'A Memorable occasion!'
The phrase seemed, somehow, to be inevitable on the further side of the city, where, as Râm Nâth had foretold, all of Nushapore that was worth considering was gathered together for the ceremony of laying the foundation-stone of the Anglo-Vernacular College. Râm Nâth may have started the assertion, but every one else followed suit. Sir George in his presidential address, the treasurer in his financial statement, the distinguished native official who--in proposing the vote of thanks to Lady Arbuthnot for her able assistance--managed to drag in the Dufferin fund and the benefits of female education by the way! So, one by one, the delegates of the various sects and associations who were, blissfully, to forget their differences over----over this memorable occasion!
Some added a 'most' to it; others went so far as to say it marked an era; while a peculiarly eloquent speaker went one better by introducing the 'Annals of Empire.'
But the point on which they were all agreed was--that itwas'a memorable occasion.'
And there was curiously little unreality about the assertion, for everybody went about with a noticeable satisfaction that was due to a feeling of duty done. It was all infinitely proper; also pleasing, for when the initial ceremony was over and a pause came for tea between it and the giving of diplomas, it was quite a pretty sight to see the mixed multitude walking about admiring and criticising the building, that some time or another--for funds at the moment were a trifle low--would be built. And this had been made possible by the ingenious and distinctly novel device of laying out the site as a lawn, on which narrow beds of flowers followed the lines of the foundations to come, while in the centre, under what was to be the central dome, stood a model (large enough to allow the delighted native visitors to creep through it if they chose), which had been made of bamboo, brown paper, and mud plaster by a distinguished toy artist in the city, who had had long practice in the making oftazzias[18]for theMohurrumprocessions.
He stood beside his latest creation now, a perfect incarnation of smile in spotless white robes, with a muslin skullcap on his well-oiled hair, ready to receive congratulations on his work. They were many, though the English people kept theirs chiefly for the garden.
'I wish I could make my pansies grow as evenly,' remarked one lady who was devoted to hers, as she looked enviously round the reading-room to be, that was outlined by a dense border of purple and yellow.
'Nothing easier!' replied the Secretary-to-Government, who was showing her round. 'Cut them to pattern with a foot-rule--they are only stuck in for the day!' He pulled up one as he spoke, showed it to her rootless, then stuck it in again with a laugh. 'It is a regular native dodge. They are A1 at making dream-palaces, you know. Curious, isn't it? that the mushroom should grow so well in India, the most conservative of countries; but cheap labour and cheap words are absolutely demoralising.'
'Stuck in! So they are,' echoed the gardening lady. 'Just a regular child's garden; but it looks well, doesn't it! Poor things!' she added, stooping to touch a pansy with the caressing touch of the flower-lover; 'but if they were only left alone for a time, you know, they would soon strike root.'
'Perhaps!' admitted the Secretary-to-Government dubiously, as they drifted off to the tea-table where Mrs. Chris Davenant--who had presented her bouquet with charming grace--was presiding, assisted by Chris in his frock-coat with a flower in his buttonhole.
He was, in the eyes of many around him, at the pinnacle of prosperity, for the Lieutenant-Governor, as he drank his tea, was talking to him (as Vice-President); yet he did not look happy, perhaps because he could catch a glimpse outside the tent of Swâmi Viseshwar Nâth, standing apart from the ruck amid the little knot of high-caste Hindoos who had brought him there with blandishings and bribes, as ocular demonstration of the widespread sympathy and support the college was receiving from all classes of the community, and who had promised to be responsible for his bodily and spiritual immunity from defilement.
By and by, Chris knew, he would have to reckon with that figure, whose brown, bare shaven head, and brown, bare legs, showed beyond a short salmon-pink shirt hung with a rope of big brown beads matching the tint of the skin. Such an inconceivable, incredible figure, seen behind that of Mrs. Carruthers in her last Paris frock!
Yes! by and by Chris must make his choice. If it had only been for himself, that choice, it would have been easy; but it was for Naraini also----
Naraini! Naraini! Naraini!
The thought of her haunted him. Her very aloofness from such a scene as this, the impossibility of imagining her in any part of it, held him captive. No! there was no place here for such as she; not even in the tent where a few of the more emancipated wives, and sisters, and mothers of Shark Lane were, literally, on show to the elect; and whither Lady Arbuthnot was at that very moment being conducted by an elate but apologetic husband, who was saying with cheerful pomp--
'You will find them very stupid, since they have as yet enjoyed small benefit from liberal education; but time will show.'
Time will show! Undoubtedly; it was showing results already in the foundations of flowers through which the speaker was passing. Results that were oddly despotic, beyond the expectation or control of those who had planted that child's garden. The poppies, for instance, native to the soil as they were, had given up the pretence of root; the exotic pansies, on the other hand, winked boldly at the westering sun as at an enemy vanquished.
It was fate, or something beyond fate, even here.
'It really,' remarked Sir George almost mechanically, 'is a memorable occasion.'
'Very, indeed!' assented poor Chris, realising that it was one, at any rate, thathewas not likely to forget.
'Excuse me!' put in the Commissioner, coming up hurriedly, 'but if I may, sir, I should like to have a word with you!'
Sir George put down his cup, Chris moved off, and so did the two officials, to converse earnestly as they circled round that toy model of the College to come.
'I agree that it is unfortunate,' admitted Sir George, pausing at last, a trifle impatiently, 'but I refuse to believe there is any immediate likelihood of disturbance. It is inconceivable withthisgoing on. Every one looks content, except perhaps the pensioners. Jehân Aziz, I notice, is absent, but that is only decent--and one cannot wonder at their annoyance.' Here his glance fell resentfully on Mr. Lucanaster, who--the day being Sunday when no other entertainment was available--had honoured the 'memorable occasion' with his presence. 'That has been a most unfortunate business,' he continued, frowning, 'but you will admit that the Nawâb has, on the whole, behaved well in allowing both his wife's death and the girl's abduction--though, I believe, Lucanaster is, as he says, out of that--to be hushed up.'
'Why should he allow it? that's what I want to know, sir,' argued the Commissioner. 'There is something behind, depend upon it, and that is never satisfactory with a native. The whole thing is fairly maddening, just at a time when I wanted to feed the lot on soothing syrup--even the fact that that culpable homicide case in cantonments has to be hung up because the accused is ill with typhoid!'
'I wouldn't worry about it, though, Kenyon,' replied Sir George kindly, 'as I told Mr. Raymond this morning.'
'Raymond?' echoed the Commissioner eagerly. 'What did he say? His views are always interesting.
The kindness vanished. 'Something of what you tell me. I disagreed with him, as I disagree with you. However, to show you that I have perfect confidence in your discretion, and also to back my own opinion--for, mind you, if I thought there was the very slightest chance of your having to use it, I would hesitate to give it--you shall have what you ask for, sanction to wire direct to Fareedabad after you have seen what the city is like for yourself, instead of returning to report. It might, as you say, make the difference of catching the midnight mail; though there really is no----' He shrugged his shoulders tolerantly. 'However, you had better have it in order,' he continued, taking out his pocket-book and pencil with a certain elaborate patience, and finally, with a return to his usual kindly manner, holding out a duly signed and dated service-telegram. 'There!' he said, with a smile, 'I carry forms about with me these times. Now, mind, this is a personal favour for to-night only, Kenyon. I wouldn't do as much for any one else in India, and it is only to sot your mind at ease; you can bring it back to me when you come to report! And now, for heaven's sake, let us get over this diploma business. I only wish I could come with you to the city, but I must see this show through.'
So, while the hoofs of the Commissioner's horse, as he rode citywards with the chief of the police and the magistrate who had brought the disturbing rumours, echoed down the hard white road, which was laid so evenly between a double row of mud roundels protecting lately planted trees, the show--as Sir George had called it--began. It was rather like a school-prize-giving, with men and women instead of children, for the inevitable table (covered with the twopenny-halfpennyphul-kârimade for the European market, which, with its sham Orientalism, has on such occasions replaced the honest red office baize) was set in front of Sir George and Lady Arbuthnot. On it were three packed posies in green glass tumblers, a pile of diplomas, duly made out in the recipients' names, and another pile of sham Oriental brocade bags in which to keep them.
'You belong, of course?' said the Secretary-to-Government, who was standing apart during the opening speeches, to a sunburnt little lady in a wide pith hat.
'Who, I?' she answered cheerfully. 'Oh dear, no--I am not often in at headquarters, and I get on all right with my schools and that sort of thing without it, so it doesn't seem worth while.'
'Perhaps not,' replied the man of headquarters, once more dubiously. It was impossible for him to avoid that attitude towards much that had to pass through his hands, so he set the doubtful point aside and listened to the President's certainties as he enlarged on the great need for closer ties of friendship and sympathy between the rulers and the ruled, and the excellent results to be expected from meetings of this kind. Then, of course, some one else spoke, and some one else. And outside the lawn, enclosed with grass hurdles, and set with those foundations of flowers, India was going on its way as it had gone, untouched by change, for thousands and thousands of years; and two women, furtively sweeping up a prize of horse-droppings on the outskirts of the assemblage in order to make them into fuel, talked, as they swept, of the amulet that had promised safety and brought death.
'Will you come, please, and form up in line,' said a steward, fussily collecting his candidates among the listening circle. 'It will look better, and save time.'
'Oh dear! I hope I shan't get put next a native,' murmured one little lady, quite plaintively, as she obeyed.
The Secretary-to-Government, who overheard the remark, smiled; still dubiously.
He smiled again, and so did some others, when Mrs. Chris Davenant came up to receive a diploma which--it had occurred to her astuteness--might be worked to her advantage in English society. Perhaps the reflection that she had already shown her willingness to enter into social relations with the other race was accountable for these smiles, but she herself, and Chris too, were quite grave over it.
The latter, indeed, could not at the moment have been otherwise over anything in heaven or earth; for not five minutes past, as he stood dully indifferent on the edge of that circle of listeners, he had felt a touch on the sleeve of his frock-coat; heard a low voice.
'To-night, Krishn, at the "Circling of the Lights" in Kâli's shrine. We meet there, Her priests and His, to settle this matter. And thou must be there also.'
He had not turned to see who the speaker was; he had known all too well. For the moment he could have laughed aloud at the hideous incongruity of it, with Viva standing there waiting for her diploma.
It was growing late. The light atoms were trooping in streams across the western sky, crowding closer and closer into rays as they sought shelter from the coming darkness in the sinking sun. There was a great hush over all things, in which Grace Arbuthnot's voice, as she read out the names of the recipients, could be distinctly heard. A hush, not a silence: that cannot come within earshot of a great city.
'It has taken longer than I thought,' remarked one of the stewards, yawning, when--at long last--the list came to an end.
'Gracious!' exclaimed Mrs. Chris--horrified at the watch Mr. Lucanaster showed her sulkily--'we shall be late. Here, Chris! take this thing while I put on my jacket.'
She thrust the diploma into her husband's hand, and left it there, as she hurried into the dusk after Mr. Lucanaster, who had gone to search for his dogcart.
'Jerry will be fast asleep, I expect,' said Grace Arbuthnot regretfully, as she settled herself in the carriage beside Sir George, 'for I told Lesley to put him to bed early and give him some bromide. Oh! there is nothing the matter with him, George! Only, you know, he gets a little over-excited sometimes when he has a touch of fever, and bromide sets him off to sleep nicely. I am sorry Lesley couldn't come this afternoon--it must have been dull for her at home!'
Dull, however, was the last word Lesley Drummond would have applied to that afternoon's experience. When she had followed Jack Raymond into the telegraph-office at the station, she had simply obeyed orders, not knowing in the least what was going to happen. He had, however. He had walked straight up to the clerk, who had turned deadly grey-green at his reappearance, and seized him by the throat; so that violence was over, and the offender in collapse on the stool behind him, by the time that Lesley had locked the door and looked round.
'Will you come here, please?' Jack Raymond said to her quietly. 'You'll find a pencil and paper, I expect, on the table--and where is the cipher telegram--oh, there!--that will do. Now,baboo, telegraph that right, will you? Miss Drummond, if you will look over and tick the letters off as he signals them, andlet me know when he makes a mistake, I'll--I'll settle it!'
He drew the revolver out of his pocket as he spoke, and stood to one side to let those two pass to the instrument. 'Of course,baboo,' he continued, 'the lady, who--unfortunately for you--can signal, could do it herself, but I prefer that you should do what you are told. Do you understand?'
The greyness and the greenness became almost deathlike. And Lesley Drummond's colour forsook her also. Would it be a death-warrant she would have to give by looking up and saying 'Wrong'? It might be. His face--the face she was accustomed to see so careless--looked stern enough now even for that. Yet it might be needful. This treachery--there had not been time to exchange a single word about it--might mean so much. Buthewould know how much, and so be able to judge.
Yet as she bent over the telegram, ticking the--to her--unmeaning cipher off, letter by letter, she felt that her heart echoed that uneven shudder of the handles; and she felt that Jack Raymond's eyes upon her, as he watched for a sign, were like the eyes of fate. Would she have to give that sign? And if so, what would happen? There was no thought of pityfor the man, in her mind, only a great dread, a horrible apprehension, of this responsibilityfor herself. Yet it must be so; she knew that, though the words, 'Don't--don't, please, don't--oh! don't be a fool,' came constantly to the very verge of her lips.
'Is that all?' asked Jack Raymond, when a longer pause than usual came. She felt quite sick and giddy with relief as she nodded--for even now she feared lest a look up might be construed into a sign.
'I ought to have told you-before you began--that his sort aren't obstinate,' he went on observantly. 'There is no fear of--of that--Miss Drummond! So now, please, for the station-master. And I think it will be better to tell them not to wire back. There are evidently railway men in this affair; besides, we mustn't risk being found out too soon, must we? So "extreme caution" and "utmost secrecy" is our game--the great thing is to get the troops started before wearefound out.'
Found out! Lesley had hardly realised that view of the matter as yet, and the thought gave her a qualm. Yet she went on checking thebaboo'ssignals and the brief answers that were asked for, just to show that the orders were understood.
When that was over, Jack Raymond looked at thebaboodistastefully, then turned to the girl--'I'm puzzled what to do with him,' he said in French; whereat thebabooseemed to give up all hope of escape and sank in a dejected heap on the floor, rocking himself backwards and forwards, and murmuring, 'I quite innocent man--oh, my lord! innocent as suckling babes,' until Jack bid him be quiet.
'It is no use wasting time by trying to find out how far he is in it. He would only lie, and I know enough for the present. As I told you coming along, the danger is in the native regiment refusing to keep order, if they areaskedto do so. That would be mutiny, and the knowledge of the penalty would make the men reckless, and there might--excuse me--be the devil of a row; What we want to do is to avoid the necessity for asking them, by having other men available. They won't be wanted before ten o'clock at earliest--the rush on the hospitals was to be about midnight. The Fareedabad fellows should be here, at latest, by nine--plenty of time! And if we let Sir George and Co. know what we have done by, say, eight o'clock, that should do. It is no use giving ourselves away too soon, and the thing we have to make certain of is that the Fareedabad men do come up to time. Now, I could tie thebabooup and lock the door on him, but how am I to guard against the likelihood of fellow-conspirators coming to look after him?Theymight get to sending telegrams; they may be sending them now through the other office for all I know, in which case they must be stopped here. At any rate, this man must have been on his guard against any communication with Fareedabad, or he would not have been so sharp. In fact, if we had gone to the Post Office, he would never have repeated our message: for, as I told you, the only wire to Fareedabad is the railway one.That, I expect, is why he was on duty. However, I'm inclined to think we had best stop here, for a time, and make certain. Of course, if one of us could stop and the other go, it might be best. But I can't do without you--a message might come through any moment and I should be inhishands, the brute!--he thought himself quite safe, and would have been, but for you! You locked the door, didn't you?'
He walked over to it, however, to make sure of the fastening, and then pushed the heavy office table across it. 'They may have duplicate keys, and I don't want them inside,' he explained. Then he stood for a moment looking at the girl--'I m awfully sorry; but you won't mind, I know. I wonder if there is a cushion anywhere to make you more comfortable. No! but a ledger will be better than the bare floor.' He took one or two and placed them behind the table. 'Now, if you don't mind sitting down there, where I can see you and nobody else can--even if we have to open the shutter--that will do nicely.' Then he turned to the heap in the corner. 'Now get up,baboo-jee,' he said politely, 'and resume your duties; you can sit on that stool. If anybody comes along, keep quiet, and don't open the shutter till I give the signal. Then you can transact business as usual. But mind, if you try it on again, the Miss-sahibawill warn me, and I will--warn you.'
He laid the revolver ostentatiously on the table, then--borrowing thebaboo'scomforter, which was hanging on a peg--he sat down at the table in a beautifullybaboo-esque attitude with his legs twined round his chair.
'Will I do?' he asked gravely of Lesley when he had finished making himself a smoking-cap out of black transfer-paper, and she could not help laughing softly.
'I assure you it is very serious, he said, smiling also; 'and I'm awfully sorry to keep you; but you ought to get back in time for dinner.'
'Dinner!' she echoed, a trifle hurt, 'surely dinner----'
'Is a minor matter? Never! Besides, I hope to God we are both going to have agooddinner to-night; for that means--success. There is no earthly reason why thereshouldbe a row, you know. If we see this through, and the troops come up to time----' he paused, lost in his own previsions. 'Well,' he said finally, 'we had better not talk. A native's bare feet are more inaudible than our whispers, and it won't do to be found out. So--steady it is for an hour or so.'
An hour! Lesley's heart sank after the first ten minutes. They seemed interminable to her, seated on the ledgers behind the table. She could just see Jack Raymond at the other end of it, his head down on his crossed arms. Was he dozing? As likely as not; he was just that sort; while her nerves were quivering. The action had been well enough; the excitement of that had carried her with it; but now----? What if Mr. Raymond's estimate of the danger had been excessive? He had once, long ago, fired on a mob in too great haste. At least Government had thought so. What had possessed her, in a moment, to trust his judgment absolutely--to cast in her lot with his, as it were, unreservedly? She blushed even in the darkness, that was fast obscuring all things, at the thought----
'You had better light the lamp,baboo. There is one, isn't there? by your desk,' came his voice calmly.
Then he was not asleep!
'And he was very kind. But if they were found out? If they asked her why she had done this thing, what would she answer? Whatcouldshe say to Grace Arbuthnot, who had been wiser; even though she had loved----
The lamp flared up under thebaboo'strembling fingers and showed her face.
'You poor child!' came his voice again, 'I'm bitterly sorry; but it can't be long now; and--and let's hope for that good dinner!'
She was glad of the jesting finish, glad that the lamp went out this time under those trembling fingers. When it flared up again she was ready to be more cheerful. And it was an easier task after that, for the deadly quiet passed and the thrill came into life again, making her forget the question--What if they should be found out?--in the possibility of being found out all too soon.
For some one tried the handle of the door hurriedly, called loudly on Mohun Ditta to come out and report; then after a time departed with curses.
'You had better open the shutter,baboo,' said Jack Raymond; 'and go on, not exactly as if I wasn't here--that mightn't be safe under the circumstances--but as if you were thinking of your pension.'
'Yes, sir,' bleated thebaboo, 'I will do best endeavours to please.'
So silence fell again, to be broken by another step outside; clearly an English step, making the listener at the table look up as the steps died away.
'Here,baboo! send this off quick!' came an English voice; and Jack Raymond had hard work not to look round.
But the wire was only to lay odds on a race in Calcutta; and even the strain of listening for each unknown letter did not come to Lesley, for thebabooshowed the adaptability of his kind, by reading out the words loudly and saying, 'Is that right, sir?' to the sender.
'I hope so,baboo!' said the English boy with a laugh, 'or I shall be stony broke!' So the steps died away once more.
'Only twenty minutes left!' remarked Jack Raymond as silence fell again; but not for long. The first voice came back--this time to the shutter--full of reproaches; and the frantic anxiety of thebabooto keep the conversation within bounds, and prevent anything absolutely incriminating from cropping up, made one listener smile as he sat pretending to copy way-bills into a ledger. And when the voice passed on, and he turned to look, he laughed outright to see the wretched creature mopping the perspiration off his forehead.
'Had about enough?' he began, then paused, for an imperative 'kling kling' rang out from the electric bell.
'Asking if the line is clear,' said Lesley from her post, and Jack Raymond rose and stretched himself.
'Then that's over! The train has reached Bahâna, and we can go--and--and face the rest!' He held out his hand to help her to rise.
Face it! Could she? She hesitated, and at that moment a step sounded outside, rapid, with a clink in it--the clink of spurs!
'Here,baboo!' said a guttural Northern voice. 'This for dispatch--be-rung(bearing)Sirkâri. Take it, fool--I have no time to lose--and give receipt!'
There was a pause, then the clink of spurs passed again, and Jack Raymond, who had slipped into his chair, crossed to the desk, looked over thebaboo'sshoulder at the telegram, which was in cipher, and turned to Lesley smiling.
'Perhaps we shan't have to face it after all! They are sending to Fareedabad off their own bat. Well! better late than never!' There was a ring of bitterness in his voice.
'You mean----' began Lesley, who had crossed too, and now stood looking down at the official signature below the cipher with a half comprehension.
'That they will be a bit surprised when the troops turn up at nine; but stay! we can dodge them a bit!Baboo!what time was this telegram given in?'
The baboo glanced at the clock. 'A quarter to eight, sir.'
'Nothing of the kind!' contradicted Jack Raymond in a tone of voice which turned his hearer grey-green once more; 'it came in at--let me see, what is the latest I can give it?--twenty minutes to seven. Fill that in,baboo, and file it--not there, you fool!--below the other one--thatdidn't come in till half-past! You won't forget these facts, will you? If you don't, I--I won't remember that you made amistake in telegraphingat first. Do you understand? Now, Miss Drummond, you should have just time to get home and dress for dinner.'
After he had pushed away the table and unlocked the door, she followed him out into the still almost-deserted station without a word. A lamp or two had been lit; at the farther end a group of coolies lounged; closer in, a light showed from an office.
'I'll bring the cycles,' said Jack Raymond, and she passed out from the semi-darkness and shadow into the clear dusk beyond, and stood waiting, full of a vague amazement at herself and all things.
Behind the long line of sheds, the overhanging bastion belonging to the Royal Pensioners rose dark against the sky, where the sunset still lingered pale, flawless. But the risen moon turned the slanting silhouette into a reality of brick and mortar, and the dark spots crowning it to the figures of men.
And overhead, those specks in the pearl grey were kites; for the 'Sovereignty of Air'--delayed by the necessity for some of the competitors appearing on the 'memorable occasion'--had not yet been awarded. Five or six kites still floated for the supremacy, and many a pair of dark eyes watched them, wondering which would soar the longest, and gain the Kingship. Lateefa's most of all, as in his capacity of kite-maker to the Royal Family he pulled in each kite as it sank, and added it to the bundle of the vanquished. Only six kites left, and one of them carried the sign of Kingship with a vengeance; for he had been too late, as he had feared he would be, in his visit to the courtyard. Six kites, and which of them held the ring?
No wonder his eyes never left those hovering specks that still defied the falling dew.
But Lesley, looking at them also, scarcely realised that theywerekites. She was absorbed by her own mean miserable lack of backbone. She had shrunk, she told herself, from the possibility of having to face failure hand-in-hand, as it were, with Jack Raymond, and now she shrank from losing her hold on his success. Or was it her hold on him--the man himself?
'You will just have time if you scorch,' he said in cheery haste as he came down the steps. 'I'm going round first to see if those in authority know all I do. If they do, they can't help falling into line with--withourplans, and we can fall out! But I shall suggest that if, by chance, the up-mail was a bit late, the Fareedabad people might have taken advantage, etc. It will be as well to prepare the way for the troops arriving, before they're supposed to have started!'--he paused at the look on her face. 'At least Icando so! Of course, if you would rathernotback out--but, as far as I'm concerned, I think it would be better to lie low, until the row's over, at any rate. Afterwards, it may be necessary--or you might wish----'
She shook her head hastily as she mounted.
'Good-bye,' he said, holding out his hand; 'and--and--your way is better, Miss Drummond!'
Better! As she sped through the warm peaceful dusk she felt herself a fraud, for she could have cried because it was all over--because she was losing her hold on him!
But everything was a fraud; the peaceful dusk most of all, since its peacefulness held danger, perhaps death. Not unknown, unlooked--for, but expected, appraised----
The gong was sounding as she raced up to the portico, a carriage stood at the door, some guests for the Sunday dinner-party were stepping out of it. She would be horribly late, and what excuse could she make to Lady Arbuthnot?
None was needed. As she came out of her room again after an incredibly short space of time, and ran down-stairs, she overtook Grace coming from hers.
'Oh! Lesley,' she said, turning as she fastened her bracelet, 'I wanted to see you, and I haven't had a moment since I came in. Sir George is called out--the Commissioner met us on our way back. It is trouble in the city--but George has sent for troops, and they say it will pass over, as it wastaken in time. But, of course, no one is to know--so George, remember, has a touch of fever, and everything is to go on as usual.'
'I 'm--I'm very sorry,' said the girl lamely.
'Sorry!' echoed Grace, 'I'm not sure if I am. I felt it would come, and I'm glad, oh! so glad, that George was so prompt! It will be well over, and itmustbe so, for it was takenin time, you see. By the bye! how was Jerry this afternoon? I only had time to glance in at the door as I ran up to dress, but he didn't stir, so he must have gone to sleep all right--Needham said he hadn't been talking.
Lesley, who had not had time even for that glance, felt relieved. 'Oh! he was very happy. I put him to bed, and gave him what you left before I went out on my cycle.'
The next moment she had passed into the circle of expectant guests in the drawing-room, and was adding her apologies for being late to Lady Arbuthnot's.
'Bicycling is a very wholesome exercise,' gravely remarked the young assistant--in for a Saturday to Monday from an out-station--who took her in to dinner.
'Very,' she replied as gravely, telling herself that a vertebrate creature had some excuse for not being able to control its backbone, when it was uncertain if it had to stand on its head or its heels.
After Lesley had gone home to dinner, and Jack Raymond--in quaint contrast--was off to make certain that a rising in the city was expected before long, the station settled down once more into the silence and slackness of between-train time on a Sunday evening. The listless passengers to be, it is true, still sat in groups on the steps outside, and every now and again some one--who ought to have been on duty and was not--gave a look in, and went off again. Once, indeed, an assistant station-master called at the telegraph-office perfunctorily; but thebaboohad by that time recovered from his paralysis of terror, and begun to see his own advantage clearly. True, he had so far been in with the conspirators, as to have promised his collaboration, should the authorities be enough on the alert to use the telegraph to Fareedabad; but in doing so he had thought himself safe from detection. He had not been so; but now he had once more a hope of safety that wild horses would not have dragged him to lessen. Therefore the assistant station-master went, as he had come, in ignorance of anything unusual.
Up on the turret of the bastion too, which abutted on to the river only a few yards from the first bridge-pier, and which therefore gave full on the station, the kite-flyers went on with their match undisturbed. Jehân was there and Burkut Ali, together with most of the Royal Family; the former jubilant because his kite was one of those still defying the falling dew. And Lateefa was there also, his pile of vanquished kites growing steadily. He sat on the ground beside it, his slender hands crossed over his knees, his thin, acute face upturned. It had an odd amusement on it, and every time he rose to pull in a fresh victim, his high trilling voice quavered of 'oughts' and 'naughts.'
And on the bathing-steps, also, down on the other side of the terraced track which ran between them and the turret, there was peace. They were, in fact, emptier than usual at that hour; for the 'Circling of the Sacred Lights' must be nigh at hand, since the priests were already coming for the office; among them, Viseshwar Nâth----
Thebaboosaw him, andsalaamedat the unusual sight, when--with his whole-hearted betrayal of everything likely to be a personal disadvantage--he walked out beyond the station to satisfy himself that the signalman obeyed his instructions. For realising--as he sat on his stool, still trembling with fear lest by any mischance the soldiers should not come in time and he be blamed for it--that it was necessary to have 'line clear' for the unexpected train, he had sought out the right man, and told him that a special from the north had just been wired to pass through Nushapore in half an hour on its way south. So he stood watching, waiting to see the red light change to green on the tower-pier, and catch the first echo of that change in the far distance at the other end of the bridge. And as he stood, he beguiled his fat body and mind from a faint remorse, by telling himself that, under the circumstances, he was doing the wisest thing for his own party also--that party of progress which had seized on the ignorant alarm of the herd as a fitting time in which to record their own protest against illegal tyranny. Since, if their plans had been blown upon, they were better postponed.
He heaved a sigh of relief, therefore, when the signal 'Line clear, go ahead' showed close at hand and far off. But at the same moment he heard a step behind him, and turned hastily to see Chris Davenant. Chris, still in his frock-coat and with a flower in his buttonhole; with his wife's diploma of membership in the 'Guild for Encouraging Intercourse between the Rulers and the Ruled,' also, in his pocket. For he had not been home since he left the 'memorable occasion'; neither to the home in Shark Lane, nor the home in the city, nor that betwixt-and-between home in the garden of plantains. In a way they all claimed him, and yet they were all alike insufferable, impossible to the man himself. Looking round his world, there was but one thing which brought no sense of revolt with it; and that was his work. He felt that if he could leave, not one thing, but all things behind him save this, life might still be endurable.
And so, when the foundations of flowers (freshened for the time into a promise of stability by the romance of moonlight) were deserted alike by the Rulers and the Ruled, he had, almost mechanically, wandered off to the scene of that work, and had ever since been strolling up and down among the general litter and order of his new goods station. It soothed him. The sight of the piles of brick that would fall into line after his plan, the whole paraphernalia brought together to give form to his idea--an idea which would take shape bit by bit according tohiswill as surely as the sun would rise--comforted him. And yet it brought no strength for the moment that was coming, as surely.
Half-past eight! And at nine the Circling would begin. Half an hour left--for it would not take him a minute to reach the temples--they were close enough----
Close! God in heaven! they were too close! Was it possible to escape from them? was there foothold for an honest man between them and the Palace of Lies in which he had lived so long?
Was there? Only half an hour left for decision, and he had not argued out the matter with himself at all. He had only felt.
Hemustthink; and that seemed impossible out here with the moonlight showing each rib of the skeleton roof, each tier of bricks waiting for the next.
And above those black girders--so strong, so tense--were the faint stars. And among them--what?--kites!
He gave a bitter laugh, and told himself that he must get away from fancies into facts. He would go into the little galvanised iron shed, dignified by the name of the office, and there, with pen and paper before him, think the matter out solidly. Yes! with pen and paper. He had always been at his best with them, and the memory of many an examination was with him, idly, as he walked across the line to the station on the other side of it, to borrow a light. But the only ones--in the telegraph and the assistant station-master's offices--were behind closed doors; and so, seeing a figure at the end of the platform, outlined against the distant dimness of bridge and river, he went on towards it.
'I want a lamp,baboo; bring one over to my office, I have to look up some figures,' he said curtly; for the excuse had brought back the memory of something else that he had promised to see to in the works, and Jân-Ali-shân's advice having come back also, made him speak more after the manner of the master than usual.
That--and the frock-coat possibly--produced an instant and almost servile obedience on the part of thebaboo, whose mind was still in that state of dissolution which crystallises round the least thread of authority.
So, the lamp being brought, Chris sat down and tried to figure out facts.
Taking it from the point of abstract Right and Wrong, to begin with----
He leant his head on his hand and thought; but five minutes after had to pull himself up from a vague regret that already he had failed--he had held back information--though he had promised Mr. Raymond, who had always been so kind----
What a fool he was! What had these personal details to do with it?
He bent himself to his task again. Right and Wrong! Higher and Lower! Yet when, by chance, he looked at the paper before him on which he had been idly jotting down the heading of his subject, it was not 'Right or Wrong,' 'Higher or Lower,' that he saw. It was 'Naraini'!
He stood up then and faced himself; and her! Hecouldmarry her--Viva would not mind--she could not help it, anyhow, she had taken the risk! What if hedid? And then--then went back on the priests!--then chose----
For a moment he stood tempted, as he had never been tempted in his life before.
And then the door burst open, and thebaboo, stuttering, blubbering in his haste, almost fell at his feet.
'Oh, sir, come! You are nearest in authority. Come and issue order sharp. You are master, sir! Stop them, or this poor devil ofbaboois lost. Issue order, sir, and stop them from the bridge!'
'The bridge!' echoed Chris, completely at fault, 'what bridge?'
'Drawbridge, sir,' almost shrieked thebaboo, 'and express train cominginstanter. Oh! what can do? Oh! this poor devil, this poor innocent devil!'
He was grovelling now, and Chris bade him stand up and speak Urdu, almost as Jack Raymond had bidden Govind. But ashelistened to thebaboo'swords, each one, each phrase did not translate itself into a definite aspect of the one central fact that had to be reckoned with; and so, when the tale ended in fresh blubbers, he was not ready to act--he had to think! The very keenness of his intellectual apprehension--claimed clear perception of all points, and he hesitated as he recapitulated them.
Trouble expected in the city--ah! about the amulets, no doubt--why had he not spoken? Troops sent for to Fareedabad, and coming sooner than the authorities expected. How could that be? Coming in a few moments, and the fact of their having been sent for leaking out through the second telegram, the Commissioner's telegram! Why had there been two telegrams?
'Ob, Lord God!' moaned thebaboo, reverting to English at this question, 'because this poor devil of ababooone fool! Yet doing duty, sir--getting line clear, go ahead, all serene tillKuzaifellows come bribing signalman for midnight train, so discovering special, beat this poor body to bruises--Oh, sir! issue orders! issue orders!'
Chris, in a whirl, stood aghast. Issue orders? What orders?
'Yes, sir! Ah! come and see, sir, and issue orders!' moaned thebabooagain.
Come and see? Well! he could at least do that! He dashed out at the door, and, followed breathlessly by thebaboo, cut across the line. As he did so a figure, crouching by the telegraph-office, ran towards the bridge end of the station. In the moonlight he saw the man's face, and recognised him as one of his butcher's gang.
He pulled up short, the consciousness thatthiswas something in which he could be no mere onlooker, but one in which his part must be played as that man's superior officer, coming to him. And as he paused, looking down the narrowing ribbon of steel, he gave a quick gasp of comprehension. All lay silent, peaceful, but against the dark shadow of the pier-tower a darker shadow was rising, and below it that narrowing ribbon of steel ended sharp, square, as if cut off with a knife.
The drawbridge was being raised!
Yet above it the green light of safety, the signal 'Line clear, go ahead' shone bright, and was echoed from the faint moonshine and the deepening dark over the river.
And troops, in a special train, were almost due. At the very moment, indeed, a sudden ringing of an electric bell from the telegraph-office could be heard distinctly in the silence. The sound seemed to finish thebaboo; he squatted down on the rails, murmuring, 'Oh, flag-station now! Oh, cominginstanter! Oh, please, master, issue orders!'
No! not orders; something beyond orders surely! Who was it--was it he himself in a different life?--who had been through this before, with some one who had said, 'But we don't let 'em. No, sir! Two men, if they was men, 'ud keep that pier a Christian country for a tidy time.'
But he was only one, for that thing at his feet was not a man! The old north-country contempt for the down-country swept through Chris as fiercely as contempt for the east sometimes sweeps through the west; as, no doubt, it sweeps through the east for the west!
'How many were there?' he asked swiftly. 'Of the gang, I mean.'
'Too many,' moaned thebaboo; 'oh, sir, too many for one poor man. Thereforevis et armisforced into telling truth on compulsion because, they knowing already of train and troops, little knowledge became dangerous thing causing grievous hurt.'
'How many?' reiterated Chris fiercely; 'don't "men in buckram"!' He could not help the quotation, even then.
Five or six! And the man who had run forward was one, left as a scout, of course. And that must be another in the shadow of the city wall, close to the gap. Say three or four, then, on the bridge-pier; and behind him? He turned citywards, then realised that if--if thepier was to be held as a Christian country, it would not matter how many men were on this side of the drawbridge, provided those three or four on the pier could be reckoned with.
If! The next moment, still uncertain what he should do to gain his object, yet intellectually certain of that, he had run along the platform, swung himself over the low parapet of the retaining-wall, and dropped on to the bathing-steps, the top of which was here not six feet below the level of the line. And below him again the temple ofMaiKâli rose out of the levels of the river; rose from the sunken ridge of rock, on which, farther out in the deeper stream, the drawbridge tower was built; the ridge along which he must pass, since he was no swimmer, if he was to gain that iron ladder.
There were lights in the temple; twinkling lights. In his headlong rush downwards he could see the many-armed, blood-red idol between the figures of those circling round it with the sacred lamps. And that compelling clang of the temple bell was in his ears. Yet he did not pause. He was on the threshold, when it was barred by Viseshwar Nâth.
'Not yet, Krishn! Not yet! The penance first, the vow first!'
'It is not that,' gasped Chris, forgetful of the possibility, nay, the probability, that what to him was dire misfortune might be to this man a very different thing. 'It is treachery, murder! a train is due; they have raised the drawbridge. Look! and let me pass.'
The drawbridge! Half a dozen worshippers grouped about the plinth heard the words and looked bridgewards; so did the Swâmi, and seized his advantage.
'Take thy shoes from off thy feet, Krishn Davenund,' he called in a louder voice, 'and vow the vow first!'
The circling priests within paused at the sound, and crowded to the temple door; the scattered worshippers, curious at the strange sight, closed in round the figure in the frock-coat, the figure in the saffron-shirt.
Yet there was something stranger to come. For from within, pushed to the front at a sign from the Swâmi, came two more figures: a widow, her face hidden in her white shroud, a slender slip of a girl with hers hidden in her bridal scarlet.
Chris fell back from the sight with a cry.
'Choose quick, Krishn!'
Choose! How could he choose, when behind those shrinking figures which meant so much to him, he could see that which, in a way, meant more. For, hidden in the arched shadows of the temple, wafted to him in the perfume of incense and fading flowers--yes! symbolised even in the red-armed idol--was the great Mystery of Right and Wrong, Higher and Lower, which had haunted him all his life. It was years since he had stood so close to these eastern expressions of a world-wide thought, and the old awe came back to him at the sight.
Choose! How could he choose between old and new--even between Viva and Naraini; were they not the same? were they not both----
'Now then, guv'nor! wot 'ave you lost this time?' came a cheerful voice, and with it the sound of shod feet running down the steps. 'You jes' put a name to wot you want done, an' I'm blamed if the best A1 copper-bottomed as ever was 'all-marked----'
Jân-Ali-shân paused, for Chris, with another cry--a cry that had a ring of appeal in it like a lost child's--had caught at the newcomer's hand desperately, while he pointed with his other to the gap.
'The bridge!' he cried in frantic haste. 'Look! the gang, theKuzaishave got at it; there is a train signalled; a train----'
He was going on, but that was enough for Jân-Ali-shân. More than enough! He had wrenched his hand away, turned to look for some weapon, and found one. Found it in the soda-water bottle closely netted round with twine, prolonged into a cord handle, which pilgrims carry so often, and which hung on the wrist of one close by him.
The next instant it was whirling--a veritable death-dealer--round his head, as he dashed forward among the little knot of people outside the temple, and the whole strength of his splendid voice rose echoing over the steps in a triumphant chant--
'I was not born as thousands are.'
There was a free path so far--
'Where God was never known.'
He paused here in the narrow entry to say, 'Stand back, my darlin's, we ain't got no quarrel with you'; and then, facing the priests inside, to call back--
'Now for it, sir!--use your fists on theRam-rammersif they tries to stop yer!'
'And taught to pray a useless prayer.'
The words were broken a bit by blows, an oath or two, yells and desperate scuffling, until--breathless but continuous--the chant rose again among the shadows and the incense--
'To blocks of wood and stone!'
Here Jân-Ali-shân, clear of all his adversaries save the Swâmi, who stood with upraised hands barring the way before the image ofMaiKâli, pushed the former aside and aimed a passing swing at the latter.
The crash of a fall mingled with his gay 'Yoicks forre'd! gone away! gone away!' and the next moment, closely followed by Chris, he was through the temple and waistdeep in the water beyond.
'Mum's the word now, sir!' he whispered, when--after having given Chris a heft up to the lowermost rung of the iron ladder, which hung on the pier--he swung himself up by sheer strength, and then paused for breath. 'How many on them are there, I wonder?'
'Not more than four or five,' whispered Chris, as he climbed. The man behind him made no answer, but Chris could hear him mutter the old complaint--'It don't give a fellow a chanst--it don't, really.'
So, stealthily, they were on the bridge in the rear of the tower.
'Like a thief in the night, sir,' whispered Jân-Ali-shân approvingly. 'Of that day an' hour, as it say in 'Oly Writ--that's the ticket. An' you lay a holt on somethin' 'andy, sir; even a broken brick's better nor trustin' to Providence--there's a biggish bit on the track, sir. An'--an' don't waste time killin'; it's the bridge we want, not the butchers. Now for it!'
Were there four or five of them, or fifty, in the almost pitch darkness of the little inner room? Chris never knew. It was a confused struggle, short, sharp, silent; till, suddenly, John Ellison's voice called--
'That'll do, sir! I've bagged three on 'em, and can't find no more. Now to business!'
He was out as he spoke in the dim light to lay his ear to the rails. And as he listened, he smiled to see a couple of figures scudding for bare life along the single rails as only coolies can do, in hope of shelter from the coming train in the safety, half-way across the bridge.
''Ave to be nippy, my sons,' he remarked affably as he rose, more leisurely, and, from habit, dusted the knees of his trousers as he turned to look stationwards.
But what he saw there made him stop the dusting and swear under his breath.
A little crowd had gathered on the farther side of the gap; a hostile crowd armed with sticks and stones. And with more!
For a bullet whizzed past between him and Chris, who had followed him out, and the sharp report of a rifle roused the echoes of the city wall; and roused, also, a sudden sense of strain, of anxiety, in thousands within the wall; thousands till then ignorant that disturbance was in the air, or at least that itcouldcome so soon!
Even on the turret, amid the schemers and plotters ready--perhaps inevitably--to fall in with any quarrel, this was so; for something else had been in the air, absorbing the attention. Some of those there had remarked, it is true, on the raising of the drawbridge, but others had been ready to tell of the day, not long ago, when it had been so raised and lowered many times without cause, and without result.
So the attention of all had reverted to the two kites which now remained overhead among the faint stars. They were Jehân's and--since little Sa'adut had resigned his claim--that of the next Heir to All Things or Nothingness; a coincidence which, by its hint of fatefulness, had kept interest keener than usual. Even Lateefa, beside his balloonlike bundle of the vanquished, was beginning to wonder if Aunt Khôjee had been true prophet, and Jehân's Creator meant to give him back his honour?
But at that rifle-shot, all else was forgotten and all crowded to the parapet.
'Back, sir! back!' shouted Jân-Ali-shân, roused beyond silence, as he grasped a fresh danger; and the crowd, recognising the new turn of affairs, broke silence also in a deep-toned murmur, on which a shriller sound rose sharply--the distant whistle of an engine. And Chris, as he dashed back to shelter, felt a faint quiver in the linked ribbon of steel beneath his feet.
'She's on the bridge, sir!' said Jân-Ali-shân--there was breathless hurry in his voice, but absolute certainty, as he felt hurriedly in his pocket for a match--'but we must wait a bit: if we looses off till the last minute, them Kusseyes'll swarm over. Oh! jes' wait till I gets a holt of them--sneakin' cold chisels won't be in this job!' He had the match lit, his watch out. ''Arf a minute gone, say, an' it takes a cool four minute on the bridge slowin' her off, an'she'--he laid his hand on the lever crank of the hydraulic lift--'kin do it in fifty seconds; two and a 'arf left, say, for it won't do to miss the train this journey--but you look 'ere, sir--you give the time-creep round to the back and keep your h'eye on the distance-signal-when she falls sing out, and I'll'--he clasped the crank tighter-'do Sandow! And,' he added to himself as Chris disappeared, 'you can talk yourikballyrot all you know, to-night, you can, you fools! for it won't come up to sample--no! it won't.'
Then, as if the reminiscence had brought another with it, he began softly on the song which he had sung that day on the bridge. The song of surplice-choir days. He had learned it with an organ accompaniment; and a sound was to be heard now, growing louder and louder, that like a deep organ note seemed to set the whole world a-quivering, even the very ground beneath his feet--a rumble and a roar, with a rhythmic pulse in it.
'They are trying to get a rope over,' shouted Chris. 'In two places--from the bastion as well.'
Jân-Ali-shân's hand left the crank for a second. He was out at the door looking, not citywards, but bridgewards. And then he laughed, laughed in the very face of a monstrous form with red eyes and a flaming mane coming steadily at him.
'They'll 'ave to be nippier than they is general,' he called back, his hand once more waiting for its task, as he continued his song--