CHAPTER III.
THE GREAT GULF FIXED.
It was a quaint house in the oldest quarter of the city of Lucknow,where odd little groves linger between the alleys, so that men pass,at a step, from evil-smelling lanes to cool, scented retreats, darkwith orange and mango trees; where birds flutter, and squirrels lollyawning through the summer days, as if the great town were miles away.
It was in the furthest corner of such a flowerless, shady garden thatthe house reared its lessening stories and projecting eaves above itsneighbors. The upper half of it was not unlike an Italian villa in itsairiness, its balustraded roof, its green jalousies; but the lowerportion was unmistakably Indian. It was a perfect rabbit warren ofdark cells, crushed in on each other causelessly; the very staircase,though but two feet wide, having to fold itself away circumspectly soas to find space to creep upward.
But no one lived below, and the dark twists and turns of the brickladder mattered little to Zora _bibi_, who lived in the pleasantpavilions above; for she had scarcely ever left them since the day,nearly eight years past, when James Greyman had installed her therewith all the honor possible to the situation. Which was, briefly, thathe had bought the slip of a girl from a house of ill-fame, as he wouldhave bought a horse, or a flower-pot, or anything else which hethought would make life pleasanter to him. He had paid a long pricefor her, not only because she was beautiful, but because he pitied thedelicate-looking child--for she was little more--just about to enter aprofession to which she was evidently a recruit kidnaped in earlyinfancy; as so many are in India. Not that his pity would have led himto buy her if she had been ugly, or even dark; for the creamy ivorytint of her skin satisfied his fastidiousness quite as much as did thehint of a soul in her dark, dreamy eyes. Romance had perhaps had moreto do with his purchase than passion; restless, reckless determinationto show himself that he had no regrets for the society which haddispensed with his, had had more than either. For he had begun to rentthe pleasant pavilions after a few years of adventurous roving hademphasized the gulf fixed between him and his previous life, andforced his pride into leading his present one as happily as he could.
As for the girl, those eight years of pure passion on the housetopshad been a dream of absolute content. It was so even now, when she laydying, as so many secluded women do, of a slow decline. To haveflowers and fruit brought to her, to find no change in his tendernessbecause she was too languid to amuse him, to have him wait upon herand kiss away her protests; all this made her soft warm eyes softer,warmer. It was so unlike anything she had ever heard or dreamed of; itmade her blind to the truth, that she was dying. How could this be sowhen there was no hint of change, when life still gave her all shecared for? She did not, to be sure, play tricks with him like akitten, as she used to; but that was because she was growingold--nearly one and twenty!
"She is worse to-day. I deem her close to freedom, Soma, so I havewarned the death-tender," said a tall woman, as she straightenedthe long column of her throat to the burden of a brass water-pot,new-poised on her head, and stepped down from the low parapet of thewell which stood in one corner of the shady grove. Sometimes itscreaking Persian wheel moaned over the task of sending runnels ofwater to the thirsty trees; but to-day it was silent, save for anintermittent protest when the man--who was lazily leaning his backagainst the yoke--put out his strength so as to empty an extra watercan or two into the trough for the woman's use. He was in the undressuniform of a sepoy, and as he also straightened himself to face thespeaker the extraordinary likeness between them in face and figurestamped them as twins. It would have been difficult to give the palmto either for superior height or beauty; and in their perfection ofform they might have stood as models of the mythical race-founderswhose names they bore. For Tara Devi and Soma Chund were Rajpoots ofthe single Lunar or Yadubansi tribe. She was dressed in an endlessscarf of crimson wool, which with its border of white and yellowembroidery hung about her in admirable folds. The gleam of thewater-pot matched the dead gold circlets on the brown wrists andankles; for Tara wore her savings thus, though she had no right to doso, being a widow. But she had been eight years in James Greyman'sservice; more than eight bound to him by the strangest of ties. He hadbeen the means of saving her from her husband's funeral pyre; in otherwords of preventing her from being a saint, of making her outcasteutterly. Since none, not even other widows, would eat or drink with awoman rejected by the very gods on the threshold of Paradise. Such amental position is well-nigh incomprehensible to western minds. It wasconfusing even to Tara herself; and the mingling of conscious dignityand conscious degradation, gratitude, resentment, attraction,repulsion, made her a puzzle even to herself at times.
"The master will grieve," replied Soma; his voice was far softer thanhis sister's had been, but it had the effect of hardening hers stillmore.
"What then?" she asked; "man's sorrow for a woman passes; or even ifit pass not, bears no fruit here, or hereafter. But I, as _thouknowest_, Soma, would have burned with my love. _But for thee_, asthou knowest, I would have been _suttee_ (lit. virtuous). _But forthee_ I should have found, ay! and given salvation."
She passed on with a sweep of full drapery, bearing her water-potas a queen might her crown, leaving Soma's handsome face full ofconscious-stricken amaze. His sister--from whom, despite herdegradation, he had not been able to dissociate himself utterly--hadnever before rounded on him for his share in her misfortune; but inhis heart of hearts he had admitted his responsibility at one moment,scorned it the next. True, he had told his young Lieutenant that hisbrother-in-law was going to be burned, as an excuse for notaccompanying him after black-buck one morning; but who would havedreamed that this commonplace remark would rouse the Huzoor'scuriosity to see the obsequies of a high-caste Rajpoot, and so lead,incidentally, to a file of policemen and the neighboring magistratedragging the sixteen-year old widow from the very flames?--when shewas drugged, too, and quite happy--when the wrench was over, even forhim, and she, to all intents, was a saint scattering salvation onseven generations of inconstant males! Much as he loved Tara, thelittle twin sister who, so the village gossips loved to tell, had leftthe Darkness for the Light of Life still clasping his hand, how couldhe have done her such an injury? As a Rajpoot how could he havebrought such a scandalous dishonor on any family?
But being also a soldier, as his fathers had been before him, and soleavened unconsciously by much contact with Europeans, he could nothelp admiring Tara's pluck in refusing to accept the life of a dog,which was all that was left to her among her own people. And he hadbeen grateful to the Huzoor, as she was, for giving her good servicewhere he could see her; though he would not for worlds have touchedthe hand which had lain in his from the beginning of all things. Itwas unclean now.
Still he could not forget the gossip's story any more than he couldforget that James Greyman had been his Lieutenant, and that togetherthey had shot over half Hurreeana. So when he passed through Lucknowon his way to spend his leave in his wife's village, he always gave aday or two of it to the quaint garden-house.
And now Tara had definitely accused him of ruining her life! Anger,born of a vague remorse, filled him as he watched her disappear up theplinth. If it was anybody's fault it was the Huzoor's; or rather ofthe _Sirkar_ itself who, by high-handed interference with venerablecustoms, made it possible for a poor man, by a mere slip of thetongue, to injure one bound to him by the closest of ties.
"It will leave us naught to ourselves soon," he muttered sulkily as hewent out to the doorstep to finish polishing the master's sword; thatbeing a recognized office during these occasional visits, which, as itoccurred to him in his discontent, would be still more occasional ifamong other things the _Sirkar_, now that Oude was was annexed, tookaway the extra leave due to foreign service. They had said so in theregiment; and though he was too tough to feel pin-pricks in advance,he had sneered with others in the current jest that the maps weretinted red--_i. e_., shown to be British territory--by savi
ngs stolenfrom the sepoy's pocket.
It was very quiet on the paved slope leading up from the alley to thecarved door beyond the gutter. The lane was too narrow for wheeledtraffic, the evening not sufficiently advanced for the neighbors togather in it for gossip. But every now and again a veiled figure wouldsidle along the further wall, passing good-looking Soma with aflurried shuffle. Whereat, though he knew these ghostly figures to beold women on their way to market, he cocked his turban more awry, andcurled his mustachios nearer his eyes; from no set purpose of playingthe gay Lothario, but for the honor of the regiment, and because Warand Women go together, East and West.
After a time, however, the workmen began to dawdle past from theirwork, and some of them, remembering Soma, paused to ask him the latestnews; a stranger in a native city being equivalent to an eveningpaper. And, of course, there were questions as to what the regimentthought of this and that. But Soma's replies were curt. He neverrelished being lumped in as a simple Rajpoot with the rest of theRajpoots, for he was inordinately proud of his tribe. That was onereason why he stood aloof, as he did, from much that went on among hiscomrades. He drilled, it is true, between two of them who were enteredas he was--that is to say, as a Rajpoot--on the roster. But the threewere in reality as wide apart as the Sun, the Moon, and the Fire fromwhich they respectively claimed descent. They would not haveintermarried into each other's families for all the world and itswealth. A causeless differentiation which makes, and must make, apeople who cling to it incomprehensible to a race which boasts as acheck to pride or an encouragement to humility that all men are bornof Adam, and which seeks no hall-mark for its descendants save thestamp of the almighty dollar.
Soma, therefore, polishing his master's sword sulkily, grew irritablealso; especially when the frequenters of the opium and hemp shopsbegan, with wavering steps and lack-luster eyes, to loaf homeward forthe evening meal which would give them strength for another dose.There were many such habitual drug-takers in the quarter; for it waslargely inhabited by poor claimants to nobility who, having nothing todo, had time for dreams. That was why people from other quartersflocked to this one at sundown for gossip; since it is to be had atits best from the opium-eater, whose imagination is stimulated, hisreason dulled, beyond the power of discriminating even his own truthor falsehood. One of these, a haggard, sallow fellow in torn muslinand ragged embroidery, stopped with a heavy-lidded leer beside Soma.
"So, brother, back again!" he said with the maudlin gravity of ahemp-smoker; "and thou lookest fat. The bone dust must agree withthee."
It was as if a bomb had fallen. The Hindoo bystanders, recognizing therumor that ground bones were mixed with commissariat flour, drew backfrom the Rajpoot instinctively; the Mohammedans smiled on the sly.Soma himself had in a moment one sinewy hand on the half-drunkcreature's throat, the other brandishing the fresh-polished sword.
"Bone dust thyself, and pigs meat too, foul-mouthed slayer of sacredkine!" he gasped, carrying the war into the enemy's country. "Thoubeast! Unsay the lie!"
His indignation, showing that he appreciated the credence some mightbe disposed to give to the accusation, only made the Hindoos look ateach other. The Mohammedans, however, dragged him from the swayingfigure of the accuser, who, after all, was one of themselves.
"Heed him not!" they chorused appeasingly. "'Tis drug-shop talk, andevery sane man knows that for dreams. Lo! his sense is clean gone ashorns from a donkey! Sure, thy mother ate chillies in her time forthou to be so hot-blooded. It is not morning, brother, because a hencrows, and a snake is but a snake, and goes crooked even to his ownhome!"
These hoarded saws, with physical force superadded, left Soma reducedto glaring, and renewed claims for a retraction of the insult.
The hemp-smoker looked at him mournfully. "Wouldst have me deny God'struth?" he hiccuped. "Lo! I say not thou didst eat it. Thou sayst not,and who am I to decide between a man and his stomach, even though helooks fat? Yet this all know, that as a bird fattens his tail shrinks,and honor is nowhere nowadays. But this I say for certain. Let him eatwho will, there is bone dust in the flour--there is bone dust in theflour----"
He lurched from a supporter's hold and drifted down the lane,half-chanting the words.
Soma glared, now, at those doubtful faces which remained. "'Tis a lie,brothers! But there, 'tis no use wearing the red coat nowadays whenall scoff at it. And why not? when the _Sirkar_ itself mocks ourrights. I tell thee at the father-in-law's village, but now, a man whotitled me sahib last year puffed his smoke in my face this. Andwherefore not? May not every scoundrel nowadays drag us to court andset us a-bribing underlings as the common herd have to do? We,soldiers of Oude, who had a Resident of our own always, and----"
"Nothing lasts for always, save God," said a long-bearded bystander,interrupting Soma's parrot roll of military grievances, "as theMoulvie said last night at our mosque, it is well he remains ever thesame, giving the same plain orders once and for all. So none of thefaithful can mistake. God is Might and Right. All the rest is change."
"_Wah! wah!_" murmured some respectfully; but the Rajpoot's scowl lostits fierceness in supercilious indifference.
"That may suit the Moulvie. It may suit thee and thine, _syyed-jee_,"he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. "It suits not me nor mine,being of a different race. We are Rajpoots, and there is no changepossible to that. We are ever the same."
The pride in his voice and manner reflected but faintly theinconceivable pride in his heart. Yet he was on the alert, salaamingcheerfully, as James Greyman came riding with a clatter down thealley, and without drawing bridle, passed through the low gateway intothe dark garden heavy with the perfume of orange-blossom. His arrivalended the incident, for Soma followed him quickly, and in obedience tohis curt order to see the groom rub down the horse while it waited, asit had been a breather round the race course, walked off with ittoward the well. It was such an opportunity for ordering other menabout as natives dearly love; so that the more autocratic a master is,the better pleased they are to gain dignity by serving him.
James Greyman, meanwhile, had paused on the plinth to give a lowwhistle and look upward to the terraced roof. And as he did so hisface was full of weariness, and yet of impatience. He had been tellinghimself that he was a fool ever since he had left Kate Erlton'sdrawing room half an hour before, and even his mad gallop round thesteeple-chase course had not effaced the curious sense of compulsionwhich had made him promise to let her husband go scot-free. Even now,when he waited with that dread at his heart, which of late had beengrowing stronger day by day, for the answer which Zora loved to maketo his signal, his fear lest the Great Silence had fallen between themwas lost in the recollection that, if it were so, his freedom had cometoo late. He hated himself for thus bracketing death and freedomtogether, but for all that he would not blind himself to its truth.Now that his profession had gone with the King's exile, Zora was,indeed, the only tie to a life which had grown distasteful to him, andwhen the Great Silence came, as come it must, he had made up his mindto leave James Greyman behind, and go home to England. He was nearingforty, and though the spirit of reckless adventure was fading, theambitions of his youth seemed to be returning; as they so often dowhen the burden and heat of passion passes. He was tired of perpetualsunshine; the thought of the cold mists on the hilltops, the wildstorms on the west coast, haunted him. He wanted to see them again.Above all, he wanted to hear himself called by his own familiar name,not by the one he had assumed. It had seemed brutal to dream of allthis sometimes, while little Zora still lay in his arms smilingcontentedly; but it was inevitable. And so, while he waited, watchingwith the dread growing at his heart for the flutter of the tinselveil, the half-heard whisper "_Khush amud-eed_" (welcome), it wasinevitable also that the remembrance of his promise to Kate Erltonshould invade, and as it were desecrate, his real regret for thesilence that seemed to grow deeper every second. It had come toolate--too late! There could be no solace in freedom now. That othersilence in regard to Major Erlton's misdeeds meant
the loss of everypenny he had scraped together for England. He might have to sell upalmost everything he possessed in order to pay his bets honorably; andthat he must do, or he gave away his only hope of recouping his badluck. Why had he promised? Why had he given up a certainty for thatvague chance of which he had spoken, he scarcely knew why, to thesecold blue northern eyes with the glint of steel. The remembrancebrought a passionate anger at himself. Was there anything in the worldworth thinking of now, with that silence new-fallen upon him, exceptthe soft warm eyes which were perhaps closed forever? So, with a quickstep, he passed up the stairs and gave his signal knock at the doorwhich led on to the terraced roof.
Tara, opening it, answered his look with finger to her lip, and awarning glance to the low string-bed set close to the arches of thesummer-house so as to catch the soft-scented breeze. He stepped overto it lightly and looked down on the sleeper; but the relief passedfrom his face at what he saw there. It could only be a question ofhours now.
"Why didst not send before?" he asked in a low voice. "I bid thee sendif she were worse and she needed me." Once more the anger against thatother woman came uppermost. What was she to him that she should filcheven half an hour from this one who loved him? He might so easily havecome earlier; and then the promise would not have been made. Was heutterly heartless, that this thought would come again and again?
"She slept," replied Tara coldly. "And sleep needs naught. Not evenLove's kisses. It is nigh the end though, master, as thou seest; so Ihave warned mother Jewuni, the death tender." She had spoken so far asif she desired to make him wince; now the pain on his face made heradd hurriedly: "She hath not suffered, Huzoor, she hath notcomplained. Had it been so I would have sent. But sleep is rest."
She passed on to a lower roof softening her echoing steps with aquaint crooning lullaby:
"My breast is rest And rest is Death. Ye who have breath Say which is best? Death's Sleep is rest!"
Was it so? As he stood, still looking down on the sleeper, somethingin the lack of comfort, of all the refinements and luxuries which seemto belong by right to the sickness of dear ones in the West, smote himsuddenly with a sense of deprivation, of division. And though he toldhimself that Death came in far more friendly fashion out there in thesunlight, where you could hear the birds, watch the squirrels, and seethe children's kites go sailing overhead in the blue sky; still thebareness of it seemed somehow to reveal the great gulf between hiscomplexity, his endless needs and desires, and the simplicity of thathuman creature drifting to death, almost as the animals drift, withoutcomplaint, without fears, or hopes. It seemed so pitiful. The slenderfigure, still gay in tinsel and bright draperies, all cuddled up onthe quilt, its oval face resting hardly on the thin arm where thebracelets hung so loosely, had an uncared-for look. It seemed alone,apart; as far from Death in its nearness to Life, as it was from Lifein its closeness to Death. In swift pity he stooped to risk anawakening by gathering it into his warm friendly arms. It would atleast feel the beating of another human heart when it lay there. Itwould at least be more comfortable than on the bare, hard, pillowlessbed.
But he paused. How could he judge? How dare he judge even for thatwasted body, which, despite its softness, had never known half theluxuries his claimed? So he left her lying as he had often seen hersleep, all curled up on herself like a tired squirrel, and passing tothe parapet leaned over it looking moodily down into the darkeningorange trees. Their heavy perfume floated upward, reminding him ofmany another night in springtime spent with Zora upon this terracedroof.
And suddenly his hand fell in a gesture of sheer anger.
Before God! it had been unfair; this idyl on the housetops. The worldhad held no more for her save her passion for him, pure in its veryperfection. His for her had been but a small part of his life. Itnever was more than that to a man, in reality, and so this sort ofthing must always be unfair. That she had been content made it worse,not better. Poor little soul! drifting away from the glow and theglamour.
A resentment for her, more than for himself, made him go to where Tarasat gossiping with her fellow-servant on the other roof and bid themwait downstairs. If the silence were indeed about to fall, if the glowand the glamour were going, then she and he might at least be aloneonce more beneath the coming stars; alone in the soft-scented darknesswhich had so often seemed to clasp them closer to each other as theysat in it like a couple of children whispering over a secret.
Closer! As he leaned over the parapet his keen eyes stared down intothe half-seen city spreading below him. Wide, tree-set, full of faintsounds of life; the wreaths of smoke from thousands of hearths risingto obscure it from his view. Obscuring it hopelessly with their taleof a life utterly apart from any he could lead. Even there on thehousetop he had only pretended to lead it. It was not she, drifting todeath so contentedly, who was alone! It was he. Yet some men he hadknown had seemed able to combine the two lives. They had been contentto think half-caste thoughts, to rear up a tribe of half-castechildren; while he? How many years was it since he had seen Zoraweeping over a still little morsel of humanity, his child and hers,that lay in her tinseled veil? She had wept, mostly because she wasafraid he might be angry because his son had never drawn breath; andhe had comforted her. He had never told her of the relief it was tohim, of the vague repulsion which the thought of a child had alwaysbrought with it. One could not help these things; and, after all, shehad only cared because she was afraid he cared. She did not crave formotherhood either. It was the glow and glamour that had been the bondbetween them; nothing else. And, thank Heaven! she had never tired ofit, had never seen him tire of it--for Death would come before thatnow.
A chiming clash of silver made him turn quickly. She had awakened, andseeing him by the parapet, had set her small feet to the ground, andnow stood trying to steady herself by her thin, wide-spread arms.
"Zora! wait! I am coming," he cried, starting forward. Then he paused,speech and action arrested by something in her look, her gesture.
"Let me come," she murmured, her breath gone with the effort. "I cancome. I must be able to come. My lord is so near--so near."
A fierce pity made him stand still. "Surely thou canst come," heanswered. "I will stay here."
As she stood, with parted lips, waiting for a glint of strength ereshe tried to walk, her swaying figure, the brilliance of her eyes, theheaving of her delicate throat, cut him to the very heart for her sakemore than for his own. Then the jingle of her silver anklets roseagain in irregular cadence, to cease at the next pillar where shepaused, steadying herself against the cold stone to regain her breath.
"Surely, I can come; and he so near," she murmured wistfully, half toherself.
"Thou art in too great a hurry, sweetheart. There is plenty of time.The stars are barely lit, and star-time is ever our time."
He set his teeth over the words; but the glow and the glamour shouldnot fail her yet. He would take her back with him while he could tothe past which had been so full of it.
"Come slower, my bird, I am waiting," he said again as the jinglingcadence ceased once more.
"It is so strange," she gasped; "I feel so strange." And even in thedim light he could see a vague terror, a pitiful amaze in her face.That must not be. That must be stopped. "And it is strange," heanswered quickly. "Strange, indeed, for me to wait like a king, whenthou art my queen!"
A faint smile drove the wonder away, a faint laugh mingled with thechiming and clashing. She was like a wounded bird, he thought, as hewatched her; a wounded bird fluttering to find shelter from death.
"Take care! Take care of the step!" he cried, as a stumble made himstart forward; but when she recovered herself blindly he stood stillonce more, waiting. Let her come if she could. Let her keep theglamour.
Keep it! She had done more than that. She had given it back to him atits fullest, as, close at hand he saw her radiant face, and hisoutstretched hands met hers warm and clasping. The touch of them madehim fo
rget all else; he drew her close to him passionately. She gave asmiling sob of sheer content, raising her face to meet his kisses.
"I have come," she whispered. "I have come to my king." Her voiceended like a sigh. Then there was silence, a fainter sigh, thensilence again.
"Zora!" he called with a sudden dread at his heart. "What is it? Zora!Zora!"
Half an hour afterward, Tara Devi, obeying her master's summons, foundhim standing beside the bed, which he had dragged out under the stars,and flung up her arms to give the wail for what she saw there.
"Hush!" he said sternly, clutching at her shoulder. "I will not haveher disturbed."
Tara looked at him wonderingly. "There is no fear of that," shereplied clearly, loudly, "none shall disturb Zora again. She hathfound _that_ freedom in the future. For the rest of us, God knows! Thetimes are strange. So let her have her right of wailing, master. Shewill feel silent in the grave without the voices of her race."
He drew his hand away sharply; even in death a great gulf lay betweenhim and the woman he had loved.
So the death wail rang out clamorously through the soft dark air.