CHAPTER III.
ON THE RIDGE.
"A melly Klistmus to zoo, Miffis Erlton! An' oh! they's suts a lot ofboo'ful, boo'ful sings in a velanda."
Sonny's liquid lisp said true. On this Christmas morning the verandaof Major Erlton's house on the Ridge of Delhi was full of beauties tochildish eyes. For, he being on special duty regarding a scheme forcavalry remounts and having Delhi for his winter headquarters, therewere plenty of contractors, agents, troopers, dealers, what not, to beremembered by one who might probably have a voice in much futurepatronage. So there were trays on trays of oranges and apples,pistachios, almonds, raisins, round boxes of Cabul grapes, all deckedwith flowers. And on most of them, as the surest bid for recognition,lay a trumpery toy of some sort for the Major sahib's little unknownson, whose existence could, nevertheless, not be ignored by thesegift-bringers, to whom children are the greatest gift of all.
And so, as they waited, with a certain child-like complacency in theirown offerings, for the recipients' tardy appearance, they had smiledon little Sonny Seymour as he passed them on his way to give greetingto his dearest Mrs. Erlton. For the Seymours had had the expectedchange to Delhi, and Sonny's mother was now complaining of theclimate, and the servants, and the babies, in one of the houses withinthe Cashmere gate of the city; a fact which took from her thegrievance regarding dog-carts, since it lay within a walk of herhusband's office.
So some of the smiles had not simply been given to a child, but to achild whose father was a sahib known to the smiler; and one broad grinhad come because Sonny had paused to say, with the quaint precisionwith which all English children speak Hindustani.
"_Ai! Bij Rao! tu kyon aie?_" (Oh, Bij Rao, why are you here?) Theorderly's face, which Mrs. Seymour had said gave her the shivers, hadbeamed over the recognition; he had risen and saluted, explaininggravely to the _chota_ sahib that he came from Meerut, because theMajor sahib was now his sahib for the time. Sonny had nodded gravelyas if he understood the position perfectly, and passed on to thedrawing room, where Kate Erlton was sticking a few sprigs of holly andmistletoe round the portrait of another fair-haired boy; these samesprigs being themselves a Christmas offering from the Parsee merchant,who had a branch establishment at a hill station. He sent for themfrom the snows every year for his customers as a delicate attention.And this year something still more reminiscent of home had come withthem: a real spruce fir for the Christmas tree which Kate Erlton wasorganizing for the school children. The tree in itself was new toIndia, and she had suggested a still greater innovation; namely, thatall children of parents employed in Government offices or workshopsshould be invited, not only those with pretensions to white faces. ForKate, being herself far happier and more contented than she had beennine months before, when she begged that last chance from Jim Douglas,had begun to look out from her own life into the world around her withgreater interest. In a way, it seemed to her that the chance had come.Not tragically, as Jim Douglas had hinted, but easily, naturally, inthis special duty which had removed her husband both from AliceGissing and his own past reputation.
It had sent him to Simla, where people are accepted for what they are;and here his good looks, his good-natured, devil-may-care desire foramusement had made him a favorite in society, and his undoubtedknowledge of cavalry requirements stood him in good stead with theauthorities. So he had come down for the winter to Delhi on a newtrack altogether. To begin with, his work interested him and made himlead a more wholesome life. It took him away from home pretty often,so lessening friction; for it was pleasant to return to a well-orderedhouse after roughing it in out-stations. Then it took him into thewilds where there was no betting or card-playing. He shot deer andduck instead, and talked of caps and charges, instead of colors andtricks. To his vast improvement; for though the slaying instinct maynot be admirable in itself, and though the hunter may rightly havebeen branded from the beginning with the mark of Cain, still theshooter or fisher generally lives straighter than his fellows, andmurder is not the most heinous of crimes. Not even in regard to thesafety and welfare of the community.
So Kate had begun to have those pangs of remorse which come to womenof her sort at the first symptom of regeneration in a sinner. Pangs ofpitiful consideration for the big, handsome fellow who could behave sonicely when he chose, vague questionings as to whether the past hadnot been partly her fault; whether if this were the chance, she oughtnot to forget and forgive--many things.
He looked very handsome as he lounged in, dressed spick and span infull uniform for church parade. And she, poised on a chair, her daintyankles showing, looked spick and span also in a pretty new dress. Henoticed the fact instantly.
"A merry Christmas, Kate! Here! give me your hand and I'll help youdown."
How many years was it since he had spoken like that, with a glint inhis eyes, and she had had that faint flush in her cheek at his touch?The consciousness of this stirring among the dry bones of somethingthey had both deemed dead, made her set to shaking some leaves fromher dress, while he, with an irrelevantly boisterous laugh, stooped toswing Sonny to his shoulder. "You here, jackanapes!" he cried. "Amerry Christmas! Come and get a sweetie--you come too, Kate, thebeggars will like to see the _mem_. By Jove! what a jolly morning!"
A foretaste of the winter rains had fallen during the night, leaving acrisp new-washed feeling in the air, a heavy rime-like dew on theearth; the sky of a pale blue, yet colorful, vaulted the wide expansecloudlessly. And from the veranda of the Erltons' house the expansewas wide indeed; for it stood on the summit of the Ridge at itsextreme northern end--the end, therefore, furthest from the city,which, nearly three miles away, blocked the widening wedge of denselywooded lowland lying between the rocky range and the river. The Ridgeitself was not unlike some huge spiny saurian, basking in thesunlight; its tail in the river, its wider, flatter head, crowned byHindoo Rao's house, resting on the groves and gardens of theSubz-mundi or Green Market, a suburb to the west of the town. It is aquaint, fanciful spot, this Delhi Ridge, even without the history ofheroism crystallized into its very dust. A red dust which might almosthave been stained by blood. A dust which matches that history, sinceit is formed of isolated atoms of rock, glittering, perfect inthemselves, like the isolated deeds which went to make up the finestrecord of pluck and perseverance the world is ever likely to see.Perseverance and pluck which sent more Englishmen to die cheerfully inthat red dust than in the defenses and reliefs of Lucknow, Cawnpore,and the subsequent campaigns all combined. Let the verdict on thewisdom of those months of stolid endurance be what it may, that factremains.
And the quaintness of the Ridge lies in its individuality. Not eightyfeet above the river, its gradients so slight that a driver scarceslackens speed at its steepest, there is never a mistake possible asto where it begins or ends. Here is the river bed, founded on sand;there, cleaving the green with rough red shoulder, is the ridge ofrock.
From the veranda, then, its stony spine split by a road like aparting, it trended southwest, so giving room between it and the riverfor the rose-lit, lilac-shaded mass of the town, with the big whitebubble of the Jumma mosque in its midst; the delicate domes fringingthe palace gateways showing like strings of pearls on the blue sky.And beyond them, a dazzle of gold among the green of the Garden ofGrapes, marked that last sanctuary of a dead dynasty upon the city'seastern wall.
The cantonments lay to the back of the house on the western slope ofthe Ridge and on the plain beyond. This also was a widening wedge ofgreen wooded land cut off from the rest of the plain by a tree-setoverflow canal. The Ridge, therefore, formed the backbone of atriangle protected by water on two sides. On the third was the cityand its suburbs. But--to carry out the image of the lizard--a naturaloutwork lay like a huge paw on either side of the head; on the riverside the spur of Ludlow Castle, on the canal side the General's mound.
A brisk breeze was fluttering the flag on the tower cresting theridge, a few hundred yards from the house, and as Ma
jor Erlton steppedinto the veranda, a puff of white smoke curled cityward, and the rollof the time-gun reverberated among the rocks.
"By Jingo! I must hurry up if I'm to have breakfast before church," heexclaimed, as the circle of gift-bringers, who had been waiting nearlyhalf an hour, rose simultaneously with salaams and good wishes. Thesudden action made a white cockatoo perched in the corner raise itsflame-colored crest and begin to prance.
"Naughty Poll! Bad Poll!" came Sonny's mellifluous lisp from theMajor's shoulder. "Zoo mufn't make a noise and interrupt."
The admonition made the bird smooth its ruffled temper and feathers.Not that there was much to interrupt; the Major's haltingacknowledgments being of the briefest; partly because of breakfast,partly from lack of Hindustani, mostly from the inherent insularhorror of a function.
"Thank God! that's over," he said piously, when the last tray had beenemptied on the miscellaneous pile, round which the servants werealready hovering expectantly, and the last well-wisher haddisappeared. "Still it was nice of them to remember Freddy," he added,looking at the toys--"Wasn't it, wife?"
She looked up almost scared at the title. "Very," she replied, with afaint quiver in her voice. "We must send some home to him, mustn'twe?"
The pronoun of union made the Major, in his turn, feel embarrassed. Hesought refuge once more in Sonny.
"You must have your choice first, jackanapes!" he said, swinging thechild to the ground again. "Which is it to be? A box of soldiers or amonkey on a stick?"
"Fanks!" replied Sonny with honest dignity, "but I'se gotted my plesyalready. She's give-ded me the polly--be-tos it 'oves me dearly."
Kate answered her husband's look with a half-apology. "He means thecockatoo. I thought you wouldn't mind, because it was so dreadfullynoisy. And it never screams at him. Sonny! give Polly an apple andshow Major Erlton how it loves you."
The child, nothing loth to show off, chose one from the heap and wentover fearlessly to the vicious bird; the servants pausing to lookadmiringly. The cockatoo seized it eagerly, but only as a means todraw the little fellow's arm within reach of its clambering feet. Thenext moment it was on the narrow shoulder dipping and sidling amongthe golden curls.
"See how it 'oves me," cried Sonny, his face all smiles.
Major Erlton laughed good-temperedly at the pretty sight and went into breakfast.
Then the dog-cart came round. It was the same one in which the Majorhad been used to drive Alice Gissing. But this Christmas morning hehad forgotten the fact, as he drove Kate instead, with Sonny, who wasto be taken to church as a great treat, crushing the flounces of herpretty dress.
Yet the fresh wind blew in their faces keenly, and the Major, pointingwith his whip to the scudding squirrels, said, "Jolly little beasts,aren't they, Kate," just as he had said it to Alice Gissing. What ismore, she replied that it was jolly altogether, with much the sameenjoyment of the mere present as the other little lady had done. Forthe larger part of life is normal, common to all.
So they sped past the rocks and trees swiftly, down and down, tillwith a rumble they were on the draw-bridge, through the massive archof the Cashmere gate, into the square of the main-guard. The lastclang of the church bell seemed to come from the trees overhanging it,and in the ensuing silence a sharp click of the whip sounded like apistol crack. The mare sped faster through the wooden gate into theopen. To the left the Court House showed among tall trees, to theright Skinner's House. Straight ahead, down the road to the Calcuttagate and the boat bridge, stood the College, the telegraph office, adozen or so of bungalows in gardens, and the magazine shouldering theold cemetery. Quite a colony of Western ways and works within the citywall, clinging to it between the water-bastion and the Calcutta gate.
Close at hand in a central plot of garden, circled by roads, was thechurch, built after the design of St. Paul's; obtrusively Occidental,crowned by a very large cross.
As the mare drew up among the other carriages, the first notes of theChristmas hymn pealed out among the roses and the pointsettias, theglare and the green. Not a Christmas environment; but the festivalbrings its own atmosphere with it to most people, and Major Erlton,admiring his wife's rapt face, remembered his own boyhood as he sang arumbling Gregorian bass of two tones and a semi-tone:
"Oh come, all ye faithful Joyful and triumphant."
The words echoed confidently into the heart of the great Mohammedanstronghold, within earshot almost of the rose-red walls of the palace;that survival of all the vices Christianity seeks to destroy.
"They have a new service to-night," yawned the chaplain's groom toothers grouped round a common pipe. "I, who have served _padres_ allmy life--the pay is bad but the kicks less--saw never the like. 'Tis aqueer tree hung with lights, and toys to bribe the children to worshipit. They wanted mine to go, but their mother is pious and would not.She says 'tis a spell."
"Doubtless!" assented a voice. "The spell Kali's priest, who came fromCalcutta seeking aid against it, warned us of--the spell which forcesa body to being Christian against his will."
A scornful cluck came from a younger, smarter man. "Trra! a trick thatfor offerings, Dittu. The priest came to me also, but I told him mymaster was not that sort. He goes not to church except on the bigday."
"But the _mem?_" asked a new speaker enviously. "'Tis the _mems_ dothe mischief to please the _padres_; just as our women do it to pleasethe priests. My _mem_ reads prayers to her ayah."
"Paremeshwar be praised!" ejaculated the man to whom the pipebelonged. "My master keeps no _mem_, but the other sort. Though as forthe ayah it matters not, she has no caste to lose."
There was a grunt of general assent. The remark crystallized the wholequestion to unmistakable form. So long as a man could get a pull fromhis neighbor's pipe and have a right to one in return, the mastermight say and do what he chose. If not; then----?
An evil-faced man who still smarted from a righteous licking, givenhim that morning for stealing his horse's grain, put his view of whatwould happen in that case plainly.
"Bullah!" sneered a bearded Sikh orderly waiting to carry his master'sprayer-book. "You Poorbeahs can talk glibly of change. And why not?seeing it is but a change of masters to born slaves. Oil burns tobutter! butter to oil!"
The evil face scowled. "Thou wilt have to shave under thy master,anyhow, Gooroo-jee! Ay! and dock thy pigtail too."
This allusion to a late ruling against the Nazarene customs of thenewly raised Sikh levies might have led to blows--the bearded onebeing a born fighter--if, the short service coming to an end, themasters had not trooped out, pausing to exchange Christmas greetingsere they dispersed.
"Never saw Mrs. Erlton looking so pretty," remarked Captain Seymour tohis wife, as, with the restored Sonny between them, they moved off totheir own house, which stood close by, plumb on the city wall. Hespoke in a low voice, but Major Erlton happened to be within earshot.He turned complacently to identify the speaker, then looked at hiswife to see if the remark was true. Scarcely; to Herbert Erlton'squickened recollection of the girl he had married. Yet she lookeddistinctly creditable, desirable, as she stood, the center of a littlegroup of men and women eager to help her with the Christmas tree. Itstruck him suddenly, not in the least unpleasantly, that of late hiswife had had no lack of aids-de-camp, and that one, Captain Morecombe,the pick of the lot, seemed to have little else to do. A symptom whichthe Major could explain from his own experience, and which made himsmile; he being of those who admire women for being admired.
"I have arranged about the conjuror, Mrs. Erlton," said CaptainMorecombe, who was, indeed, quite ready to do her behests; "thatsweep, Prince Abool-bukr,--who is coming, by the way, to see theshow,--has promised me the best in the bazaar. And some Bunjarahfellows who act, and that sort of business."
"Better find out first what they do act," put in young Mainwaring, whochafed under the superior knowledge which the Captain claimed asinterpreter to the Staff. "I saw some of those brutes in Lucknow lastspring, and----"
"Oh!
there is no fear," retorted the other with a condescending smile."The Prince is no fool, and he is responsible. It will most likely besomething extremely instructive. Now, Mrs. Erlton, I will drive youround to the College and you can show me anything else you want done.I can drive you home afterward."
"Don't think we need trouble you, thanks, Morecombe," said a voicebehind. "I'll drive my wife. I'll stay as long as you like, Kate; andI can stick things high up, you know."
There was no appeal in his tone, but Kate, looking up at hisgreat height, felt one; and with it came a fresh spasm of thatself-reproach. As she had knelt beside him in church she had beenasking herself if she was not unforgiving; if it was not hard on him.
"That will be a great help," she said soberly.
So Mrs. Seymour, coming in daintily when the hard work was over to puta Father Christmas on the topmost shoot, wondered plaintively how shecould have managed it without Major Erlton, and put so much softadmiration into her pretty eyes, that he could scarcely fail to feel afine fellow. He was in consequence a better one for the time being. Sothat he insisted on returning in the afternoon to hand the tea andcake, when he made several black-and-tan matrons profusely apologeticand proud at having the finest gentleman there to wait upon them. Forthe Major was a very fine animal, indeed. As Alice Gissing had toldhim frankly, over and over again, his looks were his strong point.
The larger portion of the guests were of this black-and-tancomplexion. Of varying shades, however, from the unmistakablypure-blooded native Christian, to the pasty-faced baby with all theyellow tones of skin due to its pretty, languid mother, emphasized bythe ruddiness of the English father who carried it.
They came chiefly from Duryagunj, a quarter of the city close to thePalace, between the river and the Thunbi Bazaar. It had once been theartillery lines, and now its pleasant garden-set houses were occupiedby clerks, contractors, overseers, and such like. Then later on, forthe sports and games, came a contingent of College lads, speakingEnglish fluently, and younger boys clinging affrightedly to theirfather's hand as he smirked and bowed to the special master for whosefavor he had perhaps braved bitter tears of opposition from the womenat home. The mission school sent orderly bands, and there was a ruckof servants' children, who would have gone to the gates of hell for agift.
"You will tire yourself to death, Kate," called her husband, as, quitein his element, he handicapped the boys for the races. He spoke in ahalf-satisfied, half-dissatisfied tone, for though her success pleasedhim, he fancied she looked less dainty, less attractive.
"Come and see the play," suggested Captain Morecombe, who did not seemto notice anything amiss. "It will be rest, and we needn't light upyet a while."
"I'm going wis zoo," said Sonny confidently, escaping from his ayah asthey passed; so, with the child's hand in hers, Kate went on into thelong narrow veranda which had been inclosed by tent-walls as atheater. Open to the sunlight at the entrance, it was dark enough tomake a swinging lamp necessary at the further end. There was no stage,no scenery, only a coarse cotton cloth with indistinguishable shadowsand lights on it hung over a rope at the very end. The place wasnearly empty. A few native lads squatted in front, a bench or two helda sprinkling of half-castes, and at the entrance a group of Englishladies and gentlemen waited for the performance to begin, laughing andtalking the while.
"You look quite done," said Captain Morecombe tenderly, as Kate sankback in the armchair he placed for her halfway down, where a chink oflight and air came through a slit in the canvas.
"I didn't feel tired before," she replied dreamily. "I suppose it isthe quiet, and the giving in. Tell me about the play, please," shewent on more briskly. "If I don't know something of the plot before itbegins, I shall not understand."
"I expect you will," he began; but at that moment a cry for CaptainMorecombe arose, and to his infinite anger he had to go off andinterpret for the Colonel and Prince Abool-Bukr, who had just arrived.Kate, to tell truth, felt relieved. After the clamor outside, and theconstant appeals to her, the peace within was delightful. She leanedback, with Sonny in her arms, feeling so disposed for sleep that herhusband's loud voice coming through the chink startled her.
"Can't possibly take that into consideration. The race must be run onthe runners' own merits only."
He was only, she knew, laying down the law of handicaps to somedissentient; but the words thrilled her. Poor Herbert! What had _his_merits been? And then she wondered how long it had been since she hadthought of him thus by his Christian name, as it were. Would it bepossible----
"It's a story of Fate, really," said one of the spectators at theentrance, to the ladies who were with him; his voice clearly audiblein a sudden hush which had come to the dim veranda that grew dimmerand dimmer to the end, despite the swinging lamp. "A sort of miracleplay, called 'The Lord of Life, and the Lord of Death.' Yama and Indraof course. I saw it two days ago, and one of the actors is the bestpantomimist--That's the man--now."
Kate turned her eyes instinctively to the open space which was to doduty as a stage. The play had begun; must have been going on while shewas thinking, for a scene was in full swing. A scene? A misnomer that,surely! when there was no scenery, nothing but that strange dimcurtain with its indefinite lights and shadows. Or was there somemeaning in the dabs and splashes after all? Was that a corn merchant'sshop? Yes, there were the gleaming pots, the cavernous shadows, thepiled baskets of flour and turmeric and pulse, the odd little stringsof dried cocoanuts and pipe cups, the blocks of red rock-salt. Andthat--she gave an odd little sigh of certainty--was the corn merchanthimself selling flour, with a weighted balance, to a poor widow. Whatmagnificent pantomime it was! And what a relief that it was pantomime;so leaving her no whit behind anyone in comprehension; but the equalof all the world, as far as this story was concerned. And it wasunmistakable. She seemed to hear the chink of money, to see thejuggling with the change, the substitution of inferior flour for thatchosen; the whole give and take of cheating, till the ill-gotten gainwas clutched tight, and the robbed woman turned away patiently,unconsciously.
An odd, doubtful murmur rose among the squatting boys, checked almostas it began; for the shadowy curtain behind wavered, seemed to growdimmer, to curve in cloud-like festoons, and then disclosed a sittingfigure.
There was a burst of laughter from the entrance. "Rum sort of God,isn't he?" came the voice again. But from the front rose an uneasywhisper. "Yama! Sri Yama himself; look at his nose!"
Viewed without reference to either remark, the figure, if quaint,almost ludicrous, did not lack dignity. There was impassiveness in thepea-green mask below the miter-like gilt tiara, and impressiveness inthe immovability of the pea-green hands folded on the scarletdraperies.
"He answers to Charon, you know," went on the voice again. "I supposeit means that the _buniya-jee_ will need all his ill-gotten gain topay fare to Paradise."
Did it mean that? Kate wondered, as she leaned back clasping Sonnytighter in her arms, or was it only to show that Fate lay behind thedaily life of every man. Then what a farce it was to talk of chance!Yet she had pleaded for it, till she had gained it. "Let him have hischance. Let us all have our chance. You and I into the bargain. Youand I!" What made her think of that now?
A snigger from the lads in front roused her to a new scene; aserio-comic dispute, evidently, between a termagant of a mother-in-lawand a tearful daughter. Kate found herself following it closelyenough, even smiling at it, but Sonny shifted restlessly on her knee."I 'ikes a funny man," he said plaintively. "Tell a funny man to comeagain, Miffis Erlton."
"I expect he will come soon, dear," she replied, conscious of afoolish awe behind her own words. Fate lay there also, no doubt.
It did, but as the termagant triumphed and the dutiful daughter-in-lawwept over her baking, the figure that showed wore a white mask, therainbow-hued garments were hung with flowers, and the white hands helda parti-colored bow.
The boys nodded and smiled. "Sri Indra himself," they said. "Look athis bow!"
"
Who is Indra, Mr. Jones?" asked a feminine voice from behind.
"Lord of Paradise. And that is the whole show. It goes on and on. Someof the scenes are awfully funny, but they wouldn't act the funniestones here. And they all end with the green or white dummy; so it getsa bit monotonous. Shall we go and look at the conjurors now?"
The voices departed; once more to Kate's relief. She felt that theexplanation spoiled the play. And that was no dummy! She could see thesame eyes through the mask; curious, steady, indifferent eyes. Theeyes of a Fate indifferent as to what mask it wore. So the play wenton and on. Some of the Eurasians slipped away, but the boys remainedready with awe or rejoicing, while Kate sat by the chink through whichthe light came more and more dimly as the day darkened. She scarcelynoticed the actors; she waited dreamily for the Lord of Life or theLord of Death; for there was never any doubt as to which was coming.But the child in her lap waited indiscriminately for the funny man.The thought of the contrast struck her, making her smile. Yet, afterall, the difference only lay in the way you looked at life. There wasno possibility of change to it; the Great Handicap was run on its ownmerits. And then, like an unseen hand brushing away the cobwebs whichof late had been obscuring the unalterable facts, like a wavecollapsing her house of sand, came the memory of words which at thetime they were spoken had made her cry out on their cruelty. "Whatpossible right have you or I to suppose that anything you or I can donow will alter the initial fact?" If he--that stranger who had steppedin and laid rude touch on her very soul, had been the Lord of Life orDeath himself, could he have been more remorseless? And what possessedher that she should think of him again and again; that she shouldwonder what his verdict would be on those vague thoughts ofcompromise?
"Mrs. Erlton! Mrs. Erlton, everything is ready. Everybody is waiting!I have been hunting for you everywhere. It never occurred to me youwould be here after all this time. Why, you are almost alone!" CaptainMorecombe's aggrieved regret was scarcely appeased by her hurriedexcuse that she believed she had been half-asleep. For the Christmastree was lit to its topmost branch, the guests admitted, the drawingsbegun.
Perhaps it was the sudden change from dark to light, silence toclamor, which gave Kate Erlton the dazed look with which she came intothat circle of radiant faces where Prince Abool-Bukr was clapping hishands like a child and thinking, as he generally did when hispleasures could be shared by virtue, of how he would describe it allto Newasi Begum on her roof. He drew a spotless white lamb as hisgift; Major Erlton its fellow, and the two men compared notes insheer laughter, broken English, and shattered Hindustani. And throughthe fun and the pulling of crackers, Kate, who recovered herselfrapidly, flitted here and there, arranging, deciding, setting theball a-rolling. There was a flush on her cheek, a light in her eyeswhich forced other eyes to follow her, even among the packed, pryingfaces, peeping from every door and window at the strange sight, thestrange spell. One pair of eyes in particular, belonging to a slight,clean-shaven man standing beside two others who carried bundles intheir hands, and who, having come from the inside veranda, had foundspace to slip well to the front. They were the actors in the nowforsaken drama of Life and Death. One of them, however, had evidentlyseen a Christmas tree before, since he suddenly called out in thepurest English:
"The top branch on the left has caught! Put it out, someone!"
The sound seemed to discomfit him utterly. He looked round himquickly, then realizing that the crowd was too dense for the voice tobe accurately located save by his immediate neighbors, gave a halfapologetic sign to the older of his two companions and slipped away.They followed obediently, but once outside Tiddu shook his head at hispupil.
"The Huzoor will never remember to forget. He will get into troublesome day," he said reproachfully.
"Not if I stick to playing Yama and Indra," replied Jim Douglas with ashrug of his shoulders. "The Mask of Fate is apt to be inscrutable."He made the remark chiefly for his own benefit; for he was thinking ofthe strange chance of meeting those cold blue-gray eyes again in thatfashion. Beautiful eyes, brilliant eyes! Then he smiled cynically. Thechance he had given had evidently borne fruit. She seemed quite happy,and there was no mistaking the look on her owner's heavy face. So theheroics had meant nothing, and he had given up his chance for a vulgarkiss-and-make-it-up-again!
It was too dark to see that look on Major Erlton's face, but it wasthere, as, carrying Kate off with a certain air of proprietorship fromthe compliments which had grown stale, they went to find the dog-cart,which, in deference to the mare's nerves, had been told to await themin a quiet corner of the compound.
"You did it splendidly, Kate!"
His voice came contentedly through the soft darkness which hid theeasy arm which slipped to her waist, the easy smiling face which bentto kiss hers.
"Oh, don't! Please don't!" The cry, almost a sob, was unmistakable. Sowas the start which made her stumble over an unseen edging to thepath. Even Herbert Erlton with his blunted delicacy could not misjudgeit. He stood silent for a moment, then gave a short hard laugh.
"You haven't hurt yourself, I expect," he said dryly, "so there's noharm done. I'll call that fellow with the lantern to give us a light."
He did, and the vague shadow preceded by a swinging light turned outto be young Mainwaring on his pony, with the groom carrying a lantern.
"Mrs. Erlton," cried the lad, slipping to the ground, "what luck! Thevery person I wanted. I was going round by your house on the chance ofcatching you, as it was useless trying to get in a quiet word thisafternoon. I want to ask if you know of any houses to let! I had aletter this morning from Mrs. Gissing asking me to look out one forher."
"For her?" The echo came in a dull voice. Kate had scarcely recoveredfrom her own recoil, from a vague doubt of what she had done.
"Yes! Her husband had to go home on business and won't be out tillMay. So, as the new people at Lucknow seem a poor lot, and she has oldfriends at Delhi----" A remembrance that some of these old friendshipsmust be an unwelcome memory to his hearer made the boy pause. But theman, smarting with resentment, had no such scruples--what was the useof them?
"Coming here, is she?" he echoed. "Then we may hope to have some funin this deadly-lively stuck-up place. I say, Mainwaring, would youmind driving my wife home and lending me your pony to gallop round tothe mess. I must go there, and as it is getting late there is no usedragging Mrs. Erlton all that way. And she has a big Christmas dinneron, haven't you, Kate?"
As the young fellow climbed up into the dog-cart beside her, KateErlton knew that one chance had gone irretrievably, irrevocably. Wouldthere be another? Suddenly in the darkness she clasped her hands tightand prayed that there might be--that it might come soon!
And round them as they drove slowly to gain the city gate, thehalf-seen crowd which had gathered to see the strange spell weredrifting homeward to spread the tale of it from hearth to hearth.