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A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

by Janet Milne Rae · English · Gutenberg #40517 · 597,975 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

Author: Janet Milne Rae


        
Release date: August 16, 2012 [eBook #40517]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE: A TALE OF ANGLO-INDIAN LIFE ***

                            A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE

                         A TALE OF ANGLO-INDIAN LIFE

                              BY MRS. MILNE RAE

    _Author of "Bride Lorraine," "Morag: A Tale of Highland Life," etc._


    HODDER AND STOUGHTON
    LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO




A BOTTLE IN THE SMOKE




CHAPTER I.


The early dawn had given place to the golden sunlight of the Indian
morning, but there was still ample shade within certain nooks in the
compound of a pleasant-looking two-storied house in one of the leafy
roads of Madras. Under an old banyan tree, with its tent-like stems
turned downwards and its dense canopy of green overhead, stood a dainty
breakfast table. Early tea was over. One bamboo chair had already been
vacated by its occupant; in the other, sat a young English lady.

Only two months previously Hester Rayner had left home a bride. "She is
happy, I think," was always the remark, accompanied by a sigh, made by
her anxious mother, as she passed the closely written pages of the
latest letter across the rectory breakfast table to her husband.

The young wife's letters gave no untrue expression of her state of
feeling, yet there were times when the dream-like sensation which
pervaded her outlook on the new surroundings disturbed her. The spell of
the East was strong; the tropical life, the vivid colouring, the
brown-skinned multitudes, the waving palms, all seemed to belong to a
bright pageant in which she was only a passing spectator. And now, with
the simple sense of duty which had marked the only daughter of the
Pinkthorpe Rectory, she was asking herself whether it was right to yield
so entirely to the wooing of the magic present. Even her weekly journal
from home seemed to deepen the glamour; all in that dear distant home
was transfigured by its glow; never had the tender affection of father
and mother felt so precious, and who would have believed that the couple
of schoolboy brothers would prove so much more demonstrative in their
first letters than in the days when she had painted their wickets, made
sails for their boats, and was their willing helper in all school
preparations? And again the unexpected was on its way.

It came in the form of a letter which a white-robed peon now handed to
her. It was the first she had received from her brother Charlie, now at
Oxford, and so notably a poor correspondent that the sight of his
handwriting awoke keen expectation.

She was not long in finding its outstanding piece of news. The fair,
uncovered head was at once recklessly exposed to the strengthening
sun-rays as she hurried towards the house, though an instant object of
solicitude to the vigilant domestic. But the lithe figure flew birdlike
across the brown turf, and reached the safe shade of the verandah before
the white-covered umbrella was brought to the rescue.

"Alfred, where are you?" called the gleeful voice, as she hurried in at
one of the many doors which led from the verandah to the house. The room
she entered was already carefully darkened, having its heavy green
_persiennes_ closed against the solar rays, though a chink of light
served to reveal the occupant at the writing-table, who raised his eyes
from the blue papers scattered before him. There was a gravity and
placidity about his movements which suggested his being older than his
years. His figure, though slender, was firmly knit. His fine-grained
skin and whole appearance gave evidence of careful culture of the body,
though the long thin hands, which were resting on his papers, were those
of a man of the desk rather than a devotee of the polo or cricket field.

"News, Alfred, delightful news! Actually a letter from Charlie to tell
us that Mark Cheveril, his great friend, is on his way to Madras!"

"Cheveril! Why, that name is surely familiar! Yes, he was Mark too. He
was one of the smaller boys when I was at Hacket's."

Suddenly Mr. Alfred Rayner's delicately-pencilled eyebrows contracted to
a frown. "But, I say, Hester, he's a half-caste, actually used to boast
in the most shameless manner that his mother was an Indian. Little
fool!"

"Yes, his father was a lieutenant in the Indian Army, and married an
Indian princess. Wasn't it romantic? It must be from his mother he got
his good looks, he is so dark and handsome."

"But, Hester, what an arrant fool the man must be to set foot in India
again--half-caste as he is!"

"Why, it's been the dream of Mark Cheveril's life to go back to his
native land. Father always said he particularly admired that trait in
him."

"Just like one of your father's unworldly notions! Let me tell you they
don't work east of Suez. I'm afraid, for instance, that it will be
difficult for us to have anything to do with him."

Mr. Rayner tapped his papers thoughtfully with his thin hand.

"Anything to do with him," echoed Hester, her deep grey eyes dilating.
"But Mark Cheveril is Charlie's greatest friend. Listen to what he
says." She turned to the letter and read: "'I've just been thinking how
delightful it will be for you to see Cheveril out there. Tell Rayner I
took advantage of his _carte blanche_ to invite him to stay with you,
assuring him that he would be welcome, as I remembered how Rayner
expatiated on the hospitality of Anglo-Indians----'"

"Didn't think I was to be asked to extend that hospitality to
half-castes," muttered Mr. Rayner, bending over his writing table with a
sulky air.

There was a perplexed look in his wife's eyes as she glanced at him.
She had not seen that expression on her husband's face before.

"And what is this noble Eurasian going to do here does your brother say?
Is he going to look out for a job?"

"Oh, no, he's got work in a good service, though I don't suppose it's so
good as being a barrister like you," said Hester slowly, the gladness of
her news tempered by her husband's more than chilly attitude. "I'm
really awfully ignorant about Indian things, you see; I must coach
myself up or I shall remain a 'griffin,' I fear. Charlie writes----"
Again Hester turned to her letter, but this time with a little sigh.
"... 'Cheveril passed the Indian Civil a year ago, as you will remember;
he has since been at Oxford, and is now posted to Madras.'"

"The Indian Civil! Has the fellow really got into that?" exclaimed Mr.
Rayner with undisguised astonishment. "I must have missed his name in
the lists. Well, surely he will have learnt by this time to keep the
fact of his mixed blood dark. We must give him a hint to that effect. It
is silly and sentimental, to say the least of it. But seeing he's among
the 'Covenanted Ones' he'll be worth curing of this mad freak." A smile
played about Mr. Rayner's thin lips; then he added briskly, "Does your
brother say what steamer he's coming by?"

"The _Bokhara_," replied Hester, her air of joyous expectation already
exchanged for a soberer one.

"Then he's due this very day," said her husband, starting up. "Mark
Cheveril may be here at any moment, Hester. I'll see if the steamer is
in yet on my way to the High Court." He had evidently reconsidered his
decision "not to know" the new arrival. "Wonder if I shall recognise
him. He was only a little chap in Etons when I knew him at Hacket's.
What's he like now?"

"He's tall and has dark hair. He always looked such a contrast to
Charlie, who is so fair," said Hester, with a reminiscent smile,
recalling how often the two friends used to walk hatless on the emerald
lawn at home, the fair wavy hair and the dark head in close proximity.

"Yes, Charlie is too fair for a man. I love that blondeness in you,
dear, but a slightly darker hue suits the masculine gender better,"
returned Mr. Rayner, glancing at himself, with a self-conscious smile,
in a mirror hanging on the white wall near his writing table.

In his own estimation, and it must be acknowledged, in the estimation of
others also, he fulfilled all the requirements of good looks. His dark
hair framed a beautiful aquiline face, though too cameo-like perhaps in
its perfection. There was something unpleasant in his expression, an air
of hauteur, a lack of frankness, which detracted from his undeniably
handsome face.

It was, in fact, Alfred Rayner's perfectly chiselled features which,
after a very brief wooing, had been the passport to the heart of the
young daughter of Pinkthorpe Rectory. Hester and he had met at a large
house-party--the girl's first appearance in society. She had lately left
school, and was becoming pleasantly conscious that she was a free agent,
no longer told to do this and that, but tacitly challenged to exercise
personal choice. She was not exactly in love with the young barrister,
but being on the verge of her life's awakening, a word, a look, a touch,
was enough to rouse her. And when these forces were skilfully applied by
the wooer, aided by a good-natured hostess with the alleged feminine
love of match-making, the result may be supposed. Though with the girl
herself, the matter was no further advanced, even in her own account to
her mother, than was consistent with saying frankly that she admired and
liked the young stranger who had come into her simple days. Sweet home
security had wrapped her all her young life, and before her now
stretched the glamour of a happiness to come. Might it not be sweeter
than any she had ever known, whispered imaginings, indefinite but luring
as the balmy air of those June days in which she gave her "promise true"
to go with this man. That it was to go "over the hills and far away"
added only to the fascination of the prospect.

Even the haste of the wooing had its charm for the young girl; for
Alfred Rayner asked nothing less of the anxious parents than that their
precious daughter should be given to him at once. His short furlough
being almost expired, his urgent request was that they should be married
without delay and make their honeymoon on their voyage to India.

For two years Mr. Alfred Rayner had been practising as a barrister in
Madras, and was able to expatiate in glowing words on the many-sided
charm of life for the dominant race in the tropical land. His young wife
had found as yet that those descriptions were, if anything, under the
mark. During those early days she used playfully to tax her gratified
husband that he had not conveyed to her half the charm of the bright
Eastern land whose spell had hitherto been unbroken. But as she stood
now in that darkened room having told her joyful news, the shaft of
light which fell on his face revealed to her a little dark cloud in her
heaven of blue. It was the first time she had felt that she and Alfred
were not entirely in unison. Nor was the recollection quite covered when
after breakfast she watched him going down the broad, white, sunlit
flight of steps from the verandah to enter his office-bandy, though he
called to her, "I'll see if the _Bokhara_ is in and send you word."

After watching the white-covered carriage disappear along the avenue
shaded by its casuarina trees, she retraced her steps slowly to her
husband's writing room. Its darkness seemed dense after the glare of the
verandah. For a moment she stood oppressed by it, then with quick
gestures hurried to throw open the heavy green shutters and let in the
fierce sun-rays. She seated herself on her husband's chair, leaning on
his table, her cheek resting on her hand, her face shadowed by a sense
of trouble. How cold had been the frown on Alfred's face as he had sat
there! What a peevish reception he had given to her news, and what a
complete surprise to her was the source of his annoyance! That Mark
Cheveril, Charlie's best friend, who during his short visits to
Pinkthorpe Rectory had won golden opinions from all; that he, her own
good friend and comrade, should be viewed as a person of social
disabilities was a revelation to her. It seemed a breach of good
feeling, and disloyal to her home estimates, to entertain such an idea
for a moment. Nor was her husband's sudden change of front on hearing
that Charlie's friend was coming to enter the great service any more
explicable to the carefully nurtured English girl. She must think it
out!




CHAPTER II.


Veeraswamy, the butler, had, according to his master's standing order,
lowered the heavy rattan blinds of the verandah, and duly excluded the
strengthening sun-rays from the rooms under his charge. It was therefore
something of a surprise to a visitor now being announced to pass from
the surrounding gloom to a chamber flooded with sunshine.

"Oh, this is good," he exclaimed, in a frank, ringing voice. "Why, I
expected to find you a bunched-up mystery of white muslin reclining in a
dark room; and here you are basking in a glorious light, delightfully
like the Hester of Pinkthorpe, even to your pinky frock!"

"Mark, this is a happy surprise!" cried Hester with a radiant smile,
coming forward from the writing-table where she sat. "This is a joy, you
are my first visitor from home!"

"And you, my first welcome to my native land."

"It was only this morning I heard from Charlie that you were on your
way. But did you not meet my husband? He drove off meaning to meet the
_Bokhara_."

"Then Mr. Rayner and I must have missed each other. I'm sorry! We got in
earlier than was expected, and I, with one of my fellow-passengers,
drove at once to the Club, where I deposited my baggage and had
breakfast; then I came on here."

"Oh, but you must come and stay with us. Everybody stays with everybody
here, you know. And you see what great spaces we have----"

"Yes, they are most satisfactory. I've often seen them in my dreams,"
said the young man, bending forward, his face all aglow. "You cannot
imagine the excitement, the exaltation, I felt when our steamer all at
once stood still, and I looked out in the first flush of the dawn and
saw the amber sands and the long straggling arms of the eastern town. I
kept saying: 'This is India, the home of my mother, the wonderful land
where my father came to begin his life-work, to find love and an early
grave!'"

Hester's attitude as she listened to these eager words would have proved
wholly sympathetic had there not crept into her mind the recollection of
her husband's warning. Should she break the ice at once and give a
timely caution to her old friend and comrade that he must not label
himself as belonging to the community said to be so despised? No, she
could not, she decided; besides, surely Alfred's prejudices were like a
gossamer thread which would at once snap in the presence of this
strong-natured man.

"You and my husband must meet at once," she said eagerly. "Our peon can
fetch your luggage; you needn't even go back to the Club. We'll have
tiffin and a long chat."

"I only wish I could stay, but I've promised to lunch at the Club with
my _ami de voyage_; and then, by the way, I believe I'm inveigled into
an engagement for the afternoon. The Brigadier-General, whom I met at
the Club, asked me to a garden party at his house this afternoon----"

"Oh, yes, we're going to Mrs. Glanton's party. You'll meet Alfred there.
Then surely we'll be allowed to take possession of you, and we'll drive
home to dinner together."

"Thanks, that will be delightful! I find that for three days I'm still a
free man. I'm posted to Puranapore, if you know such a place. My
knowledge of it dates only from this morning. My chief-to-be very
considerately wrote suggesting that I should tarry a few days in
Madras."

"That's good. I have heard of Puranapore. Alfred has some clients
there."

"I've no doubt Mr. Rayner will be able to tell me much that I want to
know."

"Of course he will. He's been two years here, you know, and is quite an
old Indian now. You and I are 'griffins,' as they call new-comers here.
Alfred will be delighted to tell you all he can, I'm sure."

Soon they passed to that topic so near to the heart of
Anglo-Indians--the home across the sea--and to the centre of it all to
the girl, the ivy-clad Pinkthorpe Rectory set amid its green fields and
hedges where the sun smiled but never scorched as in this eastern land.

Mark Cheveril was able to give her the latest news, for he had paid a
brief farewell visit to it before he sailed.

"I'm thinking of what a delightful picture I shall be able to make of
you basking in the sunshine as I saw you when I came in. It will go into
my letter which I promised to write to your mother by the first mail,"
said Mark, as he rose to go. "Then we are to meet at this said Mrs.
Glanton's?"

"'This said Mrs. Glanton's,' forsooth!" laughed Hester, raising her
eyebrows. "I assure you she is a very formidable leader of society here.
Alfred has the greatest admiration for her, thinks her a perfect model
for new-comers like me. But I fear I shall never attain to her splendid
manners," she added, with a little sigh.

Mark Cheveril, as his eye rested on the fair young wife, involuntarily
hoped that she would not model herself on any Mrs. Glanton, however much
her husband might wish it, but would remain the bright girlish presence
that had graced her happy English home.

They were standing in the verandah now. The hired bandy which had been
waiting under a tree was called, and the visitor drove off to keep his
appointment at the Club.

The little cloud of the morning had been chased away from Hester's heart
by the spell of the revived comradeship. To be sure, no managing hostess
had intervened between these two to foster any warmer feelings than good
fellowship. But Hester's loyalty was well developed, and her husband's
sneering words of the morning still haunted her. Should she have
ventured to sound the warning note, struck no doubt from her husband's
larger experience, and would it have been wiser to do so even before he
began his life in the East? She had friendship enough to do so. Had they
not ridden together along leafy Worcestershire lanes and talked of many
things? But there was a glance in Mark Cheveril's serene hazel eye, an
innate courtesy about his whole deportment which made her divine that he
would receive any such warning with gentle disdain. In fact, she
decided, she must warn Alfred to beware of broaching the subject.

Mr. Rayner only returned from the High Court in time to join his wife on
their drive to the garden party. She told him of Mark Cheveril's
arrival, and of his already having found his way to Clive's Road; of the
prospect of their meeting him now and of his returning with them; but
she observed that her husband listened absently to the news. His
preoccupation regarding the coming entertainment caused her some
surprise. Social functions of the kind in the home county had never
created the desire to make an impression which seemed to lurk under
Alfred's excitement over his handsome new landau and the well-matched
pair of Australian horses with their couple of smart syces.

The queue of carriages was already far stretching on the leafy road
which skirted the Glanton's compound when Mr. and Mrs. Rayner's landau
took its place there; but at last it came to their turn to alight and
follow the stream of guests along the broad crimson strip to the spot
where the hostess had elected to receive them.

Hester's eye was charmed by the picture suddenly unfolded to her on the
wide flat lawn of the spreading compound, bordered by its glades of
dense shrubberies intersected by winding walks. The mellow light of the
late afternoon sun tinged all the landscape, turning to gold the
graceful over-hanging palms, revealing glimpses of the green waters of
the tank which sparkled like jets of emerald, and etherealising the
Indian garden for the first time to the eyes of all new-comers.

The long hot months were over, and, freshened by the recent rains,
Madras was again considered suitable for the highest officials. The
civil and military element was well represented. Red coats mingled
picturesquely with the smart feminine toilettes just emerged from the
latest box from home. The groups on the lawn vied with the bright
schemes of colour in the flower beds which the gardeners had been
labouring over for days with much repotting and many libations from
earthenware chatties.

Mr. and Mrs. Rayner soon perceived the ample form of their hostess.
Their names were announced by a white-robed peon. Mrs. Glanton received
the young bride graciously, and seemed gratified by her evident
appreciation of the bright scene.

"This promises to be a charming gathering," remarked Alfred Rayner,
shaking hands with his hostess.

"Yes, I thought it would prove a nice preface to the gaieties of the
season. The Brigadier wanted a succession of dinner-parties first, but
you understand, Mr. Rayner, the question of who will meet and mix
cordially is always a thorny business, and after all the fatigue of
entertaining, one often gets a hornet's nest about one's ears. So
disagreeable to have people sulking at one for fancied slights,
especially so early in the season."

Hester's face wore a slightly puzzled expression, but her husband
answered vivaciously:

"That is so, Mrs. Glanton. In fact, only this morning I was explaining
to my wife the Scylla and Charybdis of these social disabilities."

"Ah, I see you are wise, Mr. Rayner," returned the hostess, with a
responsive smile. "One cannot learn one's lessons too early, one avoids
shoals of quicksands later on. Oh, the tales I could tell! And now you
will understand how pleased I am to have gathered Madras together for
what I call my neutral party. I felt sure I was striking the right key."

"A very minor key, I should say, mother," said the daughter of the
house, strolling up and lowering her parasol, then greeting the guests.

"Ah, my dear Mrs. Rayner," said Mrs. Glanton, "I am so glad that you and
dear Clarice are friends. She has all the experience of her first season
to share with you, and you, my dear, have your home complexion;" and she
lightly tapped Hester's sleeve with her fan as she moved aside to greet
new relays of guests.

Clarice Glanton had been reckoned the chief beauty of Madras during the
last season. She had undeniably well-cut features and a graceful
carriage, but though no older than the young wife, she lacked that
indefinable air of youth which made Hester's chief charm. There was
certainly no symptom of the "close friendship" between the two, and the
girl's thin lips curled with a faint cynical smile as she heard her
mother's remark. It had been her intention to pass on, being on the
outlook for a guest who had not yet appeared, but now she felt it
incumbent upon her to exchange a few words.

"I'm afraid you'll feel dreadfully bored, Mrs. Rayner," she said in her
staccato voice. "The seats are full, the sets for Badminton, archery,
and croquet made up for the moment. But there will be some movement
soon. You are devoted to croquet, I recollect," she added, turning to
Mr. Rayner; then her attention was attracted by a tall young man
advancing along the crimson strip.

"Ah, this must be the gentleman my father met fresh from the steamer
this morning and invited to join our party, charging me to entertain him
too," remarked Clarice, her sharp eyes scanning the coming handsome
figure with its easy grace.

"Oh, Alfred, here he is,--here is Mark Cheveril," exclaimed Hester
eagerly.

"Then you know him, Mrs. Rayner? Cheveril, yes, that is his name.
Wherever has my mother disappeared to? I suppose I must act as hostess."

With a more gracious smile than she had previously bestowed on Hester,
she went forward to meet the guest. After a brief interchange of polite
words, on Miss Glanton's side marked by studied graciousness, Mark
turned to greet again his old friend with a bright smile; while, with an
air of nonchalance which surprised his wife, Alfred Rayner came forward
to introduce himself, reminding Mark that they were old school
acquaintances.

"In the dear old Hacket days, of course! How could I have forgotten that
it was then your name was familiar to me! I remember your face
perfectly. You are very little changed except that you were then in
'jackets.'"

"And you in Etons. I certainly shouldn't have recognised you, Cheveril,
though I do remember some--of your talk." "Too well," he was going to
add, but bit his lip and glanced at his wife.

"I expect I talked a good deal of nonsense," responded Mark with a
laugh, secretly wondering what of his childish prattle still lingered in
the mind of this sharp-looking man with his impassive face, who was
saying now with rather a patronising smile:

"Well, I suppose we all live and learn." Then he added, with a neat
bow: "Glad to hear you are to be our guest at Clive's Road to-night. We
shall have an opportunity of talking over things new and old."

Miss Glanton, in her rôle of brevet-hostess, did not mean to permit more
talk between two male guests, especially as she was desirous of
monopolising one of them.

"May I introduce, Major Ryde, Mrs. Rayner?" she said, as a
dapper-looking officer appeared, evidently with the intention of joining
Miss Glanton. Divining Hester's disappointment on being separated from
her friend, she added with a smile:

"Believe me, Mrs. Rayner, Major Ryde is as useful to the new-comer as a
well-stocked 'Lady's Companion' to a housewife. He knows everybody and
everything about everybody. I used to call him the young woman's best
companion last season, did I not, Major Ryde?"

"I believe, Miss Glanton, you did me that honour last season, but I
should put emphasis on the 'last,'" replied the major with a reproachful
air. Then turning to his new charge, he piloted her towards the
refreshment tent, which seemed to be the centre of popularity at the
moment, to judge from the echoes of gay laughter and talk mingling with
the jangle of tea cups and wine glasses which met them as they drew
near.

"Now, Mrs. Rayner, seeing the creature comforts have been served, I must
try to live up to Miss Glanton's character of me if you will put me to
the test," said Major Ryde politely, as they left the tent. "I see there
is no chance of entering the croquet lists at this moment." He glanced
towards the lawn where more than one game was now in progress, elderly
couples poising their mallets with an air of enjoyment, the crack of the
boxwood balls sounding in the clear air as they were skilfully driven to
their goal.

Hester had been an adept at the game on the home-lawns, but she did not
feel inclined to enter the lists at the moment.

"Suppose we have a stroll among the shrubberies," suggested her
companion.

It was among those very winding green paths that Hester had been hoping
to be permitted to wander in company with her husband and her old
friend, and to have the pleasure of seeing them welding together. But
that would come later. She turned with gracious courtesy to respond to
the amiable effort on the part of her escort and assure him that she had
been longing to explore those green labyrinths.

"What a pretty effect all these gay uniforms give to a garden-party. I
have seen nothing like this at home, and I don't think there were any
uniforms at the only party I've been to since I came to Madras."

"Mrs. Teapes? You are right, Mrs. Rayner. I commend your discernment.
That was a judge's house. In fact it is only at Government House, or on
occasions when His Excellency or the Commander-in-Chief honours the
gathering, that it is _de rigueur_ to don our war-paint. Glad you think
it so attractive! The younger men are getting lazy and prefer mufti when
they can get off with it. I confess I think a well-made man never looks
better than in full dress. Ah, here comes our Commander-in-Chief!
Perhaps you'd like to wait and have a look at him before we begin our
walk."

Hester saw an elderly man of gracious presence advance along the crimson
strip to greet the hostess, his refined face lit up by a smile of
singular sweetness. He was followed by his suite.

"Very glad the Chief has put in an appearance," continued the major,
"Mrs. Glanton will be gratified. Very good of him to come, he is a weary
man often--has seen much service. There is the Brigadier coming to greet
him."

"What a fine pair of soldiers they look!" said Hester.

"They are all that," assented Major Ryde warmly. "Glad we've got a man
for a Brigadier at last, instead of the little spinning-top we had, who
couldn't get on his horse without his syce's back for a foot-stool, and
even when mounted, was so scared by his frisky mare's paces when the
band began to play that he had her ears stopped with cotton wool!"

Hester laughed, but inwardly commented that there was more than one
officer of the spinning-top order as she glanced at her rotund
companion. They had now reached the shady walks which she had longed to
penetrate, and not being given to repartee of the sort which fitted her
companion's topics, the conversation threatened to languish.

"Your friend Clarice is a smart girl, Mrs. Rayner," he remarked, as he
caught sight of a pair of strollers on a path alongside, separated by
thick shrubs. "But, to my mind, she rather overdoes it at times. See how
she's captured that 'griffin'? I can see her leading him about there,"
said the major, as he glanced maliciously through the tangled creepers.

"But don't you think people must learn to talk pleasantly about
everything--and nothing--when they have a great deal of entertaining to
do like Miss Glanton? They seem so hospitable and invite everybody."

"That's just what they do--invite 'everybody'! It's Mrs. Glanton's
patent method of making herself popular. She loves the voice of the
majority. Very pretty in you, however, to set it down to kindness and
that sort of thing--wish we had more of the bloom of charity among us,
but I fear it wears off like the lovely English bloom"; and the major
cast an admiring glance on the fair face of his companion.

As the talk rolled on, Hester began to think that Major Ryde's remarks
were more outspoken and personal than she had been used to think quite
in good taste, though she could not help feeling half amused by the
smart running commentary with which he enlarged on his fellow guests, as
soon as they were out of hearing.

It was therefore with true pleasure that she perceived at a little
distance a lady to whom she had drawn more than to any other since her
coming to Madras.

"Oh, yes, that's Mrs. Fellowes, from the sepoy cantonment at
Royapooram," assented Major Ryde, showing in his tone the contempt he
affected for the Native Infantry.

Hester's smile had already beckoned the older lady. The major,
perceiving that his _tête-à-tête_ was now interrupted, descried another
companion and politely withdrew.




CHAPTER III.


The tank is an integral part of the Indian garden, but the sheet of
water in Mrs. Glanton's compound was larger and more picturesque than
any Hester had seen. It looked alluring now, framed by graceful
over-hanging branches and flooded by the gorgeous tints of the setting
sun which transfigured its stagnant green waters, making them sparkle
like a bed of gems.

"Oh, what lovely red water lilies!" exclaimed Hester, as she gazed with
delight on the great knotted tendrils and broad green leaves where the
bright floating flowers nestled. "I've only seen white lilies, and none
grow on our tank. It's only a dreary little pond. Do you think, Mrs.
Fellowes, I might possess myself of some of these beauties? They would
add just the lacking colour to our white-walled dining-room."

"Well, my dear, I shouldn't think that an unattainable desire, though
the stems are strong and fibrous. Come, let's think!----This excessively
long parasol of mine may prove useful for once as a hook!"

But Hester, with playful agility, was already descending the flight of
slippery steps which led to the darkening water, bent on capturing the
prize. Stooping down she made a grasp at one of the nearest lilies, but
the tangled stems were not so easily severed as she imagined.

"Take care, my dear," interjected Mrs. Fellowes with anxious eyes.

Suddenly Hester lost her footing on the slippery stone and found herself
ankle deep in water, fortunately not overhead, for she had only slipped
one step, the next flat green stone extending a good way out into the
water. Her position, however, looked sufficiently alarming to her
companion, who uttered a little cry and hastened to extend both her
hands to help her.

The signal of distress happened to be heard by two strollers in the walk
alongside, divided only from the tank-path by a thin jungly brake,
through which the gleam of the water was visible. There was an instant
crashing among the bushes, and in a moment Mark Cheveril appeared
through the creepers just as Hester emerged from the water with a
smiling face, though with dripping skirts, holding her trophy in her
hand.

"Too late, Mr. Cheveril, in spite of your sudden display of
knight-errantry!" Miss Glanton's metallic voice rang out from the cross
walk where she appeared, looking by no means amiably on Hester and her
companion. "You are a rash young person, Mrs. Rayner," she said, in a
bantering tone. "The idea of venturing down those filthy, slithery
steps! Why, some deadly snake might have been coiled on one of them! And
your pretty frock entirely ruined! Mrs. Fellowes, what have you been
about to let a new-comer run such risks?" she said pertly, glancing at
the older lady; whereupon Hester forgot her wet shoes and stockings and
ruined frock and hastened to defend her friend.

"Oh, indeed, it wasn't Mrs. Fellowes' fault, I even rejected the parasol
she held out--but I've secured my trophy! This, Mrs. Fellowes, is Mr.
Cheveril I was telling you about," she said, introducing her friend.

The older lady held out her hand cordially; and when Mark looked into
the refined, kindly face he felt sure that the daughter of the
Pinkthorpe Rectory would have at least one wholly congenial friend.

Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her
guests, and said pointedly:

"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We
were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs.
Rayner."

"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you
call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me.
Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you _are_
wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"

"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here
comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."

Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her
plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened
silently to the account of her misfortune.

"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp
attack of fever."

"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes.
"But it will be wise to go--or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs.
Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying
clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.

"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied
Clarice, shaking her head.

"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester
quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would
carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was
therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off
alone.

"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and
look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring
round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think,
Cheveril? I shall drive you home."

"Thanks," responded Mark, "but shall we not accompany Mrs. Rayner? Will
that not be simplest?"--"and pleasantest," he was about to add, when he
recollected his semi-hostess was by his side.

"Oh, but you cannot escape so, Mr. Cheveril," she expostulated. "Why,
you haven't even paid your respects to my mother yet!"

"You are right. You cannot omit that pleasure, Cheveril," said Mr.
Rayner, in a ceremonious tone. "Besides, I was in search of you. The
Brigadier wants to see you; it seems you have eluded him too."

Again the arrangement of the guests did not please Miss Glanton, though
she felt willing to speed the parting guest. The two gentlemen
disappeared and she had to be contented to bring up the rear with the
ladies.

The drive between the English habitations in Madras is often long in
that city of "magnificent distances." The sudden tropical dusk had
fallen on the landscape. Her Indian home looked dreary to Hester when
she reached it. She felt, moreover, depressed by the events of the
afternoon, and flung herself into a wicker chair in the verandah. Mrs.
Glanton's exposition of her "neutral party" had jarred upon her. Major
Ryde's talk was far from inspiring, and this stupid escapade, which had
obliged her to be despatched home like a punished child, and over which
Alfred had looked undeniably annoyed, was vexing. And as for Mark
Cheveril, he might as well have still been on the _Bokhara_ for all she
had seen of him!

A suspicion of homesickness greater than she had yet felt was stealing
over her. The only bright spot seemed Mrs. Fellowes' warm friendship;
and she was now to have a fresh proof of it.

The maty boy came dragging a big cage-like coop of bamboo into the
verandah. "Dosani Fellowes done send her _jhapra_ for to hook up
Missus," was Ramaswamy's rendering of her message.

"What?" asked Hester, laughing. The ayah came to the rescue, having
already made acquaintance with the useful article then coming into
vogue in the fireless bedrooms of Madras.

"Dat boy one humbug! I know all 'bout bamboo. Big chattee charcoal done
put under, it make werry warm Missus clothes."

"That reminds me, ayah, I've got wet shoes and stockings, and skirts
too," said Hester rising, having in her depressed mood forgotten her
plight and its possible consequences.

"Oh, m'am, that's awfulee shockin'," cried the ayah, as she followed her
mistress up-stairs and nimbly divested her of her wet garments; and, all
excitement, gave directions for the placing of the _jhapra_ above the
charcoal fire.

Hester then dressed for dinner and hastened to send a note of thanks to
Mrs. Fellowes for this new proof of her thoughtful kindliness; its
promptitude revealing that her friend must have left Mrs. Glanton's
party at the same time as herself in order to hasten the dispatch of the
_jhapra_.

"We shall make our salaams if you're inclined to go, Cheveril," Mr.
Rayner was saying now, having discovered that his smart mail-phaeton was
in readiness to carry him home. Mark responded with alacrity, having
been secretly wondering why their departure had not been simultaneous
with Hester's.

Had he been nearer a banyan tree under which an extra buffet had been
placed for refreshments stronger than tea and iced coffee, he would have
heard, at all events, the reason assigned by a group of men evidently
more perceptive than friendly.

"Heartless prig that Rayner," said one. "Miss Glanton has just been
telling me he let his wife drive home alone in her wet clothes. She had
slipped on the steps of the tank trying to catch a water lily and got a
ducking."

"And do you know the reason he waited? Just that he might swagger home
in that new mail-phaeton of his! I've been taking the measure of that
fellow for some time. He's got all the ambition of a thorough upstart.
Where he gets all his rupees from every month passes me to guess. They
aren't earned in the High Court, I'll be bound, for he's only a
struggling barrister like myself!"

"And his wife a rector's daughter--told me so herself this afternoon
when Miss Glanton bestowed her on me that she might sound the
possibilities of that new-comer," chimed in Major Ryde.

"You were in luck, Ryde, having Mrs. Rayner for company. She looks
charming, much too good for that sinister-looking fellow. I wonder too
how he manages to cut such a dash, all the more since his wife is not an
heiress."

"What a set of uncharitable sinners you are!" exclaimed a big youth with
a benevolent face which had not lost the ruddy hue of a temperate
climate. "I'll just tell you the facts. Rayner happened to volunteer
them over a peg we had together at the Club the other day. First, he
comes of an extremely old family, Rayner being the corrupted form of
Regnier--some chap that came over with the Conqueror----"

"Very corrupted form, I should say," broke in Major Ryde. "Well, what
more, Stapleton?"

"Oh, well, not much more, only the important fact that he has a large
allowance from his people."

"So that's his tale! Unembroidered, on your honour, Stapleton? Well,
anyhow, we'll keep our eye on this meteor--such are not unknown on our
Indian firmament," muttered a man prematurely old-looking, whose
appearance suggested a youth spent in struggling with examinations. "I
hear the new-comer, Cheveril, is going to be Worsley's sub. at
Puranapore. Don't envy him his job!"

"No, the Collector seems a thoroughly embittered man," said another
speaker. "He should have risen high in the Service, but is credited with
being slack. He is a favourite in the district though, and a great
shikari, but there have been some quarrels in the town between the
Hindus and the Mahomedans, and he is said to favour the latter unduly.
He hates competition-wallahs, being of the ancient muster himself. Got
on badly with his last Assistant, I believe! But I heard lately that
Printer was really a _mauvais sujet_. Cheveril looks an honest,
energetic fellow. I was getting into conversation with him when Rayner
tacked on and led him away. Now I see they're going off together," he
ended, glancing at the two retreating figures.

"Well, the possibilities of Mrs. Glanton's party seem pretty nearly
exhausted. I think I shall make my salaams too. More than likely I shall
see Cheveril at the Club and find out what connection he has with
Rayner, and perhaps give him a bit of a warning too."

Gradually the group under the banyan tree began to break up. Meanwhile,
Mark Cheveril had taken his seat beside his host, feeling the bond of
interest deepened by the knowledge that there were older links between
them than he had guessed when, as he wandered in Rhine-land, he had
received a letter from his friend Charlie Bellairs, telling him that his
sister was engaged to a young barrister from Madras, and was to be
married in a few days.

Perhaps Mark would have acknowledged that a keen pulsation of regret
swept over him, for had not Hester Bellairs been the one woman of whom
he had ever thought as a possible life-companion? He had solaced himself
as best he could by choosing for her, as a wedding-gift, a beautiful
little antique cross which specially delighted Hester. Her little note
of thanks had crossed the sea with him, and lay in his pocket-book, a
treasured relic.... And now he was seated by her husband's side.

Mr. Rayner was too much engaged in steering his mail-phaeton and the
spirited Australians through the motley crowd of carriages for any
possibility of sustained conversation to be afforded. He was an expert
whip and liked to display his prowess. The comparative silence was,
however, welcomed by Mark. It was his first twilight hour in the
wonderful eastern land, never more beautiful than in the swiftly-fading
glow of the orange sunset. The evening breeze from the sea was softly
stirring the feathery palms which stood sentinel-wise bordering the
road. The aspen-like leaves of the peepul tree made a faint rustling
murmur, while the glistening foliage was lit up by innumerable points of
light, showers of sparks seemed to dart from every bush, rising even
from the grass and glittering against the darkening sky.

"What a wonderful illumination! It looks as if the Milky Way had come
down from the firmament," said Mark.

"Fireflies, merely, and like most other things in life, illusory,"
replied Mr. Rayner, with a dry laugh. "When you see them by daylight,
they are actually only ill-shaped black flies, though they transform
themselves into angels of light of an evening. Fireflies aren't our only
illusion in this wilderness, Cheveril. I warn you there are many," he
added, in a tone of caution, reminding himself he could not begin too
early to try to batten down that strain of enthusiasm suggested by his
wife's description of the young man.

But just at that moment his horses were requiring his full attention.
They had reached a sharp angle of the road, and had almost run down a
wayfarer who seemed in such imminent danger that Mark instinctively
raised his hand, calling: "Rayner, have a care!"

The holder of the reins uttered an angry denunciation.

"If that old man hadn't bestirred himself marvellously he would have
been under your horses' hoofs," said Mark, "and yet he cleared himself
with an air of dignity. I hope he isn't any the worse. I say, shouldn't
we pull up for an instant and speak to the old fellow? He seems to be
waiting. Look, he's standing gazing reproachfully at the chariot that so
nearly wrought him destruction!"

Mark's eyes were directed to where the light from one of the oil lamps,
planted at intervals along the road, fell on the face of the
foot-passenger, a face which instantly attracted him because of a
certain wistful, expectant look it wore.

"I think he expects a word of apology, Rayner," he said again.

"Well, he shan't have it, that's all," said his companion shortly. "He
needn't have been out on foot at this hour. He's got a carriage to drive
in! He deserves to be run down. Bah, he's only a half-caste, after all!"

"A half-caste, did you say?" exclaimed Mark. "He interests me all the
more because of that! Perhaps you don't know, Rayner, that I too am of
mixed blood. It has always given me a strong feeling of brotherhood with
such----"

"Take my advice, Cheveril, and pocket that fact," said Alfred Rayner,
after a moment's silence. "Mind, I speak as a friend," he added,
slacking his horses' pace and poising his whip. "My wife whispered to me
something of this quixotic fad of yours. She, of course, is too new to
India to understand, like me, the folly of it. It comes back to me that
even when you were a little kid at Hacket's you used to indulge in some
talk that was unwise. But now that you've got into that fine
Service--and lucky you are--you must keep a quiet tongue in your head
about that fact. Believe me, not even the Civil Service will carry you
through if you persist in knocking your head against that post. And
there's no need, Cheveril," continued his companion, glancing at him. "I
was just thinking when I saw you crossing that crimson strip with Judge
Teape near you, that he looked much more _chi-chi_ than you did, though
he's a pucka Englishman. Not a soul will ever guess it, and depend upon
it Hester and I will never breathe your secret. Now there's a compact!"
And Rayner bowed graciously.

There was something so offensive in his tone and suggestion that Mark
was for a moment struck dumb.

Mistaking his silence, Rayner added, in a patronising tone: "You're
taking offence at what I've been saying, old chap. I assure you it's for
your good!"

"Offence? No, rather I should like to try to bring you to a better
mind," said Mark stoutly. "These prejudices of yours are not new to me.
I haven't attained to my years without having them dinned into me at
home----"

"Well, perhaps your cure will be best brought about by coming out here,
after all! You'll get disillusioned fast enough. Mark my words, I shall
enjoy watching the process! A vile, low set are these Eurasians--as they
like to be called. Now look here, Cheveril, I'll make a compact with
you. Watch these crawling creatures for six months in silence, without
disclosing your connection with them, and at the end of that time I'll
give you leave to proclaim yourself an East Indian!"

"Thanks, Rayner, you mean kindly, I've no doubt, but I cannot enter into
such a compact with you or any man. Not that I'm vain enough to take it
for granted that all the world is so interested in me or my forebears as
to think it necessary to descant on them at every market cross, but
truth and honour must be our shield and buckler," observed Mark in an
earnest tone.

It was too dark for him to see the sardonic smile that crossed his
companion's face, as he muttered to himself: "High-flown young fool! But
I must at once annex Hester, so that I may preserve him as a useful
friend in that Puranapore business. I must write to Zynool and tell him
to win over the young cub, by hook or by crook, before he cuts his
teeth!"

The handsome Australians were now dashing along the avenue, and halted
before the broad white flight of steps of the house in Clive's Road,
which in the dusk looked a genuine marble palace. Its portico of chunam
pillars was gleaming like the purest white Carrara. Lamps twinkled
everywhere, for its owner liked a display of light. Through the many
open windows of the large dining-room one could see the dinner table,
with its tall silver lamps, artistic arrangement of flowers, and elegant
furnishings, round which white-robed servants flitted.

Among the gleaming pillars of the verandah stood the lady of the house
clad in shimmering white, with the red water-lilies at her breast and a
joyful smile on her red lips.

"Here we are," said Rayner, throwing the reins to the syce. "If Mark
Cheveril, I.C.S., will honour my humble abode with his presence," he
added with a histrionic air.

"A humble abode, Rayner? Say rather a palace!" said Mark, springing from
the mail-phaeton.

"Well, a palace if you like," returned his host with the pride of
possession in his eyes. "And there stands my princess!"




CHAPTER IV.


"I think you are most inconsiderate, Hester, to take Cheveril to that
squalid suburb when he might be playing tennis with the fair Clarice at
the Adyar," Mr. Rayner was saying, as his wife and their guest stood in
the verandah preparing for an early morning drive.

"Except for three reasons you might call me 'inconsiderate,' Alfred,"
replied Hester, smiling. "First, Mark promised he would go and see Mrs.
Fellowes this morning; second, he does not like tennis; and third,
Royapooram isn't a squalid suburb, but one of the most picturesque
military cantonments."

"Yes, it certainly looked very picturesque when it was pointed out to me
from the deck of the _Bokhara_, with those wonderful palms dipping down
it seemed into the sea. I want to make its nearer acquaintance, and I
must add Mrs. Fellowes' also," said Mark, as the landau appeared, and
Hester, in pretty morning apparel, took her seat in it, followed by her
guest.

Her husband watched them as they drove away, then slowly returned to his
darkened writing room.

"Wish they hadn't been bound for Mrs. Fellowes'," he muttered. "She
affects Eurasians, I know, and Cheveril may meet some of those
detestable creatures I particularly wish him to avoid. Pity I didn't
give Hester a hint in time!"

Meanwhile, the landau was carrying the pair along the leafy roads
towards the sea, and soon it was threading its way by the crowded First
Line Beach full of bustling commercial activity. Great droves of
muscular coolies were pushing loads which good British dray horses would
not lightly have tackled; but the strong shiny brown limbs, made supple
by frequent oilings, seemed to have no difficulty in dragging their
burdens, which they did with unconscious grace, and even with
cheerfulness, judging from the resonant chorus of shouts. One side of
the sea front was given up to shipping in all its varieties, while the
other was lined by many-hued buildings, some so evidently of the
Georgian period that one did not need to glance at the date above their
Greek-pillared porticos. They were intersected by higher parti-coloured
buildings of chunam, and except for one or two hotels, all given up to
business purposes of varying degrees of importance. Against the
substantial blocks were huddled some ramshackle erections which had
evidently seen better days, but which were now fast sinking into godowns
for storage, their peeling façades lending picturesqueness to the street
scene on which Mark was looking with keen interest.

Now the carriage was nearing the lines of the Native Infantry. Not far
from them stood various detached bungalows, surrounded by compounds,
where the officers sojourned, with a sprinkling of other residents who
liked this suburb so near the sea. Clusters of low, thatched, mud
villages, with enclosures of bamboo, where semi-nude children crawled
about like sandhoppers, nestled under the groups of tall feathery palms
which, Mark had noticed, seemed to dip into the sparkling waters of the
ocean.

Colonel Fellowes, commanding officer of the sepoy regiment, occupied one
of the pleasantest houses in Royapooram. It was a much less pretentious
abode than the Rayner's house in Clive's Road, for the suburb was old
and unfashionable, but its compound wore a snug social air which made it
look more like a home garden, Mark thought, as he followed Hester to the
house.

Mrs. Fellowes was specially delighted to see her young friend as a
proof that she had not suffered from her slip on the treacherous steps
of the tank. She welcomed Mark with cordiality, introducing him to her
husband, a tall spare man of bony frame with a simple earnest face,
bronzed by the suns of many hot weathers on Indian plains where he had
trained his sepoys and loved them like children.

"Yes, the Colonel and I like to think of our bungalow as a cottage with
roses looking in at the window," Mrs. Fellowes was saying, as Mark, with
the keen eye of the new-comer, commented on the home-like attributes of
the bungalow with its trellised verandah, where creepers twined their
graceful tendrils, and roses and wisteria climbed up its amber-coloured
walls and pillars. "But I hope we shan't make the mistake of some
Anglo-Indians and try to reproduce it at home."

"I believe you are right, Mrs. Fellowes," returned Mark. "My father's
people happen to live in Shropshire, not far from Styche Hall, Clive's
birthplace, and I always regretted he should have replaced the old
black-timbered house by a mansion with verandahs."

"Yes," said Colonel Fellowes, who had joined them, "I once made a
pilgrimage to see that house--Clive being one of my heroes. We should
have worshipped that simple black-timbered house if it had still been
extant. All the same, the present one isn't the gorgeous palace Macaulay
would have us believe. Poor Clive, he was much maligned, as many of the
makers of India have been! What would the Carnatic, for instance, be
now, but for Clive? A tiger jungle--only the tigers two-footed instead
of four, and tearing each other to bits!"

"The result has been good, certainly," replied Mark, "but are you sure
it was not the hungry mouth of the rapacious West, craving for pepper
and cardamoms, and hankering after the fabled gold and gems of
Hindustan, that brought the white men? Remember he came as a suppliant
trader to these shores and first begged for crumbs!"

"Granted!" returned Colonel Fellowes. "Just as the Israelites came to
the land of Canaan--sent by the same Hand. Depend upon it the hosts of
our forefathers were the hosts of God, as Kingsley says. But talking of
reproducing chunam palaces at home, I was amused to hear Rayner saying
the other day at the Club that he had got a plan of his house in Clive's
Road, and meant to reproduce it in Belgravia! 'First catch the standing
room,' said I. He's an ambitious young fellow that, and a pushing one! I
wish his ambition would take the form of giving his wife a good mount. I
told him of a perfect one to be had at Waller's stables, but he wouldn't
hear of it."

"But Mrs. Rayner used to be a keen horsewoman," said Mark, recalling
vividly some pleasant rides in Worcestershire lanes.

"Well, strange as it may seem, he has an unaccountable prejudice against
riding, though he is a good whip and has several pairs of fine Arabs
besides the two Walers. I begged him, if he wouldn't come himself, to
let Mrs. Rayner ride of a morning with my wife. She was most keen, but
he wouldn't hear of it. Selfish, I call it! She is so charming, quite
the nicest of our brides this season," added the colonel, his eyes
following Hester's slender figure as she strolled along the lawn walk
with his wife.

Mark fully endorsed his remark though he did so silently, inwardly
commenting on the personal note which all conversation seemed to take in
his new social surroundings. He had observed it on the previous evening
when more than one of those to whom he had been introduced made comments
more frank than friendly concerning his future chief and others which,
in home circles, would have been considered somewhat out of taste.
Perhaps it was a trait of this Anglo-Indian society, bred of the
narrowness of its range of topics. It was perforce illuminating to a
new-comer, though he felt that the suggestion of selfishness in Hester's
husband was painful when he recalled the parting words of her mother on
the Pinkthorpe Rectory. "We would fain that Hester had chosen one of
whom we knew more than Alfred Rayner. As her father says, he is still an
unknown quantity. In fact, the dear child's choice was too hurried. You
will do much to reassure us, Mark, if you can tell us that the man of
her choice is strong to lean on, tender and true!"

Even already from his few hours' acquaintance, Mark felt by no means
sure that he could banish Mrs. Bellairs' anxiety by the assurance for
which she longed. There seemed to him a curious hardness about Rayner,
combined with a lack of manliness, making visible shallow ambitions. He
wore them "on his sleeve" in fact, and Colonel Fellowes had not far to
probe in putting his finger on such weaknesses. But Mark hoped that
Hester had not discovered any such flaws, and he desired, brother-like,
to shield her from the knowledge of them. Rayner could hardly live
beside one so true and sweet as she was without being influenced for
good. Whenever he could get release from his duties at Puranapore he
would surely be able to trace her ennobling influence on her husband,
and till then he must forbear to sound any note of trouble to the
anxious mother far away.

"Ah, here comes someone we don't see every day," exclaimed Mrs.
Fellowes, going forward to greet a visitor who came slowly along the
shady walk. He was a man about Colonel Fellowes' age, tall but not so
erect and with less broad shoulders. His face was not so bronzed as the
soldier's, but his skin had a more withered look, and there was a
pathetic light about his deep, penetrating grey eyes. The curves of his
thin lips betokened a settled sadness, though his face lit up with a
rarely pleasant smile as he returned Mrs. Fellowes' greeting.

"Welcome, Mr. Morpeth, you are a sight for 'sair een,' as my old Scots
aunt used to put it."

Mark was more than astonished at the cordiality of Mrs. Fellowes'
greeting when he recognised in the visitor the man whom the restive
Australians of the mail-phaeton had almost trampled under foot, and whom
Alfred Rayner had characterised as a "greasy half-caste." On the first
opportunity he asked his hostess the name of the guest.

"David Morpeth," she replied, "a man whom we are proud to know, though
he is an East Indian," she added, lowering her voice. "You know--or
perhaps you don't know yet--what an inveterate prejudice there is
against these people. I always say that David Morpeth would redeem a
nation; he lives and toils for his despised people, pours out his money
and his life for them, often, I fear, with very poor return. He has even
enlisted me, and we have started one or two things together. I must add,
that though Mr. Morpeth is of that despised mixed blood, he is really
personally much respected here; but he declines social advances from any
quarter, so my husband and I feel honoured when he puts in one of his
rare appearances. Besides, I value the little change for the dear man
from the toils of those wretched people."

"I should like to be introduced to Mr. Morpeth, if you don't mind," said
Mark eagerly.

"By all means! How nice of you, Mr. Cheveril!"

Mrs. Fellowes, with a pleased air, led the way to the shade of a
tamarind tree where the helper of his people stood talking pleasantly to
a little fair-haired English boy, the son of Mrs. Fellowes' next door
neighbour.

David Morpeth's face wore a bright smile now, very different from his
sad stern mien of the previous evening. Mark felt ashamed when he
recalled the incident, but could not venture to apologise, though,
somehow, he knew that the older man recognised him as one of the
occupants of the mail-phaeton. An evident air of surprise seemed to
mingle with his recognition, though all awkwardness was at once
eliminated by Mark Cheveril's greeting.

"Mrs. Fellowes has just been telling me of your efforts for our poor
brothers, and I want to give you the hand of fellowship," he said with a
frank smile.

"I welcome it heartily, sir," returned David Morpeth with a half
startled air, though his whole face beamed. Then a puzzled look flitted
across it as he said slowly, fixing his deep eyes on the young man: "I
believe I speak to the new Assistant-Collector of Puranapore just
arrived from England? I must not take advantage of your inexperience,
Mr. Cheveril. I am an East Indian--a half-caste, and I naturally try to
help my own people!"

"And I also am an East Indian. My father's wife was a Hindu girl. I've
always been proud of the link with this great country--my mother's
land!"

David Morpeth's eyes spoke unutterable things as he gazed on the
handsome open face of the young man. He seemed spell-bound by his
declaration and kept silence for a moment. He walked a few paces away
with his hands folded behind him, and Mark heard him uttering low
tremulous words. Retracing his steps he came and stood in front of the
young civilian, laid his hand on his shoulder, and spoke in a slow
measured tone like one unaccustomed to lighter talk; his address, like
his searching eyes, had something that reminded one of the descriptions
of the ancient seer.

"Yours is a noble confession, young man! May you be able to live up to
it! But believe me, there will be many a sorrow, many a tear. I would
fain have further talk with you. I cannot tell you how I rejoice that my
steps led me here this morning to feel the grasp of your young hand, but
I must go now, this is not the place for further parleying," he added,
glancing beyond the tamarind tree with a sudden startled air.

Instinctively Mark glanced round, wondering what could be the cause of
his agitation. There seemed none. Only Hester was crossing the lawn,
probably to suggest that it was time to bring their visit to a close.
Surely the gracious presence of the young English lady could not call up
the sudden air of discomfort on the old man's face. Then he recalled
Alfred Rayner's insolent demeanour on the previous night, and his
refusal even to apologise to the man whom he called a "greasy
half-caste." Yes, that must be what made the sensitive man shrink into
his shell. He did not wish to encounter the wife of his insulter, Mark
decided, as he held out his hand, saying:

"We must meet again before I leave for Puranapore. I shall come and get
some of your wisdom while I can."

With a glad smile Mr. Morpeth raised his sun-topee and hurried down the
shady walk which made a short cut to the entrance gate.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that elusive Mr. Morpeth has eluded me again," said
Hester. "I watched Mrs. Fellowes introduce you to him and said to
myself, 'Now's my chance,' and when I perceived you and him in deep
conversation I didn't like to intrude, and now he's gone. I saw him here
once before and thought he had such a sad interesting face, I longed to
know him."

"Yes, he is interesting," returned Mark, "specially so to me. He is an
East Indian by birth. I only wish for this and other reasons I was not
to be banished from Madras. I'm sure this David Morpeth and I would
become fast friends, especially since there is the bond of race between
us."

Hester looked grave, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak.
Here surely was the opportunity for giving Mark some warning on this
point concerning which her husband had dwelt with such harsh words. The
ice had not been broken on the topic as yet, and she felt she must go
softly, all the more since Alfred was now seeming to belie his words and
proving an entirely gracious and helpful host; for she had not heard of
the episode of the homeward evening drive. It must surely have been only
a fit of passing petulance which had made Alfred speak so. It would be
worse than foolish in her to refer to the matter now, she decided, as,
after taking leave of Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes, they drove home to
baths and late breakfast.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Here is a list I've been framing for you of important people you've got
to call on, Cheveril," said Mr. Rayner with a paterfamilias manner, as
he walked into the breakfast-room, evidently bent on initiating his
guest in all the intricacies of social procedure in Madras. "The
new-comer has to call first here, so you must positively leave cards at
all those houses, Government House included, since you are bent on
leaving us to-morrow."

"What a formidable array of names!" exclaimed Mark, raising his eyebrows
as he scanned the sheet. "Why, one would think you were going to put me
up for a constituency, Rayner, if there was such a thing in this part of
the world?"

"You may thank your stars, there is not, for then you might have to
canvass all the half-caste warrens, kiss babies as black as your boot,
_et cetera_. Thank goodness, Englishmen will never sink to that! No, the
constituency I desire you should cultivate is one of pure Englishmen.
I've only given you the names of socially desirable people. You must
plough through those calls, Cheveril, they are a sacred rite for the
new-comer. Great mistake not to leave your card on all big entertainers,
for instance! Puranapore is not so far off that you cannot respond to
every desirable invitation. The fair Miss Clarice will be sure to claim
you for her coming ball. In fact, I saw an invitation in her eyes,
mouth, and every feature of her face!" he added, with a laugh which
jarred upon Mark, who, though he was not what is called "a lady's man,"
and perhaps because he was not, possessed that innate chivalry for woman
which seemed to rise to the surface when the slightest note of
disrespect for them was sounded.

But truly, as Mark acknowledged to himself, Rayner was proving a most
painstaking host. He was actually pressing the use of one of his
carriages on his acceptance, and Hester assured him that the landau was
at his service, as she had duly responded to all social obligations,
having been, she laughingly assured him, kept up to the mark by her
husband.

Mark would not hear of appropriating an article which, in this hot
climate, he understood to be as essential as one's boots, and had, in
fact, already ordered a hired carriage for this enforced round of
visits.

His host at length departed for the High Court with semi-paternal
injunctions that his guest must not skip a single name in his valuable
list.

Presently the hired bandy, which had been waiting under a tree for some
time, was summoned, and Mark's butler, whom, on his host's
recommendation he had engaged that morning, stood salaaming below the
verandah steps preparatory to opening the carriage door.

"Where master wishing to drive?" asked Narainswamy in his best English.

"Morpeth house, Vepery," was the reply.




CHAPTER V.


In a quarter of Madras where dwelling houses were not separated by so
many acres of garden ground as in the more fashionable suburbs, there
stood, at the corner of a shady road, a white wooden gate. It was a
feature rare in the Belgravia of the town where peeling chunam posts
with rusty iron sockets were often the only traces of the departed gate;
one of the changing tenants having probably demanded that it should be
dispensed with, another that it should be replaced, to be assured by the
obsequious landlord that the order would be executed at once, though the
gate in question was most likely broken up for firewood or eaten by
white ants, the polite Mussulman not having the remotest intention of
replacing it, however much he might assure successions of tenants that
the gate was on its way to be fitted to the old posts.

But what mattered such traces of dilapidation to those often changing
inmates? Were not pleasant homes, trim gateways, verdant lawns, awaiting
them across the sea when the requisite number of rupees had been
amassed, the years of service expired, and the exile only a memory?

Within the precincts of this white gate, however, no change of owners
had interrupted its careful tendance for many a year. No period of
rankness had intervened in the trim compound. Under the tall grey
pillar-like stems of the cocoanut-tope behind the bungalow, the grass,
by means of much watering, was almost as green as an English lawn.
Shapely tamarinds, dark mango, and neem trees brooded over the garden
where a wealth of old-fashioned flowers grew and prospered, sheltered by
various ingenious contrivances from the scorching rays of the sun and
the devastation of the monsoon. Green colonnades of broad-leaved
plantains, with their curious spikes of fruit, made a dividing line
between the flower-beds and the well-kept vegetable garden at the end of
which, beside the tank, a _picotta_ was mounted, where an agile coolie
swung on the primitive pump, propelling the water from below and sending
it along a labyrinth of little intersecting mud-channels percolating the
thirsty earth.

The visitor, who was now opening the white gate, had sprung from his
bandy at the entrance to the avenue, evidently electing to walk towards
the house, a proceeding as novel as it was distasteful to the syce, who
sat sulky and inanimate on his perch for some moments before he decided
to seek the shelter of a shady nook on the road. In fact, he had been
led to expect from Dorai Cheveril's butler--the result of crumbs of news
picked up from the breakfast table--that he was to have a succession of
lively doings; a call at Government House to begin with, then a round of
gay compounds where there would be many of his own species to fraternize
with. But this 'Morpeth house,' he knew, did not offer such
possibilities.

No feature of the carefully-tended garden escaped Mark Cheveril's keen
eye as he made his way to the peaceful bungalow. Its verandah looked
invitingly cool even in the noontide glare, overhung as it was by
graceful creepers. The visitor thought he might see his new friend
seated in its green recesses, but all seemed empty and silent. He was
too recent an arrival to know that bells and knockers are conspicuous by
their absence from an Indian abode. All beyond the verandah was open,
revealing vistas of cool darkness within, but he decided that to enter
unannounced would hardly be permissible even in this land of open
hospitality. Recalling that Mrs. Fellowes had told him Mr. Morpeth was a
lonely bachelor, he came to the conclusion that both he and the servants
must be absent, and was turning to go when he heard a sign of life. A
rich baritone voice broke the silence. Mark could detect in its timbre
the speaking voice of the old East Indian, who, since his arrival in
Madras, had twice cast his spell upon him. The air he was singing was
melodious, and the words fell with clear cadence on the still noontide:

    "Light of those whose dreary dwelling
      Borders on the shades of death,
    Come and all Thy love revealing,
      Dissipate the clouds beneath."

Mark listened fascinated. It seemed to him like a solemn invocation, a
passionate prayer uttered by the lonely man. The echo of those simple
words was to come back to him in after years, recalling the day he stood
a young hopeful civilian at the entrance of his life in the land, new
and wonderful to him, listening to the cry of the old pilgrim who had
borne the burden and heat of that land all his years, and whose dearest
aim had been to bring light to some of those "dreary dwellings"
bordering on the shadow of death.

The singing ceased, and Mark mounted one or two of the flat
entrance-steps, deciding to make his way through the open doors and
announce himself. But the old man's sense of hearing was quick.

"I thought I heard a step," he said, coming from the darkness within, a
welcoming smile on his face. "My boys are all away at rice and siesta,
no doubt."

"I hope I'm not intruding, Mr. Morpeth. I thought I should like to begin
my calls by taking advantage of your kind invitation to come and have a
talk with you."

"A kind and gracious thought, Mr. Cheveril. You come to cheer a lonely
old man."

"But you have many interests, many solaces, Mr. Morpeth. I heard you
singing like a true musician as I reached your verandah. In fact, I must
plead guilty to eavesdropping. Both the air and the words were new to me
and held me."

"Yes, it's a favourite of mine. But you from England must be familiar
with all Charles Wesley's hymns?"

"I fear you credit me with more knowledge about many good things than I
can lay claim to, Mr. Morpeth. Hymnology has not been much of a study
with me."

"Ah, but you must make the acquaintance of Charles Wesley. There is real
poetry in his hymns, much more than in his brother John's. They have a
beautiful haunting power which the others lack. I was glad to find that
pearl among English deans--Stanley--acknowledging this in one of his
books lately. But what am I thinking about, Mr. Cheveril? This is not
the hour to linger in the verandah! Come and seek the coolness of my
homely den here."

Mr. Morpeth led the way into the drawing-room of the house which had
been fitted up as a library. In the rows of teakwood dwarf-bookcases,
raised from the ground by carved lions _couchants_ high enough above the
matting to protect them from the ravages of white ants, were well-filled
shelves of books. A case from home lay half unpacked on the floor. A
roomy writing-table with well-filled pigeon-holes showed traces of
manifold labours. The furnishing of the room evidently belonged to a
period when it was possible to get good wood, before so many of the
great forest trees were cut down. The polished chunam of the walls told
of days when coolies were plentiful and lent the strength of their
sinewy arms to rub the shell-lime till it gleamed like marble, even in
the light of day.

"What a delightful room!" exclaimed Mark. "It looks more English than
anything I've seen here, and yet you've never been----" He paused
without finishing his sentence as he glanced at the brown-skinned man.

"Never been in England? No, and I fear I never shall be, though it used
to be my dream in the years when I was too poor to carry it out. Yet I
see now there came a time when I ought to have gone to England--but
regrets are vain," he added, and a look of trouble stole into his eyes.

Habituated from his childhood to respect the English as a superior race,
David Morpeth had suffered himself to be perhaps unduly crushed by that
aristocracy of colour which he had so long reverenced. He had bent the
knee before the prejudice against those of mixed blood, conscious of
having neither the will nor the power to contend against it. His life
therefore had flowed into other channels. A solitary man, he had
attached himself to the domiciled community with all the fervour of a
true vocation. But for occasional friendly souls like Mrs. Fellowes, he
had hitherto experienced a great loneliness. He had begun life in
Calcutta attached to a wealthy merchant firm, and by virtue of his high
character, was eventually received as a valued partner. When he retired
from active business, he elected to make his home in an old family house
in Madras which had long been let, and around which was a colony of his
own people.

Freyville, Vepery, soon became a centre of kindly offices for the
Eurasians. David Morpeth would indeed have been welcomed in other
circles, but, as Mrs. Fellowes had explained to Mark that morning, he
had given himself body and soul to the despised race.

Mark Cheveril had been quick to note the chivalry of his heart, and it
found an echo in his own.

"Mrs. Fellowes told me you are so immersed in work for our people that
you don't even take a holiday to the hills."

"Ah, you see I have a large family to look after, but there is good
cheer in the work. You must not believe all you hear about the
inevitable degradation of the mixed race."

"I should be the last to believe anything of the kind. It would be a
death-knell to my hopes of helping them, but I must be a learner for
some time to come."

"Ah, but a sympathetic one! That makes all the difference! It is the
cruel inveterate prejudice against the whole class that has led to their
degradation. They have accepted the verdict passed on them by the pure
races, and it has crushed them. Their tendency is to look down on manual
labour, and yet in industrial callings they cannot hold their own with
the inhabitants of the soil. The poor among them have sunk so low,
wearing out hopeless lives in wretched crowded dens. Often only a shed
with a mat as covering suffices for a home. They have neither physical
nor mental energy to strike out careers for themselves. Inevitable
pauperism we have, of course, as in England, and it is often encouraged
by indiscriminate giving that plays into the hands of loafers, many of
them pure Europeans who will not work, preferring to become beggars.
It's easy enough to throw a bone to a dog and be done with it, and the
well-wishers of our people are well to watch with jealous eye those
trouble-hating Europeans, ay, even among the clergy, who would salve
their consciences by merely giving alms."

"Yes, Mrs. Fellowes told me she used to be one of those till you
enlightened her."

"And now she proves a priceless helper to a class that troubles me even
more than the loafers, and for which neither you nor I can do anything,"
said Mr. Morpeth, with a frank smile. "Those scores of young women who
live sordid, useless, aimless lives, the daughters perhaps of decent,
hard-working fathers. Those girls ought to be earning a livelihood, but
false notions of 'shabby gentility'--shall we call it?--impels them to
lounge about all day with the proverbial idle hands which the Evil One
finds so handy. From poor warrens of homes they come forth bedecked in
tawdry finery that they spend their lives in sticking together. Faugh,
it makes one ill to see them lolling about their pandals and ogling at
passers-by," Mr. Morpeth added, with a truly British shrug of his
shoulders which brought a smile to Mark Cheveril's face. "It is these
eyesores," he went on, "that Mrs. Fellowes and one or two like-minded
helpers have tackled. Some of them don't even know how to write or add
up a sum, though they are full-grown women, and their powers of reading
are so lame that many among them cannot read the simplest story with
ease or pleasure, though, I understand, some are great readers and
devour 'yellow backs.' Mrs. Fellowes has instituted sewing classes, and
we are beginning to have higher ambitions. We mean to get them bred as
printers. The compositor's trade seems specially suited for women; and
Mrs. Fellowes has great plans of having them properly trained as ladies'
nurses, and is already trying to enlist the Medical Staff on their
behalf. Then we have a little pet scheme of getting the more
deft-fingered apprenticed to watchmakers and jewellers. We think they
might be in requisition for the zenanas where jewellery is so all
important."

"But what about the young men? Is it only the women who have sunk to
such a state of do-nothingness?"

"Ah, it is in them my hope lies! They are my sons," said Mr. Morpeth,
with an eager smile. "To make them more manly, more truthful, to make
their souls--that is what I live for now! You may guess then," he added
slowly, fixing his eyes on Mark, "how glad an hour struck for me this
morning when you made yourself known as one brave enough to come to the
rescue!"

"As a humble volunteer only. But I recognise the claim, and here I am! I
was going to ask you, surely there are many among the Eurasians who
ought to make their way into various services? I have wondered, for
instance, why they should be debarred from the army ranks?"

"And many of them have hereditary connection with the British Army too!
I confess it has always seemed to me that connection should be fostered.
The ranks of the Native Infantry are of course impossible. They could
not live as sepoys. Some have distinguished themselves as lawyers,
doctors, magistrates, and are in receipt of incomes that would astonish
their forefathers. But, alas, many of these try to repudiate their
connection with the despised race; from them we often get only sneering
words and black looks."

"Base, I call that! But all the more honour to the chivalrous helper!"

"Well, I often think if they could only see what a short-sighted policy
their attitude is, even from a selfish point of view, I should not
encounter the opposition I do when I seek posts for really capable young
men. Why, they often prefer natives in offices! In fact, it is the
declared policy of the Imperial Government that appointments should be
reserved only for pure Indians. A false policy to my mind, and one that
in the end will not strengthen the British Raj! But I must not preach
sedition to a Covenanted member of the Service! I am forgetting myself!"

"By no means; your point of view is valuable to me. I seek
enlightenment. It does seem the irony of fate that such a state of
matters should exist. I feel it is a good omen, Mr. Morpeth, that I
should so early in my day have met with an inspirer like you. I shall
not be able to give you the help I might had I not been going to
Puranapore. But whatever I can do is at your service. You must let me
help you with your various organisations. My income is much more than
sufficient for my personal wants," said Mark, as he rose to go.

"Well, rupees are needed, as Mrs. Fellowes will tell you. She is an
excellent beggar! But I hold now what I value more than silver and
gold," said David Morpeth, as the young man laid his hand in his. "That
is the clasp of a friendly hand. May it prove a hand that shall undo
heavy burdens, loose the bands of wickedness, to let the oppressed go
free, and break every yoke, as the prophet calls on us to do in a voice
that rings through the ages!"

As Mark Cheveril looked into the face of the lonely man, he felt the
spell of the beauty of holiness, and was more glad than ever that he had
made his first call on one so stimulating, though his name was not on
Mr. Alfred Rayner's visiting list.

As he waited at the white gate while Mr. Morpeth's butler was signalling
to the drowsy syce to bring up the carriage, Mark was accosted by a
young woman who had evidently been hanging about the neighbourhood of
the cactus-hedge which skirted the compound. She was a weedy-looking
girl, with a slender swaying figure dressed in tawdry finery, but her
face was undeniably pretty.

"One of Mrs. Fellowes' _protégées_, no doubt," Mark decided, and was
about to step into the carriage when the girl said breathlessly, keeping
her eye fixed furtively on the white gate evidently in fear lest the
master of the house should put in an appearance:

"I'm awfulee sorry to trouble you, sir, but I saw you in a lovelee
mail-phaeton with Mr. Alf Rayner last night, and when I spied you
steppin' in here I thought I should make so bold as to ask where he's
livin' now--Alf, I mean?"

Mark felt distinctly surprised at this familiar mention of his friend's
husband, all the more as he recalled Mr. Rayner's remarks concerning the
domiciled community to which this girl evidently belonged.

Perceiving his hesitation, the girl hastened to explain:

"You see, sir, I've been away in Calcutta for months and months, so I'm
a bit behind in news of my friends."

"Then Mr. Rayner is your friend?"

"He's all thatt," responded the girl, with a giggle which at once
decided Mark that he was probably dealing with an impostor who might
give trouble to his hostess.

"I don't feel at liberty to give you the address you ask. But if you
know Mr. Morpeth, or Mrs. Fellowes, they will no doubt see you," added
Mark hesitatingly.

"Ho, so you think I'm 'a case,' do you? You want to hand me over to
them, I see! Don't you trouble! I'll find Mr. Rayner on my own account,"
said the girl, tossing her head as she went off with rapid steps.




CHAPTER VI.


Sometimes when Mr. Morpeth felt specially wearied with the labours of
the previous evening, he varied his early morning walk by a drive in his
little victoria. To-day he had allowed his syce to drive him along the
winding roads of the suburbs, heedless whither he was being carried.
Rousing himself at length from his reverie, he saw he had now reached
the green precincts of Nungumbaukum, and decided to take a stroll. He
alighted, and directed his syce to follow while he walked along the
road.

As he passed one of the houses he overheard sounds of bitter weeping
from the other side of the straggling hedge. A gap in the thicket--a
mode of exit much favoured by the native servants--permitted him to
catch a glimpse of a little native girl. Sobs painful to his kind heart
fell on his ear, and pausing in his walk, he asked in Tamil;

"What ails you, little one?"

The child glanced up with startled air and, peering through the twisted
tendrils, caught sight of the speaker. Encouraged by the kind voice and
seeing its owner was in European dress, she replied in the best English
she could muster, the words broken by sobs:

"Please, sah, Missus say I done steal gold ring. I never done no such
ting. My heart done break. I not want to live one minute more. I go
drown in tank!"

"Then you did not touch your Missus' ring, little girl?"

"Oh, no, no, I not once touch Missus' ring," wailed the child. "But what
I do? Nobody believin' me. Ramaswamy butler hurt werry sore to make me
'fess," and again the dusky head was bent in low weeping.

"What's the matter with your hand?" asked Mr. Morpeth, observing that
her right hand was rolled in a comer of her red saree. "Let me see it!"

The small brown hand was obediently held out, showing swollen and
bleeding fingers. Little chips of wood, of which some fragments
remained, had been pushed under the nails, lacerating the flesh.

"H'm, torture! Just as I suspected!" muttered Mr. Morpeth. "Who did
this?"

"Butler done take me into godown make me 'fess. When I no 'fess, he make
fingers plenty sore"; and again the child burst into convulsive sobs.

Just then the sound of voices was heard, and the girl leapt from her
hiding-place with a look of terror, only to come into view of a stout
matron and a young lady who were approaching the dividing hedge between
their own and their neighbour's compound.

"There's the little thief, I declare!" exclaimed the young lady,
catching a glimpse of the red saree. "And see this gap in the hedge,
she's no doubt made it flying from justice."

"Well, it will serve our purpose, for I must go at once and tell Mrs.
Rayner how disappointingly her _protégée_ has turned out," said Mrs.
Harbottle, crossing the dividing line.

"How could you expect anything else, mama? Mrs. Rayner has only been two
months in the country," returned the young lady, with the scorn of
new-comers bred of two cold weathers in India.

"Look, the creature's going to slip through our fingers after all. She's
making a dart through the hedge to the road"; and Miss Harbottle,
hurrying forward, pounced upon the child, and seized the maimed hand
still rolled in the saree, causing her to shriek with pain.

"Be quiet, you wicked little thing! I believe you're hiding my ring
there. Give it up this instant, or I shall tell Mrs. Rayner what a
thief you've turned into. A nice whipping you'll get from her ayah, your
old granny; and I hear you tried to bite my butler into the bargain!"

"Ai, Missus, I not done nossin' bad. I not done steal ring! I not done
bite butler, he only bleeding my fingers," the child wailed. Remembering
the kind face which had looked pityingly upon her from the other side of
the hedge, she sprang towards the gap, but the friendly figure had
disappeared and Miss Harbottle's fingers were gripping her shoulder like
a vice and dragging her along the compound.

Rosie was the granddaughter of Mrs. Rayner's ayah. She was a comely
little maid with great lustrous eyes. Her home had been in the godown
with her grandmother, who, as all good ayahs do, considered it her
function to keep watch and ward over her mistress's belongings, and it
early struck Hester that the child must have a very lonely life. She had
already grown fond of her ayah, who was indeed worthy of her confidence,
being one of the best of her type. The bright, delicate-featured old
face, with its nut-brown colouring, framed by wavy grey hair, and the
ready responsive smile, had at once attracted her. The ayah, on her
side, was devoted to her young mistress, and was not long in telling her
of her two treasures, Jan and Rosie, the boy and girl of her dead
daughter. For Jan, she had managed to find service, but she had never
been able to make up her mind to part with the winning little Rosie. The
child, too, was useful to her in many ways. She found her rice always
prepared for her to her liking when she went for her mid-day and evening
meals. Rosie did a little "titching" too, the ayah assured Mrs. Rayner,
but as her clothes were merely lengths of coloured muslin draped
gracefully about her little person, there were not many seams to sew.
The ayah had the voluble and quaint command of English common to
Madrassee servants, and in a wonderful way had been able to impart it
to Rosie, though, as to reading English, that was beyond even granny
ayah herself. What a joy it was to her therefore when one day her
mistress called Rosie to her and gave her her first lesson! The little
girl was bright and intelligent, and Hester had passed hours which might
have hung heavy on her hands in teaching her to read, and in telling her
the simple stories she had been wont to relate to her young brothers at
home. The ayah meanwhile would pass and repass on tiptoe, stealing
joyful glances at her mistress and the little maid. Thus, in so short a
time, a strong link was forged between the young English lady and the
ayah's granddaughter. When therefore Mrs. Harbottle chanced to find
Rosie so honoured, and heard her connection with her neighbour's
excellent ayah, she set her heart on having her as an assistant to her
own dull, heavy-featured attendant. Hester decided that such a
beginning, so near the watchful grandmother, was a favourable chance for
Rosie, and the bargain was concluded.

All hitherto had gone smoothly, and great was Hester's consternation,
when looking out from the verandah of her bedroom where she sat busy
with her home-mail, she perceived Mrs. Harbottle and her daughter
dragging Rosie across the lawn. Hurrying downstairs she was met by a
voluble tale from the two ladies in chorus.

"But are you sure the ring is really lost?" she asked in an undertone.
"Things often turn up again--are only mislaid."

"This is lost sure enough. Stolen by that imp from my ring-stand on my
dressing-table. This very morning when I was at early tea that brat was
alone in my room 'tidying up,' forsooth!" Mrs. Harbottle reiterated her
accusation while Rosie lay prone on the gravel, a pathetic little bundle
of heaving sobs.

The telepathic agency, ever at work among the many domestics of an
Anglo-Indian household, now brought the old ayah to the spot to hear
what had happened to her one ewe-lamb. The nut-brown tint of her face
was replaced by a greyish hue, her features seemed suddenly sharpened as
she took in the situation. Folding her lean brown arms, she stood a
pathetic, statuesque figure as she listened to the denunciations of the
angry Englishwoman. Her eyes turned with a gaze of anguish on the little
huddled figure, and catching sight of the muffled hand she went forward
and made to undo the end of the red saree.

A scream of pain from the child caused her to desist. With a groan she
covered her face for a moment, then looked piteously towards her
mistress, saying with quivering lips:

"They done torture my pore chil'. See, Missus, that bleeding han'?"

"Torture the child!" exclaimed Hester with dilating eyes.

"Yes, Missus, butler poking fingers with sticks making plenty blood come
to make me 'fess," said Rosie, looking up with a pitiful air.

"How dreadful! This is shocking, Mrs. Harbottle! What have you to say to
this?"

"A parcel of lies, of course! Nobody laid a finger on the little
wretch," cried Mrs. Harbottle excitedly.

The ayah on hearing this stepped forward again, and leading Rosie near
pointed silently to the mutilated hand.

"Who did this to you, Rosie?" asked Hester in gentle tones.

"Ramaswamy butler. He do this to make me 'fess--only----"

Great tears rolled down her cheeks as she glanced up to Hester's pitying
face.

"You see this hand, Mrs. Harbottle. This is terrible"; and there was a
flash in Hester's grey blue eyes which made Mrs. Harbottle quail. Trying
to assume a defensive air, she burst forth:

"How can you believe that little liar! Most likely she fell in trying
to escape and hurt her hand." All the same she was not feeling easy at
the discovery, for had she not at the butler's request given Rosie to
him to try to make her confess the theft? Now she began to fear she had
gone too far.

"I am sorry my husband happens to be out," said Hester. "He has gone
driving with a friend who is staying with us. This is a matter that will
require looking into."

"Oh, if you like to take the word of that native imp in preference to
mine, I've nothing more to say," wound up Mrs. Harbottle, with an air of
offence. "Perhaps you'll get the creature to confess to you after we've
gone," she added, as a parting shot.

"I will--I 'fess to my werry own missus only," sobbed Rosie, and sprang
forward to cling to Hester's morning gown.

"Ah, there, I told you so! You'll soon find out where the ring is
hidden," cried Mrs. Harbottle, with a ring of triumph in her tone. "I'll
leave you now," she added, with returning smiles as she prepared to go.
"I really cannot expose myself and my daughter to the sun. We've been
delayed too long already over this wretched business."

Bowing stiffly, she raised her white umbrella, and the mother and
daughter hurried away across the brown turf towards the gap in the
hedge.

Hester felt rather nonplussed. Did Rosie not say she would confess after
all? Had the child yielded to a sudden temptation and become a thief?
Was that why poor old ayah had stood by with such an unutterably
stricken look?

"Come, Rosie, I want to talk to you in this very place where you used to
repeat your hymn and hear nice stories," said Hester in a soothing
voice. "Now tell me about all this!"

The little girl, in spite of her aching fingers, seemed to have
wonderfully recovered her equanimity since the departure of her
accusers.

"What are you going to confess to me, Rosie?" asked Hester gravely.
"Surely you did not take the lady's ring?"

"I done take ring? Oh, no, neva touchin' ring," cried the child, looking
up with candid eyes.

"But, Rosie, you said you were going to confess to me," faltered Hester.

"Oh, yes, I 'fess Missus cause Missus believe me. I done 'fess, and I
done 'fess butler, only he prick my hands werry sore. Ramaswamy neva
believe one word."

Hester was now entirely satisfied as to the child's innocence, and felt
touched by the quick confidence with which she dried her tears and even
smiled. She decided to call the ayah and relieve her poor heart by
assuring her of the innocence of her granddaughter. She found her in the
next room making everything, as was her wont, exquisitely tidy. She
listened attentively to her mistress, but the strain did not leave her
face.

"Missus speakin' true," she said, nodding her head in acquiescence. "My
little girl neva done touch the lady's jewel. I know that from first.
But what that matter when English lady done say she did. How can pore
native woman stand up against one white lady? 'Tis Rosie's bad fate,
Missus. 'Tis the will of the gods--the gods make angry at my one pore
chil'? What I do?"

The ayah's face wore a bitter look, though she held her head high and
went about her duties in silence.

A spirit of dreariness took possession of Hester. All seemed dark and
mysterious concerning the matter. Her heart ached for the old woman,
though she felt unable to make any reply to her bitter words. But though
she could not bind broken hearts, she could at least dress wounded
fingers, she decided, and getting out lint and bandages she applied
herself to that, and was rewarded by a patient smile from the little
sufferer.




CHAPTER VII.


Mr. Rayner had not, as Hester supposed, been accompanied by his guest on
his drive. Some letters had reached Mark which required immediate reply,
and as he was leaving for Puranapore after breakfast, he decided he must
forego the tennis-party in question, and devote himself to his
correspondence. He was now seated in a room adjoining the library which
his host had put at his disposal. Mr. Rayner was meanwhile on his way
back from the tennis-party, not in the best of tempers, for his sworn
enemy, the sun, was now high in the heavens and its rays were beating
fiercely on his mail-phaeton.

He was driving himself, and as he swept into Clive's Road he perceived
in the shade of the hedge a waiting figure whom he recognised with
anything but satisfaction, to judge from his quick frown.

"Leila Baltus, by jove! So she's turned up again,--worse luck! Thought
she'd taken herself off to Calcutta for good! She's evidently lying in
wait for me too! Better interview her here than nearer the house," he
muttered to himself, as he threw the reins to the syce and leapt to the
ground, saying he would walk the rest of the way, and directing that the
phaeton should be taken to the stables.

"She's evidently bound for No. 7, or she wouldn't be so far from Vepery.
Fortunate that I've waylaid the creature; she might have tackled Hester
and introduced herself as a former acquaintance of mine! What a close
shave I've had! Well, I'm in for a tussle now!"

His angry frown was replaced by a studied smile as he hurried forward to
meet the same girl who had accosted Mark at Mr. Morpeth's gate. She was
now carefully attired in a spotless white muslin dress and a gay hat
with a wealth of flowers.

Mr. Rayner lifted his sun-topee.

"Good morning, Leila! You're far from home! Didn't know you were in
these parts at all--thought you had gone to Calcutta to keep house for
your brother!"

The girl's face was lit up by smiles. "No," she answered. "I'm here
again in that hole Vepery. Claud took a wife and don't want me. But I
didn't know you were back from England, Alf, till two nights ago, when I
see you and another gent in that smart mail-phaeton. Oh my, what a toff
you did look! All the same, you oughtn't to turn your back on old
friends. You might have looked me and mother up. She will be awfulee
glad to see you. You used to enjoy a bit supper with us. You'll mind
that prawn curry of mother's, don't you, now?" said the girl, with an
insinuating smile.

Alfred Rayner stood hesitating. Was it possible the girl did not know
that he was now a married man, and had no intention of continuing the
acquaintance of his bachelor days or of eating prawn curry in Vepery
again? How bitterly he repented those days of his "griffinage!" when he
had been fool enough in idle hours to be fêted and flattered by the
Baltus household and other undesirable associates! The memory rankled,
and was indeed the chief source of his bitterness against the whole
Eurasian class. And with this pretty Leila he had been unwise enough to
be betrayed into a flirtation. He winced to recall it. Ever since his
return with his bride he had been congratulating himself that Leila
Baltus was no longer a denizen of Vepery, and would not cross his path
again. Yet there she was, glancing at him with encouraging eyes and an
anxious smile. What would she say when she learnt that only a few yards
distant a beautiful English wife awaited him? It was an awkward dilemma.
No wonder the young man felt the need of choosing his words carefully.

"The truth is," he began slowly, "I'm too busy a man now to avail myself
of the pleasures of bachelorhood, Miss Baltus. Besides, the distance
between Nungumbaukum and Vepery is great; so you must excuse me. Salaams
to your mother, forgive my hurrying off--haven't even had my tub yet!"
Lifting his sun-topee he was about to beat a dignified retreat.

"So that's where we are, Mister Rayner! You would fling off your old
acquaintance like a pair of done shoes!" cried the girl, her insinuating
smile changing to an angry scowl. Her companion making no reply, she
seemed to decide on more conciliatory tactics.

"Well, maybe it's truth that you've grown such a grand toff and you'll
want to fight shy of prawn curry and all that. And to tell the truth
there ain't much supper going with us now a days, or anything else.
We've got behindhand, mother and me, and Claud won't be good for a
single pice now he's married, so we're real hard up. Come now, since I'm
so close to your beautiful house this morning you'll not grudge me a cup
o' coffee in your verandah. It's a long tramp between Vepery and this
grand place of yours. Oh, my, it's grand and no mistake!"

The girl looked admiringly towards the fine two-storied house, at one of
the entrances of which the mail-phaeton was now disappearing on its way
to the stables.

More embarrassed than ever, a happy thought occurred to the young man.

"So sorry I can't ask you to come in to-day. I've got a visitor and must
really hurry off to him. But look here, Leila, sorry to hear you're down
in your luck! This will perhaps help a bit"; and taking a ten-rupee note
from his pocket-book he handed it to the girl, congratulating himself
that now he would effect an escape.

But he reckoned without his host.

"Well, since you're too busy for even a chat with your old sweetheart
this morning, she'll just need to come again another time," said the
girl, with a toss of her head, as she crumpled the note in her long
brown fingers. "I'll hand your little gift to mother. She'll send you a
chit to thank you awfulee for minding on her."

Miss Baltus seemed at last disposed to retreat, but a "loose end" was
being discovered by Mr. Rayner. Fearing it might develop into a serious
tangle, he decided to take his courage in both hands.

"Look here, Leila, perhaps you don't know that a Mrs. Rayner now reigns
here. I brought a wife from England with me."

The announcement was evidently quite unexpected. The girl's amber skin
grew a shade darker. Her lustrous eyes flashed fire, and violent emotion
seemed to check her utterance for a moment; then she burst forth in
fury:

"A Mrs. Rayner reigns--and her not me! So this is your little game? Why,
it's the same joke they used to make to me when you came
sweethearting--'Mrs. Rayner would reign!' You false snake! But I'll be
even with you yet or my name's not Leila Baltus! You can go back to your
lovelee English bride, but my word, you're not done with her you
fooled," she hissed as she made a step forward, holding out her thin
fingers as if to return the rupee note, but on second thoughts she
crushed it in her palm again. "No, we shan't be ten rupees poorer anyhow
because of the woman who has supplanted me! I'll just hand it on to my
poor mother to pay for the prawn curries she wasted on an ungrateful
toad!" she muttered, turning her back swiftly on the young man and
hurrying away.

Alfred Rayner stood for a moment watching the slender swaying figure
disappearing down the leafy road, then he turned homeward, muttering:
"Don't fancy I've scotched her. That horrid vixen will give me trouble
yet! What a pity I gave her that money when I can ill spare it with all
my heavy expenses. Depend upon it, she'll be upon me for another note
before long! I've a good mind to make a clean breast of it to Hester.
She's no fool, she'll understand when I give her my side of the story
that I'm simply being persecuted and blackmailed by a half-caste liar!"

Having decided on this course he walked briskly towards the house,
taking the stable-entrance which happened to be nearest the part of the
road where he he had been talking with his old acquaintance.




CHAPTER VIII.


Hester, having bandaged Rosie's tortured fingers, tried to return to her
letters for the English mail, but she could not put her heart into them,
for she felt dispirited and ill at ease. Evil seemed triumphing, trouble
falling on the innocent and helpless, and the loving God, to Whom she
had tried to point Rosie in their quiet hours, appeared to be taking no
notice. Mrs. Harbottle's bitter taunts still rang in her ears, and these
poor mutilated fingers which she had just been binding up--were they not
sufficient evidence of the malignant fate which had descended on the
child's innocent head?

As she was a prey to these disquieting thoughts she heard footsteps on
the gravel-sweep below. Hoping that it was her husband and friend
returning, she looked out, for she was eager to consult them as to what
should be done to prove Rosie's innocence, of which she was completely
convinced. Great was her surprise when she saw coming up the broad white
steps, not her husband, but the "elusive Mr. Morpeth," as she had dubbed
him to Mrs. Fellowes. She decided that he must have called to see Mark,
but presently the butler came bringing her a card on his tray and
saying: "One old Dorai want to speak to Missus."

So the visit was for her after all! She hurried downstairs to find her
visitor in the verandah with a bright smile on his face. No, he would
not come in, he just wanted to bring her some good news. He went on to
explain that he had heard the lamentation of her little maid behind the
hedge as he passed the compound, and had also overheard Mrs. Harbottle
stormily charging the child with the theft of her ring.

"I passed on," said Mr. Morpeth, "feeling very sorry for the child whose
voice seemed to ring true when she assured me, 'I never done take that
ring.' I got into my carriage again and presently I saw two kites having
a duel almost above my head, then something bright fell through the air.
I called my syce to stop, and keeping my eye on the spot where the kite
had dropped its booty, I picked up this."

Mr. Morpeth held out the recovered ring.

"Oh, Mr. Morpeth, what a trophy! How kind and clever you are!" exclaimed
Hester with joy in her eyes. "You can't think what a morning of anguish
we've had over that ring. Rosie has been broken-hearted. What a joy this
will be to her, and even more to her granny, my ayah, who has been
feeling very bitter over the accusation which she knew to be false. She
thought her gods must be angry with Rosie, and that it was all over with
her. This is a beautiful clearing up! Now, since you won't come in, will
it be too much to ask if you will step across with me to Mrs.
Harbottle's and unfold this delightful ending of our trouble to her? She
was much too hard on our poor little Rosie. I, like you, believed the
child was innocent, but never did I dream we should have such a swift
and fairy-like proof of it! But allow me first to call the child, Mr.
Morpeth, you will like to see her joy!"

"Yes, I should like to see Rosie. It will be a pleasure to watch her
face when she hears the ring has been found, though the thief is still
a-flying. But please don't ask me to face Mrs. Harbottle," said Mr.
Morpeth, shrugging his shoulders. "I heard her voice--it wasn't musical!
I beg off! You lead Rosie to her and unfold the last chapter of the
tale."

"But, Mr. Morpeth," began Hester, in a hesitating tone. "Am I very
uncharitable? What if Mrs. Harbottle thinks I've invented the story to
shield the child? I'm ashamed of my evil thought, but there--it's out!"

"You are right! A woman's wit always scores! After all, I am the most
important witness in the case--saving the kite who was wresting the
prize from the thief, and I fear we can't summon him! Well, I suppose
there's nothing for it but to face the formidable lady--but alone,
please. I want to have a word with her butler. Did you see the child's
hand?"

"I did. I never was so shocked in my life! I've just been doing what I
could for it. Surely that man ought to be punished for his cruelty. I
only wish my husband had been at home. He's out driving this morning."

"I don't wonder you were horrified, Mrs. Rayner. No doubt it's your
first experience of one of the iniquities of this land--systematised
torture applied to wring confession from the victim. I grieve that you
should have come into contact with it. It only goes on under the surface
now, but like many iniquities, it dies hard. However, in this case I
shall deal with the butler in a way he will feel--also with Mrs.
Harbottle. I shall be able to tell them I saw the child's hand with my
own eyes. Perhaps that will frighten them sufficiently, you need not
trouble yourself further," Mr. Morpeth added, looking at the fair young
wife in a protective fatherly manner. "I don't think I'll have time to
see Rosie just now, since I must go to Mrs. Harbottle's. You can tell
her that the true thief has been found and made to renounce his booty. I
envy you the mission, Mrs. Rayner. It is ever gladsome work to unfold
the loving kindness of our God.

    "'Tis the name that whoso teacheth
    Finds more sweet than honey's cheer."

he murmured, with glistening eyes that seemed to Hester like a
benediction as they rested on her.

Why had she not been able to tell the stricken ayah of that Love which
seemed so near and dear to this man? Never had that Love felt so near to
herself.

"I pray that this morning's work may prove a helpful memory to the
little Rosie in days to come," added Mr. Morpeth, holding out his hand
with a sweet lingering smile.

"It will be a helpful memory to me too, Mr. Morpeth, I thank you with
all my heart," was Hester's parting word as she turned away.

Before the visitor had reached the last of the broad flight of the
verandah steps, the master of the house came hurrying round the corner
of the walk that led from the stables. His recent encounter with his
former acquaintance had left him a prey to angry feelings.

"I declare, if this isn't another of those vile half-castes! We shall
have the whole population of Vepery landing at our door!" he muttered,
hurrying forward and glancing with an air of insolent chilliness at the
stooping figure, from whose lined face the gracious smile had hardly
faded.

"What, may I ask, is the reason of your call? I don't happen to have
the----" "the pleasure" he was about to say, but with a cruel smile
changed it to: "I have not the need of your acquaintance!"

The old man's face became grey and stern. For a moment he seemed about
to speak, then, shaking his head sadly, he walked away in silence.

"Oh, Alfred, how could you--how could you speak so to him?" cried
Hester, who had turned in the hall when she heard her husband's voice.
"That is Mr. Morpeth, Mrs. Fellowes' friend, and mine too now."

"Yours is he? That he shan't be! I tell you what it is, Hester. I'll not
have you encouraging these half-castes--male or female--that man Morpeth
or anybody else--to come and crawl about my verandah on any pretext
whatever! It's sheer forwardness! The fact is I can't afford to risk my
position by mixing with them in any way. That's the long and the short
of it!"

They had gone forward and were now standing on the threshold of the
darkened library. Mr. Rayner could not see his wife's face, or perhaps
he would not have gone so far. She covered it with her hands and stood
mute for some moments, then with a shudder, she said:

"Oh, Alfred, there's something very wrong about this! You cannot be in
earnest! I never thought----"

Suddenly Hester's voice broke and she turned away and mounted the
staircase. Her husband stood looking at her retreating figure with a
half repentant air, then he shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip, and
seating himself at his writing-table began to fumble among his papers.

In the open houses of India there is no privacy. Mark Cheveril, busy
over his letters in the adjoining room, had not failed, though much
against his will, to overhear the whole conversation. He could gather
that Mr. Morpeth had evidently called on some errand, and had been
insultingly dismissed. It was a painful revelation, made more so by his
recollection of Alfred Rayner's attitude to the man who had been almost
trampled under the hoofs of his horses. Mark had been vividly reminded
of the incident when he observed Mr. Morpeth's evident agitation at the
sight of Hester on Mrs. Fellowes' lawn. Possibly the old man thought Mr.
Rayner was also of the party, and shrank from meeting him. In the
interest of his talk with the gracious host in his own library, the
recollection of the painful scene in the mail-phaeton had been overlaid
for Mark. Since then he had neither opportunity nor inclination to tell
Mr. Rayner of his meeting with the despised East Indian, knowing well
that he would not sympathise with the intense interest and admiration
which had grown up already in his heart towards David Morpeth. And now
the overheard words seemed more than likely to prove an impassable
barrier to any mention of the subject, unless he was prepared to fight
the bitter prejudice in the open.

Even more grievous to Mark had been the note of pain in Hester's voice
when she remonstrated with her husband. Surely Rayner's attitude to
these people was the outcome of a shallow and vulgar mind! Were gentle
Mrs. Bellairs' fears concerning this union too likely to be realised? He
was at the moment engaged in writing to that anxious mother far away.
What could he say now to alleviate her fears, to send assurance that all
was well with her beloved daughter? Yet on many grounds it was not for
him to be the sender of even a breath of evil tidings. No, he must probe
the matter further, he decided.

Closing his portfolio he began to pace up and down the rattan-matting of
the long room. How he desired to comfort the girl who had been such a
good gay comrade in past days! These last words of hers seemed wrung as
from a bleeding wound. Yet it was denied him to whisper one soothing
word to her who was probably weeping in one of those white rooms
up-stairs. The very thought of it roused the young man's chivalrous
soul. His indignation waxed hot at the revelation of the shallowness and
egotism which had occasioned the outburst of temper on Rayner's part.
What mattered all his show of hospitality to himself while such feelings
lurked beneath it? Might it not have been safer for the guarding of that
trusty friendship which he desired should subsist between Hester and
himself if he had not been Alfred Rayner's guest;--if he had not come
into such close contact with the man? Yet it pained him to remember that
he should have to leave Clive's Road with this impression on his mind.
Looking at his watch he saw that it was time to get ready for the late
breakfast. How could he meet his sweet hostess whom he had only seen for
a few moments at early tea that morning? She probably thought that he
had gone out with her husband, as had been first arranged. If she had
not done so, she would have called him to meet Mr. Morpeth, who possibly
may have come to return his call. Hester, he knew, had meant to devote
her morning to her home-letters. How cruelly they had been interfered
with! Perhaps she would not appear at breakfast, possibly he might not
see her again before he left for Puranapore!

But Mark was mistaken. He had not probed the stern moralities of such
secret care and trouble. How often in life has a smiling face to cover a
broken heart? When he entered the breakfast-room, there sat the young
hostess, sweet and gracious, entertaining two of her husband's merchant
clients from Kurrachi. Rayner was at the head of the table smiling
affably, vastly gratified at the impression his wife was evidently
making upon his important guests. But Mark could not fail to notice that
he cast an anxious glance towards her, as if pondering whether his words
were already forgotten and forgiven; and as Mark encountered Hester's
gaze he felt sure they were not, at all events, forgotten. Her eyes were
weary, there was an increased pallor on her cheeks, and a certain
pitiful curve of her lips when her face was in repose.

Never before had he admired her as he did now while he watched how
skilfully she kept the ball of conversation rolling on harmless topics.
Alfred, having heard an account of the ring from his dressing-boy, tried
to make some inquiry concerning it. Hester briefly narrated the story,
but from her repressed air Mark was able to gather that the restorer was
none other than the man who, in return, had received such cruel
treatment at her husband's hands.

He hardly knew whether he felt more relief or regret when his bandy was
announced to drive him to the train for Puranapore. The other guests had
departed, and Hester, after her efforts to entertain them, wore a
visibly depressed air. When Mark clasped her hand and looked wistfully
into her face he felt that she, too, thought it better no risk should
be run of a repetition of the scene which had shamed her, for she gave
no invitation for a future visit. His host, on the contrary, full of
surface courtesy, was charging him not to fail to make Clive's Road his
home when he chanced to be in Madras. Mark, at the same moment, happened
to meet Hester's eye, and read there a look of doubt and pain which
seemed to say, "How can he be so unjust as to welcome one and flout the
other?" He felt strongly of the same opinion. One thing, however, seemed
clear to him that he must, in spite of all his social disabilities in
Alfred Rayner's eyes, continue to be a friend without fear and without
reproach to the young wife whose happiness seemed in such jeopardy.




CHAPTER IX.


Mrs. Goldring, the Judge's wife at Puranapore, had finished her
afternoon nap and was now preparing for the leading event of the day,
the evening game at tennis, which on this occasion was to be held at
Mrs. Samptor's, the wife of the Superintendent of the District Jail. She
was therefore not a little surprised to see that lady descending from
her pony-carriage at her own door when she was just about to drive to
the Samptor's compound. Matters of interest in the little Mofussil
society were narrow in their range, but they were none the less intense.

Mrs. Goldring snatched her last hatpin hurriedly from the deferential
brown fingers of her waiting ayah.

"What can the woman want, Jane?" she said irritably, addressing her
weary-looking daughter, who had just appeared on the threshold of the
dressing-room. "I told her she couldn't have my silver teapot again. She
almost burnt a hole in it last time, 'putting it on a lamp,' so she
said! If I were at home I should say it had squatted on the kitchen
range for a considerable time! I do hate that system of borrowing so
much in vogue here! I suppose I must go and see what she wants. Now,
Jane," she added, after a disapproving survey of her daughter, "I beg
you will make yourself presentable for once. It isn't often your father
gives me a piece of news, but he did tell me that the new
Assistant-Collector was expected to-day. He may turn up for tennis if
the Collector isn't too careless and indifferent to think of asking him
to come. What a pity our meeting happens to be at Mrs. Samptor's. He
might get a better impression of the station had it been elsewhere."

Jane stood unresponsive in the doorway. Her eyelids moved slightly as
she listened to her mother's remarks, but she made no reply, sullenly
watching her mother's portly figure clad in rustling silks as she passed
downstairs.

Mrs. Goldring greeted her visitor with an interrogative "Well?" which
Mrs. Samptor was keenly conscious of being more direct than polite, but
she felt that the item of news which she was bursting to tell was so
important that she could afford to echo "Well!" in a key which foretold
possibilities.

"You will be surprised to see me here, Mrs. Goldring, instead of meeting
me on my own lawn, but I saw I had a clear half-hour and thought it my
duty to share my news with you. It may avoid complications later, as you
will understand when you hear it."

The Judge's wife inwardly wished that her neighbour would not always be
so long in coming to the point, but felt on the whole relieved that this
time she did not appear in her frequent rôle of a borrower.

"Murder will out, as I often say to Samptor--very appropriate to a
jailer, isn't it now? Well, the fact is I've had a letter from an
acquaintance who has just got back to Madras by the _Bokhara_. Mr. Mark
Cheveril, our new Assistant-Collector, you know, was a fellow-passenger.
Perfectly charming she says he is, but--oh dear, what do you think? Mrs.
Pate had it from a man on board, who had it from Cheveril himself. He's
a half-caste! Though one would never guess it from his appearance, she
says, and the astonishing thing is that he isn't the least ashamed of
the fact; but Mrs. Pate confesses he never alluded to the flaw in her
hearing. Now, isn't this a great shock?"

Mrs. Samptor glanced keenly at her neighbour, divining that the coming
of an eligible young man must have raised a flutter of hope in her
maternal heart.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Samptor," said that lady, after a moment's pause. "We
shan't have the half-caste--as you call him--among us long. The
Collector will soon shake him off."

"That's the very plank I cling to as might a drowning man, but Samptor's
not so sure. One can never reckon on what Mr. Worsley may do! But I
still cling to the hope. Look how he got rid of young Printer! There are
ways and means of doing it even in the Service, though what ailed him at
Printer I never could make out--most affable, I thought him. And though
the Collector never said a word against him to anybody as far as I know,
I felt in my bones he couldn't abide the man, and sure enough he was
transferred. And I hear there were others before we came that he
couldn't hit it off with. A man of strong prejudices and weak will, the
doctor says he is--in confidence, of course. But he's a bit of a
'griffin' yet is Dr. Campbell, though he's a dear, and so is his wife.
However, this news doesn't matter to me personally," continued the
visitor, rolling her eyes on Mrs. Goldring, who was not altogether able
to conceal her annoyance, much as she desired to do so. "You see I
haven't any marriageable daughter with seasons passing over her head! I
declare, one sometimes is made thankful for what is often foolishly
regarded as a privation," she added with a sigh.

"Now, Mrs. Goldring, what I've come to say is," she continued after a
pause, bending forward in her chair, "that the Collector should be told
this news at once. What does he ever hear--out in camp so much--and when
at home lounging in his long chair or shooting in the paddy fields? And
who is the proper person to do it but yourself--the Judge's wife--the
chief lady of the station? Yes, Mrs. Goldring, we must hand over the
disagreeables of your position as well as its amenities! You will have
your opportunity made for you, for the Collector is actually coming to
us this afternoon--told Samptor so."

Again she felt that she had scored, for the Collector was generally
rather conspicuous by his absence from the social functions of the
little society.

"But what am I thinking of? I should be in my place on my lawn receiving
my guests instead of chattering here, and there is my humble chariot
stopping the way of your landau which I see appearing"; and Mrs.
Samptor, with an "_au revoir_," nimbly skipped away--many hot weathers,
which had encumbered Mrs. Goldring with much superfluous flesh, having
had the effect of robbing the little lady of all superfluity in that
direction, leaving her lean and brown-complexioned, and, though
"country-born," British to the core in all her prejudices.

Mrs. Goldring's heavy features were marked by an air of worry as she
watched her visitor drive off. How she hated that little woman with her
sharp tongue and her divining eyes! And it was only when it suited her
purpose that she would acknowledge her precedence as the Judge's wife,
though certainly there was something in the suggestion that she was the
proper person to enlighten the Collector concerning this misfortune. But
when had she ever confided to Mrs. Samptor that she reckoned on this
new-comer as a possible fish for her matrimonial bait? Truly she might
save herself that trouble! The girl was too trying for the
accomplishment of any such design, she thought, glancing with irritation
at her daughter who came slowly into the room.

She was a pale girl, blanched by two hot weathers on the plains; there
were dark lines under her dull blue eyes, and her fair hair, which had
been her one beauty at home, looked limp and lustreless as it escaped in
untidy strands from her faded tulle hat. Her dress also had a
washed-out, crumpled appearance. Yet this girl had been the pride of
loving hearts at home. Notwithstanding their multifarious duties as
heads of a select boarding school for young ladies, her father's sisters
had mothered her so tenderly that her heart was still tenaciously with
them and their daily round. The artificial life in India was hateful to
her, yet it held one bright spot. The face, that had worn such a sullen
air, lit up as she heard the sound of wheels.

"Here comes daddy!" she cried, with a note of glee in her voice as she
sprang out to the verandah.

The Judge, who had descended from his carriage, had not by any means the
impressive appearance one is wont to attach to legal dignitaries at
home. He was a small, meek-looking, fair man, with mild, blinking blue
eyes, and a chronically tired expression. Though still in the prime of
life, only his fair hair, unmixed with grey, saved him from giving the
impression of being quite an old man. A struggling youth and the
over-pressure of examinations, even more than the ravages of the
climate, had thus prematurely aged him. But the Service had no better or
more devoted member than James Goldring. And as for his loving heart,
none knew it better than his daughter Jane, who was now welcoming him.

"Look here, little Jane, why send that big landau to the Kutchery for
me? You know I prefer my little bandy."

"Of course, I know, daddy, but mother said the landau was to fetch you
this afternoon."

"I did, James," said Mrs. Goldring, coming forward. "You will persist in
coming straight from the Kutchery to tennis in that hideous little
band-box of yours and stepping out of it like a Jack-in-the-box. You've
no regard for appearances--it doesn't do! And you, Jane, are just the
same, you encourage your father--"

"She does," returned the Judge, with a smile and a loving glint in his
blue eyes as they rested on his daughter. "Well, I suppose I must go and
make myself as gay and festive as you are," he added, looking admiringly
at Jane's faded toilette without the least consciousness of its defects.

"First your cup of tea, daddy," said Jane, bounding off and returning
with a special brew in a lovely Sèvres cup and saucer which had been
her gift to him.

"A very bad habit you're getting your father into giving him tea before
he goes out. And Mrs. Samptor looks furious when he declines her
cakes--not that I specially desire to save her feelings," added Mrs.
Goldring, recalling the sting of the recent interview.

"Ah, but I do," said the Judge. "So not even a single biscuit with my
tea, Jane, that I may do full justice to Mrs. Samptor's cakes, which are
excellent, and made by her own tiny fingers."

"Oh, don't you be paying her any compliments. She's quite conceited
enough already. I've had her here not five minutes ago with no end of
tittle-tattle--quite upset me!"

"No end of tittle-tattle in Puranapore! She must have a lively
imagination! I'm sure I've heard nothing exciting at the Kutchery
to-day."

"I shall tell you her news afterwards," said Mrs. Goldring, pursing up
her lips as she rose from her chair. "We'd better not keep the horses
waiting longer. I hear the Collector is to be there. I want a word with
him if possible."

"By the way, I did hear a bit of news to-day after all. The new
Assistant has arrived! I shouldn't wonder if Worsley brings him round to
the Samptors'."

"That I should think very unlikely from what I've heard this afternoon,
knowing the Collector as I do," returned Mrs. Goldring with an emphatic
air. "Come, Jane,--how you do loll about! Why did you not put on that
new frock I took such trouble to order for you instead of that blue rag
your aunts sent?"

"I was just thinking what a pretty blue it was, and how well it matches
Jeannie's 'germander' eyes," said the Judge with a smile, patting his
daughter on the shoulder as she followed her mother to the carriage.




CHAPTER X.


Mrs. Samptor, in her rôle of hostess, welcomed Mrs. Goldring with
ceremonious effusiveness, ignoring their parting a few minutes
previously. Every time the afternoon entertainment revolved to her
compound, Mrs. Samptor felt the delight and importance of the occasion,
and certainly she spared no pains to make it pleasant. The fact of her
being country born and bred, though it had not impaired her British
energy, had given her a mastery over the details of domestic life never
attained among the changing Anglo-Indian society. A notable housekeeper,
she was well versed in all the tricks of native servants, and got better
service from them than anyone else in the station, albeit she ruled them
with an iron rod. In bazaar dealing, gardening, pickle-making, and all
housewifery lore she was supreme. Being childless, her whole devotion
was given to her husband, a big, square-shouldered man with a handsome,
good-natured face, who looked like a giant beside his tiny wife as he
came forward to greet the visitors.

The only other guests as yet were the young engineer and his wife, and
being recent comers, were patronised by the hostess. They sat obediently
under the safe shade of a spreading peepul tree on the lawn, where stood
the tea-table, which was covered by a spotless linen cloth and groaning
with proofs of Mrs. Samptor's skill in the manufacture of cakes.

The Judge at once linked his arm into the jailer's and began to stroll
down a shady walk.

"Talking shop, of course! Mrs. Goldring, you should really keep your
husband in better order! What can a humble Superintendent of the
District Jail do when the Judge leads him into temptation?" said Mrs.
Samptor banteringly.

"Yes, the worst of it is, daddy promised to eat a lot of your cakes,"
remarked Jane bluntly, while her mother groaned inwardly.

"Did he now, dear? How sweet of the Judge! You just go after him, Jane,
and pull his coat-tails and remind him of his promise. As for Harry, he
won't ever touch anything between tiffin and dinner. But when he
eats--he eats!" said Mrs. Samptor, with pantomimic gestures.

"And yet you tempt weaker men by your nice cakes," exclaimed the doctor,
who had just arrived. "Is that quite moral?"

"Strictly so, Dr. Campbell, since I happen to know that you haven't
broken your fast since early breakfast!"

"How came you to know, Mrs. Samptor? Was it one of the spirits said to
inhabit peepul trees that whispered it? Really you are not canny!"

Mrs. Goldring glanced more approvingly at the doctor than she generally
did. He was right, this divining little woman was not "canny."

"Is my wife not here?" asked the doctor, glancing round.

"She will be presently," answered the hostess. "I happened to send her
some quail Harry shot last night, and as I saw her driving townwards I
know she went to share them with Noel Stenhouse, and to see how he is.
No wonder he gets down with fever living among those horrid natives and
slaving for the good of their souls as he does! You must have come from
your hospital by the back way or you would have met her. Ah, there she
is! You'll be happy now, doctor!"

Mrs. Samptor went forward to meet a sweet-faced lady who was crossing
the lawn. The doctor followed, and husband and wife exchanged greetings
which showed that they were still lovers after years of marriage. The
sorrow which had visited them on the death of their two little children
had only served to draw them closer to each other.

The little group still lingered in the vicinity of the tea-table, the
literal-minded Jane having brought her father back to partake of the
notable cakes. Presently Mrs. Samptor, with a pleased exclamation,
sprang from her wicker chair.

"Ah, here he is--the Collector has actually kept his promise for once!
But who has he got with him? Oh, of course, the new Assistant! Dear me,
what a handsome young man!" she murmured, and everybody glanced with
interest at the pair who came up the avenue, deep in talk.

Mr. Felix Worsley, though such a familiar figure in the station, was
seldom seen to such advantage as at this moment.

"If he would oftener look like that what a blessing it would be,"
muttered Dr. Campbell, whose sharp eyes noted that the usually sombre
face was lit up by a certain cheerful alertness; there seemed to be a
new light in the dark, penetrating glance often half veiled by folds of
heavy eyelids. "What a handsome, personable man the Collector might be
if he always held himself like that," further soliloquised the doctor,
as he glanced at the well-proportioned figure and beautifully shaped
head showing a thick grizzly thatch as he bared it in response to Mrs.
Samptor's greeting.

"Oh, Alan, he does look nice," whispered Mrs. Campbell; whereupon the
doctor asked with a smile:

"Which? I'm so taken up with the Collector's wakened-up appearance, I've
no eyes for the new-comer yet. Yes, but he does look a fine, straight
young fellow," he added, glancing at Mark Cheveril with approving eyes.

Presently introductions were effected all round, and Mark found himself
under the peepul tree drinking tea and looking with keen interest at the
new faces which would soon become familiar to him.

Mrs. Goldring, like the doctor, did not fail to note the Collector's
unusual air of accessibility, and decided to make hay when the sun
shone. Afternoon tea being a beverage she knew he abhorred, she saw no
reason why she should not draw him aside without delay and put him in
possession of the facts necessary for his guidance at this juncture.
"Duty obliges me to enlighten him! As Mrs. Samptor says, 'Who if not I?'
What a mercy he happens to be in good humour! My task will be an easy
one. Everybody knows that, gruff and ungracious as he often is, Mr.
Worsley is a well-born English gentleman, and no doubt he will not brook
this latest insult of having a half-caste thrust upon him!"

With these reflections, Mrs. Goldring, in her most sprightly manner,
advanced towards the Collector.

"Since you and I both hate croquet, which seems to be the order of the
afternoon here, suppose we have a stroll, Mr. Worsley?"

"Well, I don't object to a stroll. Gouty limbs don't take kindly to this
sunset hour under a tree. But who said I loathed croquet?" asked the
Collector sharply, his eye travelling towards the lawn where mallets
were being chosen and all seemed in train for a social hour. "A mere
assumption on your part, madam! On the contrary, I consider croquet an
excellent game and a great adjunct to sociability."

"What a bear he is! His love of carping always comes to me like a slap
on the face! But wait till he hears my piece of news. Well I know he
hates natives and half-castes, and croquet into the bargain, but I'll
let him off with that for the moment," thought Mrs. Goldring, as she
prepared to play her trump card.

Trailing her long rustling skirts across the grass while the Collector
sauntered at a safe distance, she led the way to the most sequestered
walk in the compound. At first she only hazarded a few desultory remarks
interspersed with faint praise of her hostess's gardening powers, for
the little lady held the acknowledged palm in all floral matters
throughout the station. But the Collector seemed to require some topic
of keener interest to rouse him. How gratified she felt to think she
held the trump card in her hand! Turning towards him, she said suddenly:
"I'm really surprised to see the new Assistant such a decent-looking
young man!"

"Decent! Your choice of such an adjective is hardly happy, madam," said
the Collector, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Mr. Cheveril is a civilian
like your husband and myself."

"Ah, but with a sad difference," cried Mrs. Goldring, clasping her hands
dramatically. "I grieve to have to shock you, Mr. Worsley, but better
now than later. In fact I feel it is my bounden duty to unbosom myself
at once of this painful secret."

"Bless my soul, what is it?" asked the Collector, pulling himself up
with a start.

"Yes, I saw from your manner to him that you had not heard. Well, the
poor young man is actually a half-caste! Does not even deny it, I'm
told--speaks of his shame quite openly."

"H'm, has he confided in you, madam?"

"Now you know, Mr. Worsley, that is not possible, seeing I saw him for
the first time only five minutes ago. But, believe me, I have the
information first hand----"

"Would you believe it, madam, so have I? Would you be surprised to learn
that I heard it from the young man himself? I suppose I must accept that
as 'first hand'; and I must further tell you he has rather scored in my
eyes in making this avowal!"

"What! Do you mean to say you are to be satisfied with a half-caste?"
cried Mrs. Goldring, retreating a step, her face purple with
indignation. "You are surely not going to expose us to such a
situation. I reckoned, Collector, you had only to be told the fact to
see it to be your duty as head of this station to try at least and
arrange a transference as soon as possible," she gasped, hoping that
even if no practicable step could be taken she could at least set the
Collector against the young man.

"You reckoned without your host, I fear, madam. You will require to
rearrange your views as to the acceptance of this new servant of the
Government for Puranapore--that's all. I also am only a servant."

"Pooh, as if you hadn't got young Printer spirited away quickly enough
because he didn't hit it off with you----"

"That remark of yours, madam, implies a liberty to which I am unused,"
said the Collector, drawing himself up with a haughty air. After a
moment's silence he lifted his hat, and was about to move away when Mrs.
Samptor came hurrying up.

"Oh, Mr. Worsley, I've found you at last! Why ever did you take him to
the most forsaken part of the garden, Mrs. Goldring?--especially seeing
he comes so seldom; I'm always anxious to impress the Collector
favourably----"

"Which you succeed in doing," said Mr. Worsley, with a courtly bow,
relieved that his _tête-à-tête_ was having such a definite interruption,
for he was doubtful if he had attained his end in getting rid of the
irate lady.

"I've just come to ask you if you will take dinner with Samptor and me
to-night, and bring that charming Mr. Cheveril with you. The Judge has
just been saying what an acquisition he will be to our little circle,
and I'm sure we're all of the same mind--now we've seen him," wound up
the audacious little lady, stealing a glance at Mrs. Goldring's
discomfited countenance.

The Collector was inwardly much gratified that Mrs. Samptor should have
bestowed on his new Assistant such a timely and hearty certificate in
the hearing of his detractor, but not even his sense of gratification
could induce him to accept her proposal of dining out. He was too wedded
to his own surroundings either in camp or bungalow to be persuaded to
exchange them of an evening, but he softened his refusal by saying: "Mr.
Cheveril will no doubt be delighted to be your guest one evening before
long, meanwhile, till his luggage arrives, he has consented to be mine."

"Oh, well, I shall wait till he takes possession of his own solitary
bungalow, then I shall secure him! Oh dear, if that isn't a big goat
trespassing among my precious crotons," and, tucking up her skirts, the
little lady darted after the intruder.

The Collector stood watching her with a comical smile on his face, while
Mrs. Goldring gazed with sullen contempt on what she afterwards
described as "Mrs. Samptor's vulgar antics."

Not content with protecting the crotons, the agile lady was bent on
chasing the trespasser from the compound, but the Indian black goat was
more than a match for her. Scrambling up a tree, he clung there, looking
down triumphantly; but the owner of the trampled crotons was not to be
outdone. Up she scrambled after him, though it was only on receiving
some stinging cuffs that the goat acknowledged himself beaten and made
off.

"Wonderful person that! When would you or I have energy to perform such
a feat, Mrs. Goldring?" said the Collector, shaking with laughter as he
went forward to proffer assistance. Mrs. Samptor, however, disclaimed
his help and alighted airily on the ground, making him an elegant
curtsey with outspread skirts.

"Well done, Mrs. Samptor! My only regret is that your husband did not
witness the acrobatic performance. Mrs. Goldring and I were too small an
audience."

The Judge's wife scorned the imputation of being one of the spectators
of such a scene. In fact, she afterwards explained, she tried to shut
her eyes during its progress. She moved off in majestic solitude, filled
with even more resentment against the little woman than she felt against
the Collector for his scathing rebuke.

Mrs. Samptor, meanwhile, was unconscious of treachery. Of the chameleon
type, she had no scruples in changing her point of view when brought
face to face with the frank young civilian; moreover, his gracious
acceptance of her hospitality had quite won her heart.

"Let Mrs. Pate say what she likes, that boy is not an East Indian,
Harry!" she whispered to her husband. "Anyhow, I'll not believe it! I'm
off to warn Mrs. Goldring not to say a word about it to the Collector.
She'll catch it if she does, if I'm not mistaken. I can see from the
look of his eyelids that he has taken a fancy to the young man already";
and off she had bounded to the croton walk, to perceive, however, that
she had come too late. "The fat was in the fire," she narrated to her
husband that evening as they sat in the verandah after dinner. "I
couldn't help the woman mismanaging him, could I now, Harry? If she'd
had eyes in her head she could have seen the Collector was as pleased
with the boy as a child with its latest toy. It really wasn't my fault
if she brought down his wrath upon herself, was it now?"

The jailer was too deep in his after dinner nap to make any response,
but Mrs. Samptor was used to forego responses, and frequently counted
them as spoken when the only reply was a snore.




CHAPTER XI.


Mrs. Samptor divined rightly. The Collector's first impressions of his
new Assistant were deeply favourable, and they arose partly from the
very point which Mrs. Goldring deemed would prove fatal--the disclosure
of his alleged social disabilities. Mark Cheveril had not been in Madras
for more than three days without hearing remarks concerning his future
chief which would have caused some natures to have assumed from the
outset a defensive attitude. But no sooner had he entered the
Collector's bungalow than he felt drawn to the lonely man, careless in
dress and manner, hardly rising to greet his visitor from the long armed
chair where he lounged, smoking a cheroot, surrounded by two faithful
dogs. In a few moments Mark was occupying a similar chair by his side,
being introduced to his dogs and his cheroots, and feeling completely at
home.

Crotchety, querulous, quarrelsome, Felix Worsley might be, as alleged;
but somehow the young man felt instinctively that whatever his faults of
manner and circumstances, "in him there nothing common was or mean." The
man was a noble English gentleman to the core. Mistakes he might have
made in governing his allotted territory, but they would prove mistakes
of head not of heart. Before his Trichy smouldered in ashes, Mark's
heart had already gone out to his chief with the liking of quick
magnetism meeting a response, and it brought a light into Felix
Worsley's eyes seldom visible there in these later days.

How different, for instance, had been Alfred Rayner's reception of his
avowal of mixed blood from that of the man by whose side he sat, telling
him that his link with the country had already fostered sympathy with
the people of his native land!

"Well, it begins to dawn on me now that I'm very near the end," was the
Collector's slowly enunciated reply. "A downright enthusiast like you is
what we need here. No doubt, Cheveril, I'll often be for your holding
the reins tight, but I'll try to give you as much rope as I can, my boy.
I'm weary and baffled--dead tired of the whole game of life long ago.
But it must go on--even Mrs. Samptor's tea-party."

With that he had risen from his chair, and on the way thither had shared
with the new-comer kindly but illuminating comments on the little
circle, so that when Mark stood on Mrs. Samptor's lawn he seemed to know
them all.

The game of croquet, which he had been playing with Mrs. Samptor as
partner, was triumphantly finished, much to the little lady's
satisfaction; and Mark was now eager to avail himself of his freedom to
listen to the Judge's conversation. This was followed by the
Superintendent's annals of the jail, which he undertook to show him over
one day before long.

"We must get you interested in your nearest surroundings before the
Collector carries you off on tour through his territory," he said, with
a good-natured smile.

"Yes, charity begins at home, as I try to remind the Collector sometimes
when he turns a deaf ear to my petitions for the town," rejoined the
doctor, who stood by his side. He was a short man with broad shoulders,
though hollow-chested, and with an eager face, deep set eyes, and high
cheek-bones--a typical Celt, thought Mark, glancing at him, noting the
air of feverish energy with which he spoke, and contrasting it with
Samptor's Saxon calm.

"I tell you what it is--our Collector is too fond of the far-away bits
of his district, and inclined to belittle his nearest plot--our teeming
town down there."

"Is your work in the town, Dr. Campbell?" asked Mark.

"He does plenty there, anyhow. Morning, noon, and night he's at work
among the Puranapore people," interrupted Mr. Samptor, looking down with
a kindly smile upon the eager little man.

"As District Surgeon my work is ostensibly among the English, but you
see, Mr. Cheveril, what a little flock we have here since they've taken
our regiment away. Of course I'd be delighted to have the chance of
attending this big man here, but he never even sneezes; 'so what I do?'
as the servants say. I try my hand at a little work among the Indians,
and have got a dispensary in the heart of the town."

"Ah, thereby hangs a tale, doesn't it, Dr. Campbell?" broke in Mrs.
Samptor, always with ears alert.

"I'll tell you how it is, Mr. Cheveril, this man spends his time, his
money, and himself in fact, over these ungrateful black creatures. Came
here for an easy post because his health wasn't good, and does more work
than any other doctor on the plains of India!"

"All Mrs. Samptor's embroidery, I hope you understand," said Dr.
Campbell, smiling.

"Well, if it were English folk he was helping I shouldn't so much mind,
but these treacherous, seditious natives, I cannot away with! And there
are such swarms of them, I try to suggest to the doctor that his time
would be well occupied in helping to get rid of scores."

"Hardly a doctor's point of view, Mrs. Samptor! Unfortunately there is
too much of that among the people themselves. The mortality is awful,
even when there is no epidemic or plague, not to speak of their own
feuds, which are decimating at times."

"The balance of power seems always wavering between the Hindus and
Mahomedans in the most curious way," remarked Mr. Meakin, the young
engineer. "Which is uppermost just now? Which is your jail full of at
the present moment, Samptor?"

"That's an official question the jailer may not be disposed to answer,"
said the doctor. "However, I happen to know too well who has the upper
hand--and why"; and the doctor began pulling his black moustache
furiously.

"Come now, Campbell, we must not talk shop with the new Assistant on the
very evening of his arrival," returned Samptor.

"If I thought the Collector would dose him well with it in office hours
I would forbear, but----" The doctor shook his head doubtfully.

"All the same," said the big man with an air of decision. "Our Collector
is a great symbol of authority in countless villages through which he
drives or rides leisurely, smoking his eternal cheroot, halting to
dispense justice with unrivalled sagacity and kindliness. I'm often with
him, so I know. The people worship him, and he has a wonderful
bird's-eye view of the whole region, I assure you"; and the jailer
glanced admiringly at the man he was defending as he strolled along the
lawn, his arm linked in the little Judge's.

"'A bird's-eye view'! Yes, I grant you he may possess that, but he has a
terribly cavalier way of dealing with caste prejudices, for instance.
And you know, Samptor, what a standing grievance that omsque is."

"Ay, well, that perhaps was a pity," said the big man, looking down at
his boots. "But everybody makes a mistake at times," he added, glancing
at the doctor's face, on which a cloud rested.

"The Collector should have known that trouble was bound to come when he
granted a site for that mosque so near the Hindu burning ground. And
now, though the Mussulmans are the intruders, they, forsooth, are
petitioning to have the burning ground removed to another spot.
Infamous plotting, I call it!"

"Yes, there seems to be a good deal of bad feeling between the Hindus
and the Mahomedans just now, I notice," said the engineer.

"Fanned by Zynool and his crew," returned the doctor, with an impatient
gesture. "Can't think how the Collector favours that Mussulman so much.
They have his ear somehow, some say through that clever butler of his.
As for the disturbance the Hindus make with their processions during the
hours of prayer in the mosque, anyone who has listened to a Mahomedan
yelling with a cracked voice. 'Allah eh-eh-eh,' must admit that his
outward forms of worship are quite as disturbing as a tom-tom and the
blowing of the conch."

"Well, doctor, if you had stood at the door of the Mosque as I've done
on duty, and heard the Hindu population out with their goddess
Mariyamina and listened to the howling and tom-toming fit to break the
drum of your ear, and that when the place was filled with Mussulmans at
their prayers during the sacred feast of Ramazan, you would have felt
that they had good reason to complain. Why, though their lips were
moving in prayer, they were itching to be at the throats of the Hindus!
If it had not been for the Collector's courage that day in standing at
the Mosque door all the time the procession was passing, there must have
been bloodshed, and he did that in the interest of the Hindus even more
than for the other side. I can tell you, Campbell, there's many a Hindu
in Puranapore remembers that day and knows what the Collector saved them
from. It would have made a picture to see him as he stood there," ended
the jailer, with a look of admiring recollection in his eyes; and Mark
Cheveril felt as if he, too, had seen that picture.

"Well, they're warming up for riots again down there, sure enough," said
the doctor, shaking his head. "No saying what you may come in for, Mr.
Cheveril. See you keep an open mind, anyhow."

"And don't, like the doctor, be wholly given over to a belief in the
mild Hindus _versus_ the Mussulmans," said Samptor with a laugh, as he
laid his big palm on the doctor's shoulder.

Mark had found the foregoing conversation a little enigmatical. His
hero--born of two hours ago--was not evidently quite without flaw, but
as evidently he was able to inspire many of those nearest him with a
liking and a loyalty which is not always the portion of the ruler of an
Indian territory.

As he walked by his side between the cactus hedges on the darkening road
and listened to his talk, Mark felt that whatever his faults might be,
Felix Worsley, Collector of Puranapore, had become to him already a
fascinating personality.




CHAPTER XII.


The houses of the English official residents in Puranapore were all in
fairly close neighbourhood, though each was surrounded by its own ample
compound. They were mostly thatched bungalows with deep verandahs. The
Judge's house was the only "up-stair" house, as the natives call a house
of two storeys. It was also the largest in the station, being usually
appropriated by the Collector; but Mr. Worsley, being solitary, had
given it to the Goldrings, and elected to live in a small flat-roofed
bungalow, grey and colourless, with a pillared verandah unrelieved by
creepers like those which adorned Mrs. Samptor's entrance. The
Government office stood a little further down the road, a group of grey
stone buildings of the Georgian period, surrounded by a grove of
cocoanut palms. At one end a great banyan tree, with its branches
growing downwards on the brown grass and its dense foliage of glossy
green, made a chosen retreat for the various native witnesses and the
police peons in attendance at the Court House. There they squatted, ate
betel-nut, and chattered in their native Tamil; while a group of crows
perched near listened to all with their heads to one side, always ready
to pounce on any food within their reach.

The ancient town itself was quite a mile distant from the European
quarter, not even a mud village intervened, so the English residents
were more divided than usual from the native population. To none was
this topographical isolation more welcome than to the Collector.

"It is, in fact, my reason for preferring to camp in this sleepy
hollow," he explained to his new Assistant as they walked homewards
after Mrs. Samptor's tea-party. "You don't know what a relief it is to
be out of reach of all the tom-toms and shrill street cries and the
constant hum of the bazaars, not to speak of the vile odours."

"I quite took a liking to the scent of the charcoal fumes of the little
native villages studded about the Madras roads," said Mark.

"I loathe them and all Indian scents--even the scent of the garlands
they bedeck one with at their _tomashas_ are odious to me, and I hasten
to seek relief in a cheroot. But I confess I have a liking for my
Kutchery on horseback. One can mow down a lot of cases, listen to scores
of grievances in the open, under a good spreading tree. Everything comes
before one on tour, you will find. In fact, we are reckoned a kind of
terrestrial providence, expected to redress every grievance from a
murrain among the cattle to a rival claim on a water-spout in the
bazaar. Our territory includes many thousand square miles. It's no joke!
But being obliged to itinerate is, after all, the saving grace of a
civilian--it's a sort of vagabondage which I like--or did before the
spring went out of me," added the Collector with a gloomy air. "Take my
advice, Cheveril, choose the Revenue in preference to the Judicial side
of the civilian's life. I can see it will suit you best. I believe our
good little Judge there would grow several inches taller if he went on
tour, and was not so devoted a slave to his cases and abstracts and his
blue books. Much of that red-tape business will be your bitter portion
for some time to come, young man, I warn you!"

"My apprenticeship, no doubt! I expect these files are useful to
beginners, though they seem to spell drudgery later on."

"Very neatly put, they do spell drudgery with a vengeance! They ought
not to be piled on the shoulders of Indian officials as they are. In
fact, they're more often like the lash of the slave-driver than decent
business. I wish some of our young reformers would organise a big
bonfire of them--say simultaneously throughout the length and breadth of
India--a sort of red-tape mutiny! But remember, some men live and move
and have their being in those said files! They are poetry to Goldring,
for instance, and to some of the younger men, I notice. I suspect it is
the old sinners like me that chafe most against that side of the work."

"Well, I'm curious to know what my experience of it all will prove,"
said Mark. "I don't think I'll ever find much poetry in files, though,
after all, it depends on their subject-matter."

"Yes, tragical enough tales are often compressed into blue books, and
comedies too, for that matter. You'll find things go on very
methodically in our Revenue Office down there, Cheveril. I've got some
excellent Mahomedan clerks who do their part like clock-work. I confess
I prefer them to Hindus. They are more manly for one thing, and one gets
a shade nearer to some understanding of them than with the subtle though
childish Hindu. But I am in the minority here. The doctor is always
shaking his head over the Mussulman population in the town, declaring
they have the upper hand. Well, I own as far as Moideen is concerned, he
has the upper hand of me. There he is anxiously looking out for us, in
case we are going to be late and his dinner should fall short of the
perfection he aims at."

"What a commanding figure he is, I noticed him whenever I drove up to
your door. So he is a Mahomedan! He certainly contrasts favourably with
my Hindu, who has got a cringing air I don't like."

"There's no cringing in my major-domo! He once rather affronted me years
ago. A lady, rather an old campaigner, happened to be dining with us,
and thought Moideen had spilt wine on her dress. Pointing it out to the
man, she said witheringly: 'You ape!' For once Moideen, who was then in
the dew of his youth, forgot his manners. Beating his breast and with
flashing eyes he shouted: 'I not one ape, I one man!' It was an
unpleasant moment, I really feared the furious Mussulman might do the
lady some injury. But age and experience have sobered him. He has
developed into the most perfect of servants. I've no doubt he caters
well for himself as well as for me, as Mrs. Samptor sometimes attempts
to hint, but I suddenly become stone deaf. There are some truths one
can't afford to listen to. 'Where ignorance is bliss, _et cetera_!'"

"Don't you think there's a good deal of fallacy in that couplet, Mr.
Worsley? It's like pulling the blinds down when one's garden is being
ravaged by a black goat--like the culprit Mrs. Samptor was chasing this
afternoon."

"Just a case in point! For my part, I much prefer having the blinds down
to scrambling up a tree to fight with a goat as that little lady did.
Yet I admire her pluck! Well, here we are, Cheveril, in my den where I
keep the blinds down metaphorically as well as literally as much as
possible," said the Collector, as he walked up the broad grey steps of
his bungalow which looked a more cheerful abode when brilliantly lit
than in the daytime. "Moideen knows I'm a lover of light. He illuminates
for me every night as if I were a light-keeper."

The dingy dining-room was transformed, lit up by tall candelabra; the
candles all shaded by glass. The table glittered with exquisitely kept
old English silver plate, flowers artistically arranged, glancing
cut-glass, spotless English damask; "no country tablecloths my master
having," Moideen was wont to boast to the other boys of the station. "I
making list to best shops in London, no bazaar bobbery here."

But not all the handsome table appointments, the perfect cooking, the
faultless waiting of Moideen and his satellites could banish from the
young Assistant's mind the thought that his chief was a weary,
disenchanted man, and all the talk of the evening only served to deepen
that impression.

Next morning, when he stood in the writing-room, into which the
drawing-room of the house had been converted, and where Mr. Worsley
always sat, he noticed that on the shelves for books there was an entire
absence of any kind of literature, only a few old magazines and
newspapers, and some rows of blue books, though according to his avowal
on the previous evening, these were his special detestation. Some books
on sport there were, but not a single volume of poetry, history, or even
a novel. Mark felt glad to remember that his own boxes were bringing a
fairly liberal supply of mental food, and that he had arranged for the
due arrival of his favourite magazines. How good it would be if the
Collector came to find in his bungalow a source of pleasure which was
certainly absent from his own! What a happiness that would prove,
thought Mark, as he paced up and down the verandah after early tea!

Moideen presently appeared with soft tread and searching eye to bring
him the unwelcome news that "Master not done sleep last night, fever
coming, not able to get out of bed this day." He also brought the
suggestion that the young Assistant should find his own way to the
Government Offices. This Mark was nothing loth to do, though he felt
sorry to be without his chief on his first day of initiation.

The inevitable office-bandy was in attendance, and after five minutes
drive he stood within the grey portals, and was welcomed by the Judge,
who showed him round, and introduced him to the subordinates of his
department. Soon he was seated at his table ready to begin work.

Several Hindus were waiting for an interview. All of these seemed to
wish to see the Collector, and showed disappointment at his absence. One
visitor was announced, however, who, Mark noticed, showed no regret at
the chief's absence, but looked with keen interest at himself such as
none of the others had evinced. Glancing at his card, he read the name
"Zynool Sahib." Surely, thought Mark, I have heard that name before!
Yes, he was the Puranapore client whom Rayner had mentioned. The man had
evidently heard of him from that source also, and was now come to take
the measure of the new Assistant. Beady twinkling black eyes peered out
from bulging flesh, the coarse red lips were so thick that they showed
each curve in spite of the dense bushy beard and moustache. Over one
colossal shoulder was flung a green cashmere shawl, richly embroidered.
The folds of his white turban looked a work of art compared to the
swathes of muslin which enveloped the heads of the Hindu visitors. He
was evidently a person of importance in his own eyes, a man of substance
probably, but not seemingly a favourite, Mark decided, observing that
the Hindus, who still lingered in the hope of seeing the Collector,
exchanged ominous glances on his appearance, and one after another made
their exit by another door, showing that they declined any contact with
the new-comer.

There was a malicious twinkle in Zynool Sahib's eyes when he remarked
that after all they were obliged to re-enter by the main door through
which he had come to secure their sandals, which native courtesy
demanded should be left at the entrance.

Mark's quick eye noted that the present visitor's feet were encased in
white stockings and shining patent leather shoes, which he retained. It
was a very small bit of dumb show, but the young man felt immediate
sympathy with the humbler owners of the sandals, and turned with a
slight sense of prejudice to listen to the owner of the plethoric voice.

Zynool Sahib expressed himself in pompous English of a sort, and made
polite inquiries as to "His Honour the noble Collector," begging that
expressions of his regret for his illness should be conveyed to him,
and hoping that he would be well enough to grant his "humble slave" an
audience one lucky day before long. He then assured Mark in flowing
periods that he was desirous of becoming, from this day henceforth, the
"humble slave of the present company," as he designated the young
Assistant. Mark thanked him rather coldly, and began to wonder what the
man's morning mission really was, when suddenly it was revealed to him.

"What am I saying?" jerked Zynool, shaking his bushy beard. "I am
stoopid as an owl! This truly is my best lucky day, and not another! For
does not this lucky day give me the acquaintance of one who it is
revealed to me is the friend of my patron, my guiding star, who but the
La'yer Rayner, Pleader, High Court of Madras? I humbly beg on my bended
knees," he added, which expression, be it understood, was symbolical, as
Mark perceived with relief, fearing that otherwise it might fall to him
to assist to raise the mass of flesh from the ground.

"I beg on my prostrate knees," he repeated, bending forward and clasping
his fat hands together, "that your Honour will embody La'yer Rayner in
your own redoubtable person to me, your humble slave, and will
henceforward defend me from all the plots and persecutions of my town
enemies who buzz about me like evil flies, who are many and strong as
the sands of the sea. And for this end your humble slave will now
proceed to touch your palm."

Fixing his beady eyes on Mark he slowly drew out a well-filled silken
purse through whose meshes pieces of gold glittered. He bent low before
the Assistant's chair and laid the purse by his side on the table. The
young civilian flushed, then turned pale. He had heard of the offering
of bribes by natives, but surely it was early in his day for such an
incident to happen! Did he look such a vulnerable person, he asked
himself with a sense of dismay. Rising from his chair, he folded his
hands behind his back, and said in a tone of repressed anger: "Put that
purse in your pocket instantly. Englishmen don't take bribes!"

The Mussulman's amber face assumed a blacker hue. For a moment he stood
as if he felt himself trapped, then licking his red lips quickly, his
beady eyes shot fiery glances at the young man as he muttered in reply:
"No, but half-castes do!"

It was the first bearing of the cross which Mark Cheveril had to
undergo. He waxed a shade paler, and seemed about to speak, then he
checked himself and silently pointed to the door.

The man's demeanour instantly changed.

"Pardon your humble slave! He has been misled," he stammered. "By holy
Mahomet, I'll make the dog that misled me pay for this!"

Mark still pointed silently to the door. Zynool cast one long searching
glance upon him, regarding him evidently with roused curiosity from top
to toe. Then, salaaming profoundly, he sighed noisily and waddled out
with a baulked expression on his cunning face.




CHAPTER XIII.


After Zynool's departure, Mark sat down to examine certain blue books
which the Judge recommended for his perusal, but the late interview
rankled. He could not concentrate his attention, and thought, with a
sigh, how speedily he had been brought face to face with one of the
unpleasant realities of official life. Even his vanity had received a
shock. Did he look so clearly on the surface a man likely to have his
price? The idea was revolting. Should he tell the Collector what had
occurred or would it be best to bury the incident fathoms deep, was the
query which haunted him throughout the remainder of the office hours.

The Judge before leaving looked into the new Assistant's room with a
friendly smile to see how he had been finding his way, and suggested
that they should walk home together. Mark cheerfully assented, delighted
to find that in this land of carriages one was sometimes permitted to
use one's legs. The sun had lost its scorching element, and leafy
Puranapore was bathed in a soft yellow radiance which reminded him of an
autumn evening at home. A gentle breeze stirred the tree tops as their
lengthening shadows fell on the white ribbon-like road. The twilight
hour conduces to confidences, and Mark felt moved to introduce the
unpleasant experience of the morning which was still uppermost in his
mind, feeling that he could find no wiser confident than the trusty man
of law by whose side he walked. But just as he was bracing himself to
unfold the incident, he perceived Mrs. Goldring and her daughter coming
towards them. Recalling her supercilious nod of the previous evening,
he was surprised to receive quite a gracious greeting from the Judge's
wife.

Jane, with a joyous smile, sprang forward to take her father's arm, and
Mark found himself by Mrs. Goldring's side. After expatiating on the
pleasures of an evening stroll, she remarked that it was unfortunate the
Collector was unable to be at his office, though how she came to be
aware of the fact she did not divulge. Mark had yet to learn that the
station was like a glass house, all its happenings common property. It
is true Mrs. Goldring did not generally lay herself out for the
reception of servants' gossip after the manner of Mrs. Samptor, but her
encounter with the Collector still rankled, and she decided to follow
her little neighbour's methods in being on the outlook for gossip; and
also, for the present, to hide her adverse feelings towards the new
Assistant so that, if possible, she might sow discord between him and
his chief. Having heard from her ayah that the Collector was "resting"
to-day, she determined that she would waylay the young man, and give him
some hint of the foibles of his master. She certainly succeeded in
startling Mark when she suddenly glanced at him keenly, saying:

"You had a visit from that chief of snakes, Zynool, this morning, I
understand?"

Politeness forbade him to turn abruptly to his interlocutor and ask how
she came by this piece of news; he therefore only assented briefly.

"I may as well warn you, Mr. Cheveril, in confidence, of course, that we
all deplore the Collector's infatuation for Mahomedans. The favours he
grants them are spelling mischief down there in the town, as Dr.
Campbell will tell you, though my husband may be too loyal to his
brother-civilian to speak his mind," she added, turning half round and
rolling her protruding eyes upon the pair behind who were gaily
chatting, their thoughts far away from the squabbles of station life.

Mark's first impulse was to assure his companion that in the present
instance, at all events, Zynool Sahib had shown no desire to interview
his chief, but on the contrary had planned his visit in his absence so
that he might take stock of the new Assistant; but he felt disinclined
to make a confidante to the smallest extent of the lady by his side, who
continued excitedly:

"You will have the whole story soon enough, so I may as well unfold it
at once, Mr. Cheveril. That Mahomedan butler of his has great influence
with the Collector. My husband tries to excuse Mr. Worsley by saying he
is not in the least aware that the man goes out of his own province, or
he would not tolerate it for a moment. But do we not know there are none
so blind as those who won't see? Well, this Moideen is a poor relation
of Zynool, who is one of the richest men in the town, and it is he who
set him to work on his master for permission to build a mosque on an
ancient site."

"But that was surely a legitimate enough request," interjected Mark.

"Ah, but listen! The whole thing was a wicked plot on the part of the
Mussulmans to annoy their neighbours. The site was near the river and
the burning-ghaut of the Hindus; and so, of course, they have been up in
arms more or less ever since. Now wasn't that a most unprincipled
proceeding, Mr. Cheveril?"

"On whose part?" asked Mark coldly.

The chilliness of his tone was not lost on Mrs. Goldring, who tossed her
head, saying:

"On whoever the cap fits! For my part I've never had any doubt who is
the real culprit, but my position forbids me to say."

The usual tennis-party was to be held that evening in Mrs. Goldring's
compound. The hostess never doubted that the new Assistant would put in
an appearance after the favour she had been extending to him. She was
not a little mortified, therefore, when he politely declined, pleading
as his excuse, when she pressed him, that he must see how the Collector
was now, and, if well enough, keep him company.

"Believe me, you are wasting your fragrance on the desert air, Mr.
Cheveril. The Collector vastly prefers his cheroot and Moideen's company
to yours or mine," said Mrs. Goldring with a malicious air. But Mark
lifted his hat and disappeared down Mr. Worsley's avenue.

The late conversation had by no means a reassuring effect on the young
man. He glanced with new interest on Moideen. Beneath his obsequious
demeanour, he thought he could detect an uneasy smile as he met him and
ushered him into his master's writing-room. The Collector welcomed him
with a cordial smile, making light of his morning's ailment.

"It was only a touch of liver, though Moideen tried to make me believe I
was in the grip of fever." Then he turned to talk of office matters, and
was anxious to hear Mark's impressions of his first day at his new work.

After briefly recording the business which the clerks had put into his
hands, he led up to the visit of Zynool.

"So the rascal turned up at last!" said the Collector. "I've been
summoning him for weeks, and he has evaded me. Now he comes the only day
I've been away since I was on tour."

Mark was about to remark that it was clear now that it was owing to his
absence the Mahomedan had presented himself that morning.

"Then you don't like the man?" he asked, with an air of relief,
remembering Mrs. Goldring's assertion that Zynool and the Collector were
hand-in-glove. "My impression was certainly most unfavourable," he said,
the blood mounting to his face, "as you will believe when I tell you
that without any ostensible cause he actually approached me with a
bribe--drew from the inner folds of his muslin a bag of gold, and said
he wished to lay a gift in my palm. He looked daggers when I told him to
pick up his money and go. Rather a humiliating experience for my first
day in office, wasn't it? I hope I don't look a likely subject," wound
up Mark, with rather a sore smile.

"_You_ don't," answered the Collector, with frank emphasis on the
pronoun. "But that confirms my suspicions that such methods were tried
and succeeded not so very long since, and it throws fresh light on some
things. The blackguard! So he put forth that early feeler to see what
stuff you were made of! Good; he found his match this time!"

Mark, happening to glance at one of the screen doors at the moment,
perceived a pair of handsome brown feet with a massive ring on the great
toe planted on the rattan matting. He at once recognised them as
Moideen's and strode across to the door, but when he reached it, only
Sheila, one of the Collector's setters, stepped in with an apologetic
air.

The Collector, lying back in his chair absorbed in thought and taking
satisfying puffs of his cheroot, had not noticed the incident. Should he
call his attention to it, Mark pondered, but decided to ignore it.
Possibly the man was only passing the door, though certainly those brown
feet had had a stationary appearance.

Presently the Collector proceeded to unfold, in the frankest manner, the
circumstances which Mrs. Goldring had been eager to weave into a
sinister web. He narrated simply how he had been led to sanction the
building of the mosque in a neighbourhood which now suggested trouble
all round.

"The fact is, having more confidence in Printer than was possible later,
I left the negotiations to him, thinking it was a simple matter. It was
foolish and wrong, I see now, but these town squabbles have always been
particularly odious to me. As to Zynool, I only knew him by hearsay as a
relative of my boy Moideen, who was very eager about the mosque. I
believed it was solely on account of his zeal for the Faith, and was
quite touched by his religious emotion. He saved up his pay, made no
end of sacrifices to help to buy the site; but since then I've had
reason to suspect that he was used as a tool by that fellow Zynool, who
I know now to be a treacherous dog. He is backed up in his infamy by a
shady pleader in Madras, who secretly bought the site from an
unsuspecting Hindu for an old song. Then he and Zynool together sold it
to the Mahomedan community for twice the sum, getting the money out of
them on religious pretexts. I want to have it out with Zynool, and have
summoned him more than once, but I think he must be keeping out of my
way. Perhaps he guessed I was not at office to-day and went to take the
measure of the new Assistant," said Mr. Worsley, with an air of
discovery.

Mark, remembering the brown feet planted behind the screen door, was
about to say: "He got a message from Moideen that you were not to be
there. Possibly you were detained at home so that Zynool might have an
opportunity of sounding my depths"; but he forebore, contenting himself
by listening to this frank statement of affairs, open as the daylight,
and which he contrasted with Mrs. Goldring's jaundiced narrative. The
main point with him was to know that his chief was fully aware of
Zynool's villainy. It was not to be wondered at that such methods could
not readily be fathomed by the English gentleman, without fear and
without reproach.

As he sat by his side now in the gathering dusk, a recurrence of a
slumbering anxiety awakened in his mind. What was that remark as to
Zynool's being a client of "a shady pleader in Madras"? Alfred Rayner
had certainly mentioned his name as being a client, so it must be he! It
was bitter indeed that anyone should be able so to designate Hester's
husband, and yet had there not been suggestions of baseness in Rayner's
conduct on more than one occasion during his own brief sojourn in
Clive's Road? Could he forget the epithets he had used about the good
Morpeth? Was it possible that Hester Bellairs was mated to a man quite
unworthy of her? How futile was anything he could do to shield her from
the thorns and briars which must encompass her path even if their roads
did not lie apart? But he would be true to his promise given on the lawn
of the Pinkthorpe Rectory! He would take the earliest opportunity of a
visit to Clive's Road. Possibly Rayner might only be the dupe of the
wily Zynool, and, on being told his true character and methods, might
shake himself free of the plotter.

With hopeful thoughts Mark turned to interest himself in the project of
a tour through the District which the Collector was planning for the
following week.




CHAPTER XIV.


The gay season in Madras was now at its height. Mr. Alfred Rayner hailed
the opportunity of taking his charming bride everywhere, and occasions
were numerous. The weather, though never deserving to be registered
"cold," was pleasantly cool. Fashionable calls could be made with
comfort in the middle of the day, and in the discharge of this social
duty, Hester's husband kept her emphatically up to the mark. The
afternoon and evening were divided into quite a distracting whirl of
entertainments. Every day of the week had gymkanas, amateur concerts,
dances, and dinner-parties.

Mr. and Mrs. Rayner were early guests at Government House, Mrs.
Glanton's "neutral garden-party" had been followed by a speedy
invitation to dinner, and there and everywhere the young barrister
greeted with satisfaction, proofs that, as he expressed it, "Hester was
a stunning success," and had lent that element of social prestige to his
position which hitherto it had lacked, and which now he hungrily
welcomed.

He had been eager to make an early return for the varied hospitalities
which as a young married couple they had received. These dinner-parties
at Clive's Road were a source of no little anxiety to the young hostess,
chiefly because she realised Alfred's eagerness that they should attain
perfection. It is true her husband kept the direction of everything in
his own hands, insisting that no obtainable luxury should be absent from
his board; though before long, Hester's feminine sense had perceived
that much less might have been expended, and all gracious hospitality
enhanced by less ostentatious methods, recalling delightful
dinner-parties at home in which neither _pâté de foie gras_ nor dry
champagne were component parts. But seeing Mr. Rayner's ambition was to
impress the little society with his affluence, he certainly, by means of
his elegant festivities, succeeded in doing so; the result being that
the young couple became popular as charming entertainers, and by many
were valued accordingly.

On the surface all seemed to be going well with Hester. Nevertheless,
the painful incident which marked the visit of her old friend seemed to
have struck the hour for the vanishing of the unreal glamour under whose
pervading influence she had been conscious of being since she set foot
on Indian soil. Her individuality began to assert itself, she reverted
more to her home standards, and began to try to bring her days into line
with them. The social amenities which belong to refined circles had
always made a part of Hester's home life, though she was only beginning,
when she left, to have any active share in them. But she knew enough to
be aware that with her parents they had never been regarded as the
be-all and end-all of existence as they seemed to be to her husband. She
instinctively felt the preoccupation vulgar and selfish, though she
shrank from putting that feeling into words, and felt almost guilty in
thus judging. Since the morning on which Alfred had allowed himself to
speak such cruel words about Mr. Morpeth, he had seemed eager to atone,
had acquiesced in occasional morning visits to her friend Mrs. Fellowes,
and had even accepted good-naturedly a proposal that Hester should help
her with her Eurasian Girls' Club.

Though Hester had many acquaintances, Mrs. Fellowes was the only person
to whom she turned as a real friend. It was indeed the pleasantest
afternoon of the week for her when she drove towards the white-washed
room in the crowded quarter of Vepery, where she could always reckon on
a little talk with her friend before the arrival of the girls. These
interests were becoming every day keener to her, and formed an antidote
to the social environment of perpetual gaiety and flattery which
otherwise might have proved too engrossing.

Mrs. Fellowes, having had a slight breakdown, was ordered a month's
rest. During her absence Hester had undertaken to superintend the Girls'
Club, though she felt herself a poor substitute for the versatile
organiser. Having the need to consult her on some details, she responded
all the more gladly to Mrs. Fellowes' invitation to spend a day with her
in her retreat, which was within driving distance of Madras. Her husband
expressed himself delighted that she should have the opportunity of
making the acquaintance of a pretty bit of the Coromandel coast.

When she returned in the evening Hester was glowing in her praise of
Ennore, and full of a project which she and Mrs. Fellowes had planned
together.

"Won't it be delightful, Alfred, for those poor girls to have a whole
day in that lovely spot?" she said joyfully, as she unfolded the plan to
her husband while they sat in the verandah after dinner. "And we've
decided not to drive them out in those horrid native boxes on wheels
they call _jatkas_," continued Hester. "We mean to engage carriages from
Waller's, and with Mrs. Fellowes to welcome them at the other end, it
will all seem like fairy-land to them. Mrs. Fellowes says seventy-five
rupees will quite cover the hire, so I thought I might undertake that
part of it."

"Seventy-five rupees! To be good for that? Surely that was a rash
promise, Hester?" exclaimed her husband with an annoyed air. "My word, I
don't intend to have myself bled to that extent for those half-caste
creatures."

But remembering his resolve not to criticise her efforts for them, he
decided to put his objection on another footing. "The fact is, I'm none
too flush of rupees at this moment. This has been a triumphant season
for us, and no mistake, Hester, but one must pay for such triumphs!"

"But, Alfred, I promised," faltered Hester.

"Then you must just wriggle out if it, my dear. Write to Mrs. Fellowes
and say we've too many engagements here--can't find any spare day. She's
a sensible woman, she'll read between the lines. Rupees ain't so
plentiful with her."

"Yet just think what she does," said Hester with dilating eyes. "Her
purse is always open! But, Alfred, I'm really in honour bound to carry
through this treat. It's too late to draw back now, you would never ask
me do such a thing."

"To draw back? Of course, that's precisely what you must do! It's an
absurd project! I'll be bound, it wasn't for that sort of thing Binny's
Bungalow was lent to Mrs. Fellowes!" said Mr. Rayner, rising as if to
end the discussion.

"It's too late to draw back now," returned Hester decisively. "I
happened to meet two of the Vepery girls as I was driving home. I
stopped the carriage to tell them of the happy day Mrs. Fellowes was
planning for them----"

"Vepery, did you say?" asked Alfred, turning with a start. "I understood
your class was at Royapooram."

Though he had tacitly acquiesced in his wife's helping her friend in
what he called her "quixotic projects," he had taken no further
interest. It disturbed him not a little now to know that the meeting
might contain, his objectionable acquaintance, Leila Baltus, and sheer
alarm drove him to more indignant remonstrances than before. At length
he summoned his office-bandy, and at that unwonted hour ordered the
sleepy syce to light the lamps, and drove off to town, leaving his wife
in tears.

Hester, sorely vexed as she was, never for a moment contemplated
abandoning the project which she decided she was in duty bound to Mrs.
Fellowes, as well as to the Club girls, to carry out. Hurrying
up-stairs she counted her own little store which she had laid aside for
Christmas presents for those at home. It proved more than the required
sum.

When her landau appeared next forenoon to take her for a round of
visits, she told the syce to drive her instead to Waller's Stables,
where the hire of the required carriages was speedily arranged. She
resolved to tell her husband on the first opportunity that the carriage
difficulty was now solved, and to try, when she did so, to hide the
soreness which still rankled in her heart concerning it.

There was an air of apology in Mr. Rayner's manner when he returned from
the High Court that afternoon. He evidently did not forget that he had
lost his temper on the previous evening, and his wife hoped this state
of mind might make it easier for her to broach the vexed question.

This she was about to do as they sat in the verandah after dinner, when
her husband turned to her with a gracious smile.

"You're looking lovely to-night, Hester! Your day at Ennore yesterday
has brought back the English roses to your cheeks. Fine birds deserve
fine feathers, shall we say? See what I've brought to adorn your lovely
white neck!"

He opened an elegant leather case and held up triumphantly a beautiful
diamond pendant.

"Oh, Alfred," gasped Hester, after a moment's silence. "Have you
actually got that for me? Oh, I can't--I won't have it! You must give it
back! You will return it?"

"Return it, forsooth! A nice suggestion when an affectionate husband
presents his wife with a gift! Besides, Hester, you really haven't the
correct toilette without jewels. That trumpery gold cross is the only
thing you have to wear. It's been my despair at all our parties to see
you without diamonds when the frowsy dowagers are resplendent with
them--and the young brides into the bargain. This pendant is a simple
necessity. I'll add a tiara when I can."

"Never! I wouldn't wear one for the world! And if you want to make me
happy you'll return this. Oh, how could you waste money on it,
especially"--she paused with a little catch in her voice--"especially
since you said you couldn't afford to give me the rupees to pay for
those carriages though I told you I had promised them."

"Well, don't you see I had it in my mind to give you this surprise--and
a nice reception you've given it!"

Mr. Rayner snapped the lid of the elegant case with an angry air.
"Anyhow the diamonds are yours and you must wear them," he added,
throwing the case into her lap. "I'm not going to be made a fool of,
taking them back with my tail between my legs like a whipped puppy. Why,
it would soon get out that I am a hen-pecked husband, and so I am,
between one thing or another," he ended sulkily, and betook himself to
the perusal of the _Madras Mail_.

Hester, though she hated concealment, felt that this was not the moment
to announce that the carriages for Ennore had been duly arranged for,
and that she would have to go next day to help Mrs. Fellowes to
entertain the Eurasian girls. Neither could she, at this moment, make
any further remonstrance concerning the foolish gift. She would watch
for an early opportunity when her husband was in a better mood, and try
to persuade him to return it to the jewellers. The pendant was, in
itself, vulgar and ostentatious. She felt she could never wear it. She
smiled when she pictured her mother's face if she saw the flaring jewel
upon her young daughter's neck. Mrs. Bellairs disapproved of jewellery
for girls, even for young matrons, and her prejudice was so well known
in her circle that among Hester's numerous wedding gifts there had been
a marked absence of trinkets of any kind, and her husband had more than
once expressed his regret that his wife should be unadorned save by the
little antique gold cross.

Perhaps she had been unkind in making such a determined stand, Hester
thought now. But when she recalled her husband's assurance that they
were spending so largely that even seventy-five rupees would prove a
strain on their month's finances, she felt reassured that she would only
be acting as a true wife should in urging that the gaudy gift should
again take its place among the jeweller's wares; and, if she remained
firm, surely Alfred would not force it upon her.




CHAPTER XV.


Next morning, soon after Mr. Rayner left for the High Court, a peon
arrived with a chit from him to tell Hester that he had been summoned to
the Mofussil on pressing business, and would probably be absent for a
couple of days, and directing that his dressing-boy should bring his kit
to the railway station. Hester felt disappointed that his unlooked-for
departure deprived her of the opportunity she desired to tell him that
all was now arranged for the projected trip to Ennore, which was to be
announced by her to the girls of the Club that evening.

Mrs. Fellowes' modest room was beginning to be a familiar place to the
Eurasian girls. She had not followed any hard-and-fast plan in
conducting the meetings further than making it her object to draw forth
these young women who lolled listlessly about the pandals of their
pent-up homes, to endeavour to fill their hearts with new thoughts, and
their hands with useful work. "The pioneer meeting," Mr. Morpeth
gleefully called it, no effort of quite a similar kind ever having been
attempted before for the betterment of the aimless lives in the purlieus
of the Eurasian quarter. Mrs. Fellowes and her "lieutenant," as Hester
called herself, proved inventive in happy methods in which cheerful work
and rational amusement intermingled. The older lady, with unwearied
skill and patience, shaped useful garments for the girls, and tried to
persuade them to substitute neat sewing for their careless methods of
fixing them up anyhow. Interesting books were always provided for
reading aloud, as well as a growing library fed by Mr. Morpeth. A
piano, the gift of an unknown donor, had been lately introduced, greatly
enhancing the popularity of the gathering, which was only beginning to
be known; and Mrs. Fellowes was always on the outlook for new recruits.

The end of the hour had come on this afternoon, and Hester was divulging
Mrs. Fellowes' invitation to Ennore to the assembled girls when she was
interrupted by a new arrival.

A young woman, attired more gaudily than was usual to the "Friendly,"
had pushed open the door and taken her seat without note or comment, and
was gazing intently at Hester. The new-comer was the object of much
whispering and many scowls from the frequenters of the meeting. Hester
presumed that she wished to become a member, but her aspect was so
unconciliatory that she felt some hesitation in addressing her, and
applied for information to a girl standing by her side. All she could
learn was that the girl had only recently appeared in Vepery and was
unknown to her; the stranger, however, seemed to have sharp ears.

"If it's my name you want," she said, "I'm not ashamed of it as some
might be of theirs. Mine's Miss Leila Baltus!"

A displeased murmur went round the meeting, and all eyes were directed
to Miss Baltus, who tossed her head defiantly.

"We are glad to see you," began Hester with quiet courtesy. "We welcome
everyone to our meeting." She paused, but resumed, "With regard to Mrs.
Fellowes' kind invitation, we shall have to restrict our number to those
already on our list."

Approving nods from the company acknowledged the reasonableness of Mrs.
Rayner's remark. A girl, who evidently knew more about the stranger than
the one to whom Hester had applied for information, said in a loud
whisper to her neighbour:

"Cheap on Leila for her impudence! She's got thatt awfulee high and
mighty since she went to Calcutta--and thatt spiteful too!"

Stung by hearing her name, and no doubt ruffled that she was not even to
have the chance of declining the proposed treat, Leila Baltus rose,
dropping her showy parasol noisily on the floor as she did so. She made
her way towards the door, saying enigmatically:

"I'll take my leave now. I've seen you, and that's enough for one
afternoon!"

She hissed out the words and rolled her dark eyes unpleasantly on the
sweet young English face. "There will be a second meeting, or my name's
not Leila Baltus! A Friendlee Society, forsooth!" Her cheap skirt with
its papery rustle swished along the floor as she made her exit.

A disapproving murmur ran through the ranks of the loyal partisans, but
the incident was soon forgotten amid the pleasant preoccupation over the
trip on the following morning.

On Hester's mind, however, it left an unpleasant recollection. She hoped
the mutinous intruder might prove more amenable to Mrs. Fellowes'
influence at some future time, and that they might one day be able to
get nearer to this embittered-looking girl with the beautiful eyes. To
have had such a bellicose element in to-morrow's party would have been
jarring, to say the least of it, and unfair to the others. It was
doubtless hearing of the pleasure which she was not to share, however,
that had made the girl so rude and unmannerly. Noting her name in her
pocket-book, Hester resolved to consult with her wise friend what should
be their attitude towards Miss Leila Baltus.

The bungalow where Mrs. Fellowes was staying belonged to an old and
distinguished firm of Madras merchants. The principals of the firm had
used it on occasion as a country house before South Indian hills became
so easy of access; and often now they put it at the disposal of friends.
To many a young couple had Binny's Bungalow at Ennore proved a place of
dear romance; to many a weary veteran a haven of quiet rest.

There was a peculiar fairyism about Ennore. It seemed to nestle in all
its sylvan beauty on the borders of an inland lake whose slopes were
fringed by cocoanut palms, dense glossy shrubs, and odoriferous spice
plants; while graceful bamboos flung their interlacing tendrils all
about. Great water-lilies spread themselves over the surface of the
water, and the water-fowl floated or skimmed over its sparkling ripples.
A trim, white-sailed boat, with an ancient, white-bearded serang in
attendance, was always at the disposal of the bungalow guests. Afloat on
the placid waters of the lake and sheltered by its leafy borders, every
object tended to convince one that it was entirely an inland sheet of
water, till suddenly you might, perchance, be startled by the shrill cry
of a sea-gull, or the fierce roll of the near breakers would fall on
your astounded ear. You would then glance across the sunny ripples of
the lake, and perceive with amazement that a strip of sand was all that
divided the peaceful backwater from the great Bay of Bengal; so white
and thin were its grains that they might be put through an hour-glass
without refinement, and so narrow was the strip that, in a minute, a
child could run across it. On one side light zephyrs dance on the tiny
ripples; on the other, the waters roll in mighty waves dashed to the
shore in tossing, writhing floods of whitest foam.

At the upper end of this long stretch of smooth sand stands the gallant
little bungalow with its trim, green-painted _persiennes_, trellised
verandahs, and its breezy "up-stair" room, surrounded by some sturdy
date palms, and sheltered from the elements by a belt of hardy jungle
trees which break the fury of the gales.

The one ample sitting-room of the bungalow from which branched various
bedrooms and dressing-rooms, seemed to Hester the most English-looking
room of a certain type which she had seen since coming to the East.
Perhaps it suggested the old-fashioned inn-parlour more than anything
intimately domestic. On its walls hung numerous quaint-coloured prints
of English hunting scenes. Its sofas, planted against the walls, offered
luxurious rest; while its big dining-table and rows of chairs gave it a
hospitable air. The many windows at each end of the long room disclosed
impartially the inland beauties of the backwater, and the expanse of the
great restless ocean. On one side of the building the favoured small
guests, who found themselves making holiday at the bungalow, might float
their mimic ships in safety; and on the other, beyond the mass of
seething foam, the stateliest ships of the world might be seen sailing
over the great deep.

Hester had driven out early to help Mrs. Fellowes with preparations for
her numerous guests, and now stood by the side of the hostess, giving
the girls a smiling welcome to Ennore. It s

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