CHAPTER II
THE LAMP
The orange light of the morning was breaking over the jungle when twohorsemen rode out upon the Kurrumpore road and halted between the ricefields.
"I say, come on a bit further!" Tommy urged. "There's plenty of time."
But the other shook his head. "No, I can't. I promised Barnes to be backearly. Good-bye, Tommy my lad! Keep your end up!"
"I will," Tommy promised, and thrust out a hand. "And you'll hang on,won't you? Promise!"
"All right; for the present. My love to Bernard." Everard spoke with hisusual brevity, but his handclasp was remembered by Tommy for a very longtime after.
"And to Stella?" he said, pushing his horse a little nearer till itmuzzled against its fellow.
Everard's eyes, grave and dark, looked out to the low horizon. "I thinknot," he said. "She has--no further use for it."
"She will have," said Tommy quickly.
But Everard passed the matter by in silence. "You must be getting on,"he said, and relaxed his grip. "Good-bye, old chap! You've done me good,if that is any consolation to you."
"Oh, man!" said Tommy, and coloured like a girl. "Not--not really!"
Everard uttered his curt laugh, and switched Tommy's mount across thewithers. "Be off with you, you--cuckoo!" he said.
And Tommy grinned and went.
Half-an-hour later he was sounding an impatient tatto upon his sister'sdoor.
She came herself to admit him, but the look upon her face checked thegreeting on his lips.
"What on earth's the matter?" he said instead.
She was shivering as if with cold, though the risen sun had filled theworld with spring-like warmth. It occurred to him as he entered, thatshe was looking pinched and ill, and he put a comforting arm around her.
"What is it, Stella girl? Tell me!"
She relaxed against him with a sob. "I've been--horribly anxious aboutyou," she said.
"Oh, is that all?" said Tommy. "What a waste of time! I was only over atKhanmulla. I spent the night at Barnes's bungalow because they wouldn'ttrust me in the jungle after dark."
"They?" she questioned.
"Barnes and Everard," Tommy said, and faced her squarely. "I went to seeEverard."
"Ah!" She caught her breath. "Major Ralston has been here. He toldme--he told me--" her voice failed; she laid her head down upon Tommy'sshoulder.
He tightened his arm about her. "It's a shame of Ralston to frightenyou. He isn't ill." Then a sudden thought striking him, "What was hedoing here so early? Isn't the kid up to the mark?"
She shivered against him again. "He had a strange attack in the night,and Major Ralston said--said--oh, Tommy," she suddenly clung to him, "Iam going to lose him. He--isn't--like other children."
"Ralston said that?" demanded Tommy.
"He didn't tell me. He told Bernard. I practically forced Bernard totell me, but I think he thought I ought to know. He said--he said--itisn't to be desired that my baby should live."
"What?" said Tommy in dismay. "Oh, my darling girl, I am sorry! What'swrong with the poor little chap?"
With her face hidden against him she made whispered answer. "You knowhe--came too soon. They thought at first he was all right, butnow--symptoms have begun to show themselves. We thought he was justdelicate, but it isn't only that. Last night--in the night--" sheshuddered suddenly and violently and paused to control herself--"Ican't talk about it. It was terrible. Major Ralston says he doesn'tsuffer, but it looks like suffering. And, oh, Tommy,--he is all I haveleft."
Tommy held her comfortingly close. "I say, wouldn't you like Everard tocome to you?" he said.
"Oh no! Oh no!" Her refusal was instant. "I can't see him. Tommy, whysuggest such a thing? You know I can't."
"I know he's a good man," Tommy said steadily. "Just listen a minute,old girl! I know things look black enough against him, so black thatit's probable he'll have to send in his papers. But I tell you he's allright. I didn't think so at first. I thought the same as you do. Butsomehow that suspicion has got worn out. It was pretty beastly while itlasted, but I came to my senses at last. And I've been to tell him so.He was jolly decent about it, though he didn't tell me a thing. I didn'twant him to. Besides, he always is decent. How could he be otherwise?And now we're just as we were--friends."
There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Tommy's voice. He even spokewith pride, and hearing it, Stella withdrew herself slowly and wearilyfrom his arms.
"It's rather different for you, Tommy," she said. "A man's standards aredifferent, I know. There may be what you call extenuatingcircumstances--though I can't quite imagine it. I'm too tired to argueabout it, Tommy dear, and you mustn't be vexed with me. I can't go intoit with you, but I feel as if it is I--I myself--who have committed anawful sin. And it has got to be expiated, perhaps that is why my babyis to be taken from me. Bernard says it is not so. But then--Bernard isa man too." There was a sound of heartbreak in her voice as she ended.She put up her hands with a gesture as of trying to put away somemonstrous thing that threatened to crush her--a gesture that wentstraight to Tommy's warm heart.
"Oh, poor old girl!" he said impulsively, and took the hands into hisown. "I say, ought I to be in here? Aren't you supposed to be resting?"
She smiled at him wanly. "I believe I am. Major Ralston left a soothingdraught, but I wouldn't take it, in case--" she broke off. "Peter is onguard as well as _Ayah_, and he has promised to call me if--if--" Againshe stopped. "I don't think _Ayah_ is much good," she resumed. "She wasnearly frightened out of her senses last night. She seems to think thereis something--supernatural about it. But Peter--Peter is a tower ofstrength. I trust him implicitly."
"Yes, he's a good chap," said Tommy. "I'm glad you've got him anyway. Iwish I could be more of a help to you."
She leaned forward and kissed him. "You are very dear to me, Tommy. Idon't know what I should do without you and Bernard."
"Where is the worthy padre?" asked Tommy.
"He may be working in his room. He is certainly not far away. He neveris nowadays."
"I'll go and find him," said Tommy. "But look here, dear! Have thatdraught of Ralston's and lie down! Just to please me!"
She began to refuse, but Tommy could be very persuasive when he chose,and he chose on this occasion. Finally, with reluctance she yielded,since, as he pointed out, she needed all the strength she could muster.
He tucked her up with motherly care, feeling that he had accomplishedsomething worth doing, and then, seeing that exhaustion would do therest, he left her and went softly forth in search of Bernard.
The latter, however, was not in the bungalow, and since it was growinglate Tommy had a hurried bath and dressed for parade. He was bolting ahasty _tiffin_ in the dining-room when a quiet step on the verandahwarned him of Bernard's approach, and in a moment or two the big manentered, a pipe in his mouth and a book under his arm.
"Hullo, Tommy!" he said with his genial smile. "So you haven't beenmurdered this time. I congratulate you."
"Thanks!" said Tommy.
"I congratulate myself also," said Bernard, patting his shoulder by wayof greeting. "If it weren't against my principles, I should have beenvery worried about you, my lad. For I couldn't get away to look foryou."
"Of course not," said Tommy. "And I was safe enough. I've been over toKhanmulla. Everard made me spend the night, and we rode back thismorning."
"Everard! He isn't here?" Bernard looked round sharply.
"No," said Tommy bluntly. "But he ought to be. He went back again. He iswanted for that trial business. I say, things are pretty rotten here,aren't they? Is the little kid past hope?"
"I am afraid so." Bernard spoke very gravely. His kindly face was moresombre than Tommy had ever seen it.
"But can nothing be done?" the boy urged. "It'll break Stella's heart tolose him."
Bernard shook his head. "Nothing whatever I am afraid. Major Ralston hassuspected trouble for some time, it seems. We might of course get aspecialist's
opinion at Calcutta, but the baby is utterly unfit for ajourney of any kind, and it is doubtful if any doctor would come allthis way--especially with things as they are."
"What do you mean?" said Tommy.
Bernard looked at him. "The place is a hotbed of discontent--if notanarchy. Surely you know that!"
Tommy shrugged his shoulders. "That's nothing new. It's what we're herefor."
"Yes. And matters are getting worse. I hear that the result of thistrial will probably mean the Rajah's enforced abdication. And if thathappens there is practically bound to be a rising."
Tommy laughed. "That's been the situation as long as I've been out.We're giving him enough rope, and I hope he'll hang, though I'm afraidhe won't. The rising will probably be a sort of Chinese crackeraffair--a fizz, a few bangs, and a splutter-out. No honour and glory forany one!"
"I hope you are right," said Bernard.
"And I hope I'm wrong," said Tommy lightly. "I like a run for my money."
"You forget the women," said Bernard abruptly.
Tommy opened his eyes. "No, I don't. They'll be all right. They'll haveto clear out to Bhulwana a little earlier than usual. They'll be safeenough there. You can go and look after 'em, sir. They'll like that."
"Thank you, Tommy." Bernard smiled in spite of himself. "It's kind ofyou to put it so tactfully. Now tell me what you think of Everard. Is hereally ill?"
"No; worried to death, that's all. He's talking of sending in hispapers. Did you know?"
"I suspected he would," Bernard spoke thoughtfully.
"He mustn't do it!" said Tommy with vehemence. "He's worth all the restof the Mess put together. You mustn't let him."
Bernard lifted his brows. "I let him!" he said. "Do you think he isgoing to do what I tell him?"
"I know you have influence--considerable influence--with him," Tommysaid. "You ought to use it, sir. You really ought. It's up to you and noone else."
He spoke insistently. Bernard looked at him attentively.
"You've changed your tune somewhat, haven't you, Tommy?" he said.
"Yes," said Tommy bluntly. "I have. I've been a damn' fool if you wantto know--the biggest, damnedest fool on the face of creation. And I'vebeen and told him so."
"For no particular reason?" Bernard's blue eyes grew keener in theirregard. He looked at Tommy with more interest than he had ever beforebestowed upon him.
Tommy's face was red, but he replied without embarrassment. "Certainly.I've come to my senses, that's all. I've come to realize--what I reallyknew all along--that he's a white man, white all through, however blackhe chooses to be painted. And I'm ashamed that I ever doubted him."
"He hasn't told you anything?" questioned Bernard, still closelysurveying the flushed countenance.
"No!" said Tommy, and his voice rang on a note of indignant pride. "Whythe devil should he tell me anything? I'm his friend. Thank the gods, Ican trust him without."
Bernard held out his hand suddenly. The interest had turned to somethingwarmer. He looked at the boy with genuine admiration. "I take off my hatto you, Tommy," he said. "Everard is a deuced lucky man."
"What?" said Tommy, and turned deep crimson. "Oh, rot, sir! That's rot!"He gripped the extended hand with warmth notwithstanding. "It's all theother way round. I can't tell you what he's been to me. Why, I--I'd diefor him, if I had the chance."
"Yes," Bernard said with simplicity. "I'm sure you would, boy. And it'sjust that I like about you. You're just the sort of friend he needs--thesort of friend God sends along to hold up the lamp when the night isdark. There! You want to be off. I won't keep you. But you're a whiteman yourself, Tommy, and I shan't forget it."
"Oh, rats--rats--rats!" said Tommy rudely, and escaped through thewindow at headlong speed.