CHAPTER III.
THE BIG CHAPS.
"Love that is loud or light in all men's ears, * * * * * That binds on all men's feet, or chains, or wings." --SWINBURNE.
Honor woke early, springing from dreamless sleep to alert wakefulness,as is the way of vivid natures, and the first sight that greeted herwas the huddled form of Parbutti, her chin between her knees, her darkeyes bright and watchful.
Honor's smile was answered by a flash of light across the old woman'sface as she arose and salaamed to the ground.
"Behold, while the Miss Sahib slept like a little child, I have laidout the riding-gear as of custom, and now I go to prepare the_terail_[5] for _chota hazri_.[6] They are not ill folk in thiscompound, Hazur; and there goes but one word among them, that ourSahib is a diamond fit for a king's turban, understanding the heart ofblack men, giving no shame words, neither smiting with his foot as domany officer-sahibs. It is well for us, who come strangers to acountry of murderers, to be of the household of such a Sahib. Nay,then, child of my heart, I will cease from idle talk, ... it is anorder. Doth not my pearl and the light of my life await her chotahazri?"
[5] Tray.
[6] Small breakfast.
And the old woman, whose garrulity was as dust in the balance whenweighed against twenty years of faithful service, shuffled out of theroom.
Half an hour later Honor was in the saddle--a gallant figure inwell-cut brown habit and white helmet, the sunlight finding out gleamsof bronze in her abundant hair, while all about her shone theuncompromising blue and gold of a mid-March morning--fresh withoutsharpness, and fragrant with the ethereal fragrance of dawn.
She followed the downward road, noting a landmark here and there forguidance. Her delight was in the rhythm of movement; in the waitingstillness of earth and sky; the momentous pause between all that hasbeen, and all that shall be, which gives a dramatic sense ofresponsibility to the day's first hours.
Her eyes rejoiced in the least detail of form and light and colour; inthe signs of reviving life; the alert ubiquitous sentries, the sharpalternations of sun and shadow on hills naked and unpromising as theharsh face of poverty; hills that for all time have had but one giftfor the giving--"not peace, but a sword." From the cavalry Linesbehind her the trumpet call to "stables" set the blood stirring in herveins, with that peculiar thrill which no other instrument canproduce. The very spirit of battle breathes in the sound.
An expectant interest glowed within her like a star. It was her greatgood-fortune to be blessed with that poetic understanding which isneither deceived by custom nor dulled by repetition, which sees allthings--even the most familiar--virginally fresh, as on the morning ofcreation.
Her random wanderings brought her to a stretch of un-metalled road,and at the road's edge, some few hundred yards away a man on a whitehorse had drawn rein at sight of her. Instantly her thought alightedon Evelyn's husband, but nearer view revealed a different type ofman--taller, and equally erect, yet lacking in the suggestion of forceand virility that emanated from Captain Desmond, even in repose. Witha rapidity born of much practice Honor took stock of him, from hishelmet to his boots, as he sat awaiting her, with a coolness which atonce amused her and piqued her interest. A slim square chin,indeterminate colouring, and eyes of a remarkable thoughtfulness undervery level brows, went to make up a satisfying, if not very strikingwhole.
"A modest, understanding sort of man," was Honor's mental verdict. "Astudent every inch of him. I wonder how in the world he comes to be asoldier."
By this time Dilkusha had been drawn up, and the man who ought not tohave been a soldier was saluting her with a singularly charming smile,that began in the eyes, and broke up the gravity of the face assunshine breaks up a cloud.
"You must be Miss Meredith," he said. "One doesn't meet a new facehaphazard in Kohat, and ... you are wonderfully like your brother. Iam Major Wyndham. You may have heard the name?"
"Why, ... yes. You are Captain Desmond's friend."
"You couldn't give a completer description of me! I hear you are toput up with them till Meredith comes back."
"Yes. They have been quite charming about it, and I am so glad not tobe driven away from the Frontier at once. I have been longing to getto it for years."
He watched her while she spoke, his quietly observant eyes missing nodetail of her face.
"And now you have got here, I wonder how it will strike you after theimposing official circles of Simla and Lahore. You'll find none of the'beer and skittles' of the country up here. But the Frontier has itsown fascination all the same; especially when a man has the spirit ofit in his blood. Desmond, for instance, wouldn't give a brass farthingfor life out of sight of those hard-featured hills. Do you know himand his wife at all?"
"I never saw him till yesterday, except in the distance at polomatches. But I have known her since she was quite a child."
"And I have known Desmond since he was thirteen. Rather odd! You can'tfail to be good friends with _him_ Miss Meredith."
"Are you as rabid as my brother and the Colonel because the poor manhas dared to marry?" she asked, with an incurable directness which tosome natures was a stumbling-block, and to others her chiefest charm."It seems to be a part of the regimental creed."
"It is. And I subscribe to it ... _as_ a creed. But my belief has notyet been tried in the fire. Desmond is the keenest soldier I know; yethe has seen fit to marry. I have an immense faith in him, and,whatever others may think, I prefer to reserve my judgment."
"If only a few more of us had the wisdom to do that," the girl saidsoftly. "How much easier life would be for every one!"
Wyndham smiled.
"I have a notion that life isn't meant to be easy," he said. "And thefact remains that Meredith and the Colonel are right in principle. Fewmen are strong enough to stand the strain of being pulled two ways atonce, and marriage is bound to be a grave risk for a man whose heartis set on soldiering--Frontier soldiering above all. But then Desmondloves a risk better than anything else in life."
And with an abrupt laugh he dismissed the subject.
"I must be going on now," he added. "But no doubt we shall meet againsoon. I am constantly over at the bungalow."
And, saluting her again, he trotted leisurely northward to the cavalryLines.
His thoughts as he went hovered about the girl. The mere picture sheleft upon his brain was not one to be lightly set aside by a man withan ardent eye for the beautiful, and a spirit swift to discern thosehidden elements which gave to Honor Meredith's beauty its distinctivequality and charm.
Some men are born with a genius for looking on at life, a form ofgenius not to be despised. They are of the type from which greatnaturalists, great philosophers are made; men quick to perceive, slowto assert; men whose large patience rests upon freedom from the fretof personal desire. Of such was Paul Wyndham, and in his accepted roleof onlooker he fell to pondering upon the new element in his ownimmediate drama.
If only Desmond had chosen for his helpmate such a girl as MissMeredith, how different might have been the regiment's feelings inregard to the unwelcome fact of his marriage. Yet Wyndham was aware ofan instant recoil from the idea, aware that he personally preferredmatters as they stood. With which conclusion he spurred his horse toa canter, as though he could thus outrun the quickened current ofthought and feeling which this unlooked-for meeting had set stirringin his brain.
* * * * *
Meantime Honor Meredith had fallen in with another member of hernewly-adopted family:--a big, raw-boned Irishwoman, who wore hercurling reddish hair cropped short, answered to the name of "Frank,"and dressed chronically in a serviceable skirt and covert coat, and aman's shikarri helmet. When riding, the skirt was replaced by that ofa country-made habit; and in the simplest evening gown thislarge-featured, large-hearted woman stood a martyr confessed. For tenyears she had been the only woman in a regiment
of sworn bachelors;had nursed her "brother officers" whenever need arose; had sharedtheir interests, their hardships, their amusements; till,--in thesymbolism of the India she loved,--they and the regiment had become"her father and her mother, her people and her God."
At sight of Honor she hurried her grey country-bred across the road,and held out a square, loosely-gloved hand.
"It's bound to be Miss Meredith!" she exclaimed, in a pronouncedbrogue, with a flash of white even teeth--her sole claim to beauty."It's very welcome you are to Kohat and to the regiment. I'm FrankOlliver, ... Captain Olliver's wife. I'll turn now and ride back a bitof the way with you. Then we can talk as we go. 'Tis the worst of badluck about your brother. When'll he be leaving?"
"In four or five days. He moves across into our bungalow this morning.It was splendid of Captain Desmond to think of it."
"Ah, Theo's just made that way!" Then, noting a glimmer of surprise inHonor's face, her wide smile shone out once more. "Is it shocked youare because I speak of him so? Well, ... truth is, I'm a privilegedperson since I pulled him through typhoid seven years ago, when byrights he should have died. I'm a rare hand, anyway, at dropping theformalities with them that suit me taste. Though, by the same token,I've taken no liberties with little Mrs Desmond yet. It's queer. Wedon't seem to get much further with her; though we'd be glad enough todo it for Theo's sake. You mustn't mind straight speech from me, MissMeredith. Sure I must have been born with the whole truth in me mouth,for as fast as I open me lips a bit of it slips out. I'll be findingshe's your half-sister, or first cousin, or some such thing!"
Honor laughed outright. It would clearly be impossible to take amissanything that this woman might choose to say. The kindliness of hersoul shone through her plain face, like sunlight through awindow-pane.
"Her mother is a distant connection of ours," the girl admittedfrankly. "And we were brought up for a time like sisters. It must havebeen rather a startling change for her from a country town at home toa Border station; and she is very young still, and very devoted to herhusband."
"She is that, ... after a queer fashion of her own. But Theo's boundto make his mark on the Frontier, like his father before him; and youknow the proverb, 'He travels the fastest who travels alone.' Tishardly meself, though, that should be upholding such a saying asthat!"
"No, indeed! No woman ought to uphold it. And, after all," Honoradded, with a very becoming touch of seriousness, "there may be betterthings for a man than to travel fast. He may learn more by travellingslowly, don't you think? And I should imagine that fast or slow,Captain Desmond is bound to arrive in the end--Now I must turn inhere, and see if John is awake. I'll come and see you when he is gone.I can spare no time for any one else till then!"
Frank Olliver beamed in unqualified approbation.
"You're just a brick, Miss Meredith," she declared with ready Irishwarmth. "An' 'twas a fine wind indeed that carried you up to Kohat."
Honor found her hand enclosed in a grasp as strong as a man's; andthree minutes later Mrs Olliver--whose seat on a horse was as ungainlyas her hand on its mouth was perfect--had become a mere speck on thewide sunlit road.
Honor entered the hall of her new home pondering many things. Shelaid aside her sun helmet, and in obedience to the promptings of herinterested soul turned her steps toward the drawing-room.
The door was ajar, and passing between the looped gold and white_phulkaris_, she came to a standstill; for the room was not empty.
Captain Desmond, in undress uniform, sat at the piano with his backtowards her. His white helmet lay, spike downward, on the carpet; andan Aberdeen terrier--ears rigidly erect, head tilted at a criticalangle--sat close beside it, watching his master with intent eyes, inwhich all the wisdom and sorrow of the ages seemed writ.
While the girl hesitated on the threshold, Desmond struck a successionof soft chords in a minor key; and she stood spellbound, determined tohear more. Music was no mere accomplishment to her, but a simplenecessity of life; and this man possessed that rare gift of touch,which no master in the world can impart, because it is a produceneither of hand nor brain, but of the player's individual soul.Desmond's fingers were unpractised, but he gave every note its truevalue; and he played slowly, as though composing each chord as itcame, or building it up from memory. It was almost as if he werethinking aloud; and Honor had just decided that she really had nobusiness to be overhearing his thoughts, when an apprehensive "woof"from the Aberdeen brought them suddenly to an end.
Desmond swung round upon the music-stool, and at sight of her sprangup hastily, a dull flush showing through his tan.
"Amar Singh told me you were out," he said, as they shook hands.
"So I was. I only came in this minute. Won't you let me hear a littlemore, please?"
He shook his head with good-humoured decision.
"I never play to any one ... except Rob, who, being a ScotsCovenanter, disapproves on principle."
"I call that selfish. It's such a rare treat to hear a man play well.I was delighted when you began. I thought pianos were unheard of uphere."
"Well, ... they are hardly a legitimate item in a Frontier officer'sequipment! This one was ... my mother's," he laid a hand on theinstrument, as though it had been the shoulder of a friend. "Thefellows sat upon me, I assure you, when I brought it out. Told me itwas worse than a wife. But I've carried my point, ... wife and all.And now, perhaps you will reward me,--if I haven't been too ungraciousto deserve it?"
He whisked away his solitary photo, and opened the piano.
"How do you know I play?" she asked, smiling. She liked hisimpetuosity of movement and speech.
"I don't know. I guessed it last night. You carry it in your head?"
"Yes; most of it."
"Real music? The big chaps?"
"Very little else, I'm afraid."
"No need to put it that way here, Miss Meredith. A sonata, please. ThePathetic."
She sat down to the piano with a little quickening of the breath andlet her fingers rest a moment on the keyboard. Then--sudden, crisp,and vigorous came the crash of the opening chord.
Honor Meredith's playing was of a piece with her own nature--vivid,wholesome, impassioned. Her supple fingers drew the heart out of eachwire. Yet she did not find it necessary to sway her body to and fro;but sat square and upright, her head a little lifted, as thoughevolving the music from her soul.
Desmond listened motionless to the opening bars; then, with a longbreath of satisfaction, moved away, and fell to pacing the room.
The Scots Covenanter, scenting the joyful possibility of escape,trotted hopefully to heel: but, being a dog of discernment, speedilydetected the fraud, and retired to the hearth-rug in disgust. Thencehe scrutinised his master's irrational method of taking exercise,unfeigned contempt in every line of him, from nose-tip to tail.
The sonata ended, Honor let her hands fall into her lap, and sat verystill. She had lost all thought of her companion in the joy ofinterpretation; but Desmond's voice at her side recalled her toreality.
"Thank you," he said. "I haven't heard it played like _that_ ... forfive years. If you can do much of this sort of thing you'll find meinsatiable. We're bound to be good friends at this rate, and I see noreason why we should not comply with Ladybird's request to us. Do you,... Honor?"
She started and flushed at the sound of her name; then turned herclear eyes full upon him, the shadow of a smile lifting the rebelliouscorners of her mouth.
"No reason at all, ... in good time, Captain Desmond."
He returned her look with an equal deliberation.
"Is that a hint to me to keep my distance?"
"No. Only to ... 'go slow,' if you'll forgive the expressive slang.It's so much wiser in the long-run."
"Is it? Bad luck for me. I've never managed it yet, and I doubt if Iever shall. The men of my squadron call me _Bijli-wallah Sahib_,[7]and I didn't earn the name by going slow, ... Miss Meredith. If I havebeen overbold, your music was to blame. But Ladybird seemed to wishit; an
d, believe me, I did _not_ mean it to seem like impertinence.Why, there she is herself, bless her; and we're neither of us readyfor breakfast!"
[7] _Bijli_--lightning.