Gerrald stepped back with a bow. "Maharaj-ji, you are free to depart. I had not thought that the man whom I welcomed to my tent designed to pick a quarrel with me. Depart freely, and your son with you, but bear me witness that I did not fail in hospitality."
"Nor shall you find Partab Singh deficient in hospitality, O son of noble parents!" cried the old man, softening suddenly. "Know this, my friend. I designed to put you to a test, to prove your courtesy, your courage, your good faith, that I might see whether the English were indeed to be trusted. Well has Antni Sahib done in sending one like you, since he could not come himself!"
[1] Commandant.
"Here are ten rupees for you, Somwar Mal. You did me good service to-day," said Gerrard to his Munshi, who salaamed to the very ground.
"May the Protector of the Poor continue to be as a spreading tree, under whose branches this slave and all his house may find shelter!" he said devoutly. Gerrard thought he had departed, but looking up presently, saw him still standing humbly with folded hands.
"What is it, Munshi-ji?" he asked him.
"Sahib, among the attendants who accompanied the Rajah Partab Singh when he departed was a certain scribe, who made himself known to this slave as the grandson of his father's cousin, and asked leave to visit him this evening."
"Well, what of that? You may be able to get some useful information out of him. Ah, I see; you think he may be coming as a spy?"
"This slave has no doubt, sahib, that the young man will be commissioned to discover whether the Protector of the Poor was aware of the identity of the Rajah and his son when he received them, or not. What answer does the Presence desire should be given?"
"Why, the truth, of course!" said Gerrard impatiently.
"It is an order," said Somwar Mal, and salaamed himself out. His employer thought no more about him until just before bedtime, when the Munshi, his face beaming with modest gratification, sought another interview.
"This slave was not mistaken, sahib. The young man did his errand with a dexterity that would have deceived many, but not the humble one who watches over the interests of the Presence. The question came as though unpremeditated, as he had expected, and in accordance with the will of the Presence, he gave a true answer, saying that on the first appearance of the strangers on the horizon your honour cried out, 'Behold, some great one cometh! It is in my mind that the Rajah Partab Singh and his son are about to visit the camp.' And very great was the wonder of the young man that your honour could so well have hoodwinked his master."
"O Somwar Mal, you are a spoil-sport!" cried Gerrard. "Do you not see that all the hospitality I showed to the Rajah—all my faithfulness to my guests—now goes for nothing?"
The Munshi regarded him with mild reproach. "Nay, sahib, the meanest of men may not fail in hospitality—it is a duty incumbent upon all; but the power of foreseeing events is a direct gift from Heaven, and will move the Rajah to desire greatly the linking of his fortunes with your honour's. There is also another small matter in which this slave has to-night done what he could to add a stone to the pillar of your honour's prosperity."
"I wish you had asked me first. But let me know what obligations you have undertaken for me."
"The youth, the son of shame, dared to inquire in confidence what were the weaknesses of the Protector of the Poor!" said the Munshi, in an awful whisper. Gerrard fell in with the humour of the occasion.
"And of course you swore that I had none?"
Somwar Mal hung his head. "Alas, sahib! your honour bade me tell him the truth."
"You are right, Munshi-ji. Truth is great, and shall prevail. And which of my hidden faults have you discovered to the eyes of the world?"
"Sahib, your honour's credit is safe in the hands of your slave. He bade the youth name one after the other such things as have brought to ruin many wise men, and then assured him that not one of all these had ever touched your honour. But of that one thing which he has observed——"
"This becomes interesting," said Gerrard. "Speak."
"Nay, sahib, it is for this slave to lay the hand of respect upon the mouth of discretion."
"Not when the mouth of command issues an order. Say on."
"If it is an order, sahib——?" An inexorable nod answered him, and he went on. "Sahib, it has sometimes seemed to the humblest of your servants, who asks forgiveness for presuming to raise his eyes above your feet, that your honour was more occupied in seeking the right way to do a thing than in doing at once what required doing."
"Lack of decision? I see, and you told the youth this?"
Grieved surprise was in Somwar Mal's tone. "I, sahib? I told him that the besetting sin of the Protector of the Poor was a hasty judgment in sometimes acting without thought!"
"Oh, go away, you old humbug!" shouted Gerrard violently, and SomwarMal retired proudly smiling, while his employer laughed undisturbed.
"Whether it is due to Soomwar Mull's original notions of truth, or to old Pertaub Sing's own favourable impressions, it seems to be certain that I havemade a conquest!" he wrote to Charteris the next evening. "I have given up attempting to unravel the Rajah's motives in visiting me incog., and will only hint that if I were told the whole thing wasgot upwith a view to burking the momentous question who should pay the first call I should not be surprised. Do youtwig? Pertaub Sing has visited my camp, which is one to me; but the visit was not official, and that's one to him. In any case, I thought I should be carrying out Antony's wishes if I paid an official visit to-day, which I did, and was entertained regardless of expense, garlands, ottar,paunand all. The old boy is aregular brick, for—now grow green with envy—he has invited me to go a-hunting with him to-morrow. Hawking, he said—by the way, what would not a certain lady give to be a spectator of that most chivalrous of sports?—but oh, my beloved Bob, there's ajheelwhich I strongly suspect to be the intended scene of our exploits, and if there ain't pig there, call me a Dutchman. Conceive my feelings. If we sight pig, will it be my duty to turn delicately away, with a pained expression of countenance, or would it be better style to affect to have seen nothing whatever? Or will there, will there be spears in reserve, and the chance of some glorious fun? After all, my boy, envy me not till you hear how the day ends."
The day began uneventfully enough, though the spectacle of the Rajah's hunt delighted Gerrard's eyes. The old ruler himself and his councillors and Komadans seemed to have donned their brightest garb for the occasion, and the little prince, now known by his proper name of Kharrak Singh, was resplendent in emerald-green velvet, with a blue and silver turban and a broad folded girdle of stiff gold tissue, in which was stuck a huge dagger, large enough for a sword for him. He rode a white pony with a pink nose and a long tail, and on either side of him was an ancient armed retainer, charged to keep him out of any possible danger. The hawking was pretty to watch, but not particularly exciting, and Gerrard found it much more interesting when the innumerable dogs of indescribable breed which accompanied the party started something larger than birds in the brushwood surrounding the swamp. Partab Singh looked at his guest, and read the expression of his face aright. With a smile the old Rajah called up a man who carried a number of spears, and bade Gerrard take his choice. The beaters were wildly excited, declaring that the dogs had roused an old and very cunning boar which had long baffled the hunters of the neighbourhood, and after a brief council of war it was decided that the Rajah should take his stand at one side of thejhiland Gerrard at the other, the beaters keeping watch to prevent the quarry's breaking out across the open ground at the back, and the court officials going to the end of the swamp in case he should take to the water.
Rather to his annoyance, Gerrard found that the little prince, instead of accompanying his father, preferred to remain with him, in dangerous proximity to the track through the underwood along which the boar would probably come. Horribly afraid that the quarry would break out in his absence, he seized the white pony's bridle, and in spite of Kharrak Singh's vehement opposition, led him back to his guardians and bade him stay with them. As he cantered back to his post, the child's shrill voice made him look round, and he saw him striking furiously with his sheathed dagger at the hands of the two servants, who held the pony on either side. Satisfied that the boy was in safety, Gerrard waited, spear in hand, watching the movements of the bushes, which showed that some heavy body was making its way through them. From the yapping and yelping of the dogs at a discreet distance behind, he felt certain that this was the boar, and listened eagerly for the crackling of the brushwood as it came towards him. Then it burst into the open—the finest tusker he had ever seen—and made for him as fiercely as he rode at it. But to his utter astonishment, just as it met the iron it swerved violently—so that the spear merely inflicted a long gash from shoulder to flank—and charged on at something behind him.
Nearly thrown from the saddle by the absence of the expected resistance, Gerrard recovered himself and wrenched his horse round, to behold a sight which made his heart stand still. A white pony, with streaming mane and tail, was in full flight, and on the ground lay a vivid green and gold bundle, with two small feet kicking in the air. Kharrak Singh had evidently been thrown sideways from the saddle as the pony turned tail, and the boar's rush had carried it beyond him, but it had already transferred its attention from the terrified horse to the nearer foe. The two retainers, uttering cries of horror as they rode towards the fray, were hopelessly distant, and there was no one else at hand. Two things associated themselves in Gerrard's mind, without any volition on his part—the blood-stained spear in his hand and Kharrak Singh's broad golden belt, and some vague association with Somwar Mal was present as well. He and the boar charged simultaneously for the prostrate child, but before the cruel tusks could reach him, the spear had passed under the stiff golden folds and swung Kharrak Singh ignominiously into the air and across Gerrard's saddle. The astonished horse, accustomed to pig-sticking, but not to having the prey placed on his back, took the bit between his teeth and dashed furiously away, with the boar in full pursuit—so Gerrard gathered from the chorus of yells and shrieks that arose. One hand was fully occupied with the reins, the other with holding the child, and it was impossible to disengage his spear while going at this pace, though the handle collided with half the trees they passed, and threatened to jerk Kharrak Singh from his grasp.
"Hold fast, little brother!" he called out.
"Not your little brother!" The words reached him faintly, and he smiled, for at least the child was not much hurt. Venturing to glance round to see whether the boar was continuing the chase, he found that it had given up, but to his astonishment all the hunt, mounted and on foot, were pursuing him with wild cries. "Maro! maro!" [1] they yelled, and two of the Komadans, who were drawing ahead of the others, had one of them a spear in rest, and the other his sword drawn. Like a flash of lightning it broke upon Gerrard that to a distant observer his action must have had all the appearance of a peculiarly cold-blooded murder, and that before he could explain to these avengers that his spear had merely lifted the child by his girdle, they would have cut him down from behind. To check his horse was impossible, for the sounds of pursuit stimulated it continually to fresh efforts, and he had no means of defending himself while he explained matters, since his spear was still entangled in Kharrak Singh's golden waistbelt.
A second time the pleasing sense of proving Somwar Mat a false prophet came over Gerrard as he jerked his horse violently to the right, where an irrigation channel, leading from the swamp, crossed his course. The pursuers evidently thought it would prove an insurmountable barrier, for he could hear by their shouts that the two foremost were separating so as to ride against him from either side, when he would be caught between them and the main body behind. But his horse was a noted jumper, and that fact saved him. He felt it rise to the leap, and though the channel was too broad, and it fell on its knees on the slope of crumbling earth at the farther side, he contrived to twitch himself and Kharrak Singh out of the saddle in time to prevent its slipping back into the muddy water. Once on his feet, he was able to disengage the spear without difficulty, and as the horse also struggled up he caught it and set Kharrak Singh in the saddle, then turned to confront his astonished pursuers. They had halted in sheer amazement, and were gazing at him with various expressions of stupefaction, old Partab Singh himself, the spear in his iron hand shaking like a leaf; at their head. Kharrak Singh hailed their astonishment as a tribute to himself, for some reason or other, and clapped his hands and cried "Shabash!" until he was tired.
"Is the child unhurt?" the foremost Komadan ventured at last to ask, rather unnecessarily.
"Fool! who should have hurt me?" cried Kharrak Singh.
"The Feringhee," answered every one together.
"Surely ye are all mad, O people. I would have killed him with my dagger!" and the boy clapped his hand to his girdle, only to discover that the precious dagger had dropped by the way. Turning immediately upon Gerrard, he began to beat him with his fists. "Where is my dagger, O fair man? Hast thou stolen it? Give it back!"
"Choop!" said Gerrard unceremoniously, for Partab Singh had ridden to the edge of the bank opposite.
"O my friend, was this well done—to endanger your own life and the child's, and cause all my people to believe you a murderer, for the sake of a moment's jest?" asked the old man.
"Maharaj-ji, there was no jest. The child lay on the ground, in the path of the charging boar, and I could save him in no other way——"
"He caught me up on his spear, as a kite snatches up a kitten!" cried Kharrak Singh proudly. "I felt the breath of the unclean beast on my leg!"
Partab Singh turned to his guards. "Bring hither the heads of the liars who spake evil of my friend Jirad Sahib, and lay them before him." Then to Gerrard, "My face is black, O my friend. When justice has been done, I shall be less abashed, and able to speak to you."
"I entreat your Highness to pardon the men. Their eyes deceived them, and they thought they spoke the truth. If I am indeed your friend——"
"They shall live. Their eyes alone shall pay the forfeit, for I have no use for eyes that deceive their owners."
"Nay, let them go free. I ask nothing else of your Highness."
"This is in very deed my friend's will?"
"In very deed."
"I had sooner you had asked for half my treasury, but the wretches shall go free," grumbled Partab Singh, and two very badly frightened men were ignominiously sped with kicks and cuffs to the rear. The nearest cultivators were then summoned, and forced to break down the canal-banks, and make a temporary causeway for Gerrard to cross, in the midst of which the Rajah met him and embraced him, and insisted that he should forthwith mount his own splendid horse, with its gold-encrusted trappings, and saddle-cloth flashing with gems. Thus they rode back, the Rajah on a humble pony, with Gerrard on the great horse on his right, and Kharrak Singh, extremely discontented with Gerrard's plain saddle, relegated to his left. In the course of the ride, Gerrard learned that he was immediately to visit the Rajah at the city of Agpur, that the inestimable service he had rendered the state might be properly acknowledged and proclaimed, and that if he desired the life or property of any man in the province, he had only to ask for it. Colonel Antony's ambassador could have desired no better proof of the complete success of his mission.
The evening was spent in Partab Singh's camp, where all his officers and officials came by command to pay their respects to Gerrard and congratulate him upon his exploit. It seemed absurd, as he rode back to his own camp at night, to realise by what a chain of accidents he had been led to his present position of favour, and he reflected sagely that accidents might as easily dethrone him, so that it would be well to report the state of affairs at once, in case Colonel Antony should wish to take immediate advantage of it. He had got rid of his full-dress uniform and the garlands with which he had been decorated, and was writing busily by the light of a smoky lantern, when the Granthi commander of his escort came to say that they had caught a man trying to make his way unperceived into the camp, who said that he was a Sirdar who had urgent business with the Sahib.
"Tell him to come in the morning," said Gerrard.
"He comes from one of the states newly included in the Company's territory, sahib, and has a petition to present. Moreover he dares not come by day, for fear of the Rajah here."
"A British subject? I suppose I must see him, though why he should be skulking in Agpur territory—— Bring him in, Badan Hazari."
A tall man much muffled in a large cloak was ushered in, and at Gerrard's invitation, sat down on the floor. When Badan Hazari was gone, he lowered the cloak a little, and looked at Gerrard as though he expected recognition, but there was none.
"I place my life in your hands, sahib. I am Sher Singh."
"There are many of that name," said Gerrard, puzzled.
"Not many who are also princes of Agpur."
"You are a relation of the Rajah's, then?"
"Merely his eldest son, sahib." The man glanced round fearfully as he spoke, as though listeners were to be dreaded.
"What! the son who was sentenced——?"
"The discernment of the Sahib is wonderful. Yes, these are the eyes that were to be presented on a golden plate for my father to gloat over."
"But why are you here? You must know that your life——-"
"Is in danger? True, but I seek for justice from the Protector of thePoor."
"If you have a claim against your father, you must lay it beforeColonel Antony and the Ranjitgarh Durbar."
"And be stabbed or poisoned by emissaries from Agpur? Nay, sahib, Iwant nothing for the present—merely a promise of justice in future.Who is to sit upon thegaddiwhen the pyre has been built for RajahPartab Singh?"
"I understand that the Rajah has the right to nominate his own successor. It is no affair of mine," said Gerrard coldly. Sher Singh's eyes blazed.
"Not though he nominates the young upstart he has raised up to the prejudice of me, his rightful heir?"
"Ah, by the bye, why were you sentenced to death and cut out of the succession?" asked Gerrard casually. Sher Singh blinked once or twice before answering.
"What father does not hate his heir?" he asked at last.
"And the hatred was groundless?"
"What heir does not consider his father's life unduly prolonged? Say that he is tempted to anticipate the enjoyment of what will be all his one day——"
"Enough!" said Gerrard sharply. "You wish me to intercede with theRajah for you?"
"Nay, sahib, since then my life would end before his. But you are high in the favour of the great Antni Sahib, the fountain of justice, who is all-powerful in Granthistan, save in this little corner. Does he desire to add to his present cares another infant-ruled kingdom, with another shameless Rani and more headstrong Sirdars to tear it in pieces? Partab Singh's days cannot now be long. Were it not well that he should be succeeded by a man of full age, who has travelled among the English and seen their power, and can be trusted to act towards them as a loyal ally?"
Gerrard considered the suggestion a moment, aware that Colonel Antony would give much to prevent the duplication of his present anxieties, and at the same time settle satisfactorily the affairs of this troublesome province. But unfortunately Sher Singh, in his eagerness to clinch matters, went too far.
"Sahib," he said, leaning forward confidentially, "in the treasury atAgpur there is wealth for many men. What if it were divided betweenAntni Sahib, you, and me—and Antni Sahib need not know what was thesum you and I found there?"
Gerrard started up. "Badan Hazari!" he shouted, and the soldier came running. "Turn this man out. He has dared to offer me a bribe. You have made a mistake, nephew of a foolish aunt. Leave to live, and a decent maintenance, you may obtain through Colonel Antony Sahib, but after to-night, nothing more."
"This slave is indeed foolish as the beasts," lamented Sher Singh. "Let the Sahib in his mercy obtain for him even now what he has promised, and for the present he will dwell quietly, and aim no more at a dignity that is clearly above his capacity."
The reason for this change of front Gerrard had not time to puzzle over at the moment, for as Sher Singh left the tent under the escort of Badan Hazari, the Rajah's minister, Diwan Dwarika Nath, appeared out of the darkness with his attendants, and cast a keen glance at the departing figure. Dismissing his servants to a distance, and apologising for the lateness of his visit, Dwarika Nath proceeded to make various arrangements on his master's behalf with regard to the journey to Agpur, all in a very friendly and polite spirit. But as he rose to take his leave, he turned suddenly on Gerrard.
"His Highness might be interested to learn what visitors hisfriendJirad Sahib entertains in secret at night," he said.
"My visitors come without any wish of mine, but they go when I choose," retorted Gerrard warningly.
Dwarika Nath held up a deprecating hand. "There is no need for hisHighness to know who the visitor was. I alone recognised him."
"It might certainly be safer for you not to bring that recognition to the knowledge of his Highness," mused Gerrard.
Dwarika Nath's face grew avaricious. "But there is my duty to his Highness. How could I consent to keep silent on a matter that affects him so nearly?"
"I really don't know. Your conscience ain't in my keeping. Settle it for yourself," said Gerrard carelessly. "Now I suppose I have made two enemies to-night!" he remarked to himself as Dwarika Nath turned away with baffled greed in his eyes.
[1] Kill! kill!
From Lieut. Robert Charteris, Darwan, to Lieut. Henry Gerrard:—
"DEAR HAL,—I have not had long to wait for abillet douxfrom you. Ihadthought you would draw the line at assassination, but we live and learn. Last night, as I was returning to the shelter of my humble roof, a dirty hairy fellow—but why should I describe him toyou?—leapt out and fired at me point-blank with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol, andmissed. I give you my word he singed half an inch off my left whisker. Of course theysayhe was a ruffianly suitor offended by my just decision in favour of his opponent, but I know better. 'Sweet Hal, by my faith!' thinks I to myself, says I, and what I says I sticks to. I know he ought to have been taken alive, and returned to you postage-paid, with an insulting message inviting you to try again and do your worst. Unfortunately my honest fellows, not being versed in these niceties of behaviour, fell on him in a body and incontinently despatched him. But bring on your minions. Come one, come all, this rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as
Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,
From Lieut. Henry Gerrard, Agpur City, to Lieut. Robert Charteris:—
"DEAR BOB,—I grieve to find that you answered what you are good enough to call mybillet douxeven before receiving it. Had your miserable tool's fortune not failed him when your plot was on the verge of success, you would now be rid of a rival. I own I should not have believed you fallen so low as to resort to poison—a nasty ungentlemanly weapon, if you will pardon my natural warmth. The wretch declared himself to have been employed by a villainous Dewan lately dismissed, 'tis true, but my apprehensive heart framed, though my lips refrained from uttering, your name. Powdered glass, too! Let me ask you as a favour to choose a less revolting form of death next time, or I swear to you that my expiring lips shall murmur 'Et tu, Roberte!' with sufficient reiteration to excite remark. And pray how had poor old Pertaub Sing injured you, that your vengeance should include him? Avaunt, traitor! I pities and despises you. H. G."
From Lieut. Robert Charteris to Lieut. Henry Gerrard:—
"Ha, most noble Hal, and have the little god's arrows but just failed to prove fatal in your case also?Honour, what crimes are committed in thy name! But none shall say Bob Charteris don't fight fair. Please receive herewith a buffalo horn, the trophy of my bow and spear. You remember how Mithridates, or some old classical fellow, used it as an antidote to poisons?[1] The exact method of application has slipped my memory, but I fancy the horn should be ground small and mixed in all you eat and drink. If I am wrong, send me word when it begins to take effect, and I will make a point of arriving in time to give you a thumping big funeral. But by the horn, (not now, alas! by the buffalo,) there hangs atale. The animal charged me in the most ferocious manner when I was passing peaceably upon my lawful occasions, and had I not snatched my gun from my boy, who promptly bolted, your dearest wish would now be fulfilled. But the trusty weapon did not play me false, and on mature reflection, I have decided not to lay the beast's malice to your account, for lack of evidence. To all appearances it was the wildest wild beast in Asia, but hardly were my escort come up to view the spoil and acclaim my prowess, than there arrived also a wretched cultivator, swearing with tears and howls that I had wantonly destroyed the friend of his family, the mainstay of his lowly cot. I held a court on the spot, and desired to know what sum would compensate him for this cruel loss. The opportunity of taking in the stranger was too promising to resist, and he requested leave to retire and consult with his friends—an interval I employed in making inquiry as to the market price of buffaloes in that neighbourhood. Returning, the honest man named a sum that would have bought him a dozen, at the lowest computation. Remembering Colonel A.'s maxims regarding kindness to the people, I was in some doubts whether to pay the demand and put it down to office expenses, but reflected in time that my appearance in public would in that case be the signal for loosing against me droves of charging buffaloes wherever I went. I brought the fellow down, therefore, to something like two and a half times the value of the very best bull ever bred in Granthistan, but as he was retiring, with difficulty concealing his smiles over the Sahib'sgullibility, I called him smartly back, and fined him one and a half times the value of the said ideal bull for damage to my person and dignity by allowing his ill-conditioned beast to roam at large and uncontrolled. If the judgment of Solomon was received with one-half the applause and admiration that greeted mine, then Solomon must have been an insufferable person to converse with for at least a twelvemonth after. If you are flush of cash, then, I can recommend buffalo-shooting as a tolerable amusement, but if not, let me suggest that you obtainkhubberof a tiger—of course a man-eater—in the direction of my boundary, when I will lay aside the cares ofofficeand join you in the chase, and the resulting skin, should there be one, shall be laid, with our united respectful compliments, at the feet of a lady who shall be nameless. We hear marvellous tales of your having tamed a certain old bear, and leading him about with a silken string, but ain't there something of over-confidence in accompanying him into his very den? Even a tame bear is treacherous at times, and whenriled, an awkward customer to tackle. Why not guide your bear gently in this direction, and settle the disputed boundary between Augpore and Durwan while I am on this side of my kingdom? Give me open country and room to move rather than the finest bear-pit ever built, says
Gerrard read this second letter in the quarters assigned to him in Partab Singh's fortified palace at Agpur, and appreciated the motive which had led Charteris both to send the warning and to couch it in veiled and sportive language. A kind of envy of his friend, whose problems, if difficult, were comparatively simple, and whose enemies attacked in front, seized upon him, for he also preferred open country and room to move. Nothing was simple at Agpur; it seemed as though there was a malign influence about the place which brought hints of tragedy into the most ordinary sights and sounds. Even as Gerrard approached the city, to which the Rajah had preceded him the day before, the gay procession of soldiers and dancing-girls that escorted him was interrupted by a very different crowd. Followed by a jeering rabble, there hurried forth from the gate a portly Hindu, whose spotless muslins were rapidly being converted into filthy rags by the attentions of his pursuers, and whose shaven head glistened bare under the sun's rays. Glancing hither and thither like a hunted animal for some place of refuge, the wretched man missed his footing and fell, with a red gash across his brow where a stone had struck him. Smiles and sarcasms passed among the soldiery, and one of the dancing-girls introduced into her song a verse inspired by the occasion, to judge by the cruel laughter it evoked. Fearing that the victim would be done to death as soon as his back was turned, Gerrard dismounted and went to help him up, intending to send one of his own men a little way back with him, to see him clear of the mob. To his astonishment, he recognised the distorted face which glared into his as that of the Diwan Dwarika Nath, and found his help refused with a venomous curse. The commander of the escort smiled.
"He has eaten the great shoe," he said, as though in explanation.
"But was the Rajah's sentence death?" demanded Gerrard.
"No," was the reluctant answer. "Whip back these dogs—it is the Sahib's will," he said to his men. "And now, sahib, be persuaded to remount. Our lord loves not to be kept waiting."
"But what has Dwarika Nath done?" asked Gerrard, as he complied, leaving the fallen minister freed at any rate from the mob that had persecuted him.
"He has doubtless been found out," was the cynical reply. "The word went forth from our lord this morning that the fellow was to be beaten with the great shoe immediately before the Sahib's arrival, and to be driven forth from the city to meet him as he came."
Gerrard pondered vainly the connection between the two events. Did the expulsion of Dwarika Nath synchronize with his own entrance as a warning to him, or as an assurance of safety? Partab Singh, receiving him in the utmost state, and leading him by the hand into the palace between rows of salaaming courtiers, made no allusion to it, and the attempted poisoning that very evening tended to overshadow the affair in his mind. Gerrard never knew whether the Rajah had become aware of the intended assassination beforehand, or whether he regarded it as so extremely probable as to be practically a certainty. However this might be, upon the appearance of a curry of which he was particularly fond, and of which he had signified his intention of sending a portion, as a special mark of favour, to Gerrard at his separate table, the old ruler called the attention of all present to the exquisite appearance of the dish, and ordered the cook to be fetched, that he might be suitably complimented upon his handiwork. Gerrard discerned in the man's aspect no more than the natural awkwardness of a rough fellow brought into a position of unaccustomed prominence, but no sooner did the cook present himself before him than Partab Singh rose with one fierce word, and drawing his jewelled tulwar, cut off his head at a single blow. The horror of the scene, the severed head rolling on the ground, the blood sprinkled upon the food, affected the Englishman so powerfully that he did not perceive at first that the dead man's son and assistant, was also being dragged before the Rajah. There was no need even to question him, for on his knees, with piteous lamentation, he confessed that in the spiced sauce accompanying the curry a quantity of very finely powdered glass had been mingled, which would ensure an agonising death to any one who partook of it. This had been done at the instigation of the disgraced Dwarika Nath, whose bribe for the purpose would be found hidden in the thatch of the cook-house. Gerrard retained only a vague recollection of the issue of certain orders, of the informers being dragged shrieking away, and the departure of a troop of horsemen with orders to bring back Dwarika Nath dead or alive, or of the hastily prepared food he forced himself to eat, and the unruffled conversation of Partab Singh after supper. Dwarika Nath was not brought back, for he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, but the bodies of the two cooks were an eyesore on the ground outside the palace until the dogs and kites had done their work.
Another trial to Gerrard was the supervision maintained over his movements. In order to carry out Colonel Antony's instructions, he wished to move about the city and talk with the traders and others in the bazars, but no matter how skilfully he thought he had eluded his guardians, he had no sooner slipped out of the palace than a panting escort was at his heels, insisting on his mounting the horse presented to him by the Rajah—which at once put an end to any chance of unfettered conversation. So tiresome did this surveillance become that at last he determined to take advantage of Partab Singh's continued friendliness to relieve himself of it. They were sitting one evening in the covered balcony of a tower looking over the palace garden, oddly assorted companions, Gerrard on the watch, as usual, against being morally taken by surprise, the Rajah puffing at his hookah—for in private he was the veriest free-thinker—in silence, the gleaming of his fierce eyes the only sign that he was not asleep. He took the mouthpiece from his lips when Gerrard broke into his complaint.
"My soldiers have been lacking in respect—have hesitated to attend my friend whither he desires?"
"No, no!" answered Gerrard hastily, fearing a sudden holocaust. "They are most courteous. It is merely that they are always there."
With a swift movement Partab Singh bent forward, and lightly touched the ground at Gerrard's feet. "O my friend, what have I done, that you would bring the guilt of your death upon me?"
"Maharaj-ji," protested Gerrard indignantly, "I am not a griffin, to try to penetrate into mosques or zenanas. I would but walk about—of course with a servant or two."
"Has my friend not perceived yet that this city is in the eyes of its inhabitants sacred even as a mosque or a zenana? He sees only eyes beaming with affection as he rides through the streets?"
"Not exactly," admitted Gerrard. "But I thought that the people were irritated by the action of the escort in clearing the way—and perhaps also by seeing me riding your Highness's horse. On foot, and unattended——"
"You would be slain before you had left the palace square. Listen, my friend—who knows Agpur best, I who have spent my life here, or you who see it now for the first time?"
"Your Highness, undoubtedly."
"Then let my friend listen to me. These Moslem notables, who would dispute the city itself with my Granthis, but for the firm hand I keep over both, think you that they love the English? Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia is the master they would choose to serve if they had their way. Say that they gratify their hatred by slaying a British officer, Antni Sahib's envoy. On whose head lies the guilt? Is it not on that of Rajah Partab Singh? The English come to punish him, and the whole of Granthistan is in a blaze again. Granthi sides with Granthi against the English, but these dogs of Mohammedans, who shall tell which side they will take? This only I can say, that it will be the side of their own advantage."
"Forgive me, Maharaj-ji. I had not thought——"
"No, my friend. You uttered hastily the words of an impatient mind, not having studied from your youth the art of playing off Granthi against Moslem, and both against Ranjitgarh. But it is a study that you will do well to take in hand now."
"I could have no better teacher than your Highness," said Gerrard politely. The Rajah looked at him almost with affection.
"Would that these were as the days of old, before the English crossed the Ghara! Then should Jirad Sahib have been my Englishman, and I would have given him a wife out of my own house, and he should have dwelt always in my city, and trained my soldiers. Verily we would have put Ranjitgarh itself to tribute when the fool sat on thegaddiin the place of Ajit Singh, and when death approached I would have put my son Kharrak Singh into my friend's arms and died content, knowing that he would serve the child even as he had served the father. But now who shall protect the boy from a thousand dangers?"
"If peril threatens him when I am at hand, your Highness can count upon my protecting him with my life."
"Of that I am certain." Partah Singh paused, and his eyes wandered over the dark gardens, with their gleaming white colonnades and kiosks and graceful towers rising into the blue-black sky. He traced the starlight down to its reflection in the great tank before he spoke again. "If I should place my son and my kingdom under the protection of the English, what would happen in Agpur?" he asked at last.
"Your Highness knows whether the army is to be trusted. There would be intense indignation on the part both of the Granthi and the Moslem notables, I presume? Whether they would proceed to active opposition——"
"If they saw a hope of success they would. But with the army faithful to an Englishman already established in charge here—and the English at Ranjitgarh ready to march to his assistance?"
"But you forget one thing, Maharaj-ji. That the days of your Highness may yet be prolonged for many years is a thing not only to be hoped for but confidently expected, and the English are at Ranjitgarh only for a certain time, until Ajit Singh's son comes of age."
The Rajah laughed impatiently. "Away with this foolishness between friends!" he said. "Where the English come, they stay. If young Lena Singh survives the quarrels of his mother and the Sirdars, how can he be left to rule Granthistan with all English help withdrawn? The Resident and the army must stay, or the day the youth mounts thegaddiwill also be that of his death."
"So I have heard many say among ourselves," said Gerrard; "but it is not the view of Colonel Antony. Nothing would induce him to be a party to annexing Granthistan."
Partab Singh threw up one hand slightly. "Said I not that things might yet remain as they are? The English may go on ruling Granthistan while pretending that they do nothing of the kind, but it is in my mind that before many years are past they will be rulers in name also. If, then, I should place myself under the protection of the English"—he dropped his voice—"would they maintain my son in his kingdom under the regents that I should appoint?"
"I cannot possibly enter into any agreement that would bind Colonel Antony or the Government, but it sounds the kind of arrangement that they would be likely to sanction," replied Gerrard, in the same cautious tone. "But has your Highness considered the opposition that would be aroused in Agpur if it became known?"
"It is for that very reason I have broached the plan to you. Whether I die soon or not for years to come, there must be at hand a man who will take command of the army, with wealth in his power sufficient to ensure its allegiance, and use it boldly to maintain my son's title against all opposition, from whatever quarter it may arise."
Gerrard gave a start of dismay, for the last words brought back to his mind something he had forgotten. "Maharaj-ji, if I err bid me be silent, but it is in my mind to utter that which I fear is forbidden. Is there not one whose right to the throne is greater than that of Kharrak Singh?"
The Rajah betrayed no surprise, but extreme bitterness was in his voice as he answered, "There is one at whose evil deeds the sun would grow black, were they published abroad. His death was decreed, but I suffered him to elude my vengeance, saying, 'Surely he will hide his shame at the ends of the earth, mindful that one has died to save him from the reward of his deeds.' But since he has returned, and dared to put forth claims to the throne he forfeited, there is no mercy for him. Was it well done in you, O my friend, to listen favourably to his petition, and not drive him from you?"
"I knew not the man, Maharaj-ji, and he gained access to me with a lying tale. When I learned who he was, it was my duty to hear what he had to say, but I drove him from me when he sought to influence me by a bribe."
"True, but your anger was kindled by the attack on your own integrity, not by the man's evil designs."
"I am here to report all things to Colonel Antony, Maharaj-ji, not one side of the case only." The Rajah's eyes were flashing, and Gerrard waited for an outburst of anger, but none came. "But how did your Highness learn of the man's visit?" he asked.
"From whom but from Dwarika Nath? I looked to hear of it from my friend, but I waited in vain."
"I did not desire to be the means of the man's death," said Gerrard, rather lamely.
"And why does not my friend tell me that Dwarika Nath offered to conceal the matter in return for a gift?"
"Your Highness does not mean to say that Dwarika Nath confessed that?" cried Gerrard. Partab Singh enjoyed his astonishment for a moment.
"Nay," he said softly, "the whole matter was recounted to me by one whom I can trust, who was on the watch from the beginning to the end, so that when Dwarika Nath, with many protestations of fidelity and condolence, made known to me the treachery of my friend, I was able to remind him that he had been willing to cover that treachery for money. For this he has received due punishment."
Gerrard remained silent a moment, Dwarika Nath's interview with him in his tent, and the expulsion of the disgraced Diwan from the city, jostling one another in his mind. Then quite another thought came upper-most. "So you set spies on me in my own tent, Maharaj-ji!" he cried indignantly. "And you call me your friend!"
"The wise man calls no one friend whom he has not tested when they are apart as well as when they are together," was the calm reply. "Do I not honour my friend by enabling the lustre of his character to shine forth even when he believes himself alone?"
"I said these walls seemed to have eyes!" muttered Gerrard. "I suppose your Highness's spies are here also?"
"You are watched from morning to night, and again from night to morning," said the Rajah with pride. "Even on your sacred day, when you worshipped your God in the company of the half-breed physician, my eyes were upon you."
Gerrard moved angrily. Among the verbal counsels with which Colonel Antony supplemented his official instructions to his assistants, there was one which invariably occurred; "I make no suggestion as to your action when alone, though you are acquainted with my own practice. But when there is even one other Christian within reach, it is my earnest entreaty that you will invite him to join with you on Sundays in the worship of God. Believe me, this will bring you no discredit among the heathen, but rather the contrary." The "one other Christian" in this case was Moraes, who regarded compliance with the invitation as an additional sin to be confessed and expiated on his return home, and Gerrard felt a natural resentment at the thought of the curious eyes that had watched the proceedings. He rose abruptly.
"Since you trust me so little, Maharaj-ji, I had better go. Have I your leave to depart?"
The Rajah made no movement. "O my friend, why this impatience? Said I not that all I had seen had only served to justify my confidence? Had I taxed you with treachery as the result of my watching, there might have been cause for anger. What is this? you cannot pardon my not trusting you untried? Know then that I had reason for my hesitation, for I design to admit you wholly to my confidence. You, O my friend, are the man I intend to appoint as regent, together with the mother of Kharrak Singh, should I die while he is still a child."
"I am grateful for the honour, Maharaj-ji, but I could not accept it without leave from my superiors."
"That leave will undoubtedly be given when they know that you alone have power to keep the troops in good humour. With them on your side you can laugh at the notables and the common people alike. I am about to show you what no living eyes but mine have seen, the secret store I have laid up to safeguard my son. And I will do more than that, for the mother of Kharrak Singh shall be bidden to look to you for help and guidance in all things. At my command she has already sworn not to become suttee on my decease, but to live and shield her son from the plots laid against him within the palace, as you will from those without. Here are turban, robe and slippers of mine. Put them on, lest the guardians of the treasure should refuse to let you pass, and come."
[1] Readers of the classics will perceive that Mr Charteris's memory played him false here.
To put on the Rajah's robe over his clothes, and don the turban and slippers, was the work of a moment for Gerrard, and he was ready before Partab Singh had even raised himself from his cushions. The spirit of adventure had laid hold of the young man, and the hint of peril suggested by his host's last words was thrilling his blood, but he was sufficiently master of himself to insist upon uttering one more warning.
"Your Highness will believe that I appreciate to the full the confidence you are prepared to repose in me, but I must remind you that outside Granthistan I am merely a junior officer in the Company's army. If it should unfortunately happen that the guardianship of Kharrak Singh and of the state devolved upon Colonel Antony by your arrangement, it is almost certain that he would make choice of an older man to represent him and act as regent."
"So that the army might rise against him in a week, and having slain him and Kharrak Singh and his mother, invade British territory and bring about a second Granthi war?" asked Partab Singh drily. "I have made my choice of a regent, O my friend, and by reason of the power I shall put into his hands, he will be the only man that Antni Sahib can choose."
Recollections of Colonel Antony's heroic disregard of commonplace safeguards in various outstanding cases made Gerrard persist. "Colonel Antony will choose the man he thinks best fitted for the post, as in the sight of God, Maharaj-ji, and it will be my duty to acquiesce in his decision."
"So be it," said the Rajah, with resignation. "Only swear to me that you will not betray the secret I am about to disclose to you to any living being, man or woman, priest or ruler, save to my son Kharrak Singh when he is of age and seated on thegaddi."
"Does it concern the state, Maharaj-ji?"
"The state might continue to endure were the secret lost, but on it depends the safety of Kharrak Singh and the existence of my house. At present I alone know it."
"But if any evil should befall your Highness and myself, the secret will be lost. Suffer me to reveal it to Colonel Antony, who will hold it sacred, and not permit the knowledge of it to influence his action."
"Nay, that were beyond the power of mortal man!" cried Partab Singh. "To Antni Sahib least of all must the secret be revealed. But this it is permitted you to do. Choose out an honourable man, lower than yourself in rank—or at least not likely to be preferred before you by your masters—and confide the secret to him under the conditions on which I reveal it to you. Let him be one that you can trust as yourself."
"Bob, of course!" said Gerrard in his own mind, with humorous dismay."It is well, Maharaj-ji. I choose my friend the officer in charge ofDarwan," he added aloud.
"And he is near at hand? It is well. Reveal the secret to him as soon as may be. I have your promise?"
"To keep your Highness's secret? Yes. But anything further must depend upon the will of my superiors."
"That I understand. Come, my friend."
They went down the spiral marble staircase of the tower, the Rajah leading, and passed the guards at the foot without a word. Gerrard noticed that they did not leave the tower by the carved marble gateway through which they had entered, but by a smaller door at the back, which gave access to a shaded terrace looking over the great tank. In the shadows a boat was waiting, with one man in it, leaning on a long pole, and when the Rajah and Gerrard had stepped in, this man punted them out into the starlight in perfect silence, and across the lake into a kind of backwater, covered thick with the flat leaves of the lotus, in an opposite corner. Gerrard expected to see the boat held fast among the twining roots, but it was evident that a channel was kept clear, for they slid through without difficulty. The boatman helped them to shore, still in silence, and Partab Singh touched his own ears and mouth lightly, explaining to Gerrard that the man was deaf and dumb, as he brought a lantern from the boat and preceded them through a thicket of bamboos and similar plants. The place suggested snakes, and Gerrard trod with caution, wondering what the great wall in front, over which the sound of clanking chains came faintly, might enclose. A small door was disclosed by the boatman's moving aside the bushes, and the Rajah brought out a key from his girdle, and taking the lantern from the man's hand, waved him back to the boat. The opening of the door disclosed only darkness, but the sound of the clanking of chains grew louder, mixed with growls and wild cries.
"Smells like a wild beast show!" mused Gerrard. "Where can we be coming to?"
Even as he spoke, the Rajah, who had shut the door, advanced a few steps and waved the lantern round, and the flickering light, with the chorus of snarls that arose, showed the Englishman that they were in a passage leading to the bottom of the great pit in which the palace menagerie was kept. He had often looked over the parapet at the top, generally in Kharrak Singh's company, and had the fighting animals pointed out to him, and been promised a grand display if he was present on the boy's next birthday, but now he was descending into the arena, with fierce eyes glaring at the intruders from all the surrounding cages.
"If only old Bob were here now!" he thought, as Partab Singh crossed the sanded space, and began deliberately to unfasten the gate of one of the largest cages.
"Enter, my friend, and fear not!" said the old man, in a tone in which Gerrard detected a design upon the nerves. The darkness was not reassuring, but he stepped in, to be aware immediately of a huge body hurling itself at him through the air, with an awe-inspiring roar. A wicked snarl from behind him at the same moment warned him against stepping back, and he braced himself unconsciously to meet the impact. But the animal, whatever it was, fell short of him in its spring, and to his utter bewilderment he stood unharmed.
"They scent the stranger," said Partab Singh, turning the lantern to show first the huge lioness, almost black in colour, which had betrayed her presence by snarling, and then her mate, looking indescribably sulky and wounded in his self-esteem owing to the failure of his leap. "The gate is open; does my friend wish to return?"
It is no discredit to Gerrard that he was obliged to pull himself together before he could reply with suitable unconcern, "Is this the secret, then, Maharaj-ji? If not, let us go on," and the Rajah smiled grimly.
"Keep to the middle of the den, then," he said, as he fastened the gate. "The beasts are chained, and cannot touch you there."
That the honour of the Rajah's friendship was not without its drawbacks was a fact that had already forced itself upon Gerrard's mind that evening, and he now began to wonder whether its value was altogether correspondent to the severe tests it seemed to demand. The lions might be chained, but their chains were quite unnecessarily long, and they walked about in a highly disquieting manner while the Rajah was busy at the back of the den. Gerrard held the lantern, and hoped fervently that his hand did not shake—he was too much shaken himself to know whether it did or not. In the rear wall of the cage were several iron rings fixed to staples, to which chains might be attached, and through one of these Partab Singh passed his sheathed dagger, and gave it a sharp twist. Then, removing the dagger, he began to turn the ring the other way with his hands. When he had done this apparently an interminable number of times, Gerrard ventured to ask if he might help. An angry gesture of negation answered him, and he resigned himself to wait, while the lions strained at their chains. At last a great stone moved out like a door, and the Rajah entered, and motioned Gerrard to follow. Closing the door with a movement of his finger, he turned to his companion.
"The ring must be turned nine-and-twenty times, no more and no less," he said. "If you turn it less, no effect will follow, but if more, a great stone descends and blocks the entrance."
He led the way along a passage lined with masonry, which turned and twisted bewilderingly. At one point there was a deep recess, apparently intended for a window, but unfinished. Partab Singh motioned Gerrard to place his eye at a particular spot. There was a hole there, and to his surprise light came through. He looked into a great room or vault in which a lamp was burning. The rays fell upon elephant-trappings glittering with gold, jewelled bridles and saddlecloths, robes of gold tissue or priceless shawl-fabric, and a number of gaily painted boxes, such as the native goldsmiths used to contain their wares, and money-changers their stock of cash.
"That is the treasury of which all men know, the entrance to which is in the zenana," said the Rajah. "But though that were looted, and an army glutted with the spoil, the greater treasure beyond would remain safe and unknown."
Again he went on, until another stone moved on the pressure of a secret spring, the action of which he explained to Gerrard, and gave entrance to a small unlighted vault, piled with gold in ingots, bars and bricks, and in one corner a heap of tiny skin bags containing, as he pointed out, fine pearls and other precious stones. That the value of what was stored here must far exceed the more obvious wealth assembled in the larger treasury, Gerrard saw at a glance.
"You see now, O my friend, my secret store," said Partab Singh, "and by its means you may secure my son's succeeding me in peace. When I am dead, give large presents immediately in his name to all my Sirdars and Komadans, at the same time distributing a largess of ten rupees per man to the army. For this there is sufficient silver in the other treasury, but you will do well to assemble the money-changers and bargain with them to supply you with rupees against a portion of this gold. The tale of the riches at your command will go abroad, and the army will remain faithful in the hope of receiving more. Without it—I do not deceive myself—they would sell their swords to the highest bidder in the state or outside it, and it will also be necessary to use it with discretion, lest their minds should be so much inflamed by the thought of it that they should combine to seize and plunder the palace. They would never discover the hiding-place, but my son and his mother would meet with violence in the search. My friend sees, then, that I look to him to act with as much wisdom as courage, and he understands why I name him regent, since the only power that can keep my son on the throne is in his hands."
"Pardon the question, Maharaj-ji, but is not he who must not be named acquainted with this treasury?" asked Gerrard suddenly.
"Doubtless rumour has made him aware of its existence, but where it is he knows no more than the talkers in the city who swear by their lord's treasure. You and I are the sole living beings who know the secret."
Gerrard remembered a certain grim tale he had heard, according to which every man who had taken part in the construction of the treasury had been put to death on the completion of the work, and the piled gold before him became hateful. "Is there any other entrance to this labyrinth, Maharaj-ji?" he asked abruptly.
"Surely, my friend. The passage continues until it reaches the old outer wall of the palace, and there ends with another turning stone, concealed from those without by a tree that has struck its roots into the masonry."
"But if that tree should be destroyed, the entrance would become visible."
"It must not be destroyed. You must see to that, as I have done. I gave large gifts to a fakir of great sanctity to declare that a spirit had taken up his abode in the tree, and must on no account be disturbed, though the people might bring offerings and venerate it from below. Should it fall, or be thrown down by a storm, you must at once plant a seedling or a shoot from it in the same place, sheltering the tender plant by mats let down from the top of the wall until it has grown sufficiently to conceal the stone. And now let us return. Stay! my friend has refused all the gifts that I would fain have heaped upon him, until I offer him no more in the sight of men for fear of courting further rebuffs. Here no man sees us. Will he then take with him one of these bags of pearls, such as any prince might desire in vain to buy, and any queen might wear? What! I have offended him again? Say no more, my friend; your ways are not as ours. Even to my friend I will not offer twice what he is too proud to take. But come, for there is more to be done to-night."
Gerrard rather wished it was not so as they retraced their steps through the long passage and the lions' den back to the quiet garden and the lotus-covered tank. The deaf and dumb man was waiting, and ferried them over, and on the terrace below the tower the Rajah bade Gerrard leave the turban and robe he had been wearing, which he did thankfully, for the night was hot. Then, as he stood erect in his white mess uniform in the moonlight, the old man laid his hands upon his shoulders.
"O my friend, I have tried you with gold and with fear and with the lust of power, and you have stood the test. Now I am about to repose such confidence in you as hardly one man of your race has known since the world began. You will come with me into the zenana, that the mother of Kharrak Singh may know whom she is to trust. This I do now, that when I am dead, you may demand admittance as by right—the right I confer upon you—and talk with her through the curtain, thus avoiding the danger and delay of go-betweens."
Gerrard had felt a lurking fear more than once that this crowning proof of confidence was to be conferred upon him, but had silenced his uneasiness by reminding himself that such a thing was almost unheard of. One or two of those orientalised Europeans to whom the Rajah had referred earlier in the evening had enjoyed the honour, as had one or two British officials held in almost divine veneration, but otherwise it had been the supreme mark of favour reserved by a ruler for his most tried, trusted, and faithful servants. It was a sensible thing to do in the circumstances, as Partab Singh had manoeuvred them, he owned, but the idea shocked him almost as much as it would have done a native. It was so incongruous.
"If Bob gets wind of this, I shall be chaffed to death!" he said to himself, and then realised that the Rajah was waiting for a reply from him. "I appreciate deeply this proof of your Highness's confidence, and trust I may show myself worthy of it," he said formally, and Partab Singh linked his arm in his and drew him along.
They went through the tower, across the courtyard, and up the steps into the hall of audience, passing thence through rooms and corridors till they reached a barred gate, guarded by soldiers, whose weapons clashed angrily as they perceived Gerrard. The Rajah made a sign, never loosing his hold on the young man's arm for a moment, and the gates were opened from within by zenana attendants, the guards standing rigidly with their backs to them. Inside, Gerrard knew enough of the etiquette of the occasion to walk with his eyes cast down, and obey every motion of the Rajah's arm, but he was aware that the darkness seemed to be full of eyes, and the silence of whispers. They came to a standstill at last before a pillared colonnade, with a crimson curtain hanging behind the pillars. No light came from behind the curtain, and Gerrard realised suddenly that he distinguished its colour by means of a light behind him. At a word from the Rajah, two old women came forward with flaring lamps, and stationed themselves one on each side of Gerrard, so as to throw his face into the clearest possible relief. Then Partab Singh spoke.
"Let the mother of Kharrak Singh look well upon this Sahib, that she may know whom to trust. I have given him freedom of entrance here, that he may speak with her through the curtain, and she may take counsel with him for the welfare of her son."
There was a moment's pause, and then a muffled voice made an inaudible reply from somewhere behind the curtain, apparently close to the ground. The Rajah turned to Gerrard.
"The mother of Kharrak Singh clasps the feet of Jirad Sahib, and entreats that in the evil day his virtue may be a high tower in which she and her son can take refuge."
Gerrard sought vainly for a suitably self-deprecatory reply, but the Rajah was equal to the occasion, and rendered his disjointed murmurs into a polite desire that he might serve as a sturdy elephant to carry the Rani and her son over a flooded river. The voice spoke again, and Partab Singh turned to Gerrard.
"Is my friend yet wedded?" Gerrard shook his head. "Then the mother of Kharrak Singh desires to be informed when he brings home a wife, that she may send the bride her clothes and jewels."
In response to this very high honour Gerrard could only bow low, and promise to send the desired information when the time came, and then the appearance of the inevitable attar and pan in the hands of thickly veiled women of apparently most discreet age announced the termination of the interview. Partab Singh maintained his hold on Gerrard's arm until they had returned to the hall of audience, and then detailed an escort to guard him back to his own quarters. It was a most dissipated hour to return home, but when Gerrard mounted to the roof, where his bed was spread, he felt no inclination for sleep, and stood leaning on the parapet, thinking over the events of the evening. It must be his first care to find out what attitude Colonel Antony would adopt towards the arrangement desired by Partab Singh, since the workings of the Resident's mind were by no means easy to forecast. If he could meet the Rajah face to face and hear his story, Gerrard was inclined to think he might acquiesce. True, the addition of another infant heir and female regent to his burden of cares would not be agreeable to him, but the Rajput lady of royal ancestry would be a very different person to deal with from the low-born little upstart who kept the palace and city of Ranjitgarh agog with her stormy and transitory love affairs. Still, if Sher Singh should have the brilliant inspiration of seeking an interview with Colonel Antony, and having learnt a lesson from his previous failure, present himself merely as a disinherited innocent of pacific tendencies, it was quite likely that he would establish in the Resident's mind a prepossession in his favour which would tell heavily against little Kharrak Singh. Gerrard found himself planning the letter in which he would describe the state of affairs, placing things in their proper perspective and omitting no detail of importance, not putting himself forward, and yet not concealing his readiness to accept the post of Resident at Agpur if it should be thought fit to offer it him. Both in importance and responsibility it would be considered quite unsuitable for so young a man, he knew; but after all, Partab Singh had chosen him, and given him unsolicited two aids to success which were not, and could not be, in the power of any other man on earth.
Gerrard lost himself in dreams. This miniature palace, sheltered within the fort walls, yet standing by itself in its own garden, remote from the rambling pile of buildings occupied by Partab Singh and his court, would make an ideal Residency. Not for a solitary man, of course, but the Resident at Agpur could well afford to marry. Gazing down into the inner courtyard he saw it in the light of a shrine for Honour. Honour walked up and down the flagged paths in her white gown, Honour sat on the broad stone margin of the fountain and raised serious eyes from her book at his approach—and her whole face lighted up with a flash of welcome to him, such a flash as he had caught in Lady Cinnamond's eyes when Sir Arthur returned unexpectedly from a distant expedition. What blissful evenings they would spend on that broad pillared verandah, Honour working and he reading to her, or both together reading, writing, talking, as Colonel and Mrs Antony were wont to do, two minds working as one, so quickly and naturally did each supply the deficiencies of the other.
He pulled himself up sharply. Not so very many miles away was another man dreaming similar dreams—and yet not similar, since the charms of history and poetry and romance held no place in them. Gerrard himself might have pleaded guilty to the charge of allowing no opening for the cultivation of the good works which meant so much to Honour, but he would probably have defended himself with the not uncommon maxim of his day that looking after a husband was sufficient good works for any woman. But Bob Charteris—who was utterly incapable of appreciating the real Honour, who had no idea of her absolute uniqueness, and might have fallen in love with any other woman with equal satisfaction to himself! Bob—who could make a joke of his love and even laugh at his lady, who would probably not mind smoking while he thought about her! (In those days the smoker was largely considered as a pariah, if not an enemy of the human race. Gerrard himself smoked, but he was properly conscious that it was a weakness, and not an amiable one, and nothing would have induced him to set himself to think of Honour with a cheroot in his mouth.) It was Bob's rivalry that had driven him to put his fortune to the touch by proposing to Honour when patience would better have served his turn, and it was Bob to whose pleasure, by his own suggestion, he must defer before speaking to her again, were he ten times Resident at Agpur. Worst of all, it was Bob who was only too likely to win her in the end, and not undeservedly, Gerrard knew his friend's good points as few others did, and he did not deceive himself as to his chances of success. At this point he broke off his musings abruptly, and went to bed. Bob was not only superfluous, but a positive nuisance.