CHAPTER VIII
PETER
Tessa went back to the Ralstons' bungalow that night borne in Bernard'sarms. She knew very little about it, for she scarcely awoke, only dimlyrealizing that her friend was at hand. Tommy went with them, carryingScooter. He said he must show himself at the Club, though Bernardsuspected this to be merely an excuse for escaping for a time from TheGreen Bungalow. For it was evident that Tommy had had a shock.
He himself was merely angry at what appeared to him a wanton trick, tooangry to trust himself in his brother's company just then. He regardedit as no part of his business to attempt to intervene between Everardand his wife, but his sympathies were all with the latter. That she insome fashion misconstrued the whole affair he could not doubt, but hewas by no means sure that Everard had not deliberately schemed for somespecies of misunderstanding. He had, to serve his own ends, personated aman who was apparently known to be disreputable, and if he now receivedthe credit for that man's misdeeds he had himself alone to thank.Obviously a mistake had been made, but it seemed to him that Everard hadintended it to be made, had even worked to bring it about. What hisobject had been Bernard could not bring to conjecture. But hisinstinctive, inborn hatred of all underhand dealings made him resent hisbrother's behaviour with all the force at his command. He was too angryto attempt to unravel the mystery, and he did not broach the subject toTommy who evidently desired to avoid it.
The whole business was beyond his comprehension and, he was convinced,beyond Stella's also. He did not think Everard would find it a very easytask to restore her confidence. Perhaps he would not attempt to do so.Perhaps he was too engrossed with the service of his goddess to carethat he and his wife should drift asunder. And yet--the memory of themorning on which he had first seen those streaks of grey in hisbrother's hair came upon him, and an unwilling sensation of pitysoftened his severity. Perhaps he had been drawn in in spite of himself.Perhaps the poor beggar was a victim rather than a worshipper. Mostcertainly--whatever his faults--he cared deeply.
Would he be able to make Stella realize that? Bernard wondered, andshook his head in doubt.
The thought of Stella turning away with that look of frozen horror onher face pursued him through the night. Poor girl! She had looked asthough the end of all things had come for her. Could he have helped her?Ought he to have left her so? He quickened his pace almost insensibly.No, he would not interfere of his own free will. But if she needed hissupport, if she counted upon him, he would not be found wanting. Itmight even be given to him eventually to help them both.
He had not seen her again. She had gone to her room with Peter inattendance, Peter who owed his life to the knife in Everard's girdle. Hehad had a strong feeling that Peter was the only friend she needed justthen, and certainly Tessa had been his first responsibility. But thefeeling that possibly she might need him was growing upon him. He wishedhe had satisfied himself before starting that this was not the case. Buthe comforted himself with the thought of Peter. He was sure that Peterwould take care of her.
Yes, Peter would care for his beloved _mem-sahib_, whatever his physicaldisabilities. He would never fail in the execution of that his sacredduty while the power to do so was his. If all others failed her, yetwould Peter remain faithful. Even then with his dog-like devotion was hecrouched upon her threshold, his dark face wrapped in his garment, yetalert for every sound and mournfully aware that his mistress was notresting. Of his own wound he thought not at all. He had been very nearthe gate of death, and the only man in the world for whom he entertainedthe smallest feeling of fear had snatched him back. To his promptitudealone did Peter owe his life. He had cut out that deadly bite with aswiftness and a precision that had removed all danger of snake-poison,and in so doing he had exposed the secret which he had guarded so longand so carefully. The first moment of contact had betrayed him to Peter,but Peter was very loyal. Had he been the only one to recognize him, thesecret would have been safe. He had done his best to guard it, but Fatehad been against them. And the _mem-sahib_--the _mem-sahib_ had turnedand gone away as one heart-broken.
Peter yearned to comfort her, but the whole situation was beyond him. Hecould only mount guard in silence. Perhaps--presently--the great _sahib_himself would come, and make all things right again. The night wasadvancing. Surely he would come soon.
Barely had he begun to hope for this when the door he guarded was openedslightly from within. His _mem-sahib_, strangely white and still, lookedforth.
"Peter!" she said gently.
He was up in a moment, bending before her, his black eyes glowing in thedim light.
She laid her slender hand upon his shoulder. She had ever treated himwith the graciousness of a queen. "How is your wound?" she asked him inher soft, low voice. "Has it been properly bathed and dressed?"
He straightened himself, looking into her beautiful pale face with theloving reverence that he always accorded her. "All is well, my_mem-sahib_," he said. "Will you not be graciously pleased to rest?"
She shook her head, smiling faintly--a smile that somehow tore hisheart. She opened her door and motioned him to enter. "I think I hadbetter see for myself," she said. "Poor Peter! How you must havesuffered, and how splendidly brave you are! Come in and let me see whatI can do!"
He hung back protesting; but she would take no refusal, gently butfirmly overruling all his scruples.
"Why was the doctor not sent for?" she said. "I ought to have thought ofit myself."
She insisted upon washing and bandaging his wound anew. It was a deepone. Necessity had been stern, and Everard had not spared. It had bledfreely, and there was no sign of any poisonous swelling. With tenderhands Stella treated it, Peter standing dumbly submissive the while.
When she had finished, she arranged the injured arm in a sling, andlooked him in the eyes.
"Peter, where is the captain _sahib_?"
"He went to his room, my _mem-sahib_," said Peter. "Bernard _sahib_carried the little missy _sahib_ back, and Denvers _sahib_ went withhim. I did not see the captain _sahib_ again."
He spoke wistfully, as one who longed to help but recognized hislimitations.
Stella received his news in silence, her face still and white as theface of a marble statue. She felt no resentment against Peter. He hadacted almost under compulsion. But she could not discuss the matterwith him.
At length: "You may go, Peter," she said. "Please let no one come to mydoor to-night! I wish to be undisturbed."
Peter salaamed low and withdrew. The order was a very definite one, andshe knew she could rely upon him to carry it out. As the door closedsoftly upon him, she turned towards her window. It opened upon theverandah. She moved across the room to shut it; but ere she reached it,Everard Monck came noiselessly through on slippered feet and bolted itbehind him.