Some four days later Georgia was returning home from afternoon tea at the Grahams’. She had left Mabel behind her to comfort Flora, whosefiancéhad returned to his duties at Fort Shah Nawaz, and Dick had ridden across the frontier to settle a tribal dispute, and would not be back till late. Georgia felt tired and depressed, and visions of the couch in her own room, and the latest magazines that had reached Alibad, floated enticingly before her. As she drove up to the house, however, she caught a glimpse of a camel kneeling down to its meal, a heap of fodder piled on a piece of rough cloth, in the stable-yard. One of the high hooded saddles used by native women of distinction lay near it, and two or three strange men were gossiping with the servants. The inference was obvious, and Georgia felt no surprise when her maid Rahah met her with the announcement that the Eye-of-the-Begum was waiting to see her. Mysterious as the words sounded, they referred only to the confidential attendant of the Moti-ul-Nissa, and the old woman was very soon established on the floor of Georgia’s room. The curtain over the door, which served as a danger-signal on these occasions, was drawn, and Rahah stationed outside it to warn Dick not to intrude when he returned, and the visitor was therefore able to lay aside her veil and make herself at home. As for Georgia, she had learnt by experience that however little a native might have to tell, he or she invariably displayed a misdirected ingenuity in lengthening out the telling of it, and she resigned herself to the loss of the quiet time she had anticipated, and made the customary polite inquiries with every sign of cordial interest. When these had been answered, and the Eye-of-the-Begum had duly asked after Mabel’s health, and (in modest periphrases), after that of Dick, and delivered her mistress’ssalaamsand good wishes to Georgia, paying a compliment in passing to her hostess’s coffee and sweets, she prepared at last to approach the subject of business, but strictly in her own fashion.
“Many years ago, O doctor lady,” she began, “a troop of robbers met a man leading a fine horse richly caparisoned. ‘O brother, who art thou?’ asked they. ‘I am So-and-so, the servant of Such-an-one, and I am taking this horse to my master’s son as a gift from his uncle,’ he replied. Then they seized and carried off the horse, and beat the man, but let him go. But verily it was his fate to be unfortunate that day, for he fell in with a second troop of robbers, who also asked him who he was. ‘Truly,’ said he, ‘I am So-and-so, the servant of Such-an-one, and I carry to my master’s son as a gift from his father a gold chain which is concealed in my turban.’ Now before this they had intended to kill him, but finding the chain, they took it and his clothes, and bade him make haste to depart. Hiding by day and travelling by night, he accomplished the rest of his journey, and presented himself before his master’s son, who, seeing a footsore man wearing only a ragged loincloth, asked him in astonishment who he was. ‘Verily,’ he said, ‘I am So-and-so, the servant of Such-an-one, and I bring to my master’s son the gift that his mother has sent him.’ And thus saying, he took from his armpit the great pearl which is nowadays called the Mountain of Milk, which is among the treasures of the Amirs of Nalapur, having carried it safely through the country of the robbers. Then his master’s son commanded that a robe of honour should be put upon him, and gave him a horse and arms.”
“He thoroughly deserved them,” said Georgia.
“True, O doctor lady. But thy servant is now as that messenger was. Here is my horse with the rich trappings,” she held out an empty liniment bottle. “The pains which were banished by the medicine from my mistress’s limbs have now returned, and she desires more of it. But of the gold chain concealed in the turban there is much to say, and even more of the great pearl hidden in the armpit, wherefore, O doctor lady, be wary lest there be any that can hear us.”
Georgia rose obediently, and looked outside the windows, under the bed, and into the wardrobe. Having made it clear that there were no eavesdroppers about, she returned to her visitor.
“First, then, O doctor lady, thy servant will reveal the chain of gold. My mistress’s son has looked upon the face of the Miss Sahib, thy lord’s sister, and his heart is hot with love of her. He has said to his mother, ‘Get her for me to wife, for I cannot sleep by night nor eat by day for thinking of her.’”
“I am astonished that the Hasrat Ali Begum should venture to send such a message to me,” said Georgia coldly, rising as she spoke, but the old woman caught at her dress.
“Nay, hear me out, O doctor lady. My mistress strove her utmost to dissuade her son, for truly it is not well for East to mate with West, nor Moslem with Christian, neither is it pleasant for her to think of a daughter-in-law who will desire to change everything in the zenana, and rule the whole house, because she is English. It is out of love for thee, O doctor lady, and for thy lord, who is just and fears no man, that my mistress speaks. For these were the words of Syad Bahram Khan, my mistress’s son: ‘Tell Nāth Sahib that if he will give me his sister, I desire no dowry with her, but only his friendship. Let him speak with my uncle to acknowledge me as his heir, and grant me the honours and dignities which by right belong to the Amir that is to be, and I will live in peace with them both, and strengthen them against all their enemies. Fath-ud-Din’s daughter shall go back to her father’s house, so that all men may see that I look no longer to Ethiopia for support, and that Nāth Sahib’s sister shall have no rival in the zenana. And moreover, have I not found favour in the sight of Barkaraf Sahib, whose eye is evil against Nāth Sahib? If Nāth Sahib will make friends with me, I will speak for him to the Kumpsioner Sahib, so that he shall look favourably upon him also, and the border will be at peace, and Nāth Sahib’s praise in all men’s mouths.’”
“Surely you must see for yourself that the idea is absurd?” said Georgia, trying to speak gently. “I can’t be too thankful that Bahram Khan did not send a message direct to my husband. His wrath would have been——”
“That was Jehanara’s advice, O doctor lady. She bade his Highness gather his followers and ride boldly with them to demand the Miss Sahib from thy lord. But my mistress, knowing that Nāth Sahib’s hand is always ready, feared for her son, and spoke prudently to him: ‘Nay, my son, do not so, or Nāth Sahib will think thee ignorant of the customs of thine own people, and intending an insult to his house. Rather let thy mother speak for thee, that all things may be done according to custom, and the maiden’s relations not angered.’”
“And what about my poor little Zeynab?” asked Georgia. “What does she think of all these negotiations?”
“She is a fool,” returned the old woman shortly. “When the Miss Sahib came into the zenana the other day, she was angry and reviled her, and the Miss Sahib was angry also, and bade Jehanara tell her that she would not so much as touch her lord with the staff of a lance. Now at this the foolish girl was comforted, but her jealousy was only laid to rest for a moment, and because her lord would not suffer her to come near him, and drove her away with bitter mockings, she taunted him in her rage with the Miss Sahib’s words, so that he fell into a terrible fury, and beat her, and tore off her jewels, hoping that she would return of her own will to her father’s house.”
“Brute!” murmured Georgia, with white lips. “But why didn’t he divorce the poor child?”
“He would have done so, O doctor lady, had not Jehanara reminded him that if Nāth Sahib rejected his proffer of friendship, it would not be prudent for him to make himself enemies in Ethiopia. She desires to see thy lord humbled, O doctor lady, and she knows that the Vizier Fath-ud-Din hates him also. But the Lady Zeynab offered no resistance to her lord’s treatment of her, dreading only lest he should send her from him.”
“Upon my word!” cried Georgia. “I wish Bahram Khan had made his request to my husband in person. He would have deserved whatever he got.”
The visitor sighed patiently. “Strange are thy ways, O doctor lady, after the manner of thy people! Why should it trouble thee that an Ethiopian woman is beaten by her husband, when thine own lord’s fate is trembling in the balance? Think rather of him and of thyself than of this foolish girl. And now to come to the great pearl, even my message of messages, which is from the mouth of my mistress’s brother, the Amir Ashraf Ali Khan. It is known to no one but his Highness’s self and the wise and learned mullah Aziz-ud-Din, whom he sent on an errand to my mistress’s son, but with this secret message for my mistress’s own ear. These are the words of the Amir Sahib: ‘Say to my friend Nāth Sahib, What is to be the end of these things? Since thy first coming hither I have obeyed thy voice, as I did that of thy father-in-law, Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib, and all has gone well with me. I saw at my side my nephew Bahadar Shah, who was to me as a son, my Sardars brought their tribute at the due seasons, and the Ethiopians durst not cross my borders, while thy wisdom and justice settled all boundary disputes to the admiration of my wisest men. Now all this is changed. Bahadar Shah is gone from me, and Barkaraf Sahib orders me to receive in his stead the unnatural wretch who sought to slay me, his benefactor. Even now he rebukes me with great words because I would not suffer the mockery of his presence at the grave of him he slew. Speak then, O my friend, and let me know thy mind. Who is Barkaraf Sahib that he should thrust himself into the affairs of this border of mine and thine? He cannot speak our tongue nor judge according to our customs, and he never beheld the face of Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib Bahadar. Can it be that his presumption and the evil of his doings are known to the Sarkar? Wilt thou obtain leave for me to make a journey to the Court of the great Lord Sahib, or of the Empress herself, that there I may lay the truth before them? Or if the Kumpsioner Sahib stands in the way of this, then let me present a petition truthfully drawn up.’”
The ambassadress paused, but Georgia shook her head. “No, it would be no use,” she said. “The Kumpsioner Sahib has the ear of the Sarkar, and he is given a free hand here.”
“Is it so, O doctor lady? Then listen to the remaining words of Ashraf Ali Khan: ‘Let Nāth Sahib but say the word, and this border shall be no place for the Kumpsioner Sahib. Already my Sardars are murmuring against his doings, and the tribesmen’s faces are black towards him because of his treatment of their friend. At a signal from me they will rise all along the border, and force the Kumpsioner Sahib to flee for his life, so that the Empress shall say, “Verily Barkaraf Sahib is no fit ruler for the men of Khemistan.” But when he is gone, Nāth Sahib shall quell the rising without drawing a single sword, so that the Empress will send him a robe of honour and a state elephant, and name him ruler of Khemistan and the border for ever. Send back but one word through the mullah Aziz-ud-Din, whom I have despatched to quiet the complaints of my nephew with empty words and grudging gifts, in obedience to the Kumpsioner Sahib, and the thing is done.’”
“Oh no, no!” cried Georgia, “that must never be. A rising now would only work the ruin of my husband, and the Kumpsioner Sahib would be stronger than ever before. More than this, O Eye-of-the-Begum, such are not the ways of the English. Because the Kumpsioner Sahib is set over my husband, he is to be obeyed, and to conspire against him or plot for his disgrace would be in our eyes a deadly wrong. The matter is ended.”
“So be it, O doctor lady. The hands of Ashraf Ali Khan are clean, and he has done what he could for his friend and for himself, but it was written that matters are not to be set right thus. And one word more; see that thy lord seek a husband quickly for the Miss Sahib. Why does he not give her to the Dipty Sahib?” This was Fitz Anstruther, in his capacity of Dick’s assistant or deputy. “He is young and well spoken, and such a man as women love.”
“I should like nothing better,” said Georgia, with a sigh, “but I rather think the Miss Sahib will choose a husband for herself. And hark! I hear the Major Sahib returning. You will rest this night in the guest-house in the compound with your attendants?”
“Even so, O doctor lady, and in the morning I will return to Dera Gul with the medicine for my mistress, and with such words as the wisdom of the night may dispose thee and thy lord to send in answer to the Amir Sahib’s message.”
Georgia shook her head again sadly as she delivered the old woman into Rahah’s charge, and having seen her safely out of the way, went to find Dick. He had just thrown off his heavy boots, and was lounging luxuriously in a long chair in his den.
“That you at last, Georgie? Come in, old girl. How has the world gone with you all day? I’m just comfortably tired, and at peace with all mankind. What’s up? Some obstinate patient whowilldie, eh?”
“No, nothing of that kind. I have been interviewing a messenger from Dera Gul.”
“Not that awful East Indian woman, I hope?” Dick raised himself suddenly.
“No; the Eye-of-the-Begum, with a very secret message from the Amir. He wants you to join with him to get rid of the Commissioner.”
“He does, does he? I thought Burgrave’s last reprimand would wake him up a bit. He made it pretty clear that Bahram Khan was to be recognised as heir, and admitted to all the privileges of the post. It’s funny, isn’t it, that our respected superior doesn’t seem to see what a creepy sort of thing it is to welcome into your bosom a snake that’s tried to bite you already? Oh, Georgie, it is calculated to make a man swear when he sees a fellow like Burgrave, who has far less knowledge of district work than young Anstruther, and that so long ago that he’s forgotten all about it, sent to upset a province where he doesn’t even know the languages, simply because he can write nice reports and is a favourite at Simla. I can’t make pretty speeches to exalted personages, but I can keep this frontier quiet, and they won’t let me do it.”
“I know; it’s perfectly shameful. But, Dick, I have something else to tell you that will make you laugh, though you won’t like it. Bahram Khan is anxious to marry Mab.”
Dick bounced out of his chair. “The dirty hound! It’s like his impudence to dare to dream of such a thing. He had better look out for the next time he comes across me. Why hadn’t he the pluck to bring his precious message himself?”
“I think his mother fancied he would be safer at a distance. He is good enough to offer his friendship as a bait.”
“Thanks, I’d rather be without it. The whole thing is a plot, Georgie—a palpable plot to try and get me into trouble with Burgrave. There was no hint of this atrocious idea when Mab was at Dera Gul the other day, or we should have heard of it.” Georgia felt uncomfortable, but her promise to Mabel kept her silent. “It’s a clumsy trick devised on the spur of the moment. If I pretended to nibble at it, the next thing would be that Burgrave would be informed I was intriguing against him, and had offered my sister to Bahram Khan to attract him to my side. We are on the down-grade, Georgie. I didn’t know they had got so far as inventing false accusations against me yet. Bah! it makes a man sick of the whole thing.”
“I fancy Bahram Khan has had the idea in his mind longer than you imagine,” Georgia ventured to say.
“Oh, you’re a match-maker, as I’ve told you before. Please keep your planning to pleasanter subjects in future. But I say, it’s rather fine that the Commissioner should have Bahram Khan for a rival! I should really like to tell him so.”
“Then you still think Mr Burgrave is in love with Mab?”
“If he isn’t, why does he stick on here so long without bringing off his great splash? He says it’s because of the Christmas holidays, but a trifle like that wouldn’t keep him quiet generally. My idea is that he means to make sure of her before breaking with me.”
“But she would have nothing to do with him in any case if he broke with you.”
“You think so? Well, we shall see.”
“Really, Mab,” said Dick irritably, “your horses are more bother than they are worth. Why don’t you set up a motor-car?”
“How horrid you are, Dick! Any one would think it was my fault that all these things happen. How could I help one of the other horses’ kicking Majnûn as they were coming back from watering? I am sure it was that wretched Bayard of yours—cross old thing! At any rate, the syce declares it’s impossible for Majnûn to go out to-day, and I can see it myself. You can go round and look at the state his leg is in.”
“Oh, all right; I’ll take your word for it. But what are you going to do?”
“The syce’s sole idea is to send down to Mr Anstruther’s for Laili, but I don’t care to ride her again just yet.”
“No, I certainly won’t have you mount her until Anstruther can give a better report of her proceedings. Well, you had better take Georgie’s old Simorgh, as she and I are to do Darby and Joan in the dog-cart.”
“He’s so horribly and aggressively meek. I don’t want a horse whose sole title to distinction is that in prehistoric days he carried his mistress to Kubbet-ul-Haj and back without once running away. I am going to ride Roy, Dick.”
“My dear Mabel, pray have some regard for appearances. Will nothing but a mighty war-horse satisfy your aspiring mind?”
“That’s just it. He’s so big that it must feel like riding on an elephant. I should love to ride him, and you know it’s perfectly safe. A child could manage him—you said so yourself.”
“No, really, Mab. An appreciative country doesn’t provide me with chargers merely to furnish a mount for you.”
“Then I shall borrow a horse from somebody. Mr Burgrave would lend me anything he possesses in the way of horseflesh—he said so,” declared Mabel vindictively.
“I daresay, and rejoice when it came to grief, so that he might nobly refuse any compensation. Oh, take Roy, and Bayard too, if you like, and make the whole show into a circus, but don’t put me under an obligation to Burgrave.”
Mabel retired triumphant, as she had intended to do. It was the last day of the Christmas holidays, and the Alibad festivities were to close, as usual, with a picnic organised by Major and Mrs North. Georgia had been up long before dawn, superintending the packing of provisions in the carts, which must set out as soon as it was light, and she was now resting in her own room. Without troubling to ask herself why, Mabel felt relieved by her absence. She would not have cared to employ the argument with which she had vanquished Dick, had his wife been at hand, but she had no fear of his bearing malice or alluding to the matter afterwards. Perhaps he thought she was sufficiently punished already, for when she was perched upon the back of the great roan charger, she found that her victory was its own sole reward. Roy was almost as uncomfortable to ride as a camel, and to Mabel, accustomed to her docile ponies, he seemed to have no mouth at all. She was thankful to receive a hint or two on managing him from his forgiving master, and thus forearmed, she would not own herself defeated. Her mount excited a good deal of surprise among her fellow-guests, and Mr Hardy asked her benevolently if she would not have preferred an elephant, while Mr Burgrave reminded her in reproachful tones of his offer of the loan of any of his horses. To this she replied promptly that she preferred a military mount as more trustworthy, an answer which bred great, if somewhat causeless elation in the minds of several young officers who heard it.
The scene of the picnic was a spur of the mountains about a dozen miles to the north-east, where there were curious caves to be seen, and also the ruins of an ancient fortress, among which fragments, or even whole specimens, of old glazed tiles, very highly prized by those learned in such things, were sometimes found. On this occasion everything was done in the orthodox way. The caves were duly explored and the ruins examined, with suitable precautions against finding scorpions instead of tiles, and a few rather disappointing sherds were discovered, and entrusted to the servants to take home. Mabel and Flora Graham chose to climb to the highest point of the ruins, escorted and assisted by all the younger men of the party, but when there they confessed that, but for being able to say they had achieved the ascent, they had gained nothing that was not equally obtainable down below. However, the provisions were excellent, and nothing material to their consumption had been forgotten, so that the guests all agreed that it had been a most successful picnic, and Georgia heaved a sigh of satisfaction as she watched the servants piling the last of the empty baskets on the carts.
These carts, with the three or four carriages which had conveyed the elder members of the party, were obliged to return home by the track across the plain, but it was possible for the riders to take a short cut through the hills for the first part of the way. While a discussion was going on as to the path to be chosen, Flora Graham moved close to Mabel.
“Oh, Mab,” she murmured hastily, “do you think you could get Mr Brendon to ride with you? He persists in sticking to me, and I know Fred won’t like it when he hears. He’s a little inclined to be jealous, you know, because once, before we were engaged, he thought I liked Mr Brendon. Besides, I want to ride with Mr Milton, and talk to him about Fred.”
Milton, the youth who was Fred Haycraft’s comrade at Fort Shah Nawaz, had cheerfully put up with the fag-end of the holidays that his senior might enjoy as much of Miss Graham’s society as possible. He was delighted with the proposed arrangement, and Mabel had little difficulty in attaching Mr Brendon to herself when he found that the post he coveted was already bespoken. It was obvious, however, to keen-eyed observers that Mr Burgrave and Fitz Anstruther had both been promising themselves the pleasure of riding with Mabel, and the sudden blankness of their faces when they found themselves forestalled by this outsider was much appreciated. Finally, either moved by a certain vague fellow-feeling, or each impelled by the determination to see that the other played fair, they fell in together behind Mabel and her cavalier, riding rather in advance of the rest.
As for Mabel, she felt it distinctly hard to be obliged to sacrifice herself in this way for Flora’s benefit. Mr Brendon, of the Public Works Department, was a most estimable young man, but he suffered from a plethora of useful knowledge. To ask him a question was like pulling the string of a shower-bath, which let loose a flood of information on the head of the unwary questioner. Mabel had intended to let him prose as he liked, while she thought about other things, and jerked the string, so to speak, at the requisite intervals, but he was far too polite to monopolise the conversation. He paused for her replies or invited her opinion so often, while clearly ready to supply the needed answer himself, that she had not a moment for meditation, and found the ride almost unendurable. She had just succeeded in hiding an irrepressible yawn when a happy idea came to her as she was approaching a state of desperation.
“Oh, here is quite a nice level piece of ground! Let us race, Mr Brendon.”
He could not well refuse, and for all too short a time Roy pounded gallantly through the sand. Brendon’s lighter steed won easily, and when Mabel reached the end of the course, she found him waiting for her. At this point their road entered a narrow ravine, leading down to the open desert, and the high rocks on either side looked black and threatening against the glowing sunset sky, a glimpse of which at the farther end of the gorge dazzled the eyes.
“I think you had better let me pilot you here, Miss North,” said Brendon. “The ground is strewn with loose boulders, and it is difficult to distinguish them in this light. You might get a nasty fall.”
It was desirable that Brendon should ride anywhere rather than beside her, and Mabel accepted the position he assigned to her with something more than resignation. He took the lead as they entered the ravine, his pony picking its way with infinite caution, and Roy followed securely enough.
“What a delightful Dürer engraving we should make!” exclaimed Mabel suddenly, “creeping along between these dark cliffs under such a gorgeous red sky. But it’s contrary to all symbolism that you should be riding first.”
“The colour of the sky would scarcely tell in an engraving,” answered Brendon, with a perceptible accent of reproof. “But the idea would work out well in black and white.”
“Oh dear, no!” persisted Mabel. “The sky is everything. It gives such a threatening touch. I feel quite weird myself, don’t——”
“Don’t you?” she was going to say, but the words were cut short, for a shot was fired among the rocks on the left, close beside her. Roy, accustomed to such sounds, merely started slightly and pricked up his ears, but the pony shied violently, and received a cut from its rider.
“Abominable carelessness!” shouted Brendon to Mabel, looking round as the animal dashed forward. “I’m coming back to hunt that fellow out. He might have shot one of us.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the pony reared suddenly and then fell forward, throwing him over its head. At the same moment Mabel heard the sound of another horse’s feet behind her, and before she could look round some one dealt Roy a smart blow on the flank. She felt him rise for a leap, and was conscious that his heels touched something as he went over. It seemed a miracle that he did not land upon his head, but as it was, the shock, when his hoofs clattered down amongst the stones, nearly unseated Mabel, and before she could collect her scattered senses three mounted men appeared, as if by magic, from among the rocks on either hand. Before she had time to do more than realise that they wore turbans, a fourth man pushed up from behind, and seizing her bridle, forced Roy into a canter. She had a momentary vision of Brendon, his face streaming with blood, flinging himself between her horse and her captor’s, and trying to wrest the bridle from him; she saw the sweep of steel in the red light as one of the other men turned round; saw Brendon cut down by a murderous blow from a tulwar. It was all over in a moment, and before she could even scream, she and her captors were out of the gorge and riding swiftly to the right, away from Alibad and safety. From the fatal spot they had left there came faintly to her ears the sound of several shots.
The sound reached other ears as well as Mabel’s. Mr Burgrave and Fitz, riding leisurely, as they had been when Mabel and her cavalier left them behind in their race, started when they heard it, and put spurs to their horses. Entering the gorge they could see nothing but dark rocks and lurid sky. No! what was that?—a bright flash, followed by another report, coming from a spot close to the ground at the farther end. Riding headlong down the ravine, regardless of the shifting boulders, they distinguished at last the form of Brendon, his light clothes dyed with blood. He was dragging himself painfully towards them, holding his discharged revolver in his left hand.
“They’ve got Miss North!” he gasped, as they neared him.
With a sharp exclamation Mr Burgrave dug his spurs deeper and dashed on, but Fitz, catching the look of agony on Brendon’s face, drew rein for a moment.
“FITZ CAUGHT THE LOOK OF AGONY IN BRENDON’S FACE”
“FITZ CAUGHT THE LOOK OF AGONY IN BRENDON’S FACE”
“She’s riding—a troop-horse. Yell to him—to ‘Halt!’” came in broken sentences. “And look out. There’s a—rope.”
Even as he sank down exhausted from loss of blood, there was a crash in front. The Commissioner and his horse had gone down in a heap, marking only too accurately the position of the rope. Fitz galloped forward, his pony taking the obstacle like a bird.
“Ride on, for Heaven’s sake! Never mind me!” came in a despairing shout from the man who lay helpless under the struggling horse, and Fitz obeyed. He was out of the gorge now, and could see far away to the right the dark moving mass which represented the object of his pursuit. Ramming in his spurs, he followed at breakneck speed, his whole soul absorbed in the savage determination to catch up the robbers and their prey. Whether he and Sheikh lived or died, they must reach that goal. Thundering on, his eyes fixed upon his quarry, he perceived presently, with a fierce joy, that it was becoming clearer to his view. He was gaining! Now he could distinguish the forms of the men and their horses, and presently he was able to assure himself that the wiry little native steeds were undoubtedly handicapped by the necessity of accommodating their pace to that of the heavier Roy. That the robbers he was pursuing were four to one did not occur to Fitz, even in face of the ominous fact that they made no attempt to interfere with him, too confident in their superior numbers to take the trouble to separate and cut him off. The moment that he felt sure of his advantage, his plan was ready, formed complete in his mind, and without any volition of his own, his revolver was in his hand, cocked, the moment after. As he diminished the distance between himself and the robbers, he saw that they were no longer in a compact body. The three unencumbered riders were leading, and Mabel and the man who held her bridle came after. Mabel had recovered her presence of mind by this time. She was striking furiously with her whip at the hand which gripped her rein, in the hope of forcing the robber to loose his hold, but in vain. He could not spare a hand to snatch away the whip, but his grasp upon the bridle never relaxed. Suddenly a voice sounded in her ears. Standing in his stirrups, Fitz put all the power of his lungs into the one word, “Halt!” and at the well-known shout Roy stopped dead, his feet firmly planted together. The shock dragged the robber from his saddle, and his own horse, terrified, continued its headlong career. Still grasping Mabel’s bridle with his left hand, he drew his tulwar and sprang at Fitz. A bullet from the ready revolver met him as he came, and he fell forward, the tulwar dropping harmless from his fingers, which gripped for a moment convulsively at the sand under Sheikh’s hoofs.
“Quick! Get behind me! Crouch between the horses!” cried Fitz to Mabel, urging the panting Sheikh in front of Roy. The three men in front had faced round, and seemed to be meditating a charge, but they were without firearms, and Fitz, standing behind his pony, had them covered if they should approach. Left to themselves, they might have distracted his attention by coming at him from different directions, and taken him in the rear, but the other members of the party had now emerged from the gorge, and were riding down on them with shouts. Prudent counsels prevailed, and they turned their horses’ heads again, and rode off into the gathering darkness, leaving the victorious Fitz with two trembling, sweating horses, and Mabel, crouched on the sand, clutching wildly at his feet. She tried to speak as she looked up at him, but no words would come, and only a hoarse scream issued from her lips. The sight of her utter prostration almost unmanned him.
“Don’t, don’t, Miss North!” he entreated, trying to lift her up. “You’re safe now, and the others will be here in a minute. Don’t let them see you like this.”
She swayed to and fro as he raised her, and staggering to Roy’s side buried her face in his mane. Fitz turned away. It would be taking an unfair advantage, he felt, to speak to her in this forlorn state, and he began to pat Sheikh, and praise his gallant efforts in a low tone. Many a time afterwards did he curse himself as a fool for this backwardness of his, but at the moment it was impossible to him to take her in his arms and comfort her, as his heart urged him to do. She had been saved from death or worse by his means, and he could not presume upon the service he had rendered her.
The moment’s constraint was quickly ended by the eager questions of the men who came galloping up. Fitz stepped forward to meet them.
“Look out!” he said hastily, jerking his head in Mabel’s direction, “Miss North is awfully knocked up. Leave her to herself for a moment. Is Tighe here?”
“He stopped at the nullah. It’s a bad job there. Brendon’s gone, poor old chap! and the Commissioner’s pretty extensively damaged. Jolly good job the doctor was able to ride out this afternoon.”
“I say, look here,” said Fitz, “we mustn’t let her know about this. Can’t we get her straight home?”
“Must go back to the nullah. The Colonel and one or two more whose horses were no good stayed with Tighe to help him dig out the Commissioner. He had managed to shoot his horse, lest it should kick his brains out, but it was lying right across him. They’ll want help in getting him home, and poor Brendon too.”
“Well, say nothing to Miss North, and we’ll try to keep it dark. There, she’s coming. Can’t you say something ordinary?”
Milton, to whom the request—or rather command—was addressed, gasped helplessly. The circumstances seemed to preclude him from saying anything at all, but as Mabel came towards them, her face still white and her lips trembling, a happy thought seized two of the other men simultaneously.
“We’ve never even looked at the rascal you potted!” they cried to Fitz. “Here, come along. Who’s got a match?”
Mabel shuddered, and caught at Fitz’s arm, but a dreadful fascination seemed to draw her to the place where the dead robber lay. Some one produced a box of matches, and kneeling down, struck a light close to the face of the corpse. Fitz knew as well as Mabel what face she expected to see, and he could hardly keep himself from echoing her cry of surprise and relief when they realised that a stranger lay before them.
“Wait a minute, though,” said one of the officers, pressing forward. “Lend us another match, old man. Yes, I thought so! It’s Mumtaz Mohammed, the sowar who deserted five or six weeks ago. See, he has his carbine on his back.”
“Then it was only a common or garden raid, and not a planned thing,” said another. “I know it was said he had got away to those fellows who broke out of prison at Kharrakpur.”
“No,” said Mabel suddenly; “it was a plot.”
“Why, Miss North—how do you know?” they asked, astonished.
“Because my syce was in it. He told me this morning my pony could not be ridden, and wanted me to send for Laili, whom Mr Anstruther is training for me. She bolts at the sound of a shot. It was a shot fired in the nullah that began this—this——”
“And you didn’t ride Laili after all?”
“No, I would ride Roy. I asked for him just to see what Dick would say, and when he didn’t want me to have him, I persisted, simply to tease him. And it has saved my life!” she cried hysterically.
“Not much doubt who stood to benefit by the plot!” muttered one of the men who had stood behind Mabel at the Gymkhana, but Fitz nudged the speaker fiercely.
“I don’t know what we’re all standing here for—in case our deceased friend’s sorrowing relations like to come back and wipe us out, I suppose. Let me mount you, Miss North. Are you fellows going to stop out all night? Had we better bringthatalong, do you think?”
This was added in a lower tone, as he pointed to the robber’s corpse. After some demur it was decided to lay it across the saddle of Brendon’s pony, which had found its way back to the rest with a pair of broken knees, and they rode back towards the gorge, the last man leading the laden pony, so that it might be kept out of Mabel’s sight. As they approached the entrance to the ravine Dr Tighe came forward hastily to meet them.
“Look here,” he said, “I want some one to ride on to Alibad at once. The Commissioner has broken his knee-cap and a few other things, and Major North’s is the nearest house, but Mrs North mustn’t be frightened. Milton, your pony’s a good one, I know, so just take it out of him. Say nothing about Miss North or Brendon or anything, but tell Mrs North the Commissioner has had a nasty fall, and I am bringing him to her house with a fractured patella and a pair of smashed ribs. She can get things ready, and send on to my house for anything she doesn’t happen to have.”
“Surely the ladies had better go back with me, Doctor?” asked Milton, pausing as he was about to start.
“No, we don’t want any more kidnapping to-night. We must travel slowly, all of us, but they’ll be safer than with you. Feel shaky, Miss North? Drink this,” and he handed her a flask-cup. “Miss Graham is waiting to weep tears of joy over you. What, aren’t you gone yet, Milton?”
“Tell Major North to arrest the syce,” Fitz shouted after the messenger as he disappeared in the darkness.
“Off with your coats, you young fellows!” cried Dr Tighe, as the thud of the pony’s steps upon the sand died away. “The Commissioner has to be carried home somehow, and there’s not so much as a stick to make a stretcher of. We must tie the coats together by the sleeves, and manufacture a litter in that way.”
No one dared to scoff, although no one could understand what the doctor meant to do; but working energetically under his directions, they succeeded in framing a sufficiently practicable litter. Six of the party were chosen as bearers, and the others were to relieve them, their duty in the meantime being to lead the riderless horses and keep watch against a surprise. Mabel and Flora, who had been enjoying the luxury of shedding a few tears together in private, were placed at the head of the procession, and the march began. At first the litter containing the wounded man followed close after the two girls; but presently Fitz, who was one of the bearers, felt his arm grasped.
“Let the ladies get ahead of us, please. I—I can’t stand this very well.”
Fitz understood. Mr Burgrave was suffering acutely in being carried over the rough ground, and he feared lest some sound extorted from him by the pain should acquaint Mabel with the fact. The litter and its bearers dropped behind, and if now and then a groan was forced from the Commissioner’s lips, his rival, at any rate, felt no contempt for the involuntary weakness. Before half of the journey had been accomplished, a relief party, headed by Dick, met them, and Mr Burgrave was transferred to a charpoy carried by natives, after Dr Tighe had made rough and ready use of the splints and strapping Georgia had sent. A little later a detachment of the Khemistan Horse passed at a smart trot in the direction of the gorge. It was not now the rule, as in the early days of General Keeling’s reign, for the regiment to sleep in its boots, but it was still supposed to be ready day and night to trace the perpetrators of any outrage and bring them to justice—rough justice, sometimes, but none the less impressive for that. The sight gave Mabel a sense of safety and comfort, and she scouted Flora’s proposal that she should come home with her for the night.
“As if I would leave Georgie alone, with all this extra work on her hands!” she said, as they turned in at the gate.
“Oh, Mab, is it true about the Commissioner?” cried Georgia, coming out to meet them on the verandah.
“Yes; I am afraid he’s dreadfully hurt, poor man!”
“Was he riding with you when he fell?”
“He—he was riding after me,” said Mabel cautiously.
Georgia threw up her hands. “Oh, if you could only have hurt any other man, or taken him to any house but this!” she cried; and Mabel thought it both unkind and unfair, considering the circumstances.
Hark! what was that? Mabel sprang up in bed, her heart beating furiously, her hands clammy with fear. There was the sound of horses’ feet, the rattling of bridles, on every side. A wild impulse seized her to creep under the dressing-table—to hide herself anywhere, but a moment later she laughed aloud. The very last thing before going to bed, Dick had told her for her comfort that not only would the usual Sikh sentry keep guard over the Commissioner’s slumbers, but the compound would be patrolled all night by the Khemistan Horse. She crept to the window and peered out between the slats of the venetians. Yes; there they were—splendid men with huge turbans, and accoutrements glittering in the moonlight—pacing slowly to and fro upon their stout little horses. But how was it that there were two of them at that far corner of the compound, where she could scarcely distinguish their figures, and why had they paused as though to listen for something? Mabel listened too, and presently, above the nearer noises of trampling hoofs and jingling bits, she heard the approach of a galloping horse. Was it a scout coming in to give warning of a threatened attack? But no; the two men at the corner sat motionless on their horses, and as the sound came nearer and nearer she saw the flash of their tulwars. They were saluting—whom or what? Mabel strained her eyes to see, but could distinguish nothing. Then she remembered. It was General Keeling to whom they were doing honour, as he rode his periodical rounds, watchful for the safety of his old province. A cold sweat broke out all over her, and in a panic of which she was heartily ashamed even at the moment, she scurried back to bed and gave herself up to more and more violent paroxysms of horror. Of what use were sentinels against such a visitant as this? Suppose it was his will to come closer, to come up to the house, to enter? What could be more likely? She lifted her head for a moment and listened again. Surely that was a horse’s tread upon the drive, approaching the door? In reality, the intruder was only one of the patrols, but in the state of ungovernable terror in which Mabel was plunged this did not occur to her, and she buried her head under the bed-clothes and screamed.
The ayah, roused from her heavy slumbers by her mistress’s shrieks, came shivering to her side and tried to quiet her, but finding her entreaties of no avail, ran for help. Presently Georgia glided in, looking like a reproachful ghost herself, in a white dressing-gown, and proffered Mabel three tabloids and a glass of water, as sternly as if she had been Queen Eleanor handing Rosamund the poison.
“I’ll sit by you till you are asleep,” she whispered; “but you mustn’t make such a noise. You’ll wake the Commissioner, and he has only just dropped off to sleep, poor man!”
“I know I’m a fearful baby,” confessed Mabel, restored to calmness by the eminently practical nature of Georgia’s benevolence, “but I was so horribly frightened. Is poor Mr Burgrave very bad?”
“It was a nasty accident,” replied Georgia, with professional caution.
“What have you done to him?”
“Strapped up the broken ribs, and applied ice to the leg and slung it up.”
“Ugh, cruel creature! ice this cold night? I suppose it’s because you hate him so much?”
“Hate him? What nonsense! How could we hate a man who has got hurt in trying to save you? He’s so brave about it, too.”
“And he didn’t mind having you for a doctor?”
“Of course I was only helping Dr Tighe. But even if Mr Burgrave disliked my being there, he wouldn’t show it. When Dr Tighe told him he had better stay in this house until the splint is taken off, and not run the risk of jarring the limb, he looked at me, and said, ‘If my presence is not too troublesome to my kind surgeon here.’”
“And smiled at you like a father.Iknow,” said Mabel, with sleepy sarcasm. “Georgie,” she roused herself suddenly, “I want to know—how is——”
“Now, I will not answer another question to-night,” said Georgia resolutely. “I am going to read to you till you fall asleep.”
When Mabel awoke in the morning she felt oppressed by an intolerable burden. Body and mind seemed to be alike tired out, and it was an effort even to open her eyes. Georgia and Dr Tighe were in the room looking at her, and the sight of them reminded her that there was some question she wanted to ask, but she could not remember what it was.
“Well, Miss North,” said Dr Tighe, “nerves a bit jumpy this morning, eh? We’ll allow you a day in bed to settle them a little, but after that you must get up and help Mrs North to look after her patient.”
“Oh, I’ll get up to-day,” said Mabel faintly.
“No, no; don’t be in too great a hurry. Your brother will come in to ask you a question or two in a few minutes, and afterwards you shall try what a little more sleep and a little more slumber will do for you. It’s quite evident that nature never meant you for a frontierswoman.”
“Oh, Doctor,” expostulated Georgia, “think what she has gone through since she came here, and only out from home such a short time! Besides, nothing so bad as this has ever happened in our neighbourhood before.”
“At any rate, it’s the sort of thing you want to take to young if you’re to shine in it,” said the doctor. “Life in these parts is not exactly pretty, but it has its exciting moments. Nothing like what it had once, though. A predecessor of mine under General Keeling used to head cavalry charges and take forts in the intervals of his medical duties. I have no pleasant little recreations of that sort for my leisure hours. Now, Miss North, don’t let me see you dare to smile at the thought of my heading a cavalry charge. There was some object in training in those days, but naturally a man puts on weight when there’s nothing to do but potter about an hospital.”
“You see you’re not the only person in the world who hankers after thrilling experiences, Mab,” said Georgia, as she left the room with the doctor, and the words recalled to Mabel their conversation of three weeks since. Stretching out her hand, she took a mirror from the toilet-table and glanced at herself in it, only to drop the glass in horror. What a hollow-eyed wreck she looked! Was it possible that one night could work such a change? She had had her wish and tried experiments in reality, and she recoiled from the result.
“On the whole, I think I prefer the pleasing fictions of ordinary English life,” she said to herself.
“Good-morning, Mab,” said Dick’s voice, following a knock at the door. “I’m not going to disturb you long, but I want you to tell Tighe and me what you can remember about last night’s business. It’s necessary for me to know, or I wouldn’t bother you.”
With a shudder Mabel let her thoughts return to that homeward ride for a moment, then looked up suddenly. “Oh, now I remember!” she said. “My head is so stupid, I couldn’t think of it before. How is Mr Brendon?”
Both men had expected her to ask after the Commissioner, and Brendon’s name took them by surprise. “Brendon? Oh, he’s—he’s as well as he can be,” said Dr Tighe hastily, recovering himself first.
“But how can he possibly be well? His arm must have been nearly cut off. He fell down under the horses’ feet. Oh, you don’t mean—he can’t be——?”
The silence was a sufficient answer, and she turned her face to the wall with a moan. Brendon dead—for whom her kindliest feeling the evening before had been a more or less good-natured contempt—and he had practically given his life for her!
“Look here, Mab,” said Dick earnestly; “it won’t do the poor fellow any good to cry about him just now. What we want is evidence to convict the villains who did it.”
“Have you caught them?” came in a muffled voice from the bed.
“I hope so. Winlock, who went out to track them last night, had his own ideas on the subject, and posted part of his detachment in hiding among the rocks round Dera Gul. A little before dawn three men rode up, coming from Nalapur way—not from our direction—but they and their horses were all dead-beat. Winlock arrested them, feeling pretty certain they were the men he wanted, and had made a long round to avert suspicion before going home. They were Bahram Khan’s servants, sure enough, but he said they had been to Nalapur for him, and he offered no objection to their being arrested. When you are better we must see if you can identify any of them, but now all I want is to know roughly what happened, on account of the—inquiry, which must take place to-day.”
Thus stimulated, Mabel told her tale, helped out by questions from Dick, but breaking down more than once. He took down what she said, and the doctor signed it as a witness, and then they left her to Georgia’s ministrations. Georgia found her patient excited and tearful, and sent Rahah at once to the surgery to make up a composing draught.
“Now, Mab, lie down and try to be quiet,” she said.
“No, I won’t lie down. I can’t sleep,” cried Mabel. “Isn’t it dreadful, my having to identify those men? I can’t bear to think of it. And it brings it all back so vividly—the horrible helplessness—I could do nothing—nothing—to save myself. I think I should have gone mad in another moment if Mr Anstruther had not come up. And now to have to go and look at them in cold blood, and say that I recognise them! Isn’t there any way out of it? Oh, Georgie, can’t Dick make my syce turn Queen’s evidence?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Georgia reluctantly. “The fact is, Mab, your syce didn’t wait to be caught. He went off while we were at the picnic.”
“Oh, well,” said Mabel despairingly, “then I must do it, I suppose. It seems a kind of duty, as poor Mr Brendon was killed in trying to save me, to have the men who killed him punished. But it’s awful to think that three men will be hanged just because I saw their faces! They will be hanged, won’t they?”
“I don’t know, really. It is very dreadful, Mab, but there is one good thing about the whole affair. It may put things right on the frontier. Both Dick and I think Bahram Khan was so confident of Mr Burgrave’s support that he ventured on this outrage feeling sure that he would see him through. If these three men are proved to be his agents, it must open the Commissioner’s eyes. He’s an Englishman and an honourable man, though dreadfully mistaken, and he can’t go on backing him up after that. In fact, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to.”
“No, I don’t think he would. And I suppose there is no question about it really? What do other people think?”
“None of the men here have a doubt that it was Bahram Khan’s doing. As for the regiment, they are so indignant over the insult offered to Dick in attempting to carry off his sister, that they would like to raze Dera Gul to the ground forthwith.”
“Oh, that’s the light in which they look at it? They don’t think of my feelings in the matter at all?”
“I’m afraid not. You and I are merely Dick’s chattels in their eyes, you see.”
“I may be, but you are not. My ayah Tara tells me all sorts of wonderful things about you, Georgie, which she picks up from the other servants. Do you know that when you kiss Dick before he starts in the morning, they think you are putting a spell upon him to keep him safe all day, and bring him back to you all right at night?”
Georgia blushed like a girl. “That is really rather sweet,” she said. “Rahah despises the people round here too much to tell me anything they say about us.”
“Oh, Georgie,” cried Mabel, with sudden envy, “I would give anything to care for any one as you do for Dick! You look quite different when you talk about him. If only I wasn’t such a cold-hearted wretch! I wish I had cared for poor Mr Brendon, even; that would be better than caring for no one but myself.”
She broke into a storm of tearless sobs, and Georgia hailed the appearance of Rahah with the sleeping-draught, which she was obliged to administer almost by force. It was some time in taking effect, but at last the sobs died away, and she was able to leave the patient in charge of her own ayah, while she went about her other duties. Not until the morning of the next day did Mabel wake again, very much ashamed of her behaviour, which she was conscious had not been exactly in accordance with the high aspirations she had formerly confided to Georgia. Resolved to redeem her character, she sprang out of bed at once, and when Georgia came into her room on tiptoe, expecting to find her asleep, she was already dressed.
“Let me do something to help you,” she said eagerly. “You must have had a fearful amount of extra work thrown on you yesterday. What can I do?”
“Well, if you are so benevolently inclined, you might sit with the Commissioner a little,” said Georgia. “He was asking for you all day, and rather suspected us of concealing something dreadful from him.”
“Very well,” said Mabel readily. The proposal exactly fell in with her wishes, for she had conceived a magnificent idea while dressing. By her diplomacy she would induce the Commissioner to reverse his frontier policy.
“Miss North!” Mr Burgrave started up from his pillows as Mabel entered the sickroom, but becoming suddenly conscious of his injuries, he sank back again stiffly. “Excuse my left hand,” he added. “The other is off work just now. And how are you? Really not much the worse?”
“I had no business to be any the worse,” returned Mabel. “Nothing happened to me, thanks to you and—the others.”
“Ah, but the shock to the nerves must have been exceedingly severe,” said Mr Burgrave soothingly. “As I remarked to Tighe yesterday, Mrs North would have got over anything of the kind in an hour or two, but you are much more highly strung.”
Mabel was vaguely aware that the comparison was intended to be in her own favour, but she could not agree that the advantage was on her side, and she changed the subject hastily. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you did. Every time I think of that evening I feel more and more how grateful I ought to be. And I am, indeed, but I can’t say what I should like.”
Mr Burgrave raised his hand. “Please don’t, Miss North, or you will make me more miserable than I am already. How can I forget that I did nothing to help you? Mr Anstruther had that happiness, while I was lying on the ground under my horse.”
“But you tried—you did all you could—you are so terribly hurt!” protested Mabel.
“Yes, and that is my only comfort. I was hurt, and therefore I am here. No, on second thoughts, I don’t even envy Anstruther. He did the work, but I have basely annexed the reward. To have rescued you was happiness enough for him. I, who was unsuccessful, am consoled by finding myself under the same roof with you for a fortnight. That is enough for me.”
“How nice of you to say so!” Mabel rose. “Then I can leave you alone quite happily, and go and help Georgia?”
“Miss North, you are not going already? What have I said to drive you out of the room? Do you want me to pine away in melancholy solitude? After all, I did try to rescue you, as you were kind enough to say just now; but it will need your constant society and conversation to keep me from brooding over my failure.”
“I’m afraid my society won’t be very cheerful,” said Mabel, resuming her seat with a sigh. “You see, I can’t help feeling that what happened was a good deal my fault. If I had only told what I knew——”
“Well?” asked Mr Burgrave anxiously, as she paused.
“Ah, but if I had, you would not have believed it,” was the unexpected response, “any more than you would now.”
“Do you think I should be so rude as to question your word?”
“You will when I tell you that I know the men who tried to carry me off were agents of Bahram Khan’s.”
“You have evidence to support this very serious charge, I presume? Are you able to identify the men?”
“I suppose so; I haven’t tried yet. But, Mr Burgrave, I’m going to tell you something that only my sister-in-law knows—not even my brother, for I wouldn’t let her say anything to him. Bahram Khan did want to—to marry me.”
“What?” cried the Commissioner, starting up again. “You don’t mean to say that he has ever ventured to—to suggest such a thing to you?” Rage and disgust strove for the mastery in his voice.
“Oh no, he has never said anything to me; but the day I was at Dera Gul the women talked of nothing else.”
“Oh, the women!” Mr Burgrave spoke quite calmly again, and with evident relief. “You must remember that Bahram Khan is a good deal more advanced in his notions than the other Sardars of the province, and would like to imitate our ways with regard to ladies—English ladies, I mean. That is just the sort of thing that native women can’t understand. Any polite attention he might offer you would be misconstrued by them into a cause for violent jealousy. Their mistake made things extremely unpleasant for you at the moment, no doubt; but you need not torment yourself with thinking that he had any such preposterous idea in his head.”
Mr Burgrave did not actually say that a lady accustomed to universal admiration was liable to perceive it even where it did not exist, but this was what Mabel understood his slightly repressive tone to imply. Ignorant of the Eye-of-the-Begum’s secret mission to Georgia, she could not defend herself against the suggestion, and she grew crimson.
“Why don’t you say that I imagined the whole thing?” she demanded. “It’s not an experience I am proud of, I assure you. I told it you purely in the hope that it might open your eyes a little, but since you prefer to regard Bahram Khan as an interesting martyr——”
“Pray don’t mistake me, Miss North. If I believed that Bahram Khan had really devised this dastardly plot against you, I would hunt him down like a bloodhound until he was delivered up to justice, though that would mean the death of all my hopes for this frontier. In one way, of course, it would simplify matters a good deal. I am not in the habit of bothering ladies with politics, but there can be no harm in saying that it gives me great pain to differ from a man I respect as I do your brother. He has done so much for the frontier that it seems almost presumption in me, a new-comer, to set my opinion above his. However, I have formed that opinion after long and careful study of the Khemistan problem, and only the very strongest proof that I had been mistaken could induce me to alter it. But if you should be able to identify Bahram Khan’s servants as your assailants, it would be conclusive evidence that he is not the man I take him to be.”
“And then you would see that Dick was right, and leave him to manage things in his own way?”
“My dear Miss North, we are now soaring into the domain of improbabilities. If my opinion were once modified, it is possible that your brother’s view might prevail, or again, it might not.”
“I am certain he would not be sorry if Bahram Khan was proved to be untrustworthy,” was Mabel’s mental comment. “It would show him a way out of his difficulty. And now I shall be able to do it.”
Mabel was particularly cheerful all the rest of the day, as indeed she had a right to be, for was she not about to secure the safety of the frontier? Warned by her experience of the morning, she made no further attempt to entrap Mr Burgrave into a political discussion, but contented herself with showing in numberless little ways her gratitude for the concession he was prepared to make. She even welcomed his offer to introduce her to the beauties of Robert Browning, a poet whose works she had been wont to regard with the mingled alarm and dislike which, in the case of a modern young lady, can only spring from ignorance of them. He sent a servant back to the bungalow he had occupied to fetch the two portly volumes which, as he told her, always formed a part of his travelling library, and she read aloud to him without a murmur a considerable portion of “Paracelsus.” Under the combined influence of his favourite poet and the reader’s voice, the Commissioner forgot alike his injuries and the difficulties which beset his policy, and the household fairly basked in his smiles. This, at least, was what Fitz Anstruther said, but he had happened to intrude upon the reading as the bearer of an important message from Dick, and was adversely affected by the peaceful scene.
The next morning, as Dick was going to his office, Mabel intercepted him in the verandah. “I am ready to identify those men as soon as you like, Dick,” she said.
He looked at her in surprise. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until you have recovered a little from the shock?” he asked.
“Oh no, I’m all right now. I should like to get it over, Dick.”
“Well, you certainly seem to have picked up wonderfully. I suppose there’s no doubt of your knowing them again?”
Mabel shuddered. “How could I help recognising them? The red light, and those awful faces—it seems as if the whole thing was photographed on my mind. I should know them anywhere.”
“Oh, all right. It would be far worse, you know, to try to identify them and fail than to let the thing go altogether.”
“You needn’t be afraid. Only I should be glad not to have to look forward to it much longer.”
“Very well. No doubt it’s better to do it before the impression has a chance of fading from your mind. It’s a bother about the Commissioner, though. He insists on being present, and Georgie and Tighe say he mustn’t on any account be allowed to move until they have wired his knee. We shall have to carry his bed out on the verandah, I suppose. Just like him to think the show can’t go on without him. Of course he’s afraid we shall contrive to bring his preciousprotégéin guilty in some underhand way.”
Mabel smiled as Dick went down the steps, for she knew better. Mr Burgrave’s anxiety was not so much for Bahram Khan personally as for his own schemes, and not so much for them as for the continuance of his friendship with the North family. This knowledge, and the pleasing conviction that she alone possessed it, sustained her when she was summoned in the afternoon to identify her three surviving assailants.
“Come along,” said Dick, entering the drawing-room; “they’re all here, and Tighe has superintended the removal of the distinguished patient. They’re in the verandah outside his room. Don’t be frightened, Mab. Georgia shall come too, and support you.”
In spite of her resolution, Mabel trembled a little as she entered the improvised police-court, realising once more what issues hung upon her words. Fitz was there, and a Hindu clerk, and the Commissioner, propped up in bed. Before them stood a dozen natives with turbans and clothes of various degrees of picturesque dirt and raggedness, guarded by as many dismounted troopers armed to the teeth.
“Now, Mab, pick ’em out,” murmured Dick, from behind his sister.
“But there are too many men here. There were only three left,” objected Mabel, in a hasty whisper.
“Well, and you have to tell us which they were. You didn’t think we were going to parade the three prisoners and invite you to swear to them, did you? Now don’t waste the time of the court.”
Absolute despair seized upon Mabel as she stood in front of the line of men, and looked shrinkingly into their faces. How was it possible that so many natives, differing presumably in origin and circumstances, could be so much alike? Not one of them blenched under her timid scrutiny. Some looked stolid and some bored, and one or two even amused, but this gave her no help. At last, however, it struck her that there was something familiar in one or two of the faces. She moved a step or so in order to examine them more carefully, and then looked round at Dick and the rest.
“This man,” she said, pointing to one, “and that one, and this.”
“You are certain?” asked Mr Burgrave.
“Yes; I know their faces quite well.”
This time an undisguised smile ran momentarily along the line of swarthy countenances, only to disappear before Dick’s frown.
“Take them away,” he said to the troopers, and with a clanking of chains here and there, the prisoners and their guard departed.
“What is the matter?” asked Mabel in bewilderment, as she looked from one to the other of the three chagrined faces before her. “What have I done?”
“Oh, only identified as your assailants one of thechaprasisand a sowar in mufti and the gardener’s son, who were all peacefully going about their lawful business at the time of the outrage,” said Dick bitterly. “You have made us the laughing-stock of the frontier.”
“But—but weren’t the real men there at all?”
“Of course they were, but you passed them over.”
“And what will happen to them now?”
“They’ll be discharged for lack of evidence, that’s all. Bahram Khan will testify that they had been to Nalapur on an errand for him, and other witnesses will swear that they saw and spoke to them there, and we can say nothing.”