CHAPTER XXV
"How have you been getting on lately?" asked Eola as she sank into a cane lounge in the verandah.
Alderbury stopped in his perambulation, gathered up a number of letters lying on the table where the tea was usually spread and made them into a neat packet. None of them required an immediate answer; they could all wait until he reached home. He intended to make the most of his one day's holiday. He had the whole morning before him; Wenaston was engaged till lunch, and Eola presumably had nothing to do but entertain her guest. It was a pleasant prospect, and he was conscious of a sense of luxury that did not often enter his life. He revelled in the unwonted leisure of the hour and took his time to reply. He seated himself in a chair by her side, and half turned so that he might have a full view of her face against the green creeper-covered trellis that shut in the end of the verandah.
"I have a fair share of trouble balanced by some satisfaction."
"Converts been doing anything very naughty lately?"
He laughed in kindly fashion. In his large sympathetic soul he held his people dear, from the blackest little ball of a baby brought to him for baptism to the white-haired old woman; who persisted in calling him father though she was twice his age.
"It is rather like having a very large nursery or school of children," he said. "Some of them are so good and others——"
"Are up to tricks," Eola concluded for him.
"Only between us confidentially."
They both laughed in a way that showed a mutual understanding and not a little sympathy on the part of the woman, not so much for his work as for himself personally.
"Do tell me their latest," she said softly.
"It is not for publication. On your honour you won't give me and my people away to a missionary magazine?"
"I promise."
"Let me whisper my troubles in your ear, then. I have had a bother over a bell tower. Four months ago I sent five hundred rupees that I had collected for the purpose to the native pastor in charge of the little church at Ramapet; and I solemnly enjoined on him by letter the necessity of beginning the building of the tower at once. I have been to see it."
"You have found that they have put up a glorified steeple, I suppose, costing twice as much as the sum you sent."
"Wrong, dear lady, entirely wrong! The bell tower surrounds the property on which the church stands in the form of a wall; and in the corner of the compound is a new well."
"What has become of the bell?"
"It is there safe enough; oh, yes, and it rings all right. The church council composed of the most important of the native parishioners met me and pointed out how wise they had been, as wise as serpents to use their own expression. The church compound is already under cultivation and the water will not only produce a crop, I should say rather, two crops in the year, but will also be a source of income as it is purchased by the villagers at so much a bucket. They are all delighted with themselves for their cleverness. The bell-tower, they say, will come all in good time. Meanwhile they have erected a little shelter of mats and bamboos in a peepul tree and have hung the bell there."
"What did you say?"
"I had to disapprove and point out that it was a breach of faith and a misappropriation of funds."
"Was the wall needed?"
"Badly! Nothing could be done with the land to make it productive until we had an effective barrier to keep out the buffaloes and goats."
"Then really it is a most excellent move."
"Not at all! Don't you see that there are principles involved?"
"They should have asked your consent, you mean, to the temporary deflection of the money?"
"I should never have given it! They knew it and took good care not to let me into the secret. What am I to do, pray? Where is my bell-tower to come from? It will take two or three years before they can refund the money. Some of it was given by an enthusiastic lover of bells, who was charmed with the idea of assisting to build the tower. Bells, he declared, were missionaries themselves and exercised a Christianising influence. What am I to say to him? He won't see any Christianising influence in the well and the wall."
He sat up in his long armed chair and gazed at Eola with comic concern. It made her laugh.
"My sympathies are all with the builders of the wall. I know how I felt towards the buffaloes and goats before the wall round this compound was completed. After all the bell does very well for the present in the peepul tree."
"Your morals are hopelessly inferior—I won't say bad—and you would make a very weak mission agent," he said, shaking his head over her shortcomings.
"Should I? Then I mustn't marry a missionary. Think how awful it would be if while he was away preaching to the heathen, I remained at home encouraging his converts to misappropriate the mission funds."
"He would have to take you with him; it wouldn't be safe to leave you behind."
They both laughed; then he became serious again.
"But I say, really, joking apart; you know they have put me into no end of a difficulty by their cleverness, and I am at my wits' end to think how I am to rectify it."
"I know!" cried Eola, with a sudden inspiration. "Haven't you any other funds in hand from which you could borrow and get the tower built at once?"
He jumped to his feet as was his way when excited and strode up and down the verandah.
"You are every bit as bad as my people! That's the very thing they have done and which I am deprecating; and you suggest that I should follow their example. I can see that I have a duty to perform. I must take you in hand and convert you."
He stopped in front of her and let his eyes rest upon her abundant hair.
"Try," she said, looking up at him with shining eyes in which amusement mingled with something else. "Do try; I should like to see what your method would be."
"Would you?" he replied. "You might not like it."
"Is it the same as you apply to the heathen?"
"Not exactly."
Her eyes lowered before his, and she was seized with a sudden anxiety to direct the conversation into a fresh channel.
"Sit down, Mr. Alderbury, and tell me more about your converts," she said hastily.
"Very well, I will defer the conversion till a more suitable time and talk—of marriage."
Again she was startled. She glanced at him as he dropped into the seat he had vacated so abruptly. His self-possession was in no way disturbed.
"Marriage!" she repeated as the colour mounted.
He revelled in her sweet confusion; but had mercy.
"Yes; the marriage of one of my converts. A young man in the agricultural settlement wants to marry the daughter of a distant relative. The girl is still a heathen. Of course I had to say no, and counsel patience. We don't allow mixed marriages. I left him rather sad, as he knows the girl and is attached to her. Being pariahs they have been allowed to see something of each other."
"Oh, poor fellow! Is she fond of him?"
"Yes; I think so; as far as a modest Hindu maid may permit herself to be."
"Then they ought to be married; and I think it is very horrid of you to forbid the wedding."
"The girl must become a Christian first; then the wedding bells shall be rung and the feast prepared; but not till then."
"But supposing she won't become a Christian, what then?"
"The marriage can't take place."
"Poor lovers! What a shame! You are hard on them! Why shouldn't the girl marry first and be converted afterwards?"
"That would never do. I always begin with conversion;" he looked at her and paused with half a smile; then he added: "Marriage must follow conversion."
"Oh, must it!" she replied with a challenge in her voice. "You take a good deal for granted."
"A common fault with men of my profession, I fear," he replied with a decision that had its attraction.
"Are you never disappointed?"
There was a slight pause. His reply was spoken in a different tone.
"In the matter of bell towers, yes."
Alderbury sat down again, and Eola with half averted face looked out into the sunlit compound where the brilliant colours of the geraniums and bignonia creeper contrasted strongly with the pure snow white of the eucharis lilies; where butterflies that rivalled the flowers in tint fluttered like wind-driven petals across her vision, and the sweet scent of theLa Franceroses came in on the warm morning air.
"Now tell me about Ananda," said Alderbury recalling her thoughts.
"I know very little about him. My information has come from Mrs. Hulver who picks up gossip in the bazaar. You had better hear the story from her first hand. I will send for her."
A message was taken by the butler who met the housekeeper as she returned from her walk in the compound. She went into her room to remove the mushroom hat and dispose of her umbrella; and she took the opportunity of telling young William that she had made arrangements for him to leave at daybreak the following morning. She entered the front verandah, keen inquiry in her eye as to the reason of her call.
"Were you wishing to have a few words with my son, sir? If so, I should be pleased if you could come in half an hour. He is just going to have his bath. A dressing-down from your point of view will be very good for him. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'Don't confine yourself to big guns in dealing with an enemy. Bullets speak quite as plainly as cannon balls though they are neither so big nor so noisy.'"
"I don't think your son wants any lecturing from me. No doubt he is fully repentant after all that has happened. Dr. Wenaston told me the story of his fight, and I am sure young William will keep away from the canteen in future," said Alderbury kindly.
"He will try, sir; I know that; but canteens draw very strongly at times. There's the smell to contend with as well as the open door. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'An open door will tempt a saint.'"
"I want you to tell me all you know and have heard about Ananda. Sit down, Mrs. Hulver," he said, giving her a chair. "I don't see why you should stand. Let us have a comfortable chat whilst we are about it."
He noted the cloud of anxiety that seemed to overshadow her usually placid face and put it down to trouble over her son. Her words confirmed his suspicion.
"To tell you the truth, sir, I have had no time to consider Mr. Ananda. I have been so worried by young William's conduct."
"You mustn't think too much about it. You can't expect everybody to be a saint."
"I don't, sir, and least of all young William from the way he has begun——"
"What did you hear of Ananda in the bazaar?" asked Alderbury interrupting her.
"As far as I can recollect the family ill-treated him, knocked him about with a stick and he ran away. They didn't like his turning Christian. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'What women haven't got to answer for, you may safely put down to religion.'"
"It was supposed that he was in hiding somewhere on the college premises. It seems the gardener heard of the arrival of your son and thought it was Ananda."
"The gardener?" said Mrs. Hulver puckering her brow. "So we may thank him for that budmash's visit. I shall have to remember that."
She thought of the roses and felt that the man had got even with her after all; but she kept her thoughts to herself.
"In coming here he was taking a great liberty, I admit; but it was as well that he should satisfy himself that Ananda was not on the premises."
"I should never have allowed him to go through my rooms if the master hadn't given him permission. As it was I had to submit; but I didn't like it with young William lying there and the fever still on him. As William—that was my first—used to say: 'Orders is orders when spoken by a superior.'"
"Have you heard any spot mentioned as likely to be a hiding-place?"
"There have been all sort of rumours, sir. They said at first that he had gone to you; but a messenger was sent to your house to inquire; and as nothing had been seen of him there they changed their minds. I don't wonder at his running away if they really did illtreat him. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'Distance is the best remedy against the spite of evil men.' You never saw such an evil-looking beast as that uncle was who came poking his nose into everything here. If young William had been himself and not so ashamed of his black eye he would have upped and at him and soon had him out. I think the man himself was afraid that something of the sort might happen. As William—that was my first—used to say when his relations came to stay without an invitation: 'Uninvited guests sit on thorns.'"
"When they discovered that Ananda was not at my house what was the next suspicion of the family?"
"That he had drowned himself in the well."
"What gave rise to that notion?"
"They found his cap in the well."
"But not his body?"
"No, sir; all the same his people believe that he is drowned and they have widowed his wife I am told. I can't answer for the truth of what I hear in the bazaar. As William—that was my first—used to say: 'An Indian bazaar is a nest in which many rotten eggs are laid.'"
"You were very kind to Mr. Ananda, Mrs. Hulver," remarked Eola.
"My kindness was of the fair weather sort. I gave him food and plenty of good advice, before master put it in orders that no help of any sort was to be found in this house. Mr. Ananda ate heartily and listened politely; but he didn't take my advice soon enough. As William—that was my second—used to say: 'The man who stops in the valley will never get over the hill.' I keep telling young William these sort of things. I hope some of them, specially about drink and fighting, will stay by him. As William, his father used to say: 'The way to promotion doesn't lie through the canteen door.'"
"If you should by chance find means of communicating with Ananda——"
"And him down the well, sir! Why, it's more than a week——"
"Do you believe that he drowned himself, Mrs. Hulver?" asked Alderbury, his eyes fixed upon her round smooth face that held very little expression but general good-nature towards the whole world.
"Well, sir! There's his widow! A widow is usually the sure sign of a man's death; though I have heard of the widow's weeds being put on too soon. That was the case of a woman in our regiment whose husband was seconded for service in Africa. He was reported killed; and just as she was getting over her trouble and was cheering up a bit, owing to one of the unmarried sergeants paying her a little attention, he came back. She had to go into colours again before the black was half wore out, an expense all for nothing that she could ill afford, poor thing! But as William—that was my second—used to say: 'There's no plumbing the depths of a man's folly when he's a fool.' He should have written and told her that he wasn't dead; but that meant sending her money. Perhaps Mr. Ananda may come back one day like Sergeant Thompson."
"His uncle stopped me on my way here to ask if I knew anything of him. I could give him no information, and I take it that you can't help any more than I can."
"That's so right enough, and if you see the budmash again you may tell him that his precious nephew's whereabouts has nothing to do with me."
"Possibly; but as Mr. Ananda belongs to our faith, I certainly think that his welfare has a great deal to do with me," said Alderbury with a touch of severity.
"Of course, sir; it's only right; it's your profession to look after the converts. My business is housekeeping; and if the Christmas turkey was missing from the larder I should be in even more of a taking than you are over Mr. Ananda. As William—that was my first—used to say: 'Mind your own business and leave others to mind theirs.' You are leaving us to-morrow, sir, I understand. I've seen your men; they want to start off to-night with the cart if you have no objection. The portmanteau you are using will go on the motor. This will give them time to get to the mission-station before you arrive. I told your servant that I thought he could be spared."
"By all means let them go if they wish. We shall all be glad to get home as we have been on a longer round than usual this time."
"Yes, sir; as William—that was my third—used to say, when he got safely back after leaning a little too far in the canteen direction: 'There's no place like home, even though it's only a pigsty, Maria, me dear,' that was his way of speaking, he was such a gentleman in his manners."
"My house is not a pigsty, Mrs. Hulver," protested Alderbury, while Eola's eyes twinkled.
"I'm not saying that it is, though there's no woman in it. As William—that was my third—used to say: 'A house without a woman is only a house; it can never be called a home, however clever the man may be.'"
"It is a fault that may be easily remedied," responded Alderbury.
Mrs. Hulver glanced at him suspiciously, and then let her eyes rest upon Eola.
"If you were a bishop you might say so, sir; but you're not a bishop, and begging your pardon for saying so, you're not likely to be if I may judge by your legs. Gaiters would be impossible for you, even though you let your apron down a good four inches. As William—that was my second and as soldierly-looking man as ever stepped—used to say: 'It isn't every figure that will fit every profession.' I may tell you, sir, that by reason of my fullness of figure I was never chosen when I was young for the leading fairy in the regimental pantomime at Christmas. I was given to fullness early; but excepting in the matter at the pantomime I never felt any inconvenience from being stout. My husbands all admired stout women, and they said one after the other that fat in a woman may make her short in the breath, but it keeps her smiling. Now you're given the other way and you've got just the figure for a missionary."
"And so missionary I am to remain, eh, Mrs. Hulver?"
"There's great virtue in knowing your place and your station, sir," responded Mrs. Hulver, feeling that she was having the opportunity of her life to give the ineligible a bit of her mind. "One day you will meet a lady, suitable for a missionary's wife; and though she may dress plain, she will soon turn your house into a home with curtains and carpets and decent house-linen. She must be a good housekeeper." Mrs. Hulver again let her eyes rest on Eola as though she were taking the measure of her shortcomings in that respect. "And she must be sharp as a needle with the butler over the house accounts."
"If I am ever a bishop, Mrs. Hulver, I suppose I need not be so rigid over the housekeeping qualities of my wife. A bishop usually has a housekeeper."
"Lor, sir, how you talk! As if that would ever come to pass! But as William—that was my third—used to say: 'Many people talk like generals but have to live like privates.' There's no harm in your talking of being a bishop as long as you're content to live like a missionary. I must be going; I have a lot to do."
She bustled away, and with her went the smile that had rested on Alderbury's face. Eola watching him noted the change.
"What is it?" she asked. "You are troubled. Are you thinking of Ananda?"
"Yes; and I am blaming myself," he replied quickly. "There is so much I might have done to prevent this catastrophe if I had come when your brother called me. Instead of coming I wrote. It was not enough."
"I don't believe in a catastrophe. I don't believe that he is dead; I am sure Mrs. Hulver doesn't believe it or she would not be so indifferent. What do you fear?"
"That they have killed him between them."
"They would not dare! That would be murder and they would fear the penalty."
"Unfortunately there is no penalty in the case of an outcaste, a convert to Christianity. There might be some sort of a trial, but no judge in the State of Chirapore would do more than impose a slight punishment."
"Come into the fernery and look at my palms and lilies," she said, rising to get her hat.
She succeeded in dispersing the anxiety that had settled down upon him as he considered Ananda's case; and once more the convert was forgotten. Her hands were buried in the fronds of a maidenhair when he said suddenly:
"Don't do that; it isn't safe; there might be a snake hidden in the fern."
She laughed, but did not move her hands. Then he took them in his and drew her away from the pot where he feared danger might lurk.
"Eola, will you come and make my house a home for me? I want you; I can't live without you," he concluded with a strong man's passion.
She looked up at him suddenly serious.
"Think how far I fall short of the ideal! I—— Oh, really you are the most masterful man I ever met. Mr. Alderbury——!" And then her head dropped and she surrendered.
"Are you converted to my way of thinking," he said at last. "Or, shall I continue my arguments?"
"I am quite converted; quite!" she replied, and her eyes shone.
"Then I may tell you a secret. Whatever my figure may be in Mrs. Hulver's opinion, the gaiters and apron are looming in the distance. I heard from England by the last mail that I have been nominated for a colonial bishopric;" and he named the diocese.
"What fun it will be to see the dear old woman's face when she hears of it!"
He drew her down to a seat among the ferns.
"Never mind the old woman. I want the whole of your attention. There is so much to talk about and we have only till to-morrow," he said, already grudging the moments.
"Anyway my conversion is complete."
"Oh, is it? I am not so sure of that. At any rate I will see that nothing is left undone to make it so!"
CHAPTER XXVI
Lunch was over; the car stood under the portico breathing gently like a tamed and willing monster held in a metal leash. Alderbury, ready to start, was inclined to yield to a new temptation and linger in his leave-taking. Wenaston politely stayed to see his guest off under the mistaken impression that it was a necessary courtesy. At the same time his ear was open for the sound of the school bell.
"I am sorry that you have not succeeded in the object of your visit," he remarked, his conscience still troubling him in the matter of the 'vert.
Alderbury and Eola exchanged glances with an amused twinkle of the eye. If there had been failure on one point, on another the missionary had achieved a marked success.
"We must leave it alone for the present," he said with a seriousness that was not assumed. "When you are confronted with caste, you stand before invincible plates of steel. To beat against them violently does more harm than good. We must wait for the doors to open of themselves. There can be no forcing them open."
"I hope the poor fellow is safe."
"And I hope and pray that he is standing firm in the new faith," responded Alderbury quickly.
"I used to think that Ananda was weak in character."
"Possibly he was; but after all that he has gone through his character must have strengthened marvellously. I have known similar cases, although not among the higher castes. The fervent religious instinct of the Hindu sustains him in circumstances where a less religious temperament would give way."
"You believe that he is under his father's roof?"
"From what I gathered yesterday afternoon in my inquiry of the town's people, I feel sure that he has not been allowed to leave the place."
"Is he safe?"
The question was asked with an anxiety the Principal could not hide.
"Ah! that I cannot undertake to say. All the same I have a strong hope that beyond petty persecution he is, comparatively speaking, safe. My hope originates with Bopaul. His manner gave me confidence. I met him in the town; he spoke openly of his friend's disappearance, and seemed in no way concerned about it. He laughed at the theory of suicide. If he had any suspicion of a tragedy he would not show such indifference. I know for a fact that he is very much attached to Ananda."
"They were together in England and they both felt Coomara's death. I was with them at the time, if you remember. The accident was a great shock to us all, and my nerves are not what they used to be. The person least affected was Bopaul apparently," said Wenaston.
"We don't know how it affected him; he has a peculiar nature, and hides his real sentiments under a careless flippancy which his actions frequently belie."
"He certainly is a strange mixture of incorruptible orthodoxy and modern tolerance," assented Wenaston.
Alderbury commented tersely and incisively on the new Hinduism of the Presidency towns, and compared it with the old-fashioned bigotry to be found up-country, where there was less European influence than in the great educational centres. Native states with their native officials were even still further behind than British India, opposing religious reform with strong prejudiced conservatism.
"I suppose you welcome this new tolerance as a step in the right direction."
"Not at all," exclaimed Alderbury, his fighting instinct roused. "It is more difficult to attack than the old intolerance; it is elusive, shifty, the outcome of the Brahmanical facility of adaptation which is the invariable resource of the Hindu philosopher in every religious innovation. I would rather come to blows with the fanatical old Brahman than with one of these modern men whose policy is to agree with reservation."
"So you turn to the untouchables."
"Who form a sixth of India's population. They offer us a wide field for our energies," replied Alderbury.
"You are wise to give the caste people the go-by."
The missionary was up in arms at once at the implication that he turned his back on any one.
"Excuse me! We don't give them the go-by. We are ready watching for the moment when the thin edge of the wedge may be inserted without bringing disaster upon them and ourselves. By the by, an odd thing happened yesterday. Bopaul to my astonishment asked me if I would befriend his sister, the widow of the man who was killed in the railway accident."
"Coomara! I had forgotten that he married Bopaul's sister."
"It was no more than a betrothal. Bopaul explained that his sister was not happy at home; and that it would be a relief to the whole family, in his opinion, if she were removed. Then he laughed as though the attitude of his relations amused him. He proposed that she should be placed in our mission school."
"Does the family consent?" asked Wenaston in some surprise; for no one understood the prejudices of the high caste families of Chirapore better than himself.
"Apparently his parents are too indifferent to the widow's fate to care whether she throws herself down the well or disappears off the scenes in any other way. I told him to speak to his people about it; and if they consented I would willingly take her."
The school bell rang and Wenaston rose from his chair.
"I must be off. Good-bye, Alderbury," exclaimed Wenaston. "Come again as soon as you can; a warm welcome will be ready for you."
The hand-clasp expressed even more than the tongue, as the two friends parted with the knowledge that before long a closer and more intimate tie would be forged to bind them together.
Five minutes later Alderbury stood on the steps of the verandah ready to enter the car. He turned to Eola once more.
"I haven't said good-bye to Mrs. Hulver. Have you told her our news?"
"Not yet; she has been too much occupied with her son to think of anything else. She was to go off early this morning with young William; and she asked me not to expect her back till this evening. I might have let her into the secret last night; but I heard after dinner that she had gone to bed."
"I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I am sure that she will forbid the banns," he replied in comical concern that did not deceive Eola.
"She will quote the wisdom of the three departed Williams in support of her action," she added, and her laugh had a new ring of happiness in it.
The car slid noiselessly down the drive and turned into the great southern road. Alderbury leaned back on its cushions luxuriously, his thoughts busy with the woman he had just left. He had been lifted along on the wings of destiny. He had come to Chirapore to hold out a helping hand to a fellow creature in distress, and had found his own happiness as a reward.
Having taken the step he was of too strong a character to entertain any doubt as to its wisdom. However short she might fall of the ideal missionary's wife, she was his desire and he was hers. This new knowledge and certainty lifted him into a sphere of joy he had never before touched.
After a few minutes indulgence in purely selfish dreams, Eola with all she meant for him was put resolutely aside. He took out the bundle of letters that awaited him at the college house and proceeded to read them afresh, making notes of the replies on the envelopes.
The car moved along the smooth road at a moderate pace. Now and then the eyes of the occupant ranged over the undulating landscape, resting with appreciation on the patches of green forest covering the crests of the hills, and the stretches of rice fields interspersed with plantations of areca-nut palms in the valleys.
Few travellers were on the road. A string of country carts crept slowly towards the town, bearing the produce of the rich smiling land to market. The car shot by with a deep hum that set the wild-eyed bullocks snorting and backing under their yokes; and transformed the drivers into kicking fiends. In vain they sought to inspire the terrified cattle with courage and confidence by a liberal application of the toe. It was not until the car disappeared in the distance, and its weird hum was lost to the ear that the bullocks were recalled to order and a sense of duty, and the drivers were able to drop back into idle clucking at their beasts.
Six miles of quiet travelling came to an abrupt end. The native chauffeur pulled up at a signal from a traveller on the road, walking in the same direction as the car was moving. Alderbury, who was absorbed in the composition of a letter to the head office of his society, looked up, and to his amazement recognised Bopaul.
"I am going to ask you a great favour, sir," said the latter after the exchange of greetings. "I have my sister here. Will you be so good as to give her a seat in the car; and to take her to your mission-station?"
Alderbury glanced beyond the speaker and caught sight of the shrinking figure of the widow. Her saree was drawn over her bald head to hide the mark of shame and disgrace. Her eyes were cast down, and the hand that grasped the coarse cloth to keep it in position trembled.
"Of course you take the responsibility upon yourself, Bopaul," said Alderbury looking at the girl with pity born of an intimate knowledge of what widowhood meant for one so young.
"Certainly, sir," responded Bopaul quickly.
"She will be at perfect liberty to return if the family desire it. It does our work no good to have even the semblance of abduction."
"You need have no fear of trouble, sir. My people will make no objection whatever. If her husband were alive it would be quite another matter; but with a widow!" he smiled with gentle cynicism, "whoever heard of any regret being felt at the absence or even the death of a Hindu widow?"
"Very well; I will take your word for it that all is well, and that I am only carrying out the general wish of the family. Let her get in the car at once, as I must be going on my way, or I shall be benighted."
"She will sit by the chauffeur."
"There is plenty of room inside," said Alderbury, pushing cushions and rug into some order.
Bopaul went to the side of the road where his sister stood and said a few words in a low tone. She did not reply, but made a movement of the head showing that she understood his directions. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the car.
"Get in, little sister. You will be quite safe with the missionary; and if you are not happy with him, ask him to write and tell me so. I will come myself and fetch you back, but I know you will not want to come back; you will find your happiness there; not here."
"It is understood by your family that she will probably become a Christian if she remains with us," said Alderbury who was a little puzzled by Bopaul's manner.
"She is at liberty to do as she pleases. Of one thing I can assure you; I can answer for her willingness to work at anything that will help to earn her keep."
"And her name?"
"I call her Mayita; but she will probably prefer to be called by some other name when she enters the mission," replied Bopaul with another smile.
"She has no luggage of any kind, no bundle of clothes?"
"Widows own nothing. They are deprived of every possession in the world. Even their hair is taken from them," her brother answered.
During this conversation Mayita sat silent with her head bent and the saree veiling her face. Suddenly the cloth was pushed backwards and she leaned towards Bopaul both hands extended.
"Brother, may the gods reward you for your goodness to the poor widow!"
"Good-bye little sister. Take heart and be brave. Now go, sir, and believe me that all will be well."
The car glided forward and left Bopaul standing there. He watched it until nothing was visible but the cloud of soft dust that hung like smoke in the warm air of the afternoon.
Then he turned round and set off at a steady pace homewards. Again the characteristic smile appeared and he murmured to himself:
"In the name of friendship; not in the name of religion!"
CHAPTER XXVII
Alderbury addressed a few words to his companion in the language of the country and received monosyllabic replies which gave him no encouragement to persevere in his efforts at making conversation or to extract information. He concluded that she was a shy and frightened member of a zenana where very little liberty was allowed. It would all come right in time; she would lose the shy self-consciousness with education.
From his companion his thoughts went to her brother. He distrusted Bopaul's cynicism, mild and harmless though it might be; but he could not help admiring the force of character in the man who had struck whilst the iron was hot. If Bopaul had not handed her over personally and assured him that all was well, Alderbury would never have ventured to take the girl away. The parents had probably been urged to give a consent, and before they could withdraw it their son had taken action to carry out the intention. It was evident that he revolted against the Hindu system of widowhood, and with his modern enlightenment desired reform. This was his method of protest and it was to be commended. It was also in its way a mark of the philanthropy that is entering the Hinduism of the present day, one of the attributes of Christianity which Brahmanism is ready to adopt into its system and claim as its own.
More than two hours passed during which Mayita, shrouded in her saree, nestled in the corner of the big motor car. Alderbury returned to the perusal of his letters and forgot her very existence. So still and silent was she that she might have been one of the leather cushions instead of a human waif. They passed the boundary of the native State and sped through British territory. In another half hour they entered the little town that had been Christianised. Alderbury put away his letters and kept his eyes on the road, that he might not miss the smiles and nods of the villagers as they welcomed him back.
The mission house was a large rambling bungalow with thatched roof and wide verandahs. In the same compound stood the school and orphanage. At a little distance was the church shining with marble whiteness in the afternoon sun.
As the car drew up under a porch made of rough square stone pillars and palm-leaf roof, Alderbury thought of the handsome portico of the college house, a very different building. He jumped out of the car with his habitual impetuosity forgetting his companion. Mrs. Hulver's words were in his mind. A house without a woman was only a house. It was quite true although his careful servant had not forgotten to prepare a late afternoon tea. He noted the table set in the verandah with the earthen tea-pot and the thick cups that bore the mark of many camping expeditions through his district. Very different, was the table from the dainty arrangement in another verandah, where the figure of the tea-maker was set in a background of ipomea and bignonia.
"Bring tea quickly, boy," he said as he passed on towards his sitting-room in search of the letters that should have come by the morning post.
The servant glanced after him and then held up his hand to arrest the figure that followed.
"Wait, lady, until the master calls," he said respectfully; and Mayita stood listening and trembling in the verandah.
As Alderbury entered his sitting-room a man rose from a chair and advanced to meet him. He was dressed in European clothes although he was a Hindu. Over his eye was a recently healed wound.
"Ananda!" cried Alderbury, astonished beyond measure.
"The same, sir," was the reply.
"How did you get here? We made so sure of your being still under your father's roof that I can scarcely believe my eyes."
"By the help of friends. It is a long story——"
His words were checked by the sound of a cry. The widow refusing to be detained any longer by the servant, rushed forward past Alderbury, never stopping till she had fallen at Ananda's feet. In a moment he was on his knees by her side forgetful of the missionary and all else.
"My wife! my pearl! my beloved! How did you manage to escape? how did you get here? But what have they done to you my beautiful lotus? They have cut off your hair! and this cloth! what does it mean?"
The words poured from his lips with a string of eager questions which Dorama could only answer with sobs.
"Who do you say this woman is?" demanded Alderbury in some bewilderment.
"She is Dorama, my wife, sir! And see what they have done to her, poor child! Not content with nearly beating the life out of me they have widowed her! the brutes! This is my uncle's doing. I will be even with him. He shall answer for it with his life! I will kill him as he would have killed me; and I will widow his——"
"Gently, Ananda! The Hindu in you dies hard. You do well to be angry, but don't mistake anger for revenge."
The hand that was laid upon his shoulder held in check the tempestuous wrath.
"Forgive me, sir. Wrong done against myself I can forgive—but this!" He looked down at his wife.
"They believed that you had drowned yourself, so successfully have you been hidden," said Alderbury. "And they considered themselves justified in their action."
Ananda lifted his drooping, but happy, wife to her feet and kept his arm about her. His anger melted and he forgot his wrath in the consciousness of her presence.
"How did she come here," he asked in calmer tones.
"I brought her," replied Alderbury.
"You, sir," repeated Ananda in surprise.
"Yes; your friend Bopaul must have interested himself in your affairs; for it was he who met me on the road this afternoon and begged me to take his widowed sister to the mission house and keep her there. He deceived me and took me in completely."
A smile dispersed the frown of anger that had rested on Ananda's face.
"Ah, the clever Bopaul! It was well planned. He is a friend worth having!" he said warmly.
"I'm afraid he is—a—a perverter of the truth!" blurted out the missionary.
"A splendid liar!" agreed Ananda enthusiastically. "I know of no one better. It is a great accomplishment in a Hindu to lie usefully and successfully."
"But it is altogether wrong in a Christian."
"I know it is!" replied the 'vert with a sigh of contrition. "I am afraid I have not been altogether straightforward myself of late."
"Tell me all about yourself and how you managed to escape," said Alderbury kindly, knowing that it would be best for him to talk it out instead of brooding over his wrongs, and perhaps being incited by his wife to further ill-will in considering the persecution she had endured for his sake. "When did you arrive?"
They seated themselves, Ananda retaining his hold on his wife as though he still feared lest she should be snatched away from him again. She sank upon the floor at his feet, resting an arm upon his knee with a comfortable sense of security which went towards compensating her for some of the unhappiness that had lately fallen to her lot. Alderbury called for the tea to be brought into his sitting-room.
"I arrived this morning."
"By train?"
"No, sir; I came by bullock cart. Let me tell you the story from the beginning. After your call at my father's house I was allowed to see my wife in the presence of the guru, who paid us a visit to inquire why the restitution ceremonies had not been performed. He tried to come between myself and my wife; but I was determined not to permit anything of the kind. Our interview was not pleasant. After it was over, and I had returned to my room I resolved to put an end to the uncomfortable state of affairs and leave my father's house."
"You were right in your intention."
"I made a mistake in not accepting your offer of help, sir. It was an error of judgment. My intention was to right my own battle without assistance."
"I understand; but how did you ultimately get away?"
"I was to all intents and purposes a prisoner in the house, and escape was no easy matter. I found a friend in the pariah I despised so much. By his advice I made the contents of my boxes into bundles and he undertook to take them to Biddapet, a station about ten miles out of Chirapore in this direction. I was coming here, of course. The luggage was gone and I was spending what I hoped was my last night in that miserable little room when I was awakened by a touch on my hand. It was my wife. She came to me in great distress to tell me that our son was dead."
There was a pause which Alderbury did not break. Ananda went on with his story.
"I persuaded her to throw in her lot with mine. It was a long walk to Biddapet, but she thought she could manage it if I gave her time. We started off before it was light and reached the wall of the compound. Unfortunately we disturbed a pariah dog. It barked and I threw a stone at it. It shrieked and the noise must have been heard in the house; for we were followed by our uncle and four other members of the family. They caught us up and we were powerless in their hands. There was nothing to be done but to go back, which we did; and when we reached the house my wife and I were again separated. That night I was severely beaten; and during the frightful ordeal my uncle never ceased to call upon me to recant. How I lived through it I don't know. God in his goodness gave me strength to bear the pain and to hold fast to Christ. I did not take my punishment with the meekness of the Great Master. I fought for my liberty. They were too many and too strong for me, however. I was held down, and it seemed at the time as if they must break every bone in my body."
Up to that point Ananda had used the English tongue. He laid his hand on his wife's and asked in native speech whether she knew that he had been beaten.
"Aiyoh! husband! I suffered and died with thee, beloved lord!"
Her eyes filled with tears and she kissed the hand passionately. He continued in the vernacular which Alderbury understood.
"After they left me I fainted. I don't know how long I lay there, but the next thing I remember was water being dashed into my face. I tried to protect my eyes, but the movement gave me great pain, and I cried out; I was so terribly bruised. Someone spoke to me in a whisper and told me to be quiet. Once more my friend in need was the sweeper; the man you saw, Mr. Alderbury, when you paid me a visit."
"You were too sick to think of caste any longer, I imagine."
"Indeed, I was! I let him do with me as he would; and I was grateful, more grateful than I can express. He rubbed my wounds with some soothing ointment and staunched the blood; for I was bleeding a good deal. Then he gave me a draught with opium in it. It deadened the pain and made me drowsy and indifferent to all that was happening to me."
"Good man! worthy of the name of Christian though he is only a heathen," commented Alderbury with warm approval.
Dorama did not take the same view.
"Husband, did you really accept the services of the sweeper?" she asked, her wondering eyes lifted to his with concern for his welfare.
"Yes, my lotus flower, I did; and I owe him my life. I should have died of exhaustion and starvation if I had been left untended all that night and the following day."
"What happened next?" asked Alderbury as Ananda showed a disposition to end his tale there.
"Before I continue my story I must ask you to keep my secret. I have given a promise that it is to be told to no one but yourself; and I pray you to respect our confidence."
"'Our confidence'?"
"Mine and Mrs. Hulver's."
There was a pause; and then, as enlightenment came, Alderbury said in a low voice:
"So then, you were young William?"
"The sweeper carried me wrapped in a sheet; for I could neither walk nor stand. It was between two and three o'clock in the morning when I was hoisted on to his back in a half unconscious state, my senses too stupefied to feel much pain, and I was taken to the college house. Mrs. Hulver was roused from her sleep by the sweeper woman—who works there, and is a relative of the man—and I was handed over to the housekeeper. I have since called her mother, so good and kind has she been to me. Under her care I recovered."
"And through her good offices you have come to me. How did you get here? By train?"
"No, sir; I came in your own cart and brought my luggage with me," replied Ananda. He continued his story. "When the sweeper found that I did not turn up as I promised at the little station, he carried the bundles back to his own house and came hot-foot to learn the reason of my failure to keep the appointment. There he found me in that sorry plight."
"I am still puzzled," said Alderbury after a little thought. "Mrs. Hulver's son was seen by Miss Wenaston lying on the cot in her sitting-room; and he was wearing uniform, the uniform of the regiment."
"When I regained consciousness in her room, I found myself dressed in the uniform that belonged to her son's father. She had kept it, and though it was very old and a loose fit, it served as an excellent disguise."
"She is a wonderful woman!"
"The kindest! the best!"
Ananda stopped with sudden emotion, his heart too full for words.
"I suppose this means that all communication between yourself and your family comes to an end," remarked Alderbury.
"I think not, sir," replied Ananda in a decisive voice. "Why should I be banished from my home like a criminal because I have changed my religion? I shall not allow my wife to go back. There is no reason why she should run any risk of insult; but I shall go back later on, when the irritation against me has died down, and see my father and mother."
"Don't put yourself in any unnecessary danger. Past experience should make you careful," said Alderbury.
"It has been dearly bought and is not likely to be forgotten," replied Ananda, with a touch of bitterness.
"And remember also that in Chirapore you, as an outcaste and Christian, have no civil rights."
"I am not likely to forget what is the only stain upon its government as a model native State. I should not think of returning to live there; but I mean to go some time or other to see my mother."
The old obstinacy was still to the fore. Behind it stood no longer the weakness and vacillation of youth, but the noble courage of a man who had been tried in the fire of affliction and not found wanting.
"And now I want to know how your wife managed to get away and meet me on the road."
"Tell your story, beloved. I, too, want to hear how you escaped and who befriended you," said Ananda.
"The friend was the same Englishwoman who helped you," answered Dorama timidly; but gaining courage she continued: "She arranged it all with Bopaul. There was no difficulty; for since I have been thus"—she touched her coarse cloth—"no one has cared how I spent my time nor where I wandered. Mayita came every day to see me and we passed hours in your little room, my lord, where I found this!" She pulled out his glove and showed it to him. "At sunset yesterday Mayita brought me a message from Bopaul to say that my husband was alive and safe on British ground, out of reach of our uncle's spite. Oh, how I rejoiced at the good news! but I was obliged to hide my feelings. Mayita told me that if I wished to see him again, I was to keep my secret and follow every direction sent by her, without asking any questions. This morning as soon as I could leave the house I went to the little room and there I found Mayita waiting for me. She said that I was to go at once to Bopaul whom I should find in the compound. He was there. Without a word he took my hand as he takes his sister's and together we walked away. Any one seeing us from the house would have thought that he was leading his sister home, for my saree was drawn over my head; and Mayita has grown nearly as tall as I am."
"Did no one notice you, my pearl?"
"Who would let his eye rest on the unlucky widow any longer than he could help? Those who might have seen turned their heads away."
"Your wife may thank your enemies for what they did," remarked Alderbury. "Without her widow's dress she could never have escaped."
"Bopaul brought some food with him, for we had a long way to go. We walked steadily for an hour. Then he made me sit down and rest. Afterwards we walked again, and my heart beat fast when I heard the call of the big fire carriage; but I grew quiet again when I sat by Mr. Alderbury's side, and we flew along the road like the wind. I felt that no one, not even our uncle, could catch me and take me back. Ah, husband, how I suffered when they did this to me!"
She passed her hand over her bald head. Ananda stooped and kissed the shaven crown.
"Beloved, it will soon grow again and be more beautiful than ever."
Alderbury slipped away unnoticed. He was full of sympathy for the two poor souls who had passed through so much pain whilst for himself all had been as he desired.