CHAPTER V.
IN THE RESIDENCY.
"Strawberries! Oh, how delightful!"
Kate Erlton looked with real emotion at a plate of strawberries andcream which Captain Morecombe had just handed to her. "They are thefirst I have ever seen in India," she went on in almost patheticexplanation of her apparent greed. "Where could Sir Theophilus havegot them?"
"Meerut," replied her cavalier with a kindly smile. "They growup-country. But they put one in mind of home, don't they?" He turnedaway, almost embarrassed, from the look in her eyes; and added, as ifto change the subject, "The Resident does it splendidly, does not he?"
There could be no two opinions as to that. The park-like grounds werekept like an English garden, the house was crammed from floor toceiling with works of art, the broad verandas were full of rareplants, and really valuable statuary. That toward the river, on thebrink of which Metcalfe House stood, gave on a balustraded terracewhich was in reality the roof of a lower story excavated, for the sakeof coolness, in the bank itself. Here, among others, was the billiardroom, from the balcony of which you could see along the curved stoneembankment of the river to the Koodsia garden, which lay betweenMetcalfe Park and the rose-red wall of the city. It was an oldpleasure-ground of the Moghuls, and a ruined palace, half-hidden increepers, half lost in sheer luxuriance of blossom, still stood in itswilderness of forest trees and scented shrubs; a very different styleof garden from that over which Kate Erlton looked, as it undulatedaway in lawns and drives between the Ridge and the river.
"Yes!" she said, "it always reminds me of England; but for that----"She pointed to the dome of a Mohammedan tomb which curved boldly intothe blue sky close to the house.
"Yet that is the original owner," replied her companion. "There israther an odd story about that tomb, Mrs. Erlton. It is the burialplace of the great Akhbar's foster-brother. Most likely he was acowherd by caste, for their women often go out as nurses, and the landabout here all belonged to these Goojers, as they are called. But whenwe occupied Delhi, a civilian--one Blake--fancied the tomb as a house,added to it, and removed the good gentleman's grave-stone to make roomfor his dining-table--a hospitable man, no doubt, as the Resident isnow. But the Goojers objected, appealed to the Government agent. Invain. Curiously enough both those men were, shortly afterward,assassinated."
"You don't mean to connect----" began Kate in a tone of remonstrance.
Captain Morecombe laughed. "In India, Mrs. Erlton, it is foolish totry and settle which comes first, the owl or the egg. You can'tdifferentiate cause and effect when both are incomprehensible. But ifI were Resident I should insure myself and my house against the act ofGod and the Queen's enemies."
"But this house?" she protested.
"Is built on the site of a Goojer village, and they were mostunwilling to sell. One could hardly believe it now, could one? Comeand see the river terrace. It is the prettiest place in Delhi at thistime of the year."
He was right; for the last days of March, the first ones of April arethe crown and glory of a Northern Indian garden. Perhaps because thereis already that faint hint of decay which makes beauty more precious.Another short week and the flower-lover going the evening round willfind many a sun-weary head in the garden. But on this gloriousafternoon, when the Resident was entertaining Delhi in rightresidential fashion, there was not a leaf out of place, a blade ofgrass untrimmed. Long lines of English annuals in pots bordered thebroad walks evenly, the scentless gardenia festooned the rows ofcypress in disciplined freedom, the roses had not a fallen petal,though the palms swept their long fringes above them boldly, andstrange perfumed creepers leaped to the branches of the forest trees.In one glade, beside an artificial lake, some ladies in gay dresseswere competing for an archery prize. On a brick dais close to thehouse the band of a native regiment was playing national airs, andbeside it stood a gorgeous marquee of Cashmere shawls with silverpoles and Persian carpets; the whole stock and block having belongedto some potentate or another, dead, banished, or annexed. Here thosewho wished for it found rest in English chairs or Oriental divans; andhere, contrasting with their host and his friends, harmonizing withthe Cashmere shawl marquee, stood a group of guests from the palace. Aperfect bevy of princes, suave, watchful, ready at the slightestencouragement to crowd round the Resident, or the Commissioner, or theBrigadier, with noiseless white-stockinged feet. Equally ready torelapse into stolid indifference when unnoticed. Here was MirzaMoghul, the King's eldest son, and his two supporters, all with lynxeyes for a sign, a hint, of favor or disfavor. And here--a sulky,sickly looking lad of eighteen--was Jewun Bukht, Zeenut Maihl'sdarling, dressed gorgeously and blazing with jewels which left nodoubt as to who would be the heir-apparent if she had her way. PrinceAbool-Bukr, however, scented, effeminate, watched the proceedings withbright eyes; giving the ladies unabashed admiration and after a timeactually strolling away to listen to the music. Finally, however,drifting to the stables to gamble with the grooms over a quail fight.Then there were lesser lights. Ahsan-Oolah the physician, his leanplausible face and thin white beard suiting his black gown andskull-cap, discussed the system of Greek medicine with the Scotchsurgeon, whose fluent, trenchant Hindustani had an Aberdonian twang.Then there was Elahi Buksh, whose daughter was widow of the lateheir-apparent; a wily man, dogging the Resident's steps withpersistent adulation, and watched uneasily by all the other factions.A few rich bankers curiously obsequious to the youngest ensign, andone or two pensioners owing their invitations to loyal service, madeup the company, which kept to the Persian carpets so as to avoid thenecessity for slipping on and off the shoes which lay in rows underGamu the orderly's care, and the consequent necessity for continualfees. For Gamu piled up the shekels until his master, after themutiny, had reluctantly to hang him for extorting blood-, as well asshoe-money.
They were a curious company, these palace guests, aliens in their owncountry, speaking to none save high officials, caring to speak tonone, and waiting with ill-concealed yawns for the blunt dismissal orthe ceremonious leave-taking after a decent space of boredom due totheir rank.
"I wonder they come," said Mrs. Erlton, passing on rapidly to escapefrom the loud remarks of two of her countrywomen who were discussingJewun Bukht's jewels as if the wearer, standing within a yard of them,was a lay figure: as indeed he was to them.
"Why does anyone come?" asked Captain Morecombe airily, as he followedher across the terrace, and, leaning over the balustrade, looked downat the sandbanks and streams below. "So far as I am concerned," hewent on, "the reason is palpable. I came because I knew you would behere, and I like to see my friends."
He was in reality watching her to see how she received the remark, andsomething in her face made him continue casually. "And there, I shouldsay, are some other people who have similar excuse for temporaryaberration." He pointed to the figures of a man and woman who werestrolling toward the Koodsia along a narrow path which curved belowthe embanking wall, and his sentence ended abruptly. He turned hastilyto lean his back on the parapet and look parkward, adding lightly,"And there are two more, and two more! In fact most people really cometo see other people."
But Kate Erlton was proud. She would have no evasion, and the pastthree months since Christmas Day had forced her to accept facts.
"It is my husband and Mrs. Gissing," she said, looking toward thestrolling figures. "I suppose he is seeing her home. I heard her saynot long ago she was tired. She hasn't been looking strong lately."
The indifference, being slightly overdone, annoyed her companion. Noman likes having the door slammed in his sympathetic face. "She islooking extremely pretty, though," he replied coolly. "It softens hersomehow. Don't you agree with me?"
There was a pause ere Kate Erlton replied; and then her eyes had foundthe far horizon instead of those lessening figures.
"I do. I think she looks a better woman than she did--somehow." Shespoke half to herself with a sort of dull wonder in her voice. But thekeenness of h
is, shown in his look at her, roused her reserveinstantly. To change the subject would be futile; she had gone too farto make that possible if he wished otherwise, without that palpablerefusal which would in itself be confession. So she asked him promptlyif he would mind bringing her a glass of iced water, cup, anything,since she was thirsty after the strawberries; and when he went offreluctantly, took her retreat leaning over the balustrade, looking outto the eastern plains beyond the river; to that far horizon which inits level edge looked as if all or nothing might lie behind it. A newworld, or a great gulf!
Three months! Three months since she had given up that chance, such asit was, on Christmas Day. And now her husband was honestly, truly inlove with Alice Gissing. Would he have been as honestly, as truly inlove with her if--if she could have forgotten? Had this really beenhis chance, and hers? Had it come, somehow? She did not attempt todeny facts; she was too proud for that It seemed incredible, almostimpossible; but this was no Lucknow flirtation, no mere sensualliaison on her husband's part. He was in love. The love which shecalled real love, which, given to her, would, she admitted, haveraised her life above the mere compromise from which she had shrunk.But he had never given it to her. Never. Not even in those first days.And now, if that chance had gone, what remained? What disgrace mightnot the future hold for her boy's father with a man like Mr. Gissing,in a country where the stealing of a man's wife from him was acriminal offense? Thank Heaven! Herbert was too selfish to risk--sheturned and fled, as it were, from that cause for gratitude to findrefuge in the certainty that Alice Gissing, at least, would not loseher head. But the chance the chance was gone.
"Miffes Erlton," came a little silvery voice behind her. "Oh, MiffesErlton! He's giv-ded me suts a boo'ful birdie."
It was Sonny clasping a quail in both dimpled hands. His bearer wassalaaming in rather a deprecatory manner, and a few paces off,strolling back from the stables with a couple of young bloods likehimself, was Prince Abool-Bukr. All three with a furtive eye for KateErlton's face and figure.
"He giv-ded it to me be-tos it tumbied down, and everybody laughed,"went on Sonny confidently. "And so I is do-ing to comfit birdie, and'ove it."
"Sonny," exclaimed Kate, suddenly aghast, "what's that on your frock--down your arm?"
It was blood. Red, fresh-spilled blood! She was on her knees besidehim in instant coaxing, comforting, unclasping his hands to see wherethey were hurt. The bird fell from them fluttering feebly, leavingthem all scarlet-stained with its heart's blood, making Sonny shriekat the sight, and hide face and hands in her muslin skirts. She stoodup again, her cheeks ablaze with anger, and turned on the servant.
"How dare you! How dare you give it to the _chota_-sahib? How dareyou!"
The man muttered something in broken English and Hindustani about aquail fight, and not knowing the bird was dying when the Mirza gaveit; accompanying his excuses with glances of appeal to PrinceAbool-Bukr, who, at Sonny's outburst, had paused close by. Kate'seyes, following the bearer's, met those bright, dark, cruel ones, andher wrath blazed out again. Her Hindustani, however, being unequal toa lecture on cruelty to animals, she had to be content with looks. ThePrince returned them with an indifferent smile for a moment, then witha half-impatient shrug of his shoulders, he stepped forward, liftedthe dying quail gingerly between finger and thumb, and flung it overthe parapet into the river.
"_Ab khutm piyaree tussulli rukhiye!_" (Now is it finished, dear one;take comfort!) he said consolingly, looking at Sonny's golden curls.The liquid Urdu was sheer gibberish to the woman, but the childturning his head half-doubtfully, half-reassured, Abool-Bukr's facesoftened instantly.
"_Mujhe muaaf. Murna sub ke hukk hai_" (Excuse me. Death is the rightof all), he said with a graceful salaam as he passed on.
So the water Captain Morecombe brought back was used for a differentpurpose than quenching pretended thirst; and the bringer, hearingKate's version of the story, hastily asked Sonny--who by this time washolding out chubby hands cheerfully to be dried and prattling of dirtybirdies--what the Prince had said. The child, puzzled for an instant,smiled broadly.
"He said it was deaded all light."
Kate shivered. The incident had touched her on the nerves, taking thecolor from the flowers, the brightness from the sunshine.
"Come and have a turn," suggested Captain Morecombe; "they have begandancing in the saloon. It will change the subject."
But as she took his arm, she said in rather a tremulous voice, "Thereis such a thing as a Dance of Death, though."
"My dear lady," he laughed, "it is a most excellent pastime. And onecan dance anywhere, on the edge of a volcano even, if one doesn'tsmell brimstone."
Kate, however, found otherwise, and when the waltz was over, announcedher intention of going off to take Sonny home, and see Mrs. Seymourand the new baby. But in this her cavalier saw difficulties. The marewas evidently too fresh for a lady to drive, and Major Erlton,returning, might need the dog-cart. It would be far better forhim to drive her in his, so far, and afterward let the Major know hehad to call for her. Kate assented wearily. Such arrangements werepart of the detail of life, with a woman neglected as she was by herhusband. She could not deliberately avoid them, and yet keep theunconsciousness her pride claimed. How could she, when therewere twenty men in society to one woman? Twenty--for the mostpart--gentlemen, quite capable of gauging a woman's character. SoCaptain Morecombe drove her to the Seymour's house on the city wall bythe Water Bastion. There were several houses there, set so close tothe rampart that there was barely room for a paved pathway betweentheir back verandas and the battlement. In front of them lay a metaledroad and shady gardens; and at the end of this road stood a smallbungalow toward which Kate Erlton looked involuntarily. There was ahorse waiting outside it. It was her husband's charger. He must havearranged to have it sent down, arranged, as it were, to leave her inthe lurch, and a sudden flash of resentment made her say, as she gotdown at the Seymours' house, "You had better call for me in half anhour; that will be best."
Captain Morecombe flushed with sheer pleasure. Kate was not often soencouraging. But as he drove round to wait for her at a friend'shouse, close to the _Delhi Gazette_ press, he, too, noticed theMajor's charger, and swore under his breath. Before God it was toobad! But if ever there were signs of a coming smash they were to beseen here. Erlton, after years of scandal, had lost his head--itseemed incredible, but there was a Fate in such things from whichmortal man could not escape.
And as he told himself this tale of Fate--the man's excuse for theinexcusable which will pass current gayly until women combine inrefusing to accept it for themselves--another man, at the back of thelittle house past which he was driving, was telling it to himselfalso. For a great silence had fallen between Major Erlton and AliceGissing after she had told him something, to hear which he hadarranged to come home with her for a quiet talk. And, in the silence,the hollow note of the wooden bells upon the necks of the cattlegrazing below the battlement, over which he leaned, seemed to countthe slow minutes. Quaintest, dumbest of all sounds, lacking vibrationutterly, yet mellow, musical, to the fanciful ear, with something ofthe hopeful persistency of Time in its recurring beat.
Alice Gissing was not a fanciful woman, but as she lay back in herlong cane chair, her face hidden in its pillows as if to shut outsomething unwelcome, her foot kept time to the persistency on thepavement, till, suddenly, she sat up and faced round on her silentcompanion.
"Well," she said impatiently. "Well! what have you got to say?"
"I--I was thinking," he began helplessly, when she interrupted him.
"What is the use of thinking? That won't alter facts. As I told you,Gissing will be back in a month or so; and then we must decide."
Major Erlton turned quickly. "You can't go back to him, Allie; youweren't considering that, surely. You can't--not--not now." His voicesoftened over the last words; he turned away abruptly. His face washidden from her so.
She looked toward him strangely for a second, covered her face withher
hands for another, then, changing the very import of the action,used them to brush the hair back from her temples; so, clasping thembehind her head, leaned back on the pillows, and looked toward himagain. There was a reckless defiance in her attitude and expression,but her words did not match it.
"I suppose I can't," she said drearily, "and I suppose you wouldn'tlet me go away by myself either."
Once more he turned. "Go!" he echoed quickly. "Where would you go?"
"Somewhere!"--the recklessness had invaded her voice now--"Anywhere!Wherever women do go in these cases. To the devil, perhaps."
He gave a queer kind of laugh; this spirited effrontery had alwaysroused his admiration. "I dare say," he replied, "for I'm not a saint,and you have got to come with me, Allie. You must. I shall send in mypapers, and by and by, when all the fuss is over"--here he gave afierce sigh--"for I expect Gissing will make a fuss, we can getmarried and live happily ever after."
She shook her head. "You'll regret it. I don't see how you can helpregretting it!"
He came over to her, and laid his big broad hand very tenderly on hercurly hair. "No! I shan't, Allie," he replied in a low, husky voice,"I shan't, indeed. I never was a good hand at sentiment and that sort,but I love you dearly--dearly. All the more--for this that you've toldme. I'd do anything for you, Allie. Keep straight as a die, dear, ifyou wanted it. And I wasn't regretting--it--just now. I was onlythinking how strange----"
"Strange!" she interrupted, almost fiercely. "If it is strange to you,what must it be to me? My God! I wonder if any man will everunderstand what this means to a woman? All the rest seems to pass herby, to leave no mark--I--I--never cared. But this! Herbert! I feelsometimes as if I were Claude's wife again--Claude's wife, so full ofhopes and fears. And I dream of him too. I haven't dreamed of him foryears, and I learned to hate him before he died, you know. I have goneback to that old time, and nothing seems different. Nothing at all!Isn't that strange? And the old Mai--she has gone back, too--sees nodifference either. She treats me just as she did in those old, olddays. She fusses round, and cockers me up, and talks about it. There!she is coming now with smelling-salts or sal-volatile or something!Oh! Go away, do, Mai, I don't want anything except to be left alone!"
But the old ayah's untutored instincts were not to be so easilysmothered. Her wrinkled face beamed as she insisted on changing thedainty laced shoes for easy slippers, and tucked another pillow intothe chair. The mem was tired, she told the Major with a respectfulsalaam, after her long walk; the faint resentment in her tone beingentirely for the latter fact.
"You see, don't you?" said Mrs. Gissing, with bright reckless eyes,when they were alone once more. "She doesn't mind. She has forgottenall the years between, forgotten everything. And I--I don't knowwhy--but there! What is the use of asking questions? I never cananswer even for myself. So we had better leave it alone for thepresent. We needn't settle yet a while, and there is always a chanceof something happening."
"But you said your husband would be back----" he began.
"In a month--but we may all be dead and buried in a month," sheinterrupted. "I only told you now, because I thought you ought to knowsoon, so as not to be hurried at the last. It means a lot, you see,for a man to give up his profession for a woman; and it isn't likeEngland, you know----" She paused, then continued in an oddhalf-anxious voice, her eyes fixed on him inquiringly as he stoodbeside her. "I shouldn't be angry, remember, Herbert, if--if youdidn't."
"Allie! What do you mean? Do you mean that you don't care?" His tonewas full of pained surprise, his hand scarcely a willing agent as shedrew it close to caress it with her cheek.
"Care? of course I care. You are very good to me, Herbert, far nicerto me than you are to other people. And I can't say 'no' if you decideon giving up for me. I _can't_ now. I see that. Only don't let us bein a hurry. As that big fat man in the tight satin trousers said tothe Resident to-day, when he was asked what the people in the citythought of the fuss down country, '_Delhi dur ust_.'"
"_Delhi dur ust?_ What the devil does that mean?" asked the Major, hisbrief doubt soothed by the touch of her soft cheek. "You are such aclever little cat, Allie! You know a deuced sight more than I do. Howyou pick it up I can't think."
She gave one of her inconsequent laughs. "Don't have so many menanxious to explain things to you as I have, I expect, sir! But if youever spoke to a native here--which you don't--you'd know _that_. Evenmy old Mai says it--they all say it when they don't want to tell thetruth, or be hurried, and that is generally. 'Delhi is far,' they say.Dr. Macintyre translates it as 'It's a far cry to Lochawe'; but Idon't understand that; for it was an old King of Delhi who said itfirst. People came and told him an enemy had crossed his border.'_Delhi dur ust_,' says he. Can't you see him, Herbert? An old Turk ofa thing with those tight satin trousers! Then they told him the enemywas in sight. '_Delhi dur ust_,' said he. And he said it when theywere at the gate--he said it when their swords----" the dramaticinstinct in her was strong, and roused her into springing to her feetand mimicking the thrust. "_Delhi dur ust_."
Her gay mocking voice rang loud. Then she laid her hand lightly on hisarm. "Let us say it too, dear," she said almost sharply. "I won'tthink--yet. '_Delhi dur ust_.'"
The memory of the phrase went with him when he had said good-by, andwas pacing his charger toward the Post Office. But it only convincedhim that the Delhi of his decision was reached; he would chuckeverything for Allie.
It was by this time growing dusk, but he could see two figuresstanding in the veranda of the Press Office, and one of them calledhim by name. He turned in at the gate to find Captain Morecombereading a proof-sheet by the light of a swinging lamp; for Jim Douglasdrew back into unrecognizable shadow as he approached. He hadpurposely kept out of Major Erlton's way during his occasional returnsto Delhi, and as he stepped back now he asked himself if he hated thebig man most for his own sake, or for Kate's, or for that other littlewoman's. Not that it mattered a jot, since he hated him cordially onall three scores.
"Bad news from Barrackpore, Erlton," said the Captain, "and as I haveto drive Mrs. Erlton home I thought you might take it round to theBrigadier's. At least if you have no objection, Douglas?"
"None. The telegram is all through the bazaar by now. You can't helpit if you employ natives."
"'Through the medium of a private telegram,'" read Captain Morecombe,"'the following startling news has reached our office. On Sunday(the 29th of March) about 4.30 P. M., a Brahmin sepoy of the 34th N.I.'--that's the missionary fellow's regiment, of course--'went amuck,and rushing to the quarter-guard with his musket, ordered the buglerto sound the assembly to all who desired to keep the faith of theirfathers. The guard, ordered to arrest him, refused. The whole regimentbeing, it is said, in alarm at the arrival that morning of the firstdetachment of British troops, detailed to keep order during theapproaching disbandment of the 19th for mutiny; rumor having it thatall sepoys then refusing to become Christians would be shot down atonce. The mutineer, who had been drinking hemp, actually fired atSergeant-major Hewson, providentially missing him; subsequently hefired at the Adjutant, who, after a hand-to-hand scuffle with themadman, in which Hewson joined, only escaped with his life through theaid of a faithful Mohammedan orderly. Until, and, indeed, afterColonel Wheler the Commandant arrived on the parade ground, themutineer marched up and down in front of the guard, flourishing hismusket and calling for his comrades to join him. The Colonel thereforeordered the guard to advance and shoot the man down. The men made showof obedience, but after a few steps they refused to go on, unlessaccompanied by a British officer. On this, Colonel Wheler, consideringthe risk needless with an unreliable guard already half-mutinous, rodeoff to report his failure to the Brigadier, who had halted on thefurther side of the parade ground. At this juncture (about 5.30 P. M.)matters looked most serious. The 43d N. I. had turned out, and werebarely restrained from rushing their bells of arms by the entreatiesof their native officers. The 34th, beyond control altogether, werewatching the mutineer's unchecked
defiance with growing sympathy.Fortunately at this moment General Hearsey, commanding the Division,rode up, followed by his two sons as _aides_. Hearing what hadoccurred from the group of officers awaiting further developments, hegalloped over to the guard, ordered them to follow him, and madestraight for the mutineer; shouting back, "D----n his musket, sir!" toan officer who warned him it was loaded. But seeing the man kneel totake aim he called to his son, "If I fall, John, rush in and put himto death somehow." The precaution was, providentially, unnecessary,for the mutineer, seeing the remaining officers join in this resoluteadvance, turned his musket on himself. He is not expected to live.Adjutant Baugh, a most promising young officer, is, we regret to say,dangerously wounded.'"
"Treacherous black devils! I'd shoot 'em down like dogs--the lot ofthem," said Major Erlton savagely. He had slipped from his horse andnow stood in the veranda overlooking the proof, his back to JimDouglas. Perhaps it was the closer sight of his enemy's face whichroused the latter's temper. Anyhow he broke into the conversation withthat nameless challenge in his voice which makes a third personnervous.
"It is a pity you were not at Barrackpore. They seem to have been inneed of a good pot-shot--even of an officer to be potted at--tillHearsey came to the front."
Captain Morecombe turned quickly to put up his sword as it were. "Bythe way, Erlton," he said hastily, "I don't think you know Douglas,though you tried to see him at Nujjufghur after he saved Mrs. Gissingfrom that snake."
But Jim Douglas' temper grew, partly at his own fatuity in risking thenow inevitable encounter; and he had a vile, uncontrollable temperwhen he was in the wrong.
"Major Erlton and I have met before," he interrupted, turning to go;"but I doubt if he will recognize me. Possibly his horse may."
He paused as he spoke before the Arab which stood waiting. It whinniedinstantly, stretching its head toward its old master. Major Erltonmuttered a startled exclamation, but regained his self-possessioninstantly. "I beg your pardon--Mr.--er--Douglas, I think you said,Morecombe; but I did not recognize you."
The pause was aggressive to the last degree.
"Under that name, you mean," finished Jim Douglas, white with angerat being so obviously at a disadvantage. "The fact is, CaptainMorecombe, that as the late King of Oude's trainer I called myselfJames Greyman. I sold that Arab to Major Erlton under that name, andunder--well--rather peculiar circumstances. I am quite ready to tellthem if Major Erlton thinks them likely to interest the generalpublic."
His eyes met his enemy's, fiercely getting back now full measure ofsheer, wild, vicious temper. Everything else had gone to the winds,and they would have been at each other's throats gladly; scarcelyremembering the cause of quarrel, and forgetting it utterly with thefirst grip, as men will do to the end of time.
Then the Major, being less secure of his ground since fighting was outof the question, turned on his heel. "So far as I'm concerned," hesaid, "the explanation is sufficient. Give the devil his due and everyman his chance."
The innuendo was again unmistakable; but the words reminded JimDouglas of an almost-forgotten promise, and he bit his lips over thenecessity for silence. But in that--as he knew well--lay his onlyrefuge from his own temper; it was silence, or speech to theuttermost.
"If you have quite done with the proof, Captain Morecombe," he saidvery ceremoniously.
"Certainly, certainly. Thanks for letting me see it," interrupted theCaptain, who had been looking from one to the other doubtfully, asmost men do even when their dearest friends are implicated, if thecause of a quarrel is a horse. "It is a serious business," he went onhurriedly to help the diversion. "After all the talk and fuss, thiscutting down of an officer----"
"Is first blood," put in Jim Douglas. "There will be more spilledbefore long."
"Disloyal scoundrels!" growled Major Erlton wrathfully. "Idiots! As ifthey had a chance!"
"They have none. That's the pity of it," retorted his adversary as herode off quickly.
Ay! that was the pity of it! The pity of blood to be spilledneedlessly. The thought made him slacken speed, as if he were on thethreshold of a graveyard; though he could not foresee the blood to bespilled so wantonly in that very garden-set angle of the city, so fullnow of the scent of flowers, the sounds of security. From far came thesubdued hum which rises from a city in which there is no wheeledtraffic, no roar of machinery; only the feet of men, their tears,their laughter, to assail the irresponsive air. Nearer, among thescattered houses hidden by trees, rose children's voices playing aboutthe servants' quarters. Across the now empty playground of the Collegethe outlines of the church showed faintly among the fret of branchesupon the dull red sky, which a cloudless sunset leaves behind it. Andthrough the open arch of the Cashmere gate, the great globe of thefull moon grew slowly from the ruddy earth-haze, then loud and clearcame the chime of seven from the mainguard gong, the rattle of armsdying into silence again. The peace of it all seemed unassailable, thesecurity unending.
"_Delhi dur ust!_"
The words were called across the road in a woman's voice, making himturn to see a shadowy white figure outlined against the dark arches ofa veranda close upon the road. He reined up his horse almostinvoluntarily, remembering as he did so that this was Mrs. Gissing'shouse.
"I beg your pardon----" he began.
"I beg yours," came the instant reply. "I mistook you for a friend.Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
As he paced his horse on, choosing the longer way to Duryagunj, by thenarrow lanes clinging to the city wall, the remembrance of that frankgood-night lingered with him. For a friend! What a name to callHerbert Erlton! Poor little soul! The thought, by its veryintolerableness, drove him back to the other, roused by her firstwords:
"_Delhi dur ust_."
True! Even this Delhi lying before his very eyes was far from him. Howwould it take the news which by now, as he had said, must havefiltered through the bazaar? He could imagine that. He knew, also,that the Palace folk must be all discussing the Resident's gardenparty, with a view to their own special aims and objects. But what didthey think of the outlook on the future? Did they also say _Delhi durust?_
One of them was saying it on a roof close by. It was Abool-Bukr, who,on his way home, had given himself the promised pleasure of retailinghis virtuous afternoon's experiences to Newasi; for his two-months-wedbride had not broken _him_ of his habit of coming to his kind one,though it had made _her_ graver, more dignified. Still she broke in onhis thick assertion--for he had drunk brandy in his efforts to befriendly with the sahibs--that he had seen an Englishwoman of hersort, with the quick query:
"Like me! How so?"
He laughed mischievously. "And thou art not jealous of my wife!--orsayest thou art not! She was but like thee in this, aunt, that she isof the sort who would have men better than God made them----"
"No worse, thou meanest," she replied.
He shook his head. "Women, Newasi, are as the ague. A man is everbeing made better or worse till he knows not if he be well or ill. Andboth ways God's work is marred, a man driven from his right fate----"
"But if a man mistakes his fate as thou dost, Abool," she persisted."Sure, if Jewun Bukht with that evil woman, Zeenut----"
He started to his feet, thrusting out lissome hands wildly, as if toset aside some thought. "Have a care, Newasi, have a care!" he cried."Talk not of that arch plotter, arch dreamer. Nay! not arch dreamer!'tis thou that dreamest most. Dreamest war without blood, men withoutpassion, me without myself! Was there not blood on my hands ere ever Iwas born--I, Abool-Bukr, of the race of Timoor--kings, tyrants, bybirth and trade? The blood of those who stood in my father's way andmy father's fathers. I tell thee there is too much tinder yonder----"He pointed to where, across the flat chequers of moonlit roofs, inlaidby the shadows of the intersecting alleys the cupolas of the Palacegates rose upon the sky. "There is too much tinder here," he struckhis own breast fiercely, "for such fiery thoughts. Why canst not leaveme alone, woman?"
She drew back coldly.
"Do I ask thee to come thither? Thy wife----"
He gave a half-maudlin laugh. "Nay, I mean not that! Sure thou artvery woman, Newasi! That is why I love mine aunt! That is why I cometo see her--that----"
She interrupted him hastily; but her eyes grew soft, her voicetrembled.
"And I do but goad thee for thine own good, Abool. These are strangetimes. Even the Mufti sahib----"
"Ah! defend me from his wise saws. I know the ring of them too well as'tis. Even that I endure--for mine aunt's sake. Though, by the faith,if he and others of his kidney waylay me as they do much longer, Iwill have a rope ladder to thy roof and scandalize them all. I canstomach thy wisdom, dear; none else. So tell them that Abool-Bukr canquote saws as well as they. Tell them he lives for Pleasure, andPleasure lives in the present. For the rest, _Delhi dur ust! Delhidur ust!_"
His reckless, unrestrained voice rang out over the roofs, and into thealley below where Jim Douglas was telling himself, that with hisfinger on the very pulse of the city he had failed to count its heartbeats.
He looked up quickly. "_Delhi dur ust!_" All the world seemed to besaying it that night; though the first blood had been shed in thequarrel.