An ominous calm prevailed at Khanmulla during the week that followed the conviction of Ermsted's murderer and the disappearance of the Rajah. All Markestan seemed to be waiting with bated breath. But, save for the departure of the women from Kurrumpore, no sign was given by the Government of any expectation of a disturbance. The law was to take its course, and no official note had been made of the absence of the Rajah. He had always been sudden in his movements.
Everything went as usual at Kurrumpore, and no one's nerves seemed to feel any strain. Even Tommy betrayed no hint of irritation. A new manliness had come upon Tommy of late. He was keeping himself in hand with a steadiness which even Bertie Oakes could not ruffle and which Major Ralston openly approved. He had always known that Tommy had the stuff for great things in him.
A species of bickering friendship had sprung up between them, founded upon their tacit belief in the honour of a man who had failed. They seldom mentioned his name, but the bond of sympathy remained, oddly tenacious and unassailable. Tommy strongly suspected, moreover, that Ralston knew Everard's whereabouts, and of this even Bernard was ignorant at that time. Ralston never boasted his knowledge, but the conviction had somehow taken hold of Tommy, and for this reason also he sought the surgeon's company as he had certainly never sought it before.
Ralston on his part was kind to the boy partly because he liked him and admired his staunchness, and partly because his wife's unwilling departure had left him lonely. He and Major Burton for some reason were not so friendly as of yore, and they no longer spent their evenings in strict seclusion with the chess-board. He took to walking back from the Mess with Tommy, and encouraged the latter to drop in at his bungalow for a smoke whenever he felt inclined. It was but a short distance from The Green Bungalow, and, as he was wont to remark, it was one degree more cheerful for which consideration Tommy was profoundly grateful. Notwithstanding Bernard's kind and wholesome presence, there were times when the atmosphere of The Green Bungalow was almost more than he could bear. He was powerless to help, and the long drawn-out misery weighed upon him unendurably. He infinitely preferred smoking a silent pipe in Ralston's company or messing about with him in his little surgery as he was sometimes permitted to do.
On the evening before the day fixed for the execution at Khanmulla, they were engaged in this fashion when thekhitmutgarentered with the news that asahibdesired to speak to him.
"Oh, bother!" said Ralston crossly. "Who is it? Don't you know?"
The man hesitated, and it occurred to Tommy instantly that there was a hint of mystery in his manner. Thesahibhad ridden through the jungle from Khanmulla, he said. He gave no name.
"Confounded fool!" said Ralston. "No one but a born lunatic would do a thing like that. Go and see what he wants like a good chap, Tommy! I'm busy."
Tommy rose with alacrity. His curiosity was aroused. "Perhaps it's Monck," he said.
"More likely Barnes," said Ralston. "Only I shouldn't have thought he'd be such a fool. Keep your eyes skinned!" he added, as Tommy went to the door. "Don't get shot or stuck by anybody! If I'm really wanted, I'll come."
Tommy grinned at the caution and departed. He had ceased to anticipate any serious trouble in the State, and nothing really exciting ever came his way.
He went through the bungalow to the dining-room still half expecting to find his brother-in-law awaiting him. But the moment he entered, he had a shock. A man in a rough tweed coat was sitting at the table in an odd, hunched attitude, almost as if he had fallen into the chair that supported him.
He turned his head a little at Tommy's entrance, but not so that the light revealed his face. "Hullo!" he said. "That you, Ralston? I've got a bullet in my left shoulder. Do you mind getting it out?"
Tommy stopped dead. He felt as if his heart stopped also. He knew—surely he knew—that voice! But it was not that of Everard or Barnes, or of any one he had ever expected to meet again on earth.
"What—what—" he gasped feebly, and went backwards against the door-post. "Am I drunk?" he questioned with himself.
The man in the chair turned more fully. "Why, it's Tommy!" he said.
The light smote full upon him now throwing up every detail of a countenance which, though handsome, had begun to show unmistakable signs of coarse and intemperate habits. He laughed as he met the boy's shocked eyes, but the laugh caught in his throat and turned to a strangled oath. Then he began to cough.
"Oh—my God!" said Tommy.
He turned then, horror urging him, and tore back to Ralston, as one pursued by devils. He burst in upon him headlong.
"For heaven's sake, come! That fellow—it's—it's——"
"Who?" said Ralston sharply.
"I don't know!" panted back Tommy. "I'm mad, I think. But come—for goodness' sake—before he bleeds to death!"
Ralston came with a velocity which exceeded even Tommy's wild rush. Tommy marvelled at it later. He had not thought the phlegmatic and slow-moving Ralston had it in him. He himself was left well behind, and when he re-entered the dining-room Ralston was already bending over the huddled figure that sprawled across the table.
"Come and lend a hand!" he ordered. "We must get him on the floor. Poor devil! He's got it pretty straight."
He had not seen the stricken man's face. He was too concerned with the wound to worry about any minor details for the moment.
Tommy helped him to the best of his ability, but he was trembling so much that in a second Ralston swooped scathingly upon his weakness.
"Steady man! Pull yourself together! What on earth's the matter? Never seen a little blood before? If you faint, I'll—I'll kick you! There!"
Tommy pulled himself together forthwith. He had never before submitted to being bullied by Ralston; but he submitted then, for speech was beyond him. They lowered the big frame between them, and at Ralston's command he supported it while the doctor made a swift examination of the injury.
Then, while this was in progress, the wounded man recovered his senses and forced a few husky words. "Hullo,—Ralston! Have they done me in?"
Ralston's eyes went to his face for the first time, shot a momentary glance at Tommy, and returned to the matter in hand.
"Don't talk!" he said.
A few seconds later he got to his feet. "Keep him just as he is! I must go and fetch something. Don't let him speak!"
He was gone with the words, and Tommy, still feeling bewildered and rather sick, knelt in silence and waited for his return.
But almost immediately the husky voice spoke again. "Tommy—that you?"
Tommy felt himself begin to tremble again and put forth all his strength to keep himself in hand. "Don't talk!" he said gruffly.
"I've—got to talk." The words came, forced by angry obstinacy. "It's no—damnation—good. I'm done for—beaten on the straight. And that hell hound Monck—"
"Damn you! Be quiet!" said Tommy in a furious undertone.
"I won't be quiet. I'll have—my turn—such as it is. Where's Stella? Fetch Stella! I've a right to that anyway. She is—my lawful wife!"
"I can't fetch her," said Tommy.
"All right then. You can tell her—from me—that she's been duped—as I was. She's mine—not his. He came—with that cock-and-bull story about—the other woman. But she was dead—I've found out since. She was dead—and he knew it. He faked up the tale—to suit himself. He wanted her—the damn skunk—wanted her—and cheated—cheated—to get her."
He stopped, checked by a terrible gurgle in the throat. Tommy, white with passion, broke fiercely into his gasping silence.
"It's a damned lie! Monck is a white man! He never did—a thing like that!"
And then he too stopped in sheer horror at the devilish hatred that gleamed in the rolling, bloodshot eyes.
A few dreadful seconds passed. Then Ralph Dacre gathered his ebbing life in one last great effort of speech. "She is my wife. I hold the proof. If it hadn't been for this—I'd have taken her from him—to-night. He ruined me—and he robbed me. But I—I'll ruin him now. It's my turn. He is not—her husband, and she—she'll scorn him after this—if I know her. Consoled herself precious soon. Yes, women are like that. But they don't forgive so easily. And she—is not—the forgiving sort—anyway. She'll never forgive him for tricking her—the hound! She'll never forget that the child—her child—is a bastard. And—the Regiment—won't forget either. He's down—and out."
He ceased to speak. Tommy's hands were clenched. If the man had been on his feet, he would have struck him on the mouth. As it was, he could only kneel in impotence and listen to the amazing utterance that fell from the gasping lips.
He felt stunned into passivity. His anger had strangely sunk away, though he regarded the man he supported with such an intensity of loathing that he marvelled at himself for continuing to endure the contact. The astounding revelation had struck him like a blow between the eyes. He felt numb, almost incapable of thought.
He heard Ralston returning and wondered what he could have been doing in that interminable interval. Then, reluctant but horribly fascinated, his look went back to the upturned, dreadful face. The malignancy had gone out of it. The eyes rolled no longer, but gazed with a great fixity at something that seemed to be infinitely far away. As Tommy looked, a terrible rattling breath went through the heavy, inert form. It seemed to rend body and soul asunder. There followed a brief palpitating shudder, and the head on his arm sank sideways. A great stillness fell....
Ralston knelt and freed him from his burden. "Get up!" he said.
Tommy obeyed though he felt more like collapsing. He leaned upon the table and stared while Ralston laid the big frame flat and straight upon the floor.
"Is he dead?" he asked in a whisper, as Ralston stood up.
"Yes," said Ralston.
"It wasn't my fault, was it?" said Tommy uneasily. "I couldn't stop him talking."
"He'd have died anyhow," said Ralston. "It's a wonder he ever got here if he was shot in the jungle as he must have been. That means—probably—that the brutes have started their games to-night. Odd if he should be the first victim!"
Tommy shuddered uncontrollably.
Ralston gripped his arm. "Don't be a fool now! Death is nothing extraordinary, after all. It's an experience we've all got to go through some time or other. It doesn't scare me. It won't you when you're a bit older. As for this fellow, it's about the best thing that could happen for everyone concerned. Just rememer that! Providence works pretty near the surface at times, and this is one of 'em. You won't believe me, I daresay, but I never really felt that Ralph Dacre was dead—until this moment."
He led Tommy from the room with the words. It was not his custom to express himself so freely, but he wanted to get that horror-stricken look out of the boy's eyes. He talked to give him time.
"And now look here!" he said. "You've got to keep your head—for you'll want it. I'll give you something to steady you, and after that you'll be on your own. You must cut back to The Green Bungalow and find Bernard Monck and tell him just what has happened—no one else mind, until you've seen him. He's discreet enough. I'm going round to the Colonel. For if what I think has happened, those devils are ahead of us by twenty-four hours, and we're not ready for 'em. They've probably cut the wires too. When you've done that, you report down at the barracks! Your sister will probably have to be taken there for safety. And there may be some tough work before morning."
These last words of his had a magical effect upon Tommy. His eyes suddenly shone. Ralston had accomplished his purpose. Nevertheless, he took him back to the surgery and made him swallow somesal volatilein spite of protest.
"And now you won't be a fool, will you?" he said at parting. "I should be sorry if you got shot to no purpose. Monck would be sorry too."
"Do you know where he is?" questioned Tommy point-blank.
"Yes." Blunt and uncompromising came Ralston's reply. "But I'm not going to tell you, so don't you worry yourself! You stick to business, Tommy, and for heaven's sake don't go round and make a mush of it!"
"Stick to business yourself!" said Tommy rudely, suddenly awaking to the fact that he was being dictated to; then pulled up, faintly grinning. "Sorry: I didn't mean that. You're a brick. Consider it unsaid! Good-bye!"
He held out his hand to Ralston who took it and thumped him on the back by way of acknowledgment.
"You're growing up," he remarked with approval, as Tommy went his way.
"There is nothing more to be done," said Peter with mournful eyes upon the baby in theayah'sarms. "Will not mymem-sahibtake her rest?"
Stella's eyes also rested upon the tiny wizen face. She knew that Peter spoke truly. There was nothing more to be done. She might send yet again for Major Ralston. But of what avail? He had told her that he could do no more. The little life was slipping swiftly, swiftly, out of her reach. Very soon only the desert emptiness would be left.
"Themem-sahibmay trust herbabato Hanani," murmured theayahbehind the enveloping veil. "Hanani loves thebabatoo."
"Oh, I know," Stella said.
Yet she hung over theayah'sshoulder, for to-night of all nights she somehow felt that she could not tear herself away.
There had been a change during the day—a change so gradual as to be almost imperceptible save to her yearning eyes. She was certain that the baby was weaker. He had cried less, had, she believed, suffered less; and now he lay quite passive in theayah'sarms. Only by the feeble, fluttering breath that came and went so fitfully could she have told that the tiny spark yet lingered in the poor little wasted frame.
Major Ralston had told her earlier in the evening that he might go on in this state for days, but she did not think it probable. She was sure that every hour now brought an infinitesimal difference. She felt that the end was drawing near.
And so a great reluctance to go possessed her, even though she would be within call all night. She had a hungry longing to stay and watch the little unconscious face which would soon be gone from her sight. She wanted to hold each minute of the few hours left.
Very softly Peter came to her side. "Mymem-sahibwill rest?" he said wistfully.
She looked at him. His faithful eyes besought her like the eyes of a dog. Their dumb adoration somehow made her want to cry.
"If I could only stay to-night, Peter!" she said.
"Mem-sahib," he urged very pleadingly, "thebabasleeps now. It may be he will want you to-morrow. And if mymem-sahibhas not slept she will be too weary then."
Again she knew that he spoke the truth. There had been times of late when she had been made aware of the fact that her strength was nearing its limit. She knew it would be sheer madness to neglect the warning lest, as Peter suggested, her baby's need of her outlasted her endurance. She must husband all the strength she had.
With a sigh she bent and touched the tiny forehead with her lips. Hanani's hand, long and bony, gently stroked her arm as she did so.
"Old Hanani knows,mem-sahib," she whispered under her breath.
The tears she had barely checked a moment before sprang to Stella's eyes. She held the dark hand in silence and was subtly comforted thereby.
Passing through the door that Peter held open for her, she gave him her hand also. He bent very low over it, just as he had bent on that first wedding-day of hers so long—so long—ago, and touched it with his forehead. The memory flashed back upon her oddly. She heard again Ralph Dacre's voice speaking in her ear. "You, Stella,—you are as ageless as the stars!" The pride and the passion of his tones stabbed through her with a curious poignancy. Strange that the thought of him should come to her with such vividness to-night! She passed on to her room, as one moving in a painful trance.
For a space she lingered there, hardly knowing what she did; then she remembered that she had not bidden Bernard good-night, and mechanically her steps turned in his direction.
He was generally smoking and working on the verandah at that hour. She made her way to the dining-room as being the nearest approach.
But half-way across the room the sound of Tommy's voice, sharp and agitated, came to her: Involuntarily she paused. He was with Bernard on the verandah.
"The devils shot him in the jungle, but he came on, got as far as Ralston's bungalow, and collapsed there. He was dead in a few minutes—before anything could be done."
The words pierced through her trance, like a naked sword flashing with incredible swiftness, cutting asunder every bond, every fibre, that held her soul confined. She sprang for the open window with a great and terrible cry.
"Who is dead? Who? Who?"
The red glare of the lamp met her, dazzled her, seemed to enter her brain and cruelly to burn her; but she did not heed it. She stood with arms flung wide in frantic supplication.
"Everard!" she cried. "Oh God! My God! Not—Everard!"
Her wild words pierced the night, and all the voices of India seemed to answer her in a mad discordant jangle of unintelligible sound. An owl hooted, a jackal yelped, and a chorus of savage, yelling laughter broke hideously across the clamour, swallowing it as a greater wave swallows a lesser, overwhelming all that has gone before.
The red glare of the lamp vanished from Stella's brain, leaving an awful blankness, a sense as of something burnt out, a taste of ashes in the mouth. But yet the darkness was full of horrors; unseen monsters leaped past her as in a surging torrent, devils' hands clawed at her, devils' mouths cried unspeakable things.
She stood as it were on the edge of the vortex, untouched, unafraid, beyond it all since that awful devouring flame had flared and gone out. She even wondered if it had killed her, so terribly aloof was she, so totally distinct from the pandemonium that raged around her. It had the vividness and the curious lack of all physical feeling of a nightmare. And yet through all her numbness she knew that she was waiting for someone—someone who was dead like herself.
She had not seen either Bernard or Tommy in that blinding moment on the verandah. Doubtless they were fighting in that raging blackness in front of her. She fancied once that she heard her brother's voice laughing as she had sometimes heard him laugh on the polo-ground when he had executed a difficult stroke. Immediately before her, a Titanic struggle was going on. She could not see it, for the light in the room behind had been extinguished also, but the dreadful sound of it made her think for a fleeting second of a great bull-stag being pulled down by a score of leaping, wide-jawed hounds.
And then very suddenly she herself was caught—caught from behind, dragged backwards off her feet. She cried out in a wild horror, but in a second she was silenced. Some thick material that had a heavy native scent about it—such a scent as she remembered vaguely to hang about Hanani theayah—was thrust over her face and head muffling all outcry. Muscular arms gripped her with a fierce and ruthless mastery, and as they lifted and bore her away the nightmare was blotted from her brain as if it had never been. She sank into oblivion....
Was it night? Was it morning? She could not tell. She opened her eyes to a weird and incomprehensible twilight, to the gurgling sound of water, the booming croak of a frog.
At first she thought that she was dreaming, that presently these vague impressions would fade from her consciousness, and she would awake to normal things, to the sunlight beating across the verandah, to the cheery call of Everard'ssaicein the compound, and the tramp of impatient hoofs. And Everard himself would rise up from her side, and stoop and kiss her before he went.
She began to wait for his kiss, first in genuine expectation, later with a semi-conscious tricking of the imagination. Never once had he left her without that kiss.
But she waited in vain, and as she waited the current of her thoughts grew gradually clearer. She began to remember the happenings of the night. It dawned upon her slowly and terribly that Everard was dead.
When that memory came to her, her brain seemed to stand still. There was no passing on from that. Everard had been shot in the jungle—just as she had always known he would be. He had ridden on in spite of it. She pictured his grim endurance with shrinking vividness. He had ridden on to Major Ralston's bungalow and had collapsed there,—collapsed and died before they could help him. Clearly before her inner vision rose the scene,—Everard sinking down, broken and inert, all the indomitable strength of him shattered at last, the steady courage quenched.
Yet what was it he had once said to her? It rushed across her now—words he had uttered long ago on the night he had taken her to the ruined temple at Khanmulla. "My love is not the kind that burns and goes out." She remembered the exact words, the quiver in the voice that had uttered them. Then, that being so, he was loving her still. Across the desert—her bitter desert of ashes—the lamp was shining even now. Love like his was immortal. Love such as that could never die.
That comforted her for a space, but soon the sense of desolation returned. She remembered their cruel estrangement. She remembered their child. And that last thought, entering like an electric force, gave her strength. Surely it was morning, and he would be needing her! Had not Peter said he would want her in the morning?
With a sharp effort she raised herself; she must go to him.
The next moment a sharp breath of amazement escaped her. Where was she? The strange twilight stretched up above her into infinite shadow. Before her was a broken archway through which vaguely she saw the heavy foliage of trees. Behind her she yet heard the splash and gurgle of water, the croaking of frogs. And near at hand some tiny creature scratched and scuffled among loose stones.
She sat staring about her, doubting the evidence of her senses, marvelling if it could all be a dream. For she recognized the place. It was the ruined temple of Khanmulla in which she sat. There were the crumbling steps on which she had stood with Everard on the night that he had mercilessly claimed her love, had taken her in his arms and said that it was Kismet.
It was then that like a dagger-thrust the realization of his loss went through her. It was then that she first tasted the hopeless anguish of loneliness that awaited her, saw the long, long desert track stretching out before her, leading she knew not whither. She bowed her head upon her arms and sat crushed, unconscious of all beside....
It must have been some time later that there fell a soft step beside her; a veiled figure, bent and slow of movement, stooped over her.
"Mem-sahib!" a low voice said.
She looked up, startled and wondering. "Hanani!" she said.
"Yes, it is Hanani." The woman's husky whisper came reassuringly in answer. "Have no fear,mem-sahib!You are safe here."
"What—happened?" questioned Stella, still half-doubting the evidence of her senses. "Where—where is my baby?"
Hanani knelt down by her side. "Mem-sahib," she said very gently, "thebabasleeps—in the keeping of God."
It was tenderly spoken, so tenderly that—it came to her afterwards—she received the news with no sense of shock. She even felt as if she must have somehow known it before. In the utter greyness of her desert—she had walked alone.
"He is dead?" she said.
"Not dead,mem-sahib," corrected theayahgently. She paused a moment, then in the same hushed voice that was scarcely more than a whisper: "He—passed,mem-sahib, in these arms, so easily, so gently, I knew not when the last breath came. You had been gone but a little space. I sent Peter to call you, but your room was empty. He returned, and I went to seek you myself. I reached you only as the storm broke."
"Ah!" A sharp shudder caught Stella. "What—happened?" she asked again.
"It was but a band ofbudmashes, mem-sahib." A note of contempt sounded in the quiet rejoinder. "I think they were looking for Moncksahib—for the captainsahib. But they found him not."
"No," Stella said. "No. They had killed him already—in the jungle. At least, they had shot him. He died—afterwards." She spoke dully; she felt as if her heart had grown old within her, too old to feel poignantly any more. "Go on!" she said, after a moment. "What happened then? Did they kill Bernardsahiband Denverssahib, too?"
"Neither, mymem-sahib." Hanani's reply was prompt and confident. "Bernardsahibwas struck on the head and senseless when we dragged him in. Denverssahibwas not touched. It was he who put out the lamp and saved their lives. Afterwards, I know not how, he raised a great outcry so that they thought they were surrounded and fled. Truly, Denverssahibis great. After that, he went for help. And I,mem-sahib, fearing they might return to visit their vengeance upon you—being the wife of the captainsahibwhom they could not find—I wrapped asareeabout your head and carried you away." Humble pride in the achievement sounded in Hanani's voice. "I knew that here you would be safe," she ended. "All evil-doers fear this place. It is said to be the abode of unquiet spirits."
Again Stella gazed around the place. Her eyes had become accustomed to the green-hued twilight. The crumbling, damp-stained walls stretched away into darkness behind her, but the place held no terrors for her. She was too tired to be afraid. She only wondered, though without much interest, how Hanani had managed to accomplish the journey.
"Where is Peter?" she asked at last.
"Peter remained with Bernardsahib," Hanani answered. "He will tell them where to seek for you."
Again Stella gazed about the place. It struck her as strange that Peter should have relinquished his guardianship of her, even in favour of Hanani. But the thought did not hold her for long. Evidently he had known that he could trust the woman as he trusted himself and her strength must be almost superhuman. She was glad that he had stayed behind with Bernard.
She leaned her chin upon her hands and sat silent for a space. But gradually, as she reviewed the situation, curiosity began to struggle through her lethargy. She looked at Hanani crouched humbly beside her, looked at her again and again, and at last her wonder found vent in speech.
"Hanani," she said, "I don't quite understand everything. How did you get me here?"
Hanani's veiled head was bent. She turned it towards her slowly, almost reluctantly it seemed to Stella.
"I carried you,mem-sahib," she said.
"You—carried—me!" Stella repeated the word incredulously. "But it is a long way—a very long way—from Kurrumpore."
Hanani was silent for a moment or two, as though irresolute. Then: "I brought you by a way unknown to you,mem-sahib," she said. "Hafiz—you know Hafiz?—he helped me."
"Hafiz!" Stella frowned a little. Yes, by sight she knew him well. Hafiz the crafty, was her private name for him.
"How did he help you?" she asked.
Again Hanani seemed to hesitate as one reluctant to give away a secret. "From the shop of Hafiz—that is the shop of Rustam Karin in the bazaar," she said at length, and Stella quivered at the name, "there is a passage that leads under the ground into the jungle. To those who know, the way is easy. It was thus,mem-sahib, that I brought you hither."
"But how did you get me to the bazaar?" questioned Stella, still hardly believing.
"It was very dark,mem-sahib; and thebudmasheswere scattered. They would not touch an old woman such as Hanani. And you, mymem-sahib, were wrapped in asaree. With old Hanani you were safe."
"Ah, why should you take all that trouble to save my life?" Stella said, a little quiver of passion in her voice. "Do you think life is so precious to me—now?"
Hanani made a protesting gesture with one arm. "Lo, it is yet night,mem-sahib," she said. "But is it not written in the sacred Book that with the dawn comes joy?"
"There can never be any joy for me again," Stella said.
Hanani leaned slowly forward. "Then will mymem-sahibhave missed the meaning of life," she said. "Listen then—listen to old Hanani—who knows! It is true that thebabacannot return to themem-sahib, but would she call him back to pain? Have I not read in her eyes night after night the silent prayer that he might go in peace? Now that the God of gods has answered that prayer—now that thebabais in peace—would mymem-sahibhave it otherwise? Would she call that loved one back? Would she not rather thank the God of spirits for His great mercy—and so go her way rejoicing?"
Again the utterance was too full of tenderness to give her pain. It sank deep into Stella's heart, stilling for a space the anguish. She looked at the strange, draped figure beside her that spoke those husky words of comfort with a dawning sense of reverence. She had a curious feeling as of one being guided through a holy place.
"You—comfort me, Hanani," she said after a moment. "I don't think I am really grieving for thebabayet. That will come after. I know that—as you say—he is at peace, and I would not call him back. But—Hanani—that is not all. It is not even the half or the beginning of my trouble. The loss of mybabaI can bear—I could bear—bravely. But the loss of—of—" Words failed her unexpectedly. She bowed her head again upon her arms and wept the bitter tears of despair.
Hanani theayahsat very still by her side, her brown, bony hands tightly gripped about her knees, her veiled head bent slightly forward as though she watched for someone in the dimness of the broken archway.
At last very, very slowly she spoke.
"Mem-sahib, even in the desert the sun rises. There is always comfort for those who go forward—even though they mourn."
"Not for me," sobbed Stella. "Not for those—who part—in bitterness—and never—meet again!"
"Never,mem-sahib?" Hanani yet gazed straight before her. Suddenly she made a movement as if to rise, but checked herself as one reminded by exertion of physical infirmity. "Themem-sahibweeps for her lord," she said. "How shall Hanani comfort her? Yet never is a cruel word. May it not be that he will—even now—return?"
"He is dead," whispered Stella.
"Not so,mem-sahib." Very gently Hanani corrected her. "The captainsahiblives."
"He—lives?" Stella started upright with the words. In the gloom her eyes shone with a sudden feverish light; but it very swiftly died. "Ah, don't torture me, Hanani!" she said. "You mean well, but—it doesn't help."
"Hanani speaks the truth," protested the oldayah, and behind the enveloping veil came an answering gleam as if she smiled. "My lord the captainsahibspoke with Hafiz this very night. Hafiz will tell themem-sahib."
But Stella shook her head in hopeless unbelief. "I don't trust Hafiz," she said wearily.
"Yet Hafiz would not lie to old Hanani," insisted theayahin that soft, insinuating whisper of hers.
Stella reached out a trembling hand and laid it upon her shoulder. "Listen, Hanani!" she said. "I have never seen your face, yet I know you for a friend."
"Ask not to see it,mem-sahib," swiftly interposed theayah, "lest you turn with loathing from one who loves you!"
Stella smiled, a quivering, piteous smile. "I should never do that, Hanani," she said. "But I do not need to see it. I know you love me. But do not—out of your love for me—tell me a lie! It is false comfort. It cannot help me."
"But I have not lied,mem-sahib." There was earnest assurance in Hanani's voice—such assurance as could not be disregarded. "I have told you the truth. The captainsahibis not dead. It was a false report."
"Hanani! Are you—sure?" Stella's hand gripped theayah's shoulder with convulsive, strength. "Then who—who—was thesahibthey shot in the jungle—thesahibwho died at the bungalow of Ralstonsahib? Did—Hafiz—tell you that?"
"That—" said Hanani, and paused as if considering how best to present the information,—"that was anothersahib."
"Anothersahib?" Stella was trembling violently. Her hold upon Hanani was the clutch of desperation, "Who—what was his name?"
She felt in the momentary pause that followed that the eyes behind the veil were looking at her strangely, speculatively. Then very softly Hanani answered her.
"His name,mem-sahib, was Dacre."
"Dacre!" Stella repeated the name blankly. It seemed to hold too great a meaning for her to grasp.
"So Hafiz told Hanani," said theayah.
"But—Dacre!" Stella hung upon the name as if it held her by a fascination from which she could not shake free. "Is that—all you know?" she said at last.
"Not all, mymem-sahib," answered Hanani, in the soothing tone of one who instructs a child. "Hafiz knew thesahibin the days before Hanani came to Kurrumpore. Hafiz told a strange story of thesahib. He had married and had taken his wife to the mountains beyond Srinagar. And there an evil fate had overtaken him, and she—themem-sahib—had returned alone."
Hanani paused dramatically.
"Go on!" gasped Stella almost inarticulately.
Hanani took up her tale again in a mysterious whisper that crept in eerie echoes about the ruined place in which they sat. "Mem-sahib, Hafiz said that there was doubtless a reason for which he feigned death. He said that Dacresahibwas a bad man, and my lord the captainsahibknew it. Wherefore he followed him to the mountains and commanded him to be gone, and thus—he went."
"But who—told—Hafiz?" questioned Stella, still struggling against unbelief.
"How should Hanani know?" murmured theayahdeprecatingly "Hafiz lives in the bazaar. He hears many things—some true—some false. But that Dacresahibreturned last night and that he now is dead is true,mem-sahib. And that my lord the captainsahiblives is also true. Hanani swears it by her grey hairs."
"Then where—where is the captainsahib?" whispered Stella.
Theayahshook her head. "It is not given to Hanani to know all things," she protested. "But—she can find out. Does themem-sahibdesire her to find out?"
"Yes," Stella breathed.
The fantastic tale was running like a mad tarantella through her brain. Her thoughts were in a whirl. But she clung to the thought of Everard as a shipwrecked mariner clings to a rock. He yet lived; he had not passed out of her reach. It might be he was even then at Khanmulla a few short miles away. All her doubt of him, all evil suspicions, vanished in a great and overwhelming longing for his presence. It suddenly came to her that she had wronged him, and before that unquestionable conviction the story of Ralph Dacre's return was dwarfed to utter insignificance. What was Ralph Dacre to her? She had travelled far—oh, very far—through the desert since the days of that strange dream in the Himalayas. Living or dead, surely he had no claim upon her now!
Impulsively she stooped towards Hanani. "Take me to him!" she said. "Take me to him! I am sure you know where he is."
Hanani drew back slightly. "Mem-sahib, it will take time to find him," she remonstrated. "Hanani is not a young woman. Moreover—" she stopped suddenly, and turned her head.
"What is it?" said Stella.
"I heard a sound,mem-sahib." Hanani rose slowly to her feet. It seemed to Stella that she was more bent, more deliberate of movement, than usual. Doubtless the wild adventure of the night had told upon her. She watched her with a tinge of compunction as she made her somewhat difficult way towards the archway at the top of the broken marble steps. A flying-fox flapped eerily past her as she went, dipping over the bent, veiled head with as little fear as if she were a recognized inhabitant of that wild place.
A sharp sense of unreality stabbed Stella. She felt as one coming out of an all-absorbing dream. Obeying an instinctive impulse, she rose up quickly to follow. But even as she did so, two things happened.
Hanani passed like a shadow from her sight, and a voice she knew—Tommy's voice, somewhat high-pitched and anxious—called her name.
Swiftly she moved to meet him. "I am here, Tommy! I am here!"
And then she tottered, feeling her strength begin to fail.
"Oh, Tommy!" she gasped. "Help me!"
He sprang up the steps and caught her in his arms. "You hang on to me!" he said. "I've got you."
She leaned upon him quivering, with closed eyes. "I am afraid I must," she said weakly. "Forgive me for being so stupid!"
"All right, darling. All right," he said. "You're not hurt?"
"No, oh no! Only giddy—stupid!" She fought desperately for self-command. "I shall be all right in a minute."
She heard the voices of men below her, but she could not open her eyes to look. Tommy supported her strongly, and in a few seconds she was aware of someone on her other side, of a steady capable hand grasping her wrist.
"Drink this!" said Ralston's voice. "It'll help you."
He was holding something to her lips, and she drank mechanically.
"That's better," he said. "You've had a rough time, I'm afraid, but it's over now. Think you can walk, or shall we carry you?"
The matter-of-fact tones seemed to calm the chaos of her brain. She looked up at him with a faint, brave smile.
"I will walk,—of course. There is nothing the matter with me. What has happened at Kurrumpore? Is all well?"
He met her eyes. "Yes," he said quietly.
Her look flinched momentarily from his, but the next instant she met it squarely. "I know about—my baby," she said.
He bent his head. "You could not wish it otherwise," he said, gently.
She answered him with firmness, "No."
The few words helped to restore her self-possession. With her hand upon Tommy's arm she descended the steps into the green gloom of the jungle. The morning sun was smiting through the leaves. It gleamed in her eyes like the flashing of a sword. But—though the simile held her mind for a space—she felt no shrinking. She had a curious conviction that the path lay open before her at last. The Angel with the Flaming Sword no longer barred the way.
A party of Indian soldiers awaited her. She did not see how many. Perhaps she was too tired to take any very vivid interest in her surroundings. A native litter stood a few yards from the foot of the steps. Tommy guided her to it, Major Ralston walking on her other side.
She turned to the latter as they reached it. "Where is Hanani?" she said.
He raised his brows for a moment. "She has probably gone back to her people," he answered.
"She was here with me, only a minute ago," Stella said.
He glanced round. "She knows her way no doubt. We had better not wait now. If you want her, I will find her for you later."
"Thank you," Stella said. But she still paused, looking from Ralston to Tommy and back again, as one uncertain.
"What is it, darling?" said Tommy gently.
She put her hand to her head with a weary gesture of bewilderment. "I am very stupid," she said. "I can't think properly. You are sure everything is all right?"
"Quite sure, dear," he said. "Don't try to think now. You are done up. You must rest."
Her face quivered suddenly like the face of a tired child. "I want—Everard," she said piteously. "Won't you—can't you—bring him to me? There is something—I want—to say to him."
There was an instant's pause. She felt Tommy's arm tighten protectingly around her, but he did not speak.
It was Major Ralston who answered her. "Certainly he shall come to you. I will see that he does."
The confidence of his reply comforted her. She trusted Major Ralston instinctively. She entered the litter and sank down among the cushions with a sigh.
As they bore her away along the narrow, winding path which once she had trodden with Everard Monck so long, long ago, on the night of her surrender to the mastery of his love, utter exhaustion overcame her and the sleep, which for so long she had denied herself, came upon her like an overwhelming flood, sweeping her once more into the deeps of oblivion. She went without a backward thought.