[Illustration: "Miss Cary has consented to become my wife. "] THE NATIVE BORN or THE RAJAH'S PEOPLE by I. A. R. WYLIE 1910 with Illustrations by JOHN NEWTON HOWITT PREFACE In earlier days a preface to a novel with no direct historical sourcealways seemed to me somewhat out of place, since I believed that theauthor could be indebted solely to his own imagination. I have learned, however, that even in a novel _pur sang_ it is possible to owe much toothers, and I now take the opportunity which the despised preface offersto pay my debt--inadequately it is true--to Mr. Hughes Massie, whoseenthusiastic help in the launching of this, my first serious literaryeffort, I shall always hold in grateful remembrance. I. A. R. W. May 9th, 1910 CONTENTS BOOK I CHAPTER I WHICH IS A PROLOGUE II THE DANCING IS RESUMED III NEHAL SINGH IV CIRCE V ARCHIBALD TRAVERS PLAYS BRIDGE VI BREAKING THE BARRIER VII THE SECOND GENERATIONVIII THE IDEAL IX CHECKED X AT THE GATES OF A GREAT PEOPLE XI WITHIN THE GATES XII THE WHITE HANDXIII THE ROAD CLEAR XIV IN WHICH MANY THINGS ARE BROKEN XV THE GREAT HEALER XVI FATEXVII FALSE LIGHT BOOK II I BUILDING THE CATHEDRAL II CATASTROPHE III A FAREWELL IV STAFFORD INTERVENES V MURDER VI CLEARING AWAY THE RUBBISH VII IN THE TEMPLE OF VISHNUVIII FACE TO FACE IX HALF-LIGHT X TRAVERS XI IN THE HOUR OF NEED XII HIS OWN PEOPLEXIII ENVOI THE NATIVE BORN BOOK I CHAPTER I WHICH IS A PROLOGUE The woman lying huddled on the couch turned her face to the wall andcovered it with her hands in a burst of uncontrollable horror. "Oh, that dreadful light!" she moaned. "If it would only go out! It willsend me mad. Oh, if it would only go out--only go out!" Her companion made no immediate answer. She stood by the wall, hershoulders slightly hunched, her hands clasped before her in an attitude offixed, sullen defiance. What her features expressed it was impossible totell, since they were hidden by the deep shadow in which she had taken upher position. The rest of the apartment was lit with a grey, ghostlylight, the reflection from the courtyard, in part visible through the opendoorway, and which lay bathed in all the brilliancy of a full Indian moon. "When the light goes out, it will mean that the end has come, " she said atlast. "Do you know that, Christine?" "Yes, I know it, " the other answered piteously; "but that's what Iwant--the end. I am not afraid to die. I know Harry will be there. He willnot let it be too hard for me. It's the suspense I can not bear. Thesuspense is worse than death. I have died a dozen times tonight, andsuffered as I am sure God will not let us suffer. " Margaret Caruthers bent over the cowering figure with the sympathy whicheducation provides when the heart fails to perform its office. There was, indeed, little tenderness in the hand which passed lightly over ChristineStafford's feverish forehead. "You give God credit for a good deal, " she said indifferently. "If thelight troubles you, shall I shut the door?" Christine sprang half upright. "No!" she cried sharply. "No! I should still see it. Even when I cover myface--so--I can still see it flickering. And then there is the darkness, and in the darkness, faces--little John's face. Oh, my little fellow, whatwill become of you!" She began to cry softly, but no longer with fear. Love and pity had struggled up out of the chaos of her despair, risingabove even the mighty instinct of self-preservation. Margaret's handceased from its mechanical act of consolation. "Be thankful that he is not here, " she said. "I am thankful--but the thought of him makes death harder. It will hurthim so. " "No one is indispensable in this world. " Christine turned her haggard, tear-stained face to the moonlight. "How hard you are!" she said wonderingly. "You, too, have your little girlto think of, but even with the end so close--even knowing that we shallnever see our loved ones again--you are still hard. " "I have no loved ones, and life has taught me to be hard. Why should deathsoften me?" was the cold answer. Both women relapsed into silence. Alwaysstrangers to each other, a common danger had not served to break down thebarrier between them. Christine now lay quiet and calm, her hands clasped, her lips moving slightly, as though in prayer. Her companion had resumedher former position against the wall, her eyes fixed on the open doorway, beyond which the grey lake of moonlight spread itself into the shadow ofthe walls. In the distance a single point of fire flickered uneasily, winking like an evil, threatening eye. So long as it winked at them, solong their lives were safe. With its extermination they knew must cometheir own. Hitherto, save for the murmur of the two voices, a profoundhush had weighed ominously in the heavy air. Now suddenly a cry went up, pitched on a high note and descending by semitones, like a dying wind, into a moan. It was caught up instantly and repeated so close that itseemed to the two women to have sprung from the very ground beneath theirfeet. Christine started up. "Oh, my God!" she muttered. "Oh, my God!" She was trembling from head tofoot, but the other gave no sign of either fear or interest. Therefollowed a brief pause, in which the imagination might have conjured upunseen forces gathering themselves together for a final onslaught. It cameat last, like a cry, suddenly, amidst a wild outburst of yells, screams, and the intermittent crack of revolvers fired at close quarters. Pandemonium had been let loose on the other side of the silver lake, butthe silver lake itself remained placid and untroubled. Only the red eyewinked more vigorously, as though its warning had become more imperative. Christine Stafford clung to a pair of unresponsive hands, which yieldedwith an almost speaking reluctance to her embrace. "You think there is no hope?" she pleaded. "None? You know what Harrysaid. If the regiment got back in time--" "The regiment will not get back in time, " Margaret Caruthers interrupted. "There are ten men guarding the gate against Heaven knows how manythousand. Do you expect a miracle? No, no. We are a people who dance bestat the edge of a crater, and if a few, like ourselves, get swallowed upnow and again, it can not be helped. It is the penalty. " "If only Harry would come!" Christine moaned, heedless of this coldphilosophy. "But he will keep his promise, won't he? He won't let us fallinto those cruel hands? You remember what happened at Calcutta--" "Hush! Don't frighten yourself and me!" exclaimed Margaret impatiently. "Does it comfort you to hold my hand? Well, hold it, then. How strange youare! I thought you weren't afraid. " "I shan't be when the time comes--but it's so very lonely. Don't you feelit? Are you made of stone?" Margaret Caruthers set her teeth hard. "I would to God I were!" she said. All at once she wrenched her hand freeand pointed with it. Her arm, stretched out into the light, had a curious, ghostly effect. "Look!" she cried. The red eye winked rapidly in succession, once, twice, three times, andthen closed--this time for ever. An instant later two dark spots dartedout into the brightly lighted space and came at headlong pace toward them. Christine sprang to her feet, and the two women clung to each other, obeying for that one moment the instinct which can bind devil to saint. But it was an English voice which greeted them from the now darkeneddoorway. "It's all over!" Steven Caruthers said, entering with his companion andslamming the door sharply to. "We have five minutes more. Mackay haspromised to keep them off just so long. Stafford, see to your wife!" Hespoke brutally, in a voice choked with dust and pain. The room was now inpitch darkness. Harry Stafford felt his way across, his arms outstretched. "Christine!" he called. She came to him at once, with a step as firm and steady as a man's. "Harry!" she cried, her voice ringing with an almost incredulous joy. "Oh, my darling!" He caught her to him and felt how calm her pulse had become. "Are you afraid, my wife?" "Not now. I am so happy!" He knew, strange though it seemed, that this was true and natural, becauseher love was stronger than life or the fear of death. "Do you trust me absolutely, Christine?" "Absolutely!" "Give me both your hands--in my one hand--so. Kiss me, sweetheart. " In the same instant that his lips touched hers he lifted his rightdisengaged hand, and something icy-cold brushed past her temple. She clungto him. "Not yet, Harry! Not yet! Oh, don't think I don't understand. I do, and Iam glad. If things had gone differently the time must have come when oneof us would have been left lonely. Now, we are going together. What doesit matter if it is a little sooner than we hoped? Only, not yet--just oneminute! We have time. Do not let us waste it. Let us kneel down and say'Our Father, ' and then--for little John--" Her voice broke. "Afterward--when you think fit, husband, I shall be ready. " He put his arm about her, and they knelt down side by side at the littlecouch. Christine prayed aloud, and he followed her, his deeper voicehushed to a whisper. The two other occupants of the room did not heed them. They, too, hadfound each other. At her husband's entrance Margaret Caruthers had creptback to the wall and had remained there motionless, not answering to hissharp, imperative call. He groped around the room, and when at length hishands touched her face, both drew back as one total stranger from another. "Why did you not answer?" he asked hoarsely. "Are you not aware that anymoment may be our last?" "Yes, " she said. "I have something I wish to say to you, Margaret, before the time comes. " "I am listening. " "I wish to say if at any period in our unfortunate married life I havedone you wrong, I am sorry. " She made no answer. "I ask your forgiveness. " "I forgive you. " The sound of firing outside had grown fainter, the shrieks louder, moreexultant, mingling like an unearthly savage chorus with the hushed voicesBy the couch. --"Thy will be done--" prayed Christine valiantly. Margaret Caruthers lifted her head and laughed. "Don't laugh!" her husband burst out. "Pray now, if you have ever prayedin your life. You have need of prayers. " He lifted his arm as he spoke;but, as though she guessed his intention, she sprang out of his reach. "No!" she said, in a voice concentrated with passion. "I am not going todie like that. Stafford can shoot his wife down like a piece of blindcattle if he thinks fit--but not you. I won't die by your hand, Steven. Ihate you too much. " "Hush!" he exclaimed. "The account between us is settled. " "Do you think I can begin to love you just because we are both about todie?" "You are my wife, " he answered, grasping her by the wrists. "There arethings worse than death, and from them I shall shield you, whether youwill or not. " "Is it not enough that you have taken my life once?" she retorted. "What do you mean? How dare you say that!" "I say it because it is true. I have never lived--never. You killed meyears ago--all that was best in me. Save your soul from a second murder. " "If you live, do you know what may lie before you?" "You talk of things 'worse than death. ' What shame, what misery could beworse than the years spent at your side?" "You are mad, Margaret. I shall pay no attention to you. I must save youagainst your will. " All through the hurried dialogue neither had spoken above a whisper. Evenin that moment they obeyed the habit of a lifetime, hiding hatred andbitterness beneath a mask of apparent calm. Without a sound, but with afrantic strength, Margaret wrenched herself free. "Leave me to my own fate!" she demanded, in the same passionate undertone. "You have ceased to be responsible for me. " He made one last effort to hold her. In the same instant the firing ceasedaltogether. There followed the roar and crash of bursting timber, thepattering of naked feet, the fanatic yells drawing every second nearer. "Margaret!" he cried wildly, holding out his revolver in the darkness. "If not at my hands, then at your own. Save yourself--" "I shall save myself, have no fear!" she answered, with a bitter, terrible laugh. From the couch Christine Stafford's voice rose peacefully: "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit!" Another voice answered, "Amen!" There was the report of a revolver and asudden, startling stillness. It lasted only a breathing space. Furiousshoulders hurled themselves against the frail, weakly barred door. Itcracked, bulged inward, with a bursting, tearing sound, yielded. Themoonlight flooded into the little room, throwing up into bold relief thethree upright figures and the little heap that knelt motionless by thecouch. The crowd of savage faces hesitated, faltering an instant before thesahibs who yesterday had been their lords and masters. Then the sahibsfired. It was all that was needed. The room filled. There was one stifledgroan--no more than that. No cry for mercy, no whining. Little by little the room emptied again. The cries and bloodthirstyscreams of triumphant vengeance died slowly in the distance, the greymoonlight resumed its peaceful sovereignty. Only here and there weredark stains its silver could not wash away. CHAPTER II THE DANCING IS RESUMED. "Oh, I love India--adore it, simply!" Mrs. Cary exclaimed, in the tone ofa person who, usually self-controlled, finds himself overwhelmed by theforce of his own enthusiasm. "There is something so mystic, so enthrallingabout it, don't you think? I always feel as though I were wanderingthrough a chapter of the _Arabian Nights_ full of gorgeous princes, wicked robbers, genii, or whatever you call them. Isn't it so with you, Mrs. Carmichael?" Her hostess, a thin, alert little woman with a bony, weather-beaten face, cast an anxious glance at the rest of her guests scattered about thegarden. "There aren't any robbers about here--except my cook, " she saidprosaically. "My husband wouldn't allow such a thing in his department, and in mine he is no good at all. As for the princes, we don't seeanything of the only one this region boasts of. He may be gorgeous, but Ireally can not say for certain. " "Ah!" said Mrs. Cary, with a placid smile. "You have been in fairyland toolong, dear Mrs. Carmichael. That's what's the matter with you. You arebeginning to look upon it as a very ordinary, everyday place. If you onlyknew what it is to come to it with a virgin heart and mind-thirsting forimpressions, as it were. That is how we feel, do we not, Beatrice?" Shehalf turned to the girl standing at her side, as though seeking to drawher into the conversation. "It is indeed new for _me_, " the latter answered shortly, and with slightemphasis on the personal pronoun. "I was about to remark that this is scarcely your first visit to India, "Mrs. Carmichael put in. "I understood that your late husband had agovernment appointment somewhere in the South?" Mrs. Cary's heavy face flushed, though whether with heat or annoyance itwas not easy to judge. "Of course--a very excellent appointment, too--but the place and thepeople!" She became confidential and her voice sank, though beyondher daughter there was no one within hearing. "Between you and me, Mrs. Carmichael, the people were _dreadful_. You know, I am notsnobbish--indeed I must confess to quite democratic tendencies, whichmy family always greatly deplores--but I really couldn't stand thepeople. I had to go back to England with Beatrice. The place was filledwith subordinate railway officials. Don't you hate subordinates, dearMrs. Carmichael?" Mrs. Carmichael stared, during which process her eyes happened to fallon Beatrice Cary's half-averted face. She was surprised to find thatthe somewhat thin lips were smiling--though not agreeably. "I really don't know what you mean by 'subordinates, '" Mrs. Carmichaelsaid, in her uncompromising way. "Most people are subordinates at sometime or other. My husband was a lieutenant once. I don't rememberobjecting to him. At any rate, " she continued hastily, as though to cutthe conversation short, "I hope you will like the people here. " "I'm sure I shall. A military circle is always so delightful. That is whatI said to Beatrice when I felt that I must revisit the scene of my girlishdays. 'We must go somewhere where there is military. ' Of course, we mighthave gone to Simla--I have influential friends there, you know--but Iwanted my girl to see a real bit of genuine India, and Simla is _so_modern. Really a great pity, I think. I am so passionately fond of colorand picturesqueness--comfort is nothing to me. As my husband used to say, 'Oh, Mary, you are always putting your artistic feelings before materialnecessities. ' Poor fellow, he used to miss his creature comfortssometimes, I fear. " Her laugh, painfully resembling a giggle, interrupted her own garrulity, which was finally put to an end by a fresh arrival. A slight, daintily-clad figure had detached itself from a group of guests and camerunning toward them. Mrs. Carmichael's deeply lined, somewhat severe facelighted up. "That is my husband's ward, Lois Caruthers, " she said. "She has been withme all her life, practically. As you are so fond of genuine India, youmust let her show you over the place. She knows all the dirtiest, and Isuppose most interesting corners, with their exact history. " "Delightful!" murmured Mrs. Cary, with a gracious nod of her plumedheadgear. Nevertheless, she studied the small figure and animated featuresof the new-comer with a critical severity not altogether in accordancewith her next remark, uttered, apparently under pressure of the sameirresistible enthusiasm, in an audible side whisper: "What a sweetface--so piquant!" An adjective is a pliable weapon, and, in the hands of a woman, can bemade to mean anything under the sun. Mrs. Cary's "piquant"--pronouncedin a manner that was neither French nor English, but a startling mixtureof both--had a background to it of charitable patronage. It was meant, without doubt, to be a varnished edition of "plain, " perhaps even "ugly, "though Lois Caruthers deserved neither insinuation. Possibly too small inbuild, she was yet graceful, and there was a lithe, elastic energy in hermovements which drew attention to her even among more imposing figures. Possibly, also, she was too dark for the English ideal. Her black hair andlarge brown eyes, together with the unrelieved pallor of her complexion, gave her appearance something that was exotic but not unpleasing. _Enfin, _as most people admitted, she had her charm; and her moods, which rangedfrom the most light-hearted gaiety to the deepest gravity, could beequally irresistible. She was light-hearted enough now, however, as shesmiled from one to the other, including mother and daughter in herfriendly greeting, though as yet both were strangers to her. "I have come to fetch you, Aunt Harriet, " she said, addressing Mrs. Carmichael. "Mr. Travers has got some great scheme on hand which he willonly disclose in your presence. We are all gasping with curiosity. Willyou please come?" Mrs. Carmichael nodded. "I will come at once, " she said. "I'm sure it's only one of Mr. Travers'breakneck schemes, but they are always amusing to listen to. Lois, comeand be introduced. My adopted niece--Mrs. Cary--Miss Cary. " They shook hands. "Lois, when there is time, I want you to do the honors of Marut. Miss Caryespecially has as yet seen nothing, and there is a great deal of interest. You know--" turning to her visitors--"Marut is supposed to have been thehotbed of the last rising. " "Indeed!" murmured Mrs. Cary vaguely. "How delightful!" Lois Caruthers laughed, not without a shadow of bitterness. "It was hardly delightful at the time, I should imagine, " she observed. "But what there is to see I shall be very glad to show you. Will any daysuit you?" "Oh, yes, any day, " Beatrice Cary assented, speaking almost for the firsttime. "I have nothing to do here from morning to night. " "That will soon change, " Lois said, walking by her side. "I am alwaysbusy, either playing tennis, or riding, or getting up some entertainment. The difficulty is to find time to rest. " "You must be a very much sought-after person, " Beatrice observed, in thetone of a person who is making a graceful compliment. The hint of irony, however, was unmistakable. "I am not more sought after than any one else, " Lois returned, unruffled. "Every one has to help in the work of frivolity. " "I shall be rather out of it, then, " Beatrice said coolly. "I am notamusing. " "It is quite sufficient to be willing, good-natured and good-humored, "Lois answered. They had by this time reached the group under the trees, where Mrs. Carmichael and her companion had already arrived, under the escort ofa tall, stoutly built man, who was talking and apparently explainingwith great vigor. As Lois entered the circle, he glanced up and smiledat her, revealing a handsome, cheerful face, singularly fresh-coloredin comparison with the deep tan of the other men. "That is Mr. Travers, " Lois explained. "He is a bank director orsomething in Madras, and has been on a long business visit north. He is awfully clever and popular, and gets up everything. " "Rich, I suppose?" Lois glanced up at her companion. The beautiful profile and the toneof the remark seemed incongruous. "I don't know, " she said rather abruptly. "He has four polo ponies. Nobody else has more than two. " "Do you calculate wealth by polo ponies, then?" Lois laughed. "Yes, we do pretty well, " she said--"that is, when we bother about suchthings at all. Most people are poor, and if they aren't, they have to livebeyond their income, so it comes to the same in the end. " "Everybody looks cheerful enough, " Beatrice Cary observed. "I alwaysthought poverty and worry went together. " "Who is that talking about poverty and worry?" asked a voice behind them. "Is it you, Miss Caruthers? If so, I shall arraign you as a disturber ofthe peace. Who wants to be bothered with the memory of his empty purse onsuch a lovely day?" Lois turned with a smile to the new-comer. "No, I am innocent, Captain Stafford, " she said. "It was Miss Cary whobrought up the terms you object to. " "Well, won't you introduce me, then, so that I can express my displeasuredirect to the culprit?" The ceremony of introduction was gone through, on Beatrice Cary's sidewith a sudden change of manner. Hitherto cold, indifferent, slightlysupercilious, she now relaxed into a gentleness that was almost appealing. "This is a new world for me, " she said, looking up into Captain Stafford'samused face, "and I have so many questions to ask that I am afraid ofturning into a mark of interrogation, or--as you said--a disturber ofthe peace. " "You won't ask questions long, " he answered, with a wise shake of thehead. "Nobody does. Wherever English people go they take their wholeparaphernalia with them; and you will find that, with a few superficialdifferences, Marut is no more or less than a snug little English suburb. A little more freedom of intercourse--a little less Philistinism, perhaps--but the foundations are the same. As to India itself, one soonlearns to forget all about it. " He then turned to Lois, who was intent on watching Mr. Travers. "You weren't on the race-course this morning, " he said in an undertone. "I missed you. Why did you not come?" "I couldn't, " she said. "There was too much to be done. We are rathershort of servants just now, for reasons--well, that, according to you, ought not to be mentioned on a fine day. " He laughed, but not as he had hitherto done. There was another tone inhis voice, warmer, more confidential. It attracted Beatrice Cary'sattention, and she looked curiously from Lois to the man beside her. About thirty-five, with a passably good figure, irregular, if honest, features, and an expression usually somewhat grave, he made no pretensionsto any exterior advantage. He could apparently be gay, as now, but hisgaiety did not conceal the fact that it was unusual. Altogether, he hadnothing about him which appealed to her, but Beatrice Cary was inclinedto resent Lois' obvious intimacy with him as something which accentuatedher own isolation. "Can you make out what Mr. Travers is saying?" Lois asked, turningsuddenly to her. "I can't hear a word, and I'm sure it's awfullyinteresting. Captain Stafford, do you know?" "I can guess, " he answered, half smiling. "When Travers has a suggestionto make, it usually means that some one has to stump up. " There was a general laugh. Travers looked around. "Some one has accused me falsely, " he declared. "I have a prophetic senseof injury. " "On the contrary, that is what I am suffering from, " Stafford retorted. "Since hearing that you have a new scheme, I have been hastily reckoninghow many weeks' leave I shall have to sacrifice to pay for it. " Travers shook his head. "As usual--wrong, my dear Captain, " he said. "My scheme has two parts. Thefirst part is known to you all, though for the benefit of weak memories, Iwill repeat it. Ladies and gentlemen, in this Station we have the honor ofbeing protected from the malice of the aborigine by two noble regiments. We count, moreover, at least thirty of the fair sex and fortymiscellaneous persons, such as miserable civilians like myself, andchildren. Hitherto, we have been content to meet at odd times and oddplaces. When hospitality has run dry, we have resorted to a shed-likestructure dignified with the name of club. Personally, I call it adisgrace, which should at once be rectified. " "I have already contributed my mite!" protested a young subaltern from theBritish regiment. "I know; so has everybody. With strenuous efforts I have collected the sumof five hundred rupees. That won't do. We require at least four times thatsum. Consequently, we must have a patron. " "The second part of your programme concerns the patron, then?" CaptainWebb inquired, with an aspect of considerable relief. "Not yourself, byany chance?" "Certainly not. If I had any noble inclinations of that sort I should havediscovered them a long time ago. No, I content myself with taking the partof a fairy godmother. " "I'm afraid I don't follow, " Stafford put in. "What is the fairy godmothergoing to do for us? Produce a club-house, a patron, or a cucumber?" "A patron, and one, my dear fellow, whom I should have entirely overlookedhad it not been for you. " "For me!" "It was you who made the discovery that the present Rajah is not, as wethought, an imbecilic youth, but a man of many parts and splendidlyadapted to our requirements. " "I protest!" broke in Stafford, with unusual earnestness. "It was by purechance that, in an audience with the Maharajah Scindia, the late regent ofMarut, I got to hear that his whilom ward was both intelligent andcultured. I believe it was a slip on his part, and, seeing that RajahNehal Singh has shunned all English intercourse, I can not see that thereis any likelihood of his adapting himself or his purse to your plans. " "Oh, bosh!" exclaimed Travers impatiently. "You are too cautious, Stafford. Other rajahs interest themselves in social matters--why not thisone? He is fabulously rich, I understand, and a little gentle handlingshould easily bring him around. " There was a chorus of bravos, in which only one or two did not join. Onewas Colonel Carmichael, who stood a little apart, pulling his thin greymoustache in the nervous, anxious way peculiar to him, his kindly faceovershadowed. "On principle, " he began, after the first applause had died down, "I amagainst the suggestion. Of course, I have no deciding voice in the matter, but I confess that the idea has not my approval. I know very well that, asyou say, other native princes have proved themselves useful and valuableacquisitions to English society. In some cases it may be well enough, though in no case does it seem to me right to accept hospitality from aman to whom we only grant an apparent equality. In this particular case Iconsider the idea--well, repulsive. " "May I ask why, Colonel?" Travers asked sharply. "By all means. Because less than a quarter of a century ago the father ofthe man from whom you are seeking gifts slaughtered by treachery hundredsof our own people. " An uncomfortable, uneasy silence followed. Captain Stafford and Loisexchanged a quick glance of understanding. "I know of at least two people who will agree with me, " continued theColonel, who had intercepted and possibly anticipated the glance. "You are right, Colonel, " Stafford said. "I bear no malice, and any ideaof revenge seems to me foolish. As far as I know, the present Rajah is allthat can be desired, but I protest against a suggestion--and what isworse, a practice, which must inevitably lower our dignity in the eyes ofthose we are supposed to govern. " The awkward silence continued for a moment, no one caring to express acontrary opinion, though a contrary opinion undoubtedly existed. Beatrice looked up at Captain Webb, who happened to be standing at herside. Her acquaintance with him dated only from an hour back, but anuncontrollable irritation made her voice her opinions to him. "I think all that sort of thing rather overstrained and unnecessary, " shesaid. "Your chief business is to get the best out of life, and quixoticpeople who worry about the means are rather a nuisance, don't you think?" Captain Webb's bored features lighted up with a faint amusement. "O, Lor', you mustn't say that sort of thing to me, Miss Cary!" he said ina subdued aside. "Superior officer, you know! If you want an index to myfeelings, study my countenance. " He pretended to smother a gigantic yawn, and Beatrice's cool, unchecked laughter broke the constraint. Travers look around with a return of his old good-humor. "Well, " he said, "I have two votes against my plans, but, with duerespect to those two, who are, perhaps, unduly influenced by unfortunatecircumstances, I feel that it is only just that the others should begiven a voice in the matter. Do you agree, Colonel?" Colonel Carmichael had by this time regained his placid, gentle manner. "Certainly, " he agreed, without hesitation. "Hands up, then, for letting Rajah Nehal Singh go his way in peace!" Three hands went up--Colonel Carmichael's, Stafford's and Lois'. Beatriceglanced at the latter with a smile that expressed what it was meant toexpress--a supercilious amusement. Her indifference was rapidly takinganother and more decided character. "Hands up for drawing the bashful youth into Circe's circle!" calledTravers, now thoroughly elated. A forest of hands went up. Captain Webband his bosom comrade, Captain Saunders, who, for diplomatic reasons hadremained neutral, exchanged grins. "You see, " Travers said, turning withdeferential politeness to the Colonel, "the day is against you. " "The Old Guard dies, but never surrenders!" quoted the Colonelgood-humoredly. "The next question is, on whose shoulders shall the task of beguilementfall?" Travers went on, glancing at Stafford. "I suppose you, O, wiseyoung judge--?" "It is out of the question, " Stafford answered at once. "I consider I havedone enough damage already. " "What about your serpent's tongue, Travers?" suggested Webb. "When I thinkof the follies you have tempted me to commit, I feel that you should beunanimously elected. " Travers bowed his acknowledgments with mock gravity. "Since there are no other candidates, I accept the onerous task, " he said, "but I can not go about it single-handed. The serpent's tongue may bemine, but I lack, I fear, the grace and personal charm necessary forcomplete conquest. I need the help of Circe, herself. " His bright, bird-like eye passed over the laughing group, resting on Lois an instantwith an expression of woebegone regret. Beatrice Cary was the next inline, and his search went no farther than her flushed, eager face. "Ah!"he exclaimed, "I have found the enchantress herself! Miss----" Hehesitated, for an instant unaccountably shaken out of his debonairself-possession. Webb sprang to the rescue with a formal introduction, andTravers proceeded, if not entirely with his old equanimity. "I beg yourpardon, Miss Cary, " he apologized. "Your face is, strangely enough, sofamiliar to me that I took you for an old acquaintance--perhaps, indeed, you are, if in our modern days Circe finds it necessary to travelincognito. " Beatrice joined in the general amusement, her unusually large andbeautiful eyes bright with elation. "May I claim your assistance?" Travers went on. "Instinct tells me that weshall be irresistible. " "Willingly, " Beatrice responded, "though I can not imagine how I can helpyou. " "Leave that to me, " he said, offering her his arm. "My plans areNapoleonic in their depth and magnitude. If you will allow me to unfoldthem to you before the dancing begins--?" She smiled her assent, and walked at his side toward the Colonel'sbungalow. On their way they passed Mrs. Cary, who, strangely enough, didnot respond to the half-triumphant glance which her daughter cast at her. She turned hastily aside. "Mr. Travers is no doubt--" she began, in a confidential undertone; buther companion, Mrs. Carmichael, had taken the opportunity and vanished. The light-hearted, superficial discussion, with its scarcely feltundercurrent of tragic reminiscence, had lasted through the swift sunset, and already dusk was beginning to throw its long shadows over the gailydressed figures that streamed up toward the bungalow. On the outskirts of the garden lights were springing up in quicksuccession, thanks to the industry of Mrs. Carmichael, who hurried fromone Chinese lantern to the other, breathless but determined. The task wasdoubtless an ignominious one for an Anglo-Indian lady of position, butMrs. Carmichael, who acted as a sort of counterbalance to her husband'sextravagant hospitality, cared not at all. England, half-pay and all itsattendant horrors, loomed in the near future, and economy had to bepractised somehow. Of the late group only Lois and John Stafford remained. They had notspoken, but, as though obeying a mutual understanding, both remainedquietly waiting till they were alone. "Shall we walk about a little?" he asked at last. "I missed our morningride so much. It has put my whole day out of joint, and I want somethingto put it straight again. Do you mind, or would you rather dance? I seethey have begun. " "No, " she said. "I would rather be quiet for a few minutes. Somehow I havelost the taste for that sort of thing to-night. " "I also, " he responded. They walked silently side by side along the well-kept path, each immersedin his own thoughts and soothed by the knowledge that their friendship hadreached a height where silence is permitted--becomes even the purest formof expression. At the bottom of the compound they reached a large, low-built building, evidently once a dwelling-place, overgrown with wildplants and half in ruins, whose dim outlines stood out against thedarkening background of trees and sky. The door stood open, and mustindeed have stood open for many years, for the broken hinges were rustyand seemed to be clinging to the torn woodwork only by the strength ofundisturbed custom. Stafford came to a halt. "That is where--" he began, and then abruptly left his sentenceunfinished. "Yes, " she said, "it is here. I don't think, as long as we live in India, that my guardian will ever have it touched. He calls it the Memorial. Myfather was his greatest friend, and the terrible fact that he came toolate to save him has saddened his whole life. " Stafford looked down at her. The light from a lantern which Mrs. Carmichael, with great dexterity, had fixed among some overhangingbranches, fell on the dark features, now composed and thoughtful. She methis glance in silence, with large eyes that had taken into their depthssomething of the surrounding shadow. He had never felt so strongly beforethe peculiarity of her fascination--perhaps because he had never seen herin a setting which seemed so entirely a part of herself. The distantmusic, the hum of voices, and that strange charm which permeates an Indiannightfall--above all, the ruined bungalow with its shattered door andsilent memories--these things, with their sharp contrasts of laughter andtragedy, had formed themselves into a background which belonged to her, sothat she and they seemed inseparable. "Oh, Lois, little girl!" Stafford said gently. "I have always thought ofyou as standing alone, different from everything and everybody, a strangerfrom another world, irresistible, incomprehensible. I have just understoodthat you are part and parcel of it all, child of the sun and flowers andmysteries and wonders. It is I who am the stranger!" "Hush!" she said, in a voice of curious pain. "Hush! Let us go back. Wemust dance--whether we will or not. " He followed her without protest. The very rustle of her muslin skirts overthe fallen leaves made for his ears a new and fantastic music. Close behind them wandered the two captains, Webb and Saunders, arm inarm. At the entrance to Colonel Carmichael's Memorial Webb stopped, and, striking a match against the door, proceeded to light his cigar. The tinyflame lit up for an instant the languid patrician features. "A cigar is one's only comfort in a dull affair like this, " he remarked, as they resumed their leisurely promenade. "Awful wine, wasn't it?" "Awful. The Colonel is beginning to put on the curb--or his lady. It's thesame thing. " "It will be better when the club comes into existence, " said Webb, blowingconsolatory clouds of smoke into the quiet air. "It is to be hoped so. Spunky devil, that Travers. Wonder how he means todo the trick. He knows how to pick out a pretty partner, anyhow. " "That Cary girl? Yes. Wait till the heat has dried her up, though. She'llbe a scarecrow, like the rest of them. By the way, what were her people?" "Heaven knows--something in the D. P. W. , I believe. The mother was dressedin the queerest kit. " "I heard her talking about 'the gentlemen, '" remarked Webb, laughing, asthey went up the steps of the bungalow together. The Memorial was once more left to its shadows and silence. At the edge ofthe compound a group of natives peered through the fencing, watching andlistening. Their dark faces expressed neither hatred nor admiration, norsorrow, nor pleasure--at most, a dull wonder. When they were tired of watching, they passed noiselessly on their way. CHAPTER III NEHAL SINGH The Royal apartment was prepared for the suffocating midday heat. Heavyhangings had been pulled across the door which led on to the balcony, andonly at one small aperture the sunshine ventured to pierce through anddance its golden reflection hither and thither over the marble floor. Therest was hidden in the semi-obscurity of a starlit night, which, like atransparent veil, half conceals and half reveals an untold richness andsplendor. At either side slender Moorish pillars rose to the lofty ceiling, and fromtheir capitals winking points of light shimmered through the shadows. Fantastic designs sprang into sudden prominence on the walls, shiftingwith the shifting of the sunshine, and at the far end, raised by stepsfrom the level of the floor, stood a throne, alone marked out against thedarkness by its bejeweled splendor. Of other furniture there was notrace. To the left a divan formed of silken cushions had been built up fortemporary use, and on this, stretched full length on his side, lay an oldman whose furrowed visage appeared doubly dark and sinister beneath thedead white of his turban. His head was half supported on a pillow, andthus at his ease he watched with unblinking, unflagging attention thetall, slight figure by the doorway. It was the Rajah himself who had let in the one point of daylight. It fellfull upon his face and set into a brilliant blaze the single diamond onthe nervous, muscular hand which held the curtain aside. Apparently he hadforgotten his companion, and indeed everything save the scene on which hiseyes rested. Beneath the balcony, like steps to a mighty altar, broad andbeautiful terraces descended in stately gradations to a paradise of rareexotic flowers, whose heavy perfume came drifting up on the calm air tothe very windows of the palace. This lovely chaos extended for about amile and then ended abruptly. As though cultivated nature had suddenlybroken loose from her artificial bounds, a dark jungle-forest rose up sideby side with the flowers and well-kept walks, and like a black stainspread itself into the distance, swallowing up hill and valley until theeye lost itself in the haze of the horizon. Within a few hundred yards ofthe palace a ruined Hindu temple lifted its dome and crumbling towers intothe intense blue of the sky. And on garden, jungle, and temple alike thescorching midday sun blazed down with pitiless impartiality. For an hour the Rajah had remained watching the unchanging scene, scarcelyfor an instant shifting his own position. One hand rested on his hip, theother held back the curtain and supported him in a half-leaning attitudeof dreamy indolence. Against the intensified darkness of the room behindhim his features stood out with the distinctness of a finely cut cameo. Aman of about twenty-five years, he yet seemed younger, thanks, perhaps, tohis expression, which was extraordinarily untroubled. Thought, poetic and philosophic, but never tempestuous, sat in the dark, well-shaped eyes and high, intellectual forehead. Humor, sorrow, care, anxiety and doubt, the children of a strenuous life, had left his facesingularly unscarred with their characteristic lines. For the rest, beyondthat he was unusually fair, he represented in bearing and in feature aHindu prince of high caste and noble lineage. Between him and the old manupon the divan there was no apparent resemblance. The latter wasconsiderably darker, and lacked both the refinement of feature and dignityof expression which distinguished the younger man. Nevertheless, when hespoke it was in the tone of familiarity, almost of paternal authority. "Art thou not weary, my son?" he asked abruptly. "For an hour thou hastneither moved nor spoken. Tell me with what thy thoughts are concerned. Iwould fain know, and thy face has told me nothing. " Nehal Singh let the curtain fall back into its place, and the yellow patchof sunshine upon the marble faded. He looked at his companion steadfastly, but with eyes that saw nothing. "My thoughts!" he repeated, in a low, musical voice. "My thoughts arevalueless. They are like caged birds which have beaten their wings againstthe bars of their cage and now sit on their golden perches and dream ofthe world beyond. " He laughed gently. "No, my father. You, who have seenthe world, would mock at them as dim, unreal reflections of a realitywhich you have touched and handled. For me they are beautiful enough. " The old man lifted himself on his elbow. "Thinkest thou never of thyself?" he asked. "In thy dreams hast thou neverseen thine own form rise at the call of thy waiting people?" "My waiting people!" Nehal Singh repeated, with a smile and a faintlifting of the eyebrows. "No people wait for me, my father. So much I havelearned. I bear a title, a tract of land acknowledges my rule--but apeople! No, like my title, like my power, like myself, so is the peoplethat thou sayest await me--a dream, my father, a dream!" He spoke gravely, without sadness, the same gentle, wistful smile playing about his lips. The other sank back with a groan. "The All-Highest pity me!" he exclaimed bitterly. "A child of blood andbattle, without energy, without ambition!" Nehal Singh, who had paced forward to the foot of the throne, turned andlooked back. "Ambition I have had, " he answered, "energy I have had. Like my thoughts, they have beaten themselves weary against the bars of their cage. Whatwould you have me do?" He strode back to the door, and, pulling aside thecurtain, let the full dazzling sunshine pour in upon them. "See outthere!" he cried. "Is it not a sight to bring peace to the soul of thepoet and the dreamer? But for the warrior? Can he draw his sword againstflowers and trees?" The old man smiled coldly, but not without satisfaction. "There is a world that awaiteth thee beyond, " he said. "A world of which I know nothing. " "The time cometh. " Nehal Singh studied the wrinkled face with a new intentness. "Hitherto thou hast always held a barrier between the world and me, " hesaid. "When the call to the Durbar came, it was thou who bade me say I wasill. When the Feringhi sought my presence, it was thou who held fast mydoor, first with one excuse, then with another. And now? I do notunderstand thee. " Behar Asor struggled up into a sitting posture, his features rendered moremalignant by a glow of fierce triumph. "Ay, the barrier has been there!" he cried. "It is I who have held iterect all these years when they thought me dead and powerless. It is I whohave kept thee spotless and undefiled, Nehal Singh, thou alone of all thyrace and of all thy caste! The shadow of the Unbeliever has never crossedthy man's face, his food thy lips, nor has his hand touched thy man'shand. Thou art the chosen of Brahma, and when the hour striketh and theHoly War proclaimed from east to west and from north to south, then itshall be _thy_ sword--" Nehal Singh held up his hand with a gesture of command. "Thou also art a dreamer, " he said firmly. "Thy heart is full of an oldhatred and an old injury. My heart is free from both. Seest thou, myfather, there were years when thy words called up some echo in me. Thoutoldest me of the Feringhi, of the bloody battles thou foughtest againstthem because they had wronged thee; how, after Fortune had smiled faintly, thou wert driven into exile, and I, thy son, bereft of all save pomp andtitle, placed upon thy empty throne. These things made my blood boil. Inthose days I thought and planned for the great hour when I should seekrevenge for thee and for myself. That is all past. " "Why all past?" Behar Asor demanded. "Because the truth drifted in to me from the outer world. I saw thateverywhere there was peace such as my land, even after thy account, hasrarely known. Law and order reigned where there had been plundering anddevastation, prosperity where there had been endless famine. More thanthis, I saw that in every conflict, whether between beast and beast or manand man, it was always the strongest and wisest that conquered. Thetriumph of the fool and weakling is but a short one, nor is the rule ofcrime and wickedness of long duration. Why, then, should I throw myselfagainst a people who have brought my people prosperity, and who haveproved themselves in peace and war our masters in courage and wisdom?" Behar Asor struggled up, galvanized by a storm of passion which shook hisfragile frame from head to foot. "Thou art still no more than an ignorant boy, " he exclaimed. "What knowestthou of these things?" "I have read of Englishmen whose deeds outrival the legends of Krishna, "Nehal Singh answered thoughtfully. "They fought in your time, my father. Thou knowest them better than I. " The old man ground his teeth together. "They are dead. " There was a reluctant admiration in his tone. "Nevertheless, their sons live. " "The sons inherit not always the courage of their fathers, " Behar Asoranswered, with a bitter significance. Nehal Singh had wandered back to the throne, as though drawn thither bysome irresistible attraction, and stood there motionless, his arms foldedacross his breast. "Do not blame me, " he said at last. "No man can go against himself. Wereit in my power, I would do thy will. As it is, without cause or reason Ican not draw my sword against men whose fathers have made my heart beatwith sympathy and admiration. " Behar Asor sank back in an attitude of absolute despair. "I am accursed!" he said. With a smothered sigh, Nehal Singh mounted the steps and seated himself. In his attitude also there was a hopelessness--not indeed the hopelessnessof a man whose plans are thwarted, but of one who is keenly conscious thathe has no plans, no goal, no purpose. As he sat there, his fine headthrown back against the white ivory, his eyes half closed, his fingersloosely clasping the golden peacocks' heads which formed the arms of histhrone, there was, as he had said, something dreamlike and unreal abouthis whole person, intensified perhaps by the dim atmosphere and shadowysplendor of his surroundings. Behar Asor had ceased to watch him, but lay motionless, with his facecovered by the white mantle which he wore about his shoulders. The firststorm of angry disappointment over, he had relapsed into a passiveoriental acceptance of the inevitable, which did not, however, exclude anundercurrent of bitter brooding and contempt. Some time passed before either of the two men spoke. At last Behar Asorlifted his head and glanced quickly sidewise at the figure seated on thethrone. Nehal Singh's eyes were now entirely closed and seemed to sleep. Such a proceeding would have been excusable enough in the suffocatingheat, but the sight drove the old man into a fresh paroxysm ofindignation. "Sleepest thou, Nehal Singh?" he demanded, in a harsh, rasping voice. "Isit not sufficient that thou hast failed thy destiny, but in the same hourthou must close thine eyes and dream, like a child on whose shoulders restno duty, no responsibility? Awake! I have more to say to thee. " Nehal Singh looked up. "I have not slept, " he said gravely, "though, as to what concerns duty andresponsibility, I might well have done so, for I have neither the one northe other. Speak, I pray thee. I listen. " Behar Asor remained silent a moment, biting his forefinger. There wassomething in the action strongly reminiscent of a cunning, treacherousanimal. "Thou hast laughed at thine own power, " he said at last, "though I havesworn to thee that, as in my time, so today, the swords that sleep in ahundred thousand sheathes would awake at thy word. They sleep because thousleepest. Well--thou hast willed to sleep. I can not force thee, and mineown hand has grown too feeble. But since thou hast chosen peace, rememberthis, that it can last only with thy lifetime. So long thy people will bepatient. Afterward--" He shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Thou hast more to tell me, " Nehal Singh said. "If thou wilt keep peace in thy land, see to it that thou hast childrenwho will carry it on for thee after thou hast passed into the shadow, "Behar answered. "Hitherto thou hast led a strange and lonely life, preparing as I willed for the destiny thou hast cast aside. Take now untothee a companion--a wife. " As though clumsy, untutored fingers which had until now tortured some fineinstrument had suddenly, perhaps by chance, perhaps by instinct, struck apure harmonious chord, Nehal Singh rose to his feet, his weary dreamer'sface transfigured with a new light and new energy. "A wife!" he said under his breath. "A woman! I know nothing of women. Inall my life I have seen but two--my mother and a nautch-girl--who cringedto me. I should not like my wife to cringe to me. Are there not such ascould be my companion, my comrade? Or are they all servile slaves?" Behar Asor laughed shortly and contemptuously. "They are our inferiors, " he said, "hence they can not be more thancompanions for our idle hours. But you will have idle hours enough, andthere would be many who would call themselves blessed to share themselveswith thee. A great alliance--" Nehal Singh interrupted him with the old gesture of authority. "Thou hast said enough, my father, " he said. "I will think upon it. Untilthen--leave me my peace. " With a slow, meditative step he went back to the curtained doorway and, pulling aside the hangings, went out on to the balcony. It was fouro'clock, and already the heat of the day had broken. Long rays of sunlightstruck eastward across the garden and touched with their faded goldenfingers the topmost turrets of the temple. In the distance the shadows ofthe jungle had advanced and, like the waves of a rising tide, seemed toswallow up, step by step, the brightness of the prospect. Nehal Singhdescended the winding stair that led to the first terrace. Thence threepaths stretched themselves before him. He chose the central one, and withbowed head passed between the high, half-wild, half-cultivated borders ofplants and shrubs. A faint evening breeze breathed its intangible perfumeagainst his cheek, and he looked up smiling. "A woman!" he murmured dreamily. "A woman!" CHAPTER IV CIRCE The dominion over which Rajah Nehal Singh exercised his partial authoritywas a tract of unfruitful land extending over about two hundred squaremiles and sparely inhabited by a branch of the Aryan race which throughcountless generations had kept itself curiously aloof from its neighbors. The greater number were Hindus of the strictest type, and perhaps owing totheir natural conservatism they had succeeded in keeping their religioncomparatively free from the abuses and distortions which it was forced toundergo in other regions. Up to the year l8--the state had been to allpractical purposes independent. Its poverty and unusual integral cohesionmade it at once a dangerous enemy and an undesirable dependent, which itwas tacitly agreed to let alone until such time when action should becomeimperative. That time had come under the reign of Behar Asor--then BeharSingh. This prince, who, his followers declared, could trace his descentfrom Brahma himself, unexpectedly, after he had been living inhand-in-glove friendship with his European neighbors, proclaimed a HolyWar, massacred all foreigners within his reach, and for eighteen longmonths succeeded, by means of a species of guerrilla warfare, in keepingthe invading armies at bay. Partly owing to the unflagging determinationof the English troops, partly owing also to the intense hatred with whichhe was regarded by all Mohammedans, he was eventually overcome, though hehimself was never captured. It was believed that he died while fleeingthrough the vast jungles with which his land was overgrown, and this ideawas strengthened by the fact that, though a large reward for his capturewas offered, nothing further had ever been heard of him. From that time the land came under the more or less direct control of theGovernment. As a concession to the population, Behar Singh's one-year-oldson was placed upon the throne under a native regency, but Englishregiments were stationed at the chief towns, and a political agent residedat the capital. Neither the regiments nor the political agent, however, found any work for their hands to do. A calm, as unexpected as it wascomplete, seemed to descend upon the whole country, and the officers whohad taken up their posts with a loaded revolver in each hand, figurativelyspeaking, began very quickly to relapse instead into pig-sticking, poloand cards. The climate was moderate, the vegetation beautiful if unprofitable, andthe sport excellent. Thus it came about that a danger spot on the map ofthe Indian Empire became a European paradise, and that to be ordered toMarut was to become an object of envious congratulations. Not, as Mr. Archibald Travers had with justice complained, that the reigning prince, as in other states, took any part in the general gaiety or in any wayenhanced the agreeableness of his capital. As far as was known, noEuropean eyes had ever lighted on him since his childhood. Under oneexcuse and another he had been kept persistently in the background, hisplace being taken first by the regent and then by succeeding ministers, until it was generally supposed that the young Rajah was either afflictedwith some loathsome disease or mentally deficient, probabilities which theGovernment, with unpleasant recollections of Behar Singh's too greatintelligence, accepted with unusual readiness. There were no causes forsuspicion. The Rajah never left the precincts of his palace garden, apiece of land whose cultivation had cost untold sums, and which, togetherwith the Hindu temple, was supposed to stand as the eighth wonder of theworld. Fabulous stories were told of the beauty and rarity of thevegetation, and of the value of the jewels which were supposed to decoratethe temple and royal apartments. As there was no opportunity of confirmingor refuting the statements, they were allowed to grow unhindered. It was in this small sphere that Nehal Singh spent his childhood, hisyouth and early manhood. Of the outer world he had seen nothing, though hehad read much, his education extending over all European history andpenetrating deep into that of his own country. Nevertheless, the picturehis mind had formed had little in common with the reality--it was tooovershadowed by his own character. As a blind man may be able, throughhearsay, to describe his surroundings detail by detail and yet at thebottom be possessed by an entirely false conception, so Nehal Singh, toall appearances well instructed, was in reality as ignorant as a child. The heroes whose figures peopled his imagination were too heroic, thevillains too evil, and both heroes and villains were either physicallybeautiful or hideous, according to their characters. He had no comrade against whose practical experience he might have rubbedthis distorted picture into a more truthful likeness. His only companionshad been his native instructors and the priests--men separated from him bya gulf of years and a curious lack of sympathy which he had in vainstriven to overcome. Thus he had been intensely lonely, more lonely thanhe knew, though some dawning realization crept over him on this particularevening as he passed through the temple gates. For a moment he stood withhis hands crossed over his breast, absorbed in prayer to Brahma, theCreator, in whose presence he was about to stand. In such an hour, amidstthe absolute stillness, under the stupendous shadows of the walls, whichhad, unchanging, seen generation after generation of worshipers drift fromtheir altars into the deeper shades of Patala, the young prince felt thewings of divine spirits brush close past him, bearing his prayer on unseenhands to the very ear of the golden-faced Trinity who, from his earliestyears, had seemed to look down upon him with solemn kindness. This evening, more perhaps than ever before, every fiber in him vibratedbeneath the touch of the holy charm, and the prayer which passedsoundlessly over his lips came from a soul that worshiped in fieryearnestness and truth. A minute passed as he stood there, then, removinghis shoes, he stepped over the threshold and walked forward between thegigantic granite columns which supported what was left of the dome-shapedroof. There was no altar, no jewel, no figure cut in the hard stone thatwas not known to him with all their mysterious significance. Here had beenspent all his leisure hours; here had been dreamed his wildest dreams;beneath this column he had seen as in a vision how Vishnu took nine timeshuman form and a tenth time came, according to the Holy Writings, with awinged horse of spotless white, and crowned as conqueror. To-day these things pressed down upon him with all the weight of atremendous reality. With beating heart he entered at last into the Holy ofHolies and stood before the god's high altar, visible only to those ofpurest caste. His head was once more bowed. He did not venture to look upat the golden figure whose ruby eyes, he knew, stared straight through hissoul into every corner of the world and beyond into Eternity. His belief, pure, unsoiled from contact with the world, was a power that had gone outinto the darkness and conjured thence the spirits that shrank back fromthe cold prayer of the half-believer. They stood before him now--thesewonderful spirits. He believed surely that, should he dare to raise hiseyes, he would see them, definite yet formless, arising glorious out ofthe cloud of golden reflection from Brahma's threefold forehead. Thus he prayed, not kneeling, since the god cared only for his soul: "Oh, Lord Brahma, Creator, hear me! Thou who madest me knowest whither Icame and whither I go; but I, who am as the wind that bloweth as thoulisteth, as a flower that springeth up in the night and unseen fadeth inthe midday heat, I know not thy purpose nor the end for which I am. LordBrahma, teach me, for my soul panteth after knowledge. Show me the pathwhich I must tread, for I am weary with dreams. Teach me to serve mypeople--be it hand in hand with the Stranger and his gods, be it alone. Teach me to act, and that right soon; for my childhood days are spent andmy man's arm heavy with idleness. Send me forth--but not alone--not alone, Lord Brahma, for I am heart-sick of loneliness. Give me my comrade, mycomrade who shall be more to me than--" He stopped and, obeying an impulse stronger than himself, lifted his faceto the idol. It had vanished. In its place stood a woman. At another and cooler moment, with a mind filled with other thoughts, witha heart untroubled by new and all-powerful emotions, he would have knownher, if only from hearsay, for what she was. But with that passionateprayer upon his lips, she was for him the answer, a divine recognition ofhis need and of his lately recognized loneliness. Tall, slender, with a pale, transparent complexion, touched like a youngrose with the faintest color, dark, grave eyes and hair that seemed a partof the obscured god, whose pure lines, though foreign, harmonized in everydetail with the classic beauty of her surroundings, she stood and watchedhim, as he watched her, in perfect silence. "Lakshmi!" he murmured at last; and, as though the one word had broken acharm which held them both paralyzed, she smiled, and the smile lit up theMadonna face and made it as human as it had seemed divine. [Illustration: "Lakshmi!" he murmured at last. ] "Forgive me, " she began, speaking in English, "I am afraid I havedisturbed you, but--" She paused, apparently confused by the directness ofhis gaze. The faint pink upon her cheek deepened. "Who are you?" he demanded in his own tongue. Her look of non-comprehension steadied him, at least outwardly, though itdid not check the fierce, painful beating of his pulses. He repeated thequestion in pure though hesitating English. "I am an Englishwoman, " she answered at once, "and have lost my way. Forhours--it seems hours, at any rate--I have been wandering hither andthither, trying to find my party, with whom I was enjoying an excursion. By some chance I came across this temple, and hoped to meet some one whomight help me. You see, I am a stranger in this part of the world. I--Ihope I have done no wrong?" She looked at him pleadingly, but he ignored her question. It neveroccurred to him to doubt her explanation, or wonder at the unlikeliness ofthe chance which should have led her through the intricate paths to thishallowed spot. "You are English?" he echoed. The fever in his blood was subsiding, but, like some great crisis, it was leaving him changed. It had swept him outof the world of languorous, enchanted dreams into a world of not lessenchanted reality. "I fear I am presumptuous, " she began again; "but are you not the Rajah?If so, I am certain you must be very, very angry. For the Rajah--so I havebeen told--does not love the English. " She smiled again, meeting his unwavering gaze with a frank good-humorwhich for him was more wonderful even than her beauty. No woman--and forthat matter, no man--had ever dared to look him in the eyes with such alaughing, fearless challenge. "Yes, I am the Rajah, " he answered. Then, after a pause, he added withgreat simplicity, "You are very beautiful. " She laughed outright, and the laugh, which rang like the peal of a silverbell through the vaulted chamber, filled him with a sudden sense of herdanger. She stood with her back turned indifferently on the golden image, an Unbeliever whose shod feet were defiling the sacred precincts, anobject, then, for hatred and revenge--not for him, truly. In his eyes shewas still an emissary from Brahma, and thus in herself half sacred; but heknew well enough that such would not be the opinion of the few fiercepriests who worshiped in the temple. "You are not safe here, " he said, with an energy which was new to him. "Come!" He led her hurriedly out of the sanctuary into the great entrance hall. There he slackened speed and waited until she reached his side. "For a foreigner it is not safe to enter the temple, " he explained. "Hadany one but myself found you, I could not answer for the consequences. " "They would have harmed me?" "It is possible. " "That would have been terrible!" she said, glancing at him with eyes thatexpressed rather a daring courage than fear. "Most terrible, " he assented earnestly. "Yet--you also, Your Highness, you have also the same reasons for anger. My intrusion, innocent though it was, must have been equally offensive toyou. " "No, " he said. "That is quite different. " He offered no further explanation, and together they passed out of the twoimmense gopuras into the evening sunshine. "I will bring you to the gates which lead on to the highroad, " he went on. "Thence one of my servants will conduct you back to the town, where Itrust you will find your friends. " "You are most good, " she answered gratefully. They walked side by side between the high walls of cypress and palm. Thepath was a narrow one, and once his hand brushed lightly against hers. Thetouch sent a flood of fire through his young veins. He drew back with acourtesy which surprised himself. He had never been taught that courtesytoward a woman could ever be required of him. Of women he had heard littlesave that they were inferior, in intellect and judgment no more thanslaves, and his curiosity had at once been satiated. He sought thingsabove him--those beneath him excited no more than indifference. But thiswoman was neither an inferior nor a slave. Her free, erect carriage, steadfast, fearless eyes proclaimed the equal. So much his instinct taughthim in those brief moments, and his eager curiosity concerning her grewand deepened. Every now and again his gaze sought her face, drinking inwith an almost passionate thirst the fine detail of her profile, comparedto which his dreams were poor and lifeless. Once it chanced that she alsoglanced at him, and that they looked at each other for less than abreathing space full in the eyes. "I fear you are angry, Your Highness, " she said earnestly. "I must haveoffended against your laws even more than I know. " "Why do you think I am angry?" he asked. "You have scarcely spoken. " "Forgive me! That is no sign of anger. I am still overcome with thestrangeness of it all. You are the first English person I have ever met. " She stood still, with an exclamation of surprise. "Is that possible? I thought all Indian princes mixed with English people. Many, indeed, go to England to be educated--" "So I have heard, " he broke in, with a faint haughtiness. "I am not one ofthem. " "Yet you speak the language so perfectly!" she said. A gleam of naive pleasure shone out of his dark eyes. "I am glad you think so. My--one of my ministers taught me. " They walked on again. Here and there she stopped to look at some curiousplant--always a little in advance of him--so that he had opportunity tostudy the hundred things about her which confirmed his wondering, increasing admiration. Slight as she was, there was yet a gracefullycontrolled strength in every movement. In his own mind, poor as itnecessarily was in comparisons, he compared her to a young doe he had oncestartled from its resting-place. There was the same fragile beauty, thesame grace, the same high-strung energy. In nothing was she like the womenpainted for him by his father's hand--things for idle, sensuous pleasure, never for serious action. Plunged in a happy confusion of thought, he had once more relapsed intosilence, from which she startled him with a question evidently connectedwith their previous conversation. "And so you have lived all your life in this lovely garden?" she said, looking up at him with a grave wonder in her eyes. "All my life, " he answered. "You have never seen anything of the world?" "Never. " He felt the pity in her tone, and added, with a shamefacednesscuriously in contrast with his former hauteur: "But I have read much. " "That is not the same thing, " she returned. "No book could make youunderstand how wonderful and beautiful things are. " He looked at her, and for a second time their eyes met. "You are right, " he said. "Hitherto I have thought myself all-wise. I havestudied hard, and I believed there was nothing I did not know. Now I seethat there are wonders in the world of which I have never even dreamed. " Her glance wavered beneath the undisguised admiration in his eyes andvoice. Then she asked gently: "Now that you have seen, will you not leave your hermitage? Surely it iswrong to shut one's heart against the world in which one lives. There isso much work to be done, so much to learn, and you have been granted powerand wealth, Your Highness. The call upon your help is greater than uponothers. " His brows knitted. "Do you hate us so?" she asked. "Hate you?" he repeated wonderingly. "Why should I hate you?" "Yet, from your tone, I judged that you had kept seclusion becauseintercourse with my country-people meant defilement, " she said boldly. A flush crept up under his dark skin. "Those are things I can not explain, " he said; "but they have nothing todo with hatred. I have heard much of the English heroes. Their deeds ofdaring and self-sacrifice have filled my heart with love and veneration. Iknow that they are the greatest and noblest people of the earth. I lovegreat and noble people. I do not hate them. " "I am glad, " she said. They had reached the gates which opened out on to the highroad, and asthough by mutual consent both came to a standstill. "Your Highness has been most good to me, " she went on. "I can find my wayperfectly now. I am only puzzled to know how I should ever have lost it somuch as to have wandered into your garden. " "Some sentry must have slept, " he remarked grimly. "But you will not punish any one?" "Whoever it was, he was only the servant of destiny, like us all, " hesaid. "No harm shall come to him. " He paused, and then added with a slighteffort: "One of the sentries shall accompany you. " "No, no, " she answered energetically. "That is not necessary. I wouldrather go alone. " He pointed upward to the sky, whose blue was deepening into the violetshades of night. "It will be dark before you reach your destination, " he said. "Are you notafraid?" She laughed merrily. "Of what should I be afraid? There are no maneaters about here, as Iunderstand. As for men, I am prepared to encounter at least six of them. Look!" She drew from the bosom of her dress a small revolver of exquisiteworkmanship, and held it out to him. "It has all six chambers loaded, " sheadded. He took the weapon, pretending to examine it; but his pulses hadrecommenced their painful beating, and he saw nothing but her face. "Are all Englishwomen so brave and beautiful?" This time she did not laugh at the simplicity of the question. "Come and see, " she answered boldly. He said nothing, and she went on: "Atany rate, I must go now. My people will be very anxious, and I have somuch to tell them. They will envy me the privilege I have enjoyed ofseeing your wonderful gardens. I shall tell them how kind you have been toa foolish wanderer. " "If the gardens please you, they are always open to you, " he said. She shook her head sadly. "I am afraid it is not possible. You see, I could not come alone. Propriety will forgive me this once, because it was an accident--a secondtime, and my reputation would be gone for ever. " She held out her handfrankly. "So it must be good-by for ever!" An instant he hesitated, torn between a deep ingrained principle anddesire. Then he took the small hand in his own. "It will not be good-by for ever, " he said. "We shall meet again. " "I should be glad. We have been quite good friends, haven't we? But yousee, you will be in a garden into which I may not enter, and I in a worldwhich for you is forbidden ground. I am afraid there is no hope. " "Nevertheless, we shall meet again, " he repeated. "Why are you so certain?" He smiled dreamily. "Nothing in this world happens without purpose, " he answered. "So much mybooks and eyes have taught me. We do not drift aimlessly into each other'slives. We are borne on the breast of a strong current which flows out ofthe river of Fate, and whether we meet for good or evil is according tothe will of God. But of one thing I am sure: it must be for good or evil. " For a moment she said nothing. Her face was turned away from him, and whenat last she spoke, her voice had lost something of its daring certainty. "I hope, then, our meeting is for our good, " she said. "I feel that it is, " he answered. He led her past the bewildered, terrified sentry on to the grey, dustyhighroad. It was the first time that his feet had crossed the threshold. "I shall watch you till you are out of sight, " he said. "Good-by. " "Good-by--and thank you!" According to his word, he stood where she had left him, his eyes fixedimmovably, like those of a bronze statue, on the slight, elastic figure, as it hurried toward the lights of the distant Station. When at last thepurple mist had swallowed her from his sight, he looked up toward theheavens. Just where the mist ended and the clear sky began, the evening star rosein its first splendor and shone through the dry atmosphere, signaling toits fellows that night was come. One by one others followed. As timepassed, the moon in a cloud of silver lifted herself in stately progressabove the black outline of the jungle and touched with her first beams thefiligree minarets of the temple. Nehal Singh bowed his head in prayer. "Oh, Lord Brahma, I thank thee!" A short-lived breath of evening air caught up the passionate murmur of hisvoice and mingled it with the rustling of the Sacred Tree whose restless, shimmering, silver leaves hung above his head. He understood their whisperas he listened. It was the accents of the god to whom he prayed, and allthe poetic mysticism of his nature responded to the call. "Oh, Lord Brahma, Creator, I thank thee!" he repeated; then turned, andwith head still bowed, passed back through the high marble gates. CHAPTER V ARCHIBALD TRAVERS PLAYS BRIDGE The ayah put the last touches to Beatrice Cary's golden hair, drew back alittle to judge the general effect, and then handed her mistress thehandglass. "Is that well so, missy?" she asked. "Missy look wonderfulto-night--wonderful!" Beatrice examined herself carefully and critically, without any show ofimpatience. Only a close observer would have noticed that her eyes had thestrained, concentrated look of a person whose thoughts are centeredelsewhere than on the immediate subject. "Yes, that will do, " she assented, after a moment. "You have done extrawell to-night. You can go. " "Not help missy with dress?" "No, you can go. I shall only want you again when I come back. " The ayah fidgeted with the garments that lay scattered about the room, butan imperative gesture hastened her exit, and she slipped silently from theroom, drawing the curtains after her. Beatrice watched her departure in the glass, and then, turning in herchair, looked at the languid, exhausted figure upon the couch. "Now, if you have anything to say, mother, say it, " she said. "We arequite alone. " "I have a great deal to say, " Mrs. Cary began, in a tone of extremeinjury, "and first of all, I must ask you not to interrupt me in the wayyou did just now before the--the what-do-you-call-it?--the ayah. I can notand will not stand being corrected before my own servants. " "I did not correct you, " Beatrice returned coldly. "I stopped you frommaking disclosures to ears which know enough English to understand morethan is good for either of us, and whose discretion is on a par with thatof our late friend, Mary Jane. It seems impossible to make you realizethat English is not a dead language. " "You are very rude to me!" Mrs. Cary protested, in high, quavering tonesthat threatened tears. "Very rude! Beatrice, you ought to be ashamed--" "I am not rude. I am only telling you the simple truth. " "Well, then, you are not respectful. " "Respectful!" The reiteration was accompanied with a laugh whichbrought into use all the harsh, unpleasing notes in the girl's voice. She turned away from her mother, and with one white elbow resting onthe dressing-table, began to play idly with the silver ornaments. "No, I suppose I am not respectful, " she went on calmly. "I think we are toointimate for that, mother. We know each other too well, and have spokenabout things too plainly. People, I imagine, only retain the respect oftheir fellow-creatures so long as they keep themselves and their projectsa haloed mystery. That isn't our case. There are no haloes or mysteriesbetween us, are there?" "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, " Mrs. Cary declared plaintively. "There are moments, Beatrice, when I think you talk nonsense. " "I am sure you do!" An ironical smile played an instant round the smallmouth, then she went on calmly: "Let us put our personal grievancesagainst each other aside, mother. _Revenons a nos moutons. _ You weresaying, when I interrupted you, that you were afraid of Mr. Travers. Why?" "Why! You know as well as I do. I recognized him at once, and the sight ofhis face nearly gave me a heart stroke. Of course you remember him. Hegave evidence against your poor, dear father when--" Beatrice Cary held up her hand. "That is one of the advantages of having discarded the mystery and halo, "she said. "We do not need to go into any details concerning ourselves orthe past. I know quite well to what you refer. To be quite honest, I _did_recognize him, only I did not let him see that I did. " "And then you ask why I am afraid!" "I fail to see what harm he can do us. " "He can tell the truth. " Beatrice Cary rose and began to slip into the white silk dress which hungacross the back of her chair. "The truth!" she said meditatively. "That is something, mother, of which, I fear, you and I will never rid ourselves. It has chased us out ofEngland and out of all possible parts of Europe; and, large though Indiais, it seems already to have tracked us down. It has a good nose forfugitives, apparently. " Mrs. Cary sat up, mopping her florid face free from tears of irritability. "You will drive me mad one of these days!" she cried. "You laugh ateverything. You laugh even at this, though it concerns our whole futurehere--" "Excuse me for interrupting you again. I take the matter very much toheart--so much so that there are moments when I am thoroughly weary of it, and feel inclined to write on a large placard: 'Here standeth BeatriceMcConnel, alias Cary, daughter of the--'" "Be silent!" broke in the elder woman furiously. "Do you really want thewhole Station to be taken into our confidence?" "I am sorry!" with half-sincere, half-mocking contrition. "I am as bad asyou are. But, as I say, there are times when I should like to shriek thetruth in the world's face, and see what it would do. I don't thinkanything could be worse than our present life. " "If you did anything of the sort, I should take poison, " Mrs. Carydeclared. "No, you wouldn't. We should move on to another continent, and try ourluck there, that's all. It's the very futility of truth-telling whichprevents me from experimenting in that direction. Perhaps, as you suggest, Mr. Travers will take the task from my shoulders. " Mrs. Cary rose to her feet and came ponderously over to her daughter'sside. Her voice, when she spoke, was troubled with genuine emotion. "Beatrice, " she said, "I don't ask respect of you--I don't suppose itwould be any sort of good if I did. You haven't any respect in you. But atany rate have some consideration for me. You needn't make my life worsethan it is. It's no use your saying to me, 'Give up the money, and hideyour head. ' I can't. I never could hide my head, and at the bottom _I_don't believe you could either. It's the way we are made. Ever since I wasa little child, and played about in my father's shop, I wanted people tobow down to me and respect me. I meant that one day they should. When Imarried they did--for a time at least. When the crash came, and--and allthe shame, I just ran away from it. I couldn't have done anything else. Ever since then I have been trying to build things up elsewhere, and I hadto have money for it. You can't blame me, Beatrice. You aren't any better. You always want to be first in your singing and your painting, you alwayswant the best of what's going. You always want to be admired andsuccessful in everything you do. You take after me in that. " A note ofcurious pride crept into her voice. "So it's just like this, Beatrice--Ican't live without position. I may not take poison, but I shall die allthe same if I can't play a part in the world. All I ask is that you helpme all you can. It's not much. I've been a pretty decent mother to you. You can't say that there was ever a time when I grudged you a pretty frockor a dance--" She stopped in her long speech, yielding to Beatrice'sirrepressible gesture of impatience. "You needn't have gone into so much explanation, " the girl said, fasteninga small diamond pendant round her white neck. "I know you and I knowmyself. As to my gratitude, I am fully aware of what I owe you, and amready to pay. What do you want me to do?" "Don't go against me. " "I haven't done so yet. I don't mean to. As far as I can recollect, I'vepulled us both out of as many scrapes as you have landed us into, "Beatrice replied. "I know. That's why I want you to do your best now. " "To do what?" "To keep Marut tolerable for us. " "I can't prevent Mr. Travers gossiping if he wants to. " A smile flitted over Mrs. Cary's fat face, robbing it of its good-natureand leaving it merely vulgarly cunning. "You could if you wanted to. " "How?" "Oh, you know! You have a way with men. You could shut his mouth. " Beatrice laughed outright. "There are moments when you betray your origin in the most painful way, mother, " she said cruelly. "A remark like that in Mrs. Carmichael'shearing, and we should find Marut too hot for us without any assistancefrom Mr. Travers. " "I'm sorry, " Mrs. Cary apologized humbly. "It slipped out. What I meantwas, that I am sure you could manage him. And you know you could, Beatrice. " Beatrice looked at her reflection in the glass. There was little femininevanity in the glance--rather a cool judging and appraising, untemperedwith any personal prejudice. "I suppose I could, " she admitted. "Won't you?" "Would it make you very happy?" "It would be my first moment's real peace since I saw Mr. Travers at thegarden-party. " "Well, I'll do my best. " "You promise?" "Yes, I'll promise if you want me to. " Mrs. Cary drew a deep sigh of relief. "That's one thing about you, you keep your promises, Beatrice, " she said. "It is rather curious, under the circumstances, isn't it?" the youngerwoman returned, submitting to the mother's grateful embrace with anindifference which seemed to indicate more than an indifference--rather astoic, smothered antipathy. When it was over, and Mrs. Cary had once moreensconced herself on the lounge, Beatrice shook her shoulders as thoughthrusting something intensely disagreeable away from her. "In any case, it may be too late, " she said, putting the finishing touchesto her toilet. "If Mr. Travers meant to tell, he has probably done soalready. I shall be able to judge by Mrs. Carmichael's hand-shaketo-night. " "We must hope for the best, " returned Mrs. Cary, with pious resignation. The two women relapsed into silence. Beatrice hovered lightly about theroom, collecting her fan, handkerchief and gloves, every now and againcasting the same curious, unloving glance at herself in the long mirror. Presently she went to the window and pulled aside the muslin curtain. "Some one is driving up the avenue, " she said. "It's a dog-cart. I wonderwho it is. " "A dog-cart!" Mrs. Cary repeated thoughtfully. "Now, who has a dog-cart inMarut? Not many people, I fancy. " A dull flush mounted her coarse cheeks. "Why, " she exclaimed, "I believe Mr. Travers has!" Beatrice dropped the curtain back into its place. "That would be a coincidence, wouldn't it?" she remarked, with a faintirony from which her tone had never been wholly free. A minute later the ayah entered the room. "Travers Sahib is here, " she announced. "He asks if missy drive with himto the Colonel Sahib in his cart. Travers Sahib waiting. " Beatrice and her mother exchanged glances. "Very well, " Beatrice then said quietly. "Tell Travers Sahib I shall bedelighted. Paul need not bring round the carriage. " The ayah retired, and with an undisturbed calm Beatrice proceeded to slipinto her evening cloak. "At any rate, he hasn't spoken yet, " she said. "Fate seems to mean wellwith you, mother. " "It all depends on you, Beatrice, " the other returned impressively. "Do you think so? Well, I have half-an-hour's drive beforeme--tete-a-tete. I dare say I shall manage. Good night!" She patted hermother lightly on the hand as she passed her on the way to the door. "Good-by, my dear. Do your best, won't you?" "Haven't I been brought up to do my best?" Beatrice answered with a laugh. She hurried on to the verandah which faced out on the drive, the ayahaccompanying her with numerous wraps and shawls. Archibald Travers, whohad remained seated, greeted her with a cheerful wave of the whip. "Please excuse my getting down, Miss Cary, " he said. "My horse is in astate of mind which does not allow for politeness. Can you trust yourselfto his tender care?" "I am not in the least nervous, " she answered, scrambling up to his side, "and a drive through this lovely air is worth a few risks. I was dreadingthe half-hour alone in our stuffy brougham. " "I'm glad I came, then, " he said. "I heard that Mrs. Cary was ill andcould not go, but I was not sure whether you would care for it. There, areyou tucked in all right? Can we start?" "Yes, by all means. " He cracked his whip, and immediately the impatient chestnut sprang forwardinto the darkness. They swayed dangerously through the compound gates onto the broad, straight highroad. Beatrice laughed with excitement. "That was splendid!" she exclaimed, pulling her cloak closer round her. "How well you drive!" "You seem to enjoy danger, " he said, with an amused smile. "Yes, I enjoy it, " she answered, more gravely. "It is the only flavoringwhich I have hitherto discovered in life. The rest is rather insipid, don't you think?" "You talk like a man, " he said. "I have been brought up to be independent and fight for myself, " shereturned. "That sort of thing does away with the principal differencesbetween the sexes. " As she spoke they dashed suddenly into an avenue of high trees throughwhose branches the moonlight played fantastic, uncanny shadows on thewhite road. Travers' horse shied violently, and for some minutes his workwas cut out for him in pacifying the excited animal. When they were oncemore bowling smoothly over the open plain, he glanced down at the girlbeside him. She was smiling to herself. "You have nerve!" he remarked admiringly. "I have lots more when it is wanted, " she answered, looking up at him. Thelight struck full on their faces, and they could read each other'sexpressions as clearly as if it had been midday. "How much farther is it at the rate we are going?" she asked. "Another twenty minutes. " "Another twenty minutes!" she repeated thoughtfully. "That is quite a longtime, isn't it?" He flicked his whip across the horse's ears. "Yes, and I'm glad, " he said. "Otherwise, I shouldn't have seen much ofyou. I happen to know that I am taking in Miss Caruthers to dinner, anddinner takes up most of the evening at these functions. " "You are taking in Lois Caruthers!" she said, laughing. "I know of someone who will be annoyed. " "Stafford, you mean?" "And Lois herself. " He joined in her amusement. "Yes, I suppose so. " "You have a good-natured hostess. I dare say the arrangement could bealtered if you wished it. " "But I don't. They happen to be _my_ arrangements, you see. " "Oh!" she ejaculated, somewhat taken back. "On my left there will be Mrs. James, who, as you perhaps know, is stonedeaf, " he went on calmly. "On Miss Caruthers' right will be Mr. James, whofrom long custom never opens his mouth except to put something into it. Stafford will be right at the other end of the table. " "You are malicious, " she said. "Not a bit. I only go hard for what I want, that's all. " He chuckled tohimself and then went on: "I've confided to you my subtle undergroundplans--why, goodness knows. I'm not usually of a confiding nature. Butreally, Miss Cary, I feel as though I had known you all my life. " "We have already plotted together, " she said. "Possibly that forms somesort of link between us. " He glanced down at her, and this time, as she did not return his gaze, hewas free to study her calm, undisturbed profile. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, half under his breath, "I don't blame the youngfool for being taken in. " Her brows contracted sharply. "Thank you. I suppose that is a compliment. " "It is meant for one. By the way, are you really sure of your success?" "Perfectly sure. " "That's a good thing. We shall have the laugh over old Stafford and hisgrandmother's ideas if it comes off. All I fear is that the youth'simpressionable mind may lose its impressions as quickly as it receivesthem. " "I don't think so. He did not seem that sort. " "Besides, " added Travers, with a sudden drawl, "your face is not one thata man forgets easily, Miss Cary. " She stirred very slightly in her seat. It was the instinctive movement ofa woman bracing herself secretly for a coming shock. "Really?" "Yes, really. That was what I meant to tell you the other day, but therewas no fitting opportunity. I recognized you at once. " "And I you, " she returned. He whistled. "So we recognized each other and didn't recognize each other. Rather aqueer thing, eh?" Again there was that scarcely noticeable stiffening of her whole body. "I see nothing queer about it. We were both taken aback, and after thefirst shock we realized that to acknowledge a previous meeting was not toeither of our advantages. You were ashamed; and I--well, you can guess myreasons. " "By Jove! You know, you really are plucky!" he burst out, with genuineadmiration. "Thank you. You have intimated that to me already, and, as a matter offact, there is no question of pluck. I'm taking the bull by the hornsbecause I must. Mr. Travers, I can't live in the same place with you andnot know if you are going to explode the mine under our feet or not. I mayhave nerve, but I haven't got nerve enough for that. " "I see. You want to know whether I am going to gossip or hold my tongue. Is that it?" "Yes, that's it. " "Suppose I gossip?" "I see no reason why you should be our enemy, so I don't mind admitting toyou that it would spoil our plans. " "What may they be?" "Firstly, to get clear of everything that has happened. We've tried to dothat in different places all over Europe, without success. Something orsomebody has always cropped up and driven us away. It was just as thoughevery one least concerned in the matter had made up their minds to trackus down. At last mother thought of India, and of Marut in particular. Myfather held a small post somewhere about here before we left for England, and we make out that it is tender associations and all that sort of thing. Of course, we might be found out any day, but perhaps people are not socurious out here, and it gives us a rest. " "Might I ask why you take all this trouble?" "I was going to tell you. Because my mother wants what she callsposition--she wants to mix with the best. We couldn't do that in England, for the reasons I have given you. As for me--I fulfil my destiny. I amseeking a suitable husband. " He drew in his breath in something that was not unlike a gasp. "My dear Miss Cary, do you know what the world--particularly the womanworld--would call you?" "_Does_ call me, you mean? Of course. An adventuress. " "To be quite frank, you've hit it. But I don't. I call you a jollyextraordinary and clever woman. " "Please don't pay me compliments, " she said coldly. "My cleverness--if Ihave any--is not more than that of any hunted animal who seeks cover wherebest he can. As to my being extraordinary, I do not see that you have anyreason to call me so. You might as well say that it is extraordinary whena weed springs up where a weed has been sown--" "Or a flower, " he interposed suavely. She sank back in her seat, saying nothing. Her silence was a weary sort ofprotest. Travers pulled out his watch with his free hand. "We have only five minutes more, " he said. "We are splendidly up to time. I tell you what, Miss Cary--you can eat Colonel Carmichael's dinner inpeace. " She looked quickly at him. "I mean that I shall hold my tongue. Idon't know that I ever intended doing anything else. I am not responsibleto society, and in any case, no direct blame for the past can attachitself to you. As it is, after your confidence, I give you my word thatI'll do my best to see you through here. You deserve it, and I have alwayshad a sneaking sympathy for the hunted fox and the much-abused weed. Youcan be quite easy in your mind. " "Thank you, " she said without much warmth. "I have only one condition--" he went on, and then hesitated. "I was waiting for that, " she said. He laughed good-naturedly. "You know me very well already. " "I know men, " she retorted. "Well, then, I have a condition. Please don't look upon me as a sort ofblackmailer. If you don't choose to agree to the condition, you needn't. Ishan't on that account go round gossiping about your affairs. At the sametime, I expect you would rather drive a fair and square bargain with methan be in any way in my debt. " "You are quite right, " she said quickly. "My condition is merely this: I want you, if the time and opportunity everpresent themselves, to lend me a hand with my plans. I confess privatelyto you I have one or two irons in the fire up at Marut, and that it ispretty hard work single-handed. You are a clever woman, say what you like, and your help would be invaluable. " "In what way?" "I will put it as short as possible. You know, Miss Cary, I am not a richman, but I have got some big ideas and one at least of them requireswealth to be carried out. I have every reason to believe that considerablemineral treasure lies buried under the native Bazaar in Marut, but I cando nothing unless some one comes to my assistance both with authority andmoney. The Rajah is the very man, if only I can get him interested in myproject. Will you help me?" "As I have gone so far I might as well go on, " she assented indifferently. "Thanks. Then there is something else--I want to marry Lois Caruthers. " Beatrice started and looked up at him as though she thought he might bejoking. His face had indeed undergone a change, but there was somethingstern, resolute, almost brutal in the hard-set profile. "Indeed? Will that not be more difficult? There is Stafford in the way, and Stafford--" "Stafford must be cleared out of the way, " he interrupted, with a cooldecision which his expression partly belied. "I believe she is fond of himand he of her in a Platonic sort of fashion which might lead to marriageand might not. He is not the danger. There is a fellow, Nicholson, though--" He stopped short and seemed for an instant to be plunged in his ownthoughts. "Who is this Nicholson?" she asked curiously. "I have heard his nameconstantly since I have been here. People talk of him as though he were ademigod. Why are you afraid of him?" "Just because of his godlike qualities, " Travers explained, with a laugh. "In earlier ages, no doubt, he would have been a god and among the nativeshe is one. In reality, he is an ordinary mortal blessed with anextraordinary influence. I believe he is a captain in some native regimenton the frontiers and has done grand work there. I heard today that he iscoming down to Marut on leave. " "Oh--?" "He was Lois' old playfellow, " Travers added pointedly. "And so you are afraid of him?" "All women adore heroes of that type, " he remarked without mockery orbitterness, "and when Nicholson appears I have a fair idea that Staffordand I will have to be content with the back seats in Lois' affections. Yousee, they were great friends, and moreover the Carmichaels have theirmatrimonial eye on him. So it's now or never as far as I am concerned. " "And Stafford--?" He looked down at her with a jolly laugh. "He must find consolation elsewhere. I thought he would do for you, MissCary. " "Thanks!" "Don't be ungrateful. Rich, good position, good family, worthy character, a trifle slow, not to say stupid--what more do you want?" "You talk as though--" "--As though he were being given away with a pound of tea? Well, so he isto all intents and purposes. One can do anything with an honest, pig-headed man like that if only one takes him the right way. He wouldsuit you clear down to the ground, and if you will help me I will helpyou. Is that a bargain?" They were now in sight of their destination, and he pulled his horse intoa walk. "Well, what do you say, Miss Cary?" He tried to look into her face, but it was turned resolutely away, and allhe could see was a grave profile which might have belonged to a much olderwoman. "Well?" he repeated. They were entering the drive which led up to the brightly lighted bungalowbefore she answered. "It's a bargain then, " she said. "I promise. " He pressed her hand with his left. "That's all right, " he said cheerily. "You won't find yourselfoverburdened. The case is just this: we're partners, you and I, with somegood cards between us. Just at present it's my call, and your hand goesdown. Do you understand?" "Pretty well, " she answered. They pulled up at the open doorway, and flinging the reins to the waitingsyce, Travers sprang to the ground. "By the way, I believe you go in to dinner with Stafford, " he remarkedcasually as he helped her to alight. "I hope you will get on welltogether. " CHAPTER VI BREAKING THE BARRIER The Colonel's dinner-party was Beatrice's first great triumph in the faceof her enemies. They were all there and all armed to the teeth with spiteand envy. There was, for instance, Mrs. Berry with her marriageable ifsomewhat plain daughter, and many more women besides to whom the beautifulgirl was of necessity an unforgivable opponent. The more the men laughedat her quick and occasionally rather pointed observations, the more anobvious admiration shone out of their criticisms, the more determined thehatred became. Among themselves they had already fulfilled Travers'prophecy and had christened her "the Adventuress" for no other reason thanthat she was a woman with the same ambitions as themselves, but betteraccoutred for success. Truly, she had made no bid for their favor, choosing to stand alone and without their support; but even had she doneso it would have been useless. She wore an enemy's color in her face, andkeen, pitiless eyes had already probed into the innermost depths of herplans and found them dangerous. In the middle of the dinner the Colonel broke the news that the whole ofthe English community had been invited by the Rajah to a reception in thepalace grounds. He made the announcement with evident reluctance, andBeatrice was conscious that Stafford, who sat beside her, stiffened andfrowned. The sense of opposition and disapproval on the part of the manwhom she had set out to conquer put her on her metal, and with the verveand _sang-froid_ of a woman too sure of her own power to know fear, sherelated her adventure in the temple. Her hearers listened, according totheir sex, with amusement, curiosity and pious horror. Some wereunreservedly delighted, others--such as the Colonel andStafford--struggled between a certain admiration for her and a decideddisapproval of her action and its results. Yet Stafford at least was asoldier before he was a conventionalist, and her bold, well-played comedyin the temple of Vishnu, told simply, but with fire and energy, could notfail to stir to flame the embers of his own daring. From that time heceased to rivet his attention to the other end of the table, where Loiswas sitting, and Beatrice was conscious that she had won the first move inthe great game which she had set herself to play. The next day the wholeStation was made aware of the startling change in the Rajah's attitude andthe means by which it had been brought about, but no one, not even thosewho were disposed to judge the matter in its most serious light, guessedwhat passed within the palace previous to the sending out of the nowfamous invitation. For the greater part of the English community the wholething was rather a bad joke, with the Rajah for its victim. That a prettywoman should have unbarred the gates which no other force, diplomacy orcunning had been able to stir was a matter for light, somewhatcontemptuous laughter. Rajah Nehal Singh was nicknamed the ImpressionableSwain. He and Beatrice Cary were linked together either in good-naturedchaff or malicious earnest, and curiosity, thanks to the dullness of theseason, strained itself in expectation. Thus, beyond the marble gates the world laughed, and inside Life and Deathhad faced each other and for a moment hung in the balance. It was toward the cool of the evening. Behar Asor and the prince pacedslowly backward and forward in the chief entrance hall of the palace, plunged in a conversation which was to mark a final stage in theirrelationship toward each other. Both knew it, and on both faces waswritten the same determination--a determination curiously tempered andmoulded by the character of the man himself. On Behar Asor's furrowed, withered face it was resolve, armed with treachery and all the hundred andone weapons of oriental cunning. Nehal Singh's head was lifted in calm, unshakable confidence. He had no need of weapons. He had seen his destiny, and the obstacle which would be thrown in his path would, with equalcertainty, be thrown out of it. He felt himself extraordinarily strong. His very surroundings seemed to fortify him with their splendor. Otherparts of the palace bore the grievous traces of a past devastatingrace-hatred; crumbling pillars, images whose jeweled eyes had been madedark and lifeless by robber hands; broken pavements, defaced carvings--allthese pointed to a period in human life which was gone for ever, a periodof mad fanaticism and passionate clinging to the Old in defiance of theNew. Here the New was triumphant. Hands still living had raised the mightygolden dome; the fountain whose waters bubbled up from the Sacred Tankwithin the temple was his own creation. The whole place became a sort ofoutward and visible sign of the New Life, New Era, which was opening outbefore him, and the old man at his side was nothing more than a relic, apiece of clinging wreckage. Yesterday he had been a wise man whosejudgment and guidance was a thing to be considered. But between Yesterday and Today there is occasionally a long night inwhich much may happen. A life may go out, a life may come in; a devil maybecome a saint, or a saint a devil; a man may swing from one pole ofopinion to another, and this last is perhaps the easiest of all. For itdoes not require much to change a man's standpoint. A very little thingwill make him turn on his heel and look at a piece of the landscape whichhe has hitherto chosen to ignore or despise, and probably acknowledge thatit is finer than his hitherto obstinately retained outlook. A very littlething--like Columbus' egg--if one only knew just what it was! The littlething in Nehal Singh's life had been a woman's face. It shone between himand his old gods; it smiled at him from amidst the shadows of hisimagination, beckoning him unceasingly to follow. And he wasfollowing--with the reckless speed of a man who had been kept inactive toolong at the starting point of life. "I am weary of all that has hitherto been, " he told Behar Asor. "My palacehas become a prison from which I must free myself. The very air I breatheis heavy with sleep and dreams. It suffocates me. I must have life--hereand without. " "I understand thee too well, " came the answer from compressed lips. "Thecurse is on thee. Thou wilt go among my enemies, and it is I, with mymistaken wisdom, who have opened thy path to them. It was I who taughtthee their tongue, their knowledge, their law, that when the time camethou shouldst stand before them more than their equal. This is mypunishment. " "It is no punishment. It is the will of God. " "The will of God!" The old man threw up his hands with a wild laugh thatechoed among the pillars. "It is the will of the devil, who has been mycurse and shall be thine! Ay, ay, look not at me! It is true. Thinkestthou that I have brought thee up in solitude without cause? Thinkest thouthat I have hidden thee like a miser his treasure, in the dark, unseenplaces, for a whim? Son, I have suffered as I pray thou mayst not have tosuffer, and I have within my heart a serpent of hatred whose sting I wouldthou couldst feel. " He paused, biting his lip as though the pain hedescribed was actual and physical. "Go not among the Unbelievers!" hecontinued vigorously. "Let not their shadow defile thee! For their breathis poison, and in their eyes is a deadly flame--or if thou goest, let itbe with steeled breast and in thy right hand a sword of vengeance!" "I can not, " Nehal Singh answered impatiently. "Nor do I believe what thousayest. This people is surely brave and good. I know, for I have read--" "Read!" the old man interrupted, with another burst of stormy laughter. "What is it to read? To see with the eyes and feel with the body--thatalone can bring true wisdom. And I have seen and felt! Callest thou apeople 'good' who drink our hospitality and spit upon us--who hail uswith their unclean right hand and steal our honor with their left?" Nehal Singh stopped short. "What meanest thou?" he demanded. "I have a meaning!" was the stern answer. "I will tell thee now what Ihave never told thee before--I will tell thee of a young man who, likethyself, was fearless, impetuous, a lover of the new and strange, who wentout into the world, and welcomed the White People as a deliverer andfriend. I will tell thee how he flung down caste and prejudice to welcomethem, drank in their Thought and Culture, trembled on the brink of theirReligion. Already the path had been broken for him. His mother's sisterhad married out of her race--an Englishman--I know not how it cameabout--and their child followed in her steps. I will tell thee how theyoung man came to know this cousin and her husband, also an Unbeliever. How often these two became his guests I will not tell thee. He tookpleasure in their presence, partly for his mother's sake, partly becausethe white race had become dear to him. They brought others with them, andamong them an English officer. Hear now further. "This young man had one wife, following the English custom--one wife morebeautiful than her sisters, whom he loved as a man loves but once in life. In his madness, in spite of warnings of his priests, he gave her thefreedom almost of an English-woman. Wheresoever he went she followed him;with her at his right hand he received his English guests; it was she whosang to them--" He ground his teeth in a sudden outburst of rage. "Mad, mad was I! Mad to trust a woman, and to trust the stranger! Son, the nightcame when my wife sang no more to me, and the stranger's shadow ceased todarken my threshold. Three years I sought them--three years; then onenight she came back to me. He had cast her from him. She lay dead at myfeet. " His voice shook. "In vain I sought justice. There is no justice forsuch things among the White People--not for themselves and not for us. Idrew my sword and in hatred and scorn as deep as my love and reverence hadbeen high, I slew my way to the false devil who had betrayed me. Him Islew--and his pale wife I--" "Who was this man?" Nehal Singh asked heavily. "I know not. His name has passed from me. But the hate remains. For withthat act of treachery he drew back the veil from my blind eyes, and I sawthat they were all as he--bad, cruel, hypocrites--" "Not all--not all!" Nehal Singh interrupted. He stopped by the splashingfountain and gazed dreamily into the clear waters. His own face he sawthere--and another which was neither bad, cruel, nor hypocritical, butwholly beautiful. "Not all, " he repeated. "You judge by one man. Thereare others, and it is those I will see and know, and--" "I would rather see thee dead at my feet!" "My father, I will judge them as I find them, " Nehal Singh went on imperturbably. "If they be good and noble, I willserve and love them. If they be bad, as thou sayest--then thou shalt liveto see me do thy will. " He heard a shrill cry, and his eyes, still fixed on the water, saw a handthat swept upward, the flash of steel falling swiftly through thesunshine. He swung round and tore the dagger from the nerveless hand. "Thou dost wrong, my father, " he said, with unshaken calm. "To learntreachery from treachery is a poor lesson. And thou canst not stay me. What I will do I will do. Do not cross me again. " The old man, who had shrunk back, gasping and staring, against the marblebasin, pulled himself painfully upright. "Ay, I did wrong, " he said. "With my old hands I tried to forestall thesword of Fate. For, mark me, the hour will come when thou wilt cursethyself that thou didst stay my knife!" He tottered slowly away, vanishing like a curious twisted shadow amidstthe deeper shadows of the columns. Nehal Singh watched him till he was out of sight, and then, snapping thedagger across his knee, flung the pieces into the water. They lay there, at the bottom of the marble basin, sparkling and twinkling in thesunshine. When he looked in, trying to conjure up once more the beautifulface, it was always the dagger he saw. It was always the dagger he sawwhen the memory of that short, violent scene came back to him--and itcame back often, springing up out of his subconscious self like an evil, slinking shade that could never be wholly brought to rest. Yet he went onresolutely. One barrier had given way--one more remained, and he flunghimself against it with a reckless determination which would have overcomeany resistance. But there was none. The old priest who had been his guideand teacher welcomed him as he had always done, seated cross-legged at theedge of the Sacred Tank, motionless, rigid, like some handsome bronzestatue of Buddha, whose eyes alone spoke of a fierce flowing life within. He bowed his head once in return to Nehal's greeting, but as he began tospeak he interrupted him, and in a low, chanting voice uttered the lastwords he was ever heard to address to any living creature: "Speak not to me, Son of the Night and Day, for the Spirit of the Holy Yogis on me, and his tongue speaketh through my lips. Behold, mine eyes seewith his into the wells of the future--my heart stands still for fear ofthe things that are to be. I see a Holy Temple and hear the ring ofAccursed Footsteps. I see a young man at daybreak, beautiful, strong andupright, and I see him stand beneath the high sun like a blade of witheredgrass. I see him go forth in the morning with laughter on his lips, and atnightfall his eyes run blood. A voice calleth him from the thicket, andwheresoever the voice calleth him he goeth. He standeth on the banks ofHoly Ganges, and behold! the waters burst from their course and pourwestward to the ocean. Behold, then shall he draw his sword against hispeople, and from that hour he shall serve them and become theirs. Thenshall the doors of the temple be closed for ever, and the lips of Vishnusilent. Go forth, son of the Evening and Morning Star! That which is to beshall be till the stream of the Future ceaseth to flow from the mouth ofHeaven!" Nehal Singh listened to this strange, disjointed prophecy in perfectsilence, his eyes following the fierce stare of the old Brahman into theoily waters of the Sacred Pool. Amidst the hundred reflections from thetemple he seemed to see each separate picture as the monotonous voicecalled it up before his mind, and always it was his own face whichshimmered among the shadowy minarets, and always it was a familiar voicecalling him through the ages which whispered to him from the tremblingleaves of the Bo-Tree as it hung its branches down to the water's edge. "Tell me more, for thy words have drawn the veil closer about the future!" His pleading received no response. The priest remained motionless, passive, indifferent, seemingly plunged in an ecstatic contemplation; andfrom that moment his lips were closed, and he passed his once loved pupilwith eyes that seemed fixed far ahead on a world visible only to himself. Neither in his words or manner had there been any anger or reproach, but aperfect resignation which walled him off from every human emotion, andNehal Singh went his way, conscious that the world lay before him and thathe was free. The great dividing wall had turned to air, and he had passedthrough, satisfied but not a little troubled, as a man is who finds thathe has struck at shadows. Afterward he told himself that the walls had always been shadows, thelinks that bound him always mere ghostly hindrances, part of the vaguedreams that had filled his life and bound his horizon. Now that was allover. The more perfect reality lay before him and was his. The dim figuresof his childhood's imagination gave place to definite forms. And each borethe same face, each face the same grave goodness--that of the womandestined for him by Heaven. CHAPTER VII THE SECOND GENERATION Thus it came to pass that after more than a quarter of a century the gatesof the palace were thrown open, and strange feet crossed the threshold inapparent peace and friendship. A crowd of memories flooded Colonel Carmichael's mind as he followed theguide along the narrow paths. There was a difference between his lastentry and this--a difference and an analogy whose bizarre completenesscame home to him more vividly with every moment. Then, too, he had beenled, but by a dark figure whose flaming torch had sprung through thedarkness like an unearthly spirit of destruction. Then, too, he hadfollowed--not, as now, old and saddened--but impetuously, and behind himhad raced no crowd of laughing pleasure-seekers, but men whose bloodyswords were clasped in hands greedy for the long-deferred vengeance. Heremembered clearly what they had felt. For a year they had been held atbay by a skill and cunning which outmatched their most heroic efforts, andnow, at last, the hour of victory was theirs. He remembered how the thirstfor revenge had died down as they stormed the marble steps. No livingbeing barred their course. Stillness greeted them as they poured into themighty hall, and a chilly awe sank down upon their red-hot rage as theysearched an emptiness which seemed to defy them. It was the Colonelhimself, then only a young captain, who had heard the piteous wailing cryissuing from a side apartment. He had rushed in, and there a sight greetedhim which engraved itself on his memory for ever. The place was almost indarkness, save that at the far end two torches had been lit on either sideof what seemed to be a throne--a beautiful golden chair raised from thefloor by ivory steps. Here, too, at first all had seemed death andsilence; then the cry had been repeated, and they saw that a tiny childlay between the high carved arms and was watching them with great, beautiful eyes. Around his neck had hung a hastily-written message: "This is my son, Nehal Singh, whose life and heritage I intrust to myconquerors in the name of justice and mercy. " And he had taken the boy in his arms and borne him thence as tenderly asif he had been his own. Since then twenty-five years had passed. The throne had been given to thetiny heir under the tutelage of a neighboring prince, and the spirit offorgotten things brooded over the wreck of the tempest that for over ayear had raged about Marut. But the Colonel remembered as if it had beenbut yesterday. Others had forgotten the little child, but, perhaps becausehe had no children of his own, the memory of the dark baby eyes had neverbeen banished from his mind. He caught himself wondering, not without atouch of emotion, what sort of man had grown out of the minute being hehad rescued; but curiously enough--and typically enough of thecontrariness of human sympathy--from the moment he caught sight of thetall figure advancing to meet him from the steps of the palace, allkindly, gentle feelings died out of him, and his old prejudice of raceawoke. Possibly--nay, certainly--the child had had less need of sympathythan the man, but the Colonel's heart froze toward him, and his formalresponse to his host's greeting was icy with the unconquerableconsciousness of the gulf between them. Yet, for eyes unblinded by preconceived aversion, Nehal Singh was at thatmoment good to look upon. He was simply dressed in white, with no jewelssave for a great diamond in his turban, and this very simplicity threwinto strong relief his unusually well-built figure and the features towhose almost classical perfection was added a strength, a force ofintellect which classical beauty is too often denied. Quietly andmodestly, conscious of his own worth, ignorant and inexperienced of theworld, he was utterly unaware of the stone barrier that his guestspresented to his own open-hearted welcome. For him the whole of his pastlife concentrated itself on this moment when the gates of the Universerolled back, and he advanced to meet the representatives of its GreatestPeople. He thought, in the simple, natural egoism of a man who has lived alife cut off from others, that they would understand this and feel withhim. What his own feelings were he hardly knew--perhaps among them, thoughunrecognized, was the faintest chill of disappointment. He had had nodefinite expectations, but his imagination had unconsciously been at work, and touched with its illuminating fire the sons of the heroes whose deedshad filled his quiet existence with romance, painting his picture of themwith colors which the reality did not justify. Certainly the littleColonel had nothing either romantic or heroic in his appearance, and whatwas good and kindly in his bronzed face was hidden behind the mask of hisracial pride. His first words were delivered in a harsh voice, which betrayed only tooclearly his real feelings, though Nehal Singh recognized nothing but itsdisagreeableness. "Rajah Sahib, you have honored us with the wish to become acquainted withthe English people dwelling in your State, " he began, "and it is thereforemy pleasure and duty to present to you the officers of the regiments--" Hestumbled awkwardly, the strangeness of the situation, the direct andsearching gaze of his host, throwing him completely out of whateveroratory powers he possessed. It was Nehal Singh himself who saved thesituation. "It is my pleasure to receive you, " he said, in his slow, painstakingEnglish, "and I am honored by the readiness with which you have compliedwith my desire to meet the Great People to whom my land owes so much. Though hitherto I have lived apart from them, I am not wholly ignorant oftheir greatness. I know, for my fathers and my books have shown me, thatthere is no other nation so powerful nor whose sons are so noble. Therefore I welcome you with all my heart as a brother, and if suchentertainment as I have tried to prepare for your pleasure is not to yourtaste, I pray you to forgive me, for therein am I indeed ignorant. " For a few among the English party his words, spoken slowly and with asimple sincerity, were not without their charm. Yet, little as he knew it, he had succeeded in one short speech in touching two dangerous spots inhis relationship to his guests--his ancestry and his equality. But hereagain his ignorance veiled from him what was written clearly enough on adozen frozen faces. "I should be glad to be made personally acquainted with each of yourofficers, " he went on. "For men who serve under one flag should know eachother well. " Colonel Carmichael obeyed, thankful for any occupation which saved him thenecessity of replying; and one by one the solemn, unmoved faces came underNehal Singh's eager gaze, bowed, and passed on. Each resented in turn theintense scrutiny of their host, and none guessed its cause. For them itwas the insolent stare of a colored man who had ventured to place himselfon an equality with themselves. They could not have known that he wasseeking familiar features, nor that, as one after another passed on, acold chill of disappointment was settling on a heart warm withpreconceived admiration and respect. They could not have known that hisunconscious presumption had hidden a real desire to find among them thehero to whom his man's worship of courage and greatness could have beendedicated. He was too young--and especially too young in worldlywisdom--to realize that the outside man is not of necessity the manhimself. He merely felt, as each wooden face confronted his own, that herewas surely no Great Man, no Hero. Only when it came to the civilians hiseyes rested with some degree of satisfaction on Travers' well-knit figureand fresh-colored face. For the first time during the whole proceedingsthe prince smiled, and in turn received a smile. The ladies had by this time arrived, and the presentations continued. There was no change in Nehal Singh's demeanor when he stood beforeBeatrice Cary--no change, at least, visible to the curious eyes thatwatched. If there was any hidden meaning in his expression during thebrief instant that they looked at each other, only she herself could haveread it; and this she apparently did not do, for her face retained itsMadonna peace and dignity. "I think Rajah Sahib and Miss Cary have already met?" remarked Travers, who was acting as master of the ceremonies. "Yes, we have met, " Nehal Singh answered, and passed on. If any hesitation showed itself in his manner, it was before LoisCaruthers. A swift shade of puzzled surprise clouded his features. "You have been a long time in India?" he asked, after the first words ofintroduction. The question sounded as though he merely sought heraffirmation to something he already knew. "Almost all my life, Rajah Sahib, " she answered. Possibly it was a naturalshyness which made her voice sound troubled and nervous. She seemed toheave a sigh of relief when he once more moved on. Yet he had impressedher agreeably. "Is he not handsome?" she said in an undertone to her companion, Stafford. "I think he is quite the handsomest man I have seen, and he has themanners of an Englishman. I wonder where he got them from. " "I don't know, " Stafford returned. "These people have a wonderful trick ofpicking up things. At any rate he realizes Miss Cary's curiousdescription--beautiful; though, with Miss Berry, I do not care for theword as applied to a man. He seems a nice sort of fellow, too, quiet andunaffected, and that is more to me than his good looks. It's rather apity. " "What is a pity?" she asked, surprised. "Oh, well, that he is what he is. Don't look so pained. It's not only my'narrow-hearted prejudice, ' as you call it. It's more than that. I'm sorryfor the man himself. It all confirms my first opinion that it is ratherbad luck. " "Why?" she demanded obstinately. "Don't you understand? If you had seen Webb's face when he talked about'as a brother a brother, ' you would have understood well enough. He hasbeen made a fool of, and sooner or later he will have his eyes roughlyopened. As I say, it seems bad luck. " "You mean he would have done better to keep to his old seclusion?" shesaid thoughtfully. "That's about it. " He smiled down at her, and they suddenly forgot theRajah in that curious happiness of two beings who need no words to tellthem that each is understood by the other, and that a secret current ofthought and feeling flows beneath every word and touch. "Come, " he wenton. "It seems that we are to have the run of the place. Shall we explore?" She nodded a quick agreement, and they started off, thus following theexample of others of the party who had already made use of the Rajah'ssuggestion that they should visit the chief and most interesting portionsof the palace. Nehal Singh himself stood alone, and thankful for hisloneliness. For the last ten minutes Colonel Carmichael and he had stoodside by side, and found no word to say to each other. The past, whichmight have been a link, proved itself a barrier which neither could scale, and presently, on some excuse, the Colonel had hurried off to join hiswife. As though guided by a sure instinct, Nehal Singh turned in thedirection where Beatrice was standing with her mother and Travers. Withouthesitation he went up to her. "I have waited to be your guide, " he said. His words sounded amusinglydecided and matter-of-course, and a smile of not very sympathetic meaningpassed over the faces of those within earshot. "You can be sure she went a lot further than she cared to say, " Mrs. Berrywhispered to her daughter. "You can see how everything was made upbeforehand. I wonder what she expects to get out of him?" Though the remark did not reach her, Beatrice's instinct and bitterexperience supplied her with a sure key to the look that was exchangedbetween the two women. She smiled gaily. "I shall be only too pleased, " she said. "What I have seen has made methirst for more. " "Indeed, Your Highness, " Mrs. Cary broke in eagerly. "I must not forget tothank you for the really very kind assistance you lent my recklessdaughter the other day. I do not know what would have happened to her ifit had not been for you!" Nehal Singh looked at her with a grave wonder. "You are her mother--?" he said, and then stopped short. The wonder wasreflected so clearly in his tone that an angry flush mounted to Mrs. Cary's fat cheeks. "I have that honor, Your Highness, " she said acidly. "Mrs. Cary!" Travers called from the flower-bed over which he was leaning. "If the Rajah Sahib can spare you, do come and look at these flowers. Theyare extraordinary. " With her head in the air, her plumes waving, a picture of ruffled dignity, Mrs. Cary swayed her way in the direction indicated, and Nehal Singh andBeatrice found themselves alone. "Will you come with me now?" he asked. "I have still so much to show you. " She saw the look of self-satisfied "I-told-you-so" horror written on thefaces of Mrs. Berry and her friends, who stood a little farther offwhispering and nodding, and if she had felt the slightest hesitation, shehesitated no longer. "Lead the way, Rajah Sahib, " she said coolly. "I follow. " CHAPTER VIII THE IDEAL On either side of them tall palm-trees raised their splendid heads highabove the shrubs and sweet-smelling plants that clustered like aprotecting wall about their feet, and as Beatrice and her companion passeda sharp bend it seemed as though they had been suddenly cut off from thechattering crowd behind them and had entered into a wonderful, silentworld in which they were alone. Was it the beauty of her surroundings, or was it the man beside her, whichsent the curious, almost painful emotion through her angry heart? For shewas angry--angry with her mother, with herself and him--chiefly with him. He had been too sure. And yet she was flattered. Also, it was a pleasurefor the first time to be with some one with whom she could drop herweapons and have no fear. She looked up at him, and found that he waswatching her. "It was not good-by for ever, " he said. "We have met again. " Her anger suddenly subsided. His slow English, with its foreign accent, his dark features and native dress reminded her vividly that he was ofanother (implied, inferior) race, and therefore not to be judged byordinary standards. She gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment. "You have overthrown destiny, " she said, smiling. "You have made theimpossible possible. How was I to know all that when I prophesied weshould not meet again?" "I have not overthrown destiny, " he answered. "I have fulfilled it. " "Are you sure of that?" "Quite sure. " She looked away from him up to the golden dome of the temple which rosebefore them against the unclouded sky. Because she had thrown down herweapons, and in the irresponsible pleasure of the moment become herself, she acquired a power of penetration and understanding which is denied tothose who with their own hearts closed seek to know the hearts of others. "Do you know, " she said suddenly, "when Colonel Carmichael presentedhimself to you, and all the others, I watched you, and I rather fancy Iread something on your face which you didn't want to show. I wonder if Iam right. " "It is possible, " he answered gravely. "In this last hour I have alreadybegun to regret that I have never studied to control my emotions. I showwhen I am surprised, disappointed, or--startled. Hitherto, there has beenno reason why I should not do so. But now that I am among my equals, it isdifferent. " She bit her lip, not in anger but in an almost pained surprise at thisman's ignorance of the world into which he was entering. He was notpresuming to place himself on the level with the Englishman; it seemed asif he were inoffensively lifting the Englishman up to himself. She wassorry for him as one is sorry for all kindly fools. "Tell me what you read!" he begged, after a moment. "Perhaps you will knowbetter than I myself. I am almost sure you will. " "I read disappointment, " she answered. "Was that so?" His brows contracted slightly. "I _was_ disappointed, " he admitted, "but that was my own fault. I hadnever met English people--only heard of them. What I had heard made meimagine things which it seems have no reality. " "Did you expect demigods?" she asked. "I do not know what I expected--but it was something different. You knowthe men I have met to-day. Are they all great-hearted and brave?" She did not laugh at the question, though there was cause enough to haveexcused it. "I can not tell you, " she answered. "Only circumstances can bring suchvirtues to light, and hitherto the circumstances have been lacking. Allmen do not wear their heart on their sleeve, " she answered, not withoutmalice. He nodded. "I am glad to hear you say that, for no doubt you are right. I am veryignorant, I fear, and was foolish enough to expect heroes to have the faceand figure of heroes. It grieved me for a moment to find that I was thetallest and best-looking among them. Now that you have explained, I seethat the greatness lies beneath. " This time she laughed, and laughed so heartily that he joined in with her, though he did not know what had caused her amusement. He took pleasure inwatching her when she laughed. Her statuesque beauty yielded then to awarm, pulsating life, which transformed her and made her seem to him morehuman, more attainable. For he had never shaken off the belief that sheand a divine agency were closely linked together. "You must not compare yourself with Englishmen, " she said, when she hadrecovered, "neither in face, nor stature, nor ideals. You must alwaysremember that we are of another race. " "And yet you fulfilled my highest ideal. " "Perhaps I am the exception, " she retorted, dangerously near anotheroutburst. "Did all the women this afternoon fulfil your ideal?" "No!" very decidedly. "There! You see, then, that I am the exception. Besides, I am not a man. Men require to be differently judged, and we have perhaps other ideals. " "That also is possible, " he assented, "and I know that, because theEnglish are such a great people, their ideals must be very high, perhapshigher than mine. Since I am now to go among them, I wish to know whatthey consider necessary in the character of a great man. ". "That is too hard a question, " she said hurriedly. "I can not describe thenational ideal to you, because I am too ignorant and have never thoughtabout it. You must ask some one else. " They had come to the end of the path and stood before a square opening, onthe other side of which the two massive gopuras of the temple rose intheir monumental splendor two hundred feet above them. They were stillalone. None of the sightseers seemed to have found the sacred spot, andfor a moment she stood still, awed in spite of herself. "I should be quite content with _your_ ideal, " he said gently, breaking inupon her admiration. "I feel that it will be the highest. " "You ask of me more than I can answer. " "I beg of you!" he pleaded earnestly. "I have my reasons. " Again she bit her lip. It was too absurd, too ridiculous! That she, of allpeople, who had seen into the darkest, most sordid depths of the humancharacter, and long since learned to look upon goodness and virtue asexploded myths, should be set to work to draw up an ideal which she didnot and could not believe in, seemed a mockery too pitiful for laughter. Yet something--perhaps it was a form of national pride--stung her to thetask, moreover stung her to do her best and place beyond the reach ofthese dark hands a high and splendid figure of English ideals. To help herself, she sought through the lumber-rooms of her memory, anddrew thence a hundred ideas, thoughts and conceptions which had belongedto a short--terribly short--childhood. Like a middle-aged woman who comessuddenly upon a hoard of long since forgotten toys, and feels an emotionhalf pitying, half regretful, so Beatrice Cary displayed to her companionthings that for years had lain forsaken and neglected in the background ofher mind. The dust lay thick upon them--and yet they were well enough. They would have been beautiful, had she believed in them, but, like thetoys, they had lost the glamour and illusionary light in which her youthand imagination had bathed them. "Our highest ideal of a man we call a gentleman, " she said slowly. "It isa much-abused term, but it can mean a very great deal. What his appearanceis does not so much matter--indeed, when one looks into it, it does notmatter at all, save that you will find that the ugliest face can oftengive you an index to a lovely character. The chief thing that we requireof him is that he should be above all meanness and pettiness. He must begreat-thinking and great-feeling for himself and others, especially forothers. You will find that a good man is always thinking or working forthose others whose names he may not even know. Whatever power or talent hehas--however little it may be--he concentrates on some object which mayhelp them. It is the same with his virtues. He cultivates them because heknows that there is not a high thought, or generous impulse, or noble deedwhich does not help to lift the standard of the whole world. " "Of what virtues are you speaking?" Nehal Singh interposed. "Oh, the usual things, " she returned, with a note of cynicism breakingthrough her sham enthusiasm. "Honesty, purity, generosity, loyalty--especially loyalty. I do not think a man who is true to himself, to his word, to his friend, and to his country can ever fall far below theideal. " She took a deep breath. "It is a very poor description that I havegiven you. I hope you have understood?" "Yes, I have understood, " he answered. "And this man--this gentleman--canbe of all nations?" So deeply ingrained is national prejudice, even in those who profess toregard the whole world with an equally contemptuous eye, that for aninstant she hesitated. "Of course, " she said then. "Nationality makes no difference. " They crossed over the broad square, through the gopura, into the innertemple. Nehal Singh, who had sunk into a deep meditation, roused himselfand called to her notice many curious and beautiful things which she wouldotherwise have passed by without interest. Whether it was his lovingdescription, or whether it was because she was calmer, she could not say, but the place impressed her with its stately magnificence as it had notdone before. "The ages seem to hang like ghosts in the atmosphere, " she told hercompanion, in a hushed undertone. He assented, and the dreamer's look which had haunted his eyes fortwenty-five years crept back into its place. "Who knows what unseen world surrounds us?" he said quietly. They had already left the first court behind them and passed the SacredPool, a placid, untroubled mirror for the overhanging trees and toweringminarets. There they had paused a moment, watching their own reflectionswhich the warm evening sunshine cast on to the smooth surface. Then theyhad moved on, and now stood before the entrance of the Holy of Holies. Beatrice drew back with a gesture of alarm. A tall, white-clad figure hadsuddenly stepped out of the shadowy portal and stood erect andthreatening, one hand raised as though to forbid their entrance. Longafterward, Beatrice remembered the withered face, and always with ashudder of unreasonable terror. "Do not be afraid, " Nehal Singh said. "He defends the entrance againststrangers. He will let you pass. " He went up to the old priest and spoke a few words in Hindustani, whichBeatrice did not understand. Immediately the Brahman stood aside, andthough his stern, piercing gaze never left her face, she felt that by somemeans or other his animosity had been disarmed. "What did you say to him?" she asked. Nehal Singh shook his head. "One day I will tell you, " he answered; and some instinct made herhesitate to press the question further. Thus they stood once more before the great golden statue, this time sideby side. The sanctuary was built in the shape of a half-circle, the high, vaulted roof supported by slender pillars of carved black marble. Therewas no other attempt at ornamentation. The three-headed figure of the godreigned in the center from a massive altar in solitary splendor, and froma small opening overhead a frail ray of evening light mingled its paleyellow with the brilliant crimson flame of the Sacred Lamp which burntbefore the idol, casting an almost unearthly reflection about thepassionless chiseled features. In spite of herself, Beatrice felt that theplace was charmed, and that the charm was drawing into its ban her verythoughts and emotions. She felt subdued, quieted. It was as she hadsaid--the ages seemed to hover like ghosts about them, and her hard, worldly skepticism could make no stand against the hush and mystery of thepast. Here generation after generation, amidst danger, battle and death, men had bowed down and poured out their hottest, most fervent prayers, andtheir sincerity and faith had sanctified the ground for Christian, Brahmanand skeptic alike. Beatrice looked at the man beside her. She had the feeling that, while shehad stood and wondered, he had been praying; and possibly she was right, though he returned her glance immediately. "This is a holy place, " he said. "It is holiest of all for me. Here I havespent my most solemn happy hours; here God spoke direct to me and answeredme. " It seemed quite natural that he should speak thus so openly and directlyto her of his nearest concerns. The barrier which separated them perhaps, after all, made the intercourse between them easier and less constrainedthan it would otherwise have been. They had no responsibility toward eachother. They lived in different worlds, and if for a moment they exchangedmessages, it was only for a moment. When it was over, the dividing seawould once more roll between them, leaving no trace of their briefintercourse. Remembering all this, she threw off the momentary sense of trouble. "Tell me how and when that was, " she said. "I can not tell you--not now. One day I will. One day I shall have a greatdeal to tell you, and you will have a great deal to tell me. You will tellme of your faith. I know nothing of your God. All that has been keptsecret from me. " "How do you know I have a God?" she demanded sharply. They had passed out of the sanctuary and were walking back toward theentrance. He half stopped and looked at her in grave surprise. "How do I know? How, rather, is it possible that it should be otherwise?You are too good and beautiful not to have learnt at the feet of a greatteacher. " His naivete and confidence set her once more in a state between indulgentamusement and anger. Another man she would have laughed at straight in theface, but this simple belief in her goodness threw her out of her usualstride, and in the end she left him without answer, save that which hechose to interpret from her silence. As they reached the great doorway through the gopura, a tall figureadvanced to meet them which Beatrice at once recognized in spite of thegathering twilight. She had been expecting this new-comer for some time, yet his appearance disturbed her as something undesirable. "There is a man I like, " Nehal Singh remarked, with a sudden pleasure. "Isnot Travers his name? He disappointed me least of all. " "You have an excellent judgment, " Beatrice returned. If there was an undercurrent of sarcasm in her approval, Nehal Singh didnot notice it. He advanced quickly to meet Travers. "I am glad you have found your way here, " he said. "It is the mostbeautiful part of all, and perhaps I should have acted as guide to myother guests. But my first duty was here. " He turned to Beatrice with agrave inclination. Travers laughed. "You need be in no alarm, Rajah Sahib, " he said. "We have been enjoyingourselves immensely, and no wonder, considering all the glories that havebeen laid open to us. I have seen much wealth and splendor in India, butnot as here. I feel overwhelmed. " "There is still much for you to see, " Nehal Singh answered with a proudpleasure. Other members of the party had by this time joined them, and Beatricedropped back to her mother's side. The whole thing had been, as Mrs. Berrysaid, arranged, but not in the way the good lady supposed, and Beatrice'stask was at an end. Travers hastened his step imperceptibly, so that the distance between himand the rest was increased beyond hearing distance. "Of course, " he began, with a frank confidence which fell pleasingly onhis companion's ears, "I am a business man, and a great deal of myadmiration is from a business standpoint. You will perhaps hardlyunderstand me when I say that my flesh simply creeps when I think of allthe wealth that lies here inactive. Wealth is power, Rajah Sahib, and inyour hand there lies a power for good or evil which dazzles the senses ofa less fortunate man. " Nehal Singh lifted his face thoughtfully toward the evening sky. "Power for good or evil!" he echoed. "It may be that you are right. Butpower is a great clumsy giant, who can accomplish nothing without theexperienced guiding brain. " "I imagine you have both, Rajah Sahib. " "Not the experience. I have led a life apart. I feel myself helplessbefore the very thought of any effort in the world. Yet I should be gladto accomplish something--to help even a little in the general progress. " "You will learn easily enough, " Travers broke in, with enthusiasm. "It isonly necessary to go outside your gates to find a hundred outlets forenergy and purpose. If you traveled two days among your people, you wouldcome back knowing very well what awaited your power to accomplish. " "I am glad to hear you say so, " Nehal returned, smiling, "for I amambitious. " "Ambition and power!" exclaimed Travers. "You are indeed to be envied, Rajah Sahib!" "What would you do in my place?" Nehal asked, after a moment, in a lightertone, which concealed a real and eager curiosity. Travers shook his head. "The greater the power the greater the responsibility, " he answered. "Icouldn't say on the spur of the moment. If I were given time, no doubt Ishould be able to tell you. " "I give you till our next meeting, then, " Nehal said gravely. "Our next meeting? I trust, then, Rajah Sahib that you will condescend tobe the guest of the English Station?" Nehal turned his head to hide the flash of boyish satisfaction which shoneout of his eyes. It was that he wanted--to go among this people, fromtheir own hearth to judge them, and to probe down into the source of theirgreatness. "It would give me much pleasure, " he answered quietly. It was Travers' turn to hide the triumph which the willing acceptancearoused. Nevertheless, his next words were whimsically regretful. "Unfortunately, we have no place in which to offer you a fitting welcome, Rajah Sahib, " he said. "For a long time it has been the ambition of theStation to build some place wherein all such festivities could be properlycelebrated. But alas!"--he shrugged his shoulders--"it is the fate of theAnglo-Indian to work for the richness and greatness of his country andhimself remain miserably poor. " "How much money would be required?" Nehal Singh asked. "You will no doubt be amused at the smallness of the sum--a mere fourthousand rupees--but it is just so much we have not got. " Nehal Singh smiled. "Let me at once begin to make use of my power, " he said graciously. "Itwould be a pleasure to me to mark my first meeting with you by the gift ofthe building you require. I place the matter in your hands, Sahib Travers. For the time being, until I have gained my own experience, yours must bethe guiding brain. " The good-looking Englishman appeared to be considerably taken aback--almost distressed. "You are too generous, Rajah Sahib!" he protested. To himself he commentedon the rapidity with which this fellow had picked up the lingo of politesociety. All further conversation was cut short by a cry of admiration from thecrowd behind them. They had reached the chief entrance to the palace, andsuddenly, as though at a given signal, every outline of the buildingbecame marked out by countless points of light which sparkled starlikeagainst the darkening sky. At the same instant, the temple to their lefttook form in a hundred colors, and a burst of weird music broke on theears of the wondering spectators. It was a strange and beautiful scene, such as few of them had ever seen. Fairy palaces of fire seemed to hovermiraculously in the evening air, and over everything hung the curious, indefinable charm of the mysterious East. Nehal Singh turned and found Lois Caruthers standing with Stafford alittle behind him. Both their names were forgotten, but the dark eagerface of the girl attracted him and at the same time puzzled him assomething which struck a hitherto unsuspected chord in his innermost self. "You find it well?" he asked her. "It is most beautiful, " she answered. "It is good of you, Rajah Sahib, togive us so much pleasure. " That was all she said, but among all his memories of that evening sheremained prominent, because she had spoken sincerely, warmly, enthusiastically. Others thanked him--the Colonel's little speech at theend was a piece of studied rhetoric, but it left him cold where her thankshad left him warm, almost gratefully so. On the whole, the first meeting between the English residents of Marut andthe young native prince was classified as a success. As they drove throughthe darkness, the returning guests called terse criticisms to one anotherwhich tended to the conclusion that the whole thing had not been at allbad, and that for the circumstances the Rajah was a remarkablywell-mannered individual. Beatrice Cary took no part in the light-hearted exchange. Her mother hadgone off with Mrs. Carmichael in her carriage, and Travers having offeredto drive her home, she had accepted, and now sat by his side, thoughtful, almost depressed, though she did not own it, even to herself. Try as she would she could not throw off the constantly recurring memoryof her parting with Nehal Singh. She made fun of it and of herself, andyet she could not laugh over it--her power of irresponsible enjoyment hadbeen taken suddenly from her. "You will not now say that we shall never meet again, " he had said, pressing something into her hand. "Now you will never forget, " he hadadded. "It is a talisman of remembrance. " What he had given her she did not know. It lay tightly clutched in thepalm of her hand--something hard and cold which she dared not look at. She had not even been able to remonstrate or thank him. She had beenspellbound, hypnotized. "It really has been splendid!" she heard Travers say in her ear. "Thingswent just like clockwork. Five minutes' conversation got the wholeclubhouse out of him, and what you managed in your quarter of an hour, goodness knows. You are a clever woman and no mistake!" "Please--don't!" she burst out irritably. "Hullo! What's the matter? What are you so cross about?" "I'm not cross--only tired, tired, tired and sick of it all. Do drive on!" Far behind them a solitary figure stood on the broad steps of the palace, amidst the dying splendors of the evening and gazed in the direction whichthe merry procession had taken. A long time it had stood there, motionless, passive, the fine husk of the soul which had wandered out intoa new world of hope and possibilities following the woman whose hand hadflung the gates wide for him to enter in. Another figure crept out of the shadows and drew near. Twisted and bent, it stood beside the bold, upright form and lifted its face, hate-filled, to the pale light of the stars. "Nehal Singh, Nehal Singh--oh, my son!" The prince turned coldly. "Is it thou? Hast thou a dagger in thy hand?" "I have no dagger--would to God I had! Nehal Singh, I have seen mineenemy's face. " "How meanest thou? Thy enemy is dead. " "Nevertheless, his face is among the living. As a servant, I crept amongthe strangers, and saw him straight in the eyes. He has grown younger, butit is he. It is the body of the son, but the soul of his father in hiseyes--and, father or son, their blood is poison to me. " Nehal Singh knit his brows. "Knowest thou his name?" "Ay, now I know his name. It came back to me when I saw his face. Staffordhe was called--Stafford!" He crept closer, his thin hand fell like a viseon Nehal's arm. "Kill him!" he whispered. "Kill him--the son of thyfather's betrayer!" Nehal Singh shook himself free. "I can not, " he answered proudly, and a warm thrill of enthusiasm rang inhis voice. "I can not. They are all my brothers. I can not take mybrother's blood. " With a moan of anger the twisted figure crept back into the shadow, andonce more Nehal Singh stood alone. Unconsciously he had accepted and proclaimed Beatrice Cary's ideal as hisown. The hour of bloodshed was gone, mercy and justice called him in itsstead. And in that acceptance of a new era his gaze pierced through theobscurity into a light beyond. The jungle which had bound his life wasgone; all hindrances, all gulfs of hatred and revenge, were overthrown andbridged. The world of the Great People stood open to him, and to them heheld out the casteless hand of love and fellowship. CHAPTER IX CHECKED Lois and Stafford had arrived at that stage of friendship whenconversation becomes unnecessary. They walked side by side through theColonel's carefully tended garden and were scarcely conscious thatthey had dropped into a thoughtful silence. Yet, as though inobedience to some unspoken agreement, their footsteps found their wayto the ruined bungalow and there paused. As a look can be more powerfully descriptive than a word, so theseshot-riddled walls had their own eloquence. Each shot-hole, eachjagged splinter and torn hinge had its own history and added itspathetic detail to the whole picture of that disastrous night when thevengeance of Behar Singh had burst like a hurricane over thedefenseless land. After a moment's hesitation Stafford stepped forward and, pushingaside the heavy festoons of creeper which barred the doorway, passedthrough into the gloomy interior. "I should like to see the place from the inside, " he explained toLois, who, with an uncontrollable shudder, had followed him. "One canimagine better then how it all happened. " "I think of it all--often, " she answered in a hushed voice, "and everytime I seem to see things differently. My poor mother!" "You never knew her?" he asked. "No, I was too young--scarcely more than a year old. Yet her lossseems to have overshadowed my whole life. " "Was she like you?" "Yes, I believe so. She was dark--not so dark as I am--but she wasstately and beautiful. So she has always been described to me, and soI always seem to see her. " Stafford turned and looked about him. "It must be almost as it was then, " he said wonderingly, pointing tothe rusty truckle-bed in the corner. "And there is the brokenover-turned chair! It might have been yesterday. " She nodded. "So my guardian found it, " she said. "It had been my father's bungalowand he never allowed it to be touched. When I came of age I gave it tohim. It seemed to belong to him, somehow. They say that it nearlybroke his heart when he found that he had come too late to save myfather. My father was his dearest, almost his only friend. " "Were they killed at once?" Stafford asked with hesitating curiosity. "I have never known the rights of the case. It has always been apainful subject for me--with you I don't mind. " It was the faintest allusion to a bond between them which bothsilently recognized, and Lois turned away to hide the signal ofhappiness which had risen to her cheeks. "No one knows, " she answered. "The bodies were never found. It waspart of Behar Singh's cruelty to hide the real fate of his victims. For a long time people used to hope and hope that in some dungeon orprison they would find their friends, but they never did. One can onlypray that the end was a mercifully quick one. " "And Behar Singh died in the jungle?" "So the natives said. No one really knows, " she replied. "I wish he hadn't, " Stafford said, his good-natured face darkening. "It seems unfair that he should have caused our people to suffer somuch and we have never had the chance to pay back. Whatever made theGovernment give his son the power, goodness only knows. " "The present Rajah was a baby then, " she said in a tone of gentleremonstrance. "It would have been hard to have punished him for thesins of his father. " Nothing appeals to a man more than a woman's undiplomatic tendernessfor the whole world. Stafford looked down at Lois with a smile. "You dear, good-hearted little girl!" he said. "And yet, blood isblood, you know. Somehow, one can't get over it. In spite of his goodlooks, it always seems to me as though I could see his father'streachery in Nehal Singh's eyes. It made me sick to think that I wasenjoying his hospitality--it makes me feel worse that we have toaccept the club-house at his hands. Travers behaved pretty badly, according to my ideas. " "It was mostly Miss Cary's doing, " Lois objected. She liked Travers, and was inclined to take up the cudgels on his behalf. Stafford's eyes twinkled. On his side he had the rooted and notunfounded masculine notion that all women are jealous of one another. "Miss Cary is young and inexperienced and probably did not realizewhat she was doing, " he retorted. "From what she told me, she takesthe whole matter as a big joke, and now that the fat is in the fireit's no use enlightening her. " Lois made no immediate answer, though she may have had her doubts onthe subject of Beatrice Cary's inexperience. "The poor Rajah!" she said, after a pause, as Stafford walkedcuriously about the room. "I could not help being sorry for him. Heseemed so eager and enthusiastic and anxious to please us, and we wereso cold and ungrateful. Tell me, does it really make so muchdifference?" He came back to her side. Something in her voice had touched him andstirred to life a warmth of feeling which was more than that offriendship. "What makes so much difference?" he asked, smiling down at her smalltroubled face. "What are you worrying yourself about now?" "Oh, it has always troubled me, " she answered with the impetuositywhich characterized her. "I have often worried about it. I mean, " sheadded, as he laughed at her incoherence, "all that race distinction. Does it really mean so much? Will it never be bridged over?" "Never, " he said. "It can't be. It is a justified distinction and tomy mind those who ignore it are to be despised. " He had answered her question with only a part seriousness, his wholeinterest concentrated on the charm of her personality. But for onceher gravity resisted the suppressed merriment in his eyes. "Are the natives, then, so contemptible?" she asked. "Not exactly contemptible, but inferior. They have not our culture, and whatsoever they borrow from us is only skin-deep. Beneath thevarnish they are their elemental selves--lazy, cruel, treacherous andunscrupulous. No, no. Each race must keep to itself. Our strength inIndia depends on our exclusiveness--upon keeping ourselves apart andabove as superior beings. So long as they recognize we _are_ superior, so long will they obey us. " "It is superiority, then, which prevents every one except professorsfrom taking any interest in the natives?" "Possibly, " he returned, not quite so much at his ease. "One feels anatural repugnance, you know. " "You would never have anything to do with them?" "Not if I could help it. " She sighed and turned away as though his gaze troubled her. "I don't know why--it makes me sad to hear you talk like that, " shesaid. "It seems so terribly hard. " "It _is_ hard, " he affirmed, following her out of the curious, heavyatmosphere into the evening sunshine. "There are a great many thingsin life which, as far as we know, are inevitable, so that there is nouse in worrying or thinking about them. " Her more serious mood hadconquered his good spirits, and for a moment he stood at her sidelooking at the disused bungalow with eyes as thoughtful as her own. "Isn't it strange?" he went on. "Our parents came together fromdifferent ends of the earth, doomed to die in the same spot and in thesame hour, and we children, far away in England, knowing nothing ofeach other, have drifted back to the fatal place to find each otherthere and to--" "Yes, " she said as he hesitated, "it is strange. I could almost thinkthat this bungalow had some mysterious influence over our lives. " He smiled in half confirmation of her fancy. "It may be. But come! We have had enough gloom for one evening. Let megather some flowers for you before we go back. " She assented, and they followed the winding paths, stopping here andthere to cut down some of the most tempting of Mrs. Carmichael'stenderly loved blossoms and always turning aside when they came insight of the Colonel's verandah. No word of tenderness had ever passedbetween them, and yet they were happy to be together. It was as thougha bond united them which had grown up, silent and unseen, from thefirst hour they had met, and in a quiet, peaceful way they knew thatit existed and that they loved each other. From the verandah where she was sewing by the fading light Mrs. Carmichael could watch their appearing and disappearing figures amidstthe trees with the satisfaction of a confirmed match-maker. She, too, knew of this bond, and though she was a trifle impatient with theslowness of the development, she was content to bide her time. "I don't usually pay any attention to Station gossip, " she said to herhusband, who was trying to read the newly arrived English paper, "butfor once in a way I believe there is something in it. According to myexperience, they should be engaged in less than a fortnight. " Colonel Carmichael started. "Who? Lois and Stafford?" "Yes, of course. Who else? Everybody looks upon it as practicallysettled. Why do you look like that? You ought to be pleased. You saidyourself that you were very fond of Stafford--" Carmichael made a quick gesture as though to stop the threateningtorrent of expostulation. He had turned crimson and his whole mannerwas marked by an unusual uneasiness. "Of course, I am fond of Stafford, " he began. "I only meant--" He was saved the trouble of explaining what he did mean by a suddenexclamation from his wife, who had let her work fall to the groundwith a start of alarm. "Good gracious, Mr. Travers!" she cried in her sharp way. "What afright you gave me! I thought you were a horrible thug or somethingcome to murder us all. There, how do you do!" She gave him her hand. "Will you have a cup of tea? We have just had ours, but if you would, I am quite ready to keep you company. Tea, as you know, is a weaknessof mine. That is why my nerves are so bad. " Travers bowed, smiling. He was rather paler than usual and the handwhich held a large bouquet of freshly cut flowers trembled as thoughthe shock his sudden appearance had caused Mrs. Carmichael hadrecoiled on himself. "Thank you--no, " he said. "As a matter of fact, I came to bring thesefor Miss Caruthers, but as she is not here I should be very gratefulif I might have a few words with you alone. I have something ofimportance, which it would be perhaps better to tell you first. " "Certainly, " the Colonel said, clearing his throat and settlinghimself farther back in his chair. "There is no time like thepresent. " Travers looked at him in troubled surprise. The elder man's tone andattitude were those of some one confronted with a not unexpected butunpleasant crisis. "It concerns your ward, Colonel Carmichael, " Travers said, taking thechair offered him. "I think you must have known long ago that I caredvery dearly for her. I have come now to ask her to be my wife. " He spoke quickly and abruptly, as though to hide a powerful emotion, and there was an instant's uncomfortable silence. Mrs. Carmichael'shead was bent over her work. She did not dislike Travers, but thisunexpected proposal upset all her plans and though it flattered herpride in Lois, she felt disturbed and thrown out of her course. "I think you have made a mistake, Mr. Travers, " she said at last, asher husband remained obstinately silent. "I have every reason tobelieve that Lois' heart is given elsewhere. However, we have no rightto interfere--Lois must decide for herself. She is her own mistress. What do you say, George, dear?" The Colonel shifted his position. Evidently he was at a loss toexpress himself, and his brow remained clouded. "If it is Lois' wish, I shall put no obstacle in the way of herhappiness, " he said slowly. "Have you any personal objection, Colonel?" "I? O, dear, no!" was the hurried answer. There was a second silence, in which Mrs. Carmichael and Traversexchanged baffled glances. The Colonel seemed in some unaccountableway to have lost his nerve and, as though he felt and feared thequestioning gaze of his wife, he leaned forward so that his face washidden. "Personally I have no objection at all, " he repeated, as if seeking togain time. "Like my wife, I had other ideas on the subject, but thathas nothing to do with it. At the same time, I feel it--eh--my dutyto--eh--tell you before you go further--for your sake, and--eh--everyone's sake--certain details concerning Lois which I have not thoughtnecessary to give to the world in general. You understand--I considerit my duty--only fair to yourself and Lois. " "I quite understand, " Travers said. He seemed in no way surprised, andhis expression was that of a man waiting for the explanation to aproblem which had long puzzled him. "Really, George!" expostulated Mrs. Carmichael, not withoutindignation, "one would think you were about to disinter the mosthorrible family skeleton. You are not to be alarmed, Mr. Travers. Itis all a little mysterious, perhaps, but nothing to make _such_ a fussabout. " The Colonel looked up under the sting of her reproach and tried tosmile. "I dare say my wife is right, " he said. "I am rather foolish about thematter--possibly because it is all linked together with a very painfulperiod of my life. Mr. Travers, my dearest friend, Steven Caruthers, had _no_ children. The baby girl whom by his will he intrusted to mycare was not his child, nor have I ever been able to discover whosechild she really was. His will spoke of her as his adopted daughter, who was to bear his name and in fault of any other heir to inheritboth his own and his wife's large fortune. More I can not tell you, for I myself do not know more. " He laid an almost timid emphasis on the word "know, " as thoughsomewhere at the back of his mind there lurked a suspicion which hedared neither deny nor express openly, and, in spite of his attempt atcheerfulness, his features were still disturbed and gloomy. "You know one thing more, which you haven't mentioned, " Mrs. Carmichael said, "and that is that Lois is of good family on bothsides. Steven Caruthers told you so. " "Yes, that's true--I forgot, " the Colonel assented. "He assured methat on both sides she was of good, even high birth, and that he hadadopted her partly because he had no children of his own and partlybecause of a debt of gratitude which he owed her father. It does notseem to me that it makes much difference. " "It makes all the difference in the world, George, " retorted Mrs. Carmichael, who for some reason or another was considerably put out. "You don't want Mr. Travers to think that Lois was picked up in thestreet, do you?" "Of course not, " her husband agreed, "but then--" He broke off, andall three relapsed into an awkward silence. Travers was the first tospeak. He had been looking out over the garden and had seen Lois'white dress flash through the bushes. "For my part, " he began quietly, "I can not see that what you havetold me can have an influence on the matter. I love Lois. That is thechief thing--or rather the chief thing is whether or not she can learnto love me. Whether she is the child of a sweep or a prince, it makesno difference to my feelings toward her. " Mrs. Carmichael held out her hand. "Well, whatever happens, you are a man before you are a prig, " shesaid, "and that is something to be thankful for in these degeneratedays. Why, there is the child herself! Come here, my dear. " Lois came running up the verandah steps with Stafford close behindher. Her eyes were full of laughter and sunshine, and in her hand sheheld a mass of roses which Stafford had gathered during their ramble. "Good-evening, Mr. Travers, " she exclaimed with pleased surprise, ashe rose to greet her. "I did not expect to find you here. How graveyou all look! And what lovely flowers!" Travers considered his bouquet with a rueful smile. "I brought them from my garden, Miss Caruthers, " he said. "Theywere meant for to-night's festivity. But it seems they have cometoo late--you are already well supplied. " "Flowers never come too late and one can never have too many of them!"Lois answered gratefully. "Please bring them in here and I will putthem in water. " She led the way into the drawing-room and he followed her eagerly. Whether it was the sight of her charm and youth, or the warm greetingwhich he had read in her eyes, or the satisfied calm on Stafford'sface, Travers himself could not have told, but in that moment he losthis usual self-possession. He was white and shaken like a man who seeshimself thrust suddenly to the brink of a chasm and knows that he mustcross or fall. "Miss Caruthers!" he said. She turned quickly from the flowers which she was arranging in a bowl. The smile of pleasure which still lingered about her lips died away asshe saw his face. "Miss Caruthers, " he repeated earnestly, "it is perhaps neither wisenor right of me to speak now, but there are moments when anything--eventhe worst--is better than uncertainty, when a man can bear no more. Forgive me--I am not eloquent and what I have to tell can beencompassed in one word. I love you, Lois. I think you must know it, though you can not know how great my love is. Is there any hope forme?" She drew her hand gently but firmly from his half-unconscious clasp. "I am sorry--no, " she said. "Lois--I can't give up hope. Is there some one else?" She lifted her troubled eyes to his face. He saw in their depths acurious doubt and uncertainty. "I do not know, " she said almost to herself. "I only know that you arenot the man. " The blow had calmed him. Like a good general who has suffered atemporary check, he gathered his forces together and prepared anorderly retreat. "I will not trouble you, " he said gently. "I feel now that I did wrongto disturb your peace--God knows I would never willingly cause you aninstant's sorrow--but a man who loves as I do must feed himself withhope, however wild and unreasonable. Now I know, and whateverhappens--I hope you will be happy--I pray you will be happy. Yes, though I am not given to uttering prayers, I pray, so dear to me isthe future which lies before you. " "I am very grateful, " she said with bowed head. Something in hisbroken, disjointed sentences brought the tears to her eyes and madeher voice unsteady. She knew he was suffering--she knew why, and herheart went out to him in friendship and womanly pity. "You need not be grateful, " he answered. "It is I who have to begrateful. In spite of it all, you do not know what good you havebrought into my life nor how you have unconsciously helped me. I shallnever be able to help you as you have helped me--and yet--will youpromise me something?" "Anything in my power, " she said faintly. "It is not much--only this. If the time should ever come when you arein trouble, if you should ever be in need of a true and devotedfriend, will you turn to me? Will you let me try to pay my debt ofgratitude to you?" She lifted her head and looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes. Everygood woman sympathizes with those whose suffering she hasinadvertently caused, and in that moment Lois would have done anythingto alleviate Travers' pain. "If it should ever be necessary, I will turn to you, " she said gently. "I promise you. " "Thank you!" he said, and, taking her out-stretched hand, raised itreverently to his lips. CHAPTER X AT THE GATES OF A GREAT PEOPLE Although Travers lost no time in setting to work on the task ofcalling a new and suitable club-house into existence, he realizedimmediately that, do what he would, he could not hope for completionbefore the lapse of a considerable time, and this period of waitingdid not suit his plans. Already on the day after the Rajah's receptionhe had arranged for a return of hospitality which was to take place inhis own grounds and to be on an unusually magnificent scale. TheEuropean population of Marut shrugged its shoulders as it saw thepreparations, and observed that if Travers had been as generous in thefirst place there would never have been any need to have sought forsupport from a foreign quarter--at which criticism Travers merelysmiled. The club-house was, after all, only a means to a very muchmore important end of his own. Rajah Nehal Singh of course accepted the invitation sent him, andscarcely a week passed before the eventful evening arrived towardwhich more than one looked forward with eager anticipation--not leastMrs. Cary, who saw in every large entertainment a fresh opportunityfor Beatrice to carry out her own particular campaign. It wastherefore, as Mrs. Cary angrily declared, a fresh dispensation of anunfriendly Providence that on the very same day Beatrice fell ill. What malady had her in its clutches was more than her distracted andaggrieved mother could say. She sat before her writing-table, playingidly with a curiously cut stone, and appeared the picture of health. Yet she was ill--she repeated it obstinately and without variation adozen times in response to Mrs. Cary's persistent protests. "You don't _look_ ill, " Mrs. Cary exclaimed in exasperation as, arrayed in her newest wonder from Paris, she came to say good-by. "Ican't think what's the matter with you, and you won't explain. Haveyou got a pain anywhere?--Have you a headache? For goodness' sake, saysomething, child!" Beatrice looked at her mother calmly, and a curious mixture ofbitterness and amusement crept into her expression as her eyeswandered over the bulk in mauve satin to the red face with theindignant little eyes. "What do you want me to say?" she asked. "I can't explain pains Ihaven't got. " "If you haven't got any pains, then you aren't ill. " Beatrice laughed. "That shows how ignorant you are of the human constitution, my dearmother, " she said. "The worst illnesses are painless--at least, inyour sense of the word. " "I am not so ignorant as not to know one thing--and that is you aresimply shamming!" burst out the elder woman, with a vicious tug at herstraining gloves. "Shamming just to aggravate me, too! You do it tospite me. You are a bad daughter--" Beatrice turned round so sharply that Mrs. Cary broke off in themiddle of her abuse with a gasp. "I do nothing to aggravate or spite you, " Beatrice said, with a calmwhich her eyes belied. "I have never gone against you in the wholecourse of my life. What have I done since we have been here but playan obedient fiddle to Mr. Travers' will, in order that your positionmight not be endangered--" "_Our_ position, " interposed Mrs. Cary hurriedly. "No, _your_ position. There may have been a time when I cared, too, but I don't now. I have ceased caring for anything. To suit Mr. Travers, I have fooled, and continue to fool, a man who has neverharmed me in his life. I move heaven and earth to come between twopeople for whom alone in this whole place, I have a glimmer ofrespect. " "Respect!" jeered Mrs. Cary. "Yes, respect--not much, I confess, but still enough to have made meleave them alone if I had had the chance. Lois has been kind to me. Ihappen to know that, little as she likes me, she is about the only onein the Station who keeps her tongue from slander and--the truth. Asfor John Stafford, if he is a narrow-minded bigot, he is at least aman, and that is something to appreciate. " "That is just what I think!" Mrs. Cary said conciliatingly. "Andtherefore he is the very husband for you, dear child. " "You think so, not because he is a man, but because he has a positionin which it would suit you excellently to have a son-in-law. Well, Ihave promised to do my best, though I am convinced it is too late. " "There is no official engagement between them, " Mrs. Cary saidhopefully, "and you know your power, Beaty. He already likes you morethan enough, and what with Mr. Travers on the other side--All thesame, " she continued, becoming suddenly petulant, "it's too bad of youto throw away a chance like this. " Beatrice covered her face with her hand with a gesture of completeweariness. "I have promised to do my best, " she reiterated. "Let me do it my ownway. I can not go to-night--I feel I can not. If I went, it wouldonly be a failure. Let me for once be judge of what is best. " Her mother sighed resignedly. "Very well. I suppose I can't force you. You can be as obstinate as amule when you choose. I only hope you won't live to regret it. Goodnight. " This time she did not give her daughter the usual perfunctory andbarely tolerated kiss. At the bottom of her torpid, selfish soul shewas bitterly hurt and disappointed, as those people always are whohave hurt and disappointed others their whole lives, and only aglimmer of hope that Beatrice's determination might have softened madeher hesitate at the door and glance back. Beatrice sat just as she hadsat the whole evening, in an attitude of moody thought, her fingersstill playing with the blood-red ruby, and Mrs. Cary went out, slamming the door violently after her. In consequence of her long and futile appeal, Mrs. Cary had madeherself very late, and when she entered the large marquee whichTravers had had erected in his garden she found that all the guestshad arrived, including Rajah Nehal Singh himself. He stood facing theentrance, and she felt, with a consoling sense of spiteful triumph, how his glance hurried past her, seeking the figure which no doubtabove all else had tempted him thither. The senior lady, Mrs. Carmichael, was at his side, and as Mrs. Cary induty bound went up to pay her respects, she added satisfaction tosatisfaction by relating loudly that her daughter had a slightheadache which she had not thought it worth while to increase by aform of entertainment which, between you and me, dear Mrs. Carmichael, bad taste as it no doubt is, has no attractions for Beatrice. Now, anything outdoor, and nothing will keep her from it! She turned toStafford, who was standing with Lois close at hand. "That reminds meto tell you, Captain, how tremendously my daughter enjoyed her ridewith you yesterday. If you promise not to get conceited, I will tellyou what she said. " "I promise!" he said, with a mock gravity which concealed a very realamusement. "She said that in her opinion there wasn't a better horseman in Marut, and that it was more pleasure to ride with you than any one else. Now, are you keeping your promise?" She tapped him playfully on the arm. Stafford bowed, looking what he felt, hot and uncomfortable. There aresome people who have the knack of making others ashamed of them and ofthemselves. Mrs. Cary was just such a person. "It was very kind of Miss Cary to say so, " Stafford said stiffly. "Iam afraid her praise is not justified. " All this time Nehal Singh had been standing at Mrs. Cary's elbow, andshe had persistently ignored him. Deeper than her reverence for anyform of title was her wounded conviction that he had once laughed ather and made her ridiculous, and to this injury was added the insultthat it came from a man whom, as an Englishwoman, she had theprivilege of "tolerating. " A true parvenu, she had quickly learned tosuspect and despise the credentials of other intruders. He turned away from her and for the first time there was somethinghesitating and troubled in his manner. Hitherto there had been songsand music for his entertainment; it was now the turn of the Europeansto follow their usual form of pleasure, yet they looked at one anotherquestioningly. It was the custom of the chief guest of the evening toopen the dancing, but this could hardly be expected of a native princewho was as yet ignorant of such things and who must still be bound andfettered by caste and religion. The pause of uncertainty lasted only a moment, but for those at leastwhose eyes were open, it was a moment symbolical of a greatloneliness. In the midst of a gay and crowded world of people, linkedtogether by a common tie of blood, Nehal Singh stood isolated. He didnot know it, but it was that loneliness which cast a transitory chillupon his enthusiasm and made him draw himself stiffly upright and facethe hundred questioning eyes with a new hauteur. An instant and it wasgone--that illuminating flash vanished, like a line drawn across aquicksand, beneath the surface, never to be seen again, perhaps nevereven to be remembered. Stafford led Lois out into the center, and one pair after anotherfollowed his example. With Travers still at his side, the Rajah drewback from the now crowded floor of dancers, and watched the scene withglistening, eager eyes, happy at last to be in the midst of them--theGreat People of the world. It was a brilliant scene, for Travers hadspared nothing. The sides of the marquee banked with flowers, themusic, the brilliant dresses and uniforms, were all calculated toimpress a mind as yet curiously unspoiled by the pomp and magnificenceof the East. They impressed Nehal Singh deeply; his mind was filledwith a wonder and pleasure which did something toward soothing thefirst bitter disappointment that the evening had brought him. But above all else, he wondered at himself and the rapidity of thefate which in two short weeks had swept him out of his solitude intothe very vortex of a world unknown to him save through his books. Heasked himself what power it was that had flung aside caste, religion, education, like a child's sandcastle before the onrush of a mightytide. Caste, religion, hatred of the foreigner, these things had beensown deep into him, had been fostered and trained like preciousplants, and now they were dead at the first contact with Europeanideas. They were gone as though they had never been. He had made noresistance. He had drifted with the stream, regardless of theentreating, threatening hands held out to him; yielding to a divinepower stronger than himself, stronger far than the implantedprinciples of his life. His wonder, though he did not know it, was shared by the Englishman athis side. Travers, accustomed as he was to look upon human theoriesand principles as buyable and saleable appendages, could not suppressa mild surprise at the rapidity with which this Hindu prince hadassimilated the ideas and mental attitude of another hemisphere. Possibly it could be traced back to the parrot-like propensities ofall inferior races, but Travers, much as the solution appealed to him, could not accept it. A parrot that assumes with apparent ease the waysof his master within a fortnight, and thereby retains a strikingoriginality of his own, is not an ordinary parrot, and the convictionwas dawning on Travers that Nehal Singh was not an ordinary Hindu. Theunusual simplicity of his dress, which nevertheless concealed a costlyand refined taste, his firm though unpretentious bearing, the energywith which he had overthrown what Travers guessed must have been afairly violent opposition on the part of his priestly advisers, pointed to a decided, interesting and perhaps, under certaincircumstances, dangerous personality. The latter part of thisdeduction had not as yet struck Travers in its full force, but so muchhe at least felt that he proceeded to go warily, relying on hisdiplomacy and still more on a weapon which was not the less effectivefor being kept, as on this occasion, in the background. "Rajah Sahib, this is our second meeting, " he said, after a fewminutes' study of the handsome absorbed face. "I have my answerready. " Nehal Singh turned at once, as though he had been waiting for Traversto broach the subject. "You have not forgotten, then?" "Forgotten? No; it lent itself too easily to my fancy and secretambition for me to forget. Doubtless, though, my answer will notappeal to you, for it is the answer of a business man with a businesshobby of immense proportions and of the earth earthy. " "Nevertheless, tell it to me, " Nehal Singh said, looking about him asthough seeking a way out of the noise and confusion. "Whatever it is, it will interest me so long as it has one object. " "I venture to think I know that object, " was Travers' mental commentas he led the way into the second division of the marquee. The place had been laid out as a refreshment room, with small, prettily decorated tables, and was for the moment empty, save for afew busy native servants. An electric globe hung from the ceiling, andimmediately beneath its brilliant light Travers came to a standstill. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out what seemed to be ajewel-case, which he opened and handed to the Rajah. "Before I say anything further, I want you to look at that and give meyour opinion, Rajah Sahib, " he said. "I will then proceed. " Nehal Singh took the small white stone from the case and studied itintently. He held it to the light, and it flashed back at him ahundred brilliant colors. He smiled with the pleasure of aconnoisseur. "It is a diamond, " he said, "a beautiful diamond. Though smaller, itmust surely equal the one I wear in my turban. " "You confirm my opinion and the opinion of all experts, " Traversanswered enthusiastically, "and I will confess to you that it is thatstone which has prolonged my stay indefinitely at Marut. About a yearago a friend of mine, an engineer, who was engaged on some governmentwork at the river, had occasion to make excavations about a quarter ofa mile from the Bazaar. He happened to come across this stone, andbeing something of an expert, he recognized it--and held his tongue. When he came south again to Madras, he confided hit discovery to me, and, impressed by his story, and the stone, I sent a mining engineerto Marut to make secret investigations. I received his report sixmonths ago. " Nehal Singh replaced the stone slowly in its case. "What did he say?" he asked. "He reported that there were sure and certain signs that the whole ofthe Bazaar is built upon a diamond field of unusual proportions, which, unlike other Indian mining enterprises, was likely to repay, doubly repay, exploitation. I immediately came to Marut, and foundthat the Bazaar was entirely your property, Rajah Sahib, and that youwere not likely to be influenced by any representations. NeverthelessI remained, experimenting and investigating, above all hoping thatsome chance would lead me in your way. Destiny, as you see, RajahSahib, has spoken the approving word. " Nehal Singh sighed as he handed the case back, and the sigh expresseda. Rather weary disappointment. "I have stones enough and wealth enough, " he said. "I have no need ofmore. " "It was not of you I was thinking, Rajah Sahib, " Travers returned. "Of whom, then?" "Of myself, to some extent, as becomes a business man, but also, and Iventure to assert principally, of the general welfare of your countryand people. " "I fear I do not understand you. " "And yet, Rajah Sahib, you have read, and have no doubt been able totrace through history the source of prosperity and misfortune amongthe nations. The curse of India is her overpopulation and theinability of her people to extract from the earth sufficient means forexistence. If I may say so, the ordinary native is a dreamer whoprefers to starve on a treasure hoard rather than bestir himself tounbury it. Lack of energy, lack of initiative, lack of opportunity, lack also of guides have made your subjects suffering idlers whosevery existence is a curse to themselves and an unsolved problem forothers. Charity can not help them--that enervating poison has alreadydone enough mischief. You could fling away your whole fortune on yourstate, and leave it with no improvement. The cure, if cure there be, lies in the awakening of a sense of independence and ambition andself-respect. Only work can do this, only work can transform them frombeggars into honorable, self-supporting members of the Empire; and thecrying misery of the present time calls upon you, Rajah Sahib, torouse them to their new task!" He had spoken with an enthusiasm which grew in measure as he saw itseffect upon his hearer. For though he did not immediately respond, Nehal Singh's face had betrayed emotions which a natural dignity waslearning to hold back from impulsive expression. He answered at lastquietly, but with an irrepressible undercurrent of eagerness. "You speak convincingly, " he said; "and though I fear you overrate thehidden powers of activity in my people, you have made me still moreanxious for a direct answer to my question--what would you do in myplace?" "If I had the money and the power, I would sweep the Bazaar, with allits dirt and disease, out of existence, " Travers answeredenergetically. "I would build up a new native quarter outside Marut, and enforce order and cleanliness. Where the present Bazaar stands, Iwould open out a mine, and with the help of European experts encouragethe natives into the subsequent employment which would stand open tothem. In a short time a mere military Station would become the centerof native industry and commercial prosperity. " A faint skeptical smile played around Nehal Singh's mouth, but hiseyes were still profoundly grave. "If I know my people, I fear they will revolt against such changes, "he said. "You have described them as dreamers who prefer starvation toeffort--such they are. " "Your influence would be irresistible, Rajah Sahib. " Nehal Singh looked at Travers keenly. For the second time he had beenspoken of as a power. Was it perhaps true, as his father had said, andthis cool Englishman had said, that the thoughts and actions of morethan a million people lay at his command? If so, the twenty-five yearsof his life had been wasted, and he stood far below the high standardwhich had been set him. He had wandered aimlessly along a smooth path, cut off from the world, plucking such fruits and flowers as offeredthemselves within his reach, deaf to the cries of those to whom hishighest efforts should have been dedicated. He had dreamed where heshould have acted, slept where he should have watched and laboredunceasingly, yet it was not too late. He felt how his wholedream-world shivered beneath the convulsions of his awakeningenergies. The vague, futile, uneasy longings of his immaturity tookdefinite shape. His shackled abilities awaited only the signal tothrow off their fetters and in freedom to create good for the wholeworld. "You have shown me possibilities of which I never dreamed, " he said toTravers. "I must speak to you again, and soon, for if things are asyou say, then time enough has been wasted. But not tonight. Tomorrow Iwill see you--or no, not tomorrow--the day after. I must have time tothink. " The waltz had died sentimentally into silence, and he made a gestureindicating that he wished to return to the ball-room. Yet on thethreshold he hesitated and drew back. "The light and confusion trouble me, " he said, passing his hand overhis eyes, "and my mind is full of new thoughts. If you will permit, Iwill take my leave. My servants are waiting outside, and if you willcarry my thanks to my other hosts, I should prefer to go unnoticed. " "It is as you wish, Rajah Sahib, " Travers returned, "It is we who haveto thank you for partaking of our poor hospitality. " "You have given me more than hospitality, " Nehal Singh interposed. Then he lifted his hand in salute. "In two days I shall expect you. " "In two days. " Travers watched the tall, white-clad figure pass out of the brightlylighted tent into the darkness. From beginning to end, his plans hadbeen crowned with unhoped-for success, and yet he was puzzled. "I wonder why in two days?" he thought. "Why not tomorrow? I wonder ifby any chance--!" He broke off with a smothered laugh. "It is justpossible. I'll make sure and send her a line. " Then, as the band began the first bars of a second waltz, he hurriedback into the crowded room in time to forestall Stafford at Lois'side. CHAPTER XI WITHIN THE GATES Nehal Singh's servants stood with the horses outside Travers' compoundand waited. Their master did not disturb them. Glad as he was to getaway from the crowd of strangers and the dazzling lights and colors, it still pleased him to be within hearing of the music which, softenedby the distance, exercised a melancholy yet soothing influence uponhis disturbed mind. For the dreamy peace had gone for ever--as indeedit must be when the soul of man is roughly shaken into living, pulsating life, and he fevered with a hundred as yet disordered hopesand ambitions. To be a benefactor to his people and to all mankind, tobe the first pioneer of his race in the search after civilization andculture--these had been the dreams of his hitherto wasted life, onlyhe had never recognized them, never understood whither the restlessimpulses were driving him. It had needed the pure soul of a good womanto unlock the best from his own; it had needed the genius of a clearbrain to harness the untrained faculties to some definite aim. Thesoul of a woman had come and had planted upon him the purity of herhigh ideal; the genius had already shot its first illuminating rayinto his darkness. Henceforth the watchword for them all was to be"Forward, " and Nehal Singh, standing like a white ghost in thedeserted compound, shaken by the force of his own emotions, intoxicated by his own happiness and the shining future which spreaditself before his eyes, sent up a prayer such as rarely ascends fromearth to Heaven. To whom? Not to Brahma. His mind had burst like araging tide over the flood-gates of caste and creed and embraced thewhole world and the one God who has no name, no creed, no dogma, butwhom in that moment he recognized in great thanksgiving as theUniversal Father. Thus far had Nehal Singh traveled in two short weeks--guided by awoman who had no God and a man who had no God save his own ends. Buthe did not know this. As he began to pace slowly backward and forward, listening to the distant music, he thought of her, and measuredhimself with her ideal in a humility which did not reject hope. Oneday he would be able to stand before her and say, "Thus far have Iworked and striven for inner worth and for the good of my brothers. Ihave kept myself pure and honest, I have cultivated in myself the bestI have, and have been inexorable against the evil. Thus much have Iattained. " Further than that triumphant moment he did not think, but he thankedGod for the ideal which had been set him--the Great People's ideal ofa man--and for the afterward which he knew must come. Thus absorbed in his own reflections, he reached Travers' bungalow, and a ray of light falling across his path, brought him sharply backto the present reality. He looked up and saw that a table had beenpulled out on to the verandah, and that four officers sat round it, playing cards by the light of a lamp. At Marut there was always aheavy superfluity of men, and these four, doubtless weary of standinguselessly about, had made good their escape to enjoy themselves intheir own way. Nehal Singh hesitated. He felt a strong desire to go upand join them, to learn to know them outside the enervating, levelingatmosphere of social intercourse where each is forced to keep his realindividuality hidden behind a wall of phrases. Now, no doubt, theywould show themselves openly to him as they were; they would admit himinto the circle of their intimate life, and teach him the secret ofthe greatness which had carried their flag to the four corners of theearth. Yet he hesitated to make his presence known. The study of thefour faces, unconscious of his scrutiny, absorbed him. The two elder men were known to him, although their names wereforgotten. Their fair hair, regular, somewhat cold, features led himto suppose that they were brothers. The other two were considerablyyounger--they seemed to Nehal Singh almost boys, though in allprobability they were his own age. One especially interested him. Hewas a good-looking young fellow, with pleasant if somewhat effeminatefeatures and a healthy skin bronzed with the Indian sun. He satdirectly opposite where Nehal Singh stood in the shadow, and when heshifted his cards, as he often did in a restless, uneasy way, he gavethe unseen watcher an opportunity to study every line of his set face. Nehal Singh wondered at his expression. The others were grave with thegravity of indifference, but this boy had his teeth set, and somethingin his eyes reminded Nehal Singh of a dog he had once seen confrontedsuddenly with an infuriated rattle-snake. It was the expression ofhypnotized fear which held him back from intruding himself upon them, and he was about to retrace his steps quietly when the man who wasseated next the balustrade turned and glanced so directly toward himthat Nehal Singh thought his presence was discovered. The officer'snext words showed, however, that his gaze had passed over NehalSingh's head to the brightly lighted marquee on the other side of thecompound. "I'm glad to be out of that crush, " Captain Webb said, as he lazilygathered up his cards. "Fearfully rotten show I call it--not a prettygirl among the lot, and a heat enough to make the devil envious! Ican't think what induced our respected Napoleon to make such a fool ofhimself. " "Napoleon hasn't made a fool of himself, you can make yourself easy onthat score, " Saunders retorted. "Napoleon knows on which side of thebread his butter lies, even if you don't. When he dances attendance onany one, you can take it on trust that the butter isn't far off. No, no; I've a great reverence for Nappy's genius. " "It's an infernally undignified proceeding, anyhow, " Webb went on. "I'm beginning to see that old Stafford wasn't so far wrong. What dowe want with the fellow? All this kowtowing will go to his head andmake him as 'uppish' as the rest of 'em. He's conceited enough, already, aping us as though he had been at it all his life. " "That's the mistake we English are always making, " grumbled Saunders, as he played out. "We are too familiar. We swallow anything fordiplomacy's sake, even if it hasn't got so much as a coating ofvarnish. We pull these fellows up to our level and pamper them asthough they were our equals, and then when they find we won't go thewhole hog, they turn nasty and there's the devil to pay. In this caseI didn't mind so long as he kept his place, but then that's what theynever do. That's our rubber, I think. Shall we stop?" "I've had enough, anyhow, " his vis-a-vis answered. "Add up the derntotal, will you, there's a good fellow. I must be getting home. There's that boring parade to-morrow at five again, and I've got aheadache that will last me a week, thanks to Nappy's bad champagne. Well, what's the damage?" The young fellow who had sat with his head bowed over his cards lookedup with a sickly smile. "Yes, what's the damage?" he said. "I can't be bothered--I've lostcount. You and I must have done pretty badly, Phipps. " "I dare say we shall survive, " his partner rejoined carelessly. "Wehave lost five rubbers. How does that work out, Webb?" "I'll trouble you for a hundred each, " Webb answered, after a minute'scalculation. "Quite a nice, profitable evening for us, eh, Saunders. Thanks, awfully, old fellow. " He gathered up the rupees which theboy's partner had pushed toward him. The boy himself sat as thoughfrozen to stone. Only when Saunders gave him a friendly nudge, hestarted and looked about him as though he had been awakened out of atrance. "I'm awfully sorry, " he stuttered; "you and Webb--would you mindwaiting till to-morrow? I'll raise it somehow--I haven't got somuch--" Phipps broke into a laugh. "You silly young duffer!" he said. "What have you been doing with yourpocket money, eh? Been buying too many sweeties?" The other two men roared, but the boy's features never relaxed. "I tell you I haven't got so much with me, " he mumbled. "I'll bring itto-morrow, I promise. " Webb rose from his chair, stretching himself languidly. "All right, " he agreed. "To-morrow will do. By Jove, what a gorgeousnight it is!" He leaned over the balustrade, lifting his aristocraticface to the sky. "Saunders, you don't want to go to bed, you oldcormorant. Come on with me, and we'll spend the night hours worthily. " "I'm game!" Saunders rejoined. "That is, if it's anything decent. I'mnot going to do any more tar-worshipping, that's certain. " "Don't want you to. I'm going to dress up and have a run around theBazaar, and if you want a little excitement, you had better dolikewise. You see things you don't see in the daytime, I can tell you, and some of the women aren't bad. Come on! We can run round to mydiggings and change. Are you coming, Phipps and Geoffries?" The weedy young man addressed as Phipps rose with alacrity. "Anything for a change, " he said. "Wake up, Innocence!" He brought hishand down with a friendly thump on Geoffries' shoulder, but the boyshook his head. "No, " he said, in the same rough, monotonous voice. "I'm done forto-night. You fellows get on without me. " "As you like. Good night. " "Good night. " The three men went into the bungalow. Gradually their voices died awayin the distance, but the boy never moved, never shifted his blankstare from the cards in front of him. It was a curious tableau. In themidst of the darkness it was as though a lime-light had been thrown onto a theatrical representation of despair, while beneath, hidden bythe shadow, a lonely spectator, to whom the scene was a horriblerevelation, fought out a hard battle between indignation anddisbelief. Throughout the conversation Nehal Singh had stood rigid, his handclenched on the jeweled hilt of his sword, his eyes riveted on thefaces of the four men who were thus unconsciously drawing him into theintimate circle of their life. Much that they said was incomprehensibleto him. The references to "Napoleon" and to the unknown individualcontemptuously dubbed "the fellow" were not clear, but they left hima gnawing sense of insult and scorn which he could not conquer. Thesubsequent chink of money changing hands had jarred upon his ears--thefinal dispute concerning their further pleasure made him sick withdisgust. These "gentlemen" sought their amusement in a place where hewould have scorned to set his foot. This fact obliterated for a moment every other consideration. Was itto these that his hero-worship was dedicated? Were these the men fromwhom he was to learn greatness of thought, heroism of action, purityin life, idealism--these blatant, coarse-worded, coarse-minded cynicsto whom duty was a "bore" and pleasure an excuse to plunge into thelowest dregs of existence? In vain his young enthusiasm, his almostpassionate desire to honor greatness in others fought his contemptuousconviction of their unworthiness. Gradually, it is true, he grewcalmer, and, like a climber who has been flung from a high peak, gathered himself from his fall, ready to climb again. He told himselfthat as an outsider he did not understand either the words or theactions which he had heard and witnessed, that he judged them by thenarrow standard of a life spent cut off from the practical ways of theworld. He repeated to himself Beatrice Cary's assurance--"All men donot carry their heart on their sleeve. " He told himself that behindthe jarring flippancy there still could lurk a hidden depth andgreatness. Nevertheless the received impression was stronger than allargument. The climber, apparently unhurt, had sustained a vitalinjury. Nehal Singh was about to turn away, desirous only to be alone, when asound fell on his ears which sent a sudden sharp thrill through histroubled heart. It was a groan, a single, half-smothered groan, breaking through compressed lips by the very force of an overpoweringmisery. Nehal looked back. The blank stare was gone, the boy lay withhis face buried in his arms. In that moment the dreamer in Nehal died, the man of instant, impulsive action took his place. He hurried up the steps of theverandah and laid his hand on the bowed shoulder. "You are in trouble, " he said. "What is the matter?" As though he had been struck by a shock of electricity, Geoffries halfsprang to his feet, and then, as he saw the dark face so close to hisown, he sank back again, speechless and white to the lips. For amoment the two men looked at each other in unbroken silence. "I am sorry I have startled you, " Nehal said at length, "but I couldnot see you in such distress. I do not know what it is, but if youwill confide in me, I may be able to help you. " "Rajah Sahib, " stammered the young fellow, in helpless confusion, "ifI had known you were there--" "You would not have revealed your trouble to me?" Nehal finished, witha faint smile. "And that, I think, would have been a pity for us both. If I can help you, perhaps you can help me. " He paused and then addedslowly: "I have been standing watching you a long time. " "A long time!" A curious fear crept over the boyish face. "You saw usplaying, then--and heard what we said?" "Yes. " "And you wish to help me?" "If I can. " Geoffries turned his head away, avoiding the direct gaze. "You are very kind, Rajah Sahib. I'm afraid I'm not to be helped. " The sight of that awkward shame and misery drove all personal grieffrom Nehal's mind. He drew forward a chair and seated himself oppositehis companion, clasping his sinewy, well-shaped hands on the tablebefore him. "Let us try and put all formalities aside, " he said. "If you can treatme as a friend, let nothing prevent you. We are strangers to eachother, but then the whole world is stranger to me. Yet I would be gladto help and understand the world, as I would be glad to help andunderstand you if you will let me. " Geoffries looked shyly at this strange _deus ex machina_, troubled byperplexing considerations. How much had the Rajah heard of theprevious conversation, how much had he understood? Above all, whatwould his comrades say if they found him pouring out his heart to"this fellow, " who had been the constant butt for their arrogantcontempt? And yet, as often happens, amidst his many friends he wasintensely alone. There was no single one to whom he could turn withthe burden of his conscience, no one to whom he did not systematicallyplay himself off as something other than he was. And opposite helooked into a face full of grave sympathy, not unshadowed withpersonal sadness. Yet he hesitated, and Nehal Singh went onthoughtfully: "There are some things I do not understand, " he said. "You wereplaying some game for money. I have heard of that before, but I do notunderstand. Are you then, so poor?" Geoffries laughed miserably. "I am now, " he said. "Then it _is_ money that is the trouble?" "It always is. At first one plays for the fun of the thing andbecause--oh, well, one has to, don't you know. Afterward, one plays toget it back. " "But you have not got it back?" Geoffries shook his head. "I never do, " he said. "I'm a rotter at bridge. " "A hundred rupees!" Nehal went on reflectively. "That was the sum, Ithink? It is very little--not enough to cause you any trouble. " "Not by itself, " Geoffries agreed, with a fresh collapse into his olddepression. "But it is the last straw. I'm cut pretty short by thehome people, who don't understand, and there are other things--poloponies, dinner-races, subscriptions--" "And the Bazaar. " Geoffries caught his breath and glanced across at the stern, unhappyface. He read there in an instant a pitying contempt which at firstseemed ridiculous, and then insolent, and then terrible. Boy as hewas, there flashed through his easy-going brain some vague unformedrecognition of the unshifting national responsibility which weighsupon the shoulders of the greatest and the least. He understood, though not clearly, that he and his three comrades had draggedthemselves and their race in the mud at the feet of a foreigner, andwith that shock of understanding came the desire to vindicate himselfand the uncounted millions who were linked to him. "You think badly of us, Rajah Sahib, " he said fiercely. "Perhaps youhave a right to do so from what you have seen; but you have not seenall--no, not nearly all. You've seen us in the soft days when we'venothing to do but drill recruits and while away the time as best wecan. Think what the monotony means--day after day the same work, thesame faces. Who can blame us if we get slack and ready to do anythingfor a change? I know some of us are rotters--especially here in Marut. Most of us belong to the British Regiment, and are accustomed toluxury and ease in the old country. I haven't got that excuse--I'm inthe Gurkhas--and what I do I do because I _am_ a rotter. But there aremen who are not. There are men, Rajah Sahib, right up there by thenorthern provinces, who are made of steel and iron, real men, heroes--" Nehal Singh leaned forward and caught his companion by the arm. "Heroes?" he said with passionate earnestness. "Heroes?" Geoffries nodded. That look of enthusiastic sympathy won his heart andawoke his soldier's slumbering pride. "I'm no good at explaining, " he said, "but I know of things that wouldstir your blood. For a whole year--my first year--I was up north in amud fortress where there was only one other European officer. It wasNicholson. You mayn't have heard of him--precious few people have--butup there in that lonely, awful place, with wild hill-tribes about usand a handful of sepoys for our protection, he was a god--yes, a god;for there was not one of us that didn't worship him and honor him. Wewould have followed him to the mouth of hell. He was young, only sixmonths a captain, and yet there was nothing he didn't seem to know, nothing he couldn't do. Every day he was in the saddle, reconnoitering, visiting the heads of the tribes, making peace, distributing justice. Every day he went out with his life in hishands, and every night he came back, quiet, unpretending, neverboasting, never complaining, and yet we knew that somewhere he hadrisked himself to clear a stone out of our way, to win an enemy overto our side, to confirm a friend in his friendship. Yes, he was a man;and there are others like him. No one hears about them, but they don'tcare. They go on giving their lives and energy to their work, andnever ask for thanks or reward. I--once hoped to be like that; but Icame to Marut--and then--" He stumbled and stopped short. "I'm aranting fool!" he went on angrily. "You won't understand, Rajah Sahib, but I couldn't stand your thinking that they are all like me--" Nehal Singh rose to his feet. "Nicholson!" he repeated slowly, as though he had not heard. "I shallremember that name. And there are more like him? That is well. " Thenhe laid his hand on the young officer's shoulder. "I am going to helpyou, " he said. "I am going to save you from whatever trouble you arein, and then you must go back to the frontiers and become a man afterthe ideal that has been set you. One day you can repay me. " The storm of protest died on Geoffries' lips. Prejudices, theingrained arrogance of race which scorned to accept friendship at thehands of an inferior, sank to ashes as his eyes met those of thisHindu prince. "What have I done to deserve your kindness, Rajah Sahib?" he beganhelplessly, but Nehal Singh cut him smilingly short. "You have saved me, " he said. "To-night my faith hung in the balance. You have given it back to me, and in my turn I will save you and giveyou back what you have lost. And this shall be a bond between us. Youwill hear from me to-morrow. Good night. " "Good night, Rajah Sahib--and--thank you. " He hesitated, and then wenton painfully: "You have shown me that we have behaved like cads. I--amawfully sorry. " He was not referring to the Bazaar, as Nehal supposed. "The past is over and done with, " Nehal Singh answered, "but thefuture is ours--and the common ideal which we must follow for thecommon good. " Hugh Geoffries stood a long time after the Rajah had left him, absorbed in wondering speculation. Who was this strange man who a fewweeks ago had been but a shadow, and to-day stood in the midst ofthem, sharing their life and yet curiously alone? He had met otherIndian rulers, but they had not been as this man. They had also joinedthe European life, but they had come as strangers and had remained asstrangers. They had learned to assume an outward conformity which thisprince had not needed to learn. And yet he stood alone, even among hisown people alone. Wherein lay the link, wherein the barrier? Was itcaste, religion? Hugh Geoffries found no answer to these questions. He went homesobered and thoughtful, dimly conscious that he had brushed past themystery of a great character, whom, in spite of all, he had beenforced to reverence. CHAPTER XII THE WHITE HAND It is an old truth that things have their true existence only inourselves. A picture is perfect, moderate, or indifferent, accordingto our tastes; an event fortunate or unfortunate according to ourcharacter. Thus life, though in reality no more than a pure stream ofcolorless water, changes its hue the moment it is poured into thewaiting pitchers, and becomes turbid, or assumes some lovely color, orretains its first crystal clearness, in measure that the earthenwareis of the best or poorest quality. In Travers' pitcher it had become kaleidoscopic, only saved from direconfusion by one steady, consistent color, which tinged and killed byits brilliancy the hundred other rainbow fragments. Such was life forhim--such at least it had become--a gay chaos in which the oneimportant thing was himself; a game, partly instructive, partlyamusing, with no rules save that the player is expected to win. Ofcourse, as in all matters, a certain order, or appearance of order, had to be maintained; but Travers believed, and thought every one elsebelieved, that it was a mere "appearance, " and that, as in thechildish game of "cheating, " the card put on the table has not alwaysthe face it is affirmed by the player to possess. Doubtless it issometimes an honest card--Travers himself played honest cards veryoften--but that is part of the game, part of the cheating, one mightbe tempted to say. A suspicious opponent becomes shy of accusing a player who has beenable to refute a previous accusation, and those people whose doubtshad been aroused by one of Travers' transactions, and had been rashenough to conclude that all Travers' works were "shady, " had beenbadly burned for their presumption. After one indignant vindication ofhis methods Travers had been allowed to go his way, smiling, unperturbed, with a friendly twinkle in his eye for his detractorswhich acknowledged a perfect understanding. On the whole he had beensuccessful. A Napoleon of finance, he never burned his bridges. If anyof his campaigns failed, as they sometimes did, he had always a saferetreat left open; and if his bridge proved only strong enough tocarry himself over, and gave way under his flying followers--well, itwas a misfortune which could have been averted if every one had takenas much care of himself as he had done. When well beyond pursuit, hewould hold out a helping hand to the survivors, and received thereforas much gratitude as on the other occasions he received abuse. Whichfilled him with good-natured amusement, the one being as undeserved asthe other. His last enterprise, the Marut Campaign, thanks to a happyconstellation of circumstances, promised an unusual degree of success, and his enthusiasm on the subject was not the less real because hekept hidden his usual reserve for unforeseen possibilities. Accordingto the Rajah's invitation, he repaired early on the second day aftertheir momentous conversation to the palace. He was received there byan old servant, who told him that Nehal Singh had gone out ridingbefore sunrise, but was expected to return shortly. "The Rajah Sahib remembers my coming?" Travers asked. "Yes, Sahib. The Rajah Sahib commanded that the palace should be atthe Sahib's disposal while he waits. " The idea suited Travers excellently. He shook himself free from theobsequious native, who showed very clearly that he would havepreferred to have kept on a watchful attendance, and began a languid, indifferent examination of the labyrinth-like passages and desertedhalls. But the languidness and indifference were only masks which hechose to assume when too great interest would have thwarted his ownschemes. In reality there was not a jewel or ornament which he did notnotice and appraise at the correct value. The immensity of thepalace's dimensions and its intricate plan made it impossible toobtain a complete survey in so short a time, but at the end of half anhour Travers' original theory was confirmed. Here was a power ofwealth lying idle, waiting, as it seemed to his natural egoism, forhis hands to put it into action. In his imagination he saw the jeweled pillars dismantled and theinlaid gold and silver changed into the hard money necessary for hiscampaign--not without regret. The man of taste suffered not a littleat the changed picture, and since there was no immediate call upon hisactivities, he allowed the man of taste to predominate over thespeculator. But the punishment for those who serve God and mammon isinevitable. There comes the moment when the worshiper of mammon hearsthe voice of God calling him, be it through a beautiful woman, abeautiful poem, a beautiful sculpture, or a simple child, and thesoul, God-given, struggles against the bonds that have been laid uponit. So it was with Travers as he stood there in the Throne Room, gazingthoughtfully out over the gardens to the ornate towers of the temple. He was fully conscious of the dual nature in him, and it gave him asort of painful pleasure to allow the idealistic side a moment'ssupremacy, to imagine himself throwing up his plans, and leaving somuch loveliness and peace undisturbed. It was a mere game which heplayed with his own emotions, for it was no longer in his power tothrow up anything upon which he had set his mind. Without knowing it, he had become the slave of his own will, a headlong, ruthless will, which saw nothing but the goal, and to whom the lives and happiness ofothers were no more than obstacles to be thrown indifferently on oneside. Yet in this short interval, when that will lay inactively inabeyance, he suffered. He had lost Lois, among other things, and the loss stung both sides ofhim. He wanted her because he loved her, and because she had becomenecessary to his plans. He had wanted her, and in spite of everyeffort she had seemed to pass out of his reach. Seemed! As he stoodthere with folded arms, watching the sunlight broaden over thepeaceful terraces, it pleased his fancy to imagine that the loss wasreal and definite, and that he stood willingly on one side, resigninghimself to the decree that ordained her happiness. With a stabbingpain came back the memory of their brief interview together. He hadtalked of praying for her future. Had he been wholly sincere or, asnow, only so far as a man is who concentrates his temporary interestupon some sport, only to forget it as soon as it is over? Possibly, nay, certainly. He did not believe in himself--not, at least, in thegenerous, self-sacrificing side. He called that sort of thing in otherpeople "pose" and in himself a necessary relaxation. For it was one ofhis maxims that a man may act as heartlessly as he likes, but to besuccessful he must never let himself grow heartless. From the momentthat he ceases to be capable of feeling, he loses touch with thethoughts and sensibilities of others. And his power of feeling "with"others was one of Travers' chief business assets. It is dangerous, however, to play with emotions that are never to beallowed an active influence. They have a trick of growing by leaps andbounds, and before the will has time to realize that an enemy is atits gates, to fling their whole force against the citadel andoverwhelm the dazed defenses. How near Archibald Travers came thatmorning to yielding to himself he never knew. Lois' happy, thankfulface hovered constantly before his eyes. He felt very tender towardher. He felt that he should like to be able to think of her in thekeeping of a good man--like Stafford--who, if pig-headed and bigoted, was yet calculated to stick to a woman and make her happy. Lookingstraight at himself and his past, Travers could not be sure that hewould stick to any one. Also there was the Rajah, optimistic, andtrusting, so much so that it left an unpleasant taste in the mouth tofool him. But above all else, there was Lois. Lois recurred to him constantly, overshadowing every other consideration. He thought of her in all heraspects: Lois, the enterprising, the energetic, plucky, daredevilcomrade; Lois, the ever-ready, untiring, uncomplaining partner in thehunt, on the tennis-court, in the ball-room; Lois, the woman, with hergentle charm, her tenderness, her frankness, her truth. He bit hislip, turning away from the sunshine with knitted brows and fierceeyes. No, it is no light matter to trifle with the heart, even if itis only one's own. Nor is it wise for a man, set on a cool, calculating task of self-advancement, to call up waters from hishidden wells of tenderness, or to allow a nature strangely susceptible(as even the worst natures are) to the appeal of the good andbeautiful to have full play, if only for a brief hour. Another fiveminutes undisturbed in that splendid hall, with God's divine worldbefore him and the highest, purest art of man about him, and Traversmight never have waited to meet Nehal Singh. He might have gonethence, and taken his schemes and plans and ambitions to anothersphere of activity. Five minutes! One second is enough to change adozen destinies. A straw divides an act of heroism from an act ofcowardice. Archibald Travers turned. He had heard no sound and yet he was certainthat he was no longer alone, that some one stood behind him and waswatching him. For a minute he remained motionless; the bright sunlighthad dazzled him and he could only see the shadows in which the back ofthe chamber was enveloped. Yet the consciousness of another presencecontinued, and when suddenly a shadow freed itself from the rest andcame toward him, he started less with surprise than with a reasonless, nameless alarm. It was a woman's figure which came down toward thegolden patch of light in which he stood. He could not see her face forit was completely shrouded in a long oriental veil, but the bowedshoulders, the slow, unsteady step indicated an advanced age or anoverpowering physical weakness. She came on without hesitation, passing so close to Travers that she brushed his arm, and reached thehangings before the window. There she paused. Travers passed his handquickly before his eyes. Her movements had been so quiet, so blindlyindifferent to his presence that he could not for the moment freehimself from the fancy that he was in the power of an hallucination. Then she lifted her hand, drawing the curtain back, and he uttered aninvoluntary, half-smothered exclamation. The hand was thin, claw-like, white as though no drop of blood flowed beneath the lifeless skin, andon the fourth finger he saw a plain band of gold. "Who are you?" Travers demanded. The question had left his lips almostwithout his knowledge. She turned and looked at him, and in spite ofthe veil he felt the full intensity of a gaze which seemed to beseeking his very soul. How long they stood there watching each otherin breathless silence Travers did not know. Nor did he know why thisstrange, powerless figure filled him with a sickening repulsion andheld him paralyzed so that he could only wait in passive, motionlessexpectation. Suddenly the hand sank to her side and he shook himselfas though he had been awakened from a nightmare. "Who are you?" he repeated firmly. "You are not the one I seek, " she answered. "Why do you keep me fromhim? He is mine--my very own. Where is he? I am always seeking forhim--but he is like the shadows--he vanishes--with the sunshine. In mydreams I see him--" Her voice, thin and low-pitched, died intosilence. She seemed to have shrunk together; she swayed as though shewould have fallen, and Travers took an involuntary step toward her. "You speak English--perfect English, " he said. "Who are you? Whom doyou seek? Perhaps I can help you--?" His words electrified her. Shecaught his arm in a grip of iron and drew close to him so that herhot, quickly drawn breath fanned his cheek. "Help me?" she whispered. "Who can help me? Don't you know that I amdead?" Travers shuddered; he tried to free himself from the clutch of thewhite, bloodless hand, but she clung to him desperately, despairingly, while her voice rose in an agonized crescendo. "Don't you know that I am _dead?_" Footsteps came hurrying down the corridor. A sudden impulse, areawakening of the spirit of action and enterprise, which had carriedhim through his life, bade him grasp her hand and drag from it theloosely fitting ring. "I will see you again--dead or living, I will help you, " he said. The next instant he drew quickly back. A white-bearded native servanthad entered and was moving swiftly with cat-like stealth toward theveiled figure by the window. He was breathless, as though with hardrunning, and seemed oblivious of Travers' presence until, with anexclamation of relief, he had grasped the unresisting figure by thewrist. Then he turned, salaaming profoundly. "May the Lord Sahib forgive his servant!" he said with a humilitywhich in Travers' ears rang curiously ironical. "The woman is possessedof a devil who speaketh lies out of her mouth. It would cost thyservant dear if she were found with the Lord Sahib. " Travers assumed an air of indifference. "Who is she?" he asked carelessly. "My wife, Lord Sahib. The devil has possessed her these many years. " Travers caught the flash of the cunning, suspicious eyes and knew thatthe man had lied. But he said nothing, dismissing him and his captivewith a gesture. Only for an instant, governed by an irresistibleinstinct, he glanced over his shoulder. He saw then that the woman'shead was turned toward him and that one white hand was raised asthough in mingled appeal and imperative command. Travers nodded almostimperceptibly and she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. For some minutes Travers remained motionless, then, as though nothingunusual had happened, he resumed his critical survey of the preciousstones with which the pillars were adorned, apparently so absorbedthat he did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Only whenhe was called by name did he look up with a start of pleased surprise. "Ah, Your Highness!" he exclaimed. The young prince stood in the curtained doorway, dressed as though hehad just returned from riding. He was dusty and travel-stained and, inspite of his energetic, upright bearing, he looked exhausted. Therewere heavy lines under the keen eyes, and Travers noticed for thefirst time that his cheeks were slightly hollow, giving his wholeappearance an air of haggard weariness. He lifted his hand in returnto Travers' salute, and came forward with a welcoming smile. "My servants told me I should find you here, " he said. "I hope thetime of waiting has not been too long?" "Indeed, no!" Travers returned, as he descended the throne steps. "Ihave been amusing myself right royally. You have surely the mostperfect collection of stones in India. " "They are well enough, " Nehal answered, his smile deepening. "Have youbeen calculating how many rupees they will bring in?" The remark, which at another time would have called a frank laugh ofagreement from Travers, caused him instead a faint feeling ofannoyance. "Perhaps I have, " he said, not without a suggestion of bitterness, "but I am still sufficiently alive to beauty to be able to appreciateit apart from its intrinsic value. " Nehal Singh motioned him to take his seat at the low table which aservant had at that moment brought in. "Forgive me, " he said. "I fear my remark hurt you. I thought as abusiness man you had only one standpoint from which you judged--youtold me as much. " "Yes, and I told you the truth, " Travers said, after a moment, inwhich he bent frowningly over his cup of coffee. "I am a business man, Rajah, and for a business man who wants to make any sort of success ofhis life there must be only one standpoint. If he has another side tohis nature, as I have--the purely artistic and emotional side--he mustcrush it out of sight, if not out of existence, as I do. " He looked upwith a sudden return of his old tranquil humor. "You must not count itas anything if the beauty of these surroundings for a moment liftedthe unpractical side of me uppermost, " he said, laughing. "It waspurely _pro tem. , _ and I am once more my normal, hard-headed self, atyour disposal, Rajah. " Nehal Singh nodded absently. "I believe what you say is true, " he said. "A man who goes out intothe world and enters into her conflicts must have only one side--thestrong, hard, practical side; otherwise he can do nothing, neither forhimself nor others. The idea came to me already the other night afterI left you. " "Indeed?" Travers murmured. "What made you think of that, Rajah?" Nehal gave a gesture which seemed to put the question to one side. "Something I heard--saw, " he said. "It does not matter. It made mehesitate. That is all. " "Hesitate?" "To enter into the conflict. I felt for the moment that I was notfit--that it would overwhelm me. I had made a picture of the world, apicture which after all might not be the true one. I did not believethat I could bear the reality. " He bent his head wearily on his hand, and there followed an instant'ssilence in which Travers thoughtfully studied his companion. He waswondering what cross-current of influence had flowed into the streamon which he meant to sweep the prince toward his purpose. Any idea ofrelinquishing his plans had evaporated; the very suggestion of anotherinfluence having been sufficient to put him on his mettle and call tolife the full energy of his headstrong ambition. He had the tact, however, to remain silent, and to leave Nehal's train of thoughtuninterrupted. And this required considerable patience andself-control, for the Rajah seemed to forget his existence, and satstaring vacantly in front of him, his head still resting on his hand. "Yes, " he went on suddenly, but without changing his position, "thatis what I felt two nights ago. The practical, hard side of me seemedlacking. I felt that I was a dreamer, like the rest of my unfortunaterace, and that to enter into battle with the world, as you suggested, could only bring misfortune. I did not realize then that, at whatevercost, it was my duty. " "Duty?" "Yes. A dreamer has no right to his dreams, be they ever so beautiful, unless he changes them into substance. In my dreams I have loved theworld and my fellow-creatures. But what does that avail me if I donothing for the suffering and sorrow with which the world is filled? Imust go out and help. I must put my whole wealth and strength to thetask, even if I lose thereby my peace. I must 'sell all that I have. 'Is not that the advice your Great Teacher gave to the young manseeking to do his duty?" Travers started, and then smiled. "Is there anything you do not know or have not read, Rajah?" he said, with an amused admiration. "I have read a great deal, " was the earnest answer, "but it seems tome as though I had known nothing until yesterday. Yesterday, in anhour, a new world was revealed to me. " He leaned forward, extendinghis hand. "I ask you as a man of honor, " he said, "before you show meyour plans, before I definitely engage myself in this great work, tellme, do you believe that it will be for my people, what you say? Willit lift them from their misery; will it make them prosperous andhappy?" Travers took the hand in his own. For a moment he studied it intently, curiously, as though it had been the sole topic of their conversation. Then his eyes met those of the Rajah with unflinching calm anddecision. "As far as I can be sure of anything, it will do for your country allthat I have said, " he answered. And therein he was sincere--assincere, that is, as a man can be whose retreat is already secured. With a sigh of relief Nehal Singh drew the table closer. "Show me your plans, " he said. For three uninterrupted hours the two men sat over the papers whichTravers had brought. Now and again he lifted his head and glancedtoward the doorway through which the strange apparition haddisappeared, half expecting to see once more the white extended hand, half believing that he had been the victim of a delusion, a fantasyborn of the mysterious veil with which the whole palace seemedshrouded. Then he glanced at the ring which sparkled on his ownfinger, and he knew that it was no delusion, but that a corner of theveil lay perhaps within his grasp. CHAPTER XIII THE ROAD CLEAR The English colony heard of the Rajah's project with mingled feelingsof amusement and anxiety. As Colonel Carmichael expressed it, it wouldhave been safer to have stirred up a hornet's nest than to attempt anyvital reform in the native quarters; and he was firmly convinced thatthe inhabitants of the Bazaar would cling to their dirt and squalorwith the same tenacity with which they clung to their religion. Whenthe first batch of native workers, under the direction of a Europeanoverseer, set out on the task of constructing new and sanitaryquarters half a mile outside Marut, he announced that it was no morethan the calm before the storm, and kept a weather eye open fortrouble. But, in spite of these gloomy prognostications, the workproceeded calmly and steadily on its way. The new dwellings were wellconstructed, broad, clean thoroughfares taking the place of thenarrow, dirty passages which had run like an unwholesome labyrinththrough the old Bazaar. Water in abundance was laid on from the river. Natives of superior caste, who had proved their capacity for order, were put in charge of the different blocks and made responsible fortheir condition. Of more value than all this was the energy andwillingness with which the people entered into the project. Moreworkers offered themselves than were required, and could only becomforted with the assurance that very soon a new enterprise would beset on foot in which they, too, would find occupation. A month after the first stone had been laid, Stafford paid a visit ofinspection in company with the Rajah and Travers. On his way back bepassed the Carys' bungalow, and seeing Beatrice on the verandah, hehad ridden up, as he said, to make his salaams. Very little persuasiontempted him into the cool, shady drawing-room. He knew that Lois wouldbe up at the club, and, _faute de mieux_, Beatrice's company wassomething to be appreciated after a hot and exhausting afternoon. Fora rather curious friendship had sprung up between these two. They hadnothing in common. His stiffly honest and orthodox character was oilto the water of her outspoken indifference to the usual codes andmorals of ordinary society. And yet he liked her, and, strangelyenough, he never found that her supercilious criticisms and daringopinions jarred on him. Perhaps it was his honesty which recognizedthe honesty in her, just as, on the reverse side, the sanctimoniousPhilistinisms of Maud Berry left him glowing with irritation becausehis instincts told him that they were not even sincere. On this particular afternoon he was more than usually glad to have afew minutes' quiet chat with Beatrice. That which he had seen andheard on his four hours' ride had stirred to life a sudden doubt inhimself and in his hitherto firmly rooted principles, and, like agreat many men, he felt that he could only regain a clear outlook byan exchange of ideas with some second person. "You know my standpoint pretty well by now, " he said, as, seated in acomfortable lounge chair, he watched Beatrice busy over some patternswhich she had just received from London. "It isn't your standpoint, ofcourse, and no doubt you would be fully in your right to say, 'I toldyou so, ' when I confess that I am beginning to waver. " "I never say, 'I told you so, '" she returned, smiling. "That is thewar-cry of those accustomed to few triumphs. " "Not that by wavering I mean that I am coming round to your opinions, "he went on. "On the contrary, nothing on this earth will shake mytheory that a mingling of races is an impossibility. They must andwill, with few exceptions, remain separate to all eternity, and one orthe other must have the upper hand if there is to be any law or order. No, it's not that. It's my self-satisfaction that is beginning towaver. " "You must be more explicit, " Beatrice observed. "I mean, men like myself--in fact, most Englishmen--are pretty wellconvinced, even when they have the rare tact of keeping it tothemselves, that they are the salt of the earth. They may be, as awhole, but there are exceptions all round, which we are inclined tooverlook because of the foregone conclusion. It has struck me latelythat there are some of us--well, not up to the mark. " "Has this revelation come to you by force of contrast?" she asked. "Haven't you been out with the Rajah?" He looked at her with the pleasure of a man who has been saved thebother of going into explanatory details. "Yes, I have, " he admitted, "and you are not far wrong when you talkabout the force of contrast. You know what I thought of the Rajah. There are any amount of good-looking native princes with nice surfacemanners--that sort of thing wouldn't impress me. But this man has morethan good looks and manners. He is a born leader. You should have seenhim this afternoon. There wasn't a thing he overlooked or forgot. Every detail was at his fingers' ends, and he has a fire, an energy, an idealistic belief in himself and in the whole world which fairlysweeps you off your feet. It did me. I believe it did the Colonel, andI know it did the natives. The dust wasn't low enough for them. And itwasn't face worship, either. It came straight from the heart; I couldsee that they were ready to die for him on the spot, at his mereword. " "What a power!" Beatrice murmured. She had stopped turning over thepatterns and was leaning back in her chair, her eyes fixedthoughtfully in front of her. "Yes, it is a power, " he echoed emphatically, "and I wish to goodnesswe had more men like him on our side. We English take things toolightly--most of us. And in India it is not safe to take thingslightly. " He saw that she was about to make some observation, but at that momentMrs. Cary entered. She had evidently been out in the garden, for shehad a bunch of freshly cut flowers in her hand and a girlish muslinhat shaded the fat cheeks flushed with the unusual exertion. "Ah, there you are, Captain Stafford!" she said, extending herdisengaged hand. "Mr. Travers said he was sure you had dropped in, andwouldn't believe it when I told him that I had heard and seen nothingof you. There, come in, Mr. Travers. It's all right. " She smiled at Stafford with a playful significance that seemed toindicate an unspoken comprehension of the situation, but Stafford didnot smile back. Like a great many worthy and honest people, he was notgifted with a sense of humor, and the ridiculous, especially if ittook a human form, was his abomination. Consequently he disliked Mrs. Cary, though not for the reason which made her unpopular in otherquarters. Travers followed almost immediately on her invitation, like Stafford, bearing the marks of a hard day's work on his unusually pale face. "I expect Stafford has told you what a time we've been having, " hesaid, in response to Beatrice's greeting. "It's no joke to havearoused an energy like the Rajah's, and I can see myself worked to ashadow. Please forgive my get-up, Miss Cary, but this isn't anofficial call. I only wanted to fetch Stafford. " "I'm afraid you can't, " Mrs. Cary put in. "We have engaged the poorexhausted man to tea, and you are strictly forbidden to worry him withyour tiresome business. You can stop, too, if you promise not tobother. " Travers, who had as a rule an equally amiable smile for every one, remained unexpectedly serious. "I am awfully sorry, " he said, hesitating. "Perhaps it would doanother time. " "What is it about?" Stafford asked. "Will it take long?" "As far as I am concerned, only a few minutes. " There was a significance in the tone of Travers' answer which passedunnoticed. Stafford rose lazily to his feet. "Perhaps you'll give us the run of your garden for just so long, Mrs. Cary?" he said. "I'm not going to let Travers cheat me out of mypromised cup of tea. Come on, my dear fellow. I'm ready for theworst. " The two men went down the verandah steps, and Mrs. Cary and herdaughter remained alone. Beatrice returned at once to hercontemplation of the fashion-plates, her attitude enforcing silenceupon the elder woman, who stood by the round polished table nervouslyarranging the flowers. Evidently she had something to say, but foronce had not the courage to say it. At last, with one of thosedetermined gestures with which irresolute people strive to stiffentheir wavering wills, she pushed the flowers on one side, and came andsat directly opposite Beatrice. "Have you got a few minutes to spare?" she asked. Beatrice looked up, and put the papers aside. "As many as you like. " Mrs. Cary's eyes sank beneath the direct gaze, and she began to playwith the rings that adorned her fat fingers. "I'm afraid you'll be angry, " she said. "If it wasn't for my duty as amother, I should let you go your own way--as it is, I must just riskit. " "There is no risk, " Beatrice returned gravely. "Where duty isconcerned, I am all consideration. " "It's about your intimacy with His Highness, " Mrs. Cary went on. "Ican't help thinking it has gone too far. " "In what way?" "You ride out with him every morning. " "You said nothing a month ago--when I went out for the first time. " "It was the first time. And I didn't know people would talk. " "Do they talk?" "Yes. Mrs. Berry told me only this afternoon that she thought it most_infra dig_. She told me as a friend--" Beatrice laughed. "Mrs. Berry as a friend is a new departure. " "Never mind. There was something in what she said. She told me itspoiled your chances--with others. " "I dare say she told you that it is very immoral for me to ride outwith Captain Stafford?" Mrs. Cary threw up her head. "I don't take any notice of that sort of thing. That is only hercattishness, because she wants Stafford for Maud. " "You don't mind about Captain Stafford, then?" "Goodness, no! Why should I? A man wants to know a girl before--well, before he asks her. I don't see anything in that. But this businesswith the Rajah is quite different. Of course, I know you are onlyamusing yourself, but still it lowers your value to be seen so muchwith a colored man. " "Why should you mind? Surely you can see for yourself that CaptainStafford is to all intents and purposes engaged to Lois?" "Rubbish! She thinks so, but it's a lukewarm business which couldeasily be brought to nothing--if you tried. And besides, I don't wantyou talked about. We have been talked about quite enough. " "Why should people talk?" exclaimed Beatrice, with a sudden change intone. "What harm do I do? What do they suppose goes on between us?" Mrs. Cary shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sure I don't know, " she said indifferently. Beatrice sat back in her chair, for a moment silent. A faint smilemoved the corners of her fine mouth. "I fancy our conversation, if they heard it, would startle theunbearable Marut scandal-mongers, " she said. "What do you say to aBible-class on horseback?" Mrs. Cary's small round eyes opened wide. "A Bible-class?" she repeated suspiciously. Beatrice nodded. "Yes. I have been teaching him the rudiments of Christianity. It seemsyou must have neglected my education in that respect, for I have hadto burn a good deal of midnight oil to keep pace with the demand uponmy knowledge. I tell him it as a story, and he reads it himselfafterward. We are halfway through St. John. What are you laughing at?" The tone of intense irritation pulled Mrs. Cary up short in the midstof a loud fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, my dear, " she apologized, "but you really must admit it'srather funny. " "What is rather funny?" "Oh, well, you, you know. Fancy you as a missionary! I must tell Mrs. Berry. It will amuse her, and--" She stopped again, as though she had inadvertently trodden on the tailof a scorpion. She had seen Beatrice angry, but not as now. There wassomething not unlike desperation in the eyes that were suddenly turnedon her. "You won't tell Mrs. Berry, mother. You will never breathe a word to asingle soul of what I have told you. It was very absurd of me to sayanything--I don't know what made me. I might have known that you wouldnot understand--but sometimes I forget that 'mother' is not a synonymfor everything. " Mrs. Cary smarted under what she felt to be an unjust and uncalled-forattack. "I don't see what I have done now, " she protested indignantly. "Whatis there to understand that I haven't understood, pray?" Her daughter got up as though she could no longer bear to remainstill, and began to walk restlessly about the room. "Never mind, " she said. "That doesn't matter. What _does_ matter isthat I will not have the Rajah made a butt for the Station'switticisms. You can say what you like about me--I don't care in theleast--but you will leave him alone. " "Dear me, what are you so annoyed about?" Mrs. Cary inquired, withirritating solicitude. "How was I to know you were seriouslycontemplating the Rajah's conversion? I'm sure it's very nice of you. Child, don't pull all those roses to pieces!" Beatrice dropped the flowers impatiently. "It's more likely that he will convert me, " she muttered, but theremark fell on unheeding ears. "I wish you would let me tell Mrs. Berry about it, " Mrs. Cary went on. "It might make quite a nice impression, and stop her sayingdisagreeable things. Of course, if your intimacy with His Highness wasdue to your desire to bring him to a nice Christian state, it would bequite excusable. I might even ask Mr. Berry for some of those tractshe is always distributing among the natives. " It was Beatrice's turn to laugh. Her laugh had a disagreeable ring. "For the Rajah? I wonder how he would reconcile them with all I havebeen telling him about love, and pity, and tolerance? Besides, my dearmother, diplomatist as you are, don't you see that it wouldn't havethe least effect? Do you think the most kindly thinking person in thisStation would believe for an instant that _I_ would ever convertanyone? Of course I should be seen through at once. They wouldsay--and perfectly correctly, too--that I was just fooling the Rajahfor my own purposes. " "What are your purposes?" Mrs. Cary demanded. Beatrice raised her eyebrows. "You knew them a month ago. " "Oh, yes; then it was for Mr. Travers' sake. But now--" "Now things are the same as they were then. I--I can't leave off whatI have begun. " She had gone over to the piano and, opening it, sat down and began toplay a few disjointed bars. Mrs. Cary, who watched the lovely facewith what is sometimes called a mother's pride, and which is sometimesno more than the satisfaction of a merchant with salable goods, sawsomething which made her sit bolt upright in her comfortable chair. Atear rolled down the smooth cheek turned toward her--a single tear, which splashed on the white hand resting on the keys. That was all, but it was enough. With a jingle of gold bracelets and a rustle ofsilk, Mrs. Cary struggled to her feet and came and stood by herdaughter, her heavy hand clasping her by the shoulder. "Beaty!" she said stupidly. "Are you--crying?" Beatrice turned on the music-stool and looked her mother calmly in theface. There was not a trace of emotion in the clear, steady eyes. "I--crying?" she said. "What should have made you think that? Have youever seen me cry?" "No, never. I couldn't understand. You are all right?" "Perfectly all right, thank you. Hadn't you better see about the tea?" Mrs. Cary heaved a sigh of relief and satisfaction. "Of course. How thoughtful you can be, my dear! The gentlemen may beback any moment. " She sailed heavily across the room, on her way passing the glass doorswhich opened on to the verandah. "Why!" she exclaimed, stopping short, "if that isn't Captain Staffordmounting his horse! Look, Beaty! And he hasn't even come to saygood-by. " Beatrice turned indifferently. "I expect he has some important business--" she began, and then, asher eyes fell on the man outside swinging himself up into the saddle, she stopped and rose abruptly to her feet. "I have never seen anyonelook like that before!" she said, under her breath. "He looks--awful. " Mrs. Cary nodded. "As though he had seen a ghost, " she supplemented unsteadily. "Whatcan have happened?" The horse's head was jerked around to the compound gates. Amidst aclatter of hoofs and in a cloud of dust Stafford galloped out ofsight, not once turning to glance in their direction. The two womenstood and stared at each other, even Beatrice for the moment shakenout of her usual self-control by what she had seen. They had no timeto make any further observations, for almost immediately Travers cameup the steps, his sun-helmet in his hand. Whatever had happened, he atleast seemed unmoved. The exceptional pallor of his face had givenplace to the old healthy glow. "I have come to drink Stafford's share of the tea as well as my own, "he said cheerily. "You see, Mrs. Cary, in spite of your strictinjunctions, I have sent the poor fellow flying off on a freshbusiness matter. He asked me to excuse him, as he was in a greathurry. " "So it seems!" Mrs. Cary observed, rather tartly. "He might at leasthave stayed to say good-by. " "Oh, well, you know what an impulsive creature he is, " Traversapologized. "Besides, I believe he means to drop in later on. Pleasedon't punish me, Mrs. Cary, for his delinquencies. " The suggestion that Stafford might resume his interrupted visit latermollified Mrs. Cary at once. "No, you shan't suffer, " she assured him, with fat motherliness. "Iwill go and tell the servants about tea at once. " The minute she was out of the room Travers came over to Beatrice'sside. A slight change had taken place in his expression. It remindedher involuntarily of that night in the dog-cart when for an instanthis passions had forced him to drop the mask. "You and I have every reason to congratulate each other, " he said, ina low voice. "We can now go ahead and win. The road is clear for usboth. " "What do you mean--what have you done?" "Nothing, " he answered, as Mrs. Cary reentered. "You will know in aday or two. And then--well, the game will be in our hands, Miss Cary. " Mrs. Cary, who had caught the last remark, looked quickly andsuspiciously from one to the other. "What's that you are talking about?" she demanded. "What game is inyour hands, Beaty?" Travers smiled frankly. "Miss Cary and I are working out a bridge problem, " he explained. "Wehave just discovered a solution to a difficulty. That's all. " His smile deepened as he glanced across at Beatrice, but there was noresponse on her grave face. She half turned away from him, and for thefirst time he thought that the climate was telling on her. She lookedwhite and harassed. CHAPTER XIV IN WHICH MANY THINGS ARE BROKEN "I can't think what is making Captain Stafford so late, " Lois said toMrs. Carmichael, who was, as usual, knitting at some unrecognizablegarment destined for a far-off London slum. "I wonder if he hasforgotten that to-day is the tournament, and that he promised to fetchme. " "I hardly think he has forgotten the tournament, " Travers remarkedcarelessly. "He was speaking about it to Miss Cary this morning. Iexpect he will be around soon--and if he fails, will I do instead?" He looked at her with such a pleasant frankness in his eyes that anyawkwardness she might have felt became impossible, and she could onlysmile back at him, grateful for the unchanged friendship which he hadretained for her. "Of course you will do!" she said gaily. "But I must give him a fewminutes' grace. It has only just struck four o'clock. " The Colonel looked around. He had come in five minutes before, hot andtired from a long ride of inspection, and his family, knowing hissmall peculiarities, had allowed him to get over his first exhaustionundisturbed. "I shouldn't wait too long, little girl, " he said, smiling kindly. "Ifancy Stafford is not at all up to the mark. I told him to take a dayoff if he wanted it. " "Why, when did you see him?" his wife asked. "This morning, of course, at parade. He struck me then as being ratherpeculiar. " "Ill?" Lois exclaimed with some alarm. She put her racquet on thetable and came and slipped her hand through the Colonel's arm. "Youdon't think he is ill?" she asked earnestly. Colonel Carmichael shook his head. "No, " he said, "not exactly ill. " He laid his hand gently upon hers, so that she could not draw it back. "Let us go outside and see if heis coming, " he went on. The old man--for sorrow and physical weakness had made him older thanhis years--led the way on to the verandah, still holding Lois' hand inhis own. He could not have explained the indefinable force which drovehim out of his wife's presence. His ear shrank from her hard, matter-of-fact voice and undisturbed optimism. She who had never hadany mood but the one energetic and untirable one, had no comprehensionfor the changing shades of his temper--would, indeed, have ratherscorned the necessity of understanding them. She did not believe inwhat she called "vapors, " and when they ventured to cross her path sheswept them away again--or thought she did--with a none too sparingbrush. Unfortunately, there are some characters who can not overcomedepression, be it reasonable or unreasonable, simply because someoneelse happens to be cheerful. The source of their melancholy lies toodeep, and the more hidden it is, the more inexplicable, the harder itis to be overcome. It is as though a chord in their temperament islinked to the future, and vibrates with painful presentiment beforethat which is to come. Colonel Carmichael was one of these so-calledsensitive and moody people--quite unknown to himself. When the cloudhung heavily over his head, he said it was his liver or the heat, andtook his cure in the form of solitude, thus escaping his wife'spitiless condemnation. And on this afternoon, yielding to hisinstinct, he sought to be alone with Lois. Lois never disturbed him orjarred on his worn-out nerves. In spite of her energy and vigor, therewas a side of her nature which responded absolutely to his own, andwith her he could always be sure of a sympathetic silence, or, whatwas still more, a gentle sadness which helped him more than anyoverflow of strident high spirits. For some little time they stood together arm-in-arm, looking over thegarden. The excuse that they were watching for Stafford was no morethan an excuse, for from their position the road was completely hiddenby the high wall with which the whole compound was surrounded. Throughthe foliage of the trees the outline of the old bungalow was faintlyvisible, and thither their earnest contemplation was directed. Forboth of them it was something more than a ruin, something more than arelic out of the tragic past. It had become, above all for theColonel, a part of their lives, a piece of inanimate destiny to whichthey felt themselves tied by all the bonds of possession. It wastheirs, and they in turn were possessed by the influence it exercisedover their lives. Their dear ones had died within its walls, and someintuition, feeling blindly through the lightless passages of thefuture, told them that its history was not yet ended. Colonel Carmichael bent down and looked into Lois' dark face. He hadgrown to love her as his own child, and the desire to protect andguard her from all misfortune was the one strong link that held him inthe world. Life as life had disappointed him, not because he had madea failure out of it, but because success was not what he had supposedit to be. It is very likely that his subsequent indifference toexistence, coupled with a far from robust constitution, would havelong since cut short his earthly career had it not been for Lois. Sheheld him fast. He flattered himself--as what loving soul doesnot?--that he was necessary to her, that only his old hand could keepher path clear from thorns and pitfalls. It was the last duty whichlife had given him to perform, and he clung to it gratefully, neverrealizing the pathetic truth--the saddest truth of all--that with allour love, all our heartfelt devotion and self-sacrifice, we can nomore shield our dear ones from the hand of Fate than we can shieldourselves, and that their salvation, if salvation there be for them, can only come from their own strength. "What a grave face!" he said, with a lightness he was not feeling. "Why so serious, dear? Has anything gone wrong?" She shook her head. "No, nothing whatever; on the contrary, I was thinking how gratefulfor all my happiness I ought to feel--and do feel. Would you call mean ungrateful, discontented person, Uncle?" "You? No! What makes you ask?" "I think I _am_ ungrateful, only you don't notice it, because I am notmore so than most, and perhaps less than a good many. Everybody hasflashes of self-revelation, don't you think, when one sees oneself andthe whole world in the true proportions and not as in every-day life. I have just had such a revelation. I was feeling rather annoyed thatCaptain Stafford should have forgotten the tournament and so make melate; and then you said something about him--you spoke as though hewere ill--and the sickening thought flashed through my mind: supposeyou--or some one I loved--were taken from me--died? Then thingsslipped into their right size. The petty woes and grievances which soconstantly irritate me became petty. I didn't care in the least aboutthe tennis--I thanked God for you and for your love. " He saw that she was strangely moved. Her voice had a rough, dry soundwhich he had not heard before, and her brows were knitted in a pluckyeffort to keep back the tears that some inward pain had driven to hereyes. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Lois, " he said remorsefully. "How wasI to know that you were so easily alarmed?" She pressed his arm with warm affection. "There is nothing to be regretted, " she said. "I ought to be glad thata little thing can stir me--some people need catastrophe. If it hadnot been for that sudden fear, I might have been bad-tempered andspoiled the day for myself and every one. " "And then you would have had to add it to the long list of days whichhaunt us in later life, " he added almost to himself, "--one of theoccasions for happiness which we have wilfully defaced. But there, Ithink I hear some one coming. It is probably Stafford. Won't you runand meet him?" She drew her hand quickly from his arm as though in answer to hissuggestion, then hesitated and shook her head. "I think I will wait here with you, " she said, looking up at him. He nodded, and they stood side by side watching the pathway which ledaround to the highroad beyond the compound. Colonel Carmichael wassmiling to himself. His wife's sure conviction that the hour of Lois'union with Stafford was not far off had at last overcome his owninexplicable doubts and objections, and he even considered thepossibility with a kind of satisfaction not unmingled with pain. "Itis well that she should have a good strong man to protect her, " hethought, conscious of age and growing infirmity. Then he looked downat the happy face beside him and his smile lost all trace ofbitterness. "She loves him, " was the concluding thought that flashedthrough his mind as Stafford appeared around the corner. He meant tosay something in tender jest to her, but the words died on his lipsand he felt that the hand upon his arm had tightened. It was the onlysign which Lois made that a sudden change had come over her horizon. She said nothing, but in the same moment that the Colonel's eyesrested on her in half tender, half teasing query, she knewinstinctively that her happiness had shattered against a rock which, hidden beneath a treacherously calm sea, had struck suddenly at thevery foundations of her world. Stafford was coming toward them slowly, his head bent. It was not hisface which, like a bitter frost, froze the overflow of her happy heartto icy fear--for she could not see it. It was his attitude, hismovements, above all a terrible return of that presentiment whichalready once that day had darkened her hopeful, cheery mood. Do whatshe would, she could not move to meet him. She could only stand there, clinging to her guardian's arm, the smile of welcome stiffening on herpale lips. The Colonel was the first to speak. He held out hisdisengaged hand with a frank movement of pleasure. "Glad to see you, Stafford, " he said. "I was beginning to think thefever had really got hold of you. What has caused the delay?" "Delay?" Stafford repeated dully, looking from one to the other. Travers, who had joined them a moment before, laughed with sincerity. "My good fellow--surely you have not forgotten?" he said. "Youpromised to fetch Miss Caruthers for the tournament. " "Ah, the tournament!" Stafford passed his hand quickly across hisforehead like a man who has been awakened roughly from a dream. "Ofcourse--the tournament. I am awfully sorry--" He turned to Lois witha curious, awkward gesture. "--I'm afraid I can't come. I--I am notvery fit--in fact--" He hesitated and then stopped altogether, lookingpast her with his brows knitted, his lips compressed as though in aneffort to keep back an exclamation of pain. "You look out of sorts, " Travers agreed sympathetically. "Come andtake my chair. I'll look after Miss Caruthers--if she will let me. " Lois shook her head. She was watching Stafford's ashy face and therewas a pity in her eyes which was deepening every instant totenderness. All suffering awoke in her an instant response, and thisman was dear to her--how dear she only realized now that the lines ofpain were on his forehead. "You are not to bother, " she said gently, but with an unmistakabledecision. "I can manage quite well by myself. I shall start as soon asI have given Captain Stafford a cup of tea. Sit down--it will do yougood. " Stafford made an abrupt gesture of refusal. The movement was almostviolent, as though for an instant he had lost hold over himself. Thenhe pulled himself together, looking her full and steadily in the face. "It is very good of you, " he said, "but indeed I can not wait. I haveonly come to break a piece of news to you. As--my best friends here, Ithought it only right that you should be told first. " Travers rose with a mock alacrity. "Am I _de trop, _ or do I count among the 'best friends'?" he asked. Stafford nodded, but he did not meet the quizzical eyes which studiedhis face. He was still looking at Lois. "Please remain, " he said. "I wish you to know--and Miss Cary wishesyou to know also. " "Miss Cary?" It was the Colonel's turn to speak. His veined handrested clenched on the verandah balustrade, and there was a suddensternness in his attitude and voice which filled the atmosphere withan electric suspense. "What has Miss Cary to do with the matter?" "Everything. Miss Cary has consented to become my wife. " [Illustration: "Miss Cary has consented to become my wife. "] He was not looking at Lois now, but at the Colonel, and then afterwardat Travers. The latter had turned away and was gazing out over thegarden, his arms folded over his broad, powerful chest. His silencewas pointed, brutally significant. It threatened to force anexplanation which each present was ready to give his life to avoid. The Colonel, Mrs. Carmichael, Stafford himself, each thought of Loisin that brief silence, and each after his own character acted inobedience to the instinctive desire to protect and uphold her. No onelooked at her. It was as though they were afraid to read a pitifulself-betrayal on her young, mobile features, and with a fierce attemptat composure the Colonel turned to Stafford. He meant to break the icythreatening silence with the first commonplace which occurred to him, and at the bottom of his heart he cursed Travers for his attitude ofunconcealed scorn. The next instant, the clumsy words which he hadgathered together in his rage and distress were checked by Loisherself. She advanced to Stafford with outstretched hand, her facegrave but absolutely composed. "I congratulate you, " she said. "I hope you will be very happy. " That was all, but it sufficed to break the spell which held thembound. The Colonel's commonplace passed unnoticed, and Mrs. Carmichaelmurmured inaudibly. Only Travers remained silent, immovable. "Thank you, " Stafford said. He had taken Lois' hand without hesitationand the painful uneasiness which had at first marked his manner hadgiven place to a certain grave, decided dignity. "Thank you, " herepeated. "I hope we shall be happy. In the meantime, I must ask youto keep our engagement private. My future wife wishes it for thepresent--only you were to be told. So much I owed to you. " "Yes, you owed us so much, " the Colonel said, and there was a faint, irrepressible irony in his tone. Stafford still held Lois' hand. He seemed to have forgotten that heheld it, and when she gently drew it away he started and a wave ofdark color mounted to his forehead. "I must go now, " she said. "I shall be late for the tournament, and Iam to play with Captain Webb in the doubles. It would not be fair forme to spoil everything. I--I am very glad and grateful that you toldus. " Mrs. Carmichael gripped the arms of her chair. She saw more than herhusband saw, and there was something in that absolute self-possessionwhich frightened her. "Please go with Lois, Mr. Travers, " she said sharply, recklessly. "Ido not want her to go that long way alone. I should worry the wholeevening. " "May I, Miss Caruthers?" Travers had turned at last and was looking ather. "You promised me that I might act as substitute. Do youremember?" His tone was low, significant, full of a profound feelingwhich he knew she would hear and understand. She took his extended arm and he felt that she clung to him forsupport. "Thank you, " she said under her breath. She went with him to the head of the verandah Steps, blindly obeyinghis strong guidance. Then she saw the Colonel's face and suddenly shelaughed lightly, cheerfully, as though nothing in the world hadhappened, and her eyes flashed with an unconquerable courage. "You are not to bother, " she called back to him. "I shall play up andwin. I shall come back with all the prizes. " He nodded. He understood and recognized the fighting spirit, and hisadmiration kindled and mingled with a biting, cruel grief. He watchedher as she walked proudly erect at Travers' side, and his heart ached. He understood what his wife had understood in the first moment andwhat an hour before would have seemed impossible to them both; heunderstood that they were helpless, that they could neither protectnor comfort the brave young life which had been confided to theircare. Their love, great as it was, lay useless, and his last pride, his last consolation was gone. He threw it to the wrecked lumber onhis life's road. He did not hear Stafford's farewell nor his wife'sicy response. He stood there with his hand clenched on the balustrade, motionless and wordless, until the evening shadows had crept over thesilent garden. In that hour he knew himself to be an old and brokenman. Many miles away a dusty, haggard-faced rider urged his weary horseover the great highroad. Danger lurked in every shadow, but he heedednothing--was scarcely conscious of what went on about him. He, too, suffered, but no remorse mingled itself with his tight-lipped grief. He had done the right and--according to his code and way ofthinking--the only merciful thing. CHAPTER XV THE GREAT HEALER "Yes, it's a fine building, " Travers said, looking about him with anexpression of satisfaction. "The Rajah hasn't spared the paint in anyway. You see, it was all native work, so he killed two birds with onestone--pleased us and gave the aborigines a job. He has gone quite madon reforms, poor fellow!" He laughed, not in the least contemptuously, but with a faint pity. "And it's all your doing, Miss Beatrice, " hewent on, turning to her with an elaborate bow. "You should be veryproud of your work. " She looked him straight in the face. They were in the new ballroom ofthe clubhouse which the Rajah of Marut had just opened. In theadjacent tearoom she heard voices raised in gay discussion, but forthe moment they were quite alone. "You give me more credit in the matter than I deserve, " she said. "Isthat generosity on your part, or--are you shirking your share of theresponsibility?" "I--shirk my share of the responsibility!" he exclaimed with agood-tempered lifting of the eyebrows. "My dear lady, have you everknown me to do such a thing?" She smiled rather sarcastically. "No, Mr. Travers, but I own that the idea does not seem to me whollyimpossible. " "And even if you were right, why should I in this particular case'shirk the responsibility, ' as you put it? Surely it is notresponsibility we have incurred, but gratitude. " She walked by his side over to the open windows which looked out on tothe as yet uncultivated and barren gardens. "The question is this, " she said at last: "Does the superficialgratitude of a crowd in any way compensate for the fact that, in orderto obtain it, a whole life's happiness has been incidentallysacrificed?" "I know to whom you are alluding, " he said, looking earnestly at her, "although, as a matter of fact, the two things have nothing to do witheach other, except in your imagination. You mean Lois. Yes, of courseshe has had a hard time. Who doesn't? But it's rubbish to talk of a'life's happiness. ' In the first place, there isn't such a thing--nothing lasts so long as a lifetime, I assure you. In the second, Lois has not sustained any real loss--not any which I can not makegood to her. " "Do you imagine yourself so all-sufficient?" she asked. "I have confidence in my own powers, " he admitted. "That is the firstcondition of success. I believe that in a few hours I shall have Loison the road to recovery. " "I do not in the least understand your methods, " Beatrice said, "butthey have hitherto been so eminently successful that I suppose I oughtnot to question them. I hope for the best. I really was rather sorryfor Lois--especially as she behaved so well. " "Are you starting a conscience, Miss Beatrice?" Travers asked gaily. "I rather suspect you. It would be such a typically feminineproceeding. " "There you are quite wrong, " she answered, with a shade of annoyancein her cool voice. "A conscience is an appendage which I discarded agood many years ago as the luxury of respectability. As you know, andas any woman at the Station would tell you, I am not respectable. " "Whence this anxiety, then?" "It is purely a practical one. You talk of gratitude--do you reallythink anyone is grateful to me for--this?" She waved her hand towardthe lofty, handsomely decorated room before her. "Why, I doubt ifanyone remembers that I had anything to do with it. But every onesuspects me of having bewitched Stafford into becoming adeserter--thanks to Mrs. Carmichael's tongue--and every one feels ajust and holy indignation. I doubt whether they really care a rapabout poor Lois, and indeed I could accuse one or two of a certainsatisfaction; but the matter has given them a new whip with which tobeat us out of Marut. " "But you will not be beaten out of Marut, " Travers said, a smilepassing over his fresh face. "You have got a far too firm footing. Thewoman who has bagged the finest catch in the Station has nothing moreto fear. " "You mean Captain Stafford?" "I do. " "Then, if you have no objection, we will leave that subject alone. " "By all means, if you wish it, " he agreed, somewhat taken aback. "But, between friends, you know, one does not need to be so delicate. " Her hands played idly with the handle of her silk parasol. "It is not a matter of delicacy, " she said, "--at least, notaltogether. It would be rather silly to begin with that sort of thingat my time of life, wouldn't it? But--you don't know for certain thatI shall marry Captain Stafford. " "My dear lady! You have accepted him!" Travers exclaimed. She looked at him, her clear hazel eyes flashing with momentary fun. "It is very bad policy to rely upon what a woman says further backthan twenty-four hours, " she warned him. For once he remained serious. "That may be true, but it is sometimes necessary to warn her thatfirst thoughts are best. " "Now, what do you mean?" He folded his arms over his broad chest. "Miss Beatrice, " he said, appearing to ignore her question, "do youremember some time ago my telling you that we were like two partnersat a game of bridge?" "I remember very well. " "Well, we are still partners, though the game is nearing its end. As arule I am for straight, aboveboard play, but there are moments when aman is strongly tempted to cheat. " "Haven't we cheated all through?" she inquired, with a one-sidedsmile. "By no means. We have finessed, that's all. Just at present I feelimpelled to--well, give you a hint under the table. " "Why?" "Miss Beatrice, more or less I stand in the position of a skilled andrich player who has tempted a less wealthy partner into a doubtfulgame. If my plans fail, I can look after myself; but I shouldn't liketo get you in a mess. If I give you a hint, will you keep counsel?" "I suppose I must. " "Well, then, it's just this. Your mother has invested the greater partof her money in the Marut Company. I did not want her to--I'll saythat for myself--but she has the speculating craze, and nothing wouldstop her. Of course the mine will be an immense success--but if itisn't, I should like to see you, as my partner, well out of reach ofthe results. " "Now I understand. Thank you. " "As to the Rajah, I think you had better let him run before things gotoo far. I'm afraid he has got one or two silly ideas in his head. Youhad better make your engagement public. " "Thank you. " She looked perfectly calm and collected. The red had diedout of her cheeks and left them their pale rose, which not even thehottest Indian sun had been able to wither. Still, her tone hadsomething in it which startled even the self-possessed Travers. "By Jove!" he began, "are you angry--?" She passed over the question before he had time to finish it. "I am going into the garden to look for my mother, " she said. "Theband is just beginning. _Au revoir_. " Travers watched her curiously and admiringly as she walked across theparquetry flooring to the door. It requires a good deal ofself-possession and carriage to walk gracefully under the scrutiny ofcritical eyes, and this self-possession and carriage were the finalclauses to Beatrice's claim to physical perfection. There was anatural dignity in her bearing and an absolute balance in all hermovements which Travers had never seen before combined in one woman. At first sight an observer called her pretty, and then, as one by onethe perfect details unfolded themselves to a closer criticism, beautiful. He was never disappointed, and even the most carping andenvious of Marut's female contingent had failed to find her vulnerablepoint. So they had turned with more success to her character, andproceeded there with their work of destruction. Her beauty they leftunquestioned. Travers often asked himself--and asked himself especially on thisafternoon--why, apart from practical considerations, he had not fallenin love with her instead of Lois. He liked beautiful women, as heliked all beautiful things, and Lois had no real pretensions tobeauty. Was it, perhaps, as he had said, that her honesty and genuineheart-goodness had drawn him to her? Of course he had pretended thatit was so. He knew that, in company with all true women, she wassusceptible to that form of flattery where other compliments merelydisgusted, and he had made good use of his knowledge. He had oftenlaughed to himself at the feminine craze for salvaging lost souls, buthe had never taken it seriously, not even with Lois. Was there anytruth in the assertions that he had made to her, more than he knew?The idea amused him immensely, and also drew his attention back to hisprevious conversation with Beatrice Cary. He shook his headwhimsically in the direction she had taken. "I don't care what you say, " he thought, "you are getting aconscience. Now, I wonder whom you caught it from? Not from me, I'llbe bound. " He laughed out loud, and shaking himself up from his half-loungingattitude against the window casement, he proceeded to follow inBeatrice's footsteps. At the door he was met by three men--the Rajah, Stafford, and a new-comer whom he did not recognize and for the momentscarcely noticed. He had a quick and sympathetic intelligence, whichwas trained to read straight through men's eyes into their minds, andin an instant he had classed and compared, not without a pang of realif very objective regret, the two familiar faces and theirexpressions. Gloom and sunshine jostled each other. On the one hand, Nehal Singh had never looked better than he did then. The old film of dreamy contemplation was gone from his eyes, whichflashed with energy and purpose; the face was thinner and in placeslined; the figure, always upright, had become more muscular. From amerely handsome man he had developed into a striking personality, released from the bonds of an enforced inactivity and an objectlessdestiny. By just so much Stafford had altered for the worse. Hischaracter was too strong and rigid to allow an absolute breakdown. Hestill carried himself well; to all intents and purposes, as far as hisduty was concerned, he was as hard-working and conscientious as he hadever been, but no strength of will had been able to hinder the changein his face and expression. He looked years older. There was greymixed with the dark brown of his hair; the eyes were hollow andlightless; the cheeks had painfully sunken in. A friend returningafter a two months' absence would have said that he had gone through asharp and very dangerous illness; but Marut, who knew that he had notbeen ill, wondered exceedingly. They wondered all the more because, though nothing was known forcertain, they suspected a rupture in the relations between Staffordand the Carmichael family, and Beatrice was recognized as theundoubtable cause. Her engagement with Stafford had been kept secret, but the Marut world had its ideas and was puzzled to distraction as towhy he seemed to shun her society and had become morose and taciturn. "It is his conscience, " said the busybodies, whose inexperience on thesubject of conscience excused the mistaken diagnosis. Travers knewbetter. He felt no sort of regret, but he was rather sorry forStafford and sometimes Stafford felt his unspoken sympathy and shrankfrom it. "We have been looking all over the place for you, Travers, " he said, after the first greeting had been exchanged. "Nicholson arrived herelast night, and he has already been on a tour of inspection. He wantsto know the man who has built the modern settlement. " Travers turned to the new-comer and held out his hand. "Glad to meet you, " he said cordially; "but please don't run off withthe idea that I have anything to do with the innovations. I am no morethan the artisan. The Rajah is the moving spirit. " Nehal Singh's expression protested. "If money is the moving power, you may be right, " he said; "but if, as Ithink, the conception is everything, then the credit is wholly yours. " "You have been the energizing spirit, " Travers retorted. "Well, we will divide the honors. And, after all, it does not matterin the least who has done it, so long as it is done. " "Well spoken!" Adam Nicholson said. "If that's your principle, I'm notsurprised at the marvels you have brought about. " Nehal Singh turned to the speaker. "You think the changes are for the good?" he asked eagerly. "Without a doubt. The new Bazaar is a model for Indian civilization. " "And the mine?" "Excuse me--is that part of the reform? I understood that it wasmerely a speculation. " The prince's brows contracted with surprise. "It is part of the reform. I wish to give my people a settledindustry. There is no idea of--personal gain. " "I see. Well, I don't know about that yet. I haven't looked into thematter; I must to-morrow--that is, no, I won't. You know, "--with amovement of good-tempered impatience--"I've been sent here on arest-cure, and I'm not to bother about anything. Please remind me nowand again. I always forget. " Stafford smiled grimly. "You don't look as though you knew what rest is, " he said. Travers, who stood a little on one side, felt there was some truth inthe criticism. During the brief conversation between Nehal Singh andNicholson he had had ample opportunity to study the two men and toglean the esthetic pleasure which all beauty gave him. Bothrepresented the best type of their respective races, and, curiouslyenough, this perfection seemed to obliterate the differences. Traverscould not help thinking, as he glanced from one to the other, that, had it not been for the dress, it would have been difficult to decidewho was the native prince and who the officer. Nehal Singh's highforehead and clean-cut features might have been those of a European, and his complexion, if anything, was fairer than that of the sunburntman opposite him. It was doubtful, too, which of the two faces was themore striking. Travers felt himself irresistibly drawn to thenew-comer. The bold, aquiline nose, the determined mouth under theclose-cut moustache, the broad forehead with the white line where themilitary helmet had protected from the sun, the black hair prematurelysprinkled with grey--these, together with the well-built figure, madehim seem worthy of the record of heroism and ability with which hisname was associated. "If you want a rest, your only hope is with the ladies, " Travers said, as he turned with Nicholson toward the garden. "They are the onlypeople who haven't got mines and industrial progress on the brain. Areyou prepared to be lionized, by the way? We are all so heartily sickof one another that a new arrival is bound to be pursued to death. " "I don't care so long as I get in some decent tennis and polo, "Nicholson answered cheerfully. "Not that I've starved in that respect. I got my men up at the Fort into splendid form. We made our net andracquets ourselves, and rolled out some sort of a court. It wasimmense fun, though the racquets weren't all you might have wished, and the court had a most disconcerting surface. " He laughed heartilyat his recollections, and Travers laughed with him. "No wonder the men worshiped you, " he said, and then saw that theremark had been a mistake. "They didn't worship me, " was the sharp answer. "That sort of thing isall rubbish. They respected me, and I respected them--that's all. " "It seems to me a good deal, " Travers observed. "It is a good deal, in one sense, " Nicholson returned. "It is the onlycondition under which native and European can work in unity. " Nehal Singh and Stafford were walking a little ahead, and Traversthought he saw the Rajah hesitate as though about to join theconversation. Almost immediately, however, Nicholson changed thesubject. "I've had no time to look up my old friends, " he said to Travers. "Perhaps you could tell me something about them. Colonel Carmichaelis, of course, still here. I had a few words with him this afternoon. Do you know if that little girl, Lois Caruthers, is with him, or hasshe gone back to England?" "No, she is still in Marut. " "That's good. When I was a young lieutenant, she and I were greatpals. Of course she is grown-up now, but I always think of her as mywild little comrade who led me into the most hairbreadth adventures. "He smiled to himself, and Travers, looking sharply at him, felt thatthere was a wealth of memories behind the pleasant grey eyes. "Things change, " he said sententiously. "Do they? Well, perhaps; though the change, I find, lies usually inoneself, and I never change. Is she married?" "No--not yet. " He saw that Nicholson was on the point of answering, asking anotherquestion, and he went on hurriedly: "She is not here this afternoon. If you are anxious to meet her, howwould it be if I ran over to the Colonel's bungalow and persuaded herto come? I dare say I could manage it. " "Excellent, if you wouldn't mind. Or I might go myself. We shall haveany amount to say to each other. " There was a scarcely noticeable pause before Travers answered: "I think it would be better if I went. I know a short cut, and couldget there and back with Miss Caruthers in half an hour. Would you mindtelling the Colonel what I have done?" "Certainly. In the meantime, I'll have a talk with the Rajah aboutthis mining business. He seems to have an exceptional individuality, and--" "Remember the doctor!" Travers warned him. "Oh, yes, thanks! I forgot again. By the way, when you see Lois--MissCaruthers--tell her for me, the cathedral still lacks the chief spire, but otherwise is getting on very nicely. " "I'm afraid I don't understand. " "No, but I dare say she will. Good-by. " Travers borrowed a buggy from one of the other guests, and startedimpetuously on his self-imposed errand. He had lied about the shortcut, and about the half-hour. He would have lied up to the hilt if ithad been required of him, because his instinct--that instinct whichhad saved him untold times from blundering--warned him that danger wasat hand. It told him that it was now or never, and the realizationfilled him with a reckless resolve which was ready to ride down allprinciples and honor. He was still sufficiently master of himself tohide the storm; it showed itself only in so far that, when he stoodbefore Lois, he seemed more moved and agitated than she had ever seenhim. She had just returned from a long and lonely ride, and was aboutto retire to change her white habit, when he came upon her in theentrance hall. Had he not found her himself, she would have refused tosee him, for she dreaded his message. She felt that he had come tourge her attendance at the opening ceremony, and old fondness forsocial pleasures of that kind had given place to dislike. It was theonly change that sorrow had wrought upon her character. Otherwise shewas the same as she had always been. For one week she had sufferedsomething like despair, and then the brave spirit in her despiseditself for its weakness, and set to work on the rebuilding of her lifeon new foundations. To all appearances, she had succeeded admirably inher task. There was no drooping hopelessness in her attitude towardthe world. And if beneath the surface there lay hidden the dangerousflaw of purposelessness, no one knew--at least, so she believed. To her surprise, Travers made no mention of the subject she dreaded. He took her hand in his, and led her into the shady drawing-room. Shemade no attempt to protest, nor did she offer him any formal greeting. She was oppressed and hypnotized by the conviction that a crisis wasabout to break over her head which no power of hers could avert. Hedid not let her hand go. He still held it between his own as theystood opposite each other, and she felt that he was trembling. "Lois, " he said, "Lois, don't think me mad. There are limits to aman's endurance. I have held out so long that I can hold out nolonger. I have come because I must speak to you alone. Will you letme?" She knew now what was coming, and she made a gentle effort to freeherself. "Mr. Travers, will you think me very conceited if I say that I knowwhat you have come to tell me?" she said, with an earnestness whichdid not conceal her anxiety. "Will you forgive me if I ask you not totell me? It would be hard to have to spoil our friendship. It has beena great deal to me. " "Does that mean that you don't care?" "I did not say that. As proof that I do care I will give you my wholeconfidence, I will be absolutely honest with you. Will you think mevery low-spirited if I tell you that a man still holds a place in mylife--a man who cares nothing for me? I ought to forget him--my prideshould make it possible, and yet I can not, and somehow I do not thinkI ever shall. " "Isn't that rather a hard punishment for him, Lois?" "For him?" "I, too, will be honest. I know whom you mean and I ask you--doesStafford look a happy man? He looks like a man weighed down by a heavyburden. I believe that burden is the knowledge that he has sinnedagainst you, that in his heedlessness, folly, what you will, he hasspoiled your life. Until he feels that you have regained yourhappiness he will never be able to find his own. " A spasm of pain passed over her face. "You mean--I stand in his way?" "I believe so. And I am sure of one thing--for your own sake as wellas for his, you must shake off your old affection for him, and howbetter than through the cultivation of a new and stronger love? Mydear little girl, you couldn't pretend that all the happy hours wehave spent together count for nothing. You say my friendship has beena great deal to you. What else is friendship but the sanest, mostlasting, and noblest part of love? What surer basis was ever the unionbetween a man and woman built upon? I know what you would say--it hascome too soon. You have only just pulled yourself up from a hard blow, and you feel that you must have time to right yourself and all thehopes that were bowled over with you. My dear, I understand that--Godknows, I understand too well--but have pity on me. Think how I havewaited, and how time has drifted on and on for me. Must I wait thebest years of my life? Won't you let me add the whole of my love totime's cure for healing the old wound?" There was no pretense in his pleading, no pretense in the passion withwhich his voice shook. And because it was genuine, it carried herforward on the wave of powerful feeling toward his will. "I do care for you, " she said, with a strong effort to appear calm. "As a friend you are very dear to me, and you are no doubt right toclass friendship so highly. But I can not pretend that I love you. Ido not love you. And a woman should love the man she marries. " He let her hands fall. "And so you are going to let your life remain empty, little woman?" "Empty?" she echoed. "Yes, empty. Will it prove the strength of my love for you if I tellyou that it has given me the power to look straight into your heart?How many times have I read there the thought: 'Of what use is it all?My life has no object, no end or aim. No one needs me now. ' Lois, oneman needs you--needs you perhaps as much as he loves you. That man ismyself. If you say you have done nothing in the world, look into thesoul that I open out to you and to you alone. There is not a generous, honest deed or thought which has not its origin in you. For your sakeI have beaten down the devil under my feet--I have tried to live as Imeant to live before the time when I, too, found that there was noobject in it all, that no one cared whether I was good or bad. Thismuch have you changed in me--it has been your unconscious work. Areyou going to leave the task which surely God has left for you toaccomplish?" He had touched the chord in her which could only give one response, and he knew it. There lay the canker which made her energy andcheerfulness a mere task to hide the real disease. Half unconsciouslyshe had loved Stafford and half unconsciously she had built her lifeupon him. When he had been taken from her, the foundations had beenshaken, and she found herself crippled by a horrible sense ofemptiness and purposelessness. In England she would have flung herselfinto some intellectual pursuit, as other women do who have sufferedheart shipwreck. But she was in India, and in India intellectual foodis scarce. Pleasure is the one serious occupation for the womenkind;and though pleasure may be a good narcotic for some, for Lois it wasworse than useless. She needed one being for whom she could bringsacrifices and endless patient devotion, and there was no one. Her twoguardians lived for her, and that was not what she hungered after withall the thwarted energy of her soul. She wanted to work for somebody, not to be worked for--and no one needed her, no one except this man. Shelooked at him. She saw that her long silence was torture to him; she sawthat he was suffering genuinely, and her heart went out to him in pity. Pity is a woman's invariable undoing. How many women--sometimes happy, sometimes unhappy, according to the rulings of an inscrutable Fate--havemarried, partly out of flattered vanity, but chiefly because they aregood-hearted, and labor under the mistaken conviction that a man'shappiness rests on their decision? And in this particular instanceLois was honestly attached to Travers. She felt that to lose him wouldbe to lose a friend whom she could ill spare. Yet a blind instinct forcedher to a last resistance. "I do not love you, " she repeated, almost desperately. "I do not ask for that now, because I know that it will come. I askyou to be my lifelong friend and helper. Remember your promise, Lois!Has not the time come when we need each other--when no one else isleft?" He took her hand again. He felt that she was won. "If you need me--I care for you enough to try and love you as myhusband. " "Thank you, Lois!" His inborn tact and knowledge of the human character stood him againin good stead. He made no violent demonstration of his triumph andhappiness, thus breaking roughly into a region which as yet for himwas dangerous ground. As he had done months before, when the road tosuccess had seemed blocked, he lifted her hand reverently andgratefully to his lips. Thus it was that Captain Adam Nicholson waited patiently but in vainfor Travers' return with his old playfellow. As one by one the Rajah'sguests took their departure in order to prepare for the evening'sfestivities, he gave up his last hope. "I suppose it was too late, " he thought ruefully. "Or--she was soyoung, and it's many years ago--maybe she has forgotten. " It was not till long afterward that he knew how unconsciously hisfirst supposition had brushed past the truth. CHAPTER XVI FATE Travers had correctly described the new Marut club-house as a finebuilding on which the paint had been laid with a generous hand. Theoriginal modest design had been rejected as unworthy, and Nehal Singhhad ordered the erection of a miniature copy of his own palace, theball-room being line for line a reproduction of the Great Hall, savethat the decorations, which in the palace were inimitable, had beencarried out with dignified simplicity, and that some necessarymodernization had been added. Gold and white predominated, where inthe original, precious stones glistened; the brackets for the torcheswere transformed into small artistic lamps which had been ordered fromMadras; and from the ceiling a heavy chandelier added brilliancy tothe shaded light. The central floor had been left free for dancing, but the slender pillars ranged on either side formed separate littlealcoves banked with flowers and plants. It was in one of these refugesfrom the whirr and confusion of gay dresses and white uniforms thatStafford took up his watch. He had arrived late, thanks to Travers, who had detained him at his bungalow in a long and earnestconversation. The two men had subsequently driven together to theclub, and had further been hindered on their way by a curiousaccident. Just where the road passed an unprotected ravine, a nativehad sprung out from some bushes and, having waved his arms wildly, disappeared. The horse had immediately taken fright, and for a momentthe car and its occupants stood in danger of being flung headlong downthe precipice. Stafford's strength and nerve had saved the situation, but the incident had effectually put an end to their conversation, andnow for the first time Stafford found himself alone and at liberty tobring some order into his troubled thoughts. He was not, as Marut supposed, a conscience-stricken man, but a manwith a diseased conscience, his sense of duty and responsibilitydeveloped to abnormities which left him no clear judgment. He hadbroken with Lois because he loved her and because there seemed noother way of shielding her from the most terrible blow that could fallupon any human life--judging by the only standard he knew, which washis own. He had asked Beatrice to be his wife because it cut the lastlink and because he knew--Travers had told him--that the Station hadlong since coupled their names together in a way that cast a deepershadow about Beatrice's reputation. "It's no one's fault, old fellow, " Travers had said sympathetically. "You meant no harm, but you were often with her, and that old fiend, Mrs. Cary, has told every one that you 'were as good as--' And thenyou know what the people are here. When they see that things are at anend between you and Lois they will dig their knives deeper into MissCary, without giving her the credit of having won her game. She isfairly at every one's mercy here. I am sorry for Lois, but the otheris worse off, according to my lights. " Stafford had said nothing. Goaded by Travers' words and blinded by thecatastrophe which had broken upon him, he had acted without thought, without consideration, for the first time in his life obeying thebehests of a headlong impulse. He had asked Beatrice to be his wife, and to-night was to put the final seal upon their alliance. Again itwas Travers who had spoken the decisive word. "A secret engagement is a piece of folly, " he said, "and Miss Cary ismad to wish it. For your sake as well as hers, everything must beabove-board. Or are you shirking?" Stafford had made a hot retort. It was not in the scope of hischaracter to turn back on a road which he had marked out for himself, and he waited now for Beatrice with the unshaken resolution of a manwho believes absolutely in himself and his own code. He waited evenwith a certain impatience. Shortly before he had seen her standing atthe Rajah's side, a fair and beautiful contrast to his easternsplendor, and, somehow, in that moment, he had understood Travers'warning as he had not understood it before. She was to be his wife, she was to bear his name, and it was his duty to protect her if needbe from herself. He was about to leave the alcove to go in search ofher when she pushed aside the hangings and entered. The suddenness ofher appearance and something in her expression startled him. He didnot notice how radiantly beautiful she was nor the taste and richnessof her dress. He saw only that there was a curious look of pain andfear in her eyes which warmed his friendship and aroused in him afreshthe desire to shield her from the malice of the eyes that watchedthem. "Have I been a long time coming?" she asked, taking the chair heoffered her. "I am so sorry. The Rajah kept me. " Her voice sounded breathless and there was a forced lightness in hertone which did not escape him. He bent a little over her. "It does not matter, " he said. "You look troubled. Is there anythingwrong?" She laughed. "Nothing. " He hesitated, and then went on slowly: "There is one matter I want to speak to you about, Beatrice. It is thematter of--our engagement. I think you are wrong to wish it keptsecret. I think it can only bring trouble and misunderstanding. Willyou not allow me to tell every one?" The white satin slipper stopped its regular tattoo on the ruggedfloor. She lifted her face to his and looked him full in the eyes. "You think it was foolish and unreasonable to wish no one to know? ButI had my reasons--very good reasons. I wanted the retreat kept clearfor you. " "Retreat--for me?" "Yes, for you. Captain Stafford, why did you ask me to be your wife?" He drew himself stiffly erect. "I told you at the time, " he said sternly. "I was quite honest. I toldyou that the best a man can bring the woman he marries is not in mypower to give you. It was--shipwrecked some time ago. " "Not so very long ago, " she corrected. "That does not matter. The point is that I believe it in my power tomake you happy--at any rate, it would always be my ambition to see youso; and therein I should no doubt regain a great deal that I havelost--" "But you do not love me, Captain Stafford?" "I have just said that I have lost the power of loving. " For a moment she was silent, her jeweled hands resting wearily on thearms of her chair, her eyes sunk to the ground. "You made me an honorable proposal, Captain Stafford, " she said atlast. "You are an honorable man and inspire me with the desire to behonorable also. Won't you take back your freedom while there is yettime?" "No. " "There are others--good women among whom you would find one who wouldlove you as you deserve. I do not love you. All I can bring is acertain respect and friendship--that is all. " "I am grateful for so much, " he said. He was thinking of Lois, and hisvoice sounded hard and compressed. "If I marry you it will be because I must. " He nodded. "Yes, I am aware of that. " "Aware of that?" she said, looking up into his haggard face. "Howshould you be 'aware of that?' Is my private life so public then?" "You misunderstand me, " he said, striving to cover up what he felt tohave been a wanton piece of brutality. "I only mean, you must for thesame reason that I must--because circumstances have linked usinseparably together, and because--" He broke off. The tall figure of the Rajah had passed the alcove andhe had seen Beatrice sink back in her chair. As the figure moved onshe broke into one of her harsh, jarring laughs. "Good heavens, Captain Stafford, " she exclaimed, "your argumentshaven't a leg to stand on! What are you marrying me for?" "I have tried to explain, " he said, swinging himself clumsily up tothe great lie of his life--"because I need you--and I hope you willcome to need me. " "You mean I _do_ need you? Well, perhaps I do!" She sprang to her feetand held out her hand to him. "There! I seal the bargain. I warned youbut you would not be warned. _Vogue la galere!_ Tell the wholeworld--it is better so. " He took the small firm hand and pressed it. At the same moment he sawthe Rajah approaching for a second time. "I will leave you now, " he said in a low, earnest whisper. "I fancythe Rajah wishes to speak with you. It would be a good opportunity totell him that we are engaged. " She drew back her hand hastily. "Yes--of course I shall tell him. " Stafford bowed ceremoniously, making way for Nehal Singh. As he didso, he saw Lois enter the hall at Mrs. Carmichael's side. The twowomen bowed to him, the elder in a way which he had learned tounderstand. He drew aside out of their path, avoiding the genuinekindness which Lois' eyes expressed for him. "Pray God you believe the worst of me!" was the thought that flashedthrough his mind. "Pray God I have taught you to forget!" Nehal Singh had meanwhile taken Stafford's place at Beatrice's side. As he had entered the alcove she had made an effort to pass out, buther eyes had met his, and the look in them had held her rooted to theground. The color died and deepened by turns in her cheeks, and thehand that clasped the ivory fan shook as it had never shaken before inthe course of a life full of risks and dangers. But then no man hadever looked at her as this man did. She had outstared insolence andsnubbed sentimentality. She had never had to face such an honest, pure-hearted worship as this young prince brought and laid silently ather feet. No need for him to tell her that she embodied every virtueand every perfection of which human nature is capable. She knew it, and the knowledge broke the very backbone of her daring and stirred tolife in her sickened soul emotions which she could scarcely recognizeas her own. He stood quite close to her, but he did not touch her. In all theiracquaintance he had never, except when he had taken her hand infarewell, made any attempt to draw nearer to her than the strictestetiquette allowed. Other men--men whom she hardly knew--had taken theopportunity which a ride or drive offered to kiss her, and had beenoffended and surprised at her contemptuous rebuff. (What girl in Marutobjected to being kissed?) This man had treated her as though she wereholy, an object to be respected and protected, not to be handled as acommon plaything; and her heart had gone out to him in gratitude andadmiration. But tonight his very respect was painful to her. For amoment she would have given the best years of her life to know that hedespised her and that all was over between them; and then came therevulsion, the wild longing to hold him to her as though his trust inher were her one salvation. "Lakshmi!" he said, in a voice broken with feeling. "Lakshmi, you arethe most perfect woman God ever sent to earth. Every hour I grow toknow you better I feel how pale and empty of all true beauty my lifewas until you came. How can I thank you for all you have given me?" "Hush!" she said. "You must not talk to me like that. You must not. " "Why should I not tell you what is true?" "Because--oh, don't you see?"--she gave a short, unsteady laugh--"weEnglish don't tell people everything that is true. A man does not saythat sort of thing to a woman--" "To one woman!" he said. "Yes, to one woman, perhaps. But I--I--" She hesitated, the truthstruggling feebly to her lips. She felt herself turn sick and faint asshe looked into his earnest face. She knew what answer he had readyfor her, and though it would have brought the end for which she waspraying, she sought with all her strength to keep it back. All thebrutality in her character, her indifference to the feelings andopinions of others, failed. She dreaded the change that would comeinto his eyes; she did not believe that she could bear it. Tomorrowwould be time enough. But was it any longer in her power to determinewhen it would be time enough? There was an expression in Nehal Singh'sface which told her that he had already decided, and that the reinshad suddenly slipped from her hands into his. "Rajah--" she began, wildly seeking for some inspiration which wouldgive her back control over herself and him. But the triviality died onher lips as the truth had died. A shrill cry broke above the dyingwaltz, and the Rajah and Beatrice, startled by its piercing appeal, turned from each other and confronted a catastrophe whichovershadowed, and for the moment obliterated, their own threateningfate. The dancers had already retired to the sitting-out alcoves. Only onefigure occupied the floor, and that figure was Stafford's. He wascrossing the room and had reached the center when the cry had beenuttered. The amazed and startled watchers saw Lois rush toward him andwith an incredible strength and rapidity thrust him to one side. Asecond later--it scarcely seemed a second--the immense goldenchandelier crashed with a sound like thunder on to the very spot wherehe had been standing. A moment's uproar and horrified confusionensued. The place, plunged in a half-darkness, seemed filled with dustand flying fragments, and people hurrying backward and forward, scarcely knowing what had happened or what had been the extent of theaccident. Stafford's voice was the first to bring reassurance to thestartled crowd. "It's all right!" he shouted. "We are both safe, thank God!" They saw that he was deadly pale, though otherwise calm and collected. In the first moment of alarm he had instinctively caught Lois in hisarms, as though to shield her from some fresh danger, but immediatelyafterward he had let her go, and she stood apart amidst the debris ofthe wrecked chandelier, trembling slightly, but firmly refusing allassistance. "I owe my life to you, " Stafford said to her, with awkward gratitude. "You do not need to thank me, " she answered at once. "I did what anyone else would have done in my place. I saw it coming. " "How did it happen?" The question came from Nehal Singh, who hadforced his way to her side. "I can not understand how such an accidentwas possible. " There was an anxiety in his manner which seemed to increase duringLois' brief hesitation. "I hardly like to say, " she said at last, in a troubled voice. "Icould not believe my eyes, and even now it seems like a dream. Or ashadow might have deceived me. I don't know--" "Please tell me what you saw, or thought you saw!" the Rajah beggedearnestly. "I seemed to see the chandelier being lowered, " she said, with anirrepressible shudder, "and then from a dark hole in the ceiling ahand appeared--a black hand with a knife--" One of the women moaned, and there was afterward a silence in which awave of formless fear surged over the closed circle. The men exchangedquestioning glances, to which no one had an answer. "That's just the way, " Beatrice heard some one behind her say. "Wedance on the crust of a volcano or under a threatening avalanche. Sooner or later the one gives way or the other falls. There is no realsafety from these devils. " Meanwhile Nehal Singh had approached the wreckage and was examiningthe crown, to which a piece of gilded rope and chain were stillattached. One or two of the men were engaged in stamping out thecandles, which still sputtered feebly on the floor. The rest stoodabout uncomfortably, hypnotized by an indefinable alarm. "I fear you did not dream, Miss Caruthers, " the Rajah said at last. "The rope has been cut--the chain unlinked. Some wicked harm wasintended to us all. " "Not to us all, " Stafford observed coolly. "I think you will admit, Rajah, that whoever the murderer was, he would have chosen a moreadvantageous moment if he had intended general damage. My life was theone aimed at, and I am all the more convinced that I am right, becausethis is the third time within twenty-four hours that I have escaped bya miracle from accidents which were not accidental. " The Rajah started sharply around. "How?--what do you mean?" he demanded. "Yesterday my boat on the river was plugged. To-day a native tried tofrighten my horse over the ravine. This"--pointing to thechandelier--"is the third attempt. " "Do you know of any one who could have a grudge against you?" "No. " "Or against--your family?" There was a slight hesitation in Stafford's manner. He frowned as aman does who has been pressed with an unpleasant question. "That is more possible, " he admitted. Nehal Singh made no further remark. He stood staring straight aheadinto the half-darkness, and every eye in that uneasy assembly fixeditself on his face, as though striving to read from his expression theconclusion to which his mind was groping. For his exclamation afterStafford's first announcement had betrayed that a sudden suspicion hadflashed before him, and they waited for him to take them into hisconfidence. But they waited in vain. He seemed to have forgotten theirexistence, and the silence grew tense and painful. All at once, Mrs. Berry, who was clinging to her husband's arm, uttered a scream, whichacted like a shock of electricity on the overstrained nerves of thosewho stood about her. "Look! Look!" she cried. "Miss Caruthers is on fire! Oh, help! Help!" She turned and rushed like a frightened sheep to the back of the hall, crying incoherent warnings to those who tried to bar her headlongflight. It was a catastrophe upon catastrophe. How it happened no oneknew--possibly some half-extinct candle had done the work. In aninstant Lois' white silk dress had become a sheet of flame whichmounted with furious rapidity to her horror-stricken face. In suchdisasters it is only the question of a fraction of a second as to whorecovers his wits first. Almost on the top of Mrs. Berry's heedlessscream Beatrice had sprung toward the doomed girl--with what intentionshe hardly knew--but before she was in reach of danger Adam Nicholsonthrust her to one side and, folding Lois in his arms, flung her to theground. "A rug--a shawl--anything!" he shouted. Mrs. Carmichael tore the long wrap from her shoulders, and a dozenwilling hands lent what assistance first occurred to them. ButNicholson fought his enemy alone. "Stand back!" he commanded. "Stand back!" They obeyed him instinctively, and stood helpless, watching the short, desperate struggle between life and death. Scarcely a moment elapsedbefore the flames died down--one last tight drawing together of Mrs. Carmichael's wrap, and they were extinct. Nicholson stumbled to hisfeet, the frail, unconscious burden in his arms. "Please make way, " he said. "I do not think she is badly hurt, but shemust be taken home at once. Stafford, go and see if the carriage isthere. " His own face was singed, and one of his hands badly burnt, but he didnot seem to notice his own injuries. Colonel Carmichael, who hadentered the hall with him at the moment of the accident, helped toclear the road. His features in the half-light were grey with the fearof those last few moments. "You have saved our little girl!" he said brokenly to Nicholson. "Youhave saved her life. God bless you for it, Adam!" "That's all right, " was the cheerful answer. "You know, Colonel, Loisand I were always helping each other out of scrapes, and I expect itwas my turn. " He looked down at the pale face against his shoulder, and there was an unconscious tenderness in his expression whichtouched the shaken old man's heart. "She will be glad to hear it was you, Adam, " he said. "You were alwaysher favorite. " They had reached the great doors, which the Rajah himself had flungwide open, when Travers sprang up the steps to meet them. He wasdishevelled, breathless, and exhausted as though with hard running, and his eyes, as they flashed from one to the other of the littleprocession, were those of a madman. "What has happened?" he demanded frantically. "I was outside withWebb. What has happened?--Oh!" He caught sight of Lois in Nicholson'sarms, and his cry was high and hysterical, like a frightened woman's. Stafford seized him by the shoulder and dragged him back into the nowempty hall. "Control yourself!" he said roughly. "Don't behave like a fool. She isall right, but they won't want you interfering, especially if youcan't keep your head. " "They won't want me!" Travers exclaimed, staring at him. He then brokeinto a discordant laugh. "Why, my good Stafford, they'll have to haveme, whether they want me or no. Lois is mine--mine, I tell you; andthat fellow, Nicholson, had better look to himself--" "You are beside yourself, Travers. Nicholson saved her life. What doyou mean by saying she is yours?" "She is to be my wife. Who can have more right to her than I have?" The two men stared at each other through the semi-darkness. One by onethe lights at the side of the hall were extinguished by thesoftly-moving servants. The hushed voices of the departing guests diedaway in the distance. "Your wife!" Stafford repeated slowly. "Since when is that, Travers?" "Since this afternoon. Let me pass!" Stafford made no effort to detain him. He stood on one side, andTravers hurried down the steps. A minute later he was driving his trapdown the avenue at a pace which boded danger for himself and for anywho dared to cross his path. CHAPTER XVII FALSE LIGHT The way to the new Bazaar lay to the right of the mine through aforest clearing, and was one of Marut's most beautiful roads. Of late, increased traffic had held the English pleasure-seekers from theironce favorite haunt, and in this early evening hour the bullock wagonshad not as yet begun their journeyings to and from the residentialquarter to the Bazaar, and the road was pleasantly quiet and peaceful. Hitherto Beatrice had kept her thoroughbred at a constant andexhausting canter, but here, against her resolution, she pulled up toa walk and let the cool scented air from the pines blow gently andcaressingly against her hot cheeks. "This is one of the moments which Fate herself can not take from us, "she said to her companion. "It is perhaps a very brief moment, but itis unclouded. We are just glad and happy to be alive in such a lovelyworld, and all the outward circumstances which make our lot hard andbitter are forgotten. Great and little worries are put on one side, and we can feel like children to whom the past and future is nothingand the present everything. " "I know what you mean, " Nehal Singh answered, "and the hours spentwith you are always those which no one can ever take from me. " She bent over her horse and stroked the glossy coat with her glovedhand. Then she remembered that she would never ride him again, and thethought pained her. It was _his_ horse, and this was their last ridetogether, though he did not know it. She was going to tell thetruth--or something like the truth--now. No, not now--later on, whenthey turned homeward. Then she would tell him, and it would be wellover. But there was no hurry. All that was still in the future. Themoment was hers--a happy moment full of unalloyed charm such as shehad never known in her barren, profitless life. She was not going tothrow it away unless he forced her, and hitherto he had made noattempt to lead the conversation out of the usual channels. It was the first time that they were alone together since the eventfulevening at the club, and in the intervening week enough had happenedto give them food for intercourse. By mutual consent, the accident ofthe chandelier was not touched upon. Nehal Singh, though promising toinvestigate the matter thoroughly, had shown a distress out ofproportion to his responsibility, and it was understood that for somereason or another, the subject was painful to him. On the other hand, he had shown a lively and warm-hearted interest in Lois' recovery. Shehad sustained little more than a severe shock, and he had beenconstant in his attentions, as though striving to atone for an injuryhe had unwittingly done her. The accident had also served to deepenhis interest in Adam Nicholson. "That is a man!" he had said to Beatrice, as they had spoken of hispresence of mind, and his enthusiasm had rung like a last echo of hisold boyishness. "I can not understand why Travers seems to dislike himso. " Beatrice had made no reply. She had her own ideas on the matter, having a quick eye for expressions, and she knew that the news ofLois' engagement had been a shock both to Nicholson and to theCarmichaels. Travers was one of those men whom the world receives withopen arms in society, but repudiates at the entrance to the familycircle; and of this fact Travers himself was bitterly conscious. And, on the other hand, there was Nicholson, the accepted and cherishedfriend, to whom the world looked with unreserved respect and deservedadmiration. It was not altogether surprising that the two men hadlittle in common, and on Travers' side there was added a certainamount of satisfied spite. His instinct told him that he had won Loisat the critical moment, and that another twenty-four hours would haveseen her safe under the reawakening influence of an old, onlyhalf-forgotten friendship; and Nicholson, too, felt dimly that acunning and none too scrupulous hand had shattered a secret hope thathe had cherished from his first year in India. Altogether, there was astiffness between them which the world was quick to recognize withoutunderstanding. But Beatrice had made her observations, and, as it hasbeen said, had come to a definite conclusion. Her interest in Lois wasnow thoroughly aroused, and the vision of a dark, suffering littleface against a white pillow recurred to her as she walked her horsebeside Nehal Singh's. As they passed out of the wood, her companionlifted his whip and pointed in front of them. "Look!" he said. She raised her hand to the rim of her helmet, shading her eyes fromthe dazzling sun, and gazed in the direction which he indicated. "Why!" she exclaimed, smiling, "a model world, Rajah!" "Yes, " he answered, "that is what I have tried to make it. I do notthink plague or disease will ever find firm foothold here, and one daymy people will learn to do for themselves what I do for them. They areas yet no more than children who have to be taught what is good andbad. There is the chief overseer. " A respectable looking Hindu, who stood at the door of his hut, salaamed profoundly. It was as though he had given some secret signal, for in an instant the broad street was alive with dark, scantily cladfigures, who bowed themselves to the dust and raised cries of welcomeas the Rajah and his companion picked their way among them. It was apicturesque scene, not without its pathos; for their joy was sincereand their respect heartfelt. Beatrice glanced at Nehal Singh. A flushhad crept up under his dark skin, and his eyes shone with suppressedenthusiasm. "Is their homage so precious to you?" she asked. "It is a sign that I have power over them, " he answered, "and that isprecious to me. Without power I could not do anything. They believethat I am God-sent, and so they obey blindly. Otherwise, these changeswould have been impossible. " He paused, smiling to himself; then, witha new amusement in his dark eyes, he looked at Beatrice. "My peopleare not fond of an over-abundance of clothing, " he observed. "Do youconsider a change in that respect essential?" Beatrice stared at him, and then, seeing that he was laughing, shelaughed with him. "Certainly not! If the poor wretches knew what we poor Europeans haveto suffer with our artificial over-abundance, their obedience wouldstop short at such a request. What made you think of such a thing?" "It was Mr. Berry who spoke to me about it. He said I ought to insiston them having what he called decent attire. It seems he had beenusing his influence in vain, and was very unhappy about it. He said asmuch that--that trousers were the first and most necessary step towardsalvation. " He looked quickly at her to see if she was offended at hisoutspokenness, but she only laughed. "Poor Mr. Berry is a Philistine, " she said. "He can't help thinkingabsurdities of that sort. " "Would you mind telling me what you mean by a Philistine?" he asked. "A Philistine is a person who sees everything in its wrongproportions, " she answered. "He mistakes the essential for theunessential, and _vice versa. _ He can never recognize the beauty inart or nature, because he can never get any further than theunpleasant details. One might call him a mental earth-worm who hasonly the smallest possible outlook. Mr. Berry, for instance, hasnever, I feel sure, felt the charm of India and its people. He isalways too overpowered by the fact that the clothing is too scanty forhis idea of decency. You must not take him as an example of Europeantaste, although you will find only too many like him. " "I am glad to have your reassurance, " Nehal Singh replied. "Mr. Berryangered me, and I can well understand that he has no influence amongmy people. They are very innocent in their way, and they can notunderstand where the wickedness lies. Nor do I wish them tounderstand. It does not seem to me necessary. " His mouth settled in anew and rather stern line. "I shall order Mr. Berry to leave them inpeace. " She smiled at this little outburst of autocracy. "You do not wish your people to become Christians?" she asked. "I shall not interfere in their religion, " was the quick answer--"or, at any rate, I shall force nothing. If my people believe truly andearnestly in their gods, I shall not destroy their belief, for thenthey will believe in nothing. And the belief is everything. As forme"--his voice sank and grew suddenly gentler--"I am different. I havebeen led by a light which I must follow. " After a moment's thoughtful silence he changed the subject and beganpointing out to her the improvements he had brought about in thenative dwellings. Even Beatrice, who had seen little of the oldconditions, felt that the change was almost incredible. Aconservative, indolent and superstitious people had within a fewmonths been transferred from loathsome dirt and squalor into a "modelvillage" such as an English workman might have envied. Nehal Singhshowed her the houses at the end of the Bazaar which belonged to thechief men, or those responsible to him for the cleanliness and orderof the community. Small, prettily planted gardens separated one lowdwelling from the other, and each bore its stamp of individuality, asthough the owner had tried by some new and quaint device to outdo hisneighbor. "Of course, " Nehal Singh explained to her, as they turned homeward, "there are men with whom nothing can be done. They have spent theirlives as beggars, and can not work now even if they would. For such Ihave made provision, although they, too, have been given small tasksto keep them from appearing beggars. But they are the last of theirkind. There shall in future be no idlers in Marut. From thenceforwardevery man shall work honestly and faithfully for his daily bread, andI will see that he has no need to starve. The mine will employ thestrongest, and then, later, Travers and I intend to revive the variousindustries suited to the people's taste and talent. " "You have already done a great deal, " she said, moved to realadmiration. "I tremble to think what it has cost you. " As she spoke, the hidden irony in her casually spoken words came home to her, andshe felt the old fear clutch at her heart. "I have given the best I have--myself, " he answered gravely. "Ofmaterial wealth I have only retained what is beautiful; for beautymust not be sold to be given as bread among the poor. That would be acrime--as though one would sell Heaven for earth. Travers wished me tosell the old jeweled statues and relics, but I would not. They belongto my people, and one day, when they have learned to see andunderstand, they will thank me that I have kept the splendors intactfor them. " "You are wise, " she said thoughtfully--"wiser than Travers and manyothers. " "In my first enthusiasm, I meant to sell everything, and live as thepoorest of them all, " he went on; "but I soon saw that that was wrong. The man into whose hands wealth is given has a great task set him. Hehas a power denied to others. He can collect and preserve all that isbeautiful in art and nature--not for himself, but for those whootherwise would never see anything but what is poor and squalid andcommonplace. True, he must also strive to alleviate the sufferings oftheir bodies, so that their minds may be free to enjoy; but he mustnot sacrifice the higher for the lower task--that would surely be thework of what you call a Philistine. And his higher task is to feedtheir souls with all that is lovely and stainless. Has not the Mastersaid, 'A man shall not live by bread alone'? Is it not true? Andagain, I have read: 'What profiteth it a man if he gain the wholeworld and lose his own soul?' And is not the man who sits, fed andclothed, in a low, flat, level world of mud-huts in danger, offorgetting that there were ever such wonders as the minarets of ahigh, Heaven-aspiring temple? Will he not grow to think that there isnothing more beautiful than a mud-hut, nothing more to be desired thanhis daily bread? I have thought of all this, and I have preserved mypalace and everything that it contains. I have preserved it for mypeople. It shall be for them a goal and encouragement, a voicespeaking to them day by day from the high towers: 'See what the handsof thy fathers have created! Thou people in the low dwellings, ariseand do greater things still, for the great and beautiful is nearestGod'!" He stopped abruptly, shaken by his own passionate enthusiasm. His finehead raised, his eyes flashing, his hand extended, he could have stoodfor the statue of some inspired prophet. "You are a modern Buddha, " she said, smiling faintly. Inwardly she wascomparing him to Mr. Berry--Mr. Berry, whose highest ideal in life wasto bring everything down to a nice, shabby, orthodox level. Nehal Singh's hand dropped to his side and he looked at her earnestly. "That is what they say, " he answered. "My people say that I am thetenth Avatar. But I am not. I am only a man--scarcely so much. A fewmonths ago I was no more than a beggar in the Bazaar, an idler and adreamer. If I have thrown aside my false dreams and come out as anuntried worker into the light of truth, it is because I have been ledby God--through you. " Every trace of color fled from her face, and the clear eyes which methis from beneath the broad helmet distended as though at some suddenshock. In the course of their earnest but impersonal conversation shehad almost forgotten what was to come. This was the end of the ride, this was the to-morrow, the inevitable to-morrow of those whoprocrastinate with the inevitable. "I--I have done nothing, " she said, striving to hush down the risingtide of suffocating emotion. "Yes, it is nothing. I know it is nothing, but it may still becomesomething, " he answered. "Or is it not already something? Is it notsomething that you have led me to the feet of the Great Teacher? Is itnot something that I am awake and standing on the threshold of a newEarth and Heaven, as yet blinded by the light, but with every daygaining courage and strength to go forward? Do not say that this isnothing--you to whom I owe all that I am and ever shall be!" She threw back her fair head. Now was the time to call to her aid allher cynicism, all the shallow, heartless skepticism which had hithertoruled her character. Now was the time to laugh and to throw into thisman's face what she had been glad and satisfied to throw into thefaces of a dozen other men--the biting acid of her mockery. But shecould not laugh--she could not laugh at this man. Her tongue cleavedto the roof of her mouth, her throat seemed thick with a suffocatingdust, so that she could make no sound. "God forgive me if I have boasted of my own progress, " he went onearnestly. "I know too well how much of the long road I have still totravel. It could not be otherwise. I can not reach in a few monthswhat men have attained who have always lived in the light of truth. But I have hope. I carry in my heart your image and the ideal you haveset me--the ideal of your race. " Then speech was given her. "Cast that ideal out!" she said wildly and recklessly. "It is too lowfor you. You have passed it. You never needed it. Choose your ownideal, and forget me--forget us all. We can teach you nothing. " Shecaught her breath as though she would have called back her own words. They were not the words she had meant to speak. They did not soundlike her own. They had been put in her mouth by a force within herwhose existence had been revealed to her, as a hidden volcanicmountain is revealed, by a sudden fierce upheaval, which threw off allthe old rubbish loading the surface of her nature. It was only amomentary upheaval. The next minute she was trying to save herselfbehind the old flippant subterfuges. "I am talking nonsense!" sheexclaimed, with a short angry laugh. "Then it is not true what you said?" He had urged his horse close tohers, and she could almost feel the intensity with which his eyes werefixed upon her face. That gaze stifled her laughter, drove her deeperinto the danger she was striving to escape. "Yes, it is true!" she answered between her teeth. His strong hand rested upon hers and held it with a gentleness whichparalyzed her strength. "If it is true, then the time has come!" he said. "The hour has struckwhich God ordained for us both. Beatrice, I may tell you now what youhave surely known since the day we stood together before the altar--Ilove you. You are the first and last woman in my world. " His voicepierced through to her senses through waves of roaring, confusingsound. Her heart beat till it became unbearable torture. "Do youremember that second evening?" he went on. "The priest tried to stopyou at the gate of the sanctuary, but I spoke to him, and he let youpass. You asked me what I had said, but I would not tell you--notthen. Now I may: 'This is the woman whom God has given me--'" She flung his hand violently from her. "You must not say that!" she cried, with desperate resolution. "Youmust not say that sort of thing--to me. " "Why should I not? I love you. " "You must not love me. I--I am to be Captain Stafford's wife. " "Beatrice!" His cry of incredulous pain drove her to frantic measures. "It is true. I swear it. " Then it was all over. He made no protest. He rode by her side asthough he had been turned to stone, rigidly upright, his hand hanginglifeless at his side, his face expressionless. She felt that she hadstruck right at his life's vitality--that she had killed him. Yet itwas not remorse that blinded her till the white road became ashimmering blur--it was a frightful personal pain which was hers andhers alone. Neither spoke. They passed a crowd of natives returning tothe Bazaar. They salaamed, but Nehal Singh made no response, as washis wont. He did not seem to see them. Mechanically he guided hishorse through the bowing crowd. The silence became unbearable. She hadflippantly told herself that as long as he did not make a "scene" shewould be satisfied. He had not made a "scene. " From the moment thatshe had made her final declaration he had not spoken, and now she waspraying that he would say something to her--anything, she did not carewhat, only not that terrible accusatory silence. At last, indesperation, she began to make it up with him as she had planned--inan incoherent, helpless way. "I have hurt you, " she stammered. "Forgive me--I did not mean to. Ithas all been a cruel mistake. I looked upon you as a friend. How couldI tell that you meant more than that? If I have deceived you, I canonly ask you with all my heart to forgive me. " He turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were dull and clouded, as though a film had been drawn across them. "Not you have deceived me, " he answered quietly. "I have deceivedmyself. I thought I was following a great God-sent light. It wasnothing more than a firefly glittering through my darkness. You arenot to blame. " He was already casting contempt at the influence which she hadexercised over him; he was cutting himself free from her--as she haddesired, as was inevitable. Yet, with a foolish, senseless anger, shesought to draw him back to her and hold him, if only by the reverencefor what had been. "Do not despise our friendship!" she pleaded. "If it has not been whatyou thought it was, has it any the less opened the gates of Heaven andearth, as you said? What I have given you is good--the very best I hadto give. The ideal was a high one. I helped you toward it with myfriendship. Is it bad because it was only friendship--because itcouldn't be more than that? You do not know, " she went on, with aforced attempt to appear cheerful and matter-of-fact, "you do not knowhow much your trust and confidence has been to me. I have been soproud to help you. If I had ever thought it would come to this--Iwould have stopped long ago. " So she lied, clinging to his respect as though it had been hersalvation. And he believed her. His face relaxed, and for the firsttime she saw clearly what he was enduring. "I do not despise our--friendship, even though it must end here, " hesaid. "What you have given me I shall always keep--always. I shall notturn back because I must go on alone. Your image shall still guide mein my life. It is not less pure and noble because I can not ever callit my own. " She heard his voice break, but he went on quietly andgently: "I pray you may be happy with the man you love. " She had conquered. She had kept her place in his life at the same timethat she was thrusting him out of her own. He would continueundeterred along the road on to which she had tempted him--perhaps tohis destruction--believing in her, trusting in her as no other beinghad ever done or would do. This much she had snatched from thewreckage. They did not speak again until they reached her bungalow. Then hedismounted and, quietly motioning the syce to one side, helped her tothe ground. "It is for the last time, " he said. "Good-by, Lakshmi!" "Good-by!" She could not lift her eyes to his face, but from the top of the stepsshe was tempted to look back. He stood where she had left him, hishand resting on her saddle, his head bent, and there was something inhis attitude which sent her hurrying into the house without a secondglance. She found her mother waiting for her in her room, whither she fled tobe alone and undisturbed to fight and stamp out the pain that wasaching in her heart. Mrs. Cary, wonderfully curled and powdered, received her daughter with unusual rapture. "My dear!" she exclaimed, kissing Beatrice on both cheeks, "I am soglad you have come back early! Captain Stafford is here, and hassomething for you--I shouldn't be surprised if it was a ring, youlucky child! Did I not tell you he was the very husband for you? Hehas been telling me all about Lois and Travers. Everybody is quitepleased about it. Now hurry up and make yourself pretty. Why, what'sthe matter? You look so--so queer!" Beatrice pushed past her mother and, going to the table, flung herselfdown as though exhausted. "It's nothing, " she muttered. "Tell--John I can't see him. I'mtired--ill--anything you like. " "Beaty, I won't do anything of the sort. What has happened? Is it thathorrid Rajah? Did you tell him?" "Yes. " "And he made a scene, my poor Beaty?" "No. " "Can't you answer me properly? Tell me what happened. " "He asked me to marry him. " Mrs. Cary first gasped, and then burst into a loud, cackling laugh. "He asked you to marry him! That colored man! I hope you laughed inhis face?" Beatrice turned, one clenched hand resting on the table. "No, " she said, "I did not laugh--there was nothing to laugh at. Ihave kept my promise to you. " Then, unexpectedly she buried her facein her arms and burst into tears. Mrs. Cary stood there thunderstruck, her mouth open, her eyes widewith alarm. For one moment she was incapable of reasoning out thiscatastrophe. She had never seen Beatrice cry--her tears, because oftheir rarity, were as terrible as a man's, and could not be explainedaway by nerves or fatigue. This was something else. Mrs. Cary crossedthe room. She laid a fat, trembling hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Beaty, what's the matter?" she asked uneasily. "What is it? Are youill?--or--or--Beaty!"--a light dawning across her dull face--"goodheavens! you don't love that man?" There was no answer. After a longmoment, Mrs. Cary's hand fell to her side. "You couldn't!" shemuttered. "It wouldn't do. Think of what people would say! Ourposition!" Still no answer. She turned and stumbled toward the door. "I will tell the captain--you are ill, " she said. Beatrice did not move. BOOK II CHAPTER I BUILDING THE CATHEDRAL The pretty little drawing-room was already in half darkness. Traverswent to the window and, leaning his shoulder lazily against thecasement, began to sort out and open the letters that had beenlying on the tea-table waiting for him. "One from the Colonel, Lois, " he said, after a moment's perusal. "Nonews in particular. He is down with a touch of fever, and the wholeregiment is camping out without him. Stafford's marriage still hangingfire. Silly girl! What's she waiting for, in the name of conscience?" Lois looked up from her duties at the table. "They have been engaged over a year, " she said. "As long as we have been engaged and married, " he answered with anaffectionate smile. "How long is that, little woman? About eighteenmonths, eh? They don't either of them seem in much of a hurry. " He went on reading, only stretching out his hand mechanically as shebrought him his second cup of tea. Lois remained at his side, her eyesfixed thoughtfully, almost hungrily, on the torn envelope which lay onthe floor at his feet. "Why did you call Beatrice Cary a silly girl?" she asked at last. "Itnever struck me that she was silly. " "She wasn't, but she will be if she doesn't hold Stafford fast. " A shadow passed over the face still turned to the floor. "Is Stafford--so--so desirable?" "His money is, dear child, and the Carys may need money in the nearfuture. " "I thought they were rich?" "Their money is in the mine. " "But the mine is to be successful?" He smiled in good-natured amusement at her persistency. "Have you ever heard of a mine that wasn't to be successful? If youwait a moment, I will tell you the latest news. Here's a note from theRajah. " He tore open the large square envelope, and went on reading with thesame idle interest. "There's been an accident with the blasting, " heobserved casually. "Five men killed. Our native friend is, of course, in a fever. Has pensioned all the families. I don't know where he willland us with his extravagances. We shall want all the money we can getfor repairing the damage. Philanthropy is becoming a sort of diseasewith him. Fortunately, I am not bitten so far. " He laughed, and threwthe letter to one side. "I expect I shall have to run up north to putthings straight. " "Hasn't the mine brought in enough?" Lois answered innocently. "Enough?" He looked at her with a twinkle in his bright eyes. "Deargirl, it hasn't paid so much as a quarter of its expenses. " "But will it ever?" "Heaven knows--or perhaps even Heaven does not. I'm sure I don't. " "You talk so calmly about it!" she exclaimed, aghast. "Surely you areheavily involved--and not only you, but the Rajah and the people inMarut?" He patted her on the cheek. "Don't worry on that score, " he assured her. "Besides, it's not my wayto sit down and cry over what can't be helped. I dare say I shall pullthrough somehow. " "Yes, _you_, perhaps. " He changed color slightly under the challenge in her eyes, but hisexpression remained unruffled. "You are not exactly a very trusting wife, are you, Lois? It comes ofletting a woman have a look into business. Never mind, we won't arguethe subject all over again. I know what you think of me. There, good-by. I must be off again. Nicholson will be around shortly. I toldhim he would find me at home. " "Had you not better wait for him, then?" "Oh, no. I only told him I should be at home as a sort of _facon deparler_. He only comes when he thinks I am there--admirable person--andI know you like to have old friends about. Good-by, dear. " "Good-by. " She accepted his kiss listlessly, and when he had gone wentback to the window. The window had become Lois Travers' vantage-point of life. From thenceshe could overlook the bustling Madras square into which four streetspoured their unending stream, and build her fancies about each one ofthe atoms as they passed unconsciously beneath her gaze. Some of thefaces were well known to her. They always passed at the time when shetook her sewing and sat by the window, pretending to work by thefading glow of evening light, and about each she wove a simple littlestory, always, or nearly always, happy. She imagined the men returningfrom business to their homes. If there was ever a cloud upon theirbrow, she smiled to think how the trouble would be brushed away byloving hands; if their step were more than usually light and elastic, her own heart grew lighter with the thought that they were hurryingback to the source of their happiness. Lois lived on the real or imagined joys of others. She clung to herair castles in which her unknown heroes lived, building them morebeautifully, fitting them out with more perfect content, as her ownbrick dwelling grew darker and more desolate. She felt that if evershe let go her hold on them she would lose faith in human happiness, and thus in life itself. For between Lois Travers the woman and LoisTravers the light-hearted, high-spirited girl there stretched a year'sgulf. Marriage had been to her what it is more or less to all women--aRubicon, a Book of Revelations in which girlish ideals are rarelyrealized, sometimes modified, more often destroyed. Clever and pliable women, women with the "art of living" do not allowtheir hearts to be broken in the latter event, supposing them to haverelaxed their cleverness so far as to have had ideals at all; butLois was not clever or pliable, and her ideals had been destroyed. Shehad loved John Stafford, and in some inexplicable way he had failedher. She had given her life into Travers' hands in the belief that heneeded her for his progress, and that in helping him her idle powersof love and devotion would not be wasted. Too late she realized--whatno woman ever realizes until it _is_ too late--that the man who needsa woman for his salvation is already far beyond her help. Beneath Lois' light-heartedness and love of gaiety there lurked aspirit of Puritanism which had drawn her to Stafford, and now broughther into violent conflict with Travers' fundamental frivolity. In thefirst month of their marriage she had had to admit that she hadreached the bottom of his character, and found nothing there--not somuch as a deeply planted vice. He had pretended a depth of feelingwhich was only in part sincere, and he was too lazy to keep up apretense when his chief object was gained. He really cared for Lois, but he had wilfully exaggerated the role she played in his life. Always good-natured and kindly, he never allowed her to ruffle oranger him. She had never seen him rough or cruel to any human being, and all these superficial virtues forced her farther from him. A few significant incidents had revealed to her that his good naturecovered a cold-blooded indifference where his own interests werevitally concerned. His apparent pliability hid a dexterity whichevaded every recognized principle. In vain she exerted the influencewith which he had pretended to invest her. The first effort provedthat it had never really existed. It was no more in his life than thevaluable ornament on his mantel-shelf--a thing to be dusted, preserved, and admired in leisure hours, never set to serious use. This last discovery, made shortly after their arrival in Madras, hadbroken her. From that moment she had felt herself crippled. Her lifebecame a blank, colorless waste, all the more terrible because of themirages with which it was lighted. The world saw the mirages: thegood-looking, genial-tempered husband; the well-furnished house; allthe outward symptoms of an irrefutably satisfactory and successfullife. Only one person perhaps saw deeper, and that was Nicholson. He hadbeen ordered for a year to Madras, and thus it came about that theyoften met. Travers' first dislike for the officer had evaporated, andhe seemed rather to insist on an increase of their intimacy, invitingNicholson constantly to the house. And in those long evening visitsNicholson had seen what others did not see and what Lois kept hiddenin her own heart. For she had told no one that the mirages were nomore than mirages--that her life still lacked all the vital elementsof reality and sincerity. She was proud, and not even the people indear old Marut suspected that she was stifling in the hot Madras airand in the unhealthy atmosphere of small lies and loose principles inwhich Travers was so thoroughly at home. Only Nicholson's sensitivetemperament felt what others neither heard nor saw. So a year had passed, and every evening Lois sat by the window, watching the busy crowd, and building up their lives as she had oncedreamed of building up her own. She scarcely thought of herself. Memories are dangerous. The present was too real to be considered, andthe future too blank and hopeless. The darkness increased. Twilight yielded to nightfall, and the yellowlights sprang up in the shops opposite her window. She heard the dooropen, but did not turn, thinking it was her husband unexpectedlyreturned. "Shall I light the lamp?" she asked. It was not Travers who answered. A familiar voice struck on her ears, like the memories, ringing out a dangerous response from her tiredsoul. "Forgive me, Mrs. Travers. I met your husband this afternoon, and hetold me to drop in unannounced, as he would be alone. It seems theother way about. I am very sorry to seem so rude. " Lois rose quickly to her feet. She saw Nicholson standing in thedoorway, tall, upright, his face hidden by the shadow. "I won't disturb you, " he added, after a moment's hesitation. The tone of formality hurt her. With a return of her oldimpulsiveness, she began searching for the matches. "You are not disturbing me, " she said. "On the contrary, I--wasexpecting you. Archibald told me you were coming, but I forgot tolight up. I was twilight-dreaming, if there is such a term. " She laughed with a forced cheerfulness, and he made no answer. Thelittle red-shaded lamp gave her some trouble, and when she looked upshe saw that he was standing opposite her, the light falling on abroad scar across his forehead. "How the burn shows to-night!" she exclaimed involuntarily. "Will younever lose it?" "Never, " he answered. "I do not want to. When I am depressed, I lookat it, and remember that I have done one thing worth doing in mylife. " "I don't know, " she returned. "You have done more useful things thanthat. " "Not to my mind. " "Well, but to mine. There, when I have pulled the curtains and put thelamp just at your elbow, you could almost imagine yourself back inEngland, couldn't you? Imagine the street outside as a bit of London. There could hardly be more noise. The idea may refresh you. You lookso tired. " He seated himself in the comfortable wicker chair by the table andlooked about him with a faint smile of content. "Yes, " he said, "it is homely, isn't it? The red light, and the prettylittle room, and you sitting there working. It might be a corner ofthe old country--or of Marut. Your study was just like this, Iremember. " "Yes, I copied it. It made me feel less lonely. Only I flatter myselfthat it is tidier here than it used to be in the old days. " He laughed, and the laughter sent the light shining in his eyes. "Rather! When I first joined I had the chemical craze on, do youremember? I thought I was going to discover some wonderful newgunpowder, and we used to experiment together in your room. Thebusiness came to an untimely end when I blew off part of theceiling--" "And some of my eyebrows!" she interposed merrily. "Yes, of course. I don't know which disaster upset Mrs. Carmichaelmost, good soul. After that I forget what craze came about, but wealways had a new one on the list, hadn't we?" She nodded, her head once more bent over her work. "None of them lasted, " she said. "Crazes never do. " There was a moment's silence. Their little burst of gay recollectionswas over, and the restraint had regained its old ascendancy over them. Unknown to her, Nicholson was watching his companion with keen, anxious eyes. "You look pale and tired, " he said gently. "Madras is getting too muchfor you. When is Travers going to take you for a change?" "I don't know. Not just now. Besides, I am happier here. I like thenoise and bustle. " "You used not to. You were all for outdoor sports and beautifulscenery. " "Yes, but now it is different. I could not stand the quiet. I musthave noise to distract me--I mean, I have grown so accustomed to it. " "Yes, " he said slowly, "one grows accustomed to it. " Then, presently, he added, in another tone: "At any rate, my term in Madras is at anend. I return to Marut next week. " She started. The start was almost a violent one, and her hands felllimply in her lap. "You are going back to Marut?" she said. "For ever?" He smiled, but his eyes avoided hers. "Not for ever, I hope. I am sick of pen-work, and want to get back tothe front among my men. There is a company of sepoys to be stationedat Marut, and they have given me the command. It's a good post, thoughof course I would rather be at the frontier, where there's somethingdoing. At any rate, I must get away from Madras as soon as possible. " "Yes, " she said absently, "no doubt it is best. " She went on stitching as though nothing had happened, but her handstrembled, and once she threw back her head as though fighting down astrong emotion. But he had ceased to watch her. He was leaning alittle forward, one elbow resting on his knee, his eyes fixedsteadfastly in front of him. "Can I be the bearer of any messages?" he asked at last. "No, thank you. I write regularly. Or--yes, you might tell them thatyou left me well and happy. That will please them. Will you be sokind?" "Will it be kind to give a message which is not quite true?--I mean, "he added hastily, "you do not seem strong. " "Oh, I am strong enough. I do not think I shall ever be ill. " Another long and painful silence intervened. There was no sound, saveLois' thread as it was drawn through the thick material. Nicholsondrew out his watch. "You mustn't think me rude, Mrs. Travers, " he said, with an abruptreturn to his old formality, "but I have any amount of work to dobefore I leave, and among other things I wanted to see your husband onbusiness. He told me the other day that he had some shares in theMarut Company going, and said if I would care for them--" Her work dropped from her hand to the floor. She stared at him with aface whiter than the linen she had been stitching. "But you are not going to buy them?" she asked sharply. Something inher tone forced him to meet her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Why not? I'm a poor business man, and your husbandalways seems to come off well in his ventures. Without being in theleast a speculator, I should be glad to make a little money. " Hesmiled. "I have another craze on, you see--a gun this time--and itrequires capital to complete. So I thought--" She leaned forward. One small hand lay clenched on the table betweenthem, and there was a force and energy in her attitude which arrestedhis startled attention. "I think you are mistaken, Captain Nicholson, " she said. "My husbandhas no shares to sell. " "But yesterday he told me that he had!" "Yes, yesterday, no doubt. But he heard to-day from the Rajah. Ithink, if you do not mind waiting, he will tell you himself that whatI say is true. " For a second they looked straight at each other without speaking. Neither was conscious of any clear thought, but both knew that in thatbreathing space they had exchanged a signal from those hidden chamberswhich men unlock only in brief moments of silent crisis. The crisishad come in spite of a year's defiant struggle. It had broken down thebarrier of trivial commonplaces behind which they had always soughtshelter; it had rushed over them in a flash, like a sudden tidal wave, scorning their painfully erected defenses, driving them helplesslybefore it. It had no apparent cause, save that in that moment of alarmshe had looked at him with her soul unguarded, and he, overwhelmed bythat silent revelation, had allowed his own sternly repressed secretto flash back its breathless message. Nicholson was the first toregain his self-control. He bent down and, picking up her work, restored it gently to her hands. "You must go on with your sewing, " he said. "I like seeing you work. It completes the picture of a--home--" "Yes, " she interrupted, in a rough, broken voice. "It is a perfectpicture, is it not? Just so, as it is--only, of course--" she laughedas he had never heard her laugh before--"of course it's only atableau--it isn't real. " Once more her head was bent over her work. He saw how with everystitch she was fighting stubbornly for calm--fighting with all thedogged desperation of a high-minded woman who sees herself tremblingat the edge of a bottomless abyss. He knew now for certain that herapparent happiness was a sham and an heroic lie--that she knew what heknew of Travers' outside life, and suffered with the intensity whichhonor must suffer when linked with dishonor. He saw, with a soldier'sinstinctive admiration, that she was holding her ground against thefierce and unexpected attack of an overwhelming enemy, and that he, who had his own battle to fight, must hold out to her a helping, strengthening comrade's hand. "Lois!" he said quietly. "Lois!" She went on working. The name had been a test of her strength, and shehad borne it. He knew that he could go on with what he had to say. "Lois, we had our young enthusiasms in those old days--crazes, we willcall them--and of course, like all young enthusiasms, they are gonefor ever. But there were other things. Sometimes we used to talk veryseriously about life, do you remember? I dare say we talked nonsensefor the greater part--we were very young--but we were intenselyserious. We told each other what we thought life was, and what weintended to make of it. It was then we had the idea of the cathedral. " She looked up earnestly at him. "The cathedral? Haven't you forgotten?" "No. I never forgot it. " "I thought you had. It is all such a long time ago. When I read aboutyou in the papers, and heard of all the wonders you had done, I wassure you must have forgotten the chatter of your fifteen-year-oldplayfellow. A man who spends his day as you did, in the saddle, andthe night in long, anxious watches, does not have time for such ideasas we cultivated in those days. " "You are wrong, Lois. The idea is everything. It is the mainspring ofa man's life. If I did anything wonderful, as you say, it was for thesake of the cathedral. There was, for instance, one night which Iremember very well. A whole tribe had risen. Half my men were downwith fever, and I felt--well, pretty bad. I was a bit delirious, Ifancy, and in delirium very often the foundations of a man's charactercome uppermost. The cathedral was always in my mind. I saw your half, and it was getting on splendidly. That goaded me. I felt I had to goon, too. So I pulled myself together and went ahead. We pulled throughsomehow, and I have always felt that in that night I laid the chiefstone. " The burning tears sprang to her eyes. "So all that splendid work was done for the sake of our cathedral?" "Partly, but not in the first place. Do you remember of what use ourcathedral was to be in the world? It wasn't merely to be a monument toour own glory--it was to be a sheltering place for others, an exampleto them, an inspiration. You said once, very rightly, that if everyhere and there a human being made a cathedral out of his life, otherpeople would soon get ashamed of their mud-huts, and pull them down. They would try to build cathedrals on a bigger and nobler scale thanthe first one, and probably would succeed. Thus the work would go onfrom one generation to another. It was an idea worthy to form thefoundations of a man's ambition. I made it mine, as I knew you hadmade it yours. It strengthened me to think that every decent actionwas a fresh stone to the building which in the end would standperfect--not to my glory, but to the glory of the whole human race. "He smiled, though his eyes remained serious. "As an Englishman, I cannot help wishing that cathedrals should be most plentiful on Englishsoil. " "Do you really think that one small human life can make so muchdifference?" she asked, rather bitterly. "I used to think so, in myself-important days, but I am beginning to believe that our littleindividual efforts are hopelessly lost in a sea of rubbish. " "Our youthful conceit is more justifiable than such self-disparagement, "he answered. "I often think that humility--at any rate a certain kind--isa questionable virtue. In lessening our own value, we lessen our ownresponsibility, and our responsibility is tremendous. One life can makethe difference of a cathedral spire in a town of low-built huts or of asnow mountain in an ugly plain. I am sure of it--and so are you. So iseverybody who thinks about it. But people do not think. It is sometimesmuch more convenient to believe that one is too insignificant to haveany responsibility. But to my mind there is not a vagabond in the streetwho is not directly helping on our national decay, and who might not bebuilding up the Empire. " He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "Youknow I am not just talking, Lois. It is my life's principle which I laybefore you--mine and yours. How long is it since we have spoken of thesethings? Ten years. Since then we have been building steadily at ourcathedral. We must go on. " "How can we?" she answered wearily. "It is not our cathedral any more. I thought you had forgotten, and--" "My first day in Marut I sent a message to you--a little in fun, butwith an earnest purpose. I wanted to see if you had forgotten, and Iwanted you to know that I had remembered. I told you that thecathedral still lacked its chief spire. " "I never got the message. It was that day Archibald asked me to be hiswife. When did you send the letter?" "It was not a letter but a verbal message, by Travers. " "That afternoon?" "Yes, that afternoon. " She covered her face with her hand. "He--he must have forgotten, " she said at last. "Yes, he must have forgotten, " he agreed quietly. There was a long silence. She remained motionless, but he heard herbreath being drawn in quick, painful gasps. The battle for them bothwas at its height. He bent forward and took the hand that lay clenchedin her lap gently in his own. [Illustration: He took her hand that lay clutched in her lap. ] "Dear little Lois, dear little comrade! We are like two architects, you and I. We were very young when we set out on our great task, andno doubt we have made many blunders. In the beginning we each hopedsecretly that the time would come when we should be able to crown ourwork hand in hand. It was that I was thinking of when I sent mymessage. Well, things have turned out differently--perhaps through ourown fault. But the cathedral must go on. Instead of one spire, as wehad hoped, there will be two spires. You will build yours, I mine. They will be far apart, and so we of necessity must be apart, too. Butthe cathedral will go on; and in the end--who knows?--it may be moreperfect than as we saw it in our first great plan. " "But we might have built together, Adam!" "Yes. We might even build together now--but then it would no longer bea cathedral. It would be a mud hovel like the rest. And that would bewrong--wrong to the world and wrong to ourselves. Have you understoodwhat I mean?" He waited patiently, his hand still clasping hers. One single piteoustear rolled down her cheek, but that was all, and when she looked upat him her eyes were calm and steadfast. "I understand quite well what you mean, " she said, "and I know thatyou are right. God bless and help you. " "And you, Lois. " They exchanged a firm pressure. Then Nicholson rose. "I must be going, " he said. "Will you tell Travers that I shall bearound at the office to-morrow morning? If by any chance he has anyshares going, I should be obliged if he would allot them to me. " Lois rose also. Her face was turned toward the door. "If you wait one moment, you will see him yourself, " she said. "Ithink I hear him coming upstairs. " She was right. The next minute the door opened quickly and Traversentered. Evidently something unusual had happened. In one hand he heldan open telegram. His face was crimson with excitement and his lipsparted as if with a hasty announcement. But as he saw the two standingat the table watching him, he stopped short, looking from one to theother with a flash of amused curiosity in his eyes. "Hullo, you both here?" he said cheerfully. "How cozy you look. Seehere, Lois, I've just had a telegram from the Rajah. He wants me tocome at once. Can you be ready to start in three days?" "For Marut?" A rush of color filled her pale cheeks. "Yes, of course. By the bye, Nicholson, that's your destination, isn'tit? We might travel together. " "I think not, " was the quiet answer. "I have orders to start nextweek. " "Well, there's no great hurry for us, I expect. Our friend, Nehal, isof an excitable disposition. I hope you haven't had to wait long forme, Nicholson. You said you had some business you wanted to talk overwith me. " "Yes, it was about those shares. But if you are busy--" "Oh, that's all right. It won't take more than a few minutes tosettle. How much do you want to invest? I tell you, my dear fellow, it's a splendid thing, and--" He was unexpectedly interrupted. He had taken out a heavy pocket-bookand was busily looking through some papers, when Lois laid her hand onhis. "I think Captain Nicholson is under a misapprehension, Archibald, " shesaid, in a low voice. "He said you had some shares to sell him, but Iremembered what you said about the mine, and I told him that theremust be some mistake. I was quite right, wasn't I?" Every word she had spoken sounded emphasized as though she werestriving to convey a double meaning, and the second in which husbandand wife looked at each other was to the puzzled witness a painfuleternity. With a strong perceptible effort, Travers turned away. "So my wife has broken the news to you?" he said, smiling. "Yes, I'mawfully sorry. Everything good gets snapped up so confoundedlyquickly. Better luck next time. I was quite dreading disappointingyou, but Lois, as usual, has taken my disagreeable task from me. " Hepatted the hand which still rested on his own. "Stay and have a littledinner with us, " he added cordially, as Nicholson prepared to take hisleave. "I'd like to make up to you with a little of my best Cliquot. " Nicholson shook his head. The impression that he stood before a veiledand unpleasant comedy increased his desire to get away. "Thanks, I'm afraid I can't, " he said. "I have work to do. Goodnight. " "Good night. To our next meeting in Marut!" The two men shook hands. "Good night, Mrs. Travers. You will be able to be your own messengernow, " Nicholson said. She met his glance with quiet courage. "They will be able to see with their own eyes that things are goingwell with me, " she answered simply. When the door closed upon Nicholson's tall form she went back to herhusband's side. He was busy consulting time-tables, and hardly seemedaware of her approach. Only when she touched him on the arm did helook up. "Well, what is it?" "I want to know if you are angry?" "What about?" "The shares--and Captain Nicholson. I felt it was wrong to deceivehim. He is not rich, and you told me that the mine was a failure. " "Of course, you have every reason, no doubt, to consider your friendbefore your husband, " he said with a sudden outburst which heinstantly regretted. He had encouraged--nay, forced--her intimacywith Nicholson. With what purpose? He himself hardly knew. Perhapssomewhere at the bottom of him he was beginning to dread the honestyof her character as an unspoken reproach. If she were less perfect inher conduct, his own life would have seemed less blamable. Or perhapshis motives had been more generous. He knew he had nothing to giveher--and Nicholson was a good fellow. At any rate, it was a mistake tohave betrayed even a moment's irritation. She had shrunk back fromhim, but he put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her. "There! Ofcourse I am not angry. You've lost me a few hundreds, but you're worthit, and I dare say it was all for the best. Run and write a note tothe Colonel and say we are coming, there's a good little woman!" Lois turned wearily away. He had not understood her. She consideredhim more than she had considered Nicholson. She had wanted to savehim from what she felt was a mean and treacherous step. But he had notbeen able to understand. Nor could she have explained. Between certaincharacters all real communication is an impossibility, and words nomore than sounds. CHAPTER II CATASTROPHE The tea-room, usually the most animated portion of the Marutclub-house, had lost its cheerful appearance. The comfortable chairshad been cleared on one side and replaced by a long green baize tablelittered with papers; the doors leading on to the verandah wereclosed, and a stifling atmosphere bore down upon the five occupantswho were ranged about the table in various attitudes of listlessexhaustion. "I can't think what we have been called here for, " Mrs. Cary protestedloudly; "and from the way we have been locked in, we might be in astate of siege. I know I shall faint in a minute. Beatrice, pass me mysalts, child. " Her daughter obeyed mechanically, without moving her eyes, which werefixed in front of her. Colonel Carmichael, who was seated at the farend of the table, opposite the Rajah, smiled good-naturedly. "If _you_ feel yourself justified in grumbling, what about me, Mrs. Cary?" he said. "You at least are a share-holder, and I suppose thereare some formalities to be gone through, but what I have to do withthe business I can not imagine. " "Business!" groaned Mrs. Berry from his right. "That's the silliestpart of it all! What's the good of getting me to talk business? Idon't understand business; I never did, and never shall. Why doesn'tMr. Travers come? I'm sure I have been waiting quite ten minutes. " "Perhaps the Rajah can give us a clue to the mystery, " the Colonelsuggested. "Rajah, don't you think the ladies could be allowed theirliberty? I can not think that their presence is so essential. " Nehal Singh looked up. From the moment he had exchanged nothing morethan a brief salutation with the four Europeans, he had sat with hishead bent over some papers, reading, or pretending to read. The monthshad brought a new expression to his face. Pain had cut her lines intothe broad forehead; anxiety met the Colonel's questioning gaze fromeyes which had once flashed happy confidence and enthusiasm. "I am afraid I can give you no answer, Colonel Carmichael, " he saidquietly. "Since Mr. Travers has returned to Marut all control overaffairs has passed out of my hands into his. For some reason, I havebeen kept in ignorance as to the progress of events, and I wait hereto-day with you as completely in the dark as any one. No doubt he willbe here in a few minutes. " "With good news, I hope, " Mrs. Cary sighed. "I also am no sort of abusiness woman, but I understand enough to know that if one investsmoney in an honest concern one gets interest sooner or later. And sofar the Marut Company hasn't paid me a penny piece. " Nehal Singh started slightly, and his glance wandered to the red faceof the speaker with an expression that was akin to fear. "An honest concern!" he repeated. "Do you mean that--that it is nothonest?" Mrs. Cary beamed with recovered equanimity. "Good gracious! How could you suppose I should mean such a horridthing, dear Prince! Of course everything to which you put your hand ishall-marked. Otherwise I should never have dreamed of investing mymoney in the Marut Company. " There was a silence. The Colonel drummed with his fingers on thetable, watching the native sentry who passed stolidly backward andforward in front of the closed windows. Mrs. Cary fanned herself andexchanged whispered comments with Mrs. Berry on the opposite side. Beatrice remained motionless. From the beginning of the meeting shehad once raised her eyes--on Nehal Singh's entry--and then it had beenfor no more than a second. That second had been enough. She had seenhis face. She had seen--and it was not her imagination, but a real andbitter irony--that of all the people in the room she alone had beenthe object of his quiet greeting. She knew then--for her eyes had notlost their keenness--that the eighteen months in which they hadscarcely met had made no difference to him. He still reverenced andloved her. For him she was still "Lakshmi, " the goddess of beauty andperfection; for him she was still the ideal, the woman of goodness andtruth and purity. Her victory over him had been complete, eternal. Shehad betrayed him and retained him. Of all her triumphs over men andcircumstances this was the most perfect. Yet she sat there, white andstill, not lifting her eyes from the table, and seemingly unconsciousof all that went on about her. Presently a carriage drove up the avenue. They heard Travers' voicegiving some orders, and a moment later he himself entered, followed bya Mr. Medway, his chief mining engineer. He closed the door and with agrave bow took his place at the table. He seemed indifferent to orunaware of the curious and somewhat anxious glances which were turnedtoward him. There was something in his appearance which cast anunpleasant chill over every one of the little assembly. Even theColonel, though an outsider, felt himself disagreeably impressed byTravers' new bearing, and the good-natured banter which he had held inreadiness for the new arrival died away on his lips as he responded tothe cold, formal bow. For some minutes no one spoke. Travers was busyarranging some papers which he had brought with him, and only when hehad laid these out to his satisfaction did he rise to address themeeting. He held himself stiffly erect, his fingers resting lightly onthe table, his pale face turned toward the window as though he wishedto avoid addressing any one directly. The usual geniality was lackingin his composed features. "Colonel Carmichael and honorable share-holders in the Marut DiamondCompany, " he began, "you are no doubt wondering why I have called thisprivate meeting. I do so because you are the chief partakers in theconcern, and because, as my friends, I wish to offer you anexplanation which I do not feel bound to offer to the othershare-holders within and without Marut. This excuse does not hold goodfor you, Colonel Carmichael, and you must feel I am encroachingheavily on your valuable time. Nevertheless, I assure you that yourpresence will assist me considerably in my difficult task. " "I am sure I shall be delighted to do anything in my power, " ColonelCarmichael responded, "but I fear my knowledge of intricate businessdetails is not such as to make it of the slightest use to you. " "The business is not intricate, " Travers went on. "Nor do I proposedrawing out this meeting to any tiring length. The heat must be verytrying for the ladies present, but my wish to keep what passesbetween us, at any rate for the time being, entirely secret, makes itessential to sit in closed rooms. I will be as brief as possible. Twoyears ago the Marut Diamond Company first came into existence underthe protection of our friend, Rajah Nehal Singh. For some timeprevious to this event it had been my great ambition to open out adiamond field in which, thanks to favorable reports, I sincerelybelieved. My position, however, and above all my lack of personalmeans, made the scheme an impossibility so far as I was concerned. Chance brought me the pleasure and misfortune of making youracquaintance, Rajah. I say 'misfortune, ' because, as events haveturned, I can not but feel that my casual observations led you toenter into an enterprise before which another man, if I may say so, with more experience and less impulse, would have hesitated. "Your generosity and enthusiasm brought my half-conceived plans into areality almost before I had any clear idea as to whither we were alldrifting. You will remember, Mrs. Cary, I did my best to dissuade youfrom any rash investment; and even there, as director of the company, I felt that I was not acting with entire loyalty to the man who hadput me into that position. The responsibility of the whole matterrested heavily on my shoulders, and grew still heavier as the circleof share-holders without Marut increased. I felt that, should my firsthopes prove unfounded, my friends and many others would suffer losseswhich they could ill afford to bear. Ladies and gentlemen, it is mypainful duty to tell you that the dreaded collapse has come. Mr. Medway, here, the company's chief engineer and mining expert, informedme yesterday that any continuation of the works was useless and a merewaste of the share-holders' money. I therefore beg to announce to youthat the Marut Diamond Company Mine is definitely closed. " The Colonel clenched his teeth half-way through the first oath he hadever allowed himself in the presence of ladies. He was not anunusually egoistical man, but his first thought was one of unutterablegratitude that in the moment of strong temptation his wife had held anobstinate hand on the purse-strings. The first person to speak was Mrs. Cary. She leaned half-way acrossthe table. "And my money?" she said thickly and unsteadily. "Where's my money?Where's my money? Tell me that!" Travers shrugged his shoulders. "I fear it has gone the way of mine and of the other share-holders', "he said. "Nor can I hold out any hopes of its coming back. Theexpenses of the mine have been terribly heavy, the workmen have beenextremely well paid--extremely well paid. " There was a distinct noteof reproach in his voice, though he looked at no one. Mrs. Cary sat down in her seat. It was a pitiful and almost terriblesight to see her, all the florid, vulgar ostentation and sleek contentdashed out of her, leaving her with pasty cheeks and horror-stricken, staring eyes to face the ruined future. Mrs. Berry burst intoever-ready tears. "Oh!" she sobbed. "What will my husband say! I told him it was such agood thing--it isn't my fault. What will he say!" The sharp, wailing tones broke through Mrs. Cary's momentaryparalysis. She sat up and brought her fat clenched fist down with abang upon the table. "You!" she half screamed at the Rajah. "You--you black swindler--youthief--it's you who have done it--you who have ruined us all with yourwicked schemes. You baited us with this clubhouse--you pretended youwanted to do us such a lot of good, didn't you? And all the time youmeant to feather your own nest with diamonds and the Lord knows what. Give us back our money, you heathen swindler! For you aren't aChristian! You pretended that, too, just as a blind--" Her flow of frightful coarse invectives came to an abrupt end. ColonelCarmichael, who knew now why his presence had been required, leanedforward and pushed her firmly down in her seat. "For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Cary, hold your tongue!" he expostulated, ina rapid, emphatic undertone. "You don't know what you are saying. Youare not in England. A little more of that sort of thing, and our livesaren't worth an hour's purchase. " "I don't care, " she retorted, with all the headlong brutality of herorigin. "It's true what I say! It's true!" "It is true. " The interruption came from the Rajah himself. He hadrisen and stood before them, very pale, but calm and composed, hiseyes fixed with haggard resolution on the furious face of his accuser. "It is true. I am a swindler. I have ruined you all. Why should youbelieve it was done unwittingly? Yet that is true also. I, like mypoor friend here whom I used as my tool, believed that I was doing thebest for you all. But I have ruined you. I have done worse thanthat--I have ruined my country, my people. You have friends who willhelp you in your distress, but who will help my people? I pulled themout of their miserable homes only to cast them into deeper misery. Ihave taken their pitiful savings, meaning, without the use of charity, to increase them tenfold. I have taken everything from them. I gave ahope, and have left them with a deeper despair. Not all my wealth--andnot a stone, not a farthing piece shall be held back from your andtheir just claims upon me--will fill up the ruin of those I wished sowell. It is true--I stand before you all a dishonored man. " There was a moment's petrified silence. Even Mrs. Cary's coarse naturestood baffled before this pitiless, dignified self-accusal. Nor couldthe Colonel find a word to say. He had been ready--knowing the nativecharacter--to defend Mrs. Cary from the stroke of a revenging dagger. His half-outstretched arm sank powerless before the stroke of thesefew words, spoken with a calm which thinly covered a chaos of remorseand broken-hearted grief. "I have a question I should like to ask you, Mr. Travers. " There was a general uneasy start. Each shook off his broodingconsiderations and turned with surprise to this unexpected speaker. Itwas Beatrice, hitherto silent and apparently unmoved, who leanedacross to Travers. He himself felt the blood rise to his face. In hisabsorbed state he had not noticed her presence, and now that he mether cold eyes a curious discomfort crept over him--a discomfort thatwas nearly fear. "I will answer your question to the best of my ability, " he saidquietly. "The Rajah has spoken of you as his tool, and I think from your tonethat you think yourself aggrieved. In what way have you suffered? Whatis your share of the losses?" "I have lost all I have. " "All you have, no doubt. But your wife is very rich, and I believe hasgrown richer within the last year. I am anxious to know if you intendto follow the Rajah's generous example and meet your liabilities withher fortune. " The Colonel, who had been staring vacantly at her, gave a start ofrecollection. "Yes!" he exclaimed energetically. "The settlement and Lois' ownmoney--what's become of it all? Has that gone, too?" "Of course not. " Travers' hand tightened instinctively upon the arm ofhis chair. "I should never have dreamed of touching what was my wife'spersonal property. Nor do I intend to do so now. I am no more than themanager of the company--I am not responsible for its liabilities. MissCary's suggestion is beside the mark, and I warn her, for her ownadvantage"--there was a somewhat unpleasant note of warning in hisrough voice--"not to pursue her questions further. " Beatrice rose to her feet. She was calm and, save for the vivid colorin her cheeks, betrayed at first little of the seething storm ofindignation which rose gradually above the barriers of her self-control. She did not look at the Rajah. She stared straight into Travers' face, and once she pointed at him. "You have been good enough to threaten me, " she said. "It would bebest for you to know at once that your threats are quite useless. There is nothing you can say about me which I am not ready to saymyself--and there is nothing you can do which will prevent me fromrevealing the true facts of this case. You have feathered your nest, Mr. Travers. That is what you told me to do, and now I understand whatyou meant. You saw this ruin coming at the very time that you wereencouraging every one to partake further of the company's futuresuccess. You honored me, as a sort of accomplice, with a private pieceof advice. Thank God, I did not take it, for then I should have beenyour debtor. "As it is, I owe you absolutely nothing--not even the wealthy husbandyou promised me. There is a bottom to my depths. And even if I did oweyou something, I should not hesitate to speak. You can call me atraitor if you like--I don't care. I am that--and I have been farworse than that to a man who did not deserve it--and I have, anyhow, not much reputation to lose. Besides, you have stood by without aword and let an innocent man bear your burden, and for that aloneyou have no right to claim loyalty from another. " She turned for the first time to Nehal Singh, and met his gaze boldly andrecklessly. "Do not stand there and call yourself a dishonored man!" sheexclaimed with increasing force. "You are not dishonored. Do not callMr. Travers your 'tool. ' He is not your tool, and never has been. Youare his tool, --his and mine!" She paused, catching her breath as she sawhim wince. Then she went on: "Don't burden yourself with the consciencesof us all, for we have not got any; and what has been done we have doneknowingly and wilfully. Do you remember that evening when you found me inthe temple? You thought it was--chance--or--or the hand of God. Why, Mr. Travers hired one of your old servants to slip me through by thesecret path, and I had on my prettiest frock and my prettiest smile andmy prettiest ways--as I told them all afterward at a dinner-party--piousgoodness, with a relieving touch of the devil--just to tempt you out ofyour cloister and make you do what we wanted. [Illustration: "Do not call yourself a dishonored man!"] "You followed like a lamb. It took five minutes to wheedle theclub-house out of you--five minutes, I think you told me, Mr. Travers?--and the other things went just as smoothly. Do you rememberthat ride we had together after Mr. Travers' dance? He had broachedthe subject of the mine, but the next day something or other seemedto have shaken your implicit belief in our integrity and generalholiness. At any rate, you asked me for my advice--my honest advice. Igave it you. I told you to go ahead--that Mr. Travers was an angel ofgoodness and perfection. That was what he suggested I should say, in anote he had sent me an hour before. So you went ahead. You did thedirty work for him, and took his responsibility upon your shoulders. You have ruined a few of us incidentally, but above all things youhave ruined yourself and your people. Mr. Travers is unharmed. He hashis wife's money. " She paused to gather her strength for a final effort. "So much for Mr. Travers' and my partnership. I did my share of the work to shieldmyself and my mother from a trouble which must now go its way. Butafter that, I played my own game. I did not want to lose you--eventhough I knew quite well that you cared for me, and that I shouldnever marry you. Months before I had made up my mind to marry a manwith a high position and money. It was just a game I was playing withyou. Even when you forced things to a head, I kept it up. I pretendedinnocency and high motives--because I wanted to feel you at myapron-strings always. We all treated you more or less badly, but I wasthe worst. I fooled you--for--for--" "For what?" His voice burst from him, harsh and terrible as though it had beentorn from the bottom of a tortured soul. "For the fun of the thing. " Among the seven present there was no movement, no sound. Scarcely oneseemed to breathe or be alive except the woman who stood there, herbreast heaving, a twisted smile of wild self-mockery on her ashy lips. Nehal Singh turned and went to the door. There he stopped and lookedback at her and the little group of which she formed the centralfigure. Then he made a gesture--one single gesture. He raised his handhigh above his head and brought it down, palm downward. In thatmovement there was a contempt, a scorn, a bitterness so profound thatit seemed to mingle with a terrible pity; but above all there was afinal severing, a breaking of the last link which bound them. The nextminute the door closed behind him. How long the silence that followed lasted no one knew. It was brokenby Mrs. Cary, who flung herself face downward on the table, and burstinto wild, uncontrollable sobs. "Oh, Beaty!" she moaned. "Our reputations--our good name! How couldyou have told such wicked stories about yourself and poor Mr. Travers!How could you!" Colonel Carmichael shook his head. He was overwhelmed by a cross-currentof conflicting emotions to which he could give no name. "True or not true, your--eh--statement has got us into a pretty mess, Miss Cary, " he said. "You have played with fire. Pray Heaven that ithas not set light to Marut!" She turned and looked at him. In that pale face upon which had sunkthe light of a sudden peace the Colonel read something which sent hisblunt instinct searching wildly for a solution. "I did what I had to do, Colonel Carmichael, " she said. "Come, mother, we must go home. " CHAPTER III A FAREWELL John Stafford sat at his table by the open door which looked on to thegarden. The room behind him was bare of all graceful or even tastefulornament--a few native weapons, captured probably during smallfrontier wars, hung on the wall, but nothing else relieved its blank, whitewashed monotony. The one photograph of his father which had oncebeen fastened above the mantelpiece had been taken down months beforeand the hole made by the nail carefully and methodically filled andpainted over. The room typified the man in its painful order, itspainful whitewashed cleanliness, its rigid plainness. But the gardenwas the symbol of the hidden possibility in him, the corner of warm, impulsive feeling which the world had never seen. The roses grew up tothe very steps of the verandah; they had been trained to clamber overthe trellis-work as though seeking to gain entrance to his room; theyspread themselves in rich, glowing variety over the little patch ofground, and one of their number, the most lovely and fullest blown, hung her heavy head in splendid isolation from the vase upon histable. He looked at the rose and he looked at the garden, on which lay the firstclear rays of the rising sun. In him stirred a rare wistfulness, a raremelancholy. For to him all the gentler, softer forms of sorrow were rare. In the last year he had suffered, but in his own way--rigidly, coldly, unbendingly. His lips, even in the loneliness of his own room, had alwaysbeen tight closed over the smothered exclamation of pain. He had gone onsteadily and conscientiously with his work. He had never for one moment"given way to himself, " as he expressed it. But this morning he was inthe power of that strange "atmosphere"--call it what you will--which wefeel when still only half awake, and which, independent of all outwardcircumstances, destines our day's mood of cheerfulness or depression. Strangely enough, he had made no struggle against it--he had yielded toit with a sense of inevitableness. The inevitable compassed him about and numbed his stern, mercilesssystem of self-repression. Fate, irresistible and unchangeable, obscured the clear path of duty which he had marked out for himself, and held him for the moment her passive victim. It was no idle fancy. He was not a man in whose thought-world fancy played any part. Nor wasit the gloomy impression which a lonely twilight might have stampedupon a mind already burdened with a heavy weight of trouble. The youngday spread her halo of pure sunshine over a world of color; the redrose upon his table bowed her head toward him in the perfection of amature beauty which as yet hid no warning of decay. But in thesunshine he saw the shadow; the daylight foretold the night; his eyessaw the withered petals of the rose strewn before him. In vain he hadstriven to see beyond the night to the as inevitable to-morrow; invain he had pictured the rose which his careful hand would bring toreplace her dead sister. The future was a blank dead wall whoseheights his foresight could not scale. Before him on the table lay a closed and sealed envelope. It containedhis will, which half an hour before he had signed in the presence oftwo comrades. He wondered what the world would say when it wasopened--and when it would be opened. Presently the curtains behind him were pushed quietly on one side. Hedid not turn around. He supposed it was his native servant with thecup of coffee which formed his early morning refreshment; but the softstep across the uncarpeted floor, the rustle of a woman's dressstartled him from his illusion. He turned and sprang to his feet. "Beatrice!" he exclaimed. She came toward him with outstretched hand. "May I speak with you for a few minutes, John?" she asked. His first impulse to protest against her reckless disregard ofpropriety died away on his lips. Something on her white earnest facetouched him--all the more perhaps because it linked itself with hisown mood. He brought a chair--his own, for the room boasted of butone. "Are you angry?" she asked again, looking up at him. "At your coming? No. At another time I might have warned you that itwas not wise, but I feel sure you would not have run so much riskwithout a serious and adequate reason. " She nodded. "Yes, I have a very serious reason, " she said. "Have you time tospare?" "All the morning. " "Were you on duty last night?" "For the best part. " "Is that why you look so tired and ill?" He smiled faintly. "I might reply with a _tu quoque_. But that doesn't matter. You havesome trouble to tell me. What has happened?" "You have heard nothing?" "Nothing whatever. " He drew a stool toward him and seated himself ather side. "You know, I am not a person to whom gossip drifts quickly. " "It's not gossip--it's truth. The Marut Diamond Company is closed--forgood and all. " "You mean--it has gone smash?" "Completely--and we with it. " He sat silent for a moment, his head resting thoughtfully on his hand. "I suppose it had to come, " he said at last. "Somehow, it alwaysseemed to me that the concern was doomed. The foundations weren'thonest. The Rajah was more or less beguiled into it--" He broke off, turning crimson with vexation. "I beg your pardon, Beatrice. I forgotthat that was one of your--escapades. " She looked at him steadily, and he was struck and again strangelymoved by her pale beauty. He had never seen her so gentle, so freefrom her cold and mocking gaiety. "You must not apologize. And do not smooth over a mean, low trick withthe name of an escapade. It was not an escapade, for an escapade isthe overflow of high and reckless spirits, and what I did was done incold blood and with a purpose. I have come to tell you about thatpurpose. " He could not repress a movement of surprise. "Surely you have something more serious on your mind than that? If, asyou say, your--your financial position has been rendered precarious bythis failure of the Marut Company, would it not be advisable to hurryon our marriage at once? Of course, in the meanwhile, if I can doanything to help your mother--" She touched him gently on the arm. "I told you I had come on a serious matter, " she said. "Won't you letme tell you what it is?" "Of course, Beatrice, of course. Only I thought that was the seriousmatter. " "It is perhaps for my mother, but not for me. Things have changedtheir value in my life. Just now I feel there is only one thing thathas any value at all, and that is freedom. " "From what? I do not understand. Do you mean from debt?" She smiled sadly. "Yes, from debt. John, I want to ask you an honest question honestly. Why did you ask me to become your wife?" He moved uneasily. "Why do you ask? Surely we understand each other. " "We did, perhaps, but I have told you that things have changed. Won'tyou answer me?" "I asked you--because I wished you to be my wife, " he returnedstubbornly. "John, isn't that rather a lame equivocation?" He stared at her with heavy, troubled eyes. "Yes, it was. But the truth might hurt you, Beatrice. " "No, it wouldn't. Nothing can hurt so much in the end as lies andhumbug. " "Well, then, I asked you to become my wife because I believed that myconduct had put you into a wrong and painful situation in the eyes ofthe world. " "Nothing else?" "I wished to prove to Lois that I could never be her husband. " "You were afraid that she would see through your pretense to yourunchanged affection for her?" He started. "Beatrice, how do you know?" "Look in your own glass, John. Yours isn't the face of a man who hasshaken off an old attachment. " He rose and stood with his back half turned to her, playing idly withthe papers on the table. "You are partly right, " he said, after a moment's silence, "but notquite. I have more on my shoulders than that; I have a heavyresponsibility--a debt to pay. " "You, too?" she asked, with a return of the half-melancholy, half-bittersmile. "Have you also a debt?" "Not of my making, " was the answer. The voice rang suddenly stern andharsh, and Beatrice saw him look up suddenly, as though instinctivelyseeking something on the wall. "Beatrice, you must know that myactions are dictated by motives which I can not for many reasons giveto the world. For one thing, I have given my promise; for another, myown judgment tells me that it is better for every one that I should besilent. But I am free to say this much to you--I am not adishonorable man who has played lightly with the affections of aninnocent girl. I have acted toward Lois as I believe will be for herultimate happiness--I have shielded her from a misfortune, apunishment I might say, which would have fallen unjustly on hershoulders. I have taken a burden upon my shoulders because I loveher--and I have the right to love her--but chiefly because it is myduty to do so. Where there is sin, Beatrice, there must also beatonement, otherwise its consequences can never be wiped out. I havechosen to atone. " Beatrice made no attempt to question him. Her eyes fell thoughtfullyon the gaunt face, and for the first time she appreciated to the fullwhat was great and generous in the nature she had condemned all toooften as narrow and unbending. Whatever else he was, this man was noPharisee. If he was narrow, he allowed himself no license; ifunbending, he was at least least of all relenting toward his ownconduct. She pitied him and she respected him, even though she couldnot understand his motives nor guess the weight of the responsibilitywhich he had taken upon himself. "I can not reproach you with deception, " she said at last. "You neverpretended that you loved me, and on my side I think the matter waspretty clear. I intended to marry you for your position. Afterwardmoney added a further incentive. I saw the loss of our own fortunecoming. Travers warned me on the same day that we became engaged. " A dark flood of indignant blood rushed to Stafford's forehead. "The man is an unscrupulous adventurer--no doubt he has safeguardedhis own interest carefully enough, " he exclaimed bitterly. "You are quite right. His wife has all the money, and he has takencare that it should be well tied up and out of reach. That is what myfather did. " He turned to her again. "Your father?" "Yes, my father, " she repeated, meeting his eyes gravely andunflinchingly. "He tried to do what Travers did. But he wasn't quiteso clever. He ran too close to the wind, as he said himself, and theyput him in prison. He died there. " He stood looking at her with a new interest. He too, was beginning tounderstand. The bitter line about the mouth was not the expression ofa hard, unfeeling heart after all, then, and the sharp, mocking laughwhich had jarred so often on his ears was not the echo of a shallow, worthless character? They were no more than the deep wounds left aftera rough battle with a world that knows no pity for those branded withinherited shame and dishonor. He had misjudged her. There wereunlimited possibilities of nobility and goodness in the beautiful facelifted to his. But he said nothing of the thoughts that flashedthrough his mind. In moments of crisis we always speak of what isleast important. "And you managed to keep it a secret in Marut?" he asked. "Yes, it was a marvel, wasn't it?"--her eyes brightening with a sparkof the old fun. "We lived in a constant state of alarms andexcursions. But Mr. Travers did what he could. He knew all about it, and he helped us. " "On conditions, no doubt?" "Of course, on conditions. But he said, quite truthfully, that he hadno idea of blackmailing me. It was just a fair bargain between us. "She paused a little before she went on: "Now, you understand whatbrought us to Marut, and what made you such a desirable catch. Wewanted to get clear away from the past and build up a new life. But wecouldn't. One can't build up anything on a lie. " "That is true, " he returned sternly, "and yet this is hardly a timefor you to talk of your failure. From the moment that you are mywife--" "But, John, that's what I never shall be. " She laughed wearily. "Doyou think a clever woman would own up to an unpleasant past to the manshe wanted to marry? And if you want to hear more detestable thingsabout me, ask the Colonel, ask Mrs. Berry, ask the Rajah. They knowall about me, for I told them yesterday. You don't need to look sowhite and haggard. I am not going to marry you. That is what I came tosay. And I wanted to explain everything, and to ask you, if you can, to forgive me all the trouble I have brought upon you. " She rose, andheld out her hand to him. "Will you shake hands, John?" He stood motionless by the table, watching her with a last stirring ofthe old distrust. "I do not understand you, " he said bluntly, and in truth he did not. This pale-faced woman with the earnest eyes deep underlined with themarks of sleepless nights was a riddle which his stiff, conventionalimagination could not solve. "Is it necessary that you should understand?" she answered. "I havenot asked you to explain why, still loving her, you threw Lois over. Ibelieve that you had some grave reason. It could not be graver thanmine for doing what I am doing. " "Then you mean that--it is entirely over between us?" "Yes, it is over between us. Your sense of justice will not have toundergo the ordeal of forcing your sense of honor to link itself withdishonor. To your credit, I believe you would have married me, John, and I am grateful. But there's an end of it. I have come to saygood-by. I suppose it is absurd, but I wish we could remain friends. " This time he took her hand in his. Now that the artificial unionbetween them was done away with, their real friendship for each othercame back and took its rightful place in their lives. "Why shouldn't we, Beatrice?" he said. "Heaven knows, we both haveneed of friends. " "It is a strange thing, " she continued thoughtfully, "that, though youare so completely my opposite, I have always liked you. Even when youmost jarred upon me with your prunes-and-prisms morality, I was neverable quite to close my heart. I wonder why?" He could not repress a faint amusement at the flash of her old self. "It has been the same with me, " he said. "Even when you trod on all myprinciples at once, I haven't been able to smother a sort ofshamefaced respect for you. You always seemed more worthy of respectthan--well, some of the others. " "I suppose it is our sincerity, " she said. "You are sincere in yourgoodness, and I, paradoxical as it sounds, in my badness. " "I think not, " he answered, looking her gravely in the face. "I thinkit is because the hidden best in both of us recognized each other andheld out the hand of friendship almost without our knowing. " She smiled, but he saw a light sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, practical John, you are making fast progress in the soul's world!Who has taught you?" He turned away from her back to the table and stood there gazing outover the garden. "No one. It is a mood I have on today which makes me see clearer thanI have done before. Go now--if any one saw you here, you know whatMarut would say. " "Yes, I know Marut very well by now. Not that it much matters. Good-by. Please--I found my way alone; I can find the way out. " She had reached the door before he stopped her. "Beatrice!" She turned. "What is it?" "I have a favor to ask of you--or rather, I have a trust to put inyour hands. It is in a sort of way the seal upon our goodunderstanding. There is no one else whom I could trust so much. " She came back to his side. A new color was in her cheeks. Her eyeslooked less tired, less hopeless. "A trust? That would make life worth living. " He took up the packet on the table and gave it to her. "That is my will. I made it afresh last night. It was witnessed thismorning. In it I have made you my executrix, with half my estate. Theother half I have left to Lois. " "Now you must leave it all to her, " she said. "No, I wish it to remain as it is. Besides--" He broke off hurriedly, as though seeking to avoid an unpleasant train of thought. "Beatrice, the world won't understand that will. Lois won't, and I pray, for thesake of her happiness, that she may never have to--but if the timecomes when this must be put into action, I want you to give her amessage from me. Will you?" "Of course I will. But"--she faced him with a sudden inspiredappeal--"must you wait until you are dead to speak to her? Would itnot be better to go to her now with your message? I do not know whathas come between you both, but I know this much--all forms of pretenseare fatal--" He stopped her with a gesture of decision. "No, " he said. "The secret must remain secret. It has overshadowed mylife. It has laden me with a burden of responsibility and shame whichI have determined to share with no one. I have taken it upon myshoulders, and I shall carry it to the end. Tell Lois that I havenever once swerved in my love for her. Ask her to trust me and thinkkindly of me. It is not I who have sinned against her--" "Sinned against her! Who has sinned against her? Do you mean me?" "No, not you. You also have been sinned against. I also. " He sighedwearily. "When I look about me, it seems as though not one of us hasnot in turn sinned and been sinned against. It is an endless chain ofthe wrong we do one another. " She laughed, and for the first time there rang in her voice a note ofthe old harshness. "Look at me, John. There is no turn and turn about with me. From thebeginning I have tricked and lied and fought my way through life. Ididn't care whom I hurt so long as I got through. I sinned. Who hassinned against me?" "One person at least, " he answered significantly. She caught her breath, and the hand that passed hastily across herforehead trembled. "Even if it were true what you say, " she said, half inaudibly, "itdoes not alter the fact that we must atone for what has been done. " "It is the justice of the world, " he assented. "We must make good theharm we do and the harm that has been done us. " He threw back hisshoulders with a movement of energetic protest. "Do not let us wastetime talking. We can not help each other. All I ask is--do not forgetmy message. " She looked at him, strangely moved. "You talk as though you were going to die to-night, " she said. "I talk as a man does whom death has already tapped on the shouldermore than once of late, " he answered, with grim humor. "Good-by, Beatrice. " "Good-by. " He pushed his writing-table to one side so that she could pass out onto the verandah. "Do not come with me farther, " she said. "The carriage is waitingoutside. I would rather go alone. " He stood and watched her as she passed lightly and quickly among therose-bushes. It was as though he were trying to engrave upon his mindthe memory of a lovely picture that he was never to see again, --asthough he were bidding her a final farewell. Twice she turned andglanced back at him. Was it with the same intent, guided by the samestrange foreboding? She disappeared, and the voice of a nativeorderly who had entered the room unheard recalled him to the reality. "A letter for you, Captain Sahib, " the man said, saluting. Stafford took the sealed envelope and, tearing it open, ran hastilyover the contents. It was from the Colonel. The subscription, as usualsince the rupture in their relations, was cold and formal. "I should be glad to see you at once, " Colonel Carmichael had written. "Events occurred yesterday which I have not as yet been able todiscuss with you, but which I fear are likely to have the most seriousconsequences. In the present weakened condition of our garrison, wecan afford to run no risks. Nicholson is with me here. Your presencewould simplify matters as regards forming our plans for the future. " Stafford turned to the waiting soldier. "Present my compliments to the Colonel Sahib, " he said. "I shall bewith him immediately. " CHAPTER IV STAFFORD INTERVENES The threatening cloud which had loomed up on the horizon had actedwonders on Colonel Carmichael's constitution. At the last meeting ofthe Marut Diamond Company he had looked like a man whose days on theactive service list were numbered. Ill-health, disappointment, and anatural pessimism had apparently left an indelible trace upon him, andMrs. Carmichael's prophetic eye saw them both established inCheltenham or Bath, relegated to the Empire's lumber-room--unlesssomething happened. The something had happened. The one sound whichhad the power to rouse him had broken like a clap of unheraldedthunder upon his ears. It was the call of danger, the war-note whichhad brought back to him the springtime of his youth and strength. Stafford found him restlessly pacing backward and forward in hisnarrow workroom, deep in conversation with Nicholson, who stood at thetable, his head bent over a map of Marut. Both men were in uniform, and it seemed to Stafford that Colonel Carmichael listened to theclick of his own spurs with the pleasure of a young lieutenant. It wasno longer the sound of weary routine. It was the herald of clashingsabres and the champing of impatient horses awaiting the charge; itwas an echo of past warlike days which were to come again. He stoodstill as Stafford entered, and a flash of satisfaction passed over hisface. "I'm glad you have come, " he said. "Whatever is to be done must bedone at once. I suppose you know nothing?" "Nothing, " Stafford answered. "Your note was the first intimation Ihave received that there was anything amiss. " Colonel Carmichael grunted angrily. "Of course you know nothing, " he said, resuming his restless marchabout the room. "Nor did I--nor did any one. Heaven and earth, I'mbeginning to think there's something wrong in our theory that whateveris going on under our noses must be too insignificant to be noticed!There, Nicholson, hurry up and tell him what you know. " Nicholson stood upright, and folding the map put it in his pocket. "I was in the New Bazaar last night, " he began curtly. "I go thereregularly, as you know, disguised as one thing or another, just forthe sake of having a look at the people when they don't know they arebeing watched. Last night there was no one there--not so much as achild or a woman. The place was dead. I admit that I was notparticularly startled. I knew that there was a great festival at hand. Pilgrims have been streaming in for days past, and it was quiteconceivable that some ceremony was taking place in the temple. Curiosity fortunately led me to investigate further. Myself disguisedas a traveling fakir, I made my way to the Rajah's palace gates. Already on the road I was joined by a hurrying stream of men andwomen, principally men. My suspicions were aroused. I knew fromexperience that it was not a usual crowd of pilgrims. Every man wasarmed, not only with knives, but guns and revolvers. Some of them wereundoubtedly deserted sepoys who had stolen their weapons. Moreover, they exchanged a signal which I recognized and, in order to escapedetection, imitated. It was the signal which in past generationsrevealed one member of the Thug fraternity to another. " "Thugs!" exclaimed Stafford, with a faintly skeptical smile. "Do not misunderstand me, " Nicholson said. "I am not going to recallto your minds the nursery horrors with which our ayahs regaled ourchildish imaginations. I will only emphasize one fact. The Thugs werenot and are not merely a band of murderous and treacherous robbers. They belong to the priesthood, they are the deputed servants of thegoddess Kali, and their task is the extermination of the enemy--of theforeigner, that is to say--in this case, of ourselves. " Stafford glanced at the Colonel. The latter's face was set and grave. "I do not for a moment suggest that the crowd with which I traveledwere Thugs, " Nicholson continued. "I know that they were not. But theyhad adopted the Thug sign because they had adopted the Thug mission. Not, however, till we had passed the gates and reached the palace didI realize the gravity of the situation. The Rajah stood on the greatsteps, surrounded by a body-guard of torch-bearers. He was dressed infull native costume, a blaze of gems, and wearing the royal insignia. The expression on his face was something I shall not easily forget, and at the time it was inexplicable to me. I can not describe it. Ican only say that I was instantly reminded of Milton's fallen Satan ashe stands above his followers, superb, dauntless, but tortured byhatred, contempt and God knows what strange minglings of remorse andanger. He greeted the crowd with the sign of death. His first wordsrevealed to me that his allegiance to us was at an end, and that hemeant to follow in his father's bloody footsteps. " Stafford stretched out his hand, catching hold of the back of a chairas if seeking support. "Go on!" he said sharply. "I have very little more to say. I did not wait, for I had heardenough to know that Marut was in instant danger. I made my escape asbest I could, but in order to avoid notice I had to resort tocircuitous paths, and only reached here this morning. " Colonel Carmichael brought his hand down angrily upon the table. "To think that the scoundrel should have been pretending friendshipall the time that he was preparing to murder us!" he exclaimed. "Thiscomes of trusting a native!" "Excuse me, Colonel, " Nicholson answered, with emphasis. "I have everyreason to believe that until yesterday Nehal Singh was our sincereally. " "You mean to say that he stamped an armed crowd out of the earth inhalf an hour?" "No. That armed crowd was the silent work of years. It was the toolwhich has been held ready for a long time--but not by Nehal Singh--" "By whom, then, in the name of all--" Nicholson drew out an old and faded photograph and handed it to theColonel. "Do you recognize that face?" he asked. "Certainly I do. It is the Rajah's father--Behar Singh. How did youcome by this?" "It belonged to my father. He gave it me, and I kept it as acuriosity. Colonel, I saw that man last night at the Rajah's side. " The photograph fluttered from the Colonel's powerless fingers. Helooked at Nicholson, and there flashed into his old eyes a terribleprimitive passion of revenge and hatred. "My God! He is alive--and I never knew!" "He is alive, Colonel. And I believe that, hidden from us all, he has beenworking steadily and stealthily at the task which saw its completion lastnight. So long as Nehal Singh stood on our side he could do nothing. Thepeople believe Nehal to be an incarnation of Vishnu, and they will onlyfollow where he leads. Behar knew that--probably he himself had fosteredthe idea. He guessed, probably, that one day Nehal Singh would turn fromus. He waited. Last night I saw a face of devilish triumph which told itsown tale. He had not waited in vain. " Colonel Carmichael turned to Stafford and held out his hand. For thefirst time old friendship shone out of his eyes mingled with a fire ofthirsty revenge. "You and I have a debt to pay before we die, Stafford, " he said. Stafford's hand touched his coldly and powerlessly. "I have nothing against the Rajah, " he said hoarsely. "I can not carryout a revenge against the son--" Colonel Carmichael interrupted him with a hard laugh. "They are all of a piece, " he said. "Say what you will, Nicholson, Nehal Singh is a traitor. We were fools to trust him. We are alwaysfools when we do not treat a native as a dangerous animal. They murderus for our silly, sentimental confidence. " Nicholson bent down and, picking up the photograph, replaced it in hispocket. "Do you think so, Colonel?" he said significantly. "From, myexperience I have learned that you can always trust a native. You cantreat him as your friend and equal so long as the inequality is thereand obvious to him. I mean, so long as in everything--in generosity, in courage, and in honor--he realizes that you are his superior. " Colonel Carmichael's face darkened with anger. "Do you mean, perhaps, that--that we are not all that?" he demanded. "Surely not all of us. How many men think that any sort of conduct isgood enough to show a native? What did Behar Singh see of our honor?He was our friend until an Englishman who had eaten and drunk hishospitality repaid him by a dishonorable theft. What has Nehal Singhseen of our superiority? In spite of his father's influence, he cameto us prejudiced in our favor. He saw heroes in us all, and hetrusted himself blindly in our hands. What has been the consequence?Look at yesterday's scene, as you have described it to me, Colonel. His best friend had proved himself a mean and treacherous swindler. The woman whom as I judge he regarded as a saint--forgive me, Stafford, I must be honest--no more than a heartless flirt, who hadled him on from one folly to another for the sake of a littleexcitement--" "Rubbish!" Colonel Carmichael burst out. "What are exceptions in awhole race?" "In a strange country no one is an exception, Colonel. One coward, onethief, one drunkard is quite enough to cast the blackest slur upon thewhole nation in the eyes of another race. As sincerely as he believedyesterday that we were all heroes, as sincerely Nehal Singh believesto-day that there isn't an honest man among us. " This time Colonel Carmichael made no answer. He went over to thewindow and stood there frowning obstinately out over the neglectedgarden. His eyes fell on the ruined bungalow, and he called Nicholsonto his side. "Look at that!" he said. "In that place Behar Singh murdered my bestand only friend, Steven Caruthers. I have not forgotten and I can notforget. It has branded every native for me as a murderer. No doubtthis proves your argument. From the first I shrank from all contactwith the present Rajah. I distrusted him, and it is obvious now thatmy distrust was well founded. What do you say, Stafford? You, too, were against having anything to do with him. " To his surprise and annoyance, Stafford did not respond. He stoodthere with his hands clasping the back of the chair, his brows knittedin painful thought. "Come, Stafford, what have you to say?" the Colonel repeatedimpatiently. "I think there is a good deal in what Nicholson says, " Staffordanswered, speaking as though he had only just heard that he was beingaddressed. "The Rajah has not been well treated. He has a right tofeel bitter. And he seemed a fine sort of man. Without prejudice, Colonel, one can not withhold a certain admiration for him. He hasbehaved better than some of us. " Colonel Carmichael frowned, but his sense of justice forced him to areluctant admission. "Yes, he has a few showy virtues. Yesterday, for instance. Underthe circumstances, he behaved like a gentleman and a man of honor. Before nightfall the English share-holders in the mine got theirmoney back in gems and rupees--he must have pulled the palace topieces. In fact, everything might have gone off smoothly if it hadn'tbeen for that--that--" He coughed and glanced at Stafford, not withouta touch of malicious satisfaction. "You are alluding to Miss Cary, Colonel, " Stafford said, returning hisglance with dignity, "and you are at liberty to say what you like, forI have no longer the right to champion her. At her request, ourengagement is at an end. But as her friend I can not refrain fromsaying this much--she has not spared herself, and, God knows, she alsohas not been treated well. " What memories passed before the Colonel's mind as he stood there gazingabsently in front of him! Recollections of mean and envious criticisms, ugly underhand slanders, petty intrigue, his own shame-faced patronage!And then the vision of a lovely, white-faced woman making her desperateself-accusal, and of a terrible, vulgar mother trying to hold her backwith threats and pleadings! He turned at last to the two men, his ownface red and troubled. "I apologize, " he said. "I apologize all around. I seem to have beeninsulting everybody in turn. I dare say you are all right. The Rajahmay be ill-used and Miss Cary well-meaning. I don't know. And what onearth does it matter? The fat is in the fire, and here we standchattering like old women about how it got there. Something must bedone. The regiment is a day's march from here, and with a company ofyour Gurkhas, Nicholson, we shan't do much--scarcely hold out if theydare attack us. " "They will dare, " Nicholson answered. "So much I know for certain, andit will probably be to-night. I can vouch for my men, and we must doour best until help comes. But--" He paused rather significantly. "But what, man? Don't you think it will come in time? I have alreadytelegraphed. They will be here in twenty-four hours. Surely we canmanage so long. " "Colonel, if you had seen what I saw last night, you would not countmuch on help. It isn't the rising of a few unarmed men. It is therevolt of a fanatic, warlike nation led by a man. They call him God. His godhead does not matter to us. As a god we have no need to fearhim; but as a man and a born leader of men, with hatred and revenge asan incentive, armed with unlimited power, he is an enemy not to beheld at bay by a handful of Gurkhas and not to be conquered by aregiment. " His words had their quiet, fatal significance. Colonel Carmichael andStafford looked at each other. Hitherto they had faced the situationcoolly enough, with their eternal national optimism and self-confidence. This man had wrenched down the veil, and they stood before a chasm towhich there seemed no shore, no bottom. It was the end, and they knew it. "You mean, then, that it is all over?" the Colonel said casually. "Youknow more than either of us. You ought to be able to tell. " "Yes, Colonel, I should judge that it was all over, unless a miraclehappens. " "We might fight our way through. " "On my way early this morning the roads were already guarded. They didnot recognize me, otherwise I should not be here. " "And the women?" All three men had grown cool and indifferent. Death had stepped in, and from that moment it was not seemly to show either trouble orexcitement. "According to my idea, the women had better be lodged here in yourbungalow, " Nicholson said. "The surrounding walls make it a good placeof defense. The barracks are too open. " The Colonel nodded. Quite unconsciously he was letting the reins ofcommand slip into the younger and stronger hands. "They must be brought over at once, " he assented. "Thank Heaven mostof them have gone to the hills. Mrs. Berry and that--that other womanhad better not be told what's up. They will only make a fuss. My wifewill understand--and Lois will be all right. We must get hold ofTravers, if it is only for her sake. It would serve him right if weleft him to his fate. " Stafford took a step forward. "I have a suggestion to make, Colonel, " he said. Colonel Carmichael looked at him. Throughout the interview Staffordhad acted and spoken like a man who is weighed down by a burden ofterrible doubt and perplexity. He alone of the three men had shown thefirst sign of emotion, and emotion in the face of death was for theColonel no better than fear. His face hardened. "Well, " he said, "what is it?" "Rajah Nehal Singh is not a barbarian, " Stafford began. "I believe hewould listen to reason if one of us could get hold of him. He seems tohave his country's welfare at heart, and if it was explained to whathorrible bloodshed he was leading it--" "There must be no cringing!" Colonel Carmichael interrupted sharply. "It will not be a case of cringing. We could simply put the matterbefore him. " "There is something in what Stafford says, " Nicholson agreed. "Fromwhat I know of the Rajah, he seems both reasonable and humane. He mayhave yielded to his father's importunities in a fit of anger, and isperhaps already wishing himself well out of the mess. For the women'ssake, Colonel, we ought to have a shot--and not all for the women'ssake, either. Heaven knows what this business will cost England if itcomes to a head!" Colonel Carmichael bit his lip impatiently. He did not recognize hisown motives of desiring a last hand-to-hand struggle. They were thoseof an old man who sees Cheltenham and stagnation looming in thedistance and prays for death. But his common sense conquered theselfish promptings. "Who would be likely to undertake the mission with any hope ofsuccess?" he asked. "Nehal Singh and I were, toward the end, rather more than friendly, "Nicholson began. "I believe he entertained a real liking for me--" "If any one goes, I must!" The interruption came from Stafford. Hishead was raised. He faced the two men with a stern determination. "No, Nicholson; I know all you want to say. I have no sort of sympathy withthe natives--I haven't your power over them. But this is different. Ihave a power. I may have. Let me go. If I fail, then you can try. " "By the time you have failed it will be too late, " Nicholson returned. He was watching Stafford with almost pitying curiosity. His keeninstinct penetrated the man's strained and nervous bearing to someconflict which seemed to have had its birth with the first mention ofNehal Singh's name. "It will not be too late, " Stafford answered persistently. "I ask foran hour, Colonel. In an hour I shall know--whether--whether I have thepower. " "Captain Stafford, are you mad!" the Colonel said sternly. "This isnot a time for experiments. " "I ask for an hour, " Stafford repeated, and there was an emphasis andearnestness in his voice which cut short Colonel Carmichael's angrysarcasm. "At the end of that time Nicholson can do what he likes. I amnot mad. I beg of you to ask no questions. I can not answer them. Ican only tell you that I have a great responsibility--toward you alland toward another. " Colonel Carmichael was silent for a moment. Stafford's manner awed andtroubled him in spite of himself. "Very well, " he said at last. "I give you an hour. During that time wewill make preparations for the worst. " He took out his watch. "It isnow eleven. At twelve the matter passes into Nicholson's hands. " Stafford saluted. "I understand, Colonel. " Nicholson accompanied him toward the door. "God-speed!" he said simply. Stafford hesitated, his heavy eyesresting on the fine face of his brother-officer with an almostpassionate gratitude. "Thank you, Nicholson, thank you. God help me to do what is right!" He turned and hurried from the room. CHAPTER V MURDER Archibald Travers stood in his favorite attitude by the window, hisshoulder propped against the casement, his arms folded, a smile ofgood-natured amusement on his healthy face. "My dear child, " he protested, "what earthly interest can it have foryou to know the pros and cons of the business? You wouldn'tunderstand, and that small head would ache for a week afterward. Becontent with the outline of the thing. Of course it has all beenfrightfully unfortunate. But the Rajah wasn't to be held back. Hebelieved the mine was going to be the making of Marut--and for amatter of fact so did I at first, otherwise I shouldn't have put allmy money in it. The fellow had an enthusiasm and confidence whichfairly carried us off our feet. Well, it's done, and it's no usecrying about it. The best thing we can do is to clear out of Marut asfast as we can. People are bound to be disagreeable about it. " "The Carys are ruined too?" she asked. "Oh, I don't know--they have lost a bit, I suppose. " His voice soundedunpleasant. "At any rate, I'll say that for them--they behaved aspeople of their extraction would behave. First the mother poured out atorrent of abuse over the poor Rajah which would have been the envy ofa fish-wife, and then the daughter turned on me. " He laughed. "It wasa most powerful scene of feminine hysterics. I was glad that you werenot there. " Lois sat silent, her head resting on her hand, her eyes fixedthoughtfully on the table. "And what are we going to do?" she asked at last. "You take the matterso easily, but if we are really ruined--" He laid his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "_I_ am ruined, Lois. I did not say that you were. Even with yourrather low opinion of me, you could hardly have supposed that I wouldtouch your money. You are well enough off to do what you like. As forme--" he squared his shoulders--"I feel quite capable of startingthings all over again. " His tone touched her. She looked up, and her face softened. There wasnothing that could have made her happier than to have discovered inher husband some elements of courage and sincerity. "Of course, Archibald, whatever is mine is yours, " she said. "You musthave known that. " "My dear generous little woman!" He bent over her and kissed her, apparently unconscious that she instinctively drew back from hiscaress. "If you really will help me, no doubt I shall build things upagain in no time, and this one blunder won't count for much. You are aworthy comrade for a man. " Perhaps he had accepted her offer too quickly, perhaps his tone jarredon her as too elated, too satisfied. She got up, pushing her lettersquickly to one side. "You really wish us to start for Madras to-night?" "Yes, if you can manage it. It is important that I should get back assoon as possible, and the business here is finished. " "Very well. I will pack up as much as I can. The rest must be sent onafterward. " He let her reach the door before he stopped her again. "By the way, Lois, there is one thing I must ask you. I do not wishyou to have any further intercourse with that Beatrice Cary. She isnot a person with whom I should wish my wife to associate. You wereright about her--she is a bad, unscrupulous woman. " With her hand on the curtain she turned and looked back at him. Acloud of curious distrust passed over her pale face. "I never said that she was bad or unscrupulous. I do not believe thatshe is. You say that now, but it was not your old opinion. " "I suppose it is possible to see people in different and lessagreeable lights?" he retorted sharply. "Only too possible. But as she was never a friend of mine, and we areleaving within the next few hours, the injunction to avoid her isunnecessary. " She paused as though listening. "I hear some one talkingto the syce, " she went on hurriedly. "It sounds like CaptainStafford's voice. Archibald"--she turned and came quickly to hisside--"please let me out of the verandah. I don't want to meet him. " He caught her by the wrist and pushed her back. The movement wasbrutal, unlike his usual gentleness, and she saw by the expression ofhis face that for the moment he had lost all consciousness of what hewas doing. "I don't want to see him either. Go and tell him that I am not athome--that I have started for Madras--quick! Don't stand therestaring. " His extraordinary excitement, apparently unreasonable and entirelyopposed to his calm, easy-going habits, had the effect of setting fireto her dormant suspicion. She wrenched herself free. "I am not going to tell him a lie, " she said firmly. "Lois, you are a little fool! Do as I tell you. It isn't a lie--only apiece of conventional humbug which everybody understands. There, please!" His tone of entreaty was more disagreeable to her than hisroughness. All the pride and rigidity of her Puritan temperament wasup in arms against the indefinable something which it had long agorecognized and despised. "It is not conventional humbug, " she retorted--"not in this case. Youare lying because you are afraid, because you have a reason for notseeing Captain Stafford which you won't tell me. " He had not time to answer. The curtains were pushed on one side, andStafford entered hurriedly. He was covered with dust and lookedhaggard and exhausted. He did not seem to see Lois, though she stoodimmediately in front of him. His eyes passed over her head to Travers. "I am sorry to come in unannounced, " he said, without giving either anopportunity to speak, "but your servant was making difficulties, and Ihave not a minute to lose. I have galloped every inch of the way herefrom the Colonel's bungalow. I must speak to you at once, Travers, alone. " Lois went toward the door. As she passed him she saw him look at herfor the first time. And she went her way blinded with tears that hadno cause save in the stern, unhappy face which had flashed its messageto her. For she knew that his glance had been a message; that he hadtried to explain, and that she had not understood. The curtain fellbehind her, and Stafford crossed the room to Travers' side. "You have heard what has happened?" he demanded. Travers had resumed his old attitude of indifference. Only his eyesbetrayed the uneasiness which he was really feeling. "Do you mean the Rajah? No, I haven't heard anything, but if he ismaking himself a nuisance, I am not surprised. I expected it. " "Don't talk like that!" Stafford exclaimed, bringing his clenched handdown on the table. "How dare you! Have you no sense of responsibility?For you it was no more than a doubtful speculation, and you took carethat there were no risks; but for Marut it means--Heaven knows what itmeans!" "Nothing!" returned Travers coolly. "Nothing to get heated about. TheRajah feels sore, no doubt, but that will pass. And that is not myfault. It would have been all right if Miss Cary had not--well, madesuch a fool of herself, and incidentally of us all. " Stafford gazed steadily at the man who smiled at him. He could notunderstand a character so absolutely without all moral foundations. "You are no doubt preparing to start for Madras?" he asked, controlling his voice with a strong effort. "Certainly. There is nothing more to be done here. " "Let me tell you that you are not likely to leave Marut alive. " Travers laughed. "Nonsense, my dear Captain! I am not to be frightened with nurserytales. " "It is not a nursery tale. I give you my word of honor that beforenightfall we shall be overwhelmed by a force a hundred times largerthan anything we can bring on the field for weeks to come. " Travers shifted his position carelessly. Stafford had not succeeded infrightening him. He did not believe in native rebellions. What he hadseen of the Hindu character convinced him of its fundamentalcowardice and incapability for independent action. "A few blank cartridges will bring the Rajah very quickly to hissenses, " he assured Stafford, with perfect good-humor. "We havenothing to be afraid of in that quarter. " "You really think that?" Stafford demanded significantly. "Knowingwhat you know, you think we have no cause to fear him?" Travers changed color. The uneasy flicker in his eyes returned. "What on earth do you mean?" "You know very well. You know whom we shall be fighting against. " "Of course--a headlong, inexperienced Hindu prince--" "You are choosing to have a very short memory. Nehal Singh is morethan that. " Travers stood upright. The healthy glow had died out of his cheeks. "Look here, Stafford, " he said roughly, "what is it you want? I cansee you want something. " "Yes. Give me back my promise. I can not keep it any longer. " "Do you think I extort promises that I don't want kept? Are you inearnest?" "Yes, terribly in earnest. Look the thing in the face, Travers. Ourlives, and, what is far more, the lives of our women and Heaven knowshow many of our countrymen, hang in the balance. If you don't believeme, ask Nicholson. " "I shall believe what I like!" Travers began to pace backward andforward, his mind busy with lightning calculations. Before nightfallthey would be out of Marut. Stafford was exaggerating the danger, perhaps for his own purposes. The whole thing was nonsense. "I keep you to your promise, " he said obstinately. Stafford lifted his head. The man's natural reserve andconventionalism were borne down by the sense of his helplessness. Hewas fighting against a giant of egoism, as it seemed to him, of grossand criminal stupidity, for the lives of untold hundreds. "You can not realize what you are doing, " he said. "It is our one hopeof holding the Rajah's hand, and with every moment the danger isincreasing. As I came along the road I passed crowds of natives on theway to the palace. Most of them were men from your mine, Travers, andthey had an ugly look. They did not touch me, it is true, but Ibelieve they are only waiting for Nehal Singh's order, and then itwill be too late. Travers, we must do everything in our power toprevent him giving that order. I have promised Colonel Carmichael todo what I could. At twelve I must be back, or--" Travers swung around. His face was livid. "You told him--?" "No, but I must. I can not keep my promise. You must set me free. Igave it you because you told me that I was not concerned. Now I amconcerned, I dare not keep silence. " "My dear fellow, you must--that is, if you are a man of honor. " "Of what use is the secret to you?" "That is my affair. There was a time when you were anxious enough tokeep it. " "It was for Lois' sake. The two things were bound up together. She cannot be spared any longer. " "You think not? I am of another opinion. I put my wife's peace of mindhigher than your old-maidish alarms. " Travers faced his companion withthe assurance of a man who feels that he has the whip-hand. Hisexperience taught him that a man of certain orthodox principles has avery limited sphere of action. He runs in herds with hundreds of othermen of the same mould, and under given circumstances has only onecourse of conduct open to him. Had Travers been in Stafford's place, no one living could have told what he would do. But Stafford had nochoice--at least, so Travers judged. "You are one of honor's Pharisees, my dear fellow, " he said frankly. "You can't get out of your promise, and you know it. You cling to theletter of the law. It is your way. You had better go back to theColonel and tell him to manage the Rajah in his own style. " The clock on the table chimed the half-hour. It was ten minutes' fullgallop back to the Colonel's bungalow. Stafford set his teeth in awhite heat of despair. "If you have no consideration for the Station, for your own wife, foryour own country, at least consider yourself!" he exclaimed. "Are youblind to the danger? We have scarcely fifty men, and up there arethousands quietly waiting for the Rajah's signal. You must have seenthem with your own eyes pouring through--" "I saw any amount of dirty pilgrims, and got out of the way as fast asI could, " was Travers' smiling retort. Stafford stood baffled and helpless. For the first time he was able torecognize and appreciate a certain type of Englishman to which hehimself to some extent belonged--an arrogant ignoramus who, encampedbehind his wall of superiority, fears nothing because he sees nothing, and sees nothing because outside the walls there can not possibly beanything worth looking at. Nicholson had torn down Stafford's imaginedsecurity, and he stood aghast at his old insolent self-confidence asreflected in Travers' smiling face. "To be quite honest with you, " the latter went on, after a moment'spause, "I have very little faith in our dreadful danger. Admitted thatI led the Rajah on a more than doubtful speculation, admitted thatMiss Cary went further than she need have done, it is still mostunlikely that his injured feelings are going to lead him to such adesperate step as to enter into conflict with the whole Empire. Believe me, Stafford, the idea is ridiculous, and I have not the leastintention of throwing up my own hard-won security--" It was a bad slip, and he knew it. Stafford, who had stood with hisface half averted, in an attitude of irresolution, swung round. "Your security?" he echoed. Travers shrugged his shoulders. He had made a mistake, but he saw noreason to be afraid of Stafford or of any one in Marut. "I said 'my security, '" he repeated. Stafford clenched his fists. The expression on his gaunt, rugged faceshowed that he had understood the full import of Travers' words. "You blackguard!" he said under his breath. Travers turned scarlet. "Mind yourself, Captain Stafford. You may find yourself outside thedoor quicker than you care for it!" "You blackguard!" Stafford repeated furiously. "I haven't a bettername for you. You have simply humbugged me with your lies about Loisand your devotion to her--" Travers strode at him. "How dare you!" "Don't bluster, Travers! It can't hide what I see. You married Loisfor her money--" "Hold your infernal tongue!" "And now you are afraid. Well, you shall have some cause. " He pickedup his helmet, which lay on the table. "I gave you my promise becauseyou assured me it was for Lois' happiness, and I believed you. According to my ideas, both of them were better left in ignorance. Idid not know that you had your own motives--silly fool that I am!" Heturned to hurry from the room. Travers barred his way. "What are you going to do?" "I shall tell the Colonel the truth!" "It will break his heart. " "I do not believe it. Out of the way, Travers!" "And then?" "Rajah Nehal Singh shall be told. " "Have you considered the consequences?" "I have. " "Lois will be ruined!" "_You_ will be ruined. Lois will have my protection, thank God!" The two men faced each other an instant in silence. Travers' facebetrayed a curious complex emotion of desperation and shame. He hadbeen called a blackguard, and the word had stung like the cut of ahorse-whip. He had never believed it possible that any man should havethe right to use such a term--to him, the embodiment of geniality, good-humor and good-nature. He did not believe even now that anyone had the right. He was not an unprincipled man--not in the sensethat he had ever consciously done wrong. He did not know what wrongwas--his one conception being an act putting him within reach of thelaw; and of such an indiscretion he had never been guilty. Throughouthis scheming he had always pictured himself as a complaisant Napoleonof finance, combining business with pleasure. His conduct toward Loishad been based on this standpoint. He was genuinely fond of her, and isthere any law forbidding a man to lay firm hold upon his wife's money?Yet Stafford had called him a blackguard, and Stafford was the world--theworld of respectability of which Travers had believed himself a giftedmember. For the moment the incomprehensible insult was more to him thanthe coming danger to which his plans were put. "You look at me as though I had committed a crime!" he exclaimed, in atone of injured protest. "You have, " Stafford answered steadily. "You have fooled me, playingon my prejudices, and God knows what other weaknesses. I won't sayanything of that. I deserve my share of blame. But you have trickedand deceived a woman. You have deceived an honorable man into adishonorable venture. You have brought disaster on your own country. You are no more than a common adventurer. You are the parasite to whomwe owe all our misfortunes, and--" "Stafford, take care!" "Out of the way! I am going to put an end to it all!" Travers flung the excited man back. Shame is a dangerous poison in theblood of base natures. It is merely the precursor to a state ofabsolute license where self-control, self-respect are flung to thewinds and the devil is set free to work his full, unchecked will. Travers glared at Stafford, hating his upright bearing, his uprightindignation with a violence to which murder would have been the onlytrue expression. "You are not going till I have your promise to hold your tongue!" hesaid between his teeth. Stafford flung the other's detaining hand from him. Freed from hislaming diseased conscience, and roused to activity, he acted like aman of lightning determination and iron will. "That you will never have, and you are a scoundrel to ask for it. Asyou like--there are other exits than the door. " He swung round andmade for the open window. Travers did not stop him. He stood rooted to the spot, his hand on therevolver which he carried at his side. The revolver had not been meantfor Stafford. Travers' quick eyes had caught sight of somethingcreeping slowly and stealthily up the verandah steps. He had seen theflash of a knife, and a cry of warning had rushed to his lips. The crywas never uttered. Devil and angel fought their last battle overTravers' drifting, rudderless nature. The word "scoundrel" had beenthe devil's winning cast. "Go, then, and be damned to you!" Travers shrieked. He saw Stafford reach the verandah steps. The stalwart khaki-clad figurewas photographed on his reeling brain. He heard the clank of a swordagainst the first stone step. He tried to cry out--afterward he triedto believe that he had cried out--but it was too late. The hiddensomething which had crouched behind the heavy creepers sprang up--fora short second seemed to tower above the unconscious officer--then agleam of light flashed down with the black hand. Stafford flung up hisarms, swung around, and fell face downward on the verandah. There was ashort, stifled groan, and then--and then only--Travers fired. [Illustration: Then--and then only--Travers fired. ] CHAPTER VI CLEARING AWAY THE RUBBISH All the night following the momentous meeting of the Marut DiamondCompany Mrs. Cary had kept to her room, the door locked against herdaughter, and had sobbed and wailed in a manner befitting the victimof a hard and undeserved fate. But in reality hers was the rage of a clumsy workman who has cuthimself with his own tools. Her own child, her partner and co-worker, had upset the erection of years. She saw themselves cast out of Marut;she saw the desolate wandering over the earth's surface, this timewithout the consolation and protection of wealth. For she knew thatBeatrice's confession was to go further. Beatrice had made theannouncement of her plans quietly but firmly as they had driven homefrom the club-house. "To-morrow everybody shall know everything there is to know, " she hadsaid, and had remained obdurate to all her mother's commands andpleadings. "I do consider you. I consider you even now. I mean to saveyou and myself. But this time it must be in another way. Your scheminghas only brought us into deeper trouble. We must start afresh. " "But how? But how?" her mother had said, wringing her hands inuncontrolled despair. "Where are we to start? How are we ever going tomake people believe in us, now we have no money?" "It does not matter what people believe, " Beatrice had replied. "Withour money and our lies we have been building mud-hovels, and now weare going to build palaces. That's all that matters. " Mrs. Cary had not understood. She thought Beatrice had gone mad, andknowing that with madness, reasoning is in vain, she shut herself upin her room, pulled down the blinds, and believed by this ostrich-likeproceeding that she could keep off the inevitable moment when theywould have to be pulled up again and the cold, pitiless reality faced. But Beatrice went her way undeterred. From Stafford's bungalow shedrove to the Travers'. The place was little more than an ill-cared-forshanty, the garden overgrown with weeds, the rooms damp, ill-aired andbadly furnished, its reputation for misfortune phenomenal. Travers hadtaken it as the only bungalow to be had for such a short period as heintended to stay in Marut, and Lois had made no objection. Her energyand determined striving after everything that was graceful andbeautiful was systematically crushed out of sight. She neverprotested, never laid any difficulties in Travers' path. She seemed toshrink into herself and live an invisible life of her own, leaving himto go his way. She could not help him. She could build up nothing on acharacter whose foundations were of shifting sand. And never had she been more fully convinced of her own powerlessnessand of his absolute independence than after their brief and stormyinterview before Stafford's entry. She had felt how for a moment theirtwo diametrically opposed natures had faced each other. She had felt abrief joyful satisfaction in at last coming to a hand-to-hand strugglewith him; but then, as usual, with a smile and an easy word he hadeluded her. So it had always been--so it would always be. Too late sherealized that she had thrown away her life upon a man who had no needof her devotion. Too late she realized that all sacrifices are wastedunless the ennobling of the sacrificer's character be considered. Fortrue happiness, true content and goodness can not be given. They mustbe self-won, or they are no more than hothouse plants which shriveltogether in the cold blast of an east wind. Lois had sacrificed herselfto bring true happiness and content and goodness into Travers' life, and had failed. She had failed all the more signally because she hadnever loved him. She had loved Stafford--extraordinary and terrible asit seemed to her, she still loved him. She could not root him out of herlife, and though his image was overshadowed by a greater and more noblefigure he retained his place. The glance they had exchanged had pierced down to the very center ofher being, and if it had revealed nothing to her it had also revealedeverything. For she knew now that the strange bond which had linkedthem together from the beginning united them still. Some reckless andunscrupulous hand had sundered them outwardly, and her instinct, guided by a hundred significant incidents, told her whose hand ithad been. She fled to her little gloomy sitting-room, with itsworn-out, tasteless furniture and drab walls, and fought her sorrowand despair single-handed and in her own way. She had a man's dislikefor tears--though, being a woman, they came all too easily to her--andshe fought against them now with all the strength at her command, withall the pluck which in happier days had made her so splendid a partnerin a "losing game. " She had made a disastrous mistake in her life, butit was not too late. The cathedral should go on in its unseen growth, and every conqueredtear, every brave smile was a fresh stone bringing it nearer toperfection. God be thanked for the fetishes with which the lessfortunate of us are still allowed to adorn the barren walls of ourlife! The cathedral, the imaginary "sheltering-place for others, " wasLois' fetish, and the thought of it and of the strong-faced man withwhom she worked in spiritual partnership was a deep, inspiringconsolation. It stood at her right hand and helped partly to overthrowthe weight of dread and evil presentiment which had borne down uponher all too sensitive and superstitious temperament as she had lefther husband and Stafford alone. Thus it was that, when the curtains of her room were suddenly partedand Beatrice stood on the threshold, she could face the new-comer witha calm if grave demeanor. She remembered her husband's lastinjunctions, but it was too late; and moreover, there was anexpression on Beatrice's face which told her that the visit was noordinary one. A woman's instinct is her spiritual hand feeling throughthe darkness to another's soul. Beatrice and Lois watched each otherwithout smile or greeting. They forgot the outward formalities of lifein the suddenly aroused interest which they found in each other, inthe consciousness that in this, their first meeting alone, they wereto become closely united. They were indeed striking contrasts. At no time had they seemed moreso than now, as they stood there silently facing each other--Beatrice, tall, fair with the wonderful Madonna beauty; Lois, small and dark, the quick and fiery temperament flashing to meet the other's dignityand apparent calm. And yet at no time had the barrier between thembeen so insignificant, so slight. Beatrice advanced slowly from thedoor, where she had first hesitated. "May I speak with you, Mrs. Travers?" she asked. Lois nodded, mechanically holding out her hand. Her eyes were rivetedon the other's grave face, drinking in with a real admiration aloveliness from which the old marring lines of mockery and cynicismhad been swept away. "Won't you sit down?" she said gently. "You look tired and pale. " Beatrice seemed not to hear. She took the outstretched hand betweenboth her own. Her head was a little bent, and as she looked full intoLois' face her expression softened and saddened. "You, too, are unhappy!" she said. Lois made no answer. She was overwhelmed by the directness of thestatement, but still more by the change in Beatrice's voice. Itsounded low and unsteady, as though a storm of feeling lay closebeneath the surface. "Do you wonder how I know?" Beatrice went on, after an instant's pause. "I don't know, " Lois answered, "and for the moment we won't talk aboutsuch things. I can't bear to see you look so--so ill. You must sitthere and let me get you something to drink. Have you walked?" Beatrice yielded this time to the kindly persuasion. She sank down inthe proffered chair, but she retained Lois' hand. "No, I drove. But I am tired. It was not easy work getting through thecrowd. They did not seem to want to let me pass. Once or twice Ithought they were going to attack me. " Lois laughed. "They are only pilgrims. They come every year, and are quite harmless. Hark at them now! There must be a band of them going past. Would youlike to watch from the verandah? It is really amusing--" "No, no; this is not the time for amusement. I have something else todo. Mrs. Travers, you are very kind to me. You have the right to hateme. " "I--hate you? Why should I, Beatrice?" "You call me Beatrice. But we have never been friends. " "Not till now. " "Do you think we are going to be?" Lois drew up a stool and seated herself at Beatrice's side. Somethingin the other's firm, gentle hold and in the low voice made her heartache. "I don't know. I feel as though we were already. " "Don't feel that, because it is not possible. Mrs. Travers, do you knowwho it was who came between you and John Stafford?" Lois' head sank. "I see that you do. Yes, I did my best. I wanted his position--andmoney. Are you still my friend?" Lois met the grave, questioning eyes with a sudden energy. "Yes. That is all over and past. I like you now. I liked you themoment you entered the room. You seemed different. " Beatrice smiled faintly. "And you, too, are different from any one I have ever known. Anotherwoman would not have been able to forgive as you have done. I havespoiled your life. I can see that. " Lois pressed her hand. "Hush! You must not say so. I am married--" "Lois, I have spoiled your life. I have come here to tell you thetruth, and you also must be truthful. For pity's sake, let us put liesand humbug on one side. I am sick of them!" For a moment she seemed tofight desperately with herself, and then she went on more quietly: "Ihave spoiled your life. I have spoiled the life of a man who trustedme. I have spoiled my own. That is what I have done in the twenty-fiveyears given me to work in. I have lied and cheated my way through. Andthis is the end--miserable bankruptcy. " "Yes, " Lois said, nodding. "I heard about it. " "About what? Has your husband told you?" "The Marut Company has failed. " Beatrice sat silent a moment. Her free hand supported the firmlymoulded chin, her eyes were fixed thoughtfully in front of her. "I did not mean that sort of bankruptcy, " she said at last. "Thatdoesn't count, Lois. I used to think it meant the worst sort ofmisfortune, but it doesn't. The inner bankruptcy is worse. The loss ofself-respect, of honor, of the trust of those one--cares for--" Againthe low voice trembled dangerously, but she went on: "Don'tcommiserate with me, kind-hearted little woman. I don't need your pity--now. Bankruptcy isn't so bad. It is better than living on falsecredit. When the crash is over, one picks oneself up again. Hope iseternal, and on the ruins--" "One can build cathedrals, " Lois interposed dreamily. "Yes, or palaces. But first the old rubbish must be cleared away. Onemust pay one's debts. I have very many to pay. First to you, Lois--" "Don't! I have told you that that is all over. " "--and then to Captain Stafford. Lois, I did want to take him awayfrom you, but I never succeeded. It was something else that didit--something which I have never understood. " "But which my husband knows?" Beatrice nodded. She was not there to spare Lois or herself. She wasthere to tell the truth. "Yes, he knows. But it is a mystery which we shall never penetrate. Atany rate, I have set Captain Stafford free. " Lois said nothing. Her thoughts were busy trying to piece together thesecret. With every moment distrust and suspicion were taking strongerhold upon her. "Lois, " Beatrice went on, "that is the least of it all. The worst ofall is that I can not pay my debts alone. I must go on ruining others. I must ruin you. " Lois stiffened. She sat upright, as though preparing herself for ashock which she dimly anticipated. "Tell me what you mean, " she said. "You remember it was I who tempted Rajah Nehal Singh into forming theMarut Company--" "That is not what you want to say. It was my husband's scheme. " "Very well, it was our scheme, if you like. At any rate, the wholeresponsibility rests--or should rest--upon our shoulders. We haveruined him, and we have ruined hundreds of others. It is only fairthat we should bear our share of the calamity. " "And haven't we done so? You have lost all your money. That ispunishment enough. And Archie, too--" She paused, a fierce note ofdefiance ringing out with her last words. Beatrice made no answer, andthe two women looked at each other in significant silence. "You don'tmean that--that it was--dishonest?" "I have no doubt Mr. Travers believed the mine was going to be asuccess. But it has failed, and the whole burden of the failure restsupon others, not upon him. " "My husband is ruined, too. All his money is gone. " "Yours remains. " "Yes, but--" She stammered and broke off helplessly. Beatrice said nothing more. She saw the process of rapid thought onher companion's working face. She knew there was no need to explainfurther the careful precautions which Travers had made for his ownsafety. She knew that for his wife there was only one action possible. Lois rose to her feet. "You must forgive me, " she said, a new and dangerous light in her darkeyes. "I am very slow and stupid about business matters, but Iunderstand what you have been trying to say to me. You have pointedout a duty to me which otherwise, in my ignorance, I might haveoverlooked. My husband has incurred responsibilities which must bemet--if not by him, at any rate by me. No third person shall take hisshare of the burden--certainly not the Rajah, who was no more than thetool which my husband used. I would be glad if you would let every oneknow that of course my money will go toward refunding those whom thefailure of the mine has injured. " Beatrice rose also. She put her two hands on Lois' shoulders. "You needn't do it, " she said. "The money is yours. It is a thing thatis done every day. The world won't say much if you stick to what isyours. " "It is not mine. My husband's responsibilities are myresponsibilities. " She paused, and then went on quietly: "Thank youfor explaining to me. I should never have understood myself, andArchie--no doubt dreads having to tell me that of course my money mustgo, too. " She looked Beatrice full in the face, and they understoodeach other. There are some lies which a loyal woman must carry withher to the grave. Beatrice bent and kissed the cold face. "You do right, " she said. "I knew you would. That is why I came toyou. I have helped to bring down all this misfortune on Marut. I havehelped to lower us all in the eyes of those--those who used and oughtto look up to us. Now you are going to lift us out of the mire--Lois, what was that?" The two women clung to each other. Hitherto there had been no sound inthe adjoining room save the regular rise and fall of two voices. Nowthe startled listeners heard the report of a revolver, followed by asudden, absolute silence. Lois shook herself free from Beatrice'sinstinctive clutch. "It is in my husband's room!" she said hoarsely. "Stay here! I willgo--" She hurried across the room and, thrusting open a curtained door, disappeared. The next instant Beatrice heard a cry which overcameevery hesitation. Horror and despair called her in that sound, and thenext moment she followed Lois' footsteps. She did not know what sheexpected to see. Afterward she believed that at the back of her mindthere had been some thought of suicide. But it was not Travers' headthat she saw pillowed against Lois' knee. Travers stood on theverandah, the smoking pistol still in his hand, his face livid anddamp with fear. At his feet his wife was bending over the body of aman whom Beatrice recognized with a shock of pain. "What has happened?" she asked breathlessly. "What has happened?" Travers turned and stared at her. His eyes were glazed, and for themoment he did not seem to know who she was. "Captain Stafford has--been murdered!" he stammered. "He was goingdown the steps when a native attacked him. I--fired, but it was toolate. Oh, thank God! Here is Colonel Carmichael!" True enough, it was the Colonel himself who sprang up the verandahsteps. From beyond the ill-kept garden they heard the tramp of men anda low, continuous sound, like the threatening moan of the wind. On theverandah reigned a complete and awestruck silence. Colonel Carmichaelbent over the unconscious man. "This is the beginning, " he said somberly. "How did it happen?" "A native must have been lying in wait for him, " Travers answered. "Hestruck at him with this. " He held out a three-inch blade in a handwhich shook like a child's. "I tried to save him, but I couldn't. Theman escaped, though I think I hit him. " The Colonel knelt down by Lois' side, and drawing out his brandy-flasktried to force a few drops between the purple lips. "We were expecting him every minute, " he said, "but we couldn't wait. The danger was too pressing. Here, man--it's all right. Look up. " Captain Stafford's heavy eyelids had wavered. The Colonel shifted himinto a higher position, his head still resting against Lois' knee. When the dying eyes opened they fell straight on the sweet dark facebent over him in loving pity. "Lois!" he whispered faintly. "Lois--my--kiss me!" Lois looked up at her husband. He nodded without meeting her eyes. Herlips rested on the chilly forehead. "Dear John!" "Lois--you--tell the Rajah----" He struggled fiercely for breath andhis raised hand pointed piteously at Travers. "Tell him--not--his own"--The words died into a choked silence. "Brandy--here! He's trying to say something. What is it, man?" Stafford turned with a last effort, his lips parted. A second time hepointed with a desperate insistency at Travers--then with a suddenquick-drawn sigh he sank back, his face against Lois' shoulder. Colonel Carmichael, who knew death too well, rose heavily to his feet. "It's all over, " he said. "We can do nothing more for him, and we mustleave him. Come, Lois. " His stern command roused her from her stupor of half-increduloussorrow. Gently she laid the lifeless head upon the cushions whichBeatrice had brought, and crossed the hands over the quiet breast. This time she fought in vain against the blinding tears. They fell onthe face of the dead man, and, moved by an irresistible impulse, shebent once more and kissed him. "God bless you, John!" Then she rose and faced her husband. "I can nothelp it, " she said. "He is dead. " Travers said nothing. He was clinging to the verandah, and his facewas grey. Outside the noise and confusion had increased. They couldhear yells and imprecations, and a stone whizzed through the trees, falling a few feet short of where the little party stood. ColonelCarmichael shook Travers by the arm. "Don't stand there like that!" he said, his voice rough with contempt. "It can't be helped, and I dare say we shan't any of us be much betteroff by to-morrow. I have a patrol outside waiting to take the ladiesover to my bungalow. Mrs. Cary and Mrs. Berry are already there. Thereisn't a moment to be lost. Rouse yourself and look to Lois. I willescort Miss Cary. " He turned to Beatrice with a stiff bow. "The enemymust at least find us united. " "The enemy!" exclaimed Beatrice sharply. "The Rajah is our enemy, " was the bitter answer. "You and Travers bestknow why. " The two women exchanged one brief glance. Lois crossed the interveningspace and took her husband's arm. "Archibald, " she said, slowly and emphatically, "if this trouble hasanything to do with the mine, it would be well to let the Rajah knowthat we also take our share. There must be no suspicion that--that wehave not acted honorably or have shirked our responsibilities. " He stared at her with dull, listless eyes. "What do you mean, Lois? He knows I haven't a brass cent. " "But I have. And of course my money must go to refund those whom youhave unintentionally ruined. " That roused him. He flung her on one side, with a desperate, goadedcurse. "Your money! How dare you! It's not your money. Half of it is mine. Isettled it on you. " "If it is yours, I will give it back to you. You will use it as I say. If not, I shall use it for you. " Colonel Carmichael had reached the garden. He turned now, and therewas a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "That's spoken like an honorable woman, Lois!" he said. "God bless youfor it. But it's too late. Nicholson has already gone to Nehal Singh. If he fails, there won't be any time to explain. Come on, or we shallhave to fight our way through. " He hurried on through the garden, Beatrice at his side. Husband andwife stood an instant alone, the body of poor Stafford between them. Lois' face was grave and contemptuous. "I do not know what you have done, " she said--"I do not understandwhat part you played in John's life or in mine, nor how far you areinnocent or guilty of bringing about all this misfortune--but I knowthis much--we shall take our share of trouble. " "Lois, you are my wife! You have no right to go against me. " "I have the right where my honor--where your honor--is concerned. Ihave the right to refuse to commit an act of gross injustice. " Sheglanced down once more at the quiet face of the man who had held sopersistently upon her life and heart, and her firmly compressed lipstrembled. "Oh, Archie, was it worth while--just for a little bit ofgain? Was it worth while? We might all have been so happy!" He said nothing. His rage had sunk into a sullen, dogged defiance. Theroar of voices beyond the compound suddenly subsided. They heard theColonel's voice issuing a sharp command and the thud of groundedrifles. "We must go, " she said. He followed her down the steps, his face painfully averted from thefigure that lay motionless upon the ground. The world is but areflection of ourselves. The sunshine is sad or joyful according toour moods. We read threats and promises in the smiles of others as ourown heart is hopeful or distrusting. And for Travers, with thebloodstained hand, the poor lifeless body of his enemy had become thetowering shadow of an approaching Nemesis. CHAPTER VII IN THE TEMPLE OF VISHNU Nicholson rode his horse slowly through the crowd of dark, threateningfaces. He did not hurry or show any sign of impatience, anger or fear. In his left hand he carried a riding-whip, but he made no use of itexcept as an encouragement to his well-trained charger, whose nose andbroad breast forced a passage, like a ship through the waves of aturbulent sea, and otherwise he was absolutely unarmed. A spectatorignorant of the truth might have taken him for an officer riding outon some ordinary duty, so little did the weight and seriousness of hisreal errand appear written on the strong face beneath the shadow ofthe helmet. There was no opposition to his progress. His keen eyes noticed as hepassed out of the residential quarter that, on the contrary, the crowdformed a sort of disordered escort which surged restlessly butsilently about him. One man even laid hold upon his hanging bridle andled the horse through the less dense passages; but the action was nota friendly one, and though no threats were uttered, Nicholson read apassionate bitterness and distrust upon the faces that thrustthemselves across his path or sprang up unexpectedly at his knee. Forthe most part they were men well known to him by sight. They belongedto working caste whose circles had supplied Nehal Singh with his bestworkmen, though here and there Nicholson caught sight of the turbanedhead of a small merchant or the naked body of a yogi. It was a significant fact that the worst of Marut's population--thebeggars, thieves and vagrants--was mostly lacking. These men were thehope upon which Nehal Singh had built his Utopia, the industrious, intelligent minority, and these were they whom he was now callingabout him by the power of personality and superstition. Nicholson knewenough of the Hindu character to be well aware that it was not theloss of employment nor of their small savings which had brought themtogether and put their knives in their hands ready to strike. TheHindu accepts misfortune with the languid stoicism of the fatalist;injury and wrong rarely rouse him, especially, as in this case, whenit comes too indirectly for him to trace the real injurer. But totouch his religion is to touch the innermost sanctuary of his being, where are stored the hidden fires of fanatic energy, hatred andreckless courage. And Nehal Singh was their religion, their Messiah, the Avatar for whose coming their whole nation waited. Hitherto he hadled them in peace, and they had followed, though other influences hadbeen at work. Even in this moment he still controlled them. Nicholson felt that astrong unseen hand held the crowd in that strange silence beneathwhich rumbled and groaned the growing storm. He had seen dark handsfinger the unsheathed knives; he had seen them reluctantly fall away. The hour had not yet come. Nehal Singh waited. For what? For him? Theidea seemed absurd, and yet, as Nicholson felt himself being swept on, it took stronger hold upon his mind and his faint hope of successrevived. He believed that, once face to face with the prince, he wouldbe able to check the headlong disaster which was bearing down uponthem all. They had been friends in a curious unacknowledged way. NehalSingh would listen to him. He would be made to understand that oneadventurer and one heartless woman do not make a nation; that theinjury done him was far from irreparable. A low exclamation close at hand roused him from his rapidconsiderations. He saw that the man who had hold of his horse's bridlehad turned and with one outstretched hand was pointing over the headsof the crowd. "Look, Sahib, look!" Nicholson glanced in the direction indicated. They were passing thesite of the old Bazaar, now a black, scarred waste of machinery anddisembowelled earth over which brooded a death-like quiet. Nicholsonremembered vividly the day he had ridden there at Nehal Singh's side. A breathless, eager humanity had worked and slaved beneath thescorching sun, redoubling every effort as the fine commanding presenceof the young ruler appeared among them. Then the clank of busymachinery had mingled with the shouted orders of the Englishoverseers, and Nehal Singh had turned to him with a grave pride andhappiness. "See what your people have taught my people, " he said. "They havetaught them to seek their bread from the earth and to leave theirdreams. This is only the beginning. The time shall come when theyshall stand shoulder to shoulder with their white brethren!" How had the over-sanguine prophecy been fulfilled! The native atNicholson's side pointed a finger of scorn and anger at the silent, ruined waste. "Devil--English devil!" he said laconically, and continued on his way. Nicholson's lips tightened. His own words came back to him with a newsignificance: "In a strange country no one is an exception. " ThisTravers, this one unscrupulous fortune-hunter, heedless of everythingsave his own advancement, had branded them all. He had undone, withthe help of a heedless woman, the work of generations of heroic, honest labor. Truly the chain of individual responsibility is a longone! Nicholson had left Colonel Carmichael's bungalow at twelve o'clock. The increasing crowd and Stafford's prolonged absence had urged him toinstant and independent action. In the best of cases, he had littlefaith in the brother-officer's secret mission. Stafford was not theman to exert any influence over the native mind. He was the type ofthe capable and well-meaning English officer who, excellent leader inhis own country, is of small use when face to face with Indianproblems of character and prejudice. Nicholson had judged himself thebetter advocate, and having obtained the Colonel's reluctantpermission, he had at once started for the royal palace. But hisprogress had been painfully slow, and he had made no effort to hurry. Any sign of anxiety or excitement would have looked like fear to thesuspicious, hate-filled eyes of the men who swarmed about him, andwhatever else happened, they should not see an Englishman afraid. Theknowledge that he rode there alone, the representative of his nation, added a greater dignity, a greater firmness to his already calm andupright bearing. It was no new situation for him--it is never anexceptional situation in a country where Englishmen are always in theminority--and it inspired him, as it had always done since hisearliest lieutenant days. He knew that as he acted, looked, and spoke, so would the image of his country be stamped upon the minds of ahundred thousand and their children's children. There was no vanity, no self-importance in this conception of his duty. It was a stern, unbending acceptance of his responsibility; and as in the lonely fortupon the frontier where he had dominated, unaided, month after month, over wild, antagonistic races, so now, unarmed and unprotected, hedominated over the fanatic rabble by the pure force of a completepersonality. He was to all intents and purposes their prisoner, but herode there as their conqueror; and that most splendid triumph of alltriumphs--the unseen victory of will over will--filled him with a newconfidence and hope. Yet it was three o'clock before he reached the palace gates. It seemedto him that they had deterred his progress for some unknown purpose, and the thought of those he had left behind caused him profounduneasiness. Native treachery was proverbial, and no doubt Nehal Singhfelt himself justified in any conduct that seemed wise to him. In anycase, there was no return. The crowd in front of Nicholson sank backlike a receding tide as he rode through the open gates and then closedin behind, following in one dense stream as he proceeded slowly up thesplendid avenue. He felt now that he was in the hands of destiny. Through the trees he caught sight of the palace steps where NehalSingh had stood the night before. No living soul moved. The wholeworld seemed to have concentrated itself behind him, a grim and silentforce which was sweeping him onward--to what end he could not tell. Suddenly the native who still held his horse's bridle lifted his handas he had done before and pointed ahead. "Look, Sahib!" he cried. "Look!" Nicholson made no sign. He retained his easy attitude, one handloosely holding the reins, the other with the riding-whip restingnegligently on his hip. There was no change in his bronzed face: hiseyes took in the scene which an abrupt turn in the road revealed tohim with a steadfast calm, though his pulses had begun to beatfuriously. It was as though a painter with two strokes of a mightybrush had smeared the square before the temple with a great movingstain. Only one narrow white line reached up to the temple doorway. Oneither side, right up to the gopuras and stretching far away down thebranching paths, a living mass stood and waited, their faces turnedtoward him. Pilgrims they might have been, but he saw in the foremostrow men with their dark hands clasped over the muzzles of theirrifles, and every here and there the sunlight flashed back areflection from the cold steel at their sides. They made no sound ashe rode between them; only a soft shuffling behind him told him thatthe human wall was closing in. He did not turn. His eyes passed calmlyover the watching faces, and the hands that played at theirdagger-hilts fell away as though the piercing gaze had paralyzed them. Thus he reached the temple, where he dismounted. No one had told him, but he well understood that this was hisdestination, and with a firm step passed into the inner court. For aninstant the sudden change from brilliant daylight to an almostcomplete darkness dazzled him. He saw nothing but a moving shadowintermingled with points of fire that glowed steadily in two long rowsup to the altar, where fell a single ray of golden sunshine. Helmet inhand, he moved slowly forward, every nerve strung taut with suspense. As his eyes grew accustomed to the curious half-light, he saw that theunreal shadows were men grouped on either side behind rows oftorch-bearers. The red flare fell on their fixed, unmoved faces, andthrew weird shadows backward and forward among the massive pillarswhose capitals faded into the intensified gloom overhead. There was noother movement, no other sound save Nicholson's own footsteps, whichechoed loud and threatening in that petrified silence. On the altaritself a Holy Lamp burned steadily, and behind, half obliterated by alonely, upright figure, the great three-headed god stretched outghost-like arms into the sunshine that descended in a narrow ladder ofpure light to mingle with the altar fire. Nicholson moved on. At the altar steps he came to a halt and waited. The figure did not stir nor seem to be aware of his presence. Atorch-bearer knelt on the lower step, and the fiery deflection threwinto plastic relief the set and pitiless features beneath the jeweledturban. Gone was the old simplicity. The hands that lay clasped oneupon the other on the splendid scimitar were loaded with gems, andfrom the turban a single diamond sparkled starlike in the changinglight. A splendid and romantic figure, truly; harmonizing with anddominating over the mysterious background. But it was not thesplendor, nor even the stern tragedy written on the worn and haggardface, which caused Nicholson to feel a cold hand grasp at his boldself-confidence. It was the sudden intuitive realization that here thebattle began. He was no longer the master personality towering over ahydra-headed multitude. Here it was a man against a man, will againstwill, despair against despair. "Hail, Rajah Sahib!" he said in Hindustani. "Hail!" His voice had echoed into silence before Nehal Singh moved. Then helifted his hand in greeting. "Hail, Englishman!" "You know me, " Nicholson went on, drawing nearer. "I am Nicholson, Captain Nicholson of the--Gurkhas. " "I do not know you. " There was a pitiless finality in the few wordsand in the gesture which accompanied them. Nicholson lifted his head to the light. "Nehal Singh, you lie. I was and am your friend. " He heard a stir behind him, and his instinct, doubly sharpened, felthow a dozen hands had flown to their weapons. Then again there wassilence. His eyes had not flinched in their challenge. "I have no friends among traitors and cowards. " The insult left Nicholson calm. Something in the tone in which thewords were uttered, something that rang more like a broken-hearteddespair than contempt, touched him profoundly. "Thou hast the power to say so, Rajah, " he answered quietly. "I amalone and unarmed. " The reproach went home to its mark. He saw the Rajah's hand tighten onthe sword-hilt and a deeper shadow pass over the handsome features. "Thou art right, " Nehal Singh said. "I have misused my power, and thatI will not do. Whilst thou art here thou needst fear neither insultnor danger. " "I fear neither, " was the answer. A bitter, scornful smile lifted thecorners of the set lips. "So thou sayest. " Then, with a gesture of impatience, he went on:"Thou hast sought me here, and it is well. I also have sought thee, for I have a message that thou shalt carry from me to thy people. Wiltthou bear it?" "Bear it thyself, Rajah, to the people with whom thou hast lived inhonor and friendship. " "In deceit and treachery!" Nehal Singh retorted, frowning. "But enoughof that. Wilt thou bear my message?" "If it must be--yes. " "It must be. Tell them first that every bond that linked us is broken. Tell them not to count on what has been. What has been is notforgotten, but it is written on my heart in fire and blood--it hascrossed out love and respect, pity and mercy. " "Rajah--" "Hear me to the end, Englishman! I am not here to waste words withthee--henceforward my acts shall be my words. But thou shalt not goback and say that it is ambition or a mean revenge which has drawn mysword from its sheath. It is not that. " He paused, and the hand whichhe had raised to cut short Nicholson's interruption sank slowly backupon his sword-hilt. Then he went on, and his low-pitched voicepenetrated into the farthest corner of the silent temple: "Sahib, Iloved thy people. I loved them for their past, for their courage, their justice, their greatness. In my boy's mind they were the heroesof the world, and as such I worshiped them. No poison could kill mylove--it seemed a part of me, the innermost part of my soul--and whenfor the first time I stood before them, face to face, it was as thoughI lived, as though I had awakened from a dream. Be patient, Englishman, for you of all others must understand that there is for meno turning back, no yielding. Great love is sister to a greater hate, respect to scorn. I came among you, inexperienced save in dreams, abelieving boy--fool if you will, whose folly received its punishment. The outside of the platter was fair enough to have deceived thosewiser than I, Sahib. There were lovely women with the faces of angels, and tall men, honest-eyed and brave-tongued. But the outside was alie--a lie!" He lifted his hand again in a sudden storm of torturedpassion. "The women are wantons--the men tricksters--" "Rajah!" The stern warning passed, but not unheeded. "Thou art hurt and stung, " Nehal said, in a low, shaken voice. "Thetruth wounds thee! For me--it was death. " He hesitated again, fightingfor his self-control. "Sahib, great things are expected of a greatpeople. Others may cheat and swindle, others may lie and blasphemewith God's holy secrets, others may seek their pleasures in theearth's mire, but _they_ must stand apart. They must bear forward thebanner of righteousness, or their greatness is no more than an emptysound--a bubble which the first bold enemy may prick. Perchance Iblinded myself wilfully, perchance I stopped my ears. The platter wasfair to my eyes, the falsehood rang like truth. Now I know. I knowthat the past is all that is left you--you are a fair seeming behindwhich is decay and corruption. Were I another, I would take my brokenfaith to the darkest corner of the jungle and eat out my life indespair and sorrow. But I have another task before me--my duty to mypeople. " "And that duty, Rajah--?" "A great people must rule mine, " was the high answer. "I thought you agreat people, and I used my strength, my wealth and influence tofurther your power. But you are not worthy. Who are you that dare toassume authority over millions--you who can not rule yourselves, youwho idle away your lives in folly and self-seeking? Well may you crownyourselves with the laurels which your fathers won! You have none ofyour own--and see to it that those faded emblems from a high past arenot snatched from your palsied fingers. I at least have flung from mea yoke which I despise. Parasites shall not feast upon my country!" A low murmur arose from the serried ranks and grew and deepened asNicholson retorted passionately: "Thou canst not measure thyself against an Empire!" "Empire against Empire!" "Marut is no Empire!" "All India shall answer me!" At another moment Nicholson might have smiled at so vain a boast, butit did not seem to him vain as he faced that towering figure. Therewas destiny written in the blazing eyes. So might a prophet havecalled upon his nation--so might a nation, inspired by an absolutebelief, have answered him as this swaying crowd answered--with wild, triumphant shouts. "We follow thee, Anointed One! Lead us, for thou art Vishnu, thou artGod!" "Thou hearest!" Nehal Singh said, turning to Nicholson. "I hear, " the Englishman answered significantly. "And I know, as thouknowest, that it is a lie. Thou art not God. Thou art a Christian. " "No longer. How shall I believe in a God whose disciples mock Hiscommandments?" His voice became inaudible in the suddenly increasedconfusion. The next instant, the torch-bearers, who guarded the open space aroundthe two men, were thrust violently on one side, and with a wildscream, which rang high above the uproar, a half-naked figure rushedup the steps and with outspread arms stood like an evil phantom atNehal's side. "He is dead!" he shrieked. "He is dead! I killed him--my knife it wasthat killed him--the son of the Devil Stafford is dead--my enemy isdead!" He swung around toward the light, his arms still raised andNicholson recognized, with a start of repulsion, Behar Singh'striumphant, distorted features. "Kill!" he shrieked again. "Kill themall, son--son--of--the--so is my revenge--". The harsh, grating voicecracked like a steel blade that has been snapped in half. For abreathing space Behar Singh stood there, drawn to his full height;then he reeled and rolled with a heavy thud to the lowest step, wherehe lay motionless, his grinning face frozen into a look of diabolicaljoy. A slow oozing stream of blood crept over the white marble toNicholson's feet. The voices died into silence. Nicholson and NehalSingh faced each other over the dead body. "Thou seest, " Nehal Singh said. "There is no turning back. " "No, there is no turning back. " The Englishman drew himself upright. The light of unchangeable resolution illuminated his face and madehim, unarmed and dressed in the rigid simplicity of his uniform, afine and impressive contrast to the brilliant bearing of his opponent. "Not that"--pointing to Behar Singh and speaking in clear, energeticEnglish--"not that has made retreat impossible. It was alreadyimpossible before. Nehal Singh, I came here to plead with you. Irespected you and pitied you too much to allow you to bring disasterupon yourself without an effort to save you. You say you came among usinexperienced save in dreams. It is true. Only a dreamer could havehoped to find perfection. We are a great people, Rajah; we have alwaysbeen great, and we shall always be. "And if there be corruption among us, it shall be weeded out. In timesof peace, vice and folly grow fast. Scoundrels, idlers, boasters andfools grow side by side with prosperity; they are the weeds whichspring up on an over-cultivated soil. But war is the uprooting time ofcorruption, it is the harvest-time of what is best and noblest in apeople. And that time has come. You, like your father, have learned todespise and hate us. Perhaps you are right. You have mingled with thescum which rises to the surface of still waters. The scum shall becleared away, and if it costs us the lives of our greatest, it willnot be at too high a price. We as well as you need the bitter lessonwhich only disaster can teach us. We shall see our weakness face toface, we shall root out our weeds and start afresh. You and the wholeworld shall see that the soil is still rich with honor. " A change so rapid that it was scarcely noticeable passed over theHindu's face. It would have been a flash of hope but for thecontradiction of the scornfully curved lips. "My belief is dead, Sahib. " "It must live again. " "Would to God that were possible!" Suddenly he leaned forward andspoke hurriedly and in English. "Captain Nicholson, there shall be notreachery. This is not a mutiny as in the past--it is war. And war isbetween men. See that--your women are brought into safety. I give youtill midnight. " "They can not go alone. " Nehal Singh laughed sneeringly. "It is not your lives that I seek. Go with your women. No harm shallbe done you. Make good your escape, for I swear that after midnight Ishall lead my people against their enemies, and he who falls intotheir hands need not hope for mercy. " "And I also swear an oath, Rajah Nehal Singh! Not one of us will leaveMarut. The men will remain at their posts, and the women will stand bythem. " "You are throwing away your lives. " "They will not be thrown away. They will prove at least that I havenot boasted. " For an instant the two men watched each other in momentous silence, astwo wrestlers each seeking to measure the other's strength. Then NehalSingh raised his hand in dismissal. "It is well, Englishman. If you have not indeed boasted, we shall meetagain. " "We shall meet again, Rajah Sahib. " Nicholson swung round on his heel. The crowd behind him fell back, andwith a rapid step, neither glancing to the right nor left, he strodeout of the temple into the fading sunshine. His horse was still heldin waiting, and he mounted instantly. Erect in his saddle, he facedthe frowning multitude, then rode forward, as he had come, withouthaste, holding their passions in check by his own high, fearlessbearing. The highroad was empty as he passed through the gates. The enemy laybehind. He set spurs to his horse and galloped headlong toward Marut. CHAPTER VIII FACE TO FACE Mrs. Carmichael turned up the light with a steady hand. Her gaunt, harsh features were expressionless. "Well, what news, Captain Nicholson?" she said. "You can say itoutright. I am not afraid. " She turned as she spoke and looked aroundher. "Are your nerves strong enough, Mrs. Berry? If not, pull yourselftogether. We can only die once, and there's nothing to whimper about. " Mrs. Berry, who sat cowering in the corner of the sofa, lifted hergrey face. The clumsy lips tried to move, but no sound came forthexcept an inarticulate murmur. Mrs. Carmichael shrugged her shouldersas one does at an irresponsible child. "Well?" she repeated. Nicholson came farther into the room, so that he stood within thecircle of lamp-light. In a rapid glance he had taken in the occupants, and their attitudes were to him what symptoms are to a quick-sighteddoctor. Mrs. Cary sat in an arm-chair, bolt upright, her hands claspedbefore her, her small eyes fixed straight ahead. Beatrice stood at herside, almost in an attitude of protection, pale, but otherwise calmand apparently indifferent. As he had entered, Lois had been preparingsome food at a side table. She now came closer, and her dark, seriouseyes rested penetratingly on his face, so that he felt that, even ifhe had thought of deceiving them as to the true state of affairs, itwould have been in vain as far as she was concerned. As for Mrs. Carmichael, she stood in her favorite position--her arms akimbo, herchin tilted at an angle which lent her whole expression somethingbulldog and defiant. The atmosphere of danger with which the littledrawing-room was filled acted differently upon each temperament, butupon this typical soldier's wife the effect was to arouse in her allthe primitive passions, the fighting instinct, the love of struggleagainst heavy odds. "Come!" she exclaimed, as Nicholson still remained silent. "Do youthink, because one or two of us are a bit 'nervy', that we are reallyafraid? Not in the least. For my part, if I've got to die, I shalltake good care that one or two of those black heathen come with me!"She flung open a drawer, and, taking out a revolver, thumped itenergetically upon the table. "Now then, Captain!" "My dear lady, I never doubted your courage, " Nicholson answered, "andmy news is not so hopeless as you suppose. I spoke with Nehal Singh. "He saw Beatrice start and glance in his direction with an expressionof sudden suspense in her fine eyes. "What he said left me no option. There could be no idea of coming to terms. At the same time it seemsthat he has no desire for a general massacre. His sole ambition is todrive us out of the country. He has given us till midnight toescape--those who want to. " "Does he think we are going to be got rid of as easily as that?" Mrs. Carmichael broke in. "Do you think that I have forgotten those monthswhen George was fighting around Marut? Do you think I have forgottenall the fine fellows that laid down their lives to take the place andput an end to the disgrace of being held at bay by a horde of heathen?And now we are to run away like sheep? Not if George listens to me!" "You need have no fear, " Nicholson answered. "Not a man of us is goingto leave Marut alive. But you ladies--" "Well, what about us 'ladies'?" in a tone as though the descriptionhad been an insult. "I have just told you--Nehal Singh gives you till midnight to getaway. " Mrs. Carmichael snapped her lips together in a straight, uncompromising line. "Very much obliged to His Highness, I'm sure, but I stay with theregiment, " she said. Nicholson could not repress a smile at this description of herhusband, but there was something more than amusement in hisbrightening eyes. "Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael, I knew that would be your answer. But itis my duty to ask the others--to give them their choice. There islittle hope for those who remain. " He could not bring himself to turnto the cowering figure upon the sofa. There is a shame which is notpersonal, and he was passionately ashamed for that quivering bulk offear, for that greedy hope which he felt rather than saw creep up intothe livid face. He looked at Lois. Her head was lifted and the fieryenthusiasm which spoke out of every line of the small dark facetransformed her from a saddened woman back to the girl who neverplayed a losing game but she won it, point by point, by pluck anddaring. "If I shan't be a bother, I wish to stay with you all, " she said withstudied simplicity. But her tone was eloquent. "A brave comrade is always welcome, " he answered. "Your husband--" Hehesitated, and then concluded in a low voice: "Your husband offered togo with you. He is waiting outside with the horses. " He avoided hereyes, but her tone betrayed to him the pain that he had unwillinglycaused her. "Please tell Archie that I will not let him sacrifice himself for me. I know that he will wish to remain, and I, too, wish to remain. We areall English, and who knows how little or how much we are all to blamefor this disaster? We must share it together. " Something like a sigh of relief passed Nicholson's compressed lips, but he said nothing. In duty bound, he dared not offer encouragementnor plead for the fulfillment of his hopes. With mixed feelings heturned to Beatrice. Possessed as he now was of all the details of herconduct, he could not but lay at her door the consequences of afrivolous and heartless action. But her pitiless self-denunciation atthe meeting, her present quiet and dignity, subdued in him all scornand anger. Courage saluted courage as their eyes met. "And you, Miss Cary?" "Lois has already answered for me, " she said. "If there was anyjustice in this world, I alone should suffer; but one can never sufferalone, it seems. The least I can do is to stand by you all. " Her tonerevealed all the remorse and suffering of which human nature iscapable. It stirred in him a sudden impulsive pity. He crossed theroom with outstretched hand. "You are a brave woman. " She smiled bitterly, but the color rushed to her cheeks. "Thank you. You have paid me the only compliment for which I care. Butit is a small thing to take one's punishment without crying. Afterall, death isn't the worst. " She saw him glance doubtfully at her mother, and she bent down to thefrozen face, speaking now gently but distinctly, as though to asuffering invalid whose ears had been dulled with pain. "Mother, what do you want to do? There is still time--and CaptainNicholson says there is no hope for those who remain. You must not beinfluenced by my choice. " Mrs. Cary looked up into her daughter's face with a perplexed frown. She seemed scarcely to have heard what had been said to her, not evento have been aware that any escape was possible. She felt forBeatrice's hand, and taking it in her own, stroked it with pathetichelplessness. "A bad mother!" she said absently. "Well, perhaps I was. Yes, nodoubt--and you think so, too, though you never said anything. It wasalways position I wanted. Now it's all gone. What is it, dear? Why doyou look at me like that? I haven't said what I oughtn't, have I?" "No, no. Only Captain Nicholson wants to know--will you stay or go? Wecould get some of the servants to go with you. You will be safe then. " Mrs. Cary shook her head. "Are you--what are you going to do?" A childish smile twisted the heavy face. "I'd like to stay with you, Beaty. We have always stuck together, haven't we?" She lay back with her head against Beatrice's shoulder. "You always were so clever, Beaty. I'm sure it will be all right. You'll see your poor mother through. " The eyelids sank; she droppedinto a drowse of complete mental and physical breakdown, and for amoment no one spoke. Mrs. Carmichael had shifted from her defiantattitude, and her hard, set face expressed a grim satisfaction notunmixed with pity. "Now, Mrs. Berry, what about you?" she said. "Captain Nicholson haswasted enough time with you women. You must make up your mind--ifyou've got one, " she concluded, in a smothered undertone. Mrs. Berry drew herself up from her cowering position. Her teeth werestill chattering with terror, but Nicholson saw that the crisis ofpanic was over. There was a curious look of obstinate resolve on theusually weak and silly face. "If all the men are remaining, I suppose my husband remains, too?" sheasked. "Yes; he is helping Colonel Carmichael with the defenses. " Wonderful indeed are the _volte-faces_ of which a character iscapable! Nicholson, to whom human nature was a book of revelations, watched with a sense almost of awe this mean, petty and brainlesswoman, who a moment before had been whimpering with fear, smooth outher skirts and arrange her hair as though death were not sitting ather elbow. "I am sure, " she said, in a sharp voice which still trembled, "I cando what Mrs. Cary can do. I shall stay--please tell Percy so, with mylove. And I should like to see him if possible before the end. " Nicholson bowed to her, and for the first time in their acquaintancethe salute had a genuine significance. "I am proud to have such countrywomen!" he said, and then added in alow tone as he passed Lois: "The cathedral is nearly finished. " She nodded. "It could not have been better finished, " she said bravely. "And yousee I was right--when there is a noble building in the midst of them, people grow ashamed of their mud-huts. They pull them down and begintheir own cathedrals--even when it is too late. " His eyes wandered instinctively toward the woman on the couch. "Yes, you were quite right. " He went to the curtained doorway, wherehe found Mrs. Carmichael waiting for him, a quaint figure enough withher sleeves rolled back, her skirts tucked up above her ankles, therevolver stuck brigand-wise in her belt. "I'm coming with you, " she said coolly. "I can shoot as straight asmost of you, and a good deal better than George. I might be of someuse. " "You would be of use anywhere, " he returned sincerely, "but, if I maysay so, you will be of more use here. Your courage will help theothers. As for us, we have fifty of my Gurkhas, and they will do allthat can be done. I will let you know what is happening. At presentyou are safest here. " She sighed. "Very well. And if any one is hurt, send him around. I have plenty ofbandages. " "Yes, of course. " It was a merely formal offer and acceptance. Both knew that it wouldbe scarcely worth while to bandage men already in their full healthand strength marked out for death. Nicholson went out, closing thedoor after him, and once more an absolute stoic silence fell upon thelittle company. In moments of crisis, it is the strict adherence tothe habits of a lifetime which keeps the mind clear and the nervefirm. Lois went on quietly preparing some sandwiches, which in allprobability would never be eaten, and Mrs. Carmichael resigned martialoccupation for the cutting-out of a baby's pinafore for an East-endchild whom she had under her special patronage. But her mind wasactive and, stern, self-opinionated martinet that she was, she couldnot altogether crush the regrets that swarmed up in this lastreckoning up of her life's activity. Better had her charity andinterest been centered on the dirty little children whom she hadindignantly tolerated on her compound! Better for them all would ithave been had each one of them sought to win the love and respect ofthe subject race! Then, perhaps, they would not have been deserted inthis last hour of peril. Mrs. Carmichael glanced at Beatrice Cary with a fresh pricking ofconscience. What, after all, had she done to deserve the chiefcondemnation? She had played with fire. Had they not all played withfire? She had looked upon a native as a toy fit to play with, to breakand throw away. Did they not all, behind their seeming tolerance andChristian principles, hide an equal depreciation? Was she even as badas some? How many men revealed to their syces their darkest moods, their lowest passions? How many women were to their ayahs subjects forcontemptuous Bazaar gossip. They were all to blame, and this was theharvest, the punishment for the neglect of a heavy responsibility. Thethought that she had been unjust was iron through Mrs. Carmichael'ssoul, for above all things she prided herself on her fairness. Shepushed her work away and went over to Beatrice's side. Mrs. Cary'shead still rested against the aching shoulder, and Mrs. Carmichaelmade a sign to let her improvize a cushion substitute. Beatrice shookher head. "No, thank you, " she whispered, glancing down at the flushed, sleepingface. "We have done each other so little real service that I am gladto be able to do even this much. I don't suppose it will be for long. How quiet everything is!" Mrs. Carmichael looked at the clock on the writing-table. "It is not yet midnight, " she said. "Probably the Rajah is keeping hispromise. " Her expression relaxed a little. "Don't tire yourself, " sheadded bruskly to Mrs. Berry, who had been fanning the unconsciouswoman's face with an improvized paper fan. "I don't think she feelsthe heat. " The missionary's wife continued her good work with redoubled energy. It was perhaps one of the few really unselfish things which she hadever done in the course of a pious but fundamentally selfish life, andit gave her pleasure and courage. The knowledge that some one wasweaker than herself and needed her was new strength to her new-bornheroism. "It is so frightfully hot, " she said half apologetically. "Why isn'tthe punkah-man at work?" "The 'punkah-man' has bolted with the rest of them, " Mrs. Carmichaelanswered. "I dare say I could work it, though I have never tried. " "It is hardly worth while to begin now, " Beatrice observed, and thissimple acknowledgment that the end was at hand received nocontradiction. Once again the silence was unbroken, save for the soft swish of thefan and Mrs. Cary's heavy, irregular breathing. Yet the five women whoin the full swing of their life had been diametrically opposed to oneanother were now united in a common sympathy. Death, far more than aleveler of class, is the melting-pot into which are thrown allantagonisms, all violent discords of character. The one great factovershadows everything, and the petty stumbling-blocks of daily lifeare forgotten. More than that still--it is the supreme moment in man'sexistence when the innermost treasures or unsuspected hells arerevealed beyond all denial. And in these five women, hidden in twocases at least beneath a mass of meanness, selfishness andindifference, there lay an unusual power of self-sacrifice and pity. Death was drawing near to them all, and their one thought was how tomake his coming easier for the other. When the silence grewunbearable, it was Mrs. Carmichael who had the courage to break itwith a trivial criticism respecting the manner in which Lois wasmaking the sandwiches. "You should put the butter on before you cut them, " she said tartly, "and as little as possible. I'm quite sure it has gone rancid, andthen George won't touch them. He is so fussy about the butter. " Mrs. Berry looked up. The perspiration of physical fear stood on hercold forehead, but her roused will-power fought heroically andconquered. "And, please, would you mind making one or two without butter?" shesaid. "Percy says all Indian butter is bad. Of course, it's only anidea of his, but men are such faddy creatures, don't you think?" "They wouldn't be men if they weren't--" Mrs. Carmichael had begun, when she broke off, and the scissors that had been snipping their waysteadily through the rough linen jagged and dropped on the table. Shepicked them up immediately and went on with an impatient exclamationat her own carelessness. But the involuntary start had coincided witha loud report from outside in the darkness, and a smothered scream. Lois put down her knife. "Won't you come and help me?" she said to Beatrice. "Your mother willnot notice that you have gone. " Beatrice nodded, and letting the heavy head sink back among thecushions, came over to Lois' side. "How brave you are!" she said in a whisper. "You seem so cool andcollected, just as though you believed your sandwiches would ever beeaten!" "I am not braver than you are. Look how steady your hand is--muchsteadier than mine. " Beatrice held out her white hand and studied it thoughtfully. "I am not afraid, " she said, "but not because I am brave. There is noroom for fear, that is all. " She paused an instant, and then suddenlythe hand fell on Lois'. The two women looked at each other. "Lois, Iam so sorry. " "For me?" "For you and every one. I have hurt so many. It has all been my fault. I would give ten lives if I had them to see the harm undone. But thatisn't possible. Oh, Lois, there is surely nothing worse than helplessremorse!" The hand within her own tightened in its clasp. "Is it ever helpless, though?" "I can't give the dead life--I can't give back a man's faith, can I?" The light of understanding deepened in Lois' eyes. "Beatrice--I believe I know!" "Yes, I see you do. Do you despise me? What does it matter if you do?It has been my fear of the world and its opinion that helped to leadme wrong. Isn't it a just punishment? I have ruined both our lives. Lois, I couldn't help hearing what Captain Nicholson said to you. Itexplained what you said to me about building on the ruins of the past. That was what he did--he built a beautiful palace on me--and I wreckedit. I failed him. " "Have you really failed him?" "Lois, I don't know--I am beginning to believe not. But it is toolate. I meant to clear away the rubbish--and build. But there is notime. " "You have done your best. " "Oh, if I could only save him, Lois! He was the first man I had evermet whom I trusted, the first to trust me. I owe him everything, thelittle that is good in me. It had to come to life when he believed init so implicitly. And he owes me ruin, outward and inward ruin. " Lois made no answer. With a warm, impulsive gesture she put her armsabout the taller woman's neck and, drawing the beautiful face down toher own, kissed her. Beatrice responded, and thus a friendship wassealed--not for life but for death, whose grim cordon was with everymoment being drawn closer about them. The sound of firing had now grown incessant. One report followedanother at swift, irregular intervals, and each sounded like a clap ofthunder in the silent room. Mrs. Cary stirred uneasily in her sleep, alow, scarcely audible groan escaped the parted lips, as though even inher dreams she was being pursued by fear's pitiless phantom. Herself-appointed nurse continued to fan her with the energy of despair, the poor livid face twitching at every fresh threatening sound. Mrs. Carmichael still pretended to be absorbed in her pinafore, but therevolver lay on the table, ready to hand, and there was a look in thesteady eyes which boded ill for the first enemy who should confronther. Lois and Beatrice continued their fruitless task. A woman's courage is the supreme victory of mind over matter. It is noeasy thing for a hero to sit still and helpless while death rattleshis bullet fingers against the walls and screams in voices of hate andfury from a distance which every minute diminishes. For a womanburdened with the disability of a high-strung nervous system, it is amartyrdom. Yet these women, brought up on the froth of an enervating, pleasure-seeking society, held out--held out with a martyr's courageand constancy--against the torture of inactivity, of an imaginationwhich penetrated the sheltering walls out into the night where fiftymen writhed in a death-struggle with hundreds--saw every bleedingwound, heard every smothered moan of pain, felt already the cold ironpierce their own breasts. The hours passed, and they did not yield. They had ceased from their incongruous tasks, and stood and waited, wordless and tearless. As the first grey lights of dawn crept into the stifling room theyheard footsteps hurrying across the adjacent room, and each drewherself upright to meet the end. Mrs. Carmichael's hand tightened overthe revolver, but it was only Mr. Berry who entered. The littlemissionary, a shy, society-shunning man, noted for doing more harmthan good among the natives by his zealous bigotry and ignorance oftheir prejudices, stood revealed in a new light. His face was grimedwith dirt and powder, his clothes disordered, his weak eyes brightwith the fire of battle. "Do not be afraid, " he said quickly. "There is no immediate danger. Ihave only been sent to warn you to be ready to leave the bungalow. Thefront wall is shot-riddled, and the place may become indefensible atany moment. When that time comes, you must slip out to the oldbungalow. Nicholson believes he can hold out there. " "My husband--?" interrupted Mrs. Carmichael. "Your husband is safe. In fact, all three were well when I left. If Iwasn't against such things, I should say it was a splendid fight--andevery man a hero. The Rajah--" "The Rajah--?" Mr. Berry looked in stern surprise at the pale face of the speaker. "The Rajah has a charmed life, " he said somberly. "He is always in thefront of his men--we can recognize him by his dress and figure--he isalways within range, but we can't hit him. Not that I ought to wishhis death, though it's our only chance. " He put his hands distractedlyto his head. "Heaven knows, it's too hard for a Christian man! Everytime I see an enemy fall, I rejoice--and then I remember that it is mybrother--" He stopped, the expression on his face of profound troublegiving way to active alarm. "Hush! Some one is coming!" A second time the door opened, and Travers rushed in. Lois saw hisface, and something in her recoiled in sick disgust. Fear, an almostimbecilic fear, was written on the wide-open, staring eyes, and thehand that held the revolver trembled like that of an old man. "Quick--out by the back way!" he stammered incoherently. "I will lockthe door--so. That will keep them off a minute. They are bound to lookfor us here first. Nicholson is retiring with his men--they are goingto have a try to bring down the Rajah. It's our one chance. It mayfrighten the devils--they think he's a god. I believe he is, cursehim!" All the time, he had been piling furniture against the door witha mad and feverish energy. "Help me! Help me!" he screamed. "Why don'tyou help? Do you want to be killed like sheep?" Lois drew him back by the arm. "You are wasting time, " she said firmly. "Come with us! Why, you arehurt!" He looked at the thin stream which trickled down the soiled white ofhis coat. A silly smile flickered over his big face. "Oh, yes, a scratch. I hardly feel it. It isn't anything. It can't beanything. There's nothing vital thereabouts, is there, Berry?" The missionary shrugged his shoulders. He had flung open the glassdoors which led on to the verandah, and the brightening dawn floodedin upon them. "Come and help me carry this poor lady, " he said. "We have not aminute to lose. " Travers tried to obey, but he had no strength, and the other thrusthim impatiently on one side. "Mrs. Carmichael, you are a strong woman, " he appealed. Between themthey managed to bring Mrs. Cary's heavy, unconscious frame down thesteps. It was a nerve-trying task, for their progress was of necessitya slow one, and the sound of the desperate fighting seemed to surroundthem on every side. It was with a feeling of intense relief that thelittle party saw Nicholson appear from amidst the trees and run towardthem. "That's right!" he cried. "Only be quick! They are at us on all sidesnow, but my men are keeping them off until you are out of thebungalow. The old ruin at the back of the garden is our last stand. Carmichael is there already with a detachment, and is keeping off arear attack. I shall remain here. " "Alone?" Berry asked anxiously. "Yes. I believe they will ransack the bungalow first. When they come, the Rajah is sure to be at their head, and--well, it's going to bediamond cut diamond between us two when we meet. I know the beggarsand their superstition. If I get in the first shot, they will bolt. If_he_ does--" "You are going to shoot him down like a rat in a trap!" Beatrice burstout passionately. The others had already hurried on. With a gentle force he urged her tofollow them. "Or be shot down myself, " he said. "Leave me to do my duty as I thinkbest. " She met his grave eyes defiantly, but perhaps some instinct told herthat he was risking his life for a poor chance--for their last chance, for without a word she turned away, apparently in the direction whichher companions had already taken. As soon as she was out of sight, Nicholson recharged his smokingrevolver, and stood there quietly waiting. His trained ear heard thefiring in front of the bungalow cease. He knew then that his men wereretiring to join Colonel Carmichael, and that he stood alone, the lastbarrier between death and those he loved. The sound of triumphantshouting drew nearer; he heard the wrenching and tearing of doorscrashing down before an impetuous onslaught, the cling of steel, ahowl of sudden satisfaction. His hand tightened upon his revolver; hestood ready to meet his enemy single-handed, to fight out the duelbetween man and man. But no one came. A bewildering silence hadfollowed upon the last bloodthirsty cry. It was as though the hand ofdeath had fallen and with one annihilating blow beaten down theapproaching horde in the high tide of their victory. But of the twothis strange stillness was the more terrible. It penetrated to thelittle waiting group in the old bungalow and filled them with thechill horror of the unknown. Something had happened--that they felt. Lois crept to the doorway and peered out into the gathering daylight. Here and there, half hidden behind the shelter of the trees, she couldsee the khaki-clad figures of the Gurkhas, some kneeling, somestanding, their rifles raised to their dark faces, waiting likestatues for the enemy that never came. A dead, petrified world, theonly living thing the sunshine, which played in peaceful indifferenceupon the scene of an old and a new tragedy! Lois thought of hermother. By the power of an overwrought imagination she looked backthrough a quarter of a century to a day of which this present was astrange and horrible repetition. For a moment she lived her mother'slife, lived through the hours of torturing doubt and fear, and when astifled cry called her back to the reality and forced her to turn fromthe sunlight to the dark room, it was as though the dead had risen, asthough her dreams had taken substance. She saw pale faces staring ather; she saw on the rusty truckle-bed a figure which rose up and heldout frantic, desperate arms toward her. But it was no dream--nophantom. Mrs. Cary, wild-eyed and distraught, struggled to rise to herfeet and come toward her. "Where is Beatrice?" she cried hysterically. "Where is Beatrice? Idreamed she was dead!--It isn't true! Say it isn't true!" Lois hurried back. In the confusion of their retreat she had lostsight of Beatrice, and now a cold fear froze her blood. She called hername, adding her voice to the half-delirious mother's appeal; butthere was no answer, and as she prepared to leave the shelter of thebungalow to go in search of the lost girl, a pair of strong handsgrasped her by the shoulders and forced her back. "Lois, stand back! They are coming!" Colonel Carmichael thrust her behind him, and an instant later sheheard the report of his revolver. There was no answering volley. Adark, scantily-clad figure sprang through the trees, waving one handas though in imperative appeal. "Don't fire--don't fire! It's me!" The Colonel's still smoking revolver sank, and the supposed nativeswayed toward him, only to sink a few yards farther on to the ground. Carmichael ran to his side and lifted the fainting head against hisshoulder. "Good God, Geoffries! Don't say I've hit you! How on earth was I toknow!" "That's all right, Colonel. Only winded--don't you know--never hurriedso much in life. Have been in the midst of the beggars--just managedto slip through. O Lor', give me something to drink, will you?"Colonel Carmichael put his flask to the parched and broken lips. "Thanks, that's better. We got your message, and are coming on likefun. The regiment's only an hour off. You never saw Saunders in such afluster--it's his first big job, you know. " He took another deepdraft, and wiped his mouth with the corner of his ragged tunic. "Isay--don't look at me, Miss Lois. I'm not fit to be seen. " He laughedhoarsely. "These clothes weren't made in Bond Street, and Webb assuredme that the fewer I had the more genuine I looked. I say, Colonel, this is a lively business!" Colonel Carmichael nodded as he helped the gasping and exhausted maninto the bungalow. "Too lively to be talked about, " he said. "I doubt if the regimentisn't going to add itself to the general disaster. " "Oh, rot!" was the young officer's forgetful lapse into disrespect. "The regiment will do for the beggars all right. They didn't expect usso soon, I fancy. Just listen! I believe I've frightened them awayalready. There isn't a sound. " Colonel Carmichael lifted his head. True enough, no living thingseemed to move. A profound hush hung in the air, broken only by Mrs. Cary's pitiful meanings. "Oh, Beatrice, Beatrice, where are you?" Geoffries turned his stained face to the Colonel's. "Beatrice! That's Miss Cary, isn't it? Anything happened to her?" Colonel Carmichael shrugged his shoulders with the impatience of a manwhose nerves are overstrained by anxiety. "I don't know--we've lost her, " he said. "We must do something atonce. Heaven alone knows what has happened. " No one indeed knew what had happened--not even the lonely man whowaited, revolver in hand, for the final encounter on whose issue hungthe fortunes of them all. Only one knew, and that was Beatrice herself as she stood before theshattered doorway of the Colonel's drawing-room, amidst the debris ofwrecked, shot-riddled furniture, face to face with Nehal Singh. CHAPTER IX HALF-LIGHT Once before she had placed herself in his path, trusting to her skill, her daring, above all, her beauty. With laughter in her heart andcold-blooded coquetry she had chosen out the spot before the altarwhere the sunlight struck burnished gold from her waving hair and lentdeeper, softening shades to her eyes. With cruel satisfaction, notunmixed with admiration, she had seen her power successful and theawe-struck wonder and veneration creep into his face. In the silenceand peace of the temple she had plunged reckless hands into the woventhreads of his life. Amidst the shriek of war, face to face withdeath, she sought to save him. It was another woman who stood oppositethe yielding, cracking door, past whose head a half-spent bullet spatits way, burying itself in the wall behind her, --another woman, disheveled, forgetful of her wan beauty, trusting to no power but thatwhich her heart gave her to face the man she had betrayed and ruined. Yet both in an instantaneous flash remembered that first meeting. Thedrawn sword sank, point downward. He stood motionless in the shattereddoorway, holding out a hand which commanded, and obtained, apetrified, waiting silence from the armed horde whose faces glaredhatred and the lust of slaughter in the narrow space behind. Whateverhad been his resolution, whatever the detestation and contempt whichhad filled him, all sank now into an ocean of reborn pain. "Why are you here?" he asked sternly. "Why have you not fled?" "We are all here, " she answered. "None of us has fled. Did you notknow that?" He looked about him. A flash of scorn rekindled in his somber eyes. "You are alone. Have they deserted you?" "They do not know that I am here. I crept back of my own free will--tospeak with you, Nehal. " Both hands clasped upon his sword-hilt, erect, a proud figure ofmisfortune, he stood there and studied her, half-wonderingly, half-contemptuously. The restless forces at his back were forgotten. They were no more to him than the pawns with which his will playedlife and death. He was their god and their faith. They waited for hisword to sweep out of his path the white-faced Englishwoman who heldhim checked in the full course of his victory. But he did not speak tothem, but to her, in a low voice in which scorn still trembled. "You are here, no doubt, to intercede for those others--or foryourself. You see, I have learned something in these two years. It isuseless. No one can stop me now. " "No one?" He smiled, and for the first time she saw a sneer disfigure his lips. "Not even you, Miss Cary. You have done a great deal with me--enoughperhaps to justify your wildest hopes--but you have touched the limitsof your powers and of my gullibility. Or did you think there were nolimits?" "I do not recognize you when you talk like that!" she exclaimed. "That is surprising, seeing that you have made me what I am, " heanswered. Then he made a quick gesture of apology. "Forgive me, thatsounded like a reproach or a complaint. I make neither. That is not mypurpose. " "And yet you have the right, " she said, drawing a deep breath, "youhave every right, Nehal. It does not matter what the others did toyou. I know that does not count an atom in comparison to myresponsibilities. You trusted me as you trusted no one else, and Ideceived you. So you have the right to hate me as you hate no oneelse. And yet--is it not something, does it not mitigate my fault alittle, that I deceived myself far, far more than I ever deceivedyou?" He raised his eyebrows. There was mockery in the movement, andshe went on, desperately resolute: "I played at loving you, Nehal. Iplayed a comedy with you for my own purposes. And one day it ceased tobe a comedy. I did not know it. I did not know what was driving me totell the truth, and reveal myself to you in the ugliest light I could. I only knew it was something in me stronger than any other impulse ofmy life. I know what it is now, and you must know, too. Can't youunderstand? If it had been no more than a comedy, you must have foundme out--months ago. But you never found me out. It was _I_ who toldyou what I had done and who I was--" "Why did you tell me?" He took an involuntary step toward her. Something in his face relaxed beneath the force of an uncontrollableemotion. He was asking a question which had hammered at the gates ofhis mind day after day and in every waking hour. "Why?" he repeated. "I have told you--because I had to. I had to speak the truth. Icouldn't build up my new life on an old lie. You had to know. I hadwon your love by a trick. I had to show you the lowest and worst partof myself before the best in me could grow--the best in me, which isyours. " "You are raving!" "I am not raving. You must see I am not. Look at me. I am calmer thanyou, though I face certain death. I knew when I came here that thechances were I should be killed before I even saw you, but I had torisk that. I had to win your trust back somehow, honestly and fairly. I can not live without your trust. " "Beatrice!" The name escaped him almost without his knowledge. He sawtears spring to her eyes. "It is true. Your love and your trust have become my life. Then I wasunworthy of both. I tried to make myself worthy. I did what I could. Itold you the truth--I threw away the only thing that mattered to me. Icould not hold your love any longer by a lie--I loved you too much!" For that moment the passionate energy of her words, the sincerity andeloquence of her glance, swept back every thought of suspicion. Hestood stupefied, almost overwhelmed. Mechanically his lips formedthemselves to a few broken sentences. "You can not know what you are saying. You are beside yourself. Once, in my ignorance, I believed it possible, but now I know that it couldnever be. Your race despises mine--" "I do not care what you are nor to whom you belong!" she broke in, exulting. "You are the man who taught me to believe that there issomething in this world that is good, that is worthy of veneration;who awoke in me what little good I have. I love you. If I could winyou back--" "What then?" "I would follow you to the world's end!" "As my wife?" "As your wife!" He held out his arms toward her, impulse rising like the sun high andsplendid above the mists of distrust. It was an instant'sforgetfulness, which passed as rapidly as it had come. His arms sankheavily to his side. "Have you thought what that means? If you go with me, you must leaveyour people for ever. " "I would follow you gladly. " He shook his head. "You do not understand. You must leave them now--now when I go againstthem. " "No!" she broke in roughly. "You can't, Nehal, you can't. You have theright to be bitter and angry; you have not the right to commit acrime. And it would be a crime. You are plunging thousands intobloodshed and ruin--" He lifted his hand, and the expression in hiseyes checked her. "So it is, after all, a bargain that you offer me!" he said. "You aretrying to save them. You offer a high price, but I am not a merchant. I can not buy you, Beatrice. " "It is not a bargain!" For the first time she faltered, taken aback bythe pitiless logic of his words. "Can't you see that? Can't you seethat, however much I loved you, I could not act otherwise than imploreyou to turn back from a step that means destruction for those bound tome by blood and country? Could I do less?" "No, " he said slowly. She held out her hands to him. "Oh, Nehal, turn back while there is yet time! For my sake, for yours, for us all, turn back from a bloody, cruel revenge. The power isyours. Be generous. If we have wronged you, we have suffered and areready to atone. _I_ am ready to atone. I _can_ atone, because I loveyou. I have spoken the truth to you. I have laid my soul bare to youas I have done to no other being. Won't you trust me?" His eyes met hers with a somber, hopeless significance which cut herto the heart. "I can't, " he said. "I can't. That is what you have taught me--todistrust you--and every one. " She stood silent now, paralyzed by the finality of his words andgesture. It was as though the shadow of her heartless folly had risenbefore her and become an iron wall of unrelenting, measuredretribution against which she beat herself in vain. He lifted his headhigher, seeming to gather together his shaken powers of self-control. "I can not trust you, " he said again, "nor can I turn back. But thereis one thing from the past which can not be changed. I love you. Itseems that must remain through all my life. And because of that love Imust save you from the death that awaits your countrymen. " He smiledin faint self-contempt. "It is not for your sake that I shall saveyou; it is because I am too great a coward, and can not face thethought that anything so horrible should come near you. " He turned totwo native soldiers behind him and gave an order. When he facedBeatrice again he saw that she held a revolver in her hand. "You do not understand, " she said. "You say you mean to save me, butthat is not in your power. It is in your power to save us all, but notone alone. I know what my people have resolved to do. There are weak, frightened women among them, but not one of them will fall into yourhands alive. Whatever happens, I shall share their fate. " Though her tone was quiet and free from all bravado, he knew that shewas not boasting. He knew, too, that she was desperate. "You can not force me to kill you, " he said sternly. "I think it possible, " she answered. She was breathing quickly, andher eyes were bright with a reckless, feverish excitement. But thehand that held the revolver pointed at the men behind him wassteady--steadier than his own. Nehal Singh motioned back the two natives who had advanced at hisorder. "You play a dangerous game, " he said, "and, as before, your strengthlies in my weakness--in my folly. But this time you can not win. Myword is given--to my people. " "I shall not plead with you, " she returned steadily, "and you may besure I shall not waver. I am not afraid to die. I had hoped to atonefor all the wrong that has been done you with my love for you, Nehal. I had hoped that then you would turn away from this madness and becomeonce more our friend. To this end I have not hesitated to trample onmy dignity and pride. I have not spared myself. But you will notlisten, you are determined to go on, and I"--she caught her breathsharply--"surely you can understand? I love you, and you have madeyourself the enemy of my country. Death is the easiest, the kindestsolution to it all. " Nehal Singh's brows knitted themselves in the anguish of a man whofinds himself thwarted by his own nature. He tried not to believe her, and indeed, in all her words, though they had rung like music, hisear, tuned to suspicion, had heard the mocking undercurrent oflaughter. She had laughed at him secretly through all those monthswhen he had offered up to her the incense of an absolute faith, anunshared devotion. Even now she might be laughing at him, playing onthat in him which nothing could destroy or conceal--his love for her. And yet--! Behind him he heard the uneasy stir of impatient feet, thehushed clash of arms. He stood between her and a certain, terribledeath. One word from him, and it would be over--his path clear. But hecould not speak that word. Treacherous and cruel as she had been, thehalo of her first glory still hung about her. He saw her as he hadfirst seen her--the golden image of pure womanhood--and, strange, unreasoning contradiction of the human heart, beneath the ashes of hisold faith a new fire had kindled and with every moment burned morebrightly. Unquenchable trust fought out a death struggle withdistrust, and in that conflict her words recurred to him with poignantsignificance: "Death is the easiest, the kindest solution to it all. "For him also there seemed no other escape. He pointed to the revolver. "For whom is that?" he asked. "I do not know--but I will make them kill me. " "Why do you not shoot me, then?" he demanded, between despair andbitterness. "That would save you all. If I fell, they would turn andfly. They think I am Vishnu. Haven't you thought of that? I am in yourpower. Why don't you make yourself the benefactress of your country?Why don't you shoot her enemy?" She made no answer, but her eyes met his steadily and calmly. Heturned away, groaning. In vain he fought against it, in vain stunghimself to action by the memory of all that she had done to him. Hislove remained triumphant. In that supreme moment his faith burstthrough the darkness, and again he believed in her, believed in heragainst reason, against the world, against the ineffaceable past, andagainst himself. And it was too late. He no longer stood alone. Hisword was given. "Have pity on me!" he said, once more facing her. "Let me save you!" "I should despise myself, and you would despise me--even more than youdo now. I can not do less than share the fate of those whose lives myfolly has jeopardized. " "At least go back to them--do not stay here. Beatrice, for God'ssake!--I can not turn back. You have made me suffer enough--. " Hestood before her now as an incoherent pleader, and her heart burnedwith an exultation in which the thought of life and death played nopart. She knew that he still loved her. It seemed for the moment allthat mattered. "I can not, " she said. "Beatrice, do not deceive yourself. Though my life is nothing tome--though I would give it a dozen times to save you--I can not dootherwise than go on. I may be weak, but I shall be stronger than myweakness. My word is given!" He spoke with the tempestuous energy of despair. The minutes werepassing with terrible swiftness, and any moment the sea behind himmight burst its dam and sweep her and him to destruction. Already inthe distance he heard the dull clamour of voices raised in angryremonstrance at the delay. Only those immediately about him were heldin awed silence by the power of his personality. Again Beatrice shookher head. She stood in the doorway which opened out into the gardenwhere the besieged had taken refuge. There was no other way. Headvanced toward her. Instantly she raised her revolver and pointed itat the first man behind him. "If I fire, " she said, "not even you will be able to hold them back. " It seemed to her that she stood like a frail wall between twooverwhelming forces--on the one side, Nehal with his thousands; on theother, Nicholson--alone, truly, but armed with a set and pitilessresolve. A single sentence, which had fallen upon her ears monthsbefore, rose now out of an ocean of half-forgotten memories:"Nicholson is the best shot in India, " some one had said: "he nevermisses. " And still Nehal advanced. His jaws were locked, his eyes hada red fire in them. She knew then that the hour of hesitation wasover, and that in that desperate struggle she had indeed lost. Uncontrollable words of warning rushed to her lips. "Nehal--turn back! Turn back!" He did not understand her. He thought she was still pleading with him. "I can not--God have pity on us both!" Then she too set her lips. She could not betray the last hope of thatheroic handful of men and women behind her. He must go to hisdeath--and she to hers. She fired, --whether with success or not, shenever knew. In that same instant another sound broke upon theirears--the sound of distant firing, the rattle of drums and the highclear call of a trumpet. Nehal Singh swung around. She caught aglimpse of his face through the smoke, and she saw something writtenthere which she could not understand. She only knew that his featuresseemed to bear a new familiarity, as though a mask had been torn fromthem, revealing the face of another man, of a man whom she had seenbefore, when and where she could not tell. She had no time to analyzeher emotions nor the sense of violent shock which passed over her. Sheheard Nehal Singh giving sharp, rapid orders in Hindustani. The roomemptied. She saw him follow the retreating natives. At the door heturned and looked back at her. At no time had his love for herrevealed itself more clearly than in that last glance. "The English regiment has come to help you, " he said. "Fate hasintervened between us this time. May we never meet again!" He passed out through the shattered doorway, but she stood where hehad left her, motionless, almost unconscious. It was thus Nicholsonand the Colonel found her when, a moment later, they entered the roomby the verandah. Colonel Carmichael's passionate reproaches died awayas he saw her face. "You must not stop here, " he said. "You have frightened us allterribly. The regiment has come and is attacking. There will be somedesperate fighting. We must all stick together. " She caught Nicholson's eyes resting on her. She thought she read pityand sympathy in their steady depths, and wondered if he guessed whatshe had tried to do. But he said nothing, and she followed the two menblindly and indifferently back to the bungalow. CHAPTER X TRAVERS They had no light. They talked in whispers, and now and again, whenthe darkness grew too oppressive, they stretched out groping hands andtouched each other. They did this without explanation. Though nonecomplained or spoke of fear, each needed the consolation of theother's company, and a touch was worth more than words. Mrs. Caryalone needed nothing. She lay on the rough truckle-bed and slept. Thusshe had been for a week--a whole week of nerve-wrecking struggleagainst odds which marked hope as vain. Bullets had beaten like rainupon the walls about her, the moaning of wounded men on the other sideof the hastily constructed partition mingled unceasingly with thecries of the ever-nearing enemy. And she had lain there quiet andindifferent. Martins, the regiment's doctor, had looked in once at herand had shaken his head. "In all probability she will never wake, " hehad said. "Perhaps it is the kindest thing that could happen to her. "And then he had gone his way to those who needed him more. Mrs. Berry knelt by the bedside. Her hands were folded. She had beenpraying, but exhaustion had overcome her, and her quiet, peacefulbreathing contrasted strangely with the other sounds that filled thebungalow. Mrs. Carmichael and Beatrice sat huddled close together, listening. They could do nothing--not even help the wounded men wholay so close to them. Everything was in pitch darkness, and no lightswere allowed. They could not go out and help in the stern, relentlessstruggle that was going on about them. They bore the woman's harderlot of waiting, inactive, powerless, fighting the harder battleagainst uncertainty and all the horrors of the imagination. "I am sorry the regiment has come, " Mrs. Carmichael whispered. "Thereis no doubt they will be massacred with the rest of us. What are a fewhundreds against thousands? It is a pity. They are such fine fellows. " Her rough, tired voice had a ring of unconquerable pride in it. Shewas thinking of the gallant charge her husband's men had made only twoweeks before; how they had broken through the wall of the enemy, and, cheering, had rushed to meet the besieged garrison. That had been amoment of rejoicing, transitory and deceptive. Then the wall closed inabout them again, and they knew that they were trapped. "Perhaps we can hold out till help comes, " Beatrice said. She tried not to be indifferent. For the sake of her companions shewould gladly have felt some desire for life, but in truth it had novalue for her. She could think of nothing but the evil she had doneand of the atonement that had been denied her. It was to no purposethat she worked unceasingly for the wounded. The sense ofresponsibility never left her. Each moan, each death-sigh brought thesame meaning to her ear: "You have helped to do this--this is yourwork. " "No help will come, " Mrs. Carmichael said, shaking her head at thedarkness. "When a whole province rises as this has done, it takesmonths to organize a sufficient force, and we shan't last out manydays. I wonder what people in England are saying. How well I can seethem over their breakfast cups! Oh, dear, I mustn't think of breakfastcups, or I shall lose my nerve. " She laughed under her breath, andthere was a long silence. Presently the door of the bungalow opened, letting in a stream ofmoonlight. It was closed instantly, and soft footfalls came over theboarded floor. "Who is it?" Mrs. Carmichael whispered. "I--Lois, " was the answer. The new-comer crept down by Beatrice's sideand leaned her head against the warm shoulder. "I am so tired, " shesaid faintly. "I have been with Archibald. He has been moaning so. Mr. Berry says he is afraid mortification has set in. It is terrible. " "Poor little woman!" Beatrice put her arm about the slender figure anddrew her closer. "Lay your head on my lap and sleep a little. You cando no good just now. " "Thank you. I will, if you don't mind. You will wake me if anythinghappens, won't you?" "Yes, I promise. " It gave Beatrice a sense of comfort to have Loisnear her. Very gently she passed her hand over the aching forehead, and presently Lois fell into a sleep of absolute exhaustion. By mutual consent, Mrs. Carmichael and Beatrice ceased to talk, butwhen suddenly there was a movement close to them, and a dim lightflashed over the partition, they exchanged a glance of meaning. "That is my husband, " Mrs. Carmichael whispered. "Something is goingto happen. Listen!" She was not wrong in her supposition. The Colonel had entered the nextroom, followed by Nicholson and Saunders, and had closed the doorcarefully after him. All three men carried lanterns. They glancedinstinctively at the wooden partition which divided them from the fourwomen, but Carmichael shook his head. "It's all right, " he said. "They must be fast asleep, poor souls. Let's have a look at these fellows. " He went over to a huddled-upfigure lying in the shadow. The corner of a military cloak had beenthrown over the face. He drew it on one side and then let it drop. "Gone!" he said laconically. He passed on to the next. There were inall three men ranged against the wall. Two of them were dead. "Martinstold me they couldn't last, " Colonel Carmichael muttered. "It isbetter for them. They are out of it a little sooner, that's all. " Thethird man was Travers. He lay on his back, his face turned slightlytoward the wall, his eyes closed. He seemed asleep. The Colonel noddedsomberly. "Another ten hours, " he calculated. He came back to the table, where the others waited, and drew out apaper from his pocket. "Give me your light a moment, Nicholson, " he said. No one spoke while he examined the list before him. All around themwas a curious hush--a new thing in their struggle, and one that seemedsurcharged with calamity. After a moment Colonel Carmichael looked up. He was many years the senior of his companions, but just then thereseemed no difference in years between them. They were three wan, haggard men, weakened with hunger, exhausted with sleepless watching. That week had killed the youth in two of them. "Geoffries has just given me this, " Carmichael said. "It is a list ofour provisions. We have enough food, but there is no fresh water. Theenemy has cut off the supply. We could not expect them to dootherwise. " He waited, and then, as neither spoke, he went on: "I havespoken with the others. You know, gentlemen, we can not go on anothertwenty-four hours without water. We have made a good fight for it, butthis is the end. We must look the fact in the face. " "Surely they must know at headquarters what a state we are in--"Saunders began. The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. "No doubt they know, but they can not help in time. This is not apetty frontier business. It is something worse--a rising with a leader. A rising with a leader is a lengthy business to tackle, and itrequires its victims. In this case we are the victims. " He smiledgrimly. "We have only one thing left to do--make a dash for it while wehave the strength. You must know as well as I do that there isscarcely anything worth calling a hope, but it's a more agreeable wayof dying than being starved out like rats and then butchered likesheep. I know these devils. " He glanced around the shadowy room with acurious light in his eyes. "My best friend was murdered in this room, "he added. "Personally, I prefer a fair fight in the open. " "When do you propose to make the start, Colonel?" Nicholson asked. "Within an hour. The night favors us. The women must be kept in thecenter as much as possible. I have given Geoffries special charge overthem. They will be told at the last moment. There is no use inspoiling what little rest they have had. " He drew out a pencil andbegan to scribble a despatch on the back of an old letter. "I adviseyou gentlemen to do likewise, " he said. "Very often a piece of papergets through where a man can not, and it is our bounden duty to supplythe morning periodicals with as much news as possible. " For some minutes there was no sound save that of the pencils scrawlingthe last messages of men with the seal of death already stamped upontheir foreheads. All three had forgotten Travers, and yet from themoment they had begun to speak he had been awake and listening. He satup now, leaning upon his elbow. "Nicholson!" he said faintly. Nicholson turned and came to his side. "Hullo!" he said. "Awake, are you? How are you?" Travers made no immediate answer; he took Nicholson's hand in afeverish clasp and drew him nearer. "I am in great pain, " he said. "You don't need to pretend. I know. Thefear of death has been on me all day. Just now I am not afraid. Isthere no hope?" "You mean--for us? None. " Travers nodded. "I heard you talking, but I wanted to make sure. It has all been myfault--every bit of it. It's decent of you not to make me feel itmore. You are not to blame--her. You know I tempted her, I made herhelp me. She isn't responsible. At any rate, she made a clean breastof it--that's something to her credit. I didn't want to--I never meantto. I am not the sort that repents. But this last week you have beenso decent, and Lois such a plucky little soul--she ought to hateme--and perhaps she does--but she has done her best. Nicholson, areyou listening? Can you hear what I say? It's so damned hard for me totalk. " "I can hear, " Nicholson said kindly. "Don't worry about what can't behelped. " In spite of everything, he pitied the man, and his toneshowed it. Travers lifted himself higher, clinging to the other's shoulder. Hisvoice began to come in rough, uneven jerks. "But it can be helped--it must be helped! Don't you see--I camebetween you and Lois purposely. From the first moment you spoke of herI knew that you loved her--and I wanted her. I never gave yourmessage. I didn't dare. You are the sort of man a woman cares for--awoman like Lois. I couldn't risk it. But now--well, I'm done, andafterward she will be free--" Nicholson drew back stiffly. "You are talking nonsense, " he said, in a colder tone. "No one wantsyou to die--and in any case, you know very well we have no chance ofgetting through this alive. " Travers seized his arm. His eyes shone with a painful excitement. "Yes--yes!" he stammered. "You have a chance--a sure hope. I can saveyou; I can--atone. That's what I want. Only you must help me. I am adying man. I want you to bring me to the Rajah--at once. Only fiveminutes with him--that will be enough. Then he will let you go--hemust!" Nicholson freed himself resolutely from the clinging hands. "You exaggerate your power, " he said, "and, besides, what you ask isan impossibility. " He turned away, but Travers caught his arm and held him with afrantic, desperate strength. "Then if you will not help me--send Miss Cary to me, " he pleaded. "Imust speak to her. " Nicholson looked down into the dying face with a new interest. He hadno suspicion of the burden with which Travers' soul was laden, and yethe was conscious now that the matter was urgent and of an importancewhich he could not estimate. "I will tell her, " he said. "Stay quiet a minute. We have no time tolose. " Travers nodded and fell back on to his rough couch. His eyes closedand he seemed to sleep, but as Beatrice knelt down by his side heroused himself and looked at her with the intensity of a man who hasgathered his last strength for a last great purpose. "I am dying, " he whispered thickly; "I know it and I don't care. I ampast caring. But before I die I want to atone; I want, if I can, tosave Lois. I care for her in my poor way, and I would like her to behappy. Are you listening?" "I am listening, " Beatrice answered gravely. "Do you think I couldclose my ears when you speak of atonement?" He clutched her hand. "You would be glad to atone for all the mischief we have done?" "I would give my life. " "Is the Colonel there? I can't see clearly. Colonel, I want you tohear what I have to say. " Colonel Carmichael turned. "This is no time, " he said sternly, "and it is too late for atonement. Our account with this world is closed. " "It need not be. Colonel--in the name of those whose lives lie in yourhands, I beg of you to listen to me. " There was a moment's hesitating silence. Travers' glazed eyes werefixed on the elder man's face with a hypnotizing power. The Coloneldrew nearer--reluctantly knelt down. "Be quick then!" he said. Travers nodded. His head was thrown back against Beatrice's shoulder. With fumbling, trembling fingers he drew a plain gold ring from hispocket and thrust it into the Colonel's hand. "Look at that!" he whispered. "Look at the inscription. " Carmichael turned to the feeble light. No one spoke or moved. Theywatched him and waited with a reasonless, breathless suspense. "My God!" he whispered, "How did you come by this?" Travers drew himself upright. The shadows of death were banished inthat last moment; his voice was clear and steady as he answered. "Listen, " he said. "I will tell you--and then act before it is toolate!" CHAPTER XI IN THE HOUR OF NEED Nehal Singh pulled aside the curtains over the window and stepped outon to the balcony. The air in the great silent room behind him stifledhim, and even the night breeze, as it touched his cheeks, seemed toburn with fever. He stood there motionless, his arms folded, gazingfixedly into the half-darkness. A pale, watery moonlight cast anunearthly shimmer over the shadowy world before him, brightened everyhere and there by the will-o'-the-wisp fire points which marked thepresence of the camped thousands waiting silently for his word. Onlyone spot--it seemed like a black stain--remained in absolute gloom, and it was thither the Rajah's eyes were turned. Every night he hadcome to the same place to watch it. Every night he had torturedhimself with the thought of all it contained. For he knew now, with the clear certainty of a man who has searcheddown to the bottom of his soul, that in that silent area his wholelife, his one hope of happiness was bound up, and waited, with thosewho were fighting stubbornly, heroically, against the end--itsdestruction beneath his own sword. He was fighting against himself. With his own hands he was tearing down that which seemed aninseparable, incorporate part of himself. Anger and contempt weredead. In their place the old love had rekindled and grown brighterbefore the sight of a courage, dignified and silent, which had heldback the tide of furious fanaticism and thwarted his own despair. Hehad seen, with eyes which burned with an indescribable emotion, aregiment of wearied, weakened men, led by a man he had once despised, burst through the densest squares of his own soldiers; he had heardtheir cheers as they had clasped hands with the defenders; he hadlooked aghast into his own heart, afire with admiration, aching with astrange, broken-hearted gratitude to God who had made such men. It wasin vain that, lashing himself with the knowledge of his own weaknessand of his disloyalty to those who followed him, he had flung himselfagainst the defenses of the little garrison. Day after day they drove him back, fighting hand to hand in theearthworks they had thrown up in a few hours of miraculous labor. Hefought against them like a man possessed of an unquenchable hatred;but at night, when he was at last alone, he had slipped out on to hisbalcony and held out his hands toward them in an unspeakable wordlessgreeting. Once more they had become for him the world's Great People, the giants of his boyhood's imagination, the heroes of his man'sideal. At the point of the sword they had proved the truth ofNicholson's proud boast, and hour by hour the man who had turned fromthem in a moment of bitter disillusion saw the temple he had oncebuilt to their honor rise from its ashes in new and greater splendor. Thus two weeks had passed, and to-night was to see the end. Nehal knewthat, brave though they were, they could do no more. They had nowater, and his forces hugged them in on every side. One last attackand it would be over--Marut would be cleared from the enemy, hisvictory complete. His victory! It was his own ruin he was preparing, the certain destruction of that which seemed linked invisibly butsurely to his own fate. And, knowing that, he knew also that there wasno turning back for him, no retreat. His word was given. His people, the people who claimed him by the right of blood, clamored for him tolead them as he had sworn. It made no difference if on the path he hadchosen he trampled on every hope, every wish, every rooted instinct. There was no turning back. He knew it--the knowledge that his ownwords bound him came to him with pitiless finality as he stood therewatching the silent, lightless stretch which was soon to be the sceneof a last tragic struggle; and if indeed there are such things astears of blood, they rose to his eyes now. With lips compressed in an agony he could neither analyze nor conquer, he turned slowly back into the dimly lighted room. Two torches burnedon either side of the throne and threw unsteady shadows among theglittering pillars. They lit up his face and revealed it as that of aman who has cast his youth behind him for ever. Only a few months hadpassed since he had sat there with Travers in the full noon of hishope and enthusiasm. He remembered the scene with a clearness whichwas a fresh torture. The hopes that had been built up in that hour layshattered, the woman for whom they had been built was lost. He thoughtof her now as he always thought of her, as he knew he would think ofher to the end. For this love, save that it had grown and deepenedinto a wider understanding, had remained unchanged. As there had beencowards and tricksters among his heroes, so in that one woman evil andgood had stood side by side and fought out their battle. And the goodhad won--had won because he alone of all men had believed in it. Hebelieved in it still--in the same measure as he had learned to loveher--with a deeper understanding of temptation and failure. It was theone triumph in the midst of seeming ruin, the one firm rock in theraging torrent of his fate, beaten as it was between the contendingstreams of desire and duty. She was indeed lost to him, but not as inthe first hour of his shaken trust. He had regained his memory of heras a good woman, striving upward and onward; and already he hadinvested her with the glory of those whom death has already claimedfrom us. Nehal Singh started from his painful reverie, conscious that some onehad entered the room and was watching him. He turned and saw his chiefcaptain standing respectfully before him, and, though it was a man heliked and trusted, it seemed to him that the gaunt, soldierly figurehad taken on the form of an ugly, threatening destiny. "All is ready, Great Prince, " the native said, salaaming. "Every manis at his post. We do but await thy orders. " Nehal did not answer. His hands clasped and unclasped themselves inthe last agony of hesitation. The moment had come, the inevitable andirretrievable moment which had loomed so long upon his horizon. Evennow he hardly knew what it was to bring him. The forces warring in hisblood were locked in a death struggle. At last he nodded and his lipsmoved. "It is well. In half an hour--I will come to them. In half anhour--the attack will begin. " "Sahib--is it good to wait? The dawn cometh, and with the dawn--" Nehal Singh lifted his hand peremptorily. "In half an hour, " he repeated. The man salaamed and was gone. Nehal Singh stood there like a pillarof stone. It was over. In half an hour! And yet, at the bottom of hisheart, he knew that he had delayed--purposely, but to no end but hisown increased suffering. With a sigh of impatience he turned, and inthe same instant became once more aware that he was not alone. For a moment he perceived nothing save the shadows and the unsteadyflickering of the yellow torchlight. Then his vision cleared and hesaw and understood, and an exclamation burst from his horrified lips. It was a woman who stood out against the darkness, her body clothed inrags, the hair, grey and thin, hanging unkempt about her shoulders, the face turned to his that of some being risen from a tomb. Thereseemed to be no flesh upon the high cheek-bones nor upon the handsthat were stretched toward him; only the eyes were alive with anunquenchable fire which burned upon him with a power that wasunearthly. She staggered a few steps and then sank slowly to his feet, her hands still outstretched. He knelt down and supported the sinkinghead upon his shoulder. "Who art thou?" he whispered in Hindustani. "Where hast thou comefrom? Tell me thy history. " A look of intense pain passed over her features. Slowly and with agreat effort her lips parted. "I am English--let me speak in English. I have only a few minutes--Iam dying. " He looked about him, seeking something with which to moisten her drylips, but she clung to him with an incredible strength. "No, no, I must speak with you. Up to now I have lived in an awfulnightmare--amidst ghastly phantoms who pursued and tortured me. Butwhen I heard your voice--when I heard you give that order, I awoke. The dreams vanished, I heard and understood--and remembered!" She drewherself upright and, for a moment spoke with a penetrating clearness. "Not in half an hour--never! Withdraw that order! If you go againstthem you are accursed. Lay down your arms! You must--you know youmust! You dare not--" She clung to his arm and her eyes seemed to burntheir way into his very soul. "I tell you--to turn traitor is toinherit an endless hell--" "A traitor!" he echoed. Something clutched at his heart, a sort ofnumb suspense which became electrified as he saw a new expressionflash into her face. "Yes, a traitor!" she whispered. "That was what I was. I wasEnglish--yes, English in spite of all, but in my bitterness I turnedfrom my people. I let myself be taken alive. I would not share thefate of those who had once been dear to me. My whole life has been thepunishment. They tortured me and then came the dreams--the awful, hideous dreams. I was always looking for you, always calling for you. And they laughed and mocked at me. Only one man did not laugh--" hervoice grew doubtful and hesitating, as though she were groping in theshadows of her memory. "He did not laugh. He promised to help me buthe never came again--and I died--yes, I died--but I saw your face, Iheard your voice--and I came back from death--to save you!" Once moreher vision cleared and her voice grew steadier. "Go back to them! Theyare your friends. If you do not go, you will break your heart--as mineis broken. Swear to me--you must, because--" He bent closer to her to catch every sound that fell from her lips. His pulses were beating with a suffocating violence. Somewhere a veilwas lifting. It was as if the sunlight were at last breaking through amist of strange dreams, strange longings, strange forebodings. Theconfused voices that had called to him throughout his life grewclearer. "Because--?" he whispered. But she did not answer. Her head was thrown back. Her open eyes werefixed intently on his face. Suddenly she smiled. It was a smile thatchilled his blood with its hideous distortion. And yet behind itlurked the possibility of a long-lost beauty and sweetness. "Steven!" she whispered. "Steven!" Closer and closer she drew his face to hers. Her icy lips rested onhis cheek. Pity and a strange, as yet unformed, foreboding made himaccept that dying caress and speak to her with an urgent, pleadinggentleness. "You have something to tell me, " he murmured, "something I must know. Tell me before it is too late. " But her eyes had closed and she did not answer him. "Rouse yourself!" he insisted. "Rouse yourself!" It seemed to him thatshe smiled. Her face had undergone a change. It was younger, and inthe flickering light his imagination brightened it with the glorieswhose dim traces still touched the haggard, emaciated features. Onelast time her eyes opened and she looked at him. The frenzy of despairwas gone. He felt that she was looking beyond him to a future he couldnot see. "Go back!" she whispered. "Go back!" He pressed her to him, seeking to pour something of his own seethingvitality into her dying frame. With her life the threads of his fateseemed to be slipping through his fingers. "Help me!" he implored. "Do not leave me!" But he knew that she would never answer. She lay heavy in his arms, and the hand that clasped his relaxed and fell with a soft thud uponthe marble. He rose to his feet and stood looking down upon her. Itwas not the first time he had seen death. In these last weeks he hadmet it in all its most hideous, most revolting forms; but none hadmoved him, awed him as this did. He knew that she had once beenbeautiful. Who had made her suffer till only a shadow of that beautyremained? What had she endured? Who was she? What did she know of him?Why did she call him by a name which rang in his ears with a vaguefamiliarity? What was it in her poor dead face which stirred in him amemory which had no date nor place in his life? Outside he heard the uneasy stirring of the thousands who awaited him. He looked up and through the open windows, saw the camp-fires and thatone dark spot which was to be swept clear of all but death. What hadshe said? "Go back! Lay down your arms! You must--you know you must!To turn traitor is to inherit an endless hell!" A traitor? A traitorto whom--to what? To some blind instinct that had called him in thoseEnglish voices, that had beaten out an answering cry of thankfulnessfrom his heart when their cheers proclaimed his own defeat? A soft step roused him from his troubled thoughts. He looked up andsaw a servant standing in the curtained doorway. The man's eyes werefixed on the outstretched figure at Nehal's feet, and there was anexpression on the dark face so full of fear and horror that the Rajahinvoluntarily drew back. "Who was this woman?" he demanded. "Whence comes she?" "Lord Sahib, she was a mad-woman whom the Lord Behar Singh kept out ofmercy. She must have escaped her prison. More I know not. " The man was trembling as though in the shadows there lurked a hiddenthreatening danger, and Nehal turned aside with a gesture of desperateimpatience. "Why hast thou come before the time?" he asked. "Lord Sahib, outside there are two English prisoners. They demand tobe brought before thee. What is thy will?" "Bring them hither. " Nehal Singh stood where the bowing servant left him, at the side ofthe poor dead woman, his hands crossed upon his sword-hilt, his eyesfixed on the parted curtains. There he waited, motionless, passive, asa man waits who knows that he has become the tool of Destiny. A moment later, Beatrice stood before him. CHAPTER XII HIS OWN PEOPLE She was not alone, but in that first moment he saw nothing but herface. It seemed to him that the whole world was blotted out and thatonly she remained, grave, fearless, supreme in her wan beauty, atragic figure glorified by a light of unconquerable resolution. Helooked at her but he did not greet her; no muscle of his set and ashyfeatures betrayed the thrill of passionate recognition which hadpassed like a line of fire through his veins. To move was to awakefrom a dream to a hideous, terrible reality. She came slowly toward him. The thin wrap about her head slipped backand he saw the light flash on to the fair disheveled hair. His eyeswere dazzled, but it seemed to him that there were grey threads whereonce had been untarnished gold. Yet he could not and would not speak, and she came on till she stood opposite him, the dead woman lyingthere between them. Then for the first time she lowered her eyes andhe awoke with a start of agonizing pain. "Why have you come?" he said. "Have you come to plead again? Have youcome to torture me again? Was not that once enough? In a few minutes Ishall sweep your people to destruction. Shall I save you?--is thatwhat you have come to tell me?" He waited for her answer, his teeth clenched, his brows knitted in theold terrible struggle. All his energy, all his determination sankparalyzed before her and before his love, and yet he knew he must goon--go on with the destruction of himself, of her, of all that wasdearest to him. She knelt down and touched the dead face with her white hand, closingthe glazed, staring eyes with a curious tenderness and pity. There wasno surprise or horror in her expression as she at last rose and facedhim--rather a mysterious knowledge which held him bound in wordlessexpectation. "I have come to tell you that woman's history, Steven Caruthers, " shesaid. "I have not come to plead with you but to tell you the truth--tolay before you the two paths between which you must choose once andfor all. Will you listen to me?" "Beatrice!" he stammered. "Why have you given me a name which is notmine--which _she_ gave me with her last breath? What do you know thatyou have risked your life--" "It was no risk, " she said. "My life was forfeited and it was our lasthope. Oh, if I can turn you from all this ruin, then I shall haveatoned for the evil I have done you!" The note of mingled entreaty, despair and hope stirred him to thedepths of his being, but he made no response. He could only point tothe white face and repeat the question which had beaten in pitilessreiteration against his tortured brain. "Who was she?" "She was your mother. " "And I--?" It was not Beatrice who this time answered. A figure stepped forwardout of the shadows and faced the Rajah. It was Carmichael, pale, deeply moved, but erect and steadfast. His eyes were fixed on Nehal'sfeatures with a curious, hungry eagerness which changed as he spokeinto a growing recognition. "Let me tell you, " he said. "I will be brief, for every minute isprecious and full of danger for us all. This poor woman was MargaretCaruthers, the wife of my dearest friend, and your mother. Until anhour ago I believed that she had been butchered with her husband andwith all those others who paid the penalty of one man's sin. No doubtyou know why your supposed father, Behar Singh, rose against us?" "His honor--his wife had been stolen from him by a treacherousEnglishman, " Nehal answered hoarsely. "Yes, by Stafford, John Stafford's father. The issue of that act ofinfidelity was a child, Lois, who afterward was adopted by Caruthers, partly out of friendship for Stafford, partly because he had nochildren of his own. So much, at least, I surmise. I surmise, too, that that adoption cost him his wife's love and trust. Perhaps, ignorant of the child's real parentage, she believed the worst, perhaps there were other causes--be it as it may, in the hour ofcatastrophe she refused to share the general fate. She chose to throwherself upon the mercy of her mother's people. " "Her mother's people!" Nehal echoed blankly. "There was native blood in her veins. It was on that account thatBehar Singh spared her. She bitterly learned to regret her change ofallegiance. She was kept close prisoner, and six months after themurder of her husband she bore him a son--you--Steven Caruthers. BeharSingh, himself without an heir, took the child from her, and from thathour the unfortunate woman became insane. Long years she was kept asecret and wretched captive, and then one day she escaped, and in herwanderings met a man--an Englishman who was then your friend. " "Travers!" Nehal exclaimed. "Yes, Travers. By means of bribes and threats he obtained her wholehistory, partly from her own lips, partly from her gaolers. But hetold no one of his discovery. " "Why not? How dared he keep silence?" "It is very simple. He wished to marry my ward, Lois Caruthers, and hewished to have her money. As I have said, Caruthers had adopted herwhen her mother, the Reni Ona, returned to her own people, and hadmade her his heir in the case that he should have no children of hisown. Had your existence been known Lois would have been penniless. Travers knew this and kept his secret from every one save Stafford. " "Why did he tell Stafford?" "He had to. Stafford and Lois loved each other--with a love which wasall too natural and explicable in the light of our present knowledge. It was necessary that he should be made aware that marriage betweenthem was impossible--that they were, in fact, the children of the samefather. " "Stafford kept silence--" "He had promised. And, moreover, he believed it kinder to hide thetruth from Lois. Only at the last he determined to speak at all costs. But it was too late. You know--he was murdered on the steps ofTravers' house. " Nehal Singh nodded. An even deadlier pallor crept over his features. "I know, " he said. "It was Behar Singh's last vengeance. God knows, myhands are clean. " "That I know. You are your father's son. " "And the proof of all this?" "This ring. Take it. It was your mother's. Travers gave it to me whenhe made his confession. He took it from the poor mad woman at theirfirst meeting. Look at the inscription. It bears your mother's andfather's names. " "And Travers--?" The Rajah lifted his hand in a stern, threateninggesture. "--is dead, " was the grave answer. "He died an hour ago, in his wife'sarms. " For a moment a profound hush hung over the great, dimly lighted hall. The Rajah knelt down by his mother's side and gently replaced the ringupon the thin lifeless finger. "She called herself a traitor, " he said, half to himself. "A traitorto whom--to what?" "To the strong white blood that was in her veins. In her bitterness atthe real or imagined wrongs that had been done her, she turned awayfrom the people to whom she belonged, to whom she was bound by all theties of love and upbringing. She disobeyed the voice of her instinct. And you, her son, you, too, have been bitter; you, too, must listen tothe call of the two races to whom you are linked. Whom will you obey?You stand at the cross-ways where you must choose--where we musteither part or join hands for good and all. The road back to us isopen, is still open. That is the message of peace which we have riskedour lives to bring you. Rajah, Steven Caruthers--for so I now callyou--I plead with you--I may plead with you, for in this hour at leastI can not look upon you as an adversary, but as the son of thisunfortunate woman--above all, of my friend. I plead with you the morebecause I owe you years of friendship. I am not the least to blamethat you fell away from us in resentment and bitterness. I could haveshielded you from the inevitable pitfalls that beset your path, but--God forgive me!--my prejudice blinded me and I held back. It wasI who carried you away from the palace on that night when you wereleft, a helpless child, to the mercy of Behar Singh's enemies. Then Ihad pity enough--but years after I held back the hand of friendshipwhich I might have offered you. Well, I am punished, twice punished, for my prejudice and blindness. Is it too late for me to make myreparation?" He held out his hand and there was a silence of tense expectation. TheRajah's head was bowed. He did not seem to see the Colonel's movement. "You can not think I am pleading with you to save our lives, "Carmichael went on with grave dignity. "We have fought for them. Anhour ago we were prepared to lay them down without complaint. We arenot the less prepared now. It is not for us I am speaking, but foryou. Your day as Rajah is over--your claim to rule in India void. Ioffer you instead your father's name, your father's people, yourfather's heritage. The other road--well, you have trodden it, you knowit. You must choose. Your mother chose--twenty-five years ago, in thesame hour of crisis, blinded by the same bitterness. She chose to tearthe bonds of love and duty; she ignored the true voice of herinstinct. It broke her heart. The same crisis stands to-night beforeyou, her son. What will you do--Steven Caruthers?" The Rajah lifted his head. The struggle was written in his dark, sunken eyes and on the compressed lips. "I can not desert them, " he said wearily. "They trust me--my peopletrust me. " "Who are your people?" was the swift question. "You must choose. " Again the same silence, the same waiting while the hand of fate seemedto hover above them in the darkness. Beatrice left her place at thedead woman's side. With a firm, proud step she came to the Rajah andtook his hand in both her own. He started at her touch, and for a longminute his gaze seemed to sink itself in hers, but she never wavered. When she spoke an immeasurable tenderness rang in her voice, aboundless understanding and sympathy. "Steven--have you forgotten? Long ago in the old temple? Don't youremember what you told me then--how you loved and admired us? Youcalled us the world's Great People, and when you spoke of our heroesthere was something in your voice which thrilled me. Was it only yourbooks, was it your teachers--Behar Singh--who made you feel as youdid? When you came among us, what led you? The face of a woman? Was itonly that? Or was it something more?--the call of a great, wonderfulinstinct?" His eyes were riveted on her face, but for that moment he did not seeher. He did not see the tears that glistened on her cheeks. He waslooking straight through the long vista of the past, right back to thefirst hours of his memory, when he had wandered alone amidst strangefaces, a ruler in a palace which had never ceased to be his prison, anexile whose home lay only in strange, fantastic dreams. And in thisfinal moment he seemed to stand high above the past, and ever swifterand surer to trace through every incident of his life one same guidingpower. Through the snares of Behar Singh's hate-filled temptations ithad led onward; it had borne him to the temple--to the feet of thewoman he was to love through every torture of bitter deception; it hadswept him on a wave of impulse beyond his prison walls out into aworld which he at last hailed as his; and now, in the hour of fiercestdespair, of deepest loss, it was drawing him surely and swiftlyhomeward. The past vanished. He saw again the face lifted to his--hesaw the tears--the Colonel's hand outstretched, waiting to clasp hisown. He heard the title that she gave him as a man hears along-forgotten watchword. "You are English, Steven. You are English--you belong to us!" He unfastened the sword at his side. For a moment he held it as thoughin farewell. But there was no grief on his face as he laid the jeweledweapon in the Colonel's hand. "I have chosen, " he said. "I can not go against my people. " CHAPTER XIII ENVOI With the surrender of one man the great Marut rising came to an end. It had been built up by him and on him, and with him it collapsed. Asthe news reached the armed thousands encamped about the ruinedStation, consternation fell upon them. There was no attempt atorganization or resistance. They believed simply that Heaven hadturned against them and Vishnu joined hands with the Englishman, andthey waited to hear no more. What had seemed an overwhelming forcemelted away as though it had been a shadow, and in the jungle, slinking along the lightless highways, or huddling in the lonelyhovels outside Marut, the remnant of Behar Singh's great army hid fromthe hand of the destroyer. They had followed their god, and their godhad deserted them. All hope was lost, and with the fatalism of theirrace they flung their weapons from them as they fled. Pending the decision of the Government, Nehal Singh, now StevenCaruthers, was held prisoner in the club-house he had built two yearsbefore. Part of the returned regiment was encamped about thesurrounding gardens, in order to prevent all attempt at rescue, butthe precaution was a mere formality. Visitors came constantly. Therewas not a man in all the Station who was not anxious to help bury thepast and to hold out the hand of friendship to one whom at the bottomof their hearts they had once wronged and slighted. Among themCarmichael and Nicholson were the chief. They passed many hours ofeach day with him, and worked steadily and enthusiastically for hispardon and release. He was touched and grateful, but beneath hisgratitude there still lurked the demon of unrest. She had notcome--the one being for whom he waited--she had sent no word. He knewthat her mother lay dying--above all things he knew that on the greatday of the attack she had stood resolutely between him and death--butnothing, no explanation or assurance, calmed the hidden trouble of hismind. After all, it had been pity--or remorse--not love. Thus three weeks passed. The Colonel had spent the day with himdiscussing the future, arranging for the transference of Lois' fortuneinto his unwilling hands, and now, toward nightfall, he was once morealone, wearied in body and soul. For the first time since hissurrender his sense of quiet and release from an immense burden wasgone. He was still alone. He felt now that he would always be alone, for there was but one who could fill the blank in his life. And shehad not come. He did not and could not blame her. Who was he that awoman should join her lot to his? An Englishman truly, but one overwhose birth and youth there hung a shadow, perhaps a curse such as haddarkened his mother's life and the life of all those in whose veinsthere flows an alien blood. She must not even think that any link fromthe past bound her. She must be free--quite free to choose. Wearily heseated himself at his table and took his pen. "You have been the great guiding light of my life, " he wrote to her. "You will always be, because I can not learn to forget. But for you itwould be easier and better to forget. You will be happier--" And thenhe heard the door open, and she stood before him. The words that hehad meant to write rushed to his lips, but no further. Moved by acommon impulse, they advanced to meet each other, and the next momentshe was in his arms. Neither spoke. It seemed as though, once face toface, there could be no doubts, no misunderstandings between them. Their love was wordless, but it had spoken in a silence more eloquent, more complete than words could ever have been. "I could not come before, " she said, after a little. "I could notleave her. She was only at peace when I held her hand. She was veryhappy at the last--now it is all over. " He held her closer to him, and she clung to him, not sadly or wearily, but like a strong woman who had fought and won the thing she foughtfor. "It was Fate after all, " he said, under his breath. "She meant us foreach other. " She looked up at him. Though suffering, physical and mental, had drawnits ineffaceable lines upon her face, it had also added to her beautythe charm of strength and experience. "I knew long ago that it was Fate, " she answered. "Do you rememberthat first evening? You told me that people do not drift aimlesslyinto each other's lives. Even then, against my will, I felt that itwas true. Afterward I was sure. I had entered into your life in amoment of frivolous recklessness, but you had entered into mine withanother purpose, and I could not rid myself of you. Your hold upon mewas strong. It grew stronger, do what I would, and the farce becamedeadly earnest. " "For me it was always deadly earnest, " he said. "When I first saw youstanding before the idol, it was as though a wall which had surroundedmy life had been overthrown, and that you had come to be my guide andcomrade in a new and unknown world. " "And then I failed you. " His eyes met hers thoughtfully. "Did you? Now I look back, I am not sure. I had to believe you whenyou said you had deceived me and played with me. I had to force myselfto despise you. Yet, when you confronted me in the bungalow, I feltsuddenly that you needed to explain nothing. I understood. " "Did you understand that I had only deceived myself? I told myselfthat it was a farce played at your expense. But--Heaven knows--Ibelieve it ceased to be a farce from the first hour I saw you. Youbelieved in me so. No one had believed in me before--I had neverbelieved in myself or in man, or in God, either. But I had to believein you, and afterward--the rest came. " She drew herself upright andlooked him full in the dark eyes. "Steven, do you trust me?" Henodded. "As you did on that day when you told me that you owed me allthat you were and ever would be?" "As then, Beatrice. " She smiled gravely. "You do right to trust me. You have made me worthy of your trust. " He put his arm about her shoulder, and led her gently on to theverandah. The night had fallen dark and starless. Through the blackveil they saw the gleam of bivouac fires and heard the voices of mencalling to one another, and the clatter of piled arms. They remainedsilent, after the storm and stress of the past, content to be togetherand at peace. They knew that the long night was over and that the dawnhad broken. When the Colonel entered they did not hear him, and without speakinghe turned back and closed the door after him. In his hand he held atelegram ordering the deposition of Nehal Singh, Rajah of Marut, andthe recognition, pardon and release of one Steven Caruthers, Englishman. But he crept away with the long-hoped-for message. "Time enough, " he thought. "They are happy. " And if beneath his heartfelt rejoicing there lurked the shadow ofbitterness, who shall blame him? There was one dearer to him than hisown child could have been, for whose wounded heart there seemed as yetno balsam. And yet, unknown to him, for her also the dawn wasbreaking. For even as he crept away with knitted brows, sharing herburden with her by the power of love and sympathy, she held in herhands the first herald of a happier future. "What you have told me I accept--for now, " Adam Nicholson had written. "You are wise to travel with the Carmichaels. It will do you good. I, who was prepared to wait my whole life for you, can have patience fora little longer. I know that you suffer and as yet I may not help you. Your pride separates us, but your pride is a little thing compared tomy love. What is your birth or parentage to me? You say it wouldovershadow my whole life, darken my career? It might try. That wouldbe one thing more to fight against. We have come to India to sweepaway its prejudices; let us first sweep away our own. We have come tobring freedom; let us first make ourselves free. It will be a goodbattle, but it will not darken my life, Lois. Do you think oppositionand struggle could darken my life? Surely you know me better. Do butstand at my side, and there will be no darkness. I am not a boy. I ama man who sees before him long years of labor, and who needs the onewoman who can help him. Is our cathedral forgotten? I do not believeit. You are not the woman to forget. The time is not far off when wewill crown our cathedral hand in hand. Only when your love dies canthe barrier between us become insurmountable. If your love lives, then, as surely as there is a God in Heaven, I will come and fetchyou, Lois--my wife. " And the tears that filled her eyes as she read the boldly writtenwords were no longer the tears of grief. Her love for him had been therock upon which her life was built. It was imperishable. She knew thusthat she would not have long to wait until his coming. THE END