietly; I don’t want to frighten you. See, I will sit down again, quite at the other side of the room. This morning it struck me like a blow, What should I have done if you had believed me guilty? If it had been Lady Haigh I could have stood it, though it would have cut me to the heart; but it was not Lady Haigh whose sympathy had made Alibad a different place to me. Then I remembered that the Haighs can’t remain here always, and if they went away, you would go with them, and I should be left here without you. But you have spoilt me for my old solitary life. You have drawn my soul out to talk to you—I know it was not your fault, you never meant to do it,” as Penelope tried to speak, “but you can’t give it me back. I know I have nothing to offer you. I am unpopular with my superiors and with the civil government; my life is devoted to the frontier. I don’t know how I have the face to ask you to think whether you could possibly marry me, but I only ask you to think about it. Tell me when you have decided. I can wait. The only thing I cannot bear is to lose you.”
Utter misery and pent-up feeling combined to give Penelope’s words a thrill of bitterness. “If you have only felt this since the morning, it cannot hurt you much to lose me,” she said.
He rose and came towards her again. “I think I have felt it all along without knowing it,” he said. “It is as if I had been looking for something all my life, and had found it to-day.”
“Oh, if you had only spoken sooner, I might have stood out against them!” The words were wrung from Penelope, but she crushed down her pain fiercely. “No, no, I did not mean that,” she said hastily. “It is too late, Major Keeling. There is some one else.”
“Some one to whom you are engaged?” She bowed her head. “Forgive me for boring you so long, but I had no means of knowing. It is Porter, I suppose? He is a fine fellow. I hope you will be very happy; I believe you will.”
“It is not Captain Porter,” said Penelope. She must tell him the truth, or he might congratulate Porter—poor Porter, who had proposed to her and been refused three months ago. Her voice fell guiltily. “It is Captain Ferrers.”
“Ferrers! Not Ferrers?” He repeated the name, as if the idea was incredible. “It cannot be Ferrers. Why, you can’t know——”
“Yes, I know; but he is different, he has given it all up. He says I can help him, and I have promised to try.”
“But it is not fit. He is no more worthy of you—— Of course I am not worthy either, but still—— I must speak to your brother. Who am I to say that I am better than Ferrers? But I can’t see you sacrificed. Your life would be one long misery.”
“Please, please say nothing. Oh, forgive me, but don’t you see you are the one person who ought not to interfere?”
He looked at her with something of reproach. “If it set up an eternal barrier between you and myself, I would still try to save you.”
“But indeed, it is no use speaking to Colin. I have promised——”
“Do you care for this man?” he interrupted her.
“I have promised to marry him in the hope of helping him, and I shall keep my promise.”
“You don’t care for him. You have not even that hold over him, and how do you think you can do him any good?”
“He thinks I can, and I have promised. I am bound by that promise unless George Ferrers himself gives me release, and he won’t.”
“I’ll wring it out of him.”
The growl, like that of an angry lion, terrified Penelope. She laid her hand on her champion’s arm.
“Major Keeling, I ask you—I entreat you—to do nothing. It is my own fault. Elma Haigh warned me against Captain Ferrers, and if I had listened to her, I should never have renewed my promise. But it is given, and I must keep it. One can’t wriggle out of a promise because it turns out to be hard to keep. You would not do it yourself; why should you think I would?”
He took her hand and held it between his. “Do you ask me,” he said slowly, “to stand by, and see you give yourself to a man who at his best is well meaning, but generally isn’t even that? It’s not as if you cared for him. You might manage to be happy somehow if you did, but as it is——”
“Don’t make it harder for me,” entreated Penelope.
“Am I doing that? Heaven knows I don’t want to, unless I could make it so hard you couldn’t do it. Why, it’s preposterous!” he broke out again. “That you should feel bound to sacrifice yourself——”
“Is a promise a sacred thing to you? You know it is. So it is to me. I must keep it, but you can make it much harder to do.”
“I will do anything in the world that will help you.”
“Then please go away, and never speak of this again.” Penelope’s strength was exhausted. In another moment she must break down, she knew, and if he pleaded with her again, how could she resist him? He seemed about to protest, but after one look at her face, he dropped her hand and went out. She moved to the window, and watched him between the slats of the blind as he mounted Miani and rode away. Would he ride out into the desert, she wondered, and try to rid himself of his grief in the old way? But no, he turned in that direction at first, but almost immediately took the road to the town again. If he were absent from the dinner-party that night, she might be questioned, as the person who had seen him last, and he must do nothing that might reflect on her. He rode to his own house, and going into his private office, sat down resolutely at his desk and pulled out paper and ink. He had been promising himself a controversy with no less a person than the Governor-General, a fiery, indomitable little man of a type of character not unlike his own. Lord Blairgowrie had observed, in a moment of irritation, that every frontier officer in India was a Governor-General in his own estimation, and would have to be taught his mistake, whether he were Major Keeling, C.B., or the latest arrived subaltern. An injudicious friend—he possessed a good many of these—had passed on the remark to Major Keeling, who had been prepared to resent it in his usual style. But on this occasion he got no further than writing, “To the Right Honourable the Earl of Blairgowrie. My Lord——” It was no use. The caustic words he had been turning over in his mind would not come. His thoughts were running on a very different subject, and he pushed away the pen and paper, and buried his face in his hands.
Howlong Penelope sat in the drawing-room, staring with stony eyes straight before her, after Major Keeling had gone out, she did not know, but she was roused at last by hearing another horseman ride into the courtyard, and walk across the verandah with clinking spurs. She could not face any one just now, whoever it might be, and she ran to the door, intending to take refuge in her own room, but found herself confronted by Ferrers, who broke into a cheerful laugh.
“Just the person I wanted!” he cried. “Now, don’t run away.”
“I—I must,” she faltered. “It’s time to dress for dinner.”
“Oh no, it isn’t, not even for me, and I have to go to my quarters and get back here. I want to speak to you.”
“But have you arrested that man—your munshi?”
“No; he knew better. Went back and collected his belongings, and made himself scarce. We shan’t see any more of him, so it’s all right.”
“All right, when he brought false charges against Major Keeling, and tried to support them by murder? How can you say so?”
“Well, the poor wretch was very useful to me, and I never had any reason to complain of him. Of course he’s done for himself now, but I’m glad I haven’t got to hunt him to earth. Why shouldn’t he get away if he can? Now, don’t look horror-struck and reproachful. It isn’t as if I had helped him off, even. He was gone long before I got there, and I left orders that he should be arrested at once if he showed his nose about the place. What more could I do? You women are so vindictive. You’re as bad as my uncle. He rode out to meet me with Colin, and his language was quite disgraceful when he heard the Mirza had decamped. I knew Colin would feel called upon to testify in another minute, so I told him to ride ahead with the escort, while I had it out with my respected relative.”
“But I don’t understand. What made him so angry?”
“Why, of course he wants the Mirza caught and punished, lest people should say he had employed him to trump up a false charge against Keeling. And so he turned regularly nasty to me, and said I had got him into a most unpleasant position, and in future I might go to the dogs in my own way, for he washed his hands of me. When he became offensive like that, I thought it was time to open his eyes a bit, and I did. I told him he had ruined my prospects here by coming and trying to make a tool of me to satisfy his grudge against the Chief, and I wasn’t going to be thrown aside now. It was all very well for him to fall into Keeling’s arms and swear eternal friendship; but if that friendship was to remain unbroken, my mouth would have to be shut. He had got me to bring charges against my commanding officer, promising me protection, and if I chose, I could show up a very pretty little conspiracy for getting Keeling out of the province——”
“But surely”—gasped Penelope—“you believed in the charges yourself? and Mr Crayne too?”
“Of course we did. It was the Mirza who played us false, but that has nothing to do with it. It’s my uncle’s business to cover the retreat of his own forces, and so I told him, and he swore he’d never lift a finger to save me from being hanged. So then I tried him with you. He’s taken rather a fancy to you, you know, and I gave him a hint last night how things were. So I told him I knew you’d never drop me, whatever happened, and asked him how he’d like to see you sticking to a disgraced man, and marrying him upon nothing but debts. Of course he said if you were such a silly fool as to do it you’d deserve what you got, but I could see he was a bit waked up. He cooled down by degrees, and at last we came to an agreement. He’s to put matters right with Keeling, so that I can stay on here for the present, and as soon as possible he’ll put me into an extra-regimental appointment of some kind. He may be able to get me sent as envoy to Gamara. What do you think of that?”
“Gamara—that dreadful place? Oh no!”
He laughed, with some condescension. “Why, of course it’s the danger that makes the post such a splendid thing to get, little Pen.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the danger. It is the frightful wickedness of the place.”
“And you couldn’t trust me there! What a flattering opinion you have of me! But that doesn’t signify. Look here, Pen, I want our engagement announced to-night. My uncle will do it at the dinner-party; he was quite pleased with the idea. Here’s the ring I’ve been keeping for you. Let me put it on.”
But Penelope drew back from him. She had endured much, but this was impossible. To sit at dinner between Major Keeling and Ferrers, and be the subject of the congratulations, toasts, and jests which the suggested announcement would involve, conscious all the time that the heart supposed to belong to the one man had been given to the other—how could she stand it? She spoke with indignant decision. “No, you must wait till to-morrow. You may make your announcement to-night if you like, but I shall not appear.”
“Nonsense, Pen! What do you mean? What would the fellows say?”
“They may say and think what they please, but if the slightest allusion is made to anything of the kind, I will never speak to you again. I won’t wear your ring. Take it back, or I will throw it away.”
“Well, of all the——!” Ferrers was puzzled and slightly alarmed. “There’s no need to fly out at me like a little fury, Pen. If you don’t want the engagement announced to-night—why, it shan’t be, of course. But what am I to say to my uncle?”
“Anything you like. Say I don’t feel well. Tell him it was the eclipse, if you want an excuse.” She laughed mirthlessly.
“Oh, very well; but I hope you’re not going to take up fancies, and go on like this——”
“If you are not satisfied, you have only to release me from my promise.”
“Not I. If you said you hated me I’d marry you just the same, and you don’t quite do that, do you?”
Her gleam of hope had vanished. Ferrers’ smile showed he had no intention of releasing her, and she wished with impotent rage that she could give him the faintest idea of the utter repulsion, the loathing dislike, with which he inspired her. But he would not see it for himself, and she would not stoop to entreat her freedom again. With a laughing recommendation to get a little colour into her cheeks before the evening, he left her, and she was thankful to be allowed to escape.
The evening was a terrible one to her, although she had foreseen that it would naturally fall to Major Keeling to take her in, as the only lady in the place besides Lady Haigh. The Chief was in one of his black moods, so the other men whispered to one another; and Penelope sat beside him through the stages of that interminable dinner, and waxed desperate. He could do much for her sake, but he could not speak and act as if the interview of that afternoon had never taken place, and he said barely a word during the meal, while the settled gloom in his eye when it rested upon Ferrers terrified Penelope. She threw herself into the breach, talked nonsense with the other men, as if despairing of getting a word from him, tried manfully to cover his silence, and knew all the time that she was wounding him afresh with every word she spoke. As soon as she and Lady Haigh were in the drawing-room she went straight to her guitar-case, and, getting out the instrument, tuned it to the utmost pitch of perfection. Presently Lady Haigh, who had been watching her anxiously, came and tried to take the guitar out of her hands.
“You mustn’t sing to-night, Pen,” she said; “I’m going to make you rest quietly in a corner.” But Penelope resisted her efforts.
“No, Elma,” she said. “I am going to sing the whole evening. If you want to help me, ask for another song whenever I stop—only not sad ones. Otherwise——”
The entrance of the men prevented the rest of the sentence, and Lady Haigh could do nothing but obey. She was conscious of the thundercloud on Major Keeling’s brow, and thought she could guess at its cause; but she seconded Penelope’s efforts nobly, scouted any sad songs that were suggested, and made the gentlemen agree with acclamation that Miss Ross had never sung with such archness and expression in her life. In her mind was running a line from one of the songs which Penelope had laid down with a shudder,—