mi TM E 
 
 POTTER'S 
 
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 THE POTTER'S THUMB 
 
 H novel 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORA ANNIE STEEL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1894
 
 Copyright, 1894, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
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 THE POTTER'S THUMB 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " 'Tis only the potter's tliumb, huzoory 
 
 As she raised the parti-colored rag covering the child's 
 body the noonday sun streamed down upon a pitiful sight. 
 Yet her eyes, despite the motherhood which lay in them, ac- 
 cepted it as the sun did^calraly ; emotion, such as it was, being 
 reserved for the couple of Englishmen who stood by ; and 
 even there curiosity and repulsion froze the surface of pity, 
 especially in the younger of the two faces. 
 
 In good sooth not a pleasant sight for mankind, to whom 
 sickness does not as a rule bring that quick interest born of a 
 desire to aid which it does to most women. The brown skin 
 was fair with the pallor of disease, and the fine, sparse, black 
 hair showed the contour of the skull. The unnatural hollows 
 of the temples emphasized the unnatural prominence of the 
 closed eyelids, round whose ragged margin of clogged lashes the 
 flies settled in clusters. Below this death's-head an over-large 
 body, where, despite its full curves, each rib stood sharply de- 
 fined, and whence the thin limbs angled themselves in spidery 
 fashion. 
 
 "The potter's thumb?" echoed Dan Fitzgerald, interroga- 
 tively. He was a tall man, broad in the shoulder, lean in the 
 flank, and extraordinarily handsome ; yet the most noticeable 
 quality in the face which was looking down at the very ordi- 
 nary woman squatting upon a very ordinary dust-heap was not 
 its beauty, but its vitality. " Is that a disease ?" he added, al- 
 most sharply.
 
 She gave the native cluck of empliatic denial, " No, huzoor ! 
 Tlie child dies because it does not drink milk properly ; yet it 
 is the potter's thumb in the beginning. Lo ! many are born so 
 in this place. The doctor sahib who put the tikka on the 
 arms for sniall-pox said Hodinuggar was too old for birth — 
 that it was a graveyard. I know not. Only this is true : 
 many are born with it ; many die of it." 
 
 " Die of the potter's thumb? What potter?" 
 Her broad face broadened still more into a smile. " The 
 huzoor doth not understand. Lo ! when the potter works 
 on the clay his hand sometimes slips in the moulding. It 
 leaves a furrow, so" — her brown fingers, set with tarnished sil- 
 ver rings, traced a girdle round the baby's naked breast. " Then 
 in the firing the pot cracks — cracks like these" — here the 
 finger pointed to the shards among which she sat ; " so when 
 children are born as this one, we say 'tis the potter's thumb. 
 Sometimes there is a mark " — again the finger softly followed 
 the line it had traced before ; " this one had it clear when he 
 came; sometimes none can see it, but 'tis there all the same — 
 all the same. The potter's thumb had slipped ; the pot will 
 crack in the firing." 
 
 Iler voice took a cadence, as if accustomed to the words, 
 "What is she saying?" interrupted George Keene, impatient- 
 ly. He was a middle-sized lad of twenty or thereabouts, pow- 
 erfully made, with gleaming gray eyes and white teeth, set in 
 an aquiline, sunburnt face. 
 
 "Something ghastly," replied Dan. "It always is so, you'll 
 find, my dear boy, when you dip below the indifferent calm of 
 these people. It's like deciphering a tombstone. But come 
 on ; we are due already at the World, the Flesh, and the 
 Devil's." Then he paused, gave a short laugh, and flung out 
 his hands in an impulsive gesture. " By the powers ! " he 
 went on, his face seeming to kindle with the fuel of his own 
 fancy; "its grewsome entirely, this heap of dust they call 
 Hodinuggar, as they call thousands of such human ant-hills 
 all over India. Wherever, when you dig, bricks grow bigger 
 and bigger, until, hocus-pocus ! they vanish in the dust from
 
 3 
 
 which God made man — that is Hodinugf^ar. The old city, it 
 means. What city ? Who knows ? Then in the corner of 
 this particular one a survival" — his eager hand pointed to the 
 pile of buildings before them — " not of those old days — for no 
 Mogul in India dates beyond Timoor, and these people are 
 Moguls — but of that Mahomedan civilization which over- 
 whelmed the older one, just as we in our turn are overwhelm- 
 ing the Mogul, who in the meantime bullies the people by 
 virtue of an Englishman's signature." 
 
 " But I suppose we found the dewan in possession when we 
 arrived," began George, stolidly. 
 
 Dan scorned the interruption and the common-sense. "Ah! 
 'tis queer, looked at any way. A mound of shards and dust 
 higher than the gateway of the palace. I'll go bail that reed 
 hut yonder on the top is higher than old Zubr-ul-zaman's tow- 
 er. He lives up there winter and summer, does the old dewan, 
 looking out over his world and the strength of it — that's what 
 his name means, you know. His son, Khushal Beg, lives in 
 the next story — a Jack Falstall of a man; that's why I call 
 him the Flesh. Then Dalel, the Devil, roams about below that 
 again, seeking whom he may devour." 
 
 "A charming trio; and what part have I to play in the 
 drama ?" asked George, with a laugh. 
 
 " St. George, of course." 
 
 The lad laughed louder. " So I am, in baptism. George 
 for short. Born on the saint's day — father a parson. Fire 
 away, old chap ; don't let me pull Pegasus." 
 
 " Sure, ray dear boy ; and aren't you sent to fight them all — 
 sent into this wilderness of a place to be tempted ?" 
 
 "Oh, don't talk rot, Fitzgerald! I suppose you mean about 
 the sluice-gate ; but it's sheer folly." 
 
 "Is it? My two last subordinates didn't find it so. Per- 
 haps the potter's thumb had slipped over their honesty. So the 
 authorities gave me you — a real white man. They said it was 
 my last chance. Think of that now, my boy, and be careful." 
 
 George Kecne frowned perceptibly. 
 
 "That's a fine old gateway," he said, to change the subject.
 
 As they approached it a flock of iridescent pigeons rocketed 
 from the dark niclies, to circle and flash against the sky. It 
 was a great square block of a building, cut through by one 
 high arch of shadow, showing the length of the tunnel in the 
 smallness of the sunlit arch beyond. On the worn brick cause- 
 way as they entered, half in the sunshine, half in the shade, 
 were the scattered petals of a pomegranate blossom, which some 
 passer-by had flung aside. 
 
 "By Jove, what a color!" said Fitzgerald; "like drops of 
 blood." 
 
 George Keene frowned again. "If I had your diseased 
 imagination, I'd engage lodgings in Bedlam. Seriously I mean 
 it. Fellows as you are get rid of it in words — all froth and 
 fuss; but if that sort of thing ever gets a real grip on me — 
 Hullo! what's that?" He flushed through his tan, in sheer vex- 
 ation at his own start. From the deep recesses which on either 
 side of the causeway lost themselves in shadow came a clash 
 of silver bells, and among the arches something showed white 
 yet shadowy — something of exceeding grace salaaming to the 
 sahib logue ; something sending the scent of jasmine flowers 
 into the hot air. 
 
 "That is Chandni," said Dan, passing on, regardless; "she 
 generally sits here." 
 
 George, imitating his companion, felt the thrill still in his 
 veins. " Chandni," he echoed ; " that means ' silvery,' doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Moonshine also. They call her Chandni-rat, or Moonlit 
 Night, as a rule. If tales be true, a good deal of the night is 
 about her. She and Dalel — But here he comes, innocently, 
 from a side door. The Devil loves moonshiny nights." 
 
 The figure approaching them was not outwardly of diabolic 
 mould ; it was altogether too insignificant. The oval face was 
 barely shadowed by a thin beard, curling in an oiled tuft on 
 either side of the retreating chin, and the only Mephistophelian 
 feature being the narrow line of niustache waxed upward tow- 
 ards the eyes. The dress was nondescript to absurdity. The 
 biretta-shaped Mogul cap, heavy with church embroidery, sat
 
 jauntily on tlie long, greasy hair; the blue velvet shooting-coat, 
 cut in Western fashion, was worn over baggy white cotton 
 drawers, these again being tucked into sportsmanlike leather 
 gaiters, ending in striped socks and patent-leather highlows. 
 Such was Mirza Dalel Beg, the dewan's grandson. Behind 
 him came lesser bloods of the same type ; one with a falcon 
 on his wrist, all Avith curious eyes for George Keene, the new- 
 comer, 
 
 "IIullo Dalel sahihP^ cried Dan, in English. "Keene! let 
 ine introduce you in form to his highness." The mirza thrust 
 out a small, cold, clammy hand; but thereafter relapsed into 
 such absolute inaction that George found no little difficulty in 
 finishing the ceremony. 
 
 " Aha, I see !" said his highness, jerkily, in a voice many 
 tones too low for his chest measurement. " Glad to see you, 
 Keene. You shoot, I lend you gun or rifle ; you hawk, we go 
 hawk together; you hunt, you use ray crocks. Come, see my 
 stable." 
 
 Dan's eyebrows went up expressively. "Don't tempt him 
 to-day, mirza sahib,'''' he interrupted, gravely, " we are already 
 due at the state-audience with your grandfather. Aren't you 
 to be there, as heir-presumptive ?" 
 
 Dalel crackled with a high - toned laugh which did not 
 match his voice. " Bosh ! My gov'ner is there in swagger 
 dress. He likes, I am different. Good-bye, Keene! You 
 must come often, and we will go shoot, hunt, polo, billiards, and 
 be jolly. Ta, ta ! I go to stables." 
 
 The two Englishmen walked on in silence for a while, then 
 George Keene looked at his companion with a queer smile. 
 
 " So that's the devil — that — that heterogeneous bounder !'? 
 
 " Heterogeneous bounder is good — parlous good," replied 
 Dan, still gravely; "but here is our reception -party, so for 
 Heaven's sake look dignified and don't shake hands, mind, 
 unless they offer to do so. They know their own rank, you 
 see; you don't know yours — as yet." 
 
 The lad as he obeyed orders felt that lie knew very little of 
 anything in this strange world, the fact being evident in the
 
 6 
 
 surprise vvith wliich he noted tlie squalid appearance of every- 
 thing he saw ; even of the state-room, where on a cane-bot- 
 tomed chair, set on a filthy striped carpet, a mountain of flesh 
 awaited them. It did not need his companion's whisper to 
 make him understand that it must be the heir-apparent, Kliushal 
 Beg, who came forward to the appointed stripe of carpet, thus 
 far and no farther — and held out his hand. 
 
 "The huzoor is young," he wheezed, in a stately, dignified 
 voice; "but youth is a great gift; with it even the desert 
 need not be dull. 'Tis only as we grow older " — he paused, and 
 crossed his hands over his fat stomach with a sigh, as if to him 
 the only consolation for age lay there, Dan shot one of his 
 almost articulate looks at liis companion as they passed on to a 
 stone stair so narrow that there was barely room for single-file 
 order up the steep steps. Up and up they went, seemingly in 
 the thickness of the wall, with little loop-holes sending a faint 
 light at the turns; up and up, breathlessly, till the party emerged 
 on the roof of the dewan's tower, where in a pavilion set round 
 with arched arcades they found the old man himself, backed by 
 a semicircle of shabby retainers, whose gay clothes showed 
 tawdry in the pitiless sunlight. Yet Dan's whisper of " the 
 world " provoked no smile in his companion. 
 
 There was nothing to smile at in Zubr-ul-zaman, old and 
 shrunken as he was — so old that those steep stairs cut him off 
 from his kind ; so old that his chin lay upon his breast, his 
 palms upon his knees, as though both head and hands were 
 weary of the world. What his heart thought of the ninety and 
 odd years of life none knew. None could even guess, for the 
 simple reason that Zubr-ul-zaman had never showed that he 
 possessed a heart. Of brains and skill, no lack even now ; but 
 pity, love, tenderness? This much was certain — he had never 
 sought them even in others. Yet the English boy had eyes 
 only for that wrinkled, indifEerent face, while Dan Fitzgerald, 
 seated in one of the two cane-bottomed chairs set opposite the 
 dewan's red velvet one, explained in set terms why George 
 came to be seated in the other. Not a pleasant tale altogether, 
 even when told, as it was, with oflicial baldness of expression.
 
 Briefly, the sluice-gate of the canal had been opened too often, 
 and the government did not intend it to occur again. 
 
 When he ceased, the dewan raised his head slowly, and 
 George felt an odd thrill at his first sight of those luminous 
 dark eyes ; a thrill which continued, as, at a sign from the old 
 man, the court-rhetorician, standing surcharged with eloquence 
 at the dewan's right hand, burst into a stream of polished Per- 
 sian periods which, -hitting the key-note of the empty pavilion, 
 roused a murmurous echo in its arcades. 
 
 It reminded George of the general confession in his father's 
 church on a week day, when the choir was absent. One cer- 
 tain note followed by faint efforts after repentance. The fancy, 
 indeed, clung closer to facts than his ignorance of the language 
 allowed him to perceive, as the speech dealt chiefly in regrets 
 for the untoward events in the part which had made it incum- 
 bent on " Gee uff Keene sahib bahddur " to languish in the 
 wilderness of Hodinuggar, though doubtless the presence of 
 the said " Gee uff Keene sahib bahadur " \vould cause that 
 desert to blossom like a rose — despite the want of water. 
 These reiterations of his own name made George feel a sense 
 of unknown responsibility, as a baby might at its own christen- 
 ing. He looked anxiously at Dan, his sponsor ; but the latter 
 was now conversing with the dewan in explosive sentences 
 followed by the decorous silences due to mutual dignity, while 
 the attendants brought forward divers round brass trays cov- 
 ered with Manchester pocket-handkerchiefs and laid them at 
 the visitors' feet. George's share consisted of three : one con- 
 taining dried fruits and sugar; one of various rich cloths topped 
 by a coarse white muslin puggree ; the third conglomerate. 
 A French clock with Venus Anadyomene in alabaster, some 
 pantomime jewelry, a green glass tumbler; a tin of preserved 
 beet-root, a lacquered tray with the motto " For a good boy," 
 and various other odds and ends. Among them a small blue 
 earthen-ware pot. Was it blue after all, or did a gold shimmer 
 suggest a pattern beneath the glaze ? A queer, quaint sliape, 
 dumpy, yet graceful. That broad, straight ring around it 
 should have marred its curves, but failed to do so ; strange !
 
 8 
 
 how these people had the knack of riinninfv counter to recog- 
 nized rules, and yet — here George was recalled to the present 
 by Dan whispering, 
 
 " Take it man ! Take it !" 
 
 Looking round he saw the latter removing something from 
 a tray, and his own head being full of the blue pot his hand 
 naturally went out towards it. 
 
 " No, no !" continued Dan, in the same voice, " the ji:>2/y- 
 grce.'''' 
 
 " But I've got one already !'"' 
 
 The instinctive greed of the reply made his companion smile 
 even while he explained that the 2)U(/[/ree was put there on pur- 
 pose. But as he spoke the dewan signed to an attendant, who, 
 stepping forward, transferred the blue pot to the tray of dried 
 fruits. 
 
 " It is nothing," came the courteous voice, setting aside all 
 disclaimers; "our potter makes them." 
 
 " I did not know they could put such a good glaze on nowa- 
 days," remarked Fitzgerald, yielding the point. " A first-rate 
 piece of work indeed. Does the man live here?" 
 
 Khushal Beg turned to the speaker, breathlessly. 
 
 " He is crazy, huzoor. The Lord destroyed his reason by 
 an accident. The old wall fell on his house one night and 
 killed his daughter. Since then he lives away, where nought 
 can fall ; like the crazy one he is." 
 
 The stress and hurry of the speech were evident, but the fat 
 man was still suffering from the stairs. 
 
 " Thank the Lord ! that's over," said Dan, piously, when the 
 last diminishing tail of escort left them with but one orderly to 
 carry the spoil. " I ought to have warned you about the pug- 
 gree — but there, you might have done worse — the French clock 
 for instance. Come, let's strike home across the mound. I 
 want to show you a dodge of mine in the canal-cut." 
 
 He plunged headlong, after his wont, into professional mat- 
 ters, till even George, fresh from college technicalities, could 
 scarcely follow him, and found himself wondering why a man 
 of such vast capacity should have succeeded so indifferently ;
 
 for Dan Fitzgerald was not a persona grata at headquarters. 
 To be that a subordinate often has to conceal his own talents, 
 and this man qoiild not even conceal liis faults. Some folk are 
 so self-contained that a burden of blame finds no balance on 
 their shoulders ; others so hospitable that they serve as hold-alls 
 both for friends and foes. And there was plenty of room for 
 both praise and blame in Dan Fitzgerald's excitable nature. 
 
 "What's that?" cried George, suddenly. With the best in- 
 tentions his attention had wandered ; for everything in that 
 circle of dun-colored horizon domed with blue was new to him. 
 Dan paused, listening. An odd rhythmic hum came from the 
 highest hut, which was separated from the others by palisades 
 of plaited tiger-grass which, in the afternoon light, shone like 
 a diaper of gold. 
 
 " The potter's wheel !" he cried, his face changing indescrib- 
 ably in an instant. " Come on, Keene, let us see the man who 
 made your first bribe." 
 
 He gave no time for reply, but turning at right angles 
 through a gap threaded his way past piles of pots and shards 
 until he ran the sound to earth — to a circle of the solid earth 
 spinning dizzily in front of a man buried to his waist. At least 
 so it seemed, at first, to George Keene's ignorance of potters 
 and their wheels. A circle dazzling at its outer edge, clearer 
 at the centre where something beneath the steady, curved hand 
 shot up, and bulged, then as the whirr slackened, sank into a 
 bomb of clay. 
 
 " Salaam alaikoom /" came a pleasant voice, as the worker 
 sat back in his seat-hole so as to ease his feet from the treadles. 
 A mild-faced old gentleman with nothing remarkable about 
 him save a pair of shifty eyes ; the light hazel eyes seen so 
 rarely in a native's face. 
 
 " Salaam alaikoom,^'' returned Dan. " The little sahib has 
 never seen a wheel worked. Will you show him ?" 
 
 "Wherefore not, huzoor ! The sahib could come to none 
 better, seeing we have spun the wheel of life for years — for 
 ages and ages and ages." 
 
 The words blended with the risinix cadence of the wheel as he
 
 10 
 
 leaned forward to the task aj^ain — faster and faster, with a sway- 
 ing motion. Only one thing: the potter's hand, poised mo- 
 tionless above the whirring clay, which showed, as the chil- 
 dren say, like a top asleep. Then suddenly the turn of the 
 potter's thumb, bringing a strange, weird life with it. One 
 curve after another, swelling, sucking, shifting, falling. The 
 eye could scarcely follow their swift birth and death until the 
 potter, sitting back once more, the slackening wheel disclosed 
 the hollows and bosses. 
 
 "The clay is good," he said, as if deprecating his own skill, 
 " and it fires well." 
 
 " When the thumb does not slip," put in Dan, quietly. The 
 potter turned to him in sudden interest. 
 
 "The huzoor knows the sayings of the people — that is well ; 
 it IS not often so. Yea ! it slips — thus." The wheel still spun 
 slowly, lie shifted his hand almost imperceptibly, and a deep 
 furrow scored itself upon the biggest boss. "So little does it," 
 he went on, "a grit clinging to the skin — a wandering thought. 
 It is Fate. Fuzl Elahi, the potter, cannot help it." 
 
 " Fuzl Elahi ? — then you are a Mahoraedan ?" 
 
 He shook his head. " I am as my fathers were. The Mo- 
 guls call me so, the Hindoos otherwise ; but it means the same 
 — the grace of God. By the grace of God, potter of Ilodinug- 
 gar, since time began. Lo ! my fathers and my children are in 
 the clay ! I dug a grave in the dust for the boy ; the girl dug 
 hers for herself. It was deep, huzoor. I search for it always 
 in vain, in vain." The wheel set up its rhythmic hum once 
 more, but the hands lay idle. 
 
 " Poor old chap," said Dan, aside. " I suppose he is think- 
 ing of the accident ; but by the powers, Keene ! it is a situa- 
 tion. Seated on a pinnacle — a crazy, irresponsible creator — " 
 
 " Ask him if he made the pot, please," interrupted George, 
 brutally. " If I could get a pair I'd send them to the mater. 
 Those things are always in pairs, you know." 
 
 "Pairs! — you intolerable Philistine! A potter's vessel try- 
 ing to be matched before it's broken in pieces. Think of the 
 tragedy — the humor of it."
 
 11 
 
 " Will you ask, or shall I ?" 
 
 Fitzgerald grinned maliciously. "You, I like to hear you 
 stuttering." 
 
 George smiled, rose, and taking the blue pot from the attend- 
 ant's tray, laid it on the potter's wheel. 
 
 " Did you make that?" he asked, m English. His meaning 
 was palpable. 
 
 " No, huzooi-r 
 
 "If you did not, who did ?" he continued, his triumph mixed 
 with anxiety for the future ; but the old man's thoughts did duty 
 for an answer. 
 
 " Without doubt my fathers made it, since it is an Avodbya 
 pot." 
 
 " Ayodhya I" broke in Dan, " that means old, Keene. You'll 
 have to send it back. I half suspected it was valuable from that 
 old ox's look. But he said it was made here — the sinner ! Can 
 you make pots like that, O Fuzl Elahi ?" 
 
 The old man smiled. "None can give the glaze, huzoor — 
 there is a pattern on it, but none can catch the design. Even 
 I know it not ; that is the secret of Ayodhya." 
 
 " What is he saying ? AVhat is Ayodhya," asked George, 
 irritably. 
 
 " Same as Hodi — old. The half forgotten heroic age. Well, 
 as you can't get a pair, we had best be moving. Salaam! pot- 
 ter — ji, and don't let your thumb slip too often m the future." 
 
 " Godsend it hath not slipped too often m the past," he re- 
 plied, half to himself. 
 
 An hour afterwards the two Englishmen sat on the low par- 
 apet of the canal bridge looking out over a world-circle of dusty 
 plain ; treeless, featureless save for the shadowy mound of Ho- 
 dinuggar on one side, on the other a red brick house dotted 
 causelessly upon the sand. A world-circle split into halves by 
 the Great Canal ; eastward, towards the invisible hills, a bar of 
 silver ; westward, towards the invisible sea, a flash of gold at 
 whose end the last beams of the setting sun hung like the star 
 on a magician's wand. 
 
 " Tya/t'r, icater everyivherc, and not a drop to drink P'' mur-
 
 12 
 
 mured Dan Fitzgerald, discontentedly. "Upon my soul it must 
 be rough on thera watching it all day long, and knowing that 
 if they could only get you to open the sluice they would get 
 rupees on rupees from the rajah. That's how it stands, you see. 
 It isn't so much for their own bit of land, but for the bribe. I 
 sometimes wish the overflow cut had been higher up, or lower 
 down ; but we had to protect the big embankment against ab- 
 normal floods. Confound the thing ! what business has it to 
 put hydraulic pressure on us all." 
 
 " Don't feel it much as yet," said George, cheerfully, with 
 his eyes on the palace, which was gaining an unreal beauty from 
 the dust of ages. For the village cattle were returning to the 
 thorn-set folds, and the cloud from their leisurely feet lay in a 
 golden mist between the shadowy plain and the shadowy mound 
 rising against the golden sky. A lingering shaft of light showed 
 the white fretwork of the dewan's tower clear against the pale 
 purple of the potter's thatch beyond. 
 
 " Perhaps not; you will, though. The wilderness plays the 
 dickens with civilization sometimes." 
 
 " Does it. I don't believe it will with mine. Not that sort ; 
 I haven't your imagination, your sensitiveness, your poet- 
 ical—" 
 
 "Pull up," said Dan, laughing, "you'll come to my vices 
 soon, and as I've pet names for most of them, I object to have 
 them scientifically classified. But I wish I hadn't to leave you 
 there," he pointed distastefully to the red parallelogram with 
 the initials of the Public Works Department stamped on each 
 brick, like the broad-arrow on a convict ; " it isn't fit for a 
 youngster like you. But as it can't be helped, there's the key. 
 For my sake, don't let the world, the flesh, or the devil wheedle 
 it out of you." 
 
 "All right," replied the boy, pocketing the Chubb key. " If 
 you are engaged to be married, go and do it right off. Promo- 
 tion in due course guaranteed." 
 
 Dan Fitzgerald looking down at the sliding water was silent 
 for a minute. "You've hit the right nail on the bead," he said, 
 at last. " That's why I'm anxious ; but by the powers ! your
 
 13 
 
 work is cut out for you if you are to keep me from getting into 
 hot water !" 
 
 " It isn't the water that does it," muttered George, as they 
 strolled off to dinner ; " it's the spirits." 
 
 That was the truth in more senses than one. George had 
 been living with his superior officer for two months at head- 
 quarters ; and his cool, clear head had noted the fascination 
 which stimulants of all kinds had for Dan's excitable nature. 
 But he had said nothing, after the manner of men. There- 
 fore it came as a surprise, even to himself, when that evening- 
 something made him put in, hurriedly : 
 
 " Better not, Fitzgerald ; you've a long ride before you." 
 
 Dan, his hand on the whiskey-bottle, paused, surprised in his 
 turn ; but George seemed to feel that key in his pocket outline 
 itself against the thumping of his heart. 
 
 " Are you afraid I won't leave you enough ?" asked the 
 elder, quickly. " I'll send you a bottle by post, if that's it. 
 Come ! hands off, youngster ; don't be a fool ! That's enough." 
 
 The angry red was not on his cheek only. It had spread to 
 the boy's, as he stood back in a sudden flare of utterly unex- 
 pected dignity. 
 
 " Quite enough, Mr. Fitzgerald. I've been your guest for 
 two months, I know ; but you are mine now. This is my 
 house, and that's my bottle. I'll trouble you to put it down." 
 
 For an instant it seemed on its way to the speaker's head ; then 
 it was pushed aside scornfully; the next Dan held out his hand. 
 
 " Thanks ! No one has taken that trouble for years. What 
 made you do it ?" 
 
 The Englishman's shame at liis own impulsiveness was on 
 George, and he laughed uneasily. " I — I believe it was that 
 confounded key," he began. 
 
 Dan's smile was transfiguring. 
 
 " God bless the boy !" he cried, with the ring of tears and 
 laughter in his rich brogue. "So you're the Keeper of the 
 King's Conscience, are yon ? The saints protect you ! for, see, 
 your sort don't know mine. We leave off the effort after virt- 
 ue where you begin, and I spend more solid holiness in refus-
 
 14 
 
 ing a glass of sherry than you do in keeping all the Ten Com- 
 mandments. Sure, the sun's got into my head, and I must be 
 off to the water-cure." 
 
 He was out of the room, the house, standing on the bridge 
 abutment and stripjoing as for dear life, before George caught 
 him up breathlessly and asked if he were quite mad. 
 
 " Not yet 1" came the joyous voice. " I'm going to swim 
 up stream till I'm beat, and come down with the current — an 
 epitome of my life." 
 
 The rapid Indian twilight had fallen into night, but the 
 moon had risen, and the air was warm with the first touch of 
 spring, which, in northern India, treads close on the heels of 
 the new year. Fitzgerald, pausing for a second, showed like a 
 white statue on the buttress; then his curved body shot into 
 the shadow with the cry, " I come, mother of all !" 
 
 Tristram's cry, when he sprang to " the sea's breast as to a 
 mother's, where his head might rest," thought George, watch- 
 ing the stream with the vague anxiety inseparable from the 
 disappearance of life beneath the water. Ah, there he was, safe ! 
 
 " Don't wait, please. Tell the syce to have the mare 
 ready for me in half an hour." 
 
 Yet George did wait — waited and watched the arrowy ripple 
 cleaving the steel-gray path leading straight to the steel-gray 
 sky, where the stars hung sparkling. If they were reflected in 
 the still water ahead as they were in the still water below the 
 bridge, Dan must feel as if he were swimming in the ether! 
 
 Decidedly imagination was catching. George Keene was re- 
 minded of the fact again as he stood looking over to the mound 
 of Hodinuggar, and listening to the last echo of the horse's hoofs 
 carrying Dan away from the wilderness. There was a light in 
 the dewan's tower, another in the potter's hut ; he wondered 
 vaguely which was really the highest. Then to check such idle 
 thoughts, began the first duty of youth in a foreign land — 
 home letters. 
 
 " Dear father," he wrote, fluently, " I arrived at Hodinuggar, 
 my headquarters, to-day. It is — " Half an hour afterwards 
 he tore up the sheet angrily, and went to bed.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Band night in the public gardens; mail -night also — a 
 combination of dancing and picture-papers, insuring a large at- 
 tendance in the big hall which had been built, gravely, as a 
 memorial to some statesman. English girls in twos and threes 
 hurried through the dim corridors to the ladies' dressing-room, 
 intent on changing tennis -shoes for dancing-slippers; English 
 women took possession of the comfortable nooks between the 
 pillars, where there was room for two ; English boys lounged 
 about the vestibule, finishing their cigars and waiting for the 
 band to strike up ; English men drifted to billiards and whist, 
 or to their own special corner in the reading-room. 
 
 A weird-looking place even at noon was the big hall, set 
 round with paste- and -paper mementos of historical festivals 
 held beneath its big roof — a shield from the Prince of Wales's 
 ball, a flag from the imperial installation, a trophy from the wel- 
 come given to British soldiers after an arduous campaign. But 
 seen now by the few lamps lit at one end, it looked positively 
 ghostly — as if it must be haunted by a thousand memories of 
 dead men, women, and children, who had flitted across the kalei- 
 doscope of Rajpore society. 
 
 Up in the gallery the native band, after playing " God Save 
 the Queen " to the Aryan brother outside, was tuning up for 
 dance-music. And by-and-by a couple would come waltzing 
 out of the shadows into the bright reflection of the polished 
 floor, and waltz back again. Then three or four couples — per- 
 haps ten or a dozen ; not more. Viewed from the other end, 
 where the non-dancers sat in darkness, the scene looked like a 
 dim reflection of something going on in another world. 
 
 And outside, under the rising moon, the builders of the hall 
 trooped home to the packed highways and byways of the 
 native city, full, no doubt, of that silent, ever-green wonder at
 
 16 
 
 the strange customs of the ruling race which is an integral 
 part of native life; that ruling race which, with all its eccen- 
 tricities, rules better than even the fabled Vicramiditya him- 
 self! 
 
 In the far corner of the reading-room a girl about twenty 
 stood looking at the new number of the Scientific Atnerican, 
 keeping a stern watch the while on the present possessor of the 
 Saturdcnj Revieiu. A tennis-bat lay on the table beside her, and 
 her workman-like flannels and tan shoes showed what her occu- 
 pation had been. For the rest, a well-made,well-balanced girl, 
 looking as if she walked well, rode well, danced well, and took 
 an honest pride in doing so. Her face was chiefly remarkable 
 for a pair of beautifully arched eyebrows, and her best point 
 was undoubtedly the poise of her head, with its closely-plaited 
 coif of hair. 
 
 A sort of snore, followed by a thud, told that people were 
 passing in and out through the swing-doors of the outer room. 
 Here, however, as befitted the abode of more serious literature, 
 all was peaceful — almost empty, in fact, its only other female 
 occupant being a medical lady, deep in the Lancet. 
 
 " Oh, Gordon," called a voice from the outer room, " have 
 you seen my daughter?" 
 
 " Miss Tweedie is here, sir," replied the young man addressed. 
 "She has been for the last five minutes trying to make up her 
 mind whether to go and dance or brain Dr. Greufell for keep- 
 ing the Saturday so long." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Gordon !" cried Rose Tweedie, aghast. " No, 
 indeed not. Dr. Grenfell ! I didn't, really — I mean I was, of 
 course, but I don't now — oh, it's awfully good of you." Then 
 as the apologetic little doctor moved away, pausing to say a 
 few words to a tall, gray-haired man who was entering, she 
 turned aggressively to the offender. '" Why did you say that, 
 Mr. Gordon ?" 
 
 " Why, Miss Tweedie? Because you insisted yesterday that 
 you women preferred the truth, even when it was rude. And 
 it was true. I suppose, as your father wants you, I have no 
 hope of this dance, and I'm engaged for all the others."
 
 17 
 
 Rose Tweedie's eyebrows went up. " How lucky for you — 
 I mean, of course, how unlucky for me." Tlicn she added, in 
 more conciliatory tones, "I'm not dancing to-nioht; these 
 shoes won't do." She thrust out her shapely foot with the 
 careless freedom of a child. 
 
 "I can see no fault," he replied, artfully putting up his 
 eye-glass. "They appear to me quite perfect." 
 
 " Your knowledge of women doesn't apparently extend to 
 their understandings," she retorted, quickly, her voice, as usual 
 when she was irritated, showing a trace of Scotch accent. "Oh, 
 father, if you want me to come home, I'm ready." 
 
 Colonel Tweedie hesitated. A single glance at him suggested 
 that the late Mrs. Tweedie must have been a woman of strong 
 individuality, or else that Rose had reverted to some ancestral 
 type. 
 
 "Not — not exactly, my dear. I only — wanted to — er — 
 speak to you." 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Tweedie," said Lewis Gordon, taking the 
 hint. " Oh, by-the-way, sir (if your daughter will remember 
 I'm a personal assistant, and excuse shop for an instant), Fitz- 
 gerald came back to-day from Ilodinuggar." 
 
 Rose Tweedie's face lit up. " Did he say how Mr. Keenc 
 liked it?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " I'm afraid not ; but he can scarcely be expected to like the 
 desert after — Raj pore. I shouldn't — under the circumstances. 
 That's all, sir, except that he reports all satisfactory, so far." 
 
 The colonel gave a little cough ; it was his way of starting 
 the ofBcial machine inside the social one. " I hope, for Mr. 
 Fitzgerald's sake, it — it — er — may remain so. The past scandals 
 have been a disgrace — er — to the department." 
 
 " Not to him, though," broke in Rose, hotly. "I think he is 
 quite one of the nicest people I ever met." 
 
 "And, what is more, the ablest man we have in our service," 
 added Lewis Gordon, heartily. The girl's face softened at his 
 tone. If he would only speak like that always, instead of sim- 
 pering and scraping. 
 
 "Well, father, what is it?" she asked. The other readers
 
 18 
 
 had drifted awa)', and the medical lady looked as if even the 
 last trump would not rouse her from the post-mo7-te7n she was 
 perusing-. To all intents and purposes they were alone. Colo- 
 nel Tweedie gave another little cough — an usual occurrence 
 in private matters — and she repeated her question with quick- 
 ened interest. 
 
 " I want you, my dear, to go and speak to — to Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton. I've — I've asked her to come into camp with us this time." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Pages full of words would fail to give a better idea of 
 Rose Tweedie's mental outlook than this simple interrogation. 
 Briefly she must have a reason — good, bad, or indifferent — for 
 everything. Her father, being her father, had several ready. 
 
 " Dacre's wife isn't strong enough to face the sand. You must 
 have a chaperone — I mean another lady ; you never need a 
 chaperone, of course, my dear; but if anything happened — 
 Besides, we shall be very busy, and it will be lonely. I thought 
 it better than leaving you at home. It isn't as if she were 
 quite an outsider. She is Gordon's cousin, and he is my per- 
 sonal — " 
 
 "The widow of a cousin, you mean," she interrupted, with 
 emphasis — "a cousin he scarcely knew; and he never even 
 saw her till he returned from furlough last year." 
 
 " Didn't he, my dear," said the colonel, feebly. " Still, they 
 are relations — call each other by their Christian names, and — " 
 
 This time a laugh interrupted him — rather a hard laugh for 
 a girl. 
 
 " What a number of cousins the Rajpore ladies must have," 
 she began. 
 
 " Not Mrs. Boynton, Rose — not Mrs. Boynton," protested 
 the colonel, with spirit. 
 
 "No, I admit it. She is perfectly lady-like. I don't really 
 dislike her a bit." 
 
 " Dislike ! My dear Rose, who could dislike so — so — " 
 
 "I admit it again, father. She is charming. I catch my- 
 self watching her, just as if I were in love with her — like all the 
 nice men."
 
 19 
 
 " Really, my dear Rose — " 
 
 "Well, dear, why not. She is perfectly sweet. Then she 
 has such tact. Do you know she never allows an ungentle- 
 manly man to fall in love with her. I often wonder how she 
 manages it. It's awfully clever of her." Rose, standing by the 
 fire, shifted a log with her foot, and the sparks flew upward. 
 " Of course I would rather have had a girl ; but I suppose it 
 wouldn't have done. There, don't worry 1 Go ofi to your 
 whist. I'll settle it all." 
 
 " My dear girl—" 
 
 She told him calmly that there was no need for gratitude, 
 and Colonel James Tweedie, R.E., head of a great department, 
 slunk away, abashed, to the card-room. Rose was very fond of 
 her father, though she understood him perfectly, after the man- 
 ner of modern children, accepting him reasonably, with all his 
 weaknesses, as the parent Providence had assigned to her. And 
 why, if she would have him, should he not marry Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton ? The mother who had died when Rose was born had 
 been well remembered ; the colonel was still middle-aged, and 
 when his daughter married might have long years of soli- 
 tude before him. Would it be fair for her to object ? It 
 was another of Rose Tweedie's characteristics that this ques- 
 tion came uppermost in her dealings with both friends and 
 foes. No ! it would not be fair ; there was no reason against it. 
 None. 
 
 So she walked off calmly to the big hall, waiting to see 
 Gwcn Boynton's graceful figure, paired with some worthy 
 partner, of course, come swaying out into the ring of light. 
 But she was disappointed, for the very simple reason that the 
 lady she sought was sitting with Lewis Gordon in the most 
 comfortable corner in the whole building. 
 
 " Miss Tweedie," said an eager voice behind her, as she 
 stood instinctively marking the rhythm of the dance with one 
 foot, " have you seen Mrs. Boynton ? I can't find her any- 
 where." 
 
 She turned gladly. It was Dan Fitzgerald, representing, as 
 he always did, humanity at its handson^est. "So you're back!
 
 20 
 
 No, Mr. Fitzgerald. She is not dancing, anyway; but as those 
 are the last bars, that is cold comfort. What a pity, when you 
 came down to the hall on purpose." 
 
 He flushed up like a girl, and she pointed to the gardenia 
 in his button-hole. 
 
 " You don't go in for decoration except on state occasions," 
 she continued, " and then you weren't at tennis. I always 
 keep a lookout for you there ; that backhanded return of 
 yours from the line beats me. I've been trying it with the 
 chuprassic bowling at me, but it doesn't come off somehow. 
 You must teach me when we are in camp." 
 
 " Of course I will," replied Dan, cheerfully. Lewis Gordon 
 would have simpered, and said " Delighted, I'm sure." The 
 remembrance vexed Rose by its very appearance — as if it 
 mattered what Gwen Boynton's cousin said or did. And the 
 vexation accounted for the phrasing of her next words. "Mr. 
 Keene sent me a message, didn't he? No? How stupid of 
 him. It was about his Nature. I was to have it, and he was 
 to let me know what he wanted me to do with it." 
 
 Dan's face, which had shown perplexity, cleared. " Oh, it's 
 the paper you mean. Sure yon puzzled me entirely. It is not 
 Nature you want, Miss Twcedie ; though, 'tis true, one can't 
 have too much of a good thing." 
 
 A distinct compliment, or meant to be one ; but Rose listened 
 to it gayly, and five minutes after, despite her shoes, was whirl- 
 ing in and out of the shadows, full of the keen enjoyment which 
 dancing brings to some people. 
 
 Lewis Gordon, lounging lazily in his dark corner, noticed her 
 with certain irritated surprise. It was a more inconsequent, 
 therefore a more womanly, action than he expected in a girl 
 who annoyed him by refusing to take either of the two places 
 he assigned to women folk in his Kosmos. There were those 
 of whom wives and mothers could be made discreetly, safely, 
 and those who would be utterly spoiled by the commonplace 
 process. He turned to his cousin, feeling no such difficulty in 
 regard to her classification. Yet in the dim light nothing could 
 be seen save the outline of a small head, a huge fur boa, and
 
 21 
 
 long curves, ending in a bronzed slipper, catching the light be- 
 yond the shadow in which they sat. 
 
 "Shall we not dance?" lie asked. "It is the best waltz of 
 the three. Then I could bring you some coffee, and we could 
 rest — on our laurels." 
 
 " No, thanks. I was engaged to Mr. Fitzgerald for the last, 
 and I must give him time to cool down." Tlio voice was sweet, 
 refined, careless. 
 
 " I believe you are afraid of Fitzgerald !" 
 
 There was a touch of hauteur in the sweetness now, 
 
 " It is the second time this evening you have hinted at that, 
 Lewis. I suppose — being a sort of relation — you know some- 
 thing of that boy and girl entanglement before I married your 
 cousin. Is it so ?" 
 
 Her unexpected and unusual frankness took him aback into 
 faint excuse. 
 
 " There is nothing to apologize about, I assure you," she 
 went on, regaining her carelessness. " You may as well know 
 the facts. I was engaged to Mr. Fitzgerald. We were both 
 babies, and my people disapproved. Then your cousin pro- 
 posed, and good sense came to us ; for we were not suited to 
 each other. Dii reste, Mr. Fitzgerald and I are still friends, and 
 he is the best dancer in Rajpore." 
 
 There was a pause before he said, quietly : 
 
 "Why not be quite frank, Gwen, and say he is in love with 
 you still. Surely that is palpable." 
 
 " Perhaps. But I prefer to leave such questions alone, even 
 with my cousin. Especially, since that cousin has done me the 
 honor of telling me many times that he is devoted to me himself." 
 
 He smiled at her deft evasion. 
 
 " What is the use of any one being devoted to you, Gwcn, if 
 you are going to marry Colonel Tweedie?" he replied, half- 
 jestingly. 
 
 "I did not know I was going to marry him, but I am cer- 
 tainly going to look after Miss Rose Tweedie in camp — if she 
 will have me. Do you think I shall want a new riding-habit, 
 Mr. Gordon ?"
 
 " I really can't help you on that question, Mrs. Boynton." 
 
 She bent towards him, so that he could see the laugh pass 
 from her pretty eyes. 
 
 "Don't be foolish, Lewis. You have been too good and 
 kind to me for that. You, who know my affairs as well as I 
 know them myself, must see that I have scarcely any choice be- 
 tween marrying again and going home to live with my mother- 
 in-law, or starving in some horrid, poky lodging. How I should 
 hate cither! I can't live without money, Lewis; I don't spend 
 much — but it goes somehow. Then my pension as a civilian's 
 widow is but genteel poverty. Clothes are so expensive, to be- 
 gin with ; yet even your best friends don't care for you unless 
 you are well dressed." 
 
 The real regret in her tone made liim quote a trite saying 
 about beauty unadorned. 
 
 " Rubbish 1" she interrupted, sinking into her cushions again. 
 "Beauty is like the blue teapot; you must live up to it. I 
 must marry some one who can afEord a well-dressed wife. I 
 must, indeed, in common honesty to my future creditors. Per- 
 sonally I should prefer it to the mother-in-law. Besides, if I 
 went home I should never see you again, Lewis. I should not 
 like that — would you ?" 
 
 If the words in themselves were a direct challenge, they came 
 from the shadow where she sat so daintily, so airily, that half 
 a dozen replies were possible without trenching on sober affir- 
 mation or denial. Yet her hearer hesitated. There must al- 
 ways be a time when a man settles whether or no he shall ask 
 a certain woman to be his wife; and this was not the first time 
 the idea of marrying his cousin had occurred to Lewis Gordon. 
 He was not the head of a department, but he was in a fair way 
 to become one in the future. He had money of his own, and 
 she liked him in a way. As for her, she was perfection as a 
 companion. As a wife ? — • 
 
 " My dear Gwcn ! I sliould hate it," he said, fervently, being 
 certain of so much. But when he had said the words they 
 sounded too little, or too much, so he took refuge in jest again. 
 '■'' Faute de mieux I should prefer the family party; that is to
 
 23 
 
 say, if you could induce your future step-daughter, Miss Rose, 
 to bear with my presence." 
 
 The light on the bronze slipper shifted, showing an impa- 
 tient movement of the pretty foot. 
 
 " Impossible, I should say," came the voice, airy as ever. 
 "But as you seem to be imitating the barber's fifth brother to- 
 night, why not settle that she should marry ? Girls do, some- 
 times, especially in India." 
 
 As she spoke a couple swooped out of the almost empty cir- 
 cle of polished floor. The waltz, nearing its end, gave them a 
 swinging measure, and those two were dancers indeed. One 
 could not choose but look, until, as the last chord crashed, they 
 stopped, as if petrified, to smile at each other before hurrying 
 away. Lewis Gordon watched them, his hands on his knees, a 
 cynical smile on his face. 
 
 " By all means !" he said, languidly. " Suppose we say Dan 
 Fitzgerald, and so get rid of our two hetes noires at once." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton started from her cushions and gathered her 
 boa together. 
 
 "What nonsense we are talking! Stupid nonsense into the 
 bargain, which is intolerable. I am ashamed of myself. Come, 
 let us have some cofEee, and forget our folly." 
 
 Her companion rose to accompany her, with a shrug of his 
 shoulders. " I beg your pardon, even though I fail to see the 
 enormity of ray offence. Fitzgerald, if he were once settled — " 
 
 She interrupted him with a gay laugh. " So you aspire to 
 the barber's office in other ways, and would like to ranger your 
 friends. When I am duly installed as chaperone I must consult 
 you on matrimonial questions; but not till then, if you please, 
 Lewis. Ah ! there is Mrs. Dacre, I haven't seen her for an age ; 
 not since I went to Meerut." 
 
 He took his dismissal placidly, as men do in a society where 
 they cannot claim the undivided attention of at least one wom- 
 an. Besides, Gwen Boynton's chief charm lay in the impossi- 
 bility of forgetting that — provided she did not wish to do some- 
 thing else — she would be quite as gracious to the person who 
 cut into your place as she had been to you. Furthermore, that
 
 24 
 
 he was sure to hold as good a hand, and know the i^ame as well 
 as you did. For Mrs. Boynton, as Rose Tweedie had remarked, 
 admitted no inferior players to her table. Seen now in the full 
 light of the coSee-room, she showed slight and graceful in the 
 soft gray draperies which she wore as half-uiourning for the late 
 Mr. Boynton — a perfectly unexceptionable man who, on the 
 verge of retirement, had lost all the savings of a long bachelor- 
 hood in one unfortunate venture, and had died of disappoint- 
 ment. Beyond a perfectly lovely mouth, and the faultless curves 
 of chin and throat, there was nothing remarkable in her face; 
 nothing, at least, to account for her remarkable charm. That, 
 however, was undeniable; even Lewis Gordon, sipping his cof- 
 fee outside the circle which gathered round her quickly, kept 
 his eyes upon her. So he noticed her turn more than once to 
 Dan Fitzgerald, who stood at the table Avaiting to replace Rose 
 Tweedie's tumbler of lemonade. "She is afraid of him," he 
 thought. "I wonder why? Perhaps she hasn't got over her 
 fancy, either; that is the only thing I can think of likely to 
 create a difficulty." Then he went ofE to button-hole another 
 secretary about business, and forgot even Gwen Boynton. 
 
 Yet if he had by chance wandered into the portion of the 
 gardens devoted to zoology half an hour afterwards he would 
 have seen something to confirm his suggestion. For the two 
 figures leaning over the iron rail surrounding the ornamental 
 w-ater were those of Mrs. Boynton and Dan Fitzgerald. The 
 moon shone on the water; the clumps of bamboo and plan- 
 tains on the central island showed softly dark ; masses of feath- 
 ery ferash-trees and the sweeping curves of a sand-hill or two 
 beyond the garden shut out the world. Otherwise not a suit- 
 able spot for sentimental interviews, by reason of the ducks 
 and geese, whose sleepy gabblings and quackings were apt to 
 come in unsympathetic chorus to lovers' talk; while the ad- 
 jutants, standing in pairs side by side, their heads under their 
 wings, were ever suggestive of Darby and Joan. The conver- 
 sation between these two, however, was sufficiently sensible to 
 stand the test of their surroundings. 
 
 " It is really absurd," she said, in, for her, quite a querulous
 
 25 
 
 voice. "I accept a pleasant invitation to make myself useful 
 to the Tweedies, wlio have always been most kind to me — 
 and my cousin ; and why every one should jnmp to the con- 
 clusion that I am going to marry a man almost old enough 
 to be my father I cannot imagine. Really the world is too 
 idiotic!" 
 
 "You don't lump me in as the world, do you, Gwen ?" be 
 answered, in a lower tone. " Surely you make a difference — 
 surely there's some excuse for uae, dear. I haven't seen you 
 for six weeks, Gwen ; you've been away, remember. And I 
 hurried so for that promised dance which you forgot. Yes, 
 we'll say you forgot it. Then every one is talking of your going 
 into camp with the Tweedies, -wondering at your giving up the 
 pleasures, the society, hinting at some reason — " 
 
 " If you can't trust me, Dan, that is an end of everything," 
 she interrupted, sharply. " No, don't — please don't ; one never 
 knows who mayn't come this way. Do let us be reasonable, 
 Dan. We are not boy and girl now, to squabble and make it 
 up again. You tell me always that I love you — have always 
 loved you — will never love any one else ; and perhaps you are 
 right. Isn't that confidence enough for you ?" She tried her 
 utmost to keep an even tone, but something made the unwilling 
 smile on her lips tremulous. 
 
 " It is, dear, and it isn't," he said, his face showing soft and 
 kindly in the moonlight. "If I were only as sure of the rest 
 of you as I am that you love me ! But it was so, Gwen, in 
 the old days. Yet you threw me over. I knew it then, and it 
 made me go to the devil — more or less. For if I had had the 
 pluck to say 'you sha'n't,' you would have been happier. I 
 spoiled your life as well as my own by my cowardice. And 
 I'm as bad as ever now, Gwen — afraid to make you poor. Why 
 don't I speak up, Gwen, instead of waiting for promotion, and 
 making you more extravagant by paying the bills?" 
 
 "You needn't have reminded me of that," she cried, hotly; 
 " I'm not likely to forget it." 
 
 He stared at her for an instant in sheer downright incredu- 
 lity. Then he laid his hand on hers sharply, and with the
 
 26 
 
 touch something that was neither dislike nor fear, yet which 
 seemed to alarm her, came to her face. 
 
 "Don't say that, Gwen ! you don't — you can't mean it; for 
 you know it is all yours — that I'd starve to give you a pleasure. 
 Oh, Gwen, if yon would only marry me to-morrow you'd never 
 regret it! Why shouldn't you, dear? There's no fear; look 
 how I have got on since you gave me hope two years ago, when 
 I came to you in your trouble. If I had only had the pluck 
 then to marry you straight away — " 
 
 "But it was impossible," she broke in, quickly, as if to hire 
 him from the point. "What would people have said? — it was 
 so soon." 
 
 "What do I care? But now there is no reason — no reason 
 at all. I'll get my promotion all right ; Keene is there at Hodi- 
 nuggar, so nothing can go wrong again. Gwen, why shouldn't 
 you marry me to-morrow ?" 
 
 " To-morrow !" she echoed, faintly, yet for the life of her 
 unable to repress that tremulous smile. 
 
 " Yes. Oh, my darling, you don't know what the uncertainty 
 means to a man like I am I You don't know — you don't un- 
 derstand. If I only had you to myself, I would not fear any- 
 thing. And you wouldn't either, if I had the chance of teach- 
 ing you what it means to a woman to have some one between 
 her and the world — some one to hold her fast — some one — " 
 
 Sbe shrank now from his increasing emotion. "Don't! oh 
 don't ! you frighten me ! And don't be hurt or angry, dear. 
 I've promised to marry you some time ; I have, indeed. Oh, 
 Dan, how foolish you are !" 
 
 She laid her delicately gloved hand on his arm as he leaned 
 over the railings, trying to hide the bitter pain her look had 
 given him ; but he only shook his head. 
 
 " You can't make me different from what I am," she went 
 on, almost pettishly; "you can't, indeed !" 
 
 "I could, if I had the chance; that is all I ask." 
 
 "And you will have it some day, Dan. Perhaps you are 
 right, and I should be happy; only what is the use of talking 
 about it just now? We have settled so many times that noth-
 
 27 
 
 ing: can be done until your promotion coraes. That will be 
 next year, won't it, if nothino- p-oes wronir at Hodinuirfar ? 
 Oh, Dan, do cheer np. I have to go out to dinner, and it's get- 
 ting late ; but I'll drop you at the club, if you like. I didn't 
 mean to hurt your feelings — yon know that; but you are so 
 impulsive. Dan, do come," the geese are making such a noise I 
 can scarcely hear myself speak." 
 
 It was true. Something had disturbed the peace of the pond, 
 for a confused gabbling and quacking filled the air. Dan tried 
 to fight against it for a minute, then with an inward curse gave 
 up the struggle. As they walked back to the carriage Gwen 
 felt grateful to the birds ; they had saved the Capitol. For a 
 very little more of Dan's hurt feelings might have made her 
 promise anything; it was her way when brought face to face 
 with pain. To make up for what he had suffered, she was 
 very gracious to him as they strolled along the winding walks, 
 set with Englisb flowers and barred cages, where big yellow 
 tiger-eyes gleamed out of the shadows — gleamed quite harm- 
 lessly, of course. 
 
 But when she returned that evening to the rooms in the 
 hotel which she occupied during the winter months, her mood 
 had changed ; for Lewis Gordon had been at the dinner. She 
 went over to her writing-table, took out a bundle of receipted 
 bills, and looked at it with a distaste seldom displayed towards 
 such a possession. How foolish, how wrong, how unfair to 
 poor Dan it had been to let him pay, and what a dreadful tie 
 to her ; for, of course, if he did not get his promotion, she 
 could not possibly marry him, and then the obligation would 
 be unbearable. Gwen brooded over the situation by the fire until 
 she felt aggrieved. She was one of those women who, para- 
 doxical as it may seem, gain the power of exciting passion by 
 their own absolute lack of comprehension as to its first princi- 
 ples. To say she had no heart would be an unkind calumny. 
 She was really very fond of Dan — more fond of him when he 
 was absent, perhaps, than when he was present; but she had 
 not the remotest conception of what her love meant to him. 
 So as she sat thinking of him in her seamless dress — ^vven's
 
 28 
 
 evening dresses always had a seamless look, and the lace about 
 her fair shoulders always seemed pinned on with cunning little 
 diamond brooches glittering and sparkling — she told herself 
 that it all depended on promotion, and that, in its turn, de- 
 pended largely on a boy she had never seen, who had gone to 
 live in the desert for the sole purpose of forcing her to keep 
 her promise ! A queer tie indeed between that branded bunga- 
 low set in the sand and her refined little sitting-room. 
 
 And at that moment George, pondering over a cigar on the 
 veranda, before turning in, was meditating, not upon the 
 mysterious mound of the Hodinuggar, with the light in the 
 dewan's tower challenging the feeble flicker in the potter's 
 house, but on something far more mysterious than either — 
 his dinner; that dinner of six courses, compounded out of 
 the desert fowl in various stages of existence, to which his 
 factotum, a man whose imaginative faculty outran his cre- 
 ative power, had given such topsy-turvy yet familiar names. 
 Wherefore ? Why was it deemed necessary to feed a sahih on 
 salt fish concocted out of chicken and anchovy sauce, and then 
 to give dignified support to the fraud by handing round the 
 conventional egg sauce? George gave up the puzzle, and went 
 to bed depressed by the consideration that if Hodinuggar was 
 strange and unkenned to him, he was quite as strange and un- 
 kenned to it.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 CiiANDNi was standing in the cool recesses of shadow at 
 tlie farther end of the gateway which adjoined the little strip 
 of bazaar leading past the palace, a bazaar bat a few yards 
 long, yet retaining in that small space a specimen of all the 
 vices which in past times had made the Moguls of Ilodinug- 
 gar infamous. A couple of young men with uncovered heads 
 were dicing on a string bed thrust under a patched, dyed 
 awning stretched from balcony to balcony ; a group of half a 
 dozen more were quarrelling vilely over a quail fight, beside 
 the liquor-seller's booth, gay in its colored bottles. Two or three 
 of various ages and heavy with drugs were sprawling and nod- 
 ding in the gutter. Just across the street a sutara player was 
 twanging away, and above him a girl, powdered and painted, 
 leaned over the wooden balcony, flinging snatches of hideous 
 song on the passers-by, and shrieking with coarse laughter at a 
 naked monstrosity, who, as he begged, made capital of his mis- 
 fortunes. On this girl, with her grease-smirched hair and Brum- 
 magem jewellery, Chandni, from her shadows, cast glances of 
 scorn, which she transferred after a time to Dalel Beg, who sat 
 crouched up against a plinth, smoking a rank hookah and sip- 
 ping a rajah's peg of brandy and champagne (?). He had dis- 
 carded European dress entirely, and that which he wore smelled 
 horribly of musk. 
 
 Against the darkness of the arch behind her the woman's 
 tall figure showed like a white shadow ; not a scrap of color 
 anywhere save in her stained lips and the pomegranate spray 
 she twirled idly in her hand as she kept time to the thrum of 
 the sutara, with a clash of the silver anklets hidden by her long- 
 gauze draperies — for she wore the Delhi dress. 
 
 " Yea, Dalel !" she said, mockingly, and the creamy column 
 of her throat vibrated visibly with the smooth, round voice.
 
 30 
 
 "'tis over-true what the little sahib said of thy coarse attempt. 
 The pack of us are fools. The mliih logue's drink, yonder, steals 
 what brains God gave thee; then Meean Khushal was never 
 aught but a big belly, and the devvan — Heaven keep hira for 
 the best of the lot — sits too high. There remains but Chandni 
 the courtesan, and she — " 
 
 "Hath failed!" broke in Dalel, with a forced explosion of 
 malicious laughter. "Lo! thou hast not had a civil tongue for 
 others since he flouted thee. Sure, the plant must be trampled 
 in the dust ere it blossoms. Have patience, heart's delight." 
 
 He was too weary even in his malice to seek the amusement 
 of watching the rage grow to her face as she stood behind 
 him. 
 
 " Whose fault?" she began, hotly; then with a louder clash 
 of the anklets ended in a laugh. " Lo ! 'tis past. And what 
 care I? 'Tis nought to me; but if tlie treasure-chest of Hodi- 
 nuggar be empty, 'tis good-bye to Chandni. She goes back 
 to Delhi." 
 
 "Nay, nay!" whimpered Dalel, with a maudlin shake of 
 the head, as he sought comfort in finishing the tumbler, " we 
 will succeed yet; but the boy hath no youth in his veins. I 
 know not how to take him as others do, yet have we done 
 our best — " 
 
 " Best," echoed the woman, scornfully. " Stale old tricks ! 
 A gold mohur under his plate at dinner, forsooth ! That was 
 soon over in a beating for the servant who should have seen it 
 put there. A dish of oranges stuffed with rupees which the 
 same servant, wise man, kept for himself. A gun he would 
 not take; a dinner he would not eat; a horse he would not 
 ride; even a woman he would not look at! What care I? 
 there be others who will. Stale old tricks indeed ! insipid 
 as uncooled water on a summer's day, or that thing yonder" 
 (she pointed to the opposite balcony) "compared to me — tiiink 
 not I did not see thee ere I came out, O Dalel ! Not that I 
 care. There be others, and Delhi is but a day's journey." 
 
 " Mayhap the tricks are old," he muttered, in sullen discom- 
 fiture ; " hast new to advise f '
 
 31 
 
 She laughed. " Not to thee ; then hast not the wit for it. 
 And there is nought new. The crazy potter is right when he 
 saith the world is in the dust. Sure, every ploughman knows 
 that, no matter what the surface be, the sand lies under all. 
 Thou hast but to dig deep enough." 
 
 She had moved forward to lean against the plinth. In the 
 action her thin draperies clung to the long curves of her limbs 
 from hip to ankle. Her right hand supported the head which 
 was thrown back against it, the arm framing her face. It was 
 the attitude of the Medea in Pompeian frescos ; the face of 
 a Medea also, till the downward glance of her eyes met an up- 
 ward one from the sutara player. Then with a flash and a 
 laugh the pomegranate blossom flew out into the sunlight and 
 fell at the young man's feet. Dalel clutched at her savagely 
 amid a volley of coarse English oaths. 
 
 " Let me go, beloved !" she giggled. " Did I not say the 
 sand lay uhder all? what! art jealous? jealous of Chandni the 
 courtesan? Wouldst have me Dalilah since thou art Dalel? 
 If that be so I will put thee in good temper again." 
 
 She snatched at an old banjo hanging on a nail, sank down 
 amid her draperies like a cobra on its coil, and began recklessly 
 to sing " Ta-ra-ra, boom-de-ay," while Dalel waggled his head, 
 but half mollified. 
 
 "Thou canst not dance it, though," he maundered, sleepily, 
 "not as 'twas pictured in the papers at the Jubilee Institute. 
 Thou art no good at all. I will change thee for a half-caste 
 girl. Yet if there be no money in the treasury ? Lo ! Fate is 
 hard, and I have done my best." 
 
 And still the song of civilization went on, full of incongru- 
 ous, barbaric intervals. The girl in the balcony retreated in a 
 huflf before an accomplishment unknown to her; the quail 
 fighters laughed at the noise. Only George Keene, wandering 
 about one of the inner courts of the palace, seeking a good 
 spot whence to sketch a certain blue-tiled mosque, found him- 
 self unconsciously whistling a refrain, and paused to listen in 
 sickening suspense. Yes, it was! Fitzgerald was right when 
 he said that the country was being ruined by culture ! What an
 
 32 
 
 inconceivable, untliinl^able contrast to that quiet ruined court- 
 yard, with its blue tiles decorated in endless writing with the 
 attributes of God. At least, how inconceivable it would have 
 been six weeks ago, when he had first seen the mosque with 
 Dan as his companion. For George Keene was becoming ac- 
 customed to being, as it were, depolarized. It would have 
 made him very angry had any one told him that Hodinuggar 
 had already altered his outlook on life, but from its very 
 strangeness it could scarcely have failed to do so. To begin 
 with, Dalel Beg's Occidental follies, grafted on to a sound stock 
 of ancestral vices, made him, as he leered over a billiard cue and 
 tried to induce George to bet, quite a startling study. Not so 
 much so, however, as the sober, gentle, inoffensive villagers, 
 with the confession " It is God's will " forever on their patient 
 lips; content to toil and die, smiling over the fact. Surely 
 something ailed the terminology of religion if these were 
 heathen, and certain Western folk in his father's suburban par- 
 ish were Christians ? Then there was the mad potter in whose 
 walled yard George listened to the oddest Old World tales, and 
 the dewan with whom the lad played chess. To tell the truth, 
 he never climbed up for that purpose to the tower without a 
 breathlessness not altogether to be accounted for by the steep- 
 ness of the stairs. Face to face with the old man, sitting still 
 as a statue before the pieces, George felt himself face to face 
 with something he could not set aside with a sneer; yet he 
 might have been playing with an automaton for all the in- 
 terest Zubr- ul - zaman displayed, though he on his part was 
 agonizing in anxiety. But once George's hand had left the 
 piece, the old man's would rise from his knee and hover over 
 the board for a second; then swoop down unerringly with the 
 murmur, "my play is played." The move generally disposed 
 of all George's deep - laid plans ; for the dewan was a past- 
 master in chess. Yet the lad returned again and again for a 
 beating, being dogged in his turn ; he was, in fact, on his way 
 from one wlien Chandni and the banjo started his thoughts 
 along a familiar channel. Certainly they were odd people, and 
 somehow it was difficult to write home letters which should at
 
 33 
 
 once reflect the truth and give satisfaction to the British 
 public. 
 
 Meanwliile Cliandni, desisting with Dalel's first snore, threw 
 the banjo aside and reviewed the position. Tliere was no 
 mist of reserve between her and her profession ; she had been 
 born to it, as her forebears had been. Her success in it was 
 rather a matter of pride than shame, her only anxiety being 
 the future. Should she linger on, as she had been doing, in 
 hope that out of sheer conservatism Dalel Beg would attach 
 her to him permanently by some of the many possible mar- 
 riages; or should she risk the life of a go-between in her old 
 age ; return to Delhi and amuse herself ? The reappearance of 
 the painted girl in the balcony decided her. She would not 
 give way to such creatures as that until the emptiness of the 
 treasury was indubitable ; yet, as she sat rolling the little pellets 
 of opium for her mid-day dose between her soft palms, she 
 looked at her lover distastefully. 
 
 He was no good. If the sluice-gates were to be open that 
 year she must bestir herself; she and the dewan. So much 
 was settled before she swallowed the dream-giver, and threw 
 herself full length on the bare string bed set deep in the 
 shadows. Then the silence of noon fell on that sinful slip of 
 bazaar. Even the quails ceased to challenge from their hooded 
 cages, and the sutara player, with the pomegranate blossom 
 stuck in behind his ear, had forgotten the giver in sleep. But 
 out in the fields the peasants were at work on their scanty 
 crops, and George Keene, as he entered the red-brick bungalow, 
 paused to listen to a cry which never failed to engross him — 
 the cry of praise to the Giver with which the villagers drew 
 water from the wells which stood between them and death. 
 Truly, in that wilderness of sand, water was the Mother of all 
 things. What wonder, then, if it became the motive power 
 in life? What wonder that, like the silver sword of the big 
 canal, it cut the world into halves — the people who wanted, 
 and the people who did not want, the sluice-gates opened. 
 With a laugh at his own fancy he went into lunch, wondering 
 what form the desert fowl would take this time. It certainly
 
 34 
 
 was the Mother of all food ! Ilodinuggar might have its seri- 
 ous aspects, but on the whole it was farcical as well as tragical, 
 and "Ta-ra-ra, boora-de-ay !" counterbalanced the cry of 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 And that same evening, while he was reading the last num- 
 ber of the Nineteenth Century in the veranda, Chandni had an 
 interview with the old dewan on his tower, which, had George 
 been aware of it, would have seemed to him farcical beyond 
 belief, though it was deadly earnest to the actors. She sat at 
 the old man's feet so as to be within earshot of a whis[)er, since 
 walls, especially in an Indian palace, have ears. That was why 
 the dewan's chair was set out in the open, under the star- 
 gemmed dome of sky paling to its circled setting of plain, 
 which, seen from that great height, seemed in its turn to curve, 
 cuplike, to meet the sky. The decent domino she had worn 
 on her way was cast aside out of sheer coquetry, so that her 
 supple figure, unadorned save for the heavy chaplets of jasmine 
 flowers shrouding the filmy muslin, might stand outlined above 
 the low parapet among the stars. For Chandni was shrewd. 
 The ordinary jewels of her class might arouse memories in 
 the old man, and she wished to impress him with her indi- 
 viduality. 
 
 " Nay, daughter," he said, approvingly, " I well believe fail- 
 ure was not thy fault. As for thy plans — speak." 
 
 She drew her lips closer to his ear, and laid one hand on his 
 knee as if to hold his attention. 
 
 "Father! all men care for something; he cares not for 
 what he has been given, let us try others. If they fail, well 
 and good. Now there is one thing such as he favor — God 
 knows why, but I have seen them myself at the bazaar at 
 Delhi: sahibs who have come over the Black Water to buy 
 ragged rugs and battered brass pots. Why ? Because, for- 
 sooth, they are old! The crazy potter would say it was be- 
 cause they remember them ; I know not. But this boy pokes 
 about the old things, questions of the old talcs." 
 
 Zubr-ul-zaman nodded approval. " True, he favored the 
 Ayodhya pot ; but he returned it."
 
 35 
 
 Chandni's eyes sparkled. " Lo ! that is one thing to begin 
 with. Then he is of those who watch flowers grow and birds 
 build their nests; who paint colors on paper for the love of it. 
 Again, when the fowler fails in all else he baits the snare with 
 pity, and sets a decoy bird a-fluttering within the net. This 
 boy gives quinine to the old wives, and fish-oil to the babies 
 who are born with the potter's thumb-raark!" Her laugh crac- 
 kled joylessly. 
 
 "Words — words!" muttered the old man, impatiently. 
 " What wouldst thou do ?" 
 
 She drew closer, and the movement sent a wave of perfume 
 from the jasmine chaplets into the air. 
 
 " Lend me Azizan for a week, and then thou shalt see." 
 Scent, so people say, is the most powerful stimulant to by-gone 
 memories ; perhaps that was the reason why her words brought 
 such a pulse of fierce life to the old face. 
 
 " Azizan ! Nay ; she is of the house." 
 
 "Why not say of the race, father?" retorted Chandni, cool- 
 ly. " Nay ; in such talk as ours truth is best. Thinkest thou I 
 am a fool when I go to dance and sing in the women's quarter? 
 It is not sixteen years since the potter's daughter disappeared 
 on the night of the great storm; and hath not this fifteen-year- 
 old the potter's eyes ? Heaven shield us from them !" Her 
 hand went out in the two-fingered gesture used to avert the 
 evil eye in West as well as East. 
 
 Zub-ul-zaman scowled at her. 
 
 " There be other girls, and plenty ; take them," he began. 
 " Besides, she is betrothed. I will not lose the dower." 
 
 "Wherefore shouldst lose it? I said a week; and Zai- 
 nub, the duenna, will see to safety. He will but paint her 
 picture." 
 
 The dewan spat piously. " And what good will such ac- 
 cursed idol-making do?" he asked, more calmly. 
 
 " It will bring the quarry within reach ; he lives too far away 
 now. Give me the girl, my lord, else will I know that the 
 Dewan Zubr-ul-zaman Julab-i-dowla Mustukkul-i-jung is afraid 
 of 'the potter's eyes."
 
 36 
 
 " As thou art, daughter of the bazaar," he retorted, fiercely. 
 " Sliall I set them on thee and thine ?" 
 
 Chandni essayed an uneasy laugh. " I will do her no harm," 
 she muttered, sullenly. " I will not even speak to her if thou 
 wilt. Zainub shall do all." 
 
 Half an hour afterwards Chandni, wrapped in her white 
 domino, paused on her way home at the door leading to the 
 women's quarter and knocked. After a while an old woman 
 appeared at the latticed shutter. The courtesan whispered a 
 word or two, the door opened, and tlie two disappeared down 
 a dark passage. " 'Tis Chandni, come to dance." The whis- 
 per ran through the airless, squalid rooms, causing a flutter 
 among the caged inhabitants. Out of their beds they came, 
 yawning, stretching, to sit squatted in a circle on the bare floor 
 and watch Chandni give a spirited imitation of the way the 
 mem sahibs waltzed with the sahib logue. It was not an edi- 
 fying spectacle, but it afforded infinite satisfaction to the au- 
 dience — an audience which has to take its world at second-hand, 
 and in the process has grown careless as to the abstract truth. 
 The young women tittered, the old ones called Ileaven to wit- 
 ness their horror; and then they all sat without winking an 
 eye, while the courtesan sang the songs of her profession. 
 
 But little Azizan's light eyes saw nothing at which to smile 
 or to cry in either performance. She was young for her years, 
 and very sleepy ; besides, she was betrothed to an old man 
 whom she had never seen, because, as all the other girls took 
 care to tell her, she really was too ugly to be kept in the family. 
 And that sort of information is apt to take the zest from life. 
 
 When the entertainment was over, Chandni sat and talked 
 with Zainub, the duenna, until dawn, with that careless disregard 
 of bedtime which makes it quite impossible to foretell at what 
 hour of the day or night a native of India will be asleep or awake. 
 
 But George Keene, over the way in the branded bungalow, 
 though he had much to do with their conversation, was safely 
 tucked up in sheets and blankets, whence nothing short of an 
 earthquake would have roused him — an earthquake, or else a 
 prescience of the hideous caricature Chandni had been making 
 of the trois-temps over in the palace.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 George Keene was trying to translate the clotb-of-gold 
 sunlight into cadmium yellow, with the result that the blue of 
 the tiles in his sketch grew green and the opal on the pigeons' 
 breasts as they sidled along the cornice was dimmed to dust- 
 color. 
 
 The court-yard, with its blind arcades of Saracenic arches 
 surrounding the mosque, lay bare and empty, as it always did, 
 save at the hours of prayer. He looked across it with a dis- 
 satisfied expression, noting the intense color of certain tiles 
 which were mixed up with those more modern ones bearing 
 the Arabic lettering. They reminded him of the Ayodhya 
 pot, and set him wondering if he should ever have an honest 
 chance of procuring one like his first bribe. The old potter, 
 his authority in such matters, had told him they were still to be 
 found, more or less broken, in the digging of graves or the 
 sinking of wells. Hitherto, however, he had failed to hear of 
 one. Yet the possibility remained, since those tiles, which 
 must be centuries older than the cafe chdntant sort of pro- 
 scenium on which they were inlaid, had survived. The latter, he 
 saw clearly, now he came to draw it, had been added on to an 
 older building behind — probably a Hindu temple. So when all 
 was said and done, that figure of a grave and reverend Mahom- 
 edan inoulvie, which he had intended to put in the fore- 
 ground, might not have so much right to be there as a priest of 
 Baal. It was a confusing country. 
 
 When he looked up again from his work he gave a start, 
 for a totally unexpected model was squatting on the flags of 
 his foreground — a mere slip of a village girl ; and }'et was she 
 of the village ? More likely a stranger — perhaps one of the 
 southern tribes of whom the potter told tales, since her dress 
 was odd. It consisted of a reddish-purple drapery, more wool
 
 38 
 
 than cotton in texture, with a stitched border in brown and 
 cream, such as the desert-folk embroidered on the camel trap- 
 pings — an admirable piece of coloring against that blue back- 
 ground, and he began upon it at once, reclvless of the averted 
 face. For he was accustomed now tcr be thus watched fur- 
 tively from afar, and knew that the least notice would end in 
 instant flight, as of a wild animal. Besides, the faces were apt 
 to be disappointing. This one, however, was not; and his first 
 glimpse of it gave him quite a shock. Without being beau- 
 tiful, it was most peculiar — a golden-brown face, with a long, 
 straight nose, and a wide, curved mouth; golden-brown hair 
 under the reddish-purple of the veil ; golden-brown eyes ; the 
 golden-brown arm, circled with big bronze bracelets, stretched 
 out so that the hand rested on — He gave an irrepressible ex- 
 clamation and half rose to his feet. Down fell his box and 
 brushes, and over went the dirty water, streaming across his 
 hard-won sunshine. lie mopped it hastily with his handker- 
 chief — as hastily as he dared ; but when he looked up the girl 
 had gone. He sat down and eyed the spot where she had been 
 suspiciously ; not because of her disappearance — there had been 
 time for that — but because he was doubtful of his own eyes in 
 thinking that her hand had rested on an Ayodhya pot. If so, 
 what a rare chance he had lost ; if not, he must be going to have 
 fever, and had better go home and take some quinine — go 
 home, however, via the potter's house, and ask that inveterate 
 gossip if he knew anything of an odd-looking child with light 
 eyes. 
 
 George gave a low whistle as he remembered those of the 
 potter himself, paused in his packing up of paint-boxes, and 
 looked round again to where the girl had squatted. Doubtless 
 she was a relation of some sort, though the old man had always 
 strenuously asserted that he had none living. Perhaps he had 
 meant no male ones; yet strangely enough Fuzl Elahi did not 
 seem to share that contempt for girls which all the other natives 
 of George's acquaintance professed. He often talked about his 
 dead daughter, and whenever he talked he became excited and 
 restless. Indeed, fear of thus arousing him made George some-
 
 39 
 
 what reticent in his description, which he confined as far as 
 possible to the dress. 
 
 "She is not of Ilodinuggar, huzoor,'''' declared the old man, 
 confidently. "They who wear wool live far to the south. They 
 never leave the hearth-stone where their fathers lie buried. 'Tis 
 the old way, huzoor, and we of this place did it long ago." Sud- 
 denly his eyes lit up, he let the wheel slacken, and clasped his 
 hands closely over the dome of clay in its centre. It shot up 
 under the pressure like a fountain. 
 
 "Perhaps the huzoor hath seen one of the old folk. They 
 come and go, they go and come. I see them often — my fathers, 
 and their fatliers. But never my daughter; she will not come 
 — she will not come." As his voice died away the cadence of 
 the wheel recommenced, only to stop again with a jar. "Huzoor, 
 have you seen her — a slip of a girl, with a fawn face tinted like 
 a young gazelle's ? Not black, like these people, but sun-color 
 and brown — all sun-color and brown, with little curls on her 
 forehead — " 
 
 For the life of him, George could not help acknowledging 
 the thrill that ran through him. The man was mad, of course — 
 hopelessly mad ; yet if he had seen the girl, he could scarcely 
 have given a better description. Perhaps he had seen her, knew 
 all about her, and only pretended ignorance to serve his own 
 ends — that overweening desire, for instance, to pose as one 
 apart from commonplace humanity, at which George alternately 
 lauglied and frowned. 
 
 "Your daughter is dead, potter-/^; how can I have seen her?" 
 he said, rather brutally. Yet what else was there to say with 
 that glaring daylight shining down remorselessly on the squalid 
 reality of the scene? — an ordinary potter's yard ; no more, no 
 less; the kneaded clay on the one side of the wheel, the un- 
 baked pots lying on the other. In the outer yard a couple of 
 children were playing in the dust, while their mother sought 
 for a satisfactory ring in one of the pile of water chatties, ere 
 bringing it with her to haggle over the price. Overliead a 
 kite or two whirling in circles ; and down the slope, visible 
 above the palisade, the palace and its inhabitants. Very ordi-
 
 40 
 
 nary examples, also, of impoverished native nobility in its worst 
 aspect. So George Keene meant to be brutal ; his common- 
 sense demanded it of him. But that evening, as he sat smok- 
 ing as usual in the veranda, he saw a light flickering about the 
 ruins. So, despite the young man's reticence, the potter was 
 in one of his restless moods, when he would seek for his daughter 
 all night long, returning at dawn with a handful of dust, which 
 he would knead to clay, and mould upon his wheel into odd 
 little ninepins. Sometimes he would bury these in pairs upon 
 the mound — George had seen him doing it; more often he 
 would give them to the village children as toys, George had 
 seen them, too, with sticks for arms and bits of charcoal for 
 eyes, doing duty as dolls. He had laughed at the oddity of it 
 all, but now in the soft darkness the memory of it sent a thrill 
 through his veins once more. Tiiis would never do ! lie had 
 been too long mooning about Ilodinuggar, sketching and play- 
 ing chess. It was time to ride down the canal, bully the work- 
 men at the brick kiln, and have a day or two at the obarra in 
 the desert, between inspection duty. Then and there he called 
 over to the factotum, and gave his orders for breakfast to be 
 ready twenty miles off the next morning. That would settle 
 his nerves. 
 
 When he returned, after four days' absence, he set to work 
 rationally to finish his sketch. The cloth-of-gold sunshine was 
 brilliant as ever, the blue tiles glowed, the prismatic pigeons 
 sidled along the cornice. Ilodinuggar was not such a bad place, 
 after all, if you refused to allow imagination — 
 
 "The huzoor gives medicine to the poor," came a voice be- 
 hind him. " Mother is ill ; I want quinine." 
 
 It was the girl with the Ay6dhya pot in her hand. George 
 Keene laughed out loud in the satisfaction of his heart at his 
 own wisdom. 
 
 " What is the matter with your mother?" he asked, judicially. 
 
 "She is sick; I am to get quinine," repeated the girl. "I 
 came once before, but the huzoor jumped up; so I became 
 frightened and ran away. Since then I have come often, but 
 the huzoor was not here."
 
 41 
 
 George felt vaguely that he, too, had run away before some- 
 thing- ridiculously commonplace and simple, and in the effort 
 to bolster up his dignity his tone became pompous and conde- 
 scending. 
 
 " You arc not frightened now, I hope ?" 
 
 The queerest demure look came to her downcast eyes. 
 
 " Wherefore should I be afraid ? The huzoor is my father 
 and mother." 
 
 George had heard the saying a hundred times. Even now, 
 incongruous as it was, it pleased him by its flattering recogni- 
 tion of the fact that his benevolence and superiority were un- 
 deniable. 
 
 "But, unfortunately, I don't carry quinine with me," he 
 began. 
 
 " If the httzoor were to bring it to-morrow when he comes 
 to put paint on paper, his slave could come and fetch it," she 
 interrupted, readily. He looked at her more sharply, wonder- 
 ing what her age might be. 
 
 "Shall I come, huzoor?'''' she asked, with a certain anxiety 
 on her grave face. 
 
 "What else?" he answered, quickly. It would suit him ad- 
 mirably, since he could come armed with rupees wherewith to 
 bribe the Ayodhya pot from her, and with canvas and oil-color 
 more suitable to the portrait which, as he looked at her golden- 
 brown face and reddish-purple draperies, he resolved to have. 
 He would paint her against the dark mound of the river, rising 
 formless and void upon a sunset sky ; and he would call it — 
 
 " You had better tell me your name," he said, suddenly ; 
 " then I shall know to whom I have to send the quinine in case 
 you can't come." 
 
 Her white teeth flashed between the long curves of her 
 mouth. 
 
 "I am Azizan, huzoor. I am quite sure to come, and I will 
 bring the pot for the medicine." 
 
 It was almost as if she had divined his intention, he thought, 
 as he watched her pass out through the gateway behind him. 
 A queer chance altogether, yet the name Azizan was familiarly
 
 43 
 
 commonplace. Briefly, it happened to be that of his facto- 
 tum's wife. He had, of course, never seen that inestimable 
 female, but he had often heard her addressed in tones of ob- 
 jurgation when dela}^ occurred between the courses. Thus : 
 
 " Azizan ! Egg-sarse, Azizan, salt fish is not without egg- 
 sarse." From which George inferred that she was responsible 
 for the kitchen-maid's portion of the barmecidal feasts. The 
 remembrance made him smile as he packed up his colors, re- 
 solving to do no more till he could begin in earnest on that 
 most interesting study, lie would have thought it still more 
 interesting if he could have seen it slipping into the white dom- 
 ino which old Zainub, the duenna, held ready at the gate, 
 where she had been warning off possible intrusion by what was 
 indeed the bare truth — that one of her palace ladies was within. 
 For the custom of seclusion renders intrigue absolutely safe, 
 since none dare put the identity of a white-robed figure to the 
 test, or pry into the privacy of a place claimed by a purdahnishin, 
 
 " Now mind," scolded Zainub, as they shuffled back to the 
 women's apartments, " if thou sayest a word of this to the 
 girls, thou goest not out again ; but the old bridegroom comes 
 instead." 
 
 " I will go again," said the girl, gravely. " I liked it. But 
 the sun made my eyes ache without the veil. Yes, I will go 
 again, amma-jdn " (nurse). 
 
 To tell the truth, she had small choice. We have all hcai'd 
 of an empire whereon the sun never sets, and where slavery 
 does not exist. Even those who shake tlieir heads over the 
 former statement applaud the latter. But slavery, unfortu- 
 nately, is as elusive as liberty ; and when not a soul, save those 
 interested in making you obey, is even aware of your existence, 
 individual freedom is apt to be a fraud. This was Azizan's 
 case. Born of an unknown wrong, she might have died of 
 one also, and none been the wiser. The zenana walls which 
 shut her in, shut out the penal-code. If she had chosen to be 
 prudish, the alternative would have been put before her brutal- 
 ly. But she did not choose. Naturally enough, as she con- 
 fessed, she liked the masquerade even if the sun did make her
 
 43 
 
 liead ache. So she sat all that afternoon under the lattice- 
 window, whence, if you stood on tiptoe, you could sec the 
 flags in front of the mosque, and thought of the morrow ; 
 naturally also, since it was a great event to one who had never 
 before set foot beyond the walls of the women's quarters. Yet 
 George had to wait a long time the next day ere she a[)pcared 
 and squatted down before him confidently. 
 
 "It was the black man who came with the huzoors things," 
 she explained, quite openly. " Mother would not let ine come 
 while he was here. The huzoors are quite different; they are 
 our fathers and mothers." 
 
 The repetition of the phrase amused George, and tickled his 
 sense of superiority. It scarcely needed stimulus, for, like most 
 of his race, he was inclined to consider the natives as automata — 
 until personal experience in each case made him admit reluc- 
 tantly that they were not. So he wondered what certain poli- 
 ticians at home would say to this candid distrust of the black 
 man, produced the quinine, and then offered Azizan five whole 
 rupees if she would let him draw a picture of her, as he had of 
 the mosque. 
 
 "Is that the mosque?" she asked, dubiously. George's re- 
 ply was full of condescension, which it would not have been 
 had he looked on Azizan in the light of a girl, capable, as girls 
 always arc, of mischief; for the sketch was accurate to a de- 
 gree. It ended in an offer of ten rupees for a finished picture 
 of that odd, attractive, yellow-brown face. It was now resting 
 its pointed chin on the tucked-up knees, round which the thin 
 brown arms were clasped, and the smile which lengthened the 
 already long curves of the mouth George set down to sheer 
 greedy delight at an over-large bribe — which, to tell the truth, 
 he regretted. Half would have been quite sufficient. 
 
 "Then the huzoor must really think me pretty!" The 
 words might have been bombs, the sigh of satisfaction ac- 
 companying them a thunder-clap, from the start they gave to 
 his superiority. So she was nothing more nor loss than a girl; 
 rather a pretty girl, too, when she smiled, though not so pict- 
 uresque as when she was grave.
 
 44 
 
 " I think you will make a pretty picture," be replied, with 
 dlD^nity. " Come ! ten rupees is a lot, you know," 
 
 " I'll sit if the huzoor thinks me pretty," persisted Azizan, 
 now quite grave. And her gravity, as she sat with the reddish- 
 purple drapery veiling all save the straight column of her throat, 
 and the thin brown hands clasping the Ayodhya pot, appealed 
 so strongly to George Keene's artistic sense that he would have 
 perjured himself to say slie was beautiful as a houri twenty 
 times over, if thereby he could have made her sit to him. 
 
 She proved an excellent model, perhaps because she had done 
 little else all her life but sit still with that grave, tired look on 
 her face. So still, so lifeless, that he felt aggrieved when, 
 without a word of warning, she rose and salaamed. 
 
 " I must go home now, huzoor,'''' she said, in answer to his 
 impatient assertion that he had just begun. "I will come to- 
 morrow if the huzoor wishes it." 
 
 " Of course you must come," he replied, angrily, " if you are 
 to get the ten rupees. Why can't you stay now ?" 
 
 Azizan might have said with truth that a hand from the 
 gateway behind the sketcher had beckoned to her, but she only 
 smiled mysteriously. George, left alone in the sunny court- 
 yard, looked at the charcoal smudges on his canvas with mixed 
 feelings. He had the pose ; but should he ever succeed in 
 painting the picture which rose before his mind's eye ? To 
 most amateurs of real talent, such as he was, there comes some 
 special time when the conviction that here is an opportunity, 
 here an occasion for the best possible work, brings all latent 
 power into action, and makes the effort absorbing. Something 
 of this feeling had already taken possession of George; he be- 
 gan to project a finished picture, and various methods of in- 
 ducing his sitter to give him more time. Perhaps she had 
 found it dull. Native women, he believed, chattered all day 
 long. So when she came next morning he asked her if she 
 liked stories, and when she nodded, he began straightway on 
 his recollections of Hans Andersen, choosing out all the mel- 
 ancholy and aggressively sentimental subjects, so as to prevent 
 her from smiling. He succeeded very well so far. Azizan sat
 
 45 
 
 gravely in the sunshine, listening ; but every day she rose to go 
 with just the same sudden alacrity. Then he told her the tale 
 of "Cinderella" and the necessity for her leaving the prince's 
 ball before twelve o'clock. But even this did not make Azizan 
 laugh. On the contrary, she looked rather frightened, and 
 asked what the prince had said when he found out. 
 
 " He told her that he thought her the most beautiful girl in the 
 world ; so they lived happy ever after," replied George, carelessly. 
 
 It was two nights after this that old Zainub, the duenna, 
 paid a visit to Chandni in her shadowy recesses. 
 
 "What is to come of this foolishness?" she asked, crossly. 
 " 'Twas a week at first ; now it's ten days. She used to give 
 me no trouble, and now she sits by the lattice in a fever for 
 the next day — that is the plague of girls. Give them but a 
 glimpse outside, and they fret to death. So I warned Meean 
 Khushal, sixteen years agone, when the mother took refuge with 
 us, during her father's absence, on the night of the storm. 
 But he listened not when he had the excuse of the wall. Yea! 
 that is the truth, Chandni. 'Tis well thou shouldst know 
 the whole, since thou hast guessed half. Mayhap thou wilt 
 think tvi'ice when thou hast heard. Ai, my daughter! I seem 
 to hear her now ! I would not pass such another year with 
 this one for all the money thou couldst give. Nor is it safe 
 for me, or for thee, Chandni, with those eyes in the child's 
 head. Let be, 'tis no good. Would I had never consented to 
 begin the work. I will do no more." 
 
 "True," yawned Chandni, lounging on her bed. "Thou art 
 getting old for the place ; it needs a younger woman, I will 
 tell the dewan so." Zainub whimpered. 
 
 "If aught were to come of it, 'twould be different; but thou 
 thyself hast but the hope of beguiling him to some unknown 
 snare within the walls." 
 
 "An unknown snare is the deadliest," laughed the other, 
 shrilly. " What care I for the girl. 'Tis something to have 
 him meet a screened inmate of the palace day after day. Many 
 things may come of that. If Azizan pines, tell her the wedding 
 is delayed, tell her anything."
 
 46 
 
 " Tell her," broke in the old woman between the whiffs of 
 the hookah, whence she sought to draw comfort, '' Sohhan ul- 
 lahf There is too much telling as it is. He tells her — God 
 knows what ! Not sensible, reasonable things like the " Tales 
 of a Parrot," about real men and women, but upsidedown 
 rigmaroles about beggar-maidens and kings, and sighs without 
 kisses. Lo, she hath them pat ! But now, because I bade her 
 hold her tongue from teasing me when I wished to sleep, she 
 flung out her hands so, quite free-like, saying if she might not 
 speak them she would think them, since they were true words 
 he had told her, and the sahib logue ever spoke the truth." 
 
 Chandni burst into high-pitched laughter. "So! the little 
 Mogulani learns fast ! 'Tis not strange, seeing the blood 
 which runs in her veins. The cross-breed has but given it 
 strength. Lo ! if tliis be as thou sayest, she would not thank 
 thee for stopping her ears with the cotton of decency. Thus, 
 for the eyes' sake, Zainub, thou hadst best let well alone, and 
 give the girl the rein while thou canst." 
 
 In good sooth the old dame felt the truth of Chandni's 
 words, and knew herself to be between two stools. Either by 
 interference, or non-interference, she ran the risk of Azizan's 
 anger, more perhaps by the latter than the former. So the 
 girl in her odd dress continued to steal out in the fresh morn- 
 ing — for March had come with its hot, glaring noons — to sit be- 
 tween George and the mosque, and to steal back again obedient 
 to that beckoning hand from the gate ; Zainub's authority re- 
 maining sufficient for that, backed as it was by an ill-defined 
 fear on the girl's part that the fate of Cinderella should befall 
 her before the proper time. There was little conversation be- 
 tween the odd couple, chiefly because Azizan had none, and 
 seemed to know nothing of her neighbors and the village. 
 
 Her mother ? Ah, yes ! she was better for the quinine. She 
 was a. 2Jiirdah woman, no more, no less, and lived yonder — this 
 with a wave of the hand palace ward. Yes, she had heard. there 
 was a potter, but she had never seen him. Oh no ! they were 
 not related. Her dress? It was very old because they were 
 verv poor. Her mother had it by her. It was very ugly. She
 
 47 
 
 would rather have Manchester stuff, but they — that is to say 
 her mother — would not give it her. The Ayodhya pot? That 
 was old also. She had asked her mother, and she was willing 
 to sell it. When the huzoor had finished the picture, her 
 mother would come, if slie were well enough, and settle the 
 price. If not, the huzoor might go "yonder" and speak to her 
 mother. The huzoor were their fathers and mothers. It was 
 not lilce a black man. 
 
 This much, no more, George gleaned during the morning 
 hours which passed so swiftly for them both : he, in a novel 
 absorption and pride in the success of his own work; she — it 
 is hard to say. She sat listening while the pidgeons sidled and 
 cooed, the blue tiles glowed, and the blind arcades shut out all 
 the world save George and his stories. They were of the 
 simplest, most uncompromising nature ; partly because his 
 sense of superiority made him stoop, unnecessarily, to Azizan's 
 level ; partly because his knowledge of the language, though 
 long past the stuttering stage, did not extend to intricacies of 
 emotion. But loving was loving, hating was hating, when all 
 was said and done. Sometimes the crudity of his own words 
 made the lad smile, as by the aid of his complexity he recog- 
 nized how entirely they dealt in first principles. Then Azizan 
 would smile too, not from comprehension, but from first prin- 
 ciples also; the woman's smile born of the man's. It was dif- 
 ferent, however, when he laid down his brush with an elated 
 laugh. 
 
 " There, that's done ! and you have sat like — like anything. 
 Earned your ten rupees, and — Azizan, my dear little girl, what 
 is the matter ?" 
 
 First principles with a vengeance, and the sunlight turning 
 tears to diamonds as they rolled down those sun-colored cheeks. 
 He rose, divided between pity and impatience, and stood look- 
 ing at her incredulously. "Come, don't cry — there's nothing 
 to cry about. Look how pretty you are in the picture ; but it 
 wouldn't have been half so pretty if you hadn't sat so still. I 
 owe you more than the ten rupees, Azizan, and that's a fact. 
 What shall it be? Money or jewels ? What would you like best ?"
 
 48 
 
 She did not answer, and with the same careless superiority 
 lie stooped and turned her downcast face to his. He was used 
 to turning it this way and that at his pleasure. But this was 
 different. Sun-color and brown ! Sun-color indeed ! He was 
 only one-and-twenty, and the brightness and the glamour which 
 seemed to fall in a moment on everything, as he saw the heart- 
 whole surrender in her eyes, dazed him utterly. Only one-and- 
 twenty ! and he had never before seen such a look as this that 
 came to him from the sun -colored face. But brown also! 
 Truth is truth. It was not a sense of duty, it was a sense of 
 color which prevented him from kissing it then and there. So 
 much may be said for him and his morality, that the differ- 
 ence between a brown and a white skin was the outward sign 
 of the vast inward gulf between sentiment and sheer passion. 
 The transition was too abrupt; for a time it shocked his cult- 
 ure, and brought a look to his face before which poor little 
 Azizan gave a cry, and fled just as she had fled on that day 
 when George had spilled the dirty water over the sunshine. 
 
 He had spilled it now with a vengeance. Over the sunshine 
 of her face had come shame — needless shame. 
 
 " Azizan !" he called after her, his pulses bounding and beat- 
 ing, " Azizan !" Then he paused since she would not. Be- 
 sides, there was no need for him to follow her ; she would come 
 back, for there, as she had left it, lay the Ayodhya pot. Yes, 
 she must come back. He could scarcely think of her without 
 it clasped in her thin hands as she sat so silent ; yet all the time 
 she must have been thinking. He gave a little laugh, tender, 
 half regretful. Dear little Azizan I What a brute, what a fool 
 he had been, to bring that look to her face ! His brain was in 
 a whirl, he could think of nothing save her shy, confident eyes. 
 When all was said and done, did that world beyond the desert 
 hold anything better, for all its parlance and pretension ? Did 
 it not come back in the end to the old ways, to those first 
 principles? More than once he laughed recklessly at his own 
 thought as, scarcely seeing the ground beneath his feet, ho 
 made his way homeward to the branded red-brick bungalow. 
 
 The factotum was standing in the veranda.
 
 49 
 
 " The mem sahib is waiting for the huzoor,'''' he said, calmly. 
 
 "The mem! wliat inemT' 
 
 "This slave knows not. She came half an liour gone, and 
 said she would await the 1utzoor''s return." 
 
 "Wait! where?" 
 
 The man pointed to the sitting-room. " In there, huzoor. 
 She has since fallen asleep in the sahiVs arm-cliair." 
 
 George stared helplessly at the chick which, hanging before 
 the open door, prevented him from seeing inside. Who could 
 it be? Rose Tweedie? The mere thought sent the first blush* 
 of the morning to his cheelc, by bringing him back with a 
 round turn to civilization. 
 
 "Here, take these things!" he said, hastily, thrusting the 
 picture and the pot into the servant's hand, "and see! wipe 
 my boots — they aren't fit to be seen." 
 
 And as the factotum carefully brushed the dust of Hodinug- 
 gar from George's feet, the latter had forgotten everything in 
 wonder as to who the "me?/i" could possibly be. 
 4
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A LADY whom he had never seen before fast asleep in his 
 arm-chair; the arm-chair of bachelors' quarters, which, having 
 served as a deck-lounge on the way out, brings a solitary lux- 
 ury afterwards to the bare sitting-room. 
 
 The present occupant appeared to find it comfortable, for 
 she did not stir. It must be confessed, however, that there 
 was not much to disturb even a light sleeper, for George's en- 
 trance was shy, and his surprise sufficient to petrify him for a 
 time. She was dressed in a riding-habit, and a pair of neatly- 
 booted feet rested on the only other chair in the room. Evi- 
 dently she had made herself quite at home, for a helmet and 
 veil lay with her gloves familiarly beside the cup and saucer 
 set oat on the table for the young man's breakfast. Altogeth- 
 er there was an air of proprietorship about the figure which 
 rested in the chair, with throat and cheek sharply outlined 
 against the turkey-red cushions ; one hand was tucked behind 
 the fair rumpled hair, the other rested slackly on the knee. 
 This nameless peace increased George Keene's shyness, making 
 him feel an intruder even in his own room, so that he turned 
 instinctively without a word to leave it ; as he did so, a glitter 
 on the floor at his feet made him stoop to find a diamond pin. 
 He stepped aside to lay it out of harm's way on the mantel- 
 piece, and in so doing caught a closer view of the half-averted 
 face. 
 
 When he had stepped out again on to the veranda he stood 
 with his hands in his pockets and whistled softly, a habit of 
 his when taken aback. A most surprising adventure indeed ! 
 An Englishwoman — a perfectly beautiful one into the bargain 
 — at Ilodinuggar alone! How on earth had she come there? 
 From Rajpore, seventy odd miles of sheer desert to the north? 
 or from the south ? The chief's camp had certainly arranged
 
 51 
 
 to cross the sandy strip in that direction, perhaps on its re- 
 turn to loolc in on Hodinuggar ; but that did not account for 
 lier being alone. 
 
 The factotum having departed to the cook-room, George, in 
 order to avoid calling, strolled thither, intent on further infor- 
 mation. In so doing he became aware of his groom at work 
 on a strange horse. The huzoor was right, said the man with 
 a grin ; it was the raeirCs^ and was it to have three, or four 
 seers of grain ? George, noticing the little Arab's hanging 
 head, suggested a bran mash, and went on feeling as if he had 
 tumbled into another person's dream. Yet no more was to be 
 discovered even from the factotum. The mem had come, sent her 
 horse round, and gone to sleep in the sahib'' s arm-chair. Fur- 
 thermore, what did the huzoor mean to do about his break- 
 fast? George, who was, to tell the truth, beginning to feel 
 the pangs of hunger, hesitated between awaking his guest or 
 taking his bath first. He chose the latter, moved thereto by 
 the remembrance that he would be none the worse for a clean 
 collar and all that sort of thing. But half an hour afterwards, 
 when he returned to the veranda with the refreshingly clean 
 look of a newly-tubbed young Englishman, the situation had not 
 improved ; it had become worse, for while the lady still slept, 
 George had become ravenous ; nor could he turn to his pipe 
 as a palliative, from fear of her waking suddenly to find him 
 reeking of tobacco; for he had always been a bit of a dandy, 
 and fastidious over such things. This did not prevent him, how- 
 ever, from feeling injured, and telling himself that no woman, 
 be she ever so beautiful, had a right to take possession of a 
 fellow's breakfast as she had done. And yet it was not so 
 much her fault as the detestable Indian lack of pantries and 
 larders, which led to every plate and knife, every eatable — save 
 the desert fowl in the cook-room — being, at it were, under the 
 immediate guardianship of the Sleeping Beauty. Even if the 
 store closet had been in the bedroom he might have " vittled 
 free" off sardines and captains' biscuit; but it, too, was in the 
 sitting-room. And still she slept. At last, in sheer despera- 
 tion, he determined to wake her, and, raising the chick, was be-
 
 
 ginning a preparatory cougli when the sight of the breakfast- 
 table suggested the possibility of a raid. The next instant his 
 shoes were off, and the boyhood in him forgetful of the man- 
 hood as he stole in, with his eyes on the sleeper. She had a 
 good conscience and no mistake, he thought, as he annexed the 
 loaf and a tin of sardines. One of the seven sleepers, surely ! 
 This reflection came as he passed more leisurely to a pat of 
 butter and a knife and fork, which he piled on the loaf with a 
 spoonful or two of marmalade. Apparently she had no inten- 
 tion of waking for days! This thought led to a cup and some 
 tea from the canister, and finally to a milk -jug, the latter 
 proving fatal, for in returning backward with his loot through 
 the chick its contents dribbled on to his best suit, and the ef- 
 fort to prevent this overbalanced the marmalade-spoon, which 
 fell with a clatter. 
 
 Some people wake to the full enjoyment of their faculties, 
 and with the first glance of those gray-blue eyes George saw 
 that concealment — with half the breakfast-table clasped to his 
 bosom — was impossible. He blushed furiously, and began to 
 apologize, which was foolish, since excuses, if due at all, were 
 clearly owed by the sleeper. She did not, however, make any. 
 
 " IIow kind of you not to disturb me before, Mr. Keene," 
 she interrupted, in a charming voice. " Have you been in long?" 
 
 Her coolness increased his apologies. On the contrary, he 
 said he had but just returned; only being in rather a hurry for 
 his breakfast — 
 
 "Apparently," she interrupted again. "Dear me, what a 
 very miscellaneous meal it would have been ! But as I am 
 awake, hadn't you better put it all down before the marmalade 
 runs into the sardines? Then, as I am quite as hungry as you 
 can possibly be, you might tell the man to bring breakfast." 
 
 George, if a trifle taken aback l)y her nonchalance, felt grate- 
 ful for the opportunity given with such easy grace of getting 
 at his shoes again before beginning explanations. On his re- 
 turn he noticed that she also had made use of the time to tidy 
 her hair and restore a general daintiness of appearance. As he 
 entered she was stooping to look under the table.
 
 53 
 
 "It is a little diamond pin," she said; "I left it here with 
 ray gloves." 
 
 " No," be answered quickly, off his guard. " It was on the 
 floor — I mean, it is on the mantelpiece." 
 
 " Thanks so much." She took it, gravely, ere going back to 
 the arm-cliair ; then she looked at him archly. 
 
 " Was I snoring dreadfully when you came in the first time, 
 Mr. Keene ?" 
 
 For the third time since he had become aware of her pres- 
 ence he blushed. "Snoring! oh, dear, no," he began, angrily. 
 
 " That is a relief. I was afraid I must have been, to make 
 you perjure yourself so; as if any sane woman could believe 
 that you went about Hodinuggar in that costume! I believe 
 you have been in for hours and hours. I'm so sorry, Mr. Keene, 
 but you will forgive me when you hear ray tale of woe." 
 
 George, with an odd little rapture at the thought, told him- 
 self he could forgive her anything because she was so beautiful. 
 
 " I'm Mrs. Boynton," she went on. " You will have heard 
 of me, I expect, from Rose." 
 
 He told her he had heard of her from most people at Raj- 
 pore, which was the truth ; but he did not say, which was also 
 the truth, that their praises of her looks seemed to him miser- 
 ably inadequate. No doubt, however, she saw this in his eyes, 
 though she had too large an acquaintance with the expression 
 to take any interest in it. Nice boys always admired her im- 
 mensely, and this one looked very nice, with the beauty of 
 cleanliness on him from head to foot. She detailed her adven- 
 tures with that confidence in sympathy and help which is such 
 a charm to very young men. To say sooth George deserved it, 
 for he was one of those who are born to stand between their 
 women-folk and that necessity for taking the initiative which 
 — pace the strong-minded sisters — most women cordially detest, 
 and which is the cause of half the nervous exhaustion of the 
 present day. So, after a very short time, he took possession 
 of her future even more decidedly than she had taken posses- 
 sion of his bungalow. Briefly, the case lay thus : Colonel 
 Twcedie's camp, owing to the increasing heat, had changed its
 
 54 
 
 route slightly, and was due, as the incoming post would doubt- 
 less let George know, at Hodinuwo-ar next niorning;. To do 
 this it had doubled up two marches across the desert into one, 
 so as to include some inspection work before turning at right 
 angles along the canal. Owing to this, and some good sport on 
 the way, every one had started by daybreak through the Bar ; 
 that is to say, a hard waste-land dotted with tufts of gray caper 
 bushes and stunted trees just high enough and thick enough 
 to prevent one seeing more than twenty or thirty yards in any 
 direction ; beyond that the clumps became a continuous hedge 
 shutting out the world. Colonel Tweedie and his immediate 
 staff having ridden on in haste, the shooting-party, beguiled by 
 the prospect of obarra (big bustard), had spread themselves 
 through the jungle on one side of the track, followed by their 
 horses and _grooms. Mrs. Boynton, however, preferring such 
 road as there was, was walking her horse along it in expecta- 
 tion of being rejoined, when the sudden firing of an unseen gun 
 made her Arab bolt — first along the track ; then, missing it at 
 a bend, the beast had swerved into some bashes, where a 
 thorny branch had caught in his long tail, making him perfectly 
 unmanageable. After running about a mile he apparently broke 
 into the track again and sobered down to a walk once more, 
 much to her delight. Then a solitary traveller had passed, and 
 assured her, as she imagined, that she was on the right road 
 for the sahib logucs camp. So she had trotted on, until fearing 
 there must be some mistake, as the others never turned up, she 
 had been foolish enough to walk her horse back on its tracks, 
 thus completely losing all her bearings, finally, at a fork in 
 the almost invisible path, being forced to confess that she had 
 not the least idea in which direction her destination lay — north, 
 south, east, or west. The sun, therefore, was of little use to 
 her as a guide. (Here her pretty smile grew a trifle tremulous, 
 making George profusely indignant with the desertion.) Then 
 apparently regaining her head, she remembered to have heard 
 Mr. Fitzgerald — who, as Mr. Keene would know, had of course 
 joined the camp on its entrance into his division — say that the 
 more open country lay eastward, and so she had ridden as
 
 55 
 
 straight as she could into the shadows, that being her best 
 chance of steering aright. (Here George grew clamorous over 
 her courage.) Nevertheless, it had almost failed, she said, when 
 on a sudden the great silver streak of the canal had appeared 
 from among the bushes, and she had ridden along its banks till 
 she came to a treeless waste with a big mound looming in the 
 far distance. 
 
 " I knew it must be Hodinuggar," she finished, with a sort 
 of caress to her own comfort among the pillows, " by Mr. Fitz- 
 gerald's description, and I knew you from Rose Tweedie's, so 
 I felt it was all right. And now, Mr. Keene, don't you won- 
 der I didn't snore, considering I had been in the saddle for eight 
 hours !" 
 
 George protested it was virtue itself for her to wake at all ; 
 bnt that she would have the whole day to rest, as it was mani- 
 festly impossible for her to return to the camp — absurd, also, 
 since it was to come on to Hodinuggar next day. He would 
 send to the dewan and borrow a camel sowar, who would ride 
 over with a note to the Tweedies', telling of her safety in the 
 bungalow, and asking for anything she might require. For the 
 rest, all he had was at her service. 
 
 " Bat I shall be turning you out of house and home, sha'n't 
 I ?" she asked, kindly. 
 
 The young fellow's eyes softened. "I don't think I ever 
 thought of it as a home before," he said, with an embarrassed 
 laugh at his own words. "But won't you come to breakfast? 
 It's awfully nasty, I'm afraid — " 
 
 "Then we can fall back on the sardines and the marmalade," 
 she interrupted, gravely. This gravity was with her a perfect art, 
 and gave a great charm to her gentle raillery. Perhaps the food 
 was nasty ; if so, George, for one, did not mind, except for her 
 sake. He thought of nothing save her comfort — of how he 
 could welcome her to take possession of everything, himself in- 
 cluded. Was she not the most beautiful, the most fascinating, 
 the most perfect woman he had ever seen ? Did she not de- 
 serve the best he could give her? So while she was writing a 
 note for the camel sowar, George slipped away to give instruc-
 
 56 
 
 tions to the factotum. The bedroom must be swept and gar- 
 nished, the things pitched away anywhere. The drawers must 
 be repapered, a towel put on the dressing-table, and — oh ! what 
 a beastly hole it was, he thought, as he left the man to his own 
 devices, ruefully. But half an hour later his face cleared, for 
 the factotum, having been in good services, had risen to the oc- 
 casion. Not only was there a towel on the dressing-table, but 
 two empty' beer-bottles had been modestly draped, with the gilt 
 ends of the 2'>uggree he had received from the dewan, into can- 
 dlesticks, while the remainder of the musliu was festooned 
 about the looking-glass. Azizan's portrait stood on the man- 
 tel-shelf with the Ayodhya pot in front, and a dinner-plate on 
 either side; the arrangement being completed by two of his 
 best ties knotted in bows about his hunting-crop and the kitch- 
 en fan. A tinsel veil, borrowed from the compounder of " egg- 
 sarse," did duty as a bed-spread, supported by his Cooper's Hill 
 tennis-muffler as an anti-macassar. In the middle of the room 
 the factotum still lingered, benign and superior, one hand hold- 
 ing a hammer and tacks, the other a pair of striped silks socks, 
 with the decorative effect of which he was evidently enamoured. 
 In addition, a figure swathed in white sat modestly behind the 
 dressing-room door. 
 
 " It is my house," said the man, with a large smile. " Since it 
 is not to be tolerated that the Abode of Princes should lack 
 a female slave, the woman at my command takes the place of 
 ayah. The huzoor may rest satisfied. Azizan's (that is my 
 house huzoor) knowledge of the mems equals this slave's of the 
 sahibs.'''' 
 
 Azizan ! The smile left George's lips, and before leaving the 
 room he thrust the portrait into a cupboard, replacing it by an 
 illuminated text which was lying neglected under a pile of ve- 
 locity formulae. 
 
 " The huzoor is right," declared the factotum, cheerfully. 
 " The mcms have them ever in their rooms. Lo ! nothing is 
 amiss." 
 
 George, as he turned for a last look, felt that the advice 
 " Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together," crabla-
 
 57 
 
 zoned in Gothic characters, adorned holly and mistletoe, which a 
 maiden aunt had sent him as a Christmas present, did indeed 
 put a finishing; touch to the solitude of the wilderness. 
 
 " But where are you going ?" asked Gwen, 
 
 " T ? Oh, they'll give me quarters at the palace, I expect. 
 Perhaps I had better go over and see about it. Then I've in- 
 spection work, and — and a heap of other things. So perliaps 
 I'd better say good-bye. I've told the servants about lunch, 
 and all that sort of thing, and your traps will be here before 
 dark." 
 
 A very nice boy, indeed, thought Mrs. Boynton, and showed 
 her thought. So George went over to the palace feeling quite 
 intoxicated because he had been instructed without fail to dine 
 in his own house; and after he had settled about his quarters 
 with Dalel, and liad ridden off on his fictitious tour of inspec- 
 tion, he dug spurs into his pony out of sheer lightness of heart, 
 and went sailing away over the desert, careless even of the di- 
 rection in which he went. 
 
 Dalel meanwhile had repaired to the shadowy arches in a 
 state of boastful superiority. His friend Keene was coming 
 over to stop in the palace. They would play cards, and be jol- 
 ly, and drink. And the lad always carried the key of the 
 sluice-gate on his watch-chain. 
 
 " It is a chance, indeed," said Chandni, with a queer look. 
 Then, after a time, broke in on Dalel's vaporings by snatching 
 the banjo from the wall, and breaking into a respectable and 
 plaintive love-song. 
 
 " Lo ! thou hast thy way, and I have mine," she laughed, 
 recklessly. "Let us see who succeeds best." So, slipping on 
 the decent white domino, she set off for the palace, and turned 
 down the dark passage leading to the women's apartments, since, 
 without doubt, it was a chance which must not be neglected. 
 
 Between his desire not to disturb Mrs. Boynton too early, 
 despite her kindness, and dislike to become a prey to Dalel at 
 the palace, George, in the end, had to gallop his pony the last 
 four miles, and then found himself with but ten minutes in 
 which to dress; but he dashed up the narrow stairs leading to
 
 58 
 
 tlie odd little arcaded room placed at his disposal by tbe dewan, 
 feeling confident in the factotum's forethought; and,sureenough, 
 on the silk coverlet of the high, lacquered bed, lay his dress- 
 clothes and white tie complete; nothing else, except his sleep- 
 ing-suit. So, choice being denied him, he flung himself into 
 ceremonious black, discovering, as he did so, that two or three 
 jasmine blossoms and a sprig of maidenhair fern had been 
 pinned into the button-hole of his coat. The factotum was 
 evidently determined he should play the right game. lie ran 
 down the stairs again laughing, and wondering whence the 
 man could possibly have procured the fern ; then remembering 
 to have seen a few fronds clinging far down in the creviced 
 masonry of his well, into which the canal-water filtered. So 
 the seed of this hill-born plant must -have come with the water 
 somehow, just as these strange items of knowledge regarding 
 the shibboleth of dress-clothes and button-holes filtered mysteri- 
 ously into the brains of these odd people. Life was really 
 very amusing, and full of delightful surprises. Yesterday, wait- 
 ing, without a collar, for a barmecidal feast; to-day, in swallow- 
 tail and button-hole bouquet, going to dine with the most beauti- 
 ful woman in the world ! It was a fairy tale, indeed, with the 
 branded bungalow illuminated out of all recognition, and, in- 
 side, more wonders still : a table set out with flowers, and Mrs. 
 Boynton coming forward to greet him with a bouquet of jas- 
 mine and maidenhair amid the soft rufiles of her white dress. 
 Then, if humiliating, it was still amusing to be obliged to con- 
 fess that the attention came, not from his courtesy, but from 
 the factotum's sense of duty. Then the very sight of the man 
 himself, in spotless raiment, lording it over Mrs. Boynton's 
 Jcitmutgar was pure comedy. In fact when, dinner being over, 
 George was left face to face with three napkin -swathed black 
 bottles hung with foolscap tickets, " Port," " Sherry," " Claret," 
 engrossed in the village school-master's best hand, he gave one 
 look at Mrs. Boynton before exploding into laughter, in 
 which she joined heartily. She would keep the menu, she de- 
 clared, to her dying day, if only to show the folly of allow- 
 ing fact to interfere with fancy.
 
 69 
 
 Then by-and-by, when coffee came in, with the factotum 
 difBdent over the breakfast- cups, but triumphant over the 
 under footman, with hot milk and sugar on the dinner-plate, 
 they laughed again. Yet the laughter brought a moisture to 
 George Keene's merry gray eyes. In a vague way the boy 
 knew what had happened : knew that the most beautiful 
 woman in the world had not only taken possession of house 
 and home, but of body and soul. And he was glad of it, despite 
 the moisture in his eyes ; glad to the heart's core, as he chat- 
 tered away confidentially while she listened graciously, think- 
 ing what a charming boy he was, and what an excellent hus- 
 band he would make by-and-by for any girl. What an admira- 
 ble son-in-law, for instance, he would have made had she had a 
 daughter, and had he had money ; for women of her sort view 
 mankind chiefly from the matrimonial point of view, to which 
 they give variety by importing into it all their female friends 
 as possible brides. 
 
 "That reminds me," she said, as she listened to the hope 
 that she was fairly comfortable, which George tacked on to his 
 good-night. "You have the most fascinating blue pot on your 
 mantelpiece. Where did you get it?" 
 
 "Do you really like it?" he asked, eagerly; "if so, you can 
 have it." 
 
 " My dear boy," she laughed, " I don't mean to appropriate 
 everything you possess." 
 
 He looked at her with shining, happy eyes. " But it isn't 
 mine as yet ; it belongs to some one, though, who wants to sell 
 it; and if you would give it to me now I'd finish the bargain 
 to-morrow morning, and you shall have it back by breakfast- 
 time if it is to be had for love or money." The old formula 
 came carelessly to his lips: love or money ! 
 
 And about tlie same time, Azizan, crouching behind one of 
 the palace arcades, wondering when she would hear his foot- 
 step on the stair, was echoing the thought in another language. 
 She was trembling all over from excitement and fear and hope 
 — of what she scarcely knew — she did not understand. They 
 had dressed her in her best, beneath the flimsy white veil, pre-
 
 60 
 
 tending to conceal the finery whose effect it really enhanced ; 
 so, surely, if he had thought her pretty before in that dreadful 
 old shroud, he would be still kinder now. They had bidden 
 her ask for the Ayodhya pot, and take him to settle the price 
 with her mother. But of this she was not sure; she was sure 
 of nothing save that she must see him again — must see him to 
 make certain he was not vexed ; and then she would tell him 
 that traps were being laid for him ; at least, she might tell 
 him. But, come what might, she must see him ; aye ! and he 
 must sec her as she ought to be seen ! 
 
 Not a very safe thing for George to have found waiting for 
 him in the moonlit shadows of the arcades, had he been in the 
 same mood, even though all the plotting and scheming would 
 have seemed incredibly absurd to him at any time, in any 
 mood. It would have been so even in the dim light of the 
 cook-room, where the factotum was putting away a copy of 
 the menu among his certificates, as proof positive of his ac- 
 quaintance with the appetites of the ruling race. Even there 
 Chandni's snare would have met with the derision it deserved. 
 But in the dark intricacies of palace politics it seemed simple 
 enough, especially to one of her vile experiences. 
 
 But, as it so happened, George never went near the palace. 
 He sat on the canal bridge till dawn, smoking one pipe after 
 another, and looking aimlessly, dreamily, at the dark windows 
 of the red-brick bungalow. No one could have foreseen this — 
 not even the lad himself. He had no intention of outwatching 
 the stars when the balmy air and a feeling of measureless con- 
 tent first tempted him to pause and set aside the forgetfulncss of 
 sleep for a time — if, indeed, it could be sleep, yonder, when she 
 was in the desert, with God knows what ruffians. A rage grew 
 up in him at the thought of Dalel and his kind, until the 
 palace itself became distasteful. So, almost before he realized 
 that he was on the watch, the gurglings of many camels, and 
 the thuds of a mallet telling him that the advance guard of 
 the camp had arrived, sent him across to the camping-ground 
 in order to warn the tent-pitchers to be as quiet as possible. 
 
 " May the angels of the Lord pitch their tents around us
 
 61 
 
 this night," used to be the favorite bidding prayer of a certain 
 Scotch divine, wlien lie ministered to a volunteer congregation, 
 until one day a veteran happening to be there, said, audibly : 
 "Then I'm hopin' they'll no mak' muckle noise wi' the tent 
 pegs." A tale which shows the danger of imperfect local color- 
 ing; a fact which was to be brought home that night both to 
 Dalel and Chandni. Since even then, George did not return 
 to the champagne and the snarcr; that incomprehensible love 
 of the picturesque on which the latter had counted keeping 
 him engrossed by the novel sight of a canvas city rising like 
 magic from the bare sand. A novel sight, indeed ! First, an 
 autocrat with a measuring tape and pegs mapping the ground 
 into squares ; then, one by one in its appointed place, a great 
 ghost of a thing, flapping white wings against a purple sky, to 
 rise stiff and square above a fringe of even, silvery ropes. 
 
 It was not till a saffron-colored glint in the east startled him 
 into the thought that he was a confounded ass, that George, 
 out of sheer light-heartedness, ran all the way back and threw 
 himself into the high lacquered bed to fall asleep before the 
 saffron had faded into daylight. Perhaps it was as well, since 
 even the Hodinuggar sun, which had been at work since the 
 beginning of all things, might have stared to see a masher in 
 dress clothes knocking into a Mogul palace with the milk. It 
 stared instead at a more familiar sight : a girl, face down, on a 
 bare string bed in the women's quarter, sobbing as if her heart 
 would break.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Naturally enough, George overslept himself. Naturally, 
 also, he woke to feel himself hustled and bustled, for he was 
 due to meet the incoming camp at the borders of his district at 
 a certain hour — a feeling he proceeded to vent on the factotum 
 for being late with the tea, which that worthy had carried over 
 from the bungalow — an odd little procession, tailing off to the 
 large-eyed village lads and lasses, learning, betimes, the customs 
 of their rulers. 
 
 Then, George had promised an answer about the Ayodhya 
 pot, and now, even by hurrying, which he loathed, he could 
 scarcely find time to seek Azizan in the old place. Still, he did 
 hurry ; and leaving the camel which he was to ride gurgling in 
 the court-yard, wasted five minutes in tramping up and down 
 the flags in front of the mosque ; finally, in vexation, return- 
 ing by the short cut through the bazaar. In these early hours 
 it had a deserted, yet still dissipated air, the few loungers to 
 be seen looking as if they had been up all night. Only the 
 quails challenged cheerfully from their shrouded cages. In the 
 arched causeway, however, he came on Dalel Beg, almost of- 
 fensively European in costume and manner, for he, too, was 
 bound on reception duty. 
 
 " Aha ! Keene, old chappie," he began, with a leer, " you 
 sleep well after hurra khana (big dinner — a feast) with the 
 mem ! By Jove ! you keep it up late." 
 
 George could scarcely refrain from kicking him then and 
 there. But the thought that these people had possibly put 
 their own construction on his absence made him feel hot and 
 cold with rage and regret. To avoid the subject — the only 
 course open to him — he hastily held out the Ayodhya pot 
 which he was carrying, and asked the mirza if he liad any idea 
 to whom it belonged.
 
 63 
 
 Now, tbe mirza's oblique eyes had been on it from the first, 
 but at the question they narrowed to mere slits of compressed 
 cunninf^. 
 
 " All ! so ! very good, T know. Yes ! yes ! It bclono-s to you, 
 Keene, of course. Bab ! it is worth nothing. I bate old 
 trumpery matters. You are very welcome.'* 
 
 "You mistake, sahib,'''' retorted George, haughtily. "This 
 does not, did not, belong to your grandfather. It belongs to an 
 old woman who lives near the palace. She promised to sell it 
 to me, and now I am rather in a hurry to com{)lete the bar- 
 gain. Mem Boynton saldb wants it, and they leave to-morrow 
 or next day." 
 
 Dalel Beg, who liad been turning the pot over and over in 
 his hand, laughed. 
 
 " So you say it is otlier — " 
 
 " Certainly, it is another," interrupted George, annoyed be- 
 yond measure by his manner. " It belongs, as I said, to an old 
 woman. She has a daughter called Azizau " — he paused, doubt- 
 ful of putting Dalel on any woman's tiaclc. 
 
 " Azizan !" — the mirza signed his attendants to fall back 
 with unwonted decision before he went on — " Azizan ! Tell me, 
 Keene ; a young girl ? — with eyes of light, like potters' ?" 
 
 Evidently he knew something of, and was interested in, the 
 girl, and George, now that it was too late, regretted having 
 mentioned her name. 
 
 " Can't wait any longer now, I'm afraid," he replied, glad of 
 the excuse. "Just send one of your fellows up to my quarters 
 with the pot, will you? Thanks. I've no time to lose." 
 
 Left thus cavalierly, Dalel Beg scowled after the young Eng- 
 lishman ; then, with a compendious oath, turned back to the 
 side door whence he had emerged, and, stumbling in his anger 
 up the dark stairs, appeared again in Chandni's presence. He 
 almost flung the pot beside her as she lay curled up on her bed, 
 and then, driven to words by her arrogant silence, began a vol- 
 ley of furious questions. What mischief had the women been 
 up to? IIow came it that the English cub had seen Azizan? — 
 Azizan who, after all, was his half-sister, one of the race, though
 
 64 
 
 they did keep her out of his sight. And that oaf, that infidel ! 
 His wrath was real ; for, beneath the veneer of modern thought, 
 the fierce jealousy of the Mogul lay as strong as ever. 
 
 Chandni gave a jeering laugh. "Thou art too handsome for 
 the maidens, O Dalel ! too wicked, also, even for tlie race. Thou 
 needest one like me to keep thee straight. Lo ! there is noth- 
 ing to know, nothing to tell. Hadst thou asked last night, the 
 answer might have been other. I set a snare and it failed ; for 
 thou wert right — the boy is no boy, but a milksop. May Fate 
 send him death, and us a black man in his place 1 Else I stop 
 not here." 
 
 Her jingling feet struck the ground with a clash, and slie 
 yawned again. In truth, she was tired of Hodinuggar, and 
 longed for the Chowk at Delhi. Dalel, with a sneer adulter- 
 ating his frown, looked at her vengefully. "Wall/ Thou art 
 a poor creature — putting the blame on others, after woman's 
 way. Thy wiles useless, forsooth, because the boy is a milksop. 
 Then a strange me7n comes, and he sits drinking wine — ray 
 wine, look you, for his servant required it of me — until the 
 dawn ; then comes home tipsy, after losing himself among the 
 tent pegs." This was Dalel's version of the incident. It in- 
 terested his hearer into provoking details by denial. 
 
 " It is a lie," she said, calmly. 
 
 " Daughter of the bazaars, 'tis true ! Did I not wait till 
 nigh three with champagne and devil-bone, yet he came not? 
 Did not his servant tell me but now I had stinted them in 
 wine? Did not the tent pitchers say he wandered like a mad- 
 man among the pegs? Was he not at me, even now, to get 
 this pot for the mem, this woman?" So far his anger had 
 swept him past its first cause, now he remembered and harked 
 back to it. " How came he by the pot, I say ? How hath he 
 seen a woman of our race ?" 
 
 " Ask the dewan," she replied, coolly. " For me that meas- 
 ure is over. I will dance to another tune." And as she 
 spoke, though her feet scarcely shifted, a new rhythm came to 
 these jingling bells. "'Tis odd," she murmured, in a singing 
 tone, as she lifted the pot and held it out at arm's-length, " we
 
 65 
 
 come back to this old tliinc^ at every turn, and now bis mem 
 wants it. Leave it with me a space, O Mirza Dalel Beg! I 
 will set it yonder in the niche wlien I take the seed of dreams; 
 it may bring wisdom to them." Dalel gave a contemptuous 
 grunt. 
 
 " Thou art no better than an old spey-wifc with thy dreams 
 and omens and fine talk. Sure, the Hindoo pig from whom I 
 took thee hath infected thee with his idolatrous notions." 
 
 " See I go not back to them, and him," she interrupted, quick- 
 ly. " Leave it, I say, if thou art wise. If the sahib seek it 
 of thee, say one of thy women knows the owner and makes 
 arrangement. 'Tis true; and thou lovest the truth, O Dalel." 
 
 As usual, her recklessness cowed him, and when he had gone 
 and she sat rolling the opium pellets in her palms, thcAyodhya 
 pot stood in the niche. Something had declared in its favor, 
 and wisdom lay in humoring the mysterious will which, nine 
 times out of ten, insists on playing the game of life in its own 
 fashion. So she lounged back, half asleep and half awake, her 
 hands clasped behind her smooth head, her eyes fixed on the 
 shifting pattern beneath the glaze. The sun climbing up sent 
 a bar of shine through a chink in the balcony roof. It slanted 
 into the recesses, undulated over her curved body, and reaching 
 the niche, made the Ayudhya pot glow like a sapphire. But 
 by this time Chandni was dreaming, so she did not hear the 
 merry laughter of the cavalcade passing through the Mori gate 
 on its way to the canvas city on the camping-ground ; Rose 
 Tweedie on a camel, the English side-saddle perched on the top 
 of a native pad giving her such height that she was forced 
 to stoop. 
 
 " Another inch. Miss Tweedie," cried George, gayly, " and 
 you would have had to dismount. You will have to cultivate 
 humility before trying Paradise?" 
 
 "Sure, Miss Rose is an angel already," put in Dan Fitz- 
 gerald. 
 
 But Lewis Gordon rode gloomily behind ; partly because he 
 himself was in a shockingly bad temper, partly because the 
 camel he rode was a misanthropist. And these two causes
 
 66 
 
 arose the one from the other, since it was not his usual mount. 
 That, when Hose Twecdie had taken advantage of Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton's absence to desert the dhoolies, whicli were the only other 
 alternative conveyance across this peculiarly sandy march, had 
 been impounded for the young lady on account of its easy 
 paces. He remembered those paces ruefully as, with a low- 
 pitched indignation, he wondered why she could not have 
 stuck to the more ladylike dhoolie. Yet she looked well on 
 the beast, and rode it better than most men would have done 
 on a first trial — than lie would, at any rate. But these were 
 aggravations, not palliations. Still, when on dismounting she 
 came straight up to him, her natty top-boots in full evidence — 
 the huge mushroom - like sola hat borrowed from her father 
 making her slim upright figure show straighter and slenderer 
 than ever — he was forced to confess that if she did do these 
 horrible things, she did them with infinite verve and good 
 taste. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Mr. Gordon," she exclaimed, eagerly. "In- 
 deed I didn't know of the exchange father made till we had 
 started, or I'd have stuck to the dhoolie — indeed I would. 
 What an awful brute it was ! I saw it giving you a dreadful 
 time. Do let me send you over some elliman." 
 
 " I'm not such a duffer as all that, Miss Tweedie," he began. 
 
 " I didn't mean that ; you know I didn't. But if you won't 
 have elliman, take a hot bath. It's the next best thing I know 
 for stiffness. You can tell your bearer to take the water from 
 our bath fire. And thanks so much. I enjoyed the ride im- 
 mensely. Mr. Fitzgerald raced me at the finish, and I beat by 
 a good head." 
 
 " A particularly good head, I should say," he replied, out of 
 sheer love of teasing, for he knew how intensely she disliked 
 his artificial manner with women. The fact annoyed him in 
 his turn. It was another of her unwarrantable assumptions of 
 superiority. Nevertheless, he followed her advice about the 
 bath. 
 
 Indeed, Ilodinuggar for the rest of the day claimed supple- 
 ness of joint — in the mind at least. We all know the modern
 
 67 
 
 mansion, where, entering a Pompeian hall, you pass np a Jac- 
 obin staircase, along Early Enolish corridors and Japanese 
 landings to Queen Anne drawing-rooms ; mansions of culture 
 where present common-sense is relegated to the servants' attics. 
 Ilodinuggar was as disturbing to a thoughtful person unused 
 to gymnastics; the more so because a certain glibness of 
 tongue in slurring over chasms and ignoring abysses became 
 necessary when, as fell to Lewis Gordon's lot, most of the day 
 passed in interviews : solemn interviews of state, then per- 
 sonal interviews with an ulterior object, finally, begging in- 
 terviews ^9M)' et simple. The other members of the camp, 
 however, had an easy time of it, their attendance not being 
 required ; Dan Fitzgerald passing most of his day in vain hope 
 of a tete-a-tete with Mrs. Boynton. He was on tenter-hooks 
 to explain the feeling with which, on returning late to camp, 
 he had found it in commotion over her loss; but Gwen, who 
 always dreaded Dan when he had reasonable cause for emo- 
 tion, avoided him dexterously ; chiefly by encouraging George, 
 who was nothing loath to spend his day in camp. At first the 
 lad felt no little vexation at finding himself shy and con- 
 strained among so large a party ; but it quickly wore off, and 
 when he came ready dressed for tennis into the drawing-tent 
 at tea-time, it seemed quite natural to be once more amid easy- 
 chairs and knick-knacks, to see the pianette at which Rose sano- 
 her Scotch songs with such spirit littered with music, and to 
 find her busy at a table set with all manner of delightful thino-s 
 to eat. lie was boy enough to try so many of them that Dan 
 had to apologize for his subordinate's greed before they trooped 
 out, laughing, to the very different world which lay beyond the 
 treble plies of the tent — that mysterious veil of white and blue 
 and red which, during the camping months, hangs between 
 India and its rulers. 
 
 No doubt the latter have their faults ; but the bad name 
 given by superficial observers to Anglo-Indian society is the 
 result of that curious light-heartedness which springs from the 
 necessity for relaxation, consequent on the gloveless hold India 
 exacts on the realities and responsibilities of life. " Let us
 
 eat and drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die." This say- 
 ing is hurled unfairly at pleasure-seekers all the world over, 
 simply because the merriment has become associated with a 
 low type of amusement. Change the verbs, and the blame 
 vanishes; since to live happily is the end and aim of all 
 morality. Then in India the pursuit of pleasure must needs 
 be personal. There are no licensed purveyors of amusement; 
 yon cannot go to a box-office, buy tickets, spend the day seri- 
 ously, dine at a restaurant, and take a hansom to the play ; as 
 a rule, you have to begin by building the theatre. So it is in 
 all things; and surely, after a hard day's work in bringing 
 sweetness and light (and law) within reach of the heathen, even 
 a judge with a bald head may unbend to youthful pastimes 
 without breaking the Ten Commandments! 
 
 But Colonel Tweedie was not bald, and he played tennis 
 vigorously, in what Rose called the duffers' game, with Mrs. 
 Boynton, the under-secretary, and Lewis Gordon, who pleaded 
 short-sightedness as an excuse for not joining the Seniors against 
 Juniors, where Rose and George challenged all-comers. Yet 
 he owned it was pretty enough to see the former sending back 
 Dan's vicious cuts with a setting of lier teeth, ending in a smile 
 either at success or failure; pleasant to see their alertness, 
 confidence, confidentialness; to hear liis quick "Look out!" 
 evoke the breathless " I've-got-it," as the ball whizzed to some 
 unguarded spot. It was a fierce struggle indeed, and the wide- 
 eyed villagers who had trooped out to see the strange doings 
 on their ancestral threshing-floor gathered instinctively round 
 the harder game. 
 
 " Art, sister !" murmured a deep-bosomed mother of many 
 to her gossip, as they squatted on one of the heaps of chaff 
 which had been swept aside from the hard, beaten floor. 
 " That one in the short skirt is a hiidmarsh ;* her man will 
 need his hands." Yet an unrestrained chuckle ran round the 
 female portion of the audience as Dan, overrunning himself 
 in a hopeless attempt after the impossible, scattered a group of 
 
 * Literally, evil walker.
 
 69 
 
 tnrbaned pantaloons, who, retreatini^ with sliakino; heads to re- 
 form farther off, muttered in wondering rebuke, " ifaj/ Hai! 
 does not shame come to her?" But a third section ranged in 
 rows gave an exotic " Hooray !" A ridiculous, feeble little cheer, 
 started by a young man in a black alpaca coat, was accom- 
 panied by still feebler clappings; this was the village school 
 with its master, claiming its riglit to be a judge of " crickets." 
 
 "You have the better-half of creation on your side. Miss 
 Tweedie," remarked Lewis, when the games were over, and the 
 men were resuming their coats. "What is more, the rising 
 generation of the worser-half also. The boys were unanimous 
 for the ' Miss,' we miserable men being left to the support of 
 past ages. India is doomed ! Another decade will see woman's 
 rights rampant." 
 
 She turned on him readily, as she always did. "The boys 
 applauded because the rising generation, thank Heaven, is be- 
 ing taught to love fair-play — even towards women." 
 
 " At it again !" interrupted Mrs. Boynton, plaintively. " Real- 
 ly I must get you two bound over to keep the peace." 
 
 " Then I shall have to hire another camel for my luggage," 
 said Lewis, gravely, " for Miss Tweedie knocks me and my 
 arguments to bits." 
 
 Gwen turned aside impatiently, saying in a lower voice, 
 "How foolish you are, Lewis! One would have thought you 
 would have tired of it by this time." 
 
 "On the contrary," he replied, in his ordinary tone. "The 
 bloom is perennial. I wither beneath the ice of Miss Tweedie's 
 snubs, and revive beneath the sun of her smiles like — like a 
 bachelor's button." 
 
 And Rose did smile. Her contempt always seemed to pass 
 by the man himself, and rest on his opinions. Even there, 
 much as she loathed them, she was forced to confess that they 
 did not seem to affect his actions; that it was impossible to 
 conceive of his behaving to any woman save as a gentleman 
 should behave. Yet this thought aggravated the offence of his 
 manner bv enhancing its malice aforethought, and made her 
 frown a^ain.
 
 70 
 
 " Come, there is light enough for a single yet, Mr. Keene," 
 she said, imperiously, and George, with one regretful glance 
 at Mrs. Boynton, obeyed. Lewis Gordon looked after them, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and strolled off to the mess-room tent. 
 
 " It really is shameful of Lewis to tease Miss Tweedie as he 
 does," began Gwen, who, finding herself unavoidably paired 
 with Dan, instantly started what she thought a safe topic of 
 conversation. He looked at her with absent eyes. 
 
 "A shame, is it? But when a man likes a girl he is very 
 apt—" 
 
 She broke in, with a petulant laugh, " Are you asleep, Dan? 
 What could induce you to think that?" 
 
 "What? Why, love, of course! Set a thief to catch a 
 thief. A man can't be in love himself without — " 
 
 He certainly was not asleep ! But she managed to double 
 back to safer ground. Yet his words recurred to her that even- 
 ing during the half-hour's tete-a-tete which she accorded with 
 the utmost regularity to Colonel Tweedie in his capacity of host ; 
 Rose meanwhile singing songs to the young men who gathered 
 round the piano, leaving those two decorously to the sofa. 
 
 "There's a little song I want Mrs. Boynton to hear," called 
 the colonel during the pause. " I forget its name ; you haven't 
 sung it for a long time, and I used to be so fond of it. A lit- 
 tle Jacobite song — really a charming air, Mrs. Boynton." 
 
 Rose flushed visibly — at least, to the feminine eyes in the party 
 — and shook her head. 
 
 "But you must remember it, my dear," persisted her father; 
 " do try." 
 
 "Oh yes; please do try! I should so like to hear it," 
 echoed Gwen, curiously, her eyes full on the blush. Rose, 
 conscious of it, felt herself a fool, and looked still more un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 "Talking of Jacobite songs," remarked an indifferent voice 
 beside her, " I wonder, Miss Tweedie, if you know a great fa- 
 vorite of mine, called ' Lewie Gordon ?' — don't laugh, you boys ; 
 it's rude. If so, please sing it. I haven't heard it for years ; 
 people are always afraid of making me vain."
 
 71 
 
 She o-ave him a quiclc, o-ratcfnl look, as, witli a nod, she bioke 
 into the song : 
 
 " Oh, send Lewie Gordon hame, 
 And the lad I durna name, 
 Tho' his back be to the wa', 
 Here's to him that's far awa'." 
 
 She sang with greater spirit than before, a sort of glad rec- 
 ognition of his kindly tact leading up to the decision of the 
 
 climax — 
 
 " Yoii's the hid that I'll gang wi'." 
 
 And after all, amid the chorus of thanks, she heard him say, in 
 his worst manner, " Tiie lad I durna name! llow like a wom- 
 an !" And he added to the offence ; for when the little under- 
 secretary remarked, diffidently, that he had always understood 
 that the song referred to Charles Edward, though whether to 
 the old or the young Pretender he could not say, Lewis mur- 
 mured, as he dawdled away to his nightly task of breaking up 
 the tetc-a-tete, that at any rate it referred to a pretence of 
 some sort. But Rose had caught Gwen's appealing look from 
 the sofa also, and, rising, closed the piano with a bang, and 
 suggested a round game. If her intention was to punish the 
 offender, who liated that form of amusement, she failed igno- 
 miniously ; for he sat on the stool of repentance with perfect 
 nonchalance, and when it came to her turn paid her such double- 
 edged, charmingly caustic little compliments that she had to 
 join in the laugh they raised. It was, in fact, past midnight 
 ere the colonel, with many allusions to the delight of such com- 
 pany, said they must really go to bed, and they trooped in a 
 body out of the big tent to seek their several quarters. 
 
 " I'm glad not to make a casual of you to-night," said Mrs. 
 Boynton, softly, to George. 
 
 "I almost wish you were," he replied, giving a rueful look 
 towards the red-brick prison on the farther side of the canal. 
 "This is my home; that is exile." 
 
 Dan nodded his head sympathetically : " I know tliat feel- 
 ing. It comes from jungle stations. And the bungalow does
 
 72 
 
 look cheerless in comparison. Odd ; for one naturally asso- 
 ciates a camp with wars and tumults, battles, murders, and sud- 
 den death — all the evils of a transitory world, in fact. But 
 you must have noticed, Mrs. Boynton, the extraordinary air of 
 peace, security, almost of permanence, which tents have in the 
 moonlight. Look! might they not be solid blocks of marble 
 fastened by silver cords?" 
 
 "I noticed it last night, when I was watching them being 
 put up," began George, unguardedly, and Mrs. Boynton looked 
 up quickly. Rose, who was leaning against a rope by the door 
 of her tent, which stood next the moss, glanced along the line 
 of the camp. 
 
 " Silver cords and marble blocks !" she echoed. " Yes ; but 
 it sounds like the New Jerusalem." 
 
 "I always thought," remarked Lewis Gordon, argnimenta- 
 tively, " that it was the tents of Midian ; I'm sure some one 
 told me so when I learned hymns. Or was it hosts of Midian 
 and tents of Ishmael ? Anyhow, they had nothing to do with 
 paradise, and I, for one, have been prowling round long enough. 
 So good-night, Gwen ; don't grow wings in the night, please ; 
 it would be so disconcerting. "Good-night, Miss Tweedie." 
 
 Being close beside her, he held out his hand. 
 
 " Good-night ; I hope you are not very stiff." 
 
 " I almost wish I were, for then you would sympathize with 
 misfortune like a woman," he replied in a low voice, and as he 
 passed to his own tent next hers, she heard him quoting the 
 
 lines : 
 
 "Tho' his back be to the wa', 
 Here's to him that's far awa'." 
 
 She looked after him, her face showing soft in the moon- 
 light; then, with a good-night to the others, disappeared in 
 her turn. 
 
 George lingered, giving still more rueful glances at the bun- 
 galow. "I suppose I must be off, too. Oh, by-the-way ! it's 
 all right about the Ayodhya pot. Dalel Beg tells me his wom- 
 en know the owner, so you will have it to-morrow. Good- 
 night, Fitzgerald."
 
 73 
 
 Dan, thus left alone to walk two tent-lengths with Gwen, 
 felt that Fate was on bis side at last ; more probably she was, 
 since her fine tact told her it was never wise to ignore his pas- 
 sion entirely. Besides, something in her shrank from treating 
 him always as a mere outsider. 
 
 " I've been longing for this chance all day," he began at 
 once, in a tone that was in itself a caress. 
 
 "Do you think I am quite blind?" she interrupted, a tiitie 
 petulantly. " The only wonder is that every one in the camp 
 didn't see it also. You are so reckless, Dan ! Of course, you 
 wanted to tell mc how you felt when I was lost, and all that — 
 as if I couldn't imagine it;" she gave in to a smile that was 
 almost tender as she spoke. " Why, Dan, I can see you, with 
 a face yards long, and the whole camp, chief and all, under 
 orders in half a minute. Fire-escapes, life-preservers, first aid 
 to the wounded, everything mortal man could desire to avert 
 disaster, ready before the rest had time to think. Do you sup- 
 pose I don't know what you are, Dan ?" The odd composite 
 ring in her voice sank as she added, in a lower tone, " Some- 
 times I almost wish I didn't." 
 
 They had reached the place where their ways separated — 
 hers to the last tent forward, his to the second row — and she 
 held out her hand, smiling, to say good-night. His heart was 
 beating bard at her half-reluctant admission of praise; besides, 
 Gwen Boynton was not the sort of woman who could smile 
 thus, and yet expect to end the interview then and there. Per- 
 haps, again, she did not wish it so to end ; in her relations with 
 this man she often found it difficult to know what she did or 
 did not desire. 
 
 "Gwen," he said, eagerly, standing close, with his warm, 
 nervous bands clasping hers, "did you think of me — then? — 
 vvher* you knew you were lost, I mean. Did you, Gwen ? I 
 don't often ask anything of you, my darling ; you might tell 
 me; it isn't much to ask — did you, Gwen ?" 
 
 She gave something between a laugh and a sob. " Did I ? 
 Oh, Dan, you know I did ! There, that is enough ; you said 
 that was all you wanted. Good-night, Dan."
 
 74 
 
 lie went over to his quarters, happy as a king. As for 
 Gwen, the personal influence his immediate presence had over 
 her passed away quickly, and that which his real absence from 
 her life invariably produced did not come to soften the curi- 
 ous dread with which she recognized that, in her trouble of the 
 day before, her first thought had, indeed, been for him, IJow 
 foolish she had been in letting Ijim re-enter her life at all ; but 
 he had come back in her first loneliness when the future had 
 seemed very black. Now it was different ; now it was once 
 more that choice between poverty and comfort which she had 
 made in her girlhood, with what pain none save Dan — who, 
 alas! always understood — would believe. And if the choice 
 was necessary then, what was it now with her acquired habits, 
 her knowledge of the world? They would both be miserable 
 if they married without money ; and then the thought of the 
 bills came, as it always did, to remind her of the tie they im- 
 posed. Even if Lewis, whom she liked and respected, were to 
 make up his mind to marry, she could not accept him without 
 dismissing Dan ; yet how could she dismiss him, even for his 
 good, until that money was repaid ? Poor Dan ! he loved her 
 dearly, and in a way she cared for him as she had never cared 
 for any of her other lovers ; and yet the decision which had 
 turned out so comfortably ten years before was still the right 
 decision. Many of those lovers had been as devoted to her, 
 yet they had recovered from their rejection, as he would, doubt- 
 less. Then, suddenly, the remembrance of George Keene's ad- 
 mission — that he had been outwatching the stars — made her 
 smile ; he was a nice boy, who already deemed her an angel. 
 But Lewis objected to wings, and of the two that was the most 
 convenient — for the woman. 
 
 While she was coming sleepily to this conclusion, George 
 had been looking after her interests, for on his return to the 
 bungalow he had been startled by the sudden uprisal of a veiled 
 female from a shadowy corner of his veranda. " I am Azizan's 
 mother," said a muffled voice. " The mirza sent me ; I have been 
 waiting the huzoor''s return. There is the pot, if the husoor will 
 give ten rupees for it. It is much, yet the pot brings luck."
 
 " Ten !" echoed George in deliglit, taking it from lier. " Yes, 
 you shall have that; then I owe Azizan something also. Shall 
 I pay you for her?" 
 
 "My daughter is as myself," replied the voice. "It is five 
 for the picture, and ten for the pot." 
 
 George fetched the money, and counted it carefully into the 
 shrouded hand. 
 
 "That is all, I think?" he asked. 
 
 " Huzoor, that is all. May the blessing of the widow and 
 the fatherless go with the merciful Protector of the Poor." 
 
 But while he was thinking, as he undressed, how pleased 
 Mrs. Boynton would be, the veiled figure' was pausing in the 
 moonlight to speak to the factotum. 
 
 " You have seen nothing, you are to say nothing ; and the 
 dewan sends these to the servant-people." Then, carefully, 
 came fifteen chinks, this time into a clutching hand ; and 
 Chandni, hurrying back to the city, laughed silently to herself. 
 The idea of bribing the chota sahib's servants with his own ru- 
 pees would please Dale], and put him into a good temper 
 again ; so, if this plan matured, her future would ripen with it. 
 As she passed the sleeping camp she paused, wondering in 
 which tent lay the mein who had succeeded so easily where 
 she had failed. The lights were out in all save two, and the 
 double row of gleaming white roofs struck even her insensi- 
 bility with a savage recognition of undeserved peace and secu- 
 rity. They were no better than she ; no better than those 
 shadowy, crouching figures of the village bad characters, set out 
 here and there to keep watch and ward, on the principle of 
 setting a thief to catch a thief — a plan which at least secures 
 a deserving criminal, should aught occur. For it must never 
 be forgotten that the strange hybrid between altruism and 
 egoism, which we call a scape - goat, first saw the light in the 
 East.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 One of the lights Chandni saw came from Lewis Gordon's tent. 
 He was hard at work, not altogether from sheer industry. Sleep 
 •witl) him — oddly enough, in one claiming such serenity of 
 temperament — had to be approached discreetly, and for many 
 days past a disturbing current of thought had required the 
 dam of good solid official business before he could trust liim- 
 self safely to the waters of Lethe. He had not been constant- 
 ly in his cousin's company for six weeks without learning to 
 appreciate her infinite charm. She was emphatically a woman 
 to insure a husband's success as well as her own. A man 
 would never have to consider enemies with her at liis side, 
 whereas with many others — Rose Tweedie, for instance — it 
 might be necessary to fight your wife's battles as well as your 
 own. This comparison of the two arose from no conceit on 
 his part in imagining that any choice lay with him. Sim[>ly 
 lie could not avoid comparing the only two women in his daily 
 surroundings. At the same time, he was fully aware that Gwcn 
 would marry him if he asked her; and the question wliich had 
 first assailed him in the hall at Rajpore recurred again and 
 again, disturbing him seriously by alternate attraction and re- 
 pulsion. He had seen too much of fascinating wifehood to 
 care for possessing a specimen himself; yet Gwen would marry 
 him because she considered it would further their mutual inter- 
 ests, and that, surely, was a more reliable foundation for a per- 
 manent contract than a girlish affection. Quite as pleasant, 
 too, as the hail-fellow-well-met liking which seemed to be Rose 
 Tweedie's notion of love; George Kccne and she were positive- 
 ly like a couple of boys together. The remembrance jarred, 
 though he went on working with a smile as he thought of her 
 eager readiness to take up the glove on all occasions. 
 
 Rose, meaiiwhik>, lay awake next door frowning over the
 
 • 
 same fact, and then frowning at lier own frowns; since what 
 was it to her if Lewis Gordon were nice or nasty ? lie himself 
 did not care what slie tliought, and would end by marrying liis 
 cousin ; though, in his heart of hearts . . . 
 
 llosc sat up in bed angrily. What did she know or care of 
 Lewis Gordon's heart? Dieu merci ! Gwcn Boynton was wel- 
 come to it; but she should not drag George Keene captive, as 
 she seemed inclined to; George was too good to hang round 
 a pretty woman, like Lewis . . . 
 
 This was intolerable ! To escape the tyranny of thouglit she 
 rose, slipped on lier white dressing-gown, lit the lamp she had 
 extinguished, and sat down to read a stiff book till she felt 
 sleepy. The process was not a long one, for she was really fa- 
 tigued, and ten minutes saw her turning down the lamp once 
 more. 
 
 What happened then she scarcely knew ; only this : a glare 
 of light — a feeble crash. Then fire in her eyes, her face, her 
 hands; fire at her feet, licking along the carpet and soaking up 
 the folds of her filmy dress. The bed lay close at hand; she 
 was on it in a second, wrapping the blankets round her, and 
 beating out the runnels of fiame, with eyes, brain, and body 
 absorbed in the immediate personal danger. When that was 
 over and she looked up she sprang to her feet on the bed 
 with a cry, for the fire was everywhere, creeping up the sides 
 of the tent, filling it with suffocating smoke ! She wound her 
 trailing skirts round her and made a dive for the first outlet — 
 for licr only cliance of escape ! The thick wadded curtain, 
 swinging aside, let in a wind, making the smouldering cotton 
 flame; but in the next instant she was out in the open, con- 
 strained to pause, wondering if by chance it was nothing but a 
 bad dream. For the camp lay serene and peaceful in the 
 moonlight: not a sound, not a sigh, even from her own tent. 
 She stood, positively irresolute, staring back at what she had 
 left. Was it a dream ? Then, suddenly, a faint drift of smoke 
 rose through a crevice in the cloth . . . 
 
 "Mr. Gordon! Mr. Gordon !" She burst through the chick, 
 guided by the light in his tent to the nearest help. " Your
 
 knife — quick — my tent is on fire! Quick — or the whole camp 
 will catch !" 
 
 The blood was flowing from a cut over her forehead, one 
 arm showed bare through the scorched muslin, the draperies 
 caught were singed and blackened, the stamp and smell of fire 
 was on her from head to foot. Lewis started to his feet and 
 stared stupidly at her. 
 
 " Oh, quick ! Please, quick ! Your penknife — anything. 
 Cut down the tents. Mr. Fitzgerald said it was the only plan 
 — the only . . ." 
 
 He had grasped the position ere she could finish, snatched 
 np a hunting-knife, and was out, she, with a penknife, close at 
 his heels. 
 
 "Good God! liow the wind lias risen," he muttered, as 
 they ran. " No! not mine. The mess-tent first — the wind is 
 that vvay." 
 
 As they flew past her tent, the scene seemed peaceful as 
 ever, but ere the guy-ropes of the next were reached, a swirl of 
 smoke and flame, prisoned until then by the outer fly of can- 
 vas, swept straight up into the sky in the first force of its es- 
 cape, then bent silently to the breeze. So silently ! not a 
 roar, not a crackle ; just a pyramid of fire, splitting the tent 
 canvas into long shreds, which the wind flung in pennants of 
 flame on the mess-tent as those two hacked silently at the 
 ropes. There was no time for words, no time for thought. 
 There was a quiver in the solid-looking pile, a shimmer in the 
 moonlight as one rope after another recoiled like a snake from 
 its strain; then a sudden sway, a crash of glass and china from 
 within. Down ! but with a creeping trail of fire within its 
 folds. 
 
 There was no lack of helpers now — knives, hatchets at 
 work right and left upon the ropes, lest the message of fire 
 should find the tents taut. Colonel Twecdie, shouting confused 
 orders in front; Dan Fitzgerald, after a (juick inquiry if all 
 were safely out, shouting clear ones in the rear row, where the 
 danger grew with delay. The din was deafening, yet the 
 flames made no noise. It was dark humanity yelling as it ca-
 
 pered over tlie big tent, treadiiis; out the ciirliiiij snakes of fire. 
 Seen aijainst the glare of a burning pyramid behind, they were 
 like the demons in a medi;eval judgment beating tlie lost souls 
 down to the worm which dieth not. 
 
 Rose, standing to rest, now that abler arms were at work, 
 felt a hurried touch on her shoulder, and turned to see Lewis 
 Gordon holding out an ulster which he had fetched from his 
 tent. 
 
 " Put it on," he said, unceremoniously, " or you'll catch 
 cold." 
 
 She flushed with surprise; then, as she complied, realizing for 
 the first time the havoc fire had made in her dress, continued 
 the blush with an odd feeling of resentment. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Boynton ?" she asked, quickly, to cover her 
 confusion. " I suppose you — I mean she is safe, of course." 
 
 " Of course, I haven't seen her, though ; but I heard your 
 father calling to her. She must be with him. I'll see." 
 
 " Mrs. Boynton ? God bless my soul, isn't she with Rose?" 
 cried Colonel Tweedie, who was still shouting orders to a crowd 
 of coolies. " She answered me, and her tent is down. She 
 must be out." 
 
 "Mrs. Boynton! has anyone seen Mrs. Boynton?" Gordon's 
 cry ran down the line without response. " Gvven ! Gwen ! The 
 fools must have cut the thing down on the top of her." He 
 had dashed up to the mass of ropes and canvas lying without 
 beginning or end in hopeless chaos. "Gwen ! Gwen ! are you 
 there ?" ' 
 
 A mufiled cry was audible now in the hush of the workers. 
 
 "Not stunned; that's one thing," he muttered to himself 
 before shouting encouragement. Rose was at his elbow and 
 caught his whisper. " The sparks, for God's sake. Miss Twee- 
 die 1 I trust you. If the tent smoulders she may suffocate 
 before we get to her. Coming, Gwen ! coming directly." 
 
 But no obstacle against eager help was ever more successful 
 than that tortuous heap of heavy canvas full of blind folds 
 and entangled ropes, stayed fore and aft, and still fastened 
 beyond possibility of removal to the bamboo strengthened
 
 80 
 
 sides, and tlie yet uncut guys. The seekers dived into the 
 folds again and again to find themselves meshed, while Rose, 
 with a sickening fear at licr heart lest she should miss one, 
 watched the sparks and shreds drifting by in clouds to settle 
 here, there, everywhere; and as she watched, her swift com- 
 mands rang out to the little band of helpers. 
 
 " Quick ! quick ! yonder by the corner. Another there ! 
 stamp it out! Quick! well done! well done!" 
 
 " What is it? What is it?" A new voice, tliis, above the 
 turmoil. It was Dan Fitzgerald, running from the rear, grasp- 
 ing the truth as he ran. 
 
 "No! no!" he panted. " No use, Gordon ; too long. Get 
 to the guys, for God's sake ! the thickest ropes, and half a 
 dozen men to each. Colonel, the right corner, please, sir. 
 Gordon, the left. Smith, round to the back — they are not cut — 
 and see the pegs hold — they must hold. Miss Tweedie, a man 
 to each stay as the front rises. I want the doorway — the door 
 must show. Brothers," he continued, in Hindostanee, to the 
 men fast falling into place, " we have to raise the tent again. 
 Remember, the tent rises at the word. Gordon, are you 
 ready ? — all ready ?" 
 
 He paused, gave a rapid glance at the sparks, and lowered 
 his voice. "It has to be done sharp. Colonel, or — " Again he 
 hesitated, between fear of letting the prisoner know her immi- 
 nent danger and fear of not enforcing the necessity for speed. 
 Rose understood the difficulty, and, racked by anxiety as she 
 was, felt a thrill of recognition for Dan's quick thought which, 
 even in such a moment, enabled him to remember that as Mrs. 
 Boynton knew but little of Hindostanee, he could continue in 
 that language. "The tent is certain to catch fire," he went 
 on, " but it may be smouldering now, so we must risk it. Re- 
 member that I must get in and out before the canvas yields, 
 or — So be sharp. Gordon, you give the word." 
 
 There was an instant's silence, broken by a voice. Then a 
 shout, a heave, and Rose, straining at a rope as she never 
 strained before, felt rather than saw something rise, pause, 
 sink, and rise again, fluttering, swaying.
 
 81 
 
 "Higher! higher!" shouted Dan, standing close in, ready 
 for a dive at the door. " All together, Gordon ! Shah-bash, 
 brothers. My God ! it's caught already !" 
 
 A blot of shadow near her showed the coming doorway, and, 
 half-clear as it was, she saw Dan dash into it with the cry, 
 which was echoed from outside as a little runnel of fire quiv- 
 ered up the half-stretched canvas. 
 
 "Stand fast! stand fast!" shouted Gordon at the guys. 
 " Run in, half of you, to the bamboos ; they may hold longer 
 than the stays." 
 
 Rose was at one in a moment, and clung to it, seeing nothing, 
 thinking of nothing but that irregular square of shadow. When 
 would he come through it again ? Oh, those tangles within ! 
 how would he thread them ? For the pole, having slipped from 
 its supporting pegs, had slid along the ground, and would not 
 rise more than half-way. So the inner fly and sides must be 
 hanging in a maze — a maze of smouldering canvas. Horrible ! 
 — a burning pall ! Oh, would he never come?" 
 
 Suddenly, in the tension which seemed to bring a silence 
 with it, there was another cry. A great sheet of fire ran up the 
 right ridge, and the men at the middle guy fell backward under 
 the slackened strain of the parting canvas. Still the corners 
 held. But for how long? Oh, would he never come out? 
 
 " Mr. Fitzgerald ! Mr. Fitzgerald ! be quick ; oh, please be 
 quick!" 
 
 A foolisli, aimless little cry, yet somehow it raised a new 
 idea in her mind. What if he had lost his way in that hideous 
 tangle? She was at the blot of shadow in an instant, calling 
 again and again. Too late — surely too late ! for the bamboo 
 lintel to which she clung frantically swayed. Not down yet? 
 Yes, down, and she with it, half-kneeling still. She heard a 
 cry from Lewis, bidding the others run in on the fire and 
 stamp it out, but as she staggered to lier feet, still holding the 
 lintel, something else staggered into the open, 
 
 " All right !" She heard it plainly, before the great shout 
 of relief rose up, drowning Dan's voice. When it had passed, 
 and they crowded round him, he had set Gwen's feet on the
 
 ground and drawn the folds of blanket from licr face, though 
 his arm was still round her as she clung to him, scarcely be- 
 lieving in her own safety. 
 
 " Only frightened — half suffocated," he went on, struggling 
 to get back his breath. " Couldn't some one bring her a glass 
 of water — don't move yet — they will bring it to you here. It 
 is all over — except the shouting." 
 
 Rose, standing aside, giddy with sudden relief, could hardly 
 believe it could be over. Yet the coolies were rubbing them- 
 selves and laughing over their sprawl in the dust when the tent 
 collapsed, and the tent itself was blazing away unheeded on 
 the ground. Yes, it was over; and so quickly that George 
 Keene, roused by the crash of the mess-room tent, came too late 
 for anything save sympathy. He gave that to the full ; not 
 unnecessarily, for, in truth, the condition of the camp was 
 pitiable. Lewis Gordon's tent, being the only one to wind- 
 ward of the original outbreak, was left standing, but the rest 
 were either smouldering to ashes or severely damaged beyond 
 the possibility of repitching without repair. The extent of 
 other injuries must remain unknown until dawn brought light, 
 and time allowed the fires to die out undisturbed; for any let- 
 ting in of air wdiile the wind remained so high might bring a 
 fresh blaze. 
 
 Colonel Tweedie, looking a perfect wreck in his striped flan- 
 nel suit, fussed about uncertain and querulous; while George 
 and Dalel Beg, who had arrived from the palace, competed 
 for the honor of putting up the ladies during the remainder of 
 the night; Dalel, minus the least vestige of European attire, 
 being re -enforced after a time by Khushal Beg, breathless 
 but dignified, bearing the dewan's urgent prayers to be al- 
 lowed the honor of helping a beneficent government in its hour 
 of need. 
 
 Dan, with an impatient frown on his face, waited for de- 
 cision till his patience failed. Then he button-lioled Lewis, 
 who, amid all the wild costumes, looked almost ridiculously 
 prim in his dress-suit, and expounded his views vehemently ; 
 the result being that the chief conchided in favor of the pal-
 
 83 
 
 ace. If, as was possible, they rai<>;ht be forced into halting for 
 several days, the old pile would hold them all, and a regiment 
 besides. So, after a time, odd little square dhoolies, smelling 
 strongly of attar, came for the two ladies; and in them, duly 
 veiled from public gaze, they were hurried along, much to their 
 amusement; the gentlemen, after a raid on Lewis Gordon's 
 wardrobe, following suit, all except the under-secretary, who, 
 coming last, found nothing available save a white waistcoat 
 and a pair of jack-boots, in which additions to a pajama 
 sleeping-suit he looked so absurd that the others sat and roared 
 at him (as men will do at trifles when still under the influence 
 of relief and excitement), until George carried him off to his 
 bungalow, promising to return him next morning, clothed and 
 in his right mind. Thus tli^e night ended in comedy for all 
 save Mrs. Boyntou. To her, clothes were anything but a triv- 
 iality, and as she lay among silk quilts and hard, roly-poly 
 bolsters in the little strip of a room to which she and Rose 
 were taken pending the preparation of a state suite up-stairs, 
 she mourned sincerely over the probable fate of her wardrobe. 
 Had it remained in the leather trunks, escape might have been 
 possible ; but, knowing they were to halt for a day at least, she 
 had made the ayah hang up all the dresses round the tent. 
 Poor Gwen seemed to see them, like Bluebeard's wives, in a 
 row getting rid of their creases, and the thought of the under- 
 garments which might be uninjured in the trunks gave her no 
 consolation. 
 
 Rose was more calm, remembering tiiat her riding-habit had, 
 as usual, been removed in order to be brushed, and would 
 most likely be produced next morning. Besides, she was worn 
 out by the excitement, and forgot even the smart of a large 
 scorch on her arm, in the memory of that five minutes during 
 which she had watched for Dan to come out of the fiery maze. 
 Despite her boasted nerves, the stress and strain of it all came 
 back again and again, making ber set her teeth and clench her 
 hands. Yet Gwen, who had so narrowly escaped a dreadful 
 death, was grumbling over the loss of her dresses. Rose, ly- 
 ing in the dark listening to the plaintive regrets, felt scornfully
 
 84 
 
 superior, not knowing that her companion was deliberately try- 
 ing to forget, to ignore a like memory — the memory of her 
 own feelings when Dan fought his way to her at last. If that 
 sort of thing went on he would end by marrying her in spite 
 of her wiser self, and then they would both be miserable. She 
 was not a romantic fool, and yet a very real resentment rose 
 up against him as she remembered her own confidence, her 
 own content. She felt vaguely as if he had taken advantage 
 of her fear, and that something must be done to prevent a re- 
 currence of this weakness on her part. 
 
 If she could only pay back the money he liad paid for lier, 
 matters would be easier to manage. As it was, even Lewis, 
 with his easy-going estimate of women, would not stand the 
 knowledge of her indebtedness to another man. Something 
 must be done — something must be changed. That was the un- 
 derlying grievance which found expression in petulant asser- 
 tions that Fate was undoubtedly hard in making her fair. 
 Had she been dark, like Rose, the part of Eastern Princess she 
 would have to play until another consignment of civilized 
 dresses arrived from Rajpore would have been fun. As it was, 
 she would look a perfect fright. 
 
 She did not, however. Had she not been aware of this 
 fact ere she made her appearance next mornino- in the long, 
 flowing robes and veil of a Delhi lady, she must have gathered 
 it from the looks of her companions. But she had appraised 
 herself in one of the big mirrors in the suite of state apart- 
 ments half-way up the stairs, and decided that she would wear 
 a similar costume at the very next fancy ball. 
 
 This was in itself sufticient to clear all save immediate care 
 from a mind like hers. In addition, even a stronger character 
 would have found it difficult to avoid falling in with the reck- 
 less merriment which had seized on all the other actors in the 
 past night's incident. Partly from relief at its comic ending, 
 partly because of the charm of absolute novelty, the zest of the 
 unexpected enhanced the pleasure of extremely comfortable 
 quarters; for Lewis, in his capacity of personal aide, had decid- 
 ed against the dark state suite of apartments on the second
 
 85 
 
 story in favor of the roof above, with its slender balconies, 
 long arcades, and cool central siiiuiner-house open on all sides 
 to the air. Here, high above the sand-swirls, safe from the 
 sun, they were far better off than in tents during the growing 
 heat of the day. Gwen, leaning against a clustered marble pil- 
 lar, looking down on the red-brown slant of windowless wall 
 spreading like a fort to the paved court-yard below, said it was 
 like living on a slice of wedding-cake — a solid chunk below, 
 above, a sugar filigree — whereat George, delighted, assured her 
 that the whole palace itself, viewed from afar, had always re- 
 minded liim of the same thing. Filigree or no filigree, it was 
 charming, and the central hall of the twelve-doored summer- 
 house a marvel of decoration. Fast falling to decay, no doubt, 
 yet losing no beauty in the process ; since the floriated white 
 tracery overlying the background of splintered looking-glass 
 was so intricate that the eye could scarcely follow the pattern 
 sufiiciently to appreciate a flaw. Seated there in coolest 
 shadow, you could see through the inner arches to the long 
 slips of arched rooms on all four sides, and through them agam 
 to the sky, set in its rim of level plane ; save to the north, 
 where the view was blocked by the dewan's tower, rising a 
 dozen feet or more from the terraced roof, with which it was 
 connected by a flight of steps barred by a locked iron grille. 
 Thus the roof lay secure from all intrusion except from the 
 court-yard, whence an outside stair, clinging to the bare walls, 
 gave access to the state-rooms below ; and thence, still slanting 
 upward, to the lowest terrace of roof. Rose, leaning over a 
 balcony looking sheer down to where the servants, like ants, 
 were running to and fro over the preparations for breakfast, 
 declared that she would use one of the four little corner rooms 
 of the summer-house as her bedroom. All it needed was a 
 curtain at the inner arch, when it would be infinitely prefer- 
 able to those dreadful rooms down-stairs, all hung with glass 
 chandeliers, and with mirrored walls, which made her feel in- 
 clined to hang herself in sympathy. 
 
 " In the hope, rather," suggested Lewis, " of improving the 
 style of the decoration," a remark which brought the usual
 
 86 
 
 frown to tlie fiiil's face. In truth, Rose Tweedie, in her trim 
 riding-habit, did not suit her surroundings half so well as Gwen 
 Boynton in her trailing, tinsel -decked robe. On the other 
 hand, Colonel Tweedie would have done better in not yield- 
 ing to the temptation of playing Sultan to Mrs, Boynton's 
 Light of the Harem ; for native costume does not suit an elder- 
 ly Englishman. But the opportunity had been too strong for 
 him. 
 
 " My dear father," said Rose, helplessly, when she first caught 
 sight of her parent in a cloth-of-gold coat and baggy trousers. 
 She might have said more had not Mrs. Boynton's grave com- 
 pliment on his appearance sent the girl away impatiently to 
 lean over the balcony once more, and wonder if they were ever 
 going to bring breakfast. 
 
 To her, when he appeared, went Dan Fitzgerald, without 
 even a look at the others. 
 
 "Thanks, Miss Tweedie," he said in a low tone. "I hadn't 
 time to say it last night. I had lost myself, and your voice 
 gave me the clew. However, it can only be ' thank you^ and 
 you have that." 
 
 Rose, with a smile, let his hand linger in hers for a second, 
 as their eyes met. Honest, friendly eyes. And George Keene 
 also passed straight to her. 
 
 "Better? That is all right. By Jove, you were bad when 
 I found you outside the fuss when the fire was over; you would 
 have fainted if it hadn't been for the whiskey and water — 
 which, by-the-way, I stole from Gordon's flask — " 
 
 "You didn't tell him?" interrupted Rose, quickly. 
 
 " Not I. I knew you wanted it kept dark about the scorch. 
 It's better, I hope? Why! you have curled your hair over the 
 cut on yaur forehead. What a dodge !" 
 
 His young face was overflowing with a sort of pride in her 
 pluck when Mrs. Boynton came up. She was in the mood 
 which craves attention, and some of her slaves had passed her 
 by to give Rose the first word. 
 
 "What are you two discussing so eagerly?" she began. 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Keene, How delightfully commonplace
 
 87 
 
 you look in exactly the proper breakfast costume for a young 
 Englishman." 
 
 George blushed. lie would have given worlds to say that 
 she looked anything but commonplace, but was too young to 
 venture on it; but he looked the sentiment, and Gwen smiled 
 bewilderingly back at him ; she was made that way, and could 
 not help it. 
 
 " Isn't it quaint up here?" she went on, leaning over the bal- 
 ustrade and looking, as Rose had been doing, at tlie servants 
 filing up the steps with silver dishes of sausages and bacon and 
 all the accessaries of an orthodox English breakfast, regardless 
 of the feelings of their pig-loathing hosts. "I declare, I have 
 fallen in love with everything." 
 
 " Yourself included, I hope," added Lewis, joining the group. 
 "Or, to put it politely, you have fallen in love with everything, 
 and everything has fallen in love with you. And no wonder. 
 The fact is, Gwen, that you do suit your present environment 
 to perfection. I should not have believed the thing possible — 
 but so it is." As he sat on the coping with his back to the 
 landscape he bent forward, looking at her critically. " No," 
 he went on, "I should not have thought it possible, but you 
 look the part." 
 
 " It must be an awful thing to be a native," remarked 
 George, fervently. His eyes were on Colonel Tweedie as he 
 spoke. That conspicuous failure was, however, only partly re- 
 sponsible for bis opinion. In a more or less crude form, the 
 childish hymn of gratitude for having been born in order to 
 go to a public school survives wholesomely among young Eng- 
 lishmen. 
 
 "I don't know," dissented Gordon, languidly, "a civilized 
 conscience is a frightful interference with the liberty of the 
 subject. Personally, I object to the native view of comfort, 
 pleasure, and all that ; but I can imagine some very good fel- 
 lows preferring them. They are not nearly such a strain on 
 the nervous system. For instance, Gwen, were you really the 
 shdh-zadi you look, there would have been no necessity for 
 sending back those brocades over which I found you weeping
 
 half an hour ago. Yoii would have appropriated them without 
 demur; wouldn't she, sir?" 
 
 The colonel gave his little preparatory cough, and looked 
 grave. 
 
 " It wasn't a brocade, Colonel Tweedie," protested Gwen ; 
 "it was simply the most lovely piece of old-gold satin in the 
 world. It stood up by itself, and yet was absolutely inverte- 
 brate in its folds. Perfect ! The same on both sides, too. I had 
 half a mind to be double-faced myself, and take it when Mr. 
 Gordon's back was turned." 
 
 " Why didn't you ?" retorted the latter, cynically ; you are 
 the only one of us who would not be criminally responsible for 
 the action. Isn't that so, sir?" He was mischievously amused 
 by his chief's evident dislike to the subject. 
 
 " Should I be responsible ?" asked Rose, surprised. 
 
 " Your father would be for your action ; wouldn't you, 
 sir?" 
 
 This was too much even for reticent dignity. " I — er — don't 
 — I mean, doubtless; but — er — it is not — er — a subject which 
 comes within the range of practical politics." 
 
 " I should think not," cried Rose. " My dear dad, fancy 
 your being responsible for my actions ! It isn't fair !" Her 
 face of aggrieved decision made the others laugh. 
 
 "Perhaps it isn't, Miss Tweedie," remarked Lewis, grave- 
 ly ; " but I can assure you that we officials are all responsi- 
 ble for our female relations in the first degree. A merciful 
 government has, however, drawn the line at cousins; so Mrs. 
 Boynton could only lose her own pension if she was found 
 out." 
 
 Gwen made a inoue of derision. 
 
 "That is not much to risk. I wish I had known tliis before, 
 Lewis! Do you think you could prevail on them to give me 
 another chance with the satin ?" 
 
 " What on earth is delaying breakfast ?" fussed Colonel 
 Tweedie, moving off. lie hated persiflage, especially between 
 his guest and his secretary. 
 
 "Coming, sir, coming," said George, leaning over to look;
 
 " there ia a perfect procession of silver dishes filing up Jacob's 
 ladder." 
 
 "Oh, dein silver dishes !" hummed Rose, gayly, leaning over 
 to look too. " How funny it is, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Funny !" echoed Dan ; it is simply appalling." 
 
 Perhaps the sudden sense of the utter incongruousness of it 
 all accounted for the silence which followed, as they stood on 
 the balcony which clung like a swallow's nest to the bare wall. 
 Below them, beyond the court-yard, rose the shadowy arcades of 
 "^the bazaar and the great pile of the Mori gate. Beyond that 
 again the bricks and sand -heaps of Hodinuggar, with the 
 village creeping up to be crowned by the grass palisade where 
 the potter sat at work. 
 
 "Talking of bribes," said Dan, absently, after the pause, 
 " I've often wondered how a fellow feels when he has been in- 
 formed that her gracious majesty has no further need of his 
 services. They seldom go beyond that, nowadays, but it must 
 be bad enough." 
 
 " Very much so if the bribe has been insufficient," assented 
 Lewis. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon, how can you ?" began Rose, pausing, however, 
 at the sight of his satisfied smile. 
 
 "You should adopt the sun, with the motto "Emergo," as 
 your crest, Miss Tweedie; it would suit both your thoughts 
 and deeds," he replied, teasingly. 
 
 "Don't mind him," put in Dan, " he always was weak in 
 his grammar, and doesn't know that ' rise ' must be the correct 
 present tense of Rose." 
 
 "But really," persisted Lewis, when the laugh ended, "if a 
 man had taken a bribe, the first thought to one of his genre 
 would naturally be if the game was worth the candle. If he 
 hadn't — why, dismissal from tlie public service is not always 
 misfortune. Thetre is the disgrace, of course, but personally I 
 have never been able to understand tlie sentiment of the thing; 
 it appears to me strained. Half your world, as a rule, dislikes 
 you; it believes you capable of murdering your grandmother 
 at any moment. Yet the fact doesn't distress you. It is in-
 
 90 
 
 evitable that some people should think ill of 3'ou ; so why 
 should you care when they invent a definite crime for you to 
 commit? It doesn't affect your friends." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said George Keene, sturdily ; " that's 
 all very philosophical, but I believe I should shoot myself." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't, old chap, unless you wished people to 
 consider you guilty." 
 
 "This conversation is becoming grewsome," put in Mrs. 
 Boynton ; "let us change it; though Lewis is right in one 
 thing : government service seems to me a doubtful blessing — " 
 
 "But an assured income," interrupted Dan, with a laugh. 
 
 Lewis Gordon turned on him quite hotly. " I like your 
 saying that, Fitzgerald — you, of all people in the world. Why, 
 man alive, if I had your power I would chuck to-morrow, and 
 die contractor, engineer, K.C.LE., and the richest man in 
 India 1" 
 
 Gwen Boynton looked up in quick interest. "Really! do 
 you mean that — really, Lewis?" 
 
 " I won't swear to the K.C.I.E. or the superlative, but Fitz- 
 gerald knows perfectly that I always say he has mistaken his 
 line of life. We want hacks — people to obey orders, not to 
 give them." As he spoke he glanced meaningly at Colonel 
 Tweedie walking about fussily, and then at his friend's face. 
 
 Dan swung himself from the balustrade, where he had been 
 perched. " Some one must give orders, and I mean to stijjk 
 on for my promotion ; it must come next year. So that is set- 
 tled. Are you not coming to breakfast, Mrs. Boynton?" She 
 met his smile without response as she turned away. 
 
 "Dear me! the others have gone in already, and I was so 
 hungry. But one doesn't often get the chance, Mr. Fitzger- 
 ald, of considering an old friend in a new character. It was 
 quite absorbing — for the time." 
 
 The balcony was left to the sunlight, and some one who had 
 been watching it from an archway in the bazaar withdrew to 
 the shadow, where she rolled the little pellets of opium in her 
 soft palms, and prepared for her mid-day sleep. The burning 
 of the tents was a real piece of luck. The mem — that was she,
 
 91 
 
 no doubt, in her native dress — would be in the p.ilacc for two 
 or tliree days, and women were women, whether fair or dark. 
 This one, too, looked of the rigkt sort. Chandni's dreams that 
 day were of a time when she would have the upper hand 
 in Jlodinuffgar and become virtuous; it paid to be virtuous 
 under the present government. Dalel should start a woman's 
 hospital ; then the sirkar would give him the water every 
 year, and the necessity for scheming would disappear. In the 
 meantime they must not be niggardly ; that did not pay with 
 women, since if they were of the sort to take bribes, they were 
 of the sort not easily satisfied.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " Come and see onr mad potter before you go Iiome, Miss 
 Tvveedie," pleaded George Keene ; " he really is one of the 
 shows — isn't he, Fitzgerald ?" 
 
 They had been doing the sights of Ilodinuggar as an after- 
 noon's amusement, tennis in a riding-habit having no attrac- 
 tions for Rose. Mrs, Boynton, however, on the plea of being 
 zenana lady, had elected to remain on the roof, Colonel Tweedie 
 keeping her company until the time came for his visit of state 
 to the dewan on his tower. Lewis might have made the same 
 choice had he been given it, but he was not. So he preferred 
 loafing round the ruins to toiling after problematical black buck 
 with the sporting party. He was a pleasant companion enough, 
 as even Rose admitted, and was ready with information on most 
 points, while between the references he would talk affably with 
 Dan regarding the respective merits of Schultze versus brown 
 powder, or some other equally absorbing topic, thus leaving 
 the younger couple to themselves. So his change of manner 
 stood out with unusual distinctness as Rose turned to him for 
 consent to George Keene's invitation. 
 
 " As you please, Miss Tweedie ; we are your slaves. A mad 
 potter sounds cheerful. He is the man, I suppose, who made 
 that jolly little pot Keene sacrificed to my cousin's greed this 
 morning. When you are as old as I am, my dear fellow, you 
 will keep the really pretty things out of the sight of ladies. I 
 always do, nowadays. There was a little woman at Peshawer, 
 I remember — she had blue eyes — who wheedled — " 
 
 "Mrs. Boynton was most welcome to the Ayodhya pot," 
 blundered out George, hastily. 
 
 " Cela va sans le dire/ It is just because we love to give 
 the pretty things to the pretty creatures that it becomes unwise 
 to let the pretty creatures see the pretty things."
 
 98 
 
 "Then it is your fault, to begin with," intciTuptcd Rose, 
 hotly. 
 
 " Exactly so. I'm sure. Miss Tweedie, you've heard me say 
 a dozen times that we are to blame for all the weaknesses of 
 women. They are simply the outcome of our likes and dis- 
 likes, and they will remain so until there is a perpetual leap- 
 year." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Keene," said Dan, laughing, " lead the 
 way to the potter's, or there will be murder done on the king's 
 highway ! Don't mind him. Miss Rose ; he only says it to 
 annoy, because he knows it teases. He doesn't really believe 
 anything of the kind." 
 
 Lewis, his eye-glass more aggressive than ever, murmured 
 something under his breath about the inevitable courses of 
 nature, as Rose, with her head held very high, followed George 
 Keene into the potter's yard. 
 
 It was a scene strangely at variance with the party entering 
 it. Indeed, old Fuzl Elahi, who had never before set eyes on 
 an Englishwoman, would have started from his work had not 
 George detained him with reassuring words, 
 
 " He tells liis yarns best when he is at the wheel," lie ex- 
 plained, as he dragged forward a low string -stool for Rose; 
 " and I want you to hear an awfully queer one called ' The Wres- 
 tlers.' Yon know enough of the language to understand him, 
 at any rate." 
 
 " Miss Tweedie is a better scholar than most of us," remarked 
 Lewis Gordon, curtly, from the seat he had found beside Dan 
 on a great log of wood — one of those logs so often to be seen 
 in such court-yards; relics, perhaps, of some intention of repair 
 long since forgotten. This one might, to all appearance, have 
 fallen where it lay in those bygone days of which the potter 
 told tales, when the now treeless desert had been a swampy jun- 
 gle on the borders of an inland sea. 
 
 The afternoon sun, slanting over the grass palisades, played 
 havoc with the humanity it found gathered round the wheel 
 by sending their shadows, distorted to long length, across the 
 yard, tilting them at odd angles against the irregular wall of the
 
 94 
 
 miid-hut beyond, and jiunbling tlicm all together into a con- 
 glomerate pyramid of shadow, with the potter's high turban 
 dominating all as he sat silent, spinning his wheel. And as 
 the clay curved and hollowed beneath his moulding hand a 
 puzzled look came to the light eyes usually so shifty, now fixed 
 on the riding-habit. 
 
 "It is not there," he muttered, uneasily. "I cannot find a clew." 
 
 George gave Rose the triumphant glance of a child display- 
 ing a mechanical toy when it behaves as it ought to behave. 
 The potter was evidently in a mad mood, and might be trusted 
 for a good performance. "Now, Fuzl Elahi, we want 'The 
 Wrestlers,' please. The Miss sahib lias never heard it." 
 
 " How could she ?" broke in the old man, sharply. " She does 
 not belong to that old time; she is new. I cannot even tell 
 the old tale if she sits there in the listener's place. I shall for- 
 get ; the old will be lost in the new, as it is ever." 
 
 "Change places with mc. Miss Tweedie," put in Lewis, with 
 a bored look. "I am not regenerate out of the old Adam, am 
 I, potter-_;i .^" 
 
 But as lie rose, the pliant hand went out in a gesture of de- 
 nial. " There is room on the log for both, and crows roost with 
 crows, pigeons with pigeons. The big hiizoor can sit on the 
 stool if he likes; I know him ; I have seen him many and many 
 a time." 
 
 "Only once, potter-//," protested Dan, as he and Rose 
 changed places, and the wheel began to turn. 
 
 "The post is going from Logborough junction to St. Pot- 
 tersburgh," murmured Lewis, discontentedly. "If we are go- 
 ing to play round games, I shall go home." 
 
 "Do be quiet, Gordon," put in George, eagerly ; " he is just 
 beginning, and it is really worth hearing." 
 
 But Lewis was incorrigible. " Proxime accessit,'''' he went on 
 to Rose. " What crime in your past avdtara is responsible for 
 your being bracketed with me in this?" 
 
 "Oh, do listen !" protested George again. 
 
 " Listen ! Who could help listening to that infernal noise? I 
 beg your pardon. Miss Tweedie, but it is infernal."
 
 95 
 
 Startling, certainly. A shrill moan coming from the racing, 
 rocking, galloping wheel, as the worker's body swayed to and 
 fro like a pendulum. It seemed to raise a vague sense of un- 
 rest in the hearers, a dim discomfort, like the remembrance of 
 past pain. Then, suddenly, the story began in a high-pitched, 
 persistent voice, round which that racing, galloping rush of the 
 wheel seemed to circle; hurrying it, pushing at it, every now 
 and then sweeping it along recklessly : 
 
 "It was a woman seeking something; 
 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, xhe sought for something. 
 
 Tlie wrestlers who own the world wrestled for her ; 
 
 On the palm of her right hand wrestling for her. 
 
 ' She is mine !' ' Siie is mine !' said one and the other, 
 
 While over hill and dale, through night and day, she sought for someUiing. 
 
 " ' Oh, flies ! you tickle the palm of my hand ; 
 Be off and wrestle down in your world.' 
 So they brought flowers and grass as a carpet, 
 Wrestling on as she sought for something, 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, seeking for something. 
 
 " ' Your carpet is hot, be off, you flies !' 
 So they brought her trees and water for cooling; 
 Wrestling on as she sought for something. 
 Over hill and dale, through night and dag, seeJdng for something. 
 
 " ' The grass grows long with the water,' said she. 
 'Be off, oh flies! and tickle your world.' 
 So they brought her flocks to devour the grass. 
 Wrestling on as she sought for something. 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, seeking for something. 
 
 " ' They have trodden my hand as hard as a cake.' 
 So they caught up a plough and ploughed her hand, 
 Wrestling on while she sought for something. 
 Over hill and dale, through dag and night, seeking for somethiiig. 
 
 " ' You have furrowed my palm, it tickles and smarts.' 
 So they brought a weaver and wove her lint. 
 Wrestling on while she sought for something. 
 Over hill and dale, through night and dug, seeking for something.
 
 96 
 
 " ' Foul play ! Foul play ! Look down and decide.' 
 ' Not I, poor flies, I must searcii for something.' 
 So they caught up a town to watch the game. 
 'He is right!' 'He is wrong!' cried old and young; 
 'He is wrong!' 'He is right!' And so war began. 
 While they wrestled away and she sought for something, 
 Over hill mid dale, tliroiif/h nighl and day, seeking for something. 
 
 " ' Wliat a noise you make ; I am tired of flies.' 
 So she swept them into a melon rind. 
 'Be quiet, flies! Lie still in the dark.' 
 She clapped her hand to the hole in the rind. 
 ' I am tired of it all ; I will go to sleep. 
 When morning comes I will seek for something,' 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, I must seek for something. 
 
 " She rested her head on her palm and slept, 
 Down in the valley close to the river ; 
 Slept to the tune of the buzzing flies 
 Wrestling and figliting about fair play. 
 And while she slept the big flood came, 
 And the melon pillow floated away, 
 Till a sand-banic caught it and held it fast ; 
 And all witiiin swarmed out to the sun — 
 Grass and herds and ploughs and looms ; 
 People fighting for none knew what. 
 ' I have made a new world,' she said, with a laugh — 
 'A brand-new world; and tiie flies have gone; 
 But the palm of my right hand tickles still ; 
 Maybe it will cool when I find what I seek.' 
 So she left her new world down by the river — 
 Left it alone and sought for something; 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, seeking for something?^ 
 
 TIic galloping wheel, vvliich liad responded always to the 
 mad hurry of the recurring refrain, slackened slowly. Rose 
 gave a sigh of relief and glanced at Lewis Gordon to see if he, 
 too, had been oppressed by that shrinking recognition of a 
 stress, a strain, a desire, such as she had never felt before ; but 
 lie was leaning forward, his chin on his curved hands, intent on 
 listening, so she could not see his face. 
 
 " By the powers !" came Dan Fitzgerald's voice above the
 
 97 
 
 softening hum, " tlie old chap has made an Ayodliya pot — the 
 same sliape, I mean." 
 
 "He always does when he tells this story," broke in George, 
 quite pleased with the success of his entertainment. "I don't 
 think he quite knows why he does it, however. Sometimes 
 he says the woman was looking for one ; sometimes that she 
 always carries one in her left hand to balance the world in lier 
 right. But he invariably takes the unbaked pot to the ruins, 
 and buries it with two of those odd little ninepins he calls men 
 and women inside it. He is as mad as a hatter, you know." 
 
 " Several hatters," assented Gordon, fervently ; but it is an 
 interesting theory of creation." 
 
 " Now don't !" protested Dan, sitting with his long legs 
 crunched up on the low stool close to the potter ; " it is too 
 human for dissection by the Folklore Society. But I'm im- 
 pressed at one thing: the wrestlers; they are persistent figures 
 in Indian tales, Miss Tweedie — are generally represented as 
 giants ; they are pygmies here." 
 
 "Tiie huzoor is right and wrong," replied the potter, in 
 answer to an inquiry of Dan's ; " the pailwans were neither 
 pygmies nor giants. They were as the huzoor is, two and a 
 half hathu round the chest ; neither more nor less." 
 
 " That's a good shot," remarked Dan, in English ; " forty- 
 five inches, according to my tailor. Yon have an accurate eye, 
 potter-^i, he added, in Hindostanee ; "only half an inch out." 
 
 "Not a hair's-breadth, huzoor,^'' replied the old man, mildly. 
 " The measure of the paihvans is the measure of the huzoor. 
 I have it here ; my fathers used it, and I use it." 
 
 He sought a moment in the little niche hollowed, close to 
 his right hand, out of the hard soil forming the side of his 
 sunken seat, and drew from it a fine silken cord of brown, red, 
 and cream-colored wool. It was divided into measures by 
 small shells strung on the twist and knotted in their places. 
 
 " IIullo !" cried Gordon, eagerly ; " that must be hundreds 
 of years old. Those are sea-shells, and very rare. Simpson, 
 at the museum, showed me one in fossil the other day ; I 
 wonder how the dickens the old man got hold of them ?" 
 
 7
 
 98 
 
 "Two and a half hathu,^^ repeated Fuzl Elabi, absently ; "the 
 potter's full measure for a man in the beginning and the end." 
 lie leaned forward rapidly as he spoke, passed the cord ronnd 
 Dan Fitzgerald's chest, and drew the ends together. The 
 curled spirals of the two shells lay half an inch apart. " So 
 much for the garments," he muttered. " Yea, I knew it. The 
 measure of a true pailwan to a hair's-breadth." 
 
 "And what am I potter-^'i .^" asked George, laughing. 
 
 The puzzled look came over the old man's face. " The 
 huzoor may be a pallivan too. Times have changed." 
 
 "Rough on a fellow, rather !" exclaimed the boy, still laugh- 
 ing. " Here, Fitz ! chuck me over the thing. Is that fair. Miss 
 Tweedie?" 
 
 She laughed back into his bright face as he pulled his 
 hardest to make the two second shells meet, then shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Not on yourself, Mr. Keene. You are more of a hero than 
 that, I should say." 
 
 The potter's eyes were on her, then back on George. "Every- 
 thing is changed," he muttered again ; " even the measure of 
 the pots." 
 
 " Then you measure them, do you?" asked Gordon, to whom 
 George had handed the cord, and who was now examining it 
 minutely. 
 
 " Surely, husoor, the first one of each batch ; then the hand 
 learns the make." 
 
 " Try what you are, Gordon ?" suggested Dan. 
 
 " Not I. Here, potter-_;7, catch ! Miss Tweedie and I are, 
 according to the best authority, abnormal ; we are not ordinary 
 pots; so I, for one, decline to be measured by their standard. 
 And now, if some of us are to be in time for such trivialities 
 as dinner, we ought to be going." 
 
 The potter rose also and stepped out of his hole. Seen so 
 he was insignificant, his hairy, bandy legs almost beastlike, 
 and contrasting strangely with the mild, high-featured face full 
 of an expression of puzzled anxiety as he laid a deprecating 
 hand on George Keene's sleeve.
 
 99 
 
 "Wants bucksheesh, I suppose," murmured Lewis. "I liave 
 some rupees somewhere if you need them, Keene." 
 
 But it was not money ; it was leave to speak to the Much 
 mihrban, said the old man, humbly. 
 
 ''''Much mihrhdn ! that's a nice name for you, Miss Rose," 
 echoed Dan, softly. " ' Mother of mercy ' ! a name to be glad 
 of." She blushed as she went forward a step to aslc, gently, 
 " What is it ? What can I do for you ?" 
 
 He stooped to toucli her feet with his supple liands ere re- 
 plying. '''■ Hazoor, it is a little thing. Fuzl Elahi, potter of 
 Hodinuggar, has a daughter somewhere. Perhaps she has gone 
 to the huzoors world ; it is new ; I do not know it. If the 
 Madr mihrbdn were to see her she might tell her to come back 
 — just once — only once. I would not keep lier. But now 
 I have no answer when my fathers say, ' Where is thy little 
 Azizan ?' " 
 
 " Azizan !" echoed George, quickly. But the old man 
 seemed to have forgotten his own request ; he stood looking 
 past the strangers, past the village, past even the ruins, into 
 the sunset sky. 
 
 "I will send her — if I sec her," said Rose, gently, with 
 tears in her eyes ; for George had told her the story of the 
 lost daughter, and the sudden diffident appeal touched her. 
 Yet the vast gulf between her and the old man, preventing 
 even a clasp of the hand, touched and oppressed her still more 
 as she left him standing beside his wheel. 
 
 "Well," said Lewis Gordon, when in silence they had reached 
 the road once more, "you may call that amusement, Keene, if 
 you like; I don't. When I get home I shall have a sherry- 
 and-bitters." 
 
 " He is rather a grewsome old chap," admitted George, 
 cheerfully. " I felt a bit creepy myself the first time I heard 
 that song. By-the-way, Miss Tweedie, talking of creepiness, 
 did I tell you about the Potter's Thumb? I didn't? Oh, that 
 is a grand tale." 
 
 He told it, happily, as an excellent sequel to the show ; 
 while Dan, in one of his best moods, piled on the imaginative
 
 100 
 
 ao-ony about Hodinuggar generally, until Lewis announced his 
 intention of returning to tlic palace by a longer way. He would 
 be late, of course, but that was preferable to having no appetite 
 for dinner. 
 
 "By Jove ! seven o'clock!" cried Dan, looking at his watch. 
 "You and I, George, have to get over to the bungalow. We 
 must run for it." 
 
 Rose watched them racing down the path, laughing and 
 talking as they ran, with a troubled look. 
 
 "Fine specimens, Miss Tweedie," remarked Lewis, after a 
 pause. "I don't think you need fear their cracking in the 
 fire." 
 
 " I — I — " faltered Rose, taken aback by his comprehension. 
 
 "Am Scotch! That's sufficient excuse. I notice we seldom 
 get I'id of our native superstition. Besides, it \vas uncanny — 
 the yard-measure, and the potter's thumb, and that horse- 
 leech of a woman who was never satisfied. I felt it myself." 
 
 She knew he was speaking down to her as to a nervous wom- 
 an, yet she did not resent it, because it was a distinct relief 
 not to be taken seriously, 
 
 "I wish they had not measured, for all that," she persisted. 
 " Yon will own it was odd, won't you ?" 
 
 " Not so odd as Dan himself ; he has been cracked ever 
 since I knew him, and Keene is one of the sterling sort, cer- 
 tain of success ; besides, he measured himself. Now, before 
 you go np-stairs to dress, if your Scotch blood is still curdling, 
 as mine is, have half a sherry-and-bitters with me. Crows roost 
 with crows, you remember," 
 
 His friendliness beguiled her into playfulness, 
 
 " Crows, indeed ! then I've a better opinion of you than yon 
 have of me. I thought we were meant for the pigeons." 
 
 " To bill and coo ?" 
 
 If she could have boxed his ears it would have relieved her 
 feelings. As it was she raced up - stairs in a fury without 
 vouchsafing one word of resentment, and paced up and down 
 her tiny room with flaming cheeks. Could a girl be expected 
 forever and aye to be on the outlook for such openings? Of
 
 101 
 
 course Gwcn Boynton would have laughed easily — would not 
 have minded, perhaps; but then Gwen was charming; evcry- 
 tliing apparently that a woman ought to be. 
 
 Rose looked at herself and her dusty habit, in which slie 
 would have to go down to dinner and challenge comparison 
 with Gwen in her silks and tinsel. Why should slie? No one 
 would care, no one would have a right to care, if she did stay 
 in her room with a headache. The next instant she was 
 ashamed of the impulse. What did it matter — they were wel- 
 come to their opinion. As for her, she would adopt no femi- 
 nine excuse ; she would leave those little devices to men's wom- 
 en. So she brushed her habit, and went out to join the others 
 with a heio:htened color.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Rose Tweedie's sneer against men's women laclced point, 
 since it so liappened that Mrs. Boynton, in the opposite corner 
 room of the pavilion, was at the very moment setting aside 
 the temptation of pleading a headache as an excuse for not 
 appearing at dinner. And she had more reason to seek quiet 
 than the girl, though a new dress lay ready on the bed ; for 
 Gwen loved to dazzle her world, and had spent some of her 
 leisure in instructing a native tailor how to run up a length of 
 coarse native muslin bought in the bazaar into a very decent 
 semblance of a fashionable garment. But the pleasure of the 
 trick had gone out of it; something had happened; some- 
 thing incredible, yet, given the surroundings, natural enough ; 
 something about which she must make up lier mind. It seemed 
 scarcely a minute ago since she had passed swiftly into the 
 solitude of her own room in order to think. She, Gwen 
 Boynton, in native dress, with a white, scared face, and some- 
 thing in her hand. Now she had to pass out of that room 
 again as an Englishwoman, and the transition left her oddly 
 undecided. Indeed, as she paused for a moment ere taking 
 the plunge, with one hand on the embroidered draperies doing 
 duty for a door, it seemed almost as if she were awaiting a 
 command — some voice which should relieve her of responsi- 
 bility. Then she smiled, and passed on to meet the surprised 
 admiration of her little world; for she had never looked better, 
 and she knew it. The creamy muslin suited her in its care- 
 less folds, her excitement showed itself becomingly in flushed 
 cheeks and briglit eyes, and the chorus of wonder at her 
 cleverness made her gracious beyond compare as she depre- 
 cated their praise by saying they had been away so long that 
 she had had to amuse herself somehow, and asking if there 
 were not miles of muslin to be bought in every bazaar, and
 
 103 
 
 many men to put stitches in it; so any one could have done it. 
 Rose, listening with a certain contempt in her look, told her- 
 self that Gwen said truth ; any one could have done it who 
 thous^ht it worth while to take so much trouble for the sake of 
 personal effect; yet a regret rankled somewhere mingled with 
 a resentment which came as Gwen called attention, somewhat 
 garishly, to more of her good works, by asking if they did not 
 admire the room also. When Colonel Tweedie had gone off 
 to the dewan's, she had consoled herself by pulling about the 
 furniture; and did not the Ayodhya pot look sweet on the 
 corner stand she had improvised out of three baniboos, a brass 
 plate, and a yellow silk scarf? 
 
 "You should have packed it away in your box at once," 
 remarked Lewis, sarcastically. " Keene may repent his good- 
 nature, or some of us might steal it. The color is certainly 
 achiiirable." As he spoke he walked over to the stand as if 
 for further examination. 
 
 " Don't touch it, please," cried Mrs. Eoynton, hastily, " you 
 — you will spoil my draperies." 
 
 " A thousand pities, when they are so artistic," put in 
 Colonel Tweedie, glad of the opportunity. "That is dinner, 
 Mrs. Boynton. " I've had it laid in the small pavilion so as 
 to keep this as your drawing-room." 
 
 "Thanks! but everything is delightful — simply fascinating. 
 In spite of what Mr. Keene said this morning, I begin to wish 
 I were a native." 
 
 "For the sake of the satin?" asked Lewis, who was follow- 
 ing close behind with Rose. 
 
 Gwen flashed a brilliant look at him. "No, not the satin. 
 That game would not be worth the candle !" 
 
 Apart from the question of satin, however, Mrs. Boynton liad 
 excuse for admiring the mise en scene, and wisliing to remain 
 in it. The violet sky spangled with stars seemed made appar- 
 ently but for one end — to hap and hold that terraced roof 
 which was clearly outlined against it by the light streaming 
 from the pavilions on to the fretted white balustrades. At the 
 corners were shadowy cupolas, and there in the arched summer-
 
 104 
 
 house at the farther end, close upon the velvet darkness, 
 showed a table set with silver and glass, fruits and flowers. 
 At one end of it, so as to divide the ladies equally, sat Rose in 
 her habit, doing the duty of hostess with a little air of gravity 
 and preoccupation ; at the other, Gwen, in her soft clouds of 
 muslin, keeping the men in a state of admiring gratification 
 through their eyes and their ears. They gathered round her, 
 too, when, dinner being over, they adjourned to the balcony for 
 coffee and cigars. It was deliciously cool ; a faint breeze 
 stirred Rose's hair as she sat a little apart from the others 
 watching the twinkling lights go up and down the stair, which 
 formed the only tie between that world on the roof and that 
 in the court-yard below. 
 
 " We ought to go to bed early," said Lewis, coming to stand 
 before her. " You are half asleep — no wonder after last night 
 — and Gwen is what superstitious Scotch folk call ' fey.' Then, 
 if we have to join that detestable hawking-party to-morrow 
 morning, we shall have to get up at five." 
 
 " You needn't go unless you like," she replied, curtly. 
 " Mrs. Boynton has begged off." 
 
 " I am not Mrs. Boynton's personal attendant. Miss 
 Tvveedie; I happen to be your father's — so duty calls." As 
 he spoke he seated himself on the balustrade and leaned for- 
 ward, his elbows on his knees, to watch the group on the other 
 side of the arcade. 
 
 " If I didn't know that Gwen despises that sort of thing," 
 he went on, in dissatisfied tones, " I should say that she had 
 rouged this evening. Her way of showing fatigue, I suppose ; 
 though, of course, neither of you would have the common-sense 
 to confess you were tired. Women are all ascetics at heart ; 
 at least, they believe in the virtue of martyrdom. They have 
 different ways of showing it, that's all. Gwen spends her fa- 
 tigue in dress-making and conversation — in other words, in try- 
 ing to go beyond comfort into pleasure, and you, I'll go bail, 
 haven't even a proper bandage on that scorched arm — " 
 
 " Mr. Gordon !" 
 
 " Yes. I saw you imagined I was blind ; supposing we say
 
 105 
 
 liked to imagine it ; but I reall}^ had my eye-glass, Miss Twee- 
 die. Besides, it doesn't require microscopic sight to see some 
 things." 
 
 " What a profound remark," interrupted Rose, to hide her 
 pleased surprise at his unusual consideration ; at the same mo- 
 ment, Gvven's gay laugh rang out soft and clear. Either the 
 sound or the speech annoyed the hearer on the balustrade, for 
 he frowned as he slipped his dangling feet on to the floor. "As 
 profound as I can make it this evening, for I am not ashamed 
 to confess myself dog-tired. Couldn't tell a crow from a pig- 
 eon ; so I shall be off. Good-night, Miss Tweedie, I wish you 
 would persuade Gwen to go to bed. It is easier to give good 
 advice than to take it." 
 
 Rose remained looking at the twinkling liglits, and wonder- 
 ing if Lewis were really jealous of his cousin, till, seeing the 
 others go back to the central sammer-house, she followed suit. 
 
 "Tired !" echoed Gwen, sharply, in reply to her information 
 that Lewis Gordon had stolen away. " Are we not all tired ? 
 I feel as if I had been up since the beginning of time, seeking 
 for something I could not find ; ray bed, perhaps. Good-night, 
 Rose." 
 
 They were an odd couple as they bent to kiss each other in 
 that mirrored room, where the oddness was reflected again and 
 again in the myriad scraps of looking-glass on the walls, each 
 curved fragment giving and taking an eternity of Gwens and 
 Roses bending to kiss each other. 
 
 ^^ I am tired of it all, I u'ill go to sleep;" 
 When morning comes I will seek for something. 
 Over hill and dale, through night and day, I will seek for something." 
 
 The remembrance evoked by Gwen's chance words sent a 
 little shiver through the girl ; and with it came a sudden pulse 
 of sympathy for the woman who, now that she saw her close, 
 did indeed look haggard and worn. " No wonder you are 
 tired," she said, gently. " Even I feel as if I could sleep for 
 days."
 
 106 
 
 "But you are coming to liawk, surely?" broke in George, 
 quickly. "Do please! It won't be any fun without you." 
 
 " Not a bit," assented Dan. " Gordon ordered your horse, I 
 know, and told them to take you your tea at five punctually." 
 
 "You must go Rose," put in Gwen, with a shrug of her 
 white shoulders, " Diana Chasseresse mustn't disappoint her 
 votaries. I'm glad my habit was burned." She did not look 
 it, and Rose, as she went off to her corner room, wondered if 
 Gwen were jealous of her. The idea was absurd, but pleasing 
 because of its novelty, and she fell asleep placidly over varia- 
 tions of the possibility. 
 
 But just over the way, with that dark, mirrored room be- 
 tween them, Gwen lay awake with one hand thrust under her 
 pillow where she could feel a tiny paper parcel — lay awake ask- 
 ing herself questions. Should she keep it, or should she not? 
 Should she say anything of the scene burned in on her memory, 
 or should she not? She seemed to see it as a spectator, not as 
 the only actor. A woman, in native dress, in that room set 
 round with eyes; the Ayodhya pot in her hand, and in her 
 tinsel-edged veil the jewels which had fallen from its false bot- 
 tom : jewels which, if sold, would buy her freedom ; perhaps 
 save her, and Dan, too, from a great mistake. It was a cliance; 
 a chance most likely known to nobody in the wide world save 
 to lierself ; for who would knowingly have sold a pot contain- 
 ing three huge pearls and an emerald for ten rupees? Nor was 
 she bound to give more to the seller for the discovery. Did not 
 every one know that if land was bought, and coal, or tin, or any- 
 thing was found in it afterwards, that was the buyer's good-luck? 
 Facts like these, accepted apparently by the honest and honor- 
 able, go far to give such people as Gwen immoral support. Be- 
 sides, no one could possibly know ; she herself would not liave 
 known save for that chance slip, and the eyes made keen and 
 eager through fear of some slight injury to the treasure. Then 
 it was a means of escape from the danger which had come home 
 to lier so sharply in the past twenty-four hours — the danger of 
 yielding to her own weakness about Dan ; the new danger, sug- 
 gested bv his words, of licr losing her hold on Lewis. Could
 
 107 
 
 he really be attracted by Rose ? The events of the evening 
 certainly gave color to the possibility. If so, there was no 
 time to be lost; she must be free; free to do as she chose. 
 No one could know ; nobody would dream of bribing one so 
 powerless as she ; and even if the pearls had been put there 
 knowingly, it was only her risk. No one else was responsible; 
 Lewis had said so only that morning. Even that was a curious 
 coincidence, pointing somehow to her acceptance of the luck. 
 
 So she argued, coming round always to the same thought, 
 till the first glint of dawn brought sleep, as it so often does to 
 weary eyes. Perhaps in the thought that the sun will rise, the 
 world goes on, no matter what we do, or think, or say. 
 
 She slept so soundly that all the bustle of the havvking-party 
 failed to disturb her; and when that was over, the long stretch 
 of terraced roof lay empty of all sound or sign of life, save for 
 the green parrots swooping and shrieking about the carven 
 work. A pair of them had built in a loop-hole, where the 
 young ones kept up a simmei'ing, bubbling noise like a boiling 
 teakettle; a comfortable, homely sound, strangely out of keep- 
 ing with the foreign beauty of stone and sunlight and hard 
 blue sky. 
 
 Down in the court-yard below two badge- wearers in scarlet 
 and gold lounged on the stairs, barring the roof from intrusion, 
 chatting to the passers-by, and discussing the news which had 
 just been brought in by the camel which was crouching beside 
 a pile of fodder in the centre of the yard, while its owner 
 stretched his legs, cramped with riding all night across the des- 
 ert, in front of the cook-room. Half- way up the stairs, on 
 the landing leading to the state-rooms, Mrs. Boynton's ayah 
 squatted, combining business with pleasure by being within 
 reach of a call and her forbidden hookah at one and the same 
 time. A bundle of letters lay beside her, intended as a peace- 
 offering against the possible smell of smoke which might linger 
 in her clothes. The sun climbed up silently, shifting the shad- 
 ows on the silent roof. That was the only movement, till sud- 
 denly a figure in a white domino peered through the grille 
 which barred the flight of steps leading to the dewan's tower.
 
 108 
 
 Til en, with the grate of a rusty key in a lock, the figure flitted 
 silently as the shadows to the summer-house, and passed into 
 the mirror-room. Perhaps the transformation which Western 
 taste and Mrs. Boynton's clever fingers had wrought in its 
 adornment was pleasing; perhaps it was the reverse. The hurlca, 
 liowever, is of all disguises the most complete, since it blots 
 out form, color, expression ; even movement. The figure 
 showed, indeed, like a white extinguisher in the middle of the 
 room, until, with a swaying of ample folds, it glided over to 
 the corner stand where the Ayodhya pot stood out from Gwen's 
 artistic drapery. Tiien something slid out from the extin- 
 guisher, still shrouded in white folds, raised the vase, shook it 
 slightly, replaced it, and slid back again. A horrible, inverte- 
 brate, protoplasmic sort of action, calculated to send a shiver 
 through the spectator. But there was none. The thing had 
 the whole roof to itself save for that fair-haired sleeper in the 
 corner-room, who lay with one hand clasping a little packet 
 hidden under her pillow. Her dreaming face was turned to 
 the doorway, in full view of those latticed eyelioles belonging 
 to the hurka, which, after a time, came to look upon her from 
 the half-raised curtain and let in, with a shaft of sunshine, a 
 vista of blue sky and marble balustrades, with two red-and-green 
 parrots pecking at each other. It may have been the light, 
 more probably it was the disturbing effect which the dim con- 
 sciousness of other eyes fixed on their own has upon most peo- 
 ple, which roused Gwen Boynton ; anyhow, she opened her 
 eyes suddenly and started up in bed, her heart throbbing vio- 
 lently, though the curtain had fallen, and not a sound was to be 
 heard. 
 
 " Comin', mem sahib, comin'," came in immediate answer 
 to her imperative call as the ayah, thrusting her hookah aside, 
 snatched at the letters, and shook what smoke she could from 
 her voluminous garments. A trifling delay, but enough to 
 allow the thing up-stairs to flit round the summer house again — 
 even to pause a second at the grille. " It makes too much 
 noise; I will leave it open," it muttered, as it disappeared up 
 the steps with the rusty key held in its formless clasp.
 
 109 
 
 " Where were j'ou ?" asked Gwen, lier heart still throbbini^, 
 "and who was that who looked in on me from the door? 
 There was some one ; I'm sure there was some one." 
 
 " Me, mem sahih,^^ grinned the woman, readily " ; me, aijaJi. 
 Look in several times; 7nem, always nindi per. Sota ! Sola! 
 Sleep like baha. Ayah waiting close by to bring dak. Many 
 letters for mem saJiih.^^ 
 
 Mrs. Boynton looked at her doubtfully. It was not the ayah 
 whom she had seen ; of that she was certain. On the other 
 hand, if the woman really had been sitting outside, it was more 
 than probable the whole thing was a dream. No harm had 
 come of it anyhow ; so five minutes after she was dividing her 
 attention between early tea and a long epistle from an absent 
 admirer, for Gwen's victims were always excellent correspon- 
 dents, perhaps because of that gracious indifference in which 
 lay her great charm. A letter, therefore, had quite as good a 
 chance as a man had of whiling away her kindly, sympathetic 
 leisure. But when the ayah was brushing away at the pretty 
 hair, her min-d reverted to the question which had kept her 
 awake. As so often happens — the learned say by unconscious 
 cerebration — it appeared to have settled itself. Independently 
 of Dan, or any secondary matter of that sort, money would be 
 useful ; most useful, seeing she had just lost the best part of 
 lier wardrobe, and had a season in Simla in immediate prospect. 
 Now she came to think of it, Ilodinuggar owed her some rep- 
 aration for the loss it had inflicted upon her. Besides, it 
 would be wiser to wait and see if the presence of jewels in 
 the pot were suspected by any one or not. If the latter, it 
 would be clearly flying in the face of a good Providence 
 to mention her discovery. So, by the time she w'as ready to 
 face her world, that world seemed quite simple and easy to 
 face. 
 
 Chandni thought the same thing as she sat at the dewan's 
 feet in the big balconied room of the tower overlooking the 
 canal, telling him in whispers of the success of her plan so far. 
 The jewels were no longer in the pot. The mem must have 
 them, for, as she had found out through a khitmutyar, the mem
 
 110 
 
 l);id been alone during many hours, and liad been making a 
 mess in the room witli trumpery pots and platters. 
 
 " She may send it back yet," said the dewan, cautiously. 
 " Lo ! I am old, and this I have learned through long years: 
 Trust not a woman not to change her mind till she is dead." 
 
 The courtesan laughed. " 'Tis as well for some men that 
 she is born so, father. But a night's thought is as death to a 
 woman. Life is too short to give more to such things, and 
 that night is over without a sign. Give her yet one more, an' 
 thou wilt; after that say that Chandni hath dug the. channel. 
 'Twill be thy task to turn the water into it."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Among those things which come by nature, and are not to 
 be taught, may be reckoned a pretty seat on horseback. One 
 may be a good rider without it, a poor one with it ; but when 
 grace and skill are combined, a man certainly shows at his best 
 on horseback. It was so with Lewis Gordon. He sat his lean 
 little country-bred as if it belonged to him; not, as the usual 
 phrase runs, as if he were part of his horse, for that is a de- 
 scription which ignores the essence of the thing to be described; 
 that being, surely, the mastery a man has over something 
 which is not himself. Part of his horse ! The very words 
 conjure up a man paralyzed to the waist and jelly above, ago- 
 nizing over a cavalry seat! 
 
 If Lewis Gordon was grateful to Providence for one thing, 
 it was for making and keeping him a light-weight, and thus 
 independent on Australian and Arab mounts. The fourteen- 
 hand-pony which he had picked up — a mere bag of bones — 
 at a native fair, had to be hard hold when trotting alongside 
 of Colonel Tweedie's big waler, yet she had only cost him a 
 tenth of the price. As she forged along, quivering with im- 
 patience, Bronzcwing was a pretty sight, the sunlight shining 
 red through lier wide nostrils, and shifting in golden curves 
 over the bronze muscles which were almost black in shadow. 
 Rose Twcedie always admired it immensely, and, illogically 
 enough, felt inclined to be more lenient to the rider. She told 
 herself it was because he wore spectacles on horseback, and 
 they were less offensive than the eye-glass which permitted so 
 many variations of method in his outlook. She did not even 
 fall foul of his indifference as he dawdled about at the hawk- 
 ing-party, a picture of aimless dejection ; on the contrary, she 
 had a sneaking sympathy with his feelings. It ivas dreary 
 work watching unfortunate gray partridge beaten up from one
 
 112 
 
 bush by the coolies only to be pounced on by a hawk ere it 
 could reach the shelter of the next cover. She also shared his 
 disi^'ust at Dalel Beg, who, in top-boots, red coat, and doeskins, 
 took a keen interest in the gorging of the young hawks on the 
 entrails of the still struggling victims, and gave shrill "yoicks" 
 and "gone-aways" at each fresh flutter. Kliushal Beg, 
 watching the sport from a bullock - wagon on which he re- 
 clined among cushions, was purely comical ; his son purely of- 
 fensive. 
 
 "I think," remarked Lewis, slowly, "he is the Avorst spec- 
 imen of civilization I ever met; and I think this is the dead- 
 liest entertainment I ever was at; and both those facts mean 
 something." 
 
 Rose laughed, and suggested that it would have been better 
 if they had come across oharra. They, she had heard, were 
 worth hawking. Her companion shook his head. "I've seen 
 it on the frontier at its best. You lose the essence of sport. 
 That, I take it, lies in pitting your strength, or skill, or endur- 
 ance, against the quarry. In hawking you ride behind the 
 skill, and, as the country is easy, the whole thing resolves itself 
 into the pace of your horse : in other words, what you paid for 
 the beast." 
 
 " Not always ! I'd back Bronzcwing against the field any 
 day," cried Rose, impulsively. 
 
 He looked up with quite a flush of pleasure. " Well, she 
 should do her best to win the gloves for you, Miss Tweedie." 
 Tlie reply came as naturally as the remark which had provoked 
 it; but it made the girl feel suddenly shy and say, hastily, 
 
 "She looks as if she wanted to be off now ; how that par- 
 tridge startled her !" 
 
 " Not a bit of it. She is only longing, as I am, for a hunt." 
 
 "A hunt?" 
 
 " Yes; a partridge hunt. Have you never seen one ?" — he gave 
 a rapid glance round. " There are too many bushes here, but 
 Keene may know of some fairly open country, with perhaps a 
 thorn hedge or two for you to jump — that is to say, if you 
 have had enough of this festive scene."
 
 113 
 
 Five minutes after George Keene, Dan Fitzg'erald, Lewis 
 Gordon, and she were sweeping along in line across low sand- 
 hills in order to dip down into a harder plain ; a wide sweep 
 of level, dotted sparsely with low caper-bushes, with here and 
 there a patch of cultivation showing vividly green against its 
 whity- brown frame of desert, and here and there a bit of 
 plough ready for the summer crop. There is nothing more 
 invigorating in the world than riding in line at a hand gallop 
 across such country in the freshness of early morning; espe- 
 cially when the party has gay hearts and light heads. Rose felt 
 it was worth all her purely feminine amusements put together, 
 and, with a flush of enjoyment on her face, besieged Lewis 
 Gordon with high-pitched questions as to what they were going 
 to do; he calling back his answers, so that their voices rose 
 above the rhythmical beating of the horses' hoofs. 
 
 " We are going without dog, coolie, gun, or any lethal 
 weapon whatever, as the code says, to ride down and capture 
 the gray partridge, or Ammojjcrdiv bonhami ! Have you seen 
 it done, Fitzgerald ?" 
 
 " Heard of it only. The pace must be good." 
 
 "Racing speed; no less. Therein lies the fun. He gave a 
 quick glance at Rose's tackle, and frowned. "You should 
 have a stronger bit," he began, when she interrupted him 
 sharply. 
 
 "It is the same as yours." 
 
 "Perhaps; but a lady can't ride like a man, especially in 
 this sort of work. If I had noticed it before I — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! I always ride with a snaffle, and Shahzad is as 
 steady as a house," 
 
 "That is no argument. In my opinion a lady shonld — " 
 The rest of the wrangle was spared to the company, for at 
 that moment a partridge buzzed out of a bush at their feet. 
 Bronzewing's equanimity gave way instantly,, and* with a snort 
 of eagerness she burst after it, Shahzad following; suit, both 
 beasts heading straight as a die after the quarry,, heedless of 
 their riders or their discussions. 
 
 "Give him his head, Miss Tvvcedie !!' shoutedi Lewis, as lie
 
 114 
 
 shot past. "lie has done it before, and knows the game ! Off 
 we are !" Off, indeed, helter-skelter, behind the gray-brown 
 buzz of wings showing against a blue sky, 
 
 "Ride it! Ride it! Keep an eye on it! I'll do back!" 
 carae Lewis Gordon's voice, boyishly exultant, as with hands 
 down he veered the mare a point or two by main force, until, 
 as she caught sight of a heavier clump of bushes, comprehen- 
 sion came to the game little beast, and she headed straight 
 for it. 
 
 " Where ? Oh, where ?" cried Rose, distractedly, to Dan 
 Fitzgerald, who was now racing beside her. 
 
 "Right ahead — there — don't you see?" 
 
 Just a brown speck against the blue sky still, but skim- 
 ming faster and faster to meet the brown horizon. Yes; 
 there still — no — yes — gone! 
 
 Rose gave a cry, which was echoed by an exclamation from 
 Dan, as instinctively they reined up, feeling the chase was 
 over. George, hurrying up from behind, where his pony had 
 been playing the fool, found them staring disconsolately at the 
 bushes. 
 
 " Lost it, I suppose," said Lewis, as he joined them. " It is 
 always difficult to keep it in sight on the horizon. However, 
 you have had a good burst, Miss Tweedie. See ! we started 
 there — a good mile back. Have you any idea how you got 
 here?" 
 
 " None ! I suppose I rode, but I saw nothing save a sort 
 of big bumblebee buzzing in front of me. Sliahzad did the 
 rest." 
 
 "As I said, not for the first time, which confirms me in 
 saying that he is only a Gulf Arab, for partridge hunting is a 
 Persian sport. Only don't tell your father, please; he would 
 never forgive me." As he turned in his saddle, resting one 
 hand on tlie mare's quarters in order to speak to Rose, voice 
 and face full of almost boyish enjoyment, tlie girl felt that it 
 was a new development of his character, and that she liked it 
 better than the old ones. 
 
 " Now, as we go along, I'll explain. That bird took us by
 
 115 
 
 surprise," he went on, cageily. " Four is an ideal number, 
 though I've had rare fun riding partridge single-handed. Num- 
 ber one ought to make the pace, keeping eyes on the bird; 
 number two keeps his on the going, so as to save number one 
 from coming to grief over rough country ; number three rides 
 cautious, landmarks the flight, and is ready to turn if the bird 
 breaks back — you can't when you're going full speed, unless 
 the bird towers. Number four rides cunning, cuts off curves, 
 and heads for likely covers — the whole aim being to press the 
 partridge so hard that it has no time to settle in shelter, but, 
 after skimming down to a bush, runs through and takes to 
 wing again on the other side." 
 
 " And gets away, I suppose," muttered George Keene, still 
 out of temper. " Don't see the fun of it." 
 
 "Wait a bit!" retorted Lewis, gayly. "Now you must re- 
 member that the role you have to play depends on how the 
 bird breaks. There is no time to settle. The nearest in must 
 ride it, the rest choose their parts as best — steady mare, 
 steady !" 
 
 It was only a faint "te-titar, te-titar," in the far distance, 
 but Bronzewing started, and even George's pony cocked its 
 ears. Humanity went on breathlessly in line, the horses' feet 
 at a walk giving out a hollow sound on the hard soil, on which 
 the yellow sunshine cast hard shadows. 
 
 "Look out!" cautioned Lewis, in a whisper. "There's a 
 partridge running on ahead ; by you, I think, Fitzgerald." 
 
 "Don't see it!" 
 
 "Farther to the left; the mare sees it — we must trot a bit, 
 or it won't rise fair — steady, lass, steady." 
 
 "I see it!" came in excited tones from George. "By the 
 big bush. Miss Tweedie." 
 
 " That's another," cautioned Lewis again. " Take care and 
 don't—" 
 
 ^yhir, buzz ! whir, buzz ! 
 
 "Ride it! ride it!" The cry came from two quarters; but 
 Shahzad was already extended, and Rose forgetful of every- 
 thing save those brown wings low down against the horizon.
 
 116 
 
 She was closer onthem tliis time, for she could see their skim- 
 ming swoop as they neared a heavy clump of cover; yet she 
 felt she must lose them, as she had done before, when, to her 
 relief, she saw Lewis shoot ahead, cutting across a curve. 
 
 "All right!" he shouted; "I'm on. Look out for your- 
 self." There was a cut of his thong against thorns as he rose 
 Bronzewing to a hedge Rose had not seen. But she had 
 scarcely steadied herself in the saddle from the half-considered 
 leap in his wake before the partridge was down and up again 
 at right angles to its first flight; Lewis meanwhile bringing 
 the mare round all he knew, and shouting, " Ride it. Miss 
 Tvveedie ! ride it !" 
 
 Shahzad, still steadied by the jump, was in hand and on the 
 track in a second, snorting in mad hurry and excitement. The 
 bird was not quite so fast this time, or Rose was riding 
 straighter, for she saw the last skim of the wings change to 
 running feet as it touched the gray-brown earth, which tinted 
 so perfectly with its gray-brown plumage. 
 
 "Not there! not there I" came that warning voice from be- 
 hind. "It's run on; the next bush — put Shahzad over it." 
 
 A leap, a scurry, a flutter, and the quarry was up again, 
 heading in its hurry for an impossible open, backed by bare 
 plough. Bronzewing being now alongside. Rose found leisure 
 to glance round for the others. 
 
 "Gone after the second partridge; I was afraid of it," called 
 Lewis. "There's a hedge twenty yards ahead, Miss Tvveedie; 
 I'll mark meanwhile." She was over it, almost in her horse's 
 stride; but the bird below the horizon was now a mere speck 
 of darker brown against the plough. 
 
 "I've lost it! I've lost it again!" The despairing cry came 
 from Rose's very heart as she tugged vainly at Shahzad. 
 When she succeeded in bringing hirn up, she saw that Lewis 
 was slipping from the mare. 
 
 "All right!" he cried, cheerfully, dropping his white hand- 
 kerchief on the ground. " That's the place I marked ; it is 
 somewhere about! Now for sharp eyes." Up and down the 
 bare furrows he searched, followed by Bronzewing, licr reins
 
 117 
 
 lianging loose upon lier neck. Up and down, with such pa- 
 tience that Rose, gaining confidence, began to search also ; 
 only, however, to lose hope, as minute after minute brought no 
 result. 
 
 "I don't believe it's here," she remarked, at last; and with 
 the words saw Lewis Gordon stoop to pick up something she 
 had passed by, thinking it was a clod of earth. 
 
 "Your first partridge," he said, with a kindly laugh, as he 
 placed the bird upon her lap. There it lay unhurt, wide-eyed 
 and motionless, as it had lain among the furrows. 
 
 " Why doesn't it fiy away ?" asked Rose, with a little catch 
 in lier breath, as she gently stroked the mottled back. 
 
 " It will soon ; at present it's winded. Give it five minutes 
 and we could ride it again. But we won't. It flew game, 
 and I needn't ask if you enjoyed it." No need, certainly. 
 The very horses panting, nose down, in each other's faces, 
 seemed discussing past pleasure. 
 
 "It is safe from kites now,'' said Lewis. "Throw it up, 
 Miss Tweedie." 
 
 The next instant a skimming flight had ended in a covert of 
 thorns, and Lewis was on his mare ready to start. " It wouldn't 
 head for the open again if we were to ride it, I bet," he said ; 
 "they get as cute as an old fox after a time. To your left, 
 please; that rise yonder is Hodinuggar." 
 
 " But we might ride again, surely ? It would give the 
 others time to come up," began Rose, fiercely bitten with the 
 game. 
 
 " Best not. The ground here is bad going — all littered with 
 bricks, and you could barely hold Shahzad that last time ; a 
 snaffle is hard work — for a lady." Rose refrained from open 
 retort. Lewis had given her a morning's amusement, and she 
 owed him something; for all that, she made a mental de- 
 termination to ride partridge as often as she chose, with a 
 snaffle or without it. His objection was only part of that 
 wholesale depreciation of women which — here a partridge 
 buzzed out of a bush, and partly from impulse and partly from 
 sheer opposition, she gave Shahzad the rein — a bit of bravado
 
 118 
 
 in which she reckoned without the excited horse — but ere she 
 had gone fifty yards, she realized tliat it had the bit between 
 its teeth. What was worse, she saw that Lewis realized it 
 also. 
 
 "Look out for briclcs !" he called, spurring Bronzewing 
 alongside for a moment, "and don't try to follow when the 
 bird breaks back, as it is sure to do, for cover." The words 
 were still on his lips when the partridge towered and turned. 
 Shahzad, no novice at such tricks, pulled up short, nearly 
 throwing Rose over his ears. Then with a bound he dashed 
 off sideways, catching Bronzewing on the flank as she swerved, 
 and throwing her rider's foot from the stirrup. The mare 
 staggered, pulled herself together smartly, set her hoof on a 
 loose brick, and came down heavily, while Rose, tugging vainly 
 at her beast, went sailing away to the horizon, with the mem- 
 ory of that crashing fall seeming to paralyze her strength. 
 When she did manage to turn, Bronzewing was on her feet; 
 but her rider lay where he had fallen. The girl's heart stood 
 still an instant in that utmost fear which will come first 
 always — was he dead? Yet, as she galloped back, she told 
 herself fiercely that it was impossible ; people fell so often, 
 and did not hurt themselves — but not, surely, to lie as he lay, 
 with eyes wide open and one arm under him, as if he had 
 pitched head-foremost. Rose had never seen an accident be- 
 fore, and at first all her helpfulness seemed lost in a senseless 
 desire to gather him up in her arms and hold him safe. Then 
 the thought of her own foolishness came to her aid. He had 
 been right ; women were no good ; a man would have known 
 what to do ; and as she thought these things she searched, 
 comically enough, in his pockets for a flask, as if unconsciously 
 reverting to the man's first resource ; but she could find none, 
 and there was no water. What was to be done, save to chafe 
 his hands and call to him vainly ? while a perfect agony of ne- 
 gation clamored against her growing fear. He could not be 
 dead; he was such a good rider; he must have fallen before, 
 and yet he had not been killed — why, then, should he be killed 
 this time? He could not be killed on such a bright, sunny
 
 119 
 
 morning, when they had been so liappy — when he had been 
 so kind ; ridiculous, trivial, helpless little thoughts, such as 
 make up the sum of such scenes. 
 
 Finally she rose, resolved by the depth of her very despair. 
 Water and help she must have; if no nearer than the palace, 
 then to the palace she must go. Shahzad had taken advantage 
 of liberty to seek a wheat field ; but loyal little Bronzewing 
 would carry her nicely with the stirrup over the saddle. The 
 mare, however, distrusted strangers, and sidled off, still circlino- 
 faithfully round her master. Then the girl's hopes and fears 
 centred themselves on the immediate necessity for success, as 
 she coaxed, wheedled, cajoled, forgetful of all else, till, of a sud- 
 den, Bronzewing paused to whinny, and Rose, looking round, 
 instinctively recognized the magnitude of her past despair in 
 the light of her great relief as she saw Lewis Gordon, raised 
 on one elbow, looking at her in a dazed sort of way. She was 
 on her knees beside him in a minute, confessing the past fear 
 she had so strenuously denied while it existed. "I thought 
 you were dead ! I thought you were dead !" She was trem- 
 bling and shaking all over, quite visibly, and he gave an un- 
 steady laugh. 
 
 "Thumped the back of my head; that's all. No I" — a 
 spasm of pain passed over his face as he sat up. " My collar 
 bone's gone. Well, it might have been worse. The ground is 
 uncommonly hard." Worse, indeed ! Rose could not speak 
 for a lump in her throat, but the loquacity of escape was on 
 him. "Must have pitched on my shoulder, luckily. I don't in 
 the least remember how it happened. We were partridging, I 
 suppose, but my mind is an absolute blank, and no wonder; 
 my head is just splitting, but I can walk home all right." And 
 when she proposed riding Bronzewing for help, he negatived it 
 firmly, on the ground that the mare wasn't broken in for a 
 lady — a man never having such a strong hold on his individual 
 quips and cranks as when he realizes that he has been within 
 an ace of losing them altogether; whence the proverbial cap- 
 tionsness of convalescents. So she had to be content with giv- 
 ing him a hand up and walking beside him, feeling a sad trem-
 
 120 
 
 bling in the knees, joined to a general sensation of having gone 
 to pieces; he, on the contrary, tallying and laughing in magnifi- 
 cent, manly fashion. 
 
 "You had better tell nie how it happened," he said, as they 
 neared the palace. "People make such a fuss that it is as well 
 to be prepared. Did you see me come to grief?" 
 
 Rose hesitated for a moment to own up; then she did it 
 wholesale. " You told me not to ride because of the snaffie, but 
 I did. I lost control of Shahzad, and he charged Bronzewing. 
 She put her foot on a loose brick, and — I'm very sorry." 
 
 "Stupid little beast!" he said, looking round at the mare, 
 who was following them like a dog. "I suspect she wants re- 
 shoeing." The evasion was kindly meant, but Rose regretted it; 
 it seemed somehow to set her aside. But this was to be her 
 portion in all things; for with Lewis in his room, scientifically 
 bandaged by Dan and nursed by his cousin, Rose's part re- 
 solved itself into doing audience for her father's fussing. He 
 had a capacity for it at all times, but Fate had provided him 
 with special reasons for it now. Another delay, when it was ab- 
 solutely necessary that he should hold a canal committee at Delhi 
 early in the week. And how was he to manage without his 
 personal assistant? Then there were private reasons for annoy- 
 ance which he did not confide to Rose, but which that clear- 
 sighted young lady fully understood. If Lewis had to remain 
 a few days longer at liodinuggar, his cousin would remain also ; 
 in which case Dan Fitzgerald would stay to look after them. 
 Now Dan, ever since the fire, had been in the colonel's black- 
 books. He had, as it were, thrust himself forward, and made 
 himself conspicuous; besides, it was to be expected that any 
 woman must feci a certain gratitude to a man who had saved 
 her life. It was all of a piece — all the result of disobedience 
 to his superior wisdom. Why had Rose set fire to the camp? 
 Had he not warned her a hundred times against sitting up to 
 read? Why had she charged Lewis? Had he not begged her 
 fifty times to ride in a more reserved and ladylike fashion? 
 
 Rose could only fall back on George for comfort, and he, for 
 reasons of his own, was utterly unsympathetic, declaring that a
 
 121 
 
 broken collar-bone was notliing, except an awful nuisance to 
 every one else. To tell the truth, tlie only person in that np- 
 stairs world who was satisfied at the new turn was Gwen Boyn- 
 ton, who felt that it suited her admirably in more ways than 
 one. So she sat after lunch and talked with Colonel Tweedie 
 in the balcony, until his ill-humor vanished in a bland flood of 
 conviction that this eminently charmino' woman really was full 
 of sympathy for his difficulties and thoroughly impressed with 
 his responsible position. In fact, when she had apologized for 
 returning to duty and her patient, he came and let loose his 
 satisfaction upon his daughter. "Nothing," he said, "was 
 more useful to a man having authority than the companionship 
 of a really sensible woman of the world. It enabled you to do 
 justice to yourself ; to adopt the course you considered best 
 without undue hesitation. Therefore, he would start for Raj- 
 pore, as he had always intended to do, on the following day, 
 taking Mr. Fitzgerald with him to supply Gordon's place, lie 
 knew something of the current work, and it would be a kind- 
 ness, serving to show — er — that — er — there was really nothing 
 against him at headquarters." 
 
 "That was very considerate of Mrs. Boynton," interrupted 
 Rose, quickly. She saw the meaning of this mananivre so far 
 that it roused her resentment; yet, after all, it would be better 
 for Dan than dangling about with a sore heart while Gwen 
 nursed the sick man. Better for George, also, since the partie 
 carree could not consist of three and a dummy ; George should 
 talk to her, and be kept from dangling also. 
 
 So Dan himself was the only one to look blank at the pro- 
 posal, and even he admitted its reasonableness when Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton pointed out the many advantages it would have. This was 
 during the tete-a-tete which she allowed liim in- a bell-shaped 
 cupola over their tea. To tell the truth, Gwen always be- 
 haved with the strictest and most impartial justice to all who 
 had claims npon her, and she would have felt herself unkind 
 had she allowed poor, dear Dan to go away feeling aggrieved. 
 She was very sorry he had to go; or, rather, to be strictly accu- 
 rate, she was very sorry that common -sense dictated that he
 
 122 
 
 should go. Had all tbings been consenting, tbere was no one 
 in the wide world she would so gladly have had for her husband. 
 Now when a woman of Mrs. Boynton's type, who is at all 
 times kindly disposed to lovers, has an idea of this sort firmly 
 fixed in her mind, she can be very kind, indeed, even in her dis- 
 missals. So Dan was perfectly happy after he had sat beside 
 her, and given her a second cup of tea, and handed her the 
 bread and butter ; though he made wry faces over her lecture 
 on the necessity for subordinating his opinion to Colonel 
 Tweedie's. 
 
 " And Dan," she said, when the tete-a-tete had lasted long 
 enough, "as you are going to Delhi, you might take a parcel 
 for me to Manohar Lai, the jeweller's. It is quite small, but 
 you might just send it around — the shop is in the Cliowk — by 
 the bearer. I wouldn't trouble you, but it is a chance, as you 
 are going that way. It won't bother you, will it?" 
 
 "Bother!" echoed Dan, in the tones which men in his con- 
 dition use on such occasions. 
 
 " Then I'll give it you now. I was going to send it by post, 
 so it is addressed, and all the instructions are inside; but it 
 would be safer if you took it, as you happen to be going." 
 
 She repeated the phrase as if to convince herself of its truth. 
 Yet when, on returning with her commission, Dan seized the 
 opportunity of taking the parcel to kiss the fingers which held 
 it, she felt something of a traitor; even though, in sending the 
 jewels she had found to be appraised, she told herself she had 
 no other intention beyond, if possible, getting enough money 
 to repay the loan she had so unwisely taken. That was all; 
 and this chance of sending them to Delhi by a safe hand had 
 decided her so far — no more. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear Dan," she said, " I always miss you so much 
 when you go away." 
 
 That night Chandni reported progress to the dewan. The 
 mom's ayah had let out that the big Hazoor Fitzgerald sahib 
 was the greatest friend the mem had. She must be a regular 
 bad one, if all talcs be true. And the big sahib was going to 
 Delhi, the most likely place in which jewels would be sold. She
 
 133 
 
 would write to her craft, who were good clients of the gold- 
 smiths, and bid tlicni keep a sharp lookout. It would, at least, 
 do no harm. 
 
 "Thy father must have been the devil," said Zubr-ul-zaman, 
 admiringly. " Yet will I reward thee, as thou hast asked, if all 
 goes well." 
 
 "Does not all go well?" laughed the woman. "The fire and 
 the fall?" 
 
 " And the girl ?" 
 
 "Oh! nought of the girl ! The lance-player hits not the peg 
 the first time. That is done, for good or evil. The bridegroom, 
 they say, comes next week. 'Tis well. We want no evil-eye 
 to change the luck."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The diners a la Russe on the roof liad not passed un- 
 noticed by the world bch)w. IIovv could they? Over such 
 strange doings curious tongues must need wag, setting curious 
 eyes to peep and peer, especially in the women's apartments, 
 where life was so empty of novelty, and where a crowded, 
 squabbling glimpse from some lattice of arrival or departure 
 was all the inmates could hope for, beyond, of course, the cer- 
 emonious visit which the I']nglish ladies paid to a circle of se- 
 lected wives. But there, in company - dresses and company- 
 manners, the chief women of tliree generations had found it 
 impossible to ask enough questions to throw light on the one 
 absorbing phenomenon of utter shamelessness in their visitoi-s. 
 Indeed, after Colonel Tweedie's departure, disputes began to 
 run high in that rabbit-warren of dark rooms and darker pas- 
 sages centred round the bit of roof, walled into the semblance 
 of a tank, which lay to the right of dewan's tower. The elder 
 women, led by the old man's last remaining wife, a still person- 
 able woman of forty, upheld the theory which has had so 
 much to do with British supremacy in the past — namely, that 
 the sahib loffue, being barely human, must not be judged by 
 ordinary human standards ; as likely as not their women 
 were not women at all. The younger party, however, consist- 
 ing largely of Dalel Beg's many matrimonial ventures in the 
 forlorn hope of a son, declared that the true explanation lay 
 the other way — namely, in the excess of frail humanity ; both 
 positions being argued with that absolute want of reserve 
 which is the natural result of herding women together, away 
 from the necessity for that modest reticence which the pres- 
 ence of even their stranger sisters brings with it: that lack of 
 reserve in the mind by which Nature compensates herself for 
 the seclusion of the body, and which makes those who have
 
 125 
 
 real experience of tlie working of tlie zenana system put tlieir 
 finger on it as the plague-spot of India — a plague-spot which 
 all the women doctors sent to bolster up the system by exotic 
 and mistaken benevolence will never cure. 
 
 To this war of words Azizan listened listlessly as she 
 crouched for hours beside tliat slit in the prison wall whence, 
 on tiptoe, she could see the flag-stone before the mosque on 
 which she had sat when he was painting her picture. She had 
 ceased to cry, ceased to do anything save mope about in the 
 dark, with dull, resentful eyes taking in the emptiness and 
 hopelessness of all things, even her desires going no further 
 than a vague wish that she could have seen the flag -stone 
 where the sahih had sat, instead of that dull, uninteresting, un- 
 consecrated one. In that house of languid, listless, useless 
 women her dejection might have passed unnoticed, save for 
 the fact that old Zainub, the duenna, began to be troubled 
 with an old enemy — the rheumatism. 
 
 Up-stairs on the roof, the connection between Azizan's tears 
 and Zainub's sciatica would have seemed far-fetched, obscure; 
 down-stairs, however, it was self-evident, clear as daylight. 
 Briefly, Aziz had the 'evil-eye,' like her grandfather the pot- 
 ter, and she was using it as her mother had used it. »Sixteen 
 years ago, after nursing that mother in the damp dungeon 
 where useless cries could be deadened, Zainub had nearly died 
 of rheumatic fever. Not from the damp, of course; simply 
 from the evil-eye; nothing, in fact, had saved her life then, 
 save a promise to protect the baby. And now for the sake of 
 money she had brought grief on the child, and unless that 
 grief could be assuaged, the result was certain : she would die. 
 The pains were already upon her, and a dozen times a day she 
 cursed her own folly in helping Chandni — Chandni who, when 
 the ruse failed, had thrown her over with a paltry fee. Yet 
 old Zainub, even while she blamed herself, confessed that no 
 duenna could have foreseen such a coil about nothing. But 
 then the worlil was full of strange new wickedness; in the old 
 time no girl in her senses would have met the suggestion of 
 carrying on the intrigue on her own account, as Azizan had
 
 126 
 
 done, with vehement denial, and o;lo\veriniT, unhappy eyes; the 
 tiionglit of them sent achiitional twinoes through poor old 
 Zainub's bones. George Keene, who had taken up his quarters 
 in the state rooms of the palace, so as to be near Lewis Gordon at 
 nifht, never dreamed how narrowly he escaped the invasion of 
 an old beldame, beseeching him to remove a curse from her. 
 He had for the time ahnost forgotten the Azizan episode; 
 even the surprise which the potter's mention of his daughter's 
 name had aroused lie set aside for the present. There would 
 be time enough for inquiry when he was alone once more — 
 when the absorbing interest of the present had gone out of his 
 life. 
 
 So the tragedy down-stairs was completely hidden from those 
 np-stairs; it is so often in India. Occasionally we gain a 
 glimpse behind the veil ; for instance, when the periodical scare 
 as to the number of human brains required to keep up British 
 prestige seizes on some cantonment — a scare which, it may 
 interest the 'Peace with Dishonor' party to know, is apt to 
 follow on any lowering of the lion's tail. Then there are two 
 simple syllables, known doubtless to many readers of this vera- 
 cious story, as they were to the writer of it, which if uttered 
 casually — say in dinner-table conversation — will of a certainty 
 lead to your servants leaving your service without delay. These 
 things sound unreal — farcical, no doubt ; so would George, as he 
 handed their bread and butter to the ladies up - stairs, have 
 deemed the fear which prompted old Zainub's wheedling words 
 as she crouched by Azizan's bed, plying her with greasy sweet- 
 meats : 
 
 "Eat some my pigeon — a morsel, beloved! Why wilt not 
 be comforted, child? Say what is in thy heart, and if Zainub's 
 old hands can compass it, 'tis thine." 
 
 " I want nothing. Let me be," muttered Azizan. Zainub 
 rocked herself to and fro — partly in despair, partly to allay a 
 sharper twinge of the enemy — and looked round dismally, as if 
 for some inspiration of comfort. Not much to suggest it in 
 those bare walls, inexpressibly squalid, and dirty beyond be- 
 lief, save in the cemented floor, which underwent a daily
 
 137 
 
 sprinkling from a skin water-bag", and a daily lasliino- with a 
 rood broom. There was a mark of the passage of that skin 
 bag up the narrow stairs in a cleaner streak along the grim}' 
 walls, and a mark of that reed broom in the spatter-work dado 
 of slush round the room. The smoke of rushlights blackened 
 tlie arched niches, their oily dribblings seamed the once white- 
 washed walls below, and centuries of cobwebs bung on the 
 rough rafters. No furniture of any sort or kind, excepting 
 the low stool on which Zainub crouched and the string cot 
 whereon the girl had flung herself recklessly — not even rest- 
 ing fairly, but half on, half off, each listless curve showing her 
 indifferent despair, her flimsy veil crushed into a pillow, her 
 unkempt yet braided hair showing she had not thought of it 
 for days; no uncommon sight in the zenana, when so-and- 
 so's "constitution is disturbed," as the phrase runs. 
 
 " Would it soothe thee to talk of it?" whined the old lady. 
 
 "No, no!" Azizan sat up in sudden anger. "I hate him! 
 I hate everybody !" Then, her own confused emotion being 
 strange and new to her, she sought refuge, with a whimper, in 
 her old suUenness. 
 
 "Aril prett}' one," replied Zainub, relieved at something 
 tangible. "Thou art right to hate him. Yet grieve not, since 
 he hath gained naught of thee. Thou hast passed him by 
 scornfully." 
 
 On the face turned to the dirty wall something like a smile 
 quivered. " lie hath the pot — the Ayodhya pot," murmured 
 Azizan, half to herself. "He kept that — he liked that." The 
 duenna beat ber shrivelled hands together and laughed shrilly. 
 
 " Whd ill ah ! be hath kept it, sure enough, but he will rue 
 it. Look you ! I know not the ins and outs, yet will the pot 
 bring evil. Yea, even though he hath given it to the mem 
 up-stairs." 
 
 Azizan was on her foot ere the words wore finished, her eyes 
 aflame, lier whole figure trembling with excitement. 
 
 " He hath given it away ! Mai Zainub, is it truth ? He hath 
 given it to the mem! Oh, how I hate them ! It is mine ! I 
 will have it back— I will! I will!"
 
 128 
 
 She flung herself once more on the bed, ahnost choking with 
 her passionate cries, wild in her nncontrolled jealousy, while 
 Zaiiuib, inystiiied and half impatient, deprecated the foolish, im- 
 possible desire. Did she not want revenge ? Well, the pot 
 was to bring it about. It would bring money to the Treasury 
 also; and before that consideration, what mere personal whim 
 could stand? Finally, it was not hers, but the dewan's, who 
 had a right to let the pot go as he chose. Azizan's ultimatum 
 came swiftly, with a savage gleam in her light eyes: "Then I 
 will die, and others shall die too." 
 
 The girl was no fool ; she could see through the secret of 
 Zainub's docility by the light of many a covert allusion of her 
 companions to those strange eyes. Well, if the power was 
 hers, she would use it. Give her back the Ayodhya pot or 
 take the chance. Zainub crept away disconsolate ; even with 
 her life-long experience of the vagaries in which hysterical girls 
 itidulged, she demanded shrilly of High Heaven if there had ever 
 been contrariety equal to Azizan's ! To set aside the possibility 
 of revenge ! Still, she must do her best, and if the mem had 
 the Ayodhya pot in the palace there was always a chance of 
 being able to steal it. As a beginning, she spent some of 
 Chandni's rupees on sweetmeats, and, hiding the tray under 
 her domino, set off to pay her respects to Mrs. Boynton's ayah. 
 
 " The hurka is certainly a most mysterious garment," re- 
 marked Gwen, as she leaned over the balcony just as Zainub 
 shuffled through the court-yard on her errand. "Did lever 
 mention the fright I had one morning here? I awoke thinking 
 that a pair of those latticed goggles were glaring at me ; but it 
 was only Fuzli looking in to see if I were awake. Still, it 
 alarmed me." 
 
 " Women have a hard time of it," said Lewis, languidly, 
 from the arm-chair at her side, where he was playing the part 
 of interesting invalid, after four days of unwelcome fever. 
 " How I should hate to have nerves." 
 
 " We are not a whole army of martyrs, however," objected 
 Rose, swiftly; "I, for one, decline to be credited with them." 
 
 As she sat pouring out the tea with George Keene's help
 
 129 
 
 her face rather belied lier words. She looked fine-drawn and 
 eaijer, her eyes bright yet tired. Gwen smiled confidentially 
 at her companion. 
 
 " People in 'good times' never have nerves, so you and Mr. 
 Keene have no excuse for them at present. By-the-way, you 
 must have been successful with the partridges to-day, for I 
 assure you, Lewis, they were not in to breakfast till past 
 twelve." Not much in the words, much in the manner. It 
 made Rose bring her cup of tea to the balcony, and stand look- 
 ing with a satirical smile at the pair seated there before she 
 turned to George. 
 
 " We think Mr. Gordon is in a ' good time ' also, don't we, 
 Mr. Keene ? You should break something too ; Mrs. Boynton 
 would be quite equal to another patient." The crudeness, not 
 to say rudeness, of her own words stai'tled her into adding, 
 hastily, " For she is a good nurse, isn't she, Mr. Gordon ?" 
 
 "First-class for one," he replied, coolly; "but I doubt her 
 managing three. Therefore, if Keene is going to break some- 
 thing, as you suggest, it would be as well if, for a change, you 
 took some care of yourself. At present you look miserably ill." 
 
 Rose flashed into health at once. " I ! Rubbish ! If you 
 have quite finished tea, Mr. Keene, let us go on with that match 
 at tennis." 
 
 " There they go, supremely happy," commented Gwen, from 
 her post of vantage, after a pause. " I'm a sliockingly bad 
 chaperone; but that is your fault, Lewis, forgetting fever. Do 
 you think monsieur le 'pere will be very angry ?" 
 
 He shifted irritably. " My dear Gwen, don't overdo it, for 
 goodness' sake ! I'm grateful ; you know that quite well. But 
 if you want me to believe that Keene is in love with Miss 
 Tvveedie I must decline to agree. The lad is palpably in love 
 with you — like the rest of us. As for Miss Tvveedie, I decline 
 to liave any opinion at all. Girls of her type are beyond me. 
 She looks ill, of course ; but no woman can stand half a dozen 
 hours in the saddle before breakfast, and half a dozen singles 
 before dinner, with, I suppose, half a dozen problems before 
 lunch, and lialf a dozen books before bed. The thing's absurd;
 
 130 
 
 and as you don't seem able to stop it, it is as well we are leav- 
 ing: Hodinnggar so soon." 
 
 His distinct loss of temper made Gwcn change the subject 
 outwardly, but retain it inwardly, as a justification of her tac- 
 tics. They had been very simple. A word to George of 
 gratitude for his care of Rose, and a playful remark about the 
 latter's anxiety for the patient's comfort, had left the elder 
 woman mistress of the situation. She was in no hurry, how- 
 ever, to bring it to a crisis. Time enough for that when they 
 should have returned to civilization, and she had had that 
 letter from the jeweller's, which might even now be waiting 
 for a Mrs. Arbuthnot at the post-office at, Rajpore. Perhaps 
 she might not have found Rose so ready to acquiesce in her plans, 
 through which the young girl saw perfectly, if they had not 
 fallen in with the latter's convenience. It was easier that 
 Lewis Gordon should believe lier occupied with George, and 
 better for the boy than dangling after Gwen all day ; he was 
 too good for that sort of thing. She told herself this, savage- 
 ly, many times a day ; oven when, with a worldly wisdom be- 
 yond her years, she was playing the part of elder sister and 
 confidante to the lad's ardent admiration. As for him, he was 
 supremely happy between the occupations of worshipping the 
 most perfect woman in the world and being companion to the 
 jolliest girl he had ever known. 
 
 The day had been hot and sultry, unusually so for the time 
 of year, and as the four stood saying good-night to each other 
 for the last time on the roof, the sheet-lightning was shimmer- 
 ing in a faint haze low down on the eastern horizon. 
 
 " Rain," said Lewis Gordon, in an undertone, to Rose. 
 " Lucky for that dusty dhooU journey to-morrow evening. In 
 the meantime, I hope it may cure your headache." 
 
 " I have no headache," she replied, coldly. 
 
 " I'm glad you did not say no head ; that perjury could have 
 been proved. Good-night." He turned to his cousin, and let 
 his hand linger in hers affectionately. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed if the storm is a bad one," he said, gen- 
 tly, with a smile.
 
 131 
 
 " Of course I shall be alarmed," she answered, gayly ; " then 
 you and Mr. Keene will have no peace, for you don't suppose 
 I intend to stay on the roof in order to be struck by lightning. 
 I shall turn you out down-stairs at a moment's notice." 
 
 George, with adoring eyes on his divinity, suggested eagerly 
 that if he returned to the bungalow the ladies could move 
 down at once. Gordon no longer required any one at night, 
 and it would be more comfortable. 
 
 " Nonsense," cried Rose, impatiently, " I don't believe it will 
 rain. Anyhow, I shall stay where I am, storm or no storm." 
 
 " Nerves or no nerves," parodied Lewis, " Keene shall come 
 into my room, Gwen, and I will order his to be got ready for 
 emergencies. Then, if nature does convulse, you can seek 
 shelter without disturbing us. Even Miss Tweedie will allow 
 the wisdom of that arrangement from a masculine, and there- 
 fore selfish, point of view." 
 
 She did allow it inwardly. The worst of Lewis Gordon was 
 his knack of being right in a way which forced her into disa- 
 greement. This consciousness accentuated her obstinacy, and 
 even when Mrs. Boynton, pathetic and plaintive in a trailing 
 wliite dressing-gown, sat on the edge of the girl's bed, beseech- 
 ing her to let discretion be the better part of valor, she would 
 not yield. She was not going to give color to Mr. Gordon's 
 caricature of womanhood. Besides, it was close down-stairs ; 
 she had a headache and liked the air. Finally, she was not 
 afraid of being left alone ; Gwen could go down if she wished. 
 As she watched the little procession bearing pillows and blank- 
 ets file down the stairs, with the ayah in the rear, protesting 
 that " big storm come kill missy haba for laugh old Fuzli," she 
 felt glad to be left alone. Her head did ache; what is more, 
 her pulses were bounding with a touch of sun-fever. It would 
 be gone by morning, yet perhaps Lewis had been right also in 
 saying that she had been exposing herself too much. The in- 
 clination to lean her hot head on the cool marble balustrade, 
 and sit there under the restful sky, was strong; but with an in- 
 stinct of fight she set it aside almost fiercely, and, after loop- 
 ing back the curtains of the corner-room so as to let in what
 
 132 
 
 air there was, lay down decorously ; but not to sleep. A 
 dreary, disturbing round of thought kept lier awake, sending 
 her back and back again to the same point : the assertion that 
 she had certainly been overdoing it. That was the cause of 
 her depression — until suddenly, causelessly, her native truth 
 rebelled against the self-deception, and she sat up in the dark, 
 pressing the palms of her hot hands together. What was the 
 use of lying to herself? Was it not better to confess frankly 
 that, with all his faults, Lewis Gordon interested her more than 
 any one else in the world ? Perhaps it was love ; yes, she 
 cared for him as she cared for no one else in the world ; and 
 was it not detestable to blush and deny the fact instead of be- 
 ing straightforward ? At any time this indictment of her 
 honesty would have been intolerable; now, with fever running 
 riot in her veins, it forced her to exaggerated action. She had 
 been behaving like a romantic school-girl in a novel. Well, in 
 the future there should be no possibility of her denying the 
 fact that she had wilfully, and without due cause, fallen in 
 love with a man who did not love her. Yes, fallen in love! 
 Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining, when the light of 
 the candle she lit fell on them. As she passed quickly into 
 the mirror-room the thousand facets gave back her eagerness, 
 her determination, as she deliberately chose out Lewis Gordon's 
 photograph from a folding-frame standing below the Ayodhya 
 pot. She stood for a moment looking at it, struggling with 
 her pride ; then she passed back into her room again and thrust 
 it under her pillow. That was an end of all lies, at any rate ! 
 After that she would never be able to deny it — never be able to 
 deny that she was a romantic idiot! She gave an odd, almost 
 happy, little laugh as she crept into her bed again, where, 
 after a time, she fell asleep, with one hand guarding some- 
 thing under her pillow — just as Gwen had guarded something 
 in her corner-room a few nights before. No doubt it was the 
 growing coolness of the night which soothed the girl ; on the 
 other hand, it may have been the testimony of a good con- 
 science not ashamed to confess the truth. 
 
 The lightning sliimmered over her sleeping face, and, as it
 
 133 
 
 shimmered, showed a bhick arch of cloud looming from the 
 east. Bj-and-by the wind rose, bringing with it the fresh, 
 earthy smell of distant rain. It was now between second and 
 third jackal cry ; that is to say, the deadest hour in the Indian 
 night, when even nature and dogs sleep. Yet there were two 
 figures stealing round the base of the dewan's tower to the piled 
 ruins of the odd wall, which had fallen on the potter's house 
 long years before ; fallen suddenly in the night, after just such 
 a storm as that now sweeping up with the wind. 
 
 ^^ Arif heart's core!" pleaded a cracked voice. "Sure the 
 rain begins even now, and God knows what the old stairs be 
 like. 'Tis sixteen year gone since they were used. Holy Fati- 
 ma, what a flash ! 'Tis no night for women-folk to be out; be 
 wise and leave it. To-morrow, perchance, when they pack the 
 things, I may lay hands on it." 
 
 " Be still, mai / What good to talk when 'tis settled ! What 
 didst say ? Straight up to the hole in the wall, three steps 
 down to the ledge, along that to the window-slit in the de- 
 wan's stair, so by them to the gate ; thou hast the key. No ! 
 'tis open, thou sayest ! Is not that right ? Lo ! ma^, 'tis 
 easy." 
 
 " In the old days ; but the lattice parapet is gone, they say, 
 and a false step — oh, Azizan, be wise ! Would God I had not 
 told thee of it 1" 
 
 A faint laugh echoed into the pitchy darkness. "Thy aches 
 and pains would never have reached the pot otherwise, O 
 mother !" 
 
 The hint was not lost on old Zainub. She stumbled on 
 hastily until a shimmer of lightning showed an opening half 
 hidden by debris in the base of the tower, into which she crept. 
 " See, here are the matches," she whimpered, " and witness, O 
 Azizan ! I have done all, even to letting thee wear the old 
 dress, since it pleaseth thee ; though wherefore, God knows." 
 
 " 'Tis light and strong," interrupted the girl, hastily. " Stay 
 you here, mother; I will be back erelong." 
 
 A box of Swedish tdndstickors, made for the British market, 
 with a portrait of Mr. Pickwick on the cover, was an incongru-
 
 134 
 
 ous item in the scene, yet one of them looked tra<;ic enough, 
 as it sent a glow through Azizan's brown fingers- and showed a 
 broken flight of steps. 
 
 " I will be back erelong," she repeated, at the first turn. 
 Then the light went with her into the very heart of the wall. 
 
 Zainnb sat crouching in the dark, shivering and groaning. 
 " Ai, my sins !" she muttered, hiding her face from a sudden 
 flash of lightning; "the pains of Jehannum are on me already. 
 I perish of fear; the breath leaves my body." She rocked her- 
 self backward and forward ceaselessly, moaning and muttering, 
 a weird figure guarding the stair, up which Azizan was toil- 
 ing by the light of other tdndstickors. Beyond the possibility 
 of a half-torpid snake, or a shower of loosened bricks from 
 above, there was, as yet, no danger, even to one so unused to 
 effort as this zendna-\)VQ<\ girl. Thus she had time to think of 
 what she vi^as to do when she reached the roof. For one thing, 
 she had to steal the Ayodhya pot ; for the rest she was not 
 sure; but something ready for impulse lay tucked away in the 
 waist folds of the old woollen dress. A glimmering slit, show- 
 ing its arched top against a lighter darkness of sky, brought 
 her back to the present. This must be the hole in the wall; 
 and beyond it lay a chasm of night. She lit another match, 
 and held it over the gulf. The flame burned steadily, for the 
 stair, in winding through the wall of the tower, had brought 
 her to leeward of the storm. Nothing was to be seen save the 
 blackness of clouds above, the blackness of — God knows what — 
 below ! Then as she stood peering out into the darkness, a 
 shiver of silent lightning revealed a silver plain far down be- 
 neath her feet, and above, to the right, silver balconies and cu- 
 polas. That must be the roof whither she was bound. The 
 expenditure of more matches disclosed the three steps down- 
 ward, and at right angles a ledge along the wall, ending in a 
 buttress some thirty feet off. That must be the support of the 
 dewan's stair. Both steps and ledge had once been y)rotectcd 
 by a latticed parapet; now they were edged by the blackness 
 of the gulf. But the ledge seemed perfect as ever, and the 
 rest was, after all, mere fancy ; especially at night, when you
 
 135 
 
 could not see. Should she risk it? The match she held left 
 indecision on her face as it flickered out. The storm, close at 
 hand, took breath, as it were, for the onslaught in a long pause 
 of intense silent darkness. 
 
 Then a sudden shimmer shot over the old tower, spreading a 
 silver mantle upon the slender figure of a girl clinging to the 
 wall. 
 
 Darkness again, and then once more the same sight — a 
 girl with her face against the wall, moving step by step, slowly, 
 deliberately nearer and nearer each time to the buttress. Then 
 a little cry of fear or joy, too inarticulate for comprehension, 
 rose on the still air, and when the next shaft of light came it 
 found nothing but the bare wall. The figure was gone. 
 
 So much might have been seen by any watcher on the roof. 
 But there was none; it lay still and deserted. The very wind, 
 stirring the folds of the curtain Rose had looped aside, made 
 no noise, and the light and the dark played their game of hide- 
 and-seek in silence — an odd game in the mirror-room, and the 
 arches on arches of shadow leading to it. Each separate scrap 
 of looking-glass would blaze out like a star, sending a beam on 
 the blue bowl of the Ayddhya pot; then dive into the dark, 
 again carrying a reflection of the scene with it in triumph : 
 miles of shadowy arches, millions of blue bowls, glowing amid 
 countless stars; thousands of looped curtains, showing a girl 
 asleep on a white bed. But after a while the stars carried a 
 new sight : a girl in a strange dress crouching by the bed. 
 The lightning shimmered keenly over the group several 
 times, bringing into glittering relief something held by 
 the crouching figure, and something held close to a flushed 
 cheek by the sleeping girl. The one was a knife, the other 
 a photograph of a young man in an immaculate coat and irre- 
 proachable tie. Different things, indeed ; yet the girls who 
 held them differed little. They were both in dreamland; for 
 Azizan, as she crouched beside Rose, felt that she was in a new 
 world. The whiteness, the stillness, the solitude, guarding the 
 pure sleep of girlhood — the refinement, the peace — made her 
 think involuntarily of the dead laid out for their last rest. She
 
 136 
 
 gave a quick little sigh ; her hand relaxed its grasp ; then tight- 
 ened again, as a flash showed the photograph clearly. It was 
 a picture of some one. If it was his picture, why, then — She 
 struck a match softly and peered closer. No ! She paused, 
 taking advantage of the light to look at the sleeper. Rose 
 stirred. 
 
 " Who is it?" she murmured, in the low, quick tones of those 
 who talk in their sleep. The watcher's hand closed silently 
 round the match, extinguishing it. 
 
 " I am Azizan, huzoory 
 
 The immediate answer had its effect. Rose nestled her head 
 to the pillow once more, and from the ensuing darkness her 
 breathing came soft and regular. Suddenly, with a crack, the 
 thunder rolled right overhead, the wind hushed, the heavy 
 drops of rain fell, each in a distinct plash for a second, then 
 merged into a hissing downpour on the hard roof. Rose started 
 up in bed, just as the quivering shaft of lightning blazed through 
 the mirror-room upon a girl in an odd dress, holding tiie Ayo- 
 dhya pot close to her breast — a girl with odd light eyes. " I 
 am Azizan, Awsoor." These words seemed still in her ears, re- 
 calling a confused memory of the potter and her own promise. 
 
 " Your father wants you, Azizan," she said, half in a dream, 
 and the sound of her own voice woke her thoroughly to dark- 
 ness. Had she been dreaming? The wind, rising now the 
 storm had broken, swept rain-laden through the open door, ex- 
 tinguishing the matches she struck hastily, so that the first 
 glimmer of her own candle was echoed by the ai/a/is lantern, 
 as the latter came paddling over the streaming roof with petti- 
 coats held high over her trousered knees, and shrill denuncia- 
 tions of the missy hobo's obstinacy high above the storm. Rose 
 Tweedie's thought flew to Lewis Gordon's warning, and his 
 wisdom reminded her of her own foolishness. That was not a 
 dream ; she blushed violently over it as she thrust the photo- 
 graph out of sight before her attendant rolled the bedding into 
 a bundle and staggered with it down-stairs. As the girl followed 
 ignominiously in the mackintosh and nnil)rella supplied by that 
 injured oflicial, she told herself she must indeed have had fever
 
 137 
 
 to commit such a ridiculous folly. Her ears tingled over the 
 very recollection of what had perhaps saved her life. 
 
 Meanwhile, the girl with the Ayodhya pot, whom E.ose, in 
 her absorbing shame, had decided must have been a dream, was 
 stumbling down the broken stairs once more, her courage gone, 
 her chaos of emotion reduced to one heartwhole desire to reach 
 Zainub in safety. IIow she had crossed the ledge again slie 
 scarcely knew ; but in the effort she had dropped the tdndstick- 
 ors, and as she felt her way step by step in the dark she was 
 sobbing like a frightened child. Half-way down a displaced 
 brick on the outside masonry allowed the lightning to glim- 
 mer over a sort of landing, where she paused for breath. " God 
 and His Prophet! What was that huddled up on the next 
 step ?" She had to await another flash ere she could decide, 
 and in the interval her heart beat with sickening, fearful curi- 
 osity. 
 
 "ilTaJ Zainub! Mai Zainub!'" Her cry of relief and con- 
 tent came swift as the flash. There was no answer save renewed 
 darkness bringing downright terror. Still that was a human 
 form she had seen! '''Mai Zainub! Mai Zainub!" she called 
 again. There was no flutter beneath the hand seeking the heart. 
 Could she be dead ! Then came a blaze of light, showing her 
 the familiar face all unfamiliar; the fixed eyes wide open, the 
 jaw fallen. The next instant she was dashing down the stairs 
 recklessly ; down and down, out into the open over the debris, 
 anywhere so as to leave the horror behind. The wind caught 
 her, the rain blinded her, the thunder cracked overhead as she 
 ran on blindly, till with a cry she slipped on a loose brick and 
 fell stunned against a mass of broken masonry. So she lay, 
 looking almost as dead as the poor old duenna, huddled up on 
 that landing in the secret stair where, with one final twinge at 
 her heart, the rheumatism had left her forever. 
 
 An hour after, when the storm had passed and a faint gray- 
 ness told that the dawn was at hand, a feeble light began to 
 flicker about the ruins; up and down, up and down, as if it 
 sought for something. It was Fuzl Elahi, the potter of Hodi- 
 nuggar, looking for his dead daughter. He had looked for her
 
 las 
 
 thus after every storm for sixteen years; and this time, with 
 the Miss sahib''s promise to send her back lingering in his mem-' 
 ory, he sought in hope. 
 
 When the sun rose three tilings were missing from the pal- 
 ace at Ilodinuggar — the Ayodhya pot, Azizan, and the old 
 duenna. 
 
 Up-stairs, while George and Gwen and Rose, all for private 
 reasons of their own, acquiesced, Lewis Gordon declared that 
 some servant must have broken it in dusting the room, and, as 
 usual, made away with the pieces.^ Down-stairs the same una- 
 nimity prevailed. Azizan and Zainub had their reasons for run- 
 nino" away ; they would be found erelong, since no one near 
 at hand dare shelter them, and the old woman could not go far. 
 If the folk up-stairs had known of the disappearance down- 
 stairs, they might have connected the two losses ; but they did 
 not. So none of these three things were traced, and no one 
 cared very much, especially Gwen Boynton. The pot might 
 have reminded her of Ilodinuggar, and now that she was leav- 
 ino- it, there were some things she intended to forget ; besides, 
 no one, now, could ever say she had taken the jewels.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 " I NEVER was SO tired of any place in my life," remarked 
 Mrs. Boynton. " It was not so bad at first ; but nothing would 
 ever induce me to attempt the wilderness again." 
 
 She was back in the big hall at Rajpore again, the centre 
 of a circle assembled to bid her welcome ; for Gwen was not 
 the sort of person to come or go unnoticed. She looked 
 charming in a new dress which she had ordered on the morn- 
 ing after the fire to be ready against her return. The band 
 was playrng, the dim lights were twinkling above the polished 
 floor; people were coming and going through the swing doors, 
 and Dan, devoted as ever, was waiting for his promised first 
 waltz. A sheer bit of vanity, this promise on Gwen's part; she 
 liked to re-enter her familiar world looking her best, and Dan 
 was the best dancer in the room. Yet she lingered with her 
 hand on his arm to glance at Lewis Gordon, who, still wearing 
 a sling, stood on the outside of the circle trying not to look 
 bored. 
 
 " And I don't think civilized people ought to go to those 
 wild places and live in uncivilized ways," she continued, clinch- 
 ing the argument against Hodinuggar. " It is demoralizing, 
 living on the roof without doors and windows. Look at my 
 cousiti ; I don't believe he will ever settle down to work again." 
 
 " No locks had they, eh ?" quoted Lewis. " I shouldn't have 
 thought you were likely to approve of Arcadia anyhow, or 
 Hodinuggar either. But I assure you, Graham, Mrs. Boynton 
 played the Light of the Harem to perfection." She met the 
 general chorus of belief with a little shudder, not all put on. 
 
 " I hope not ! If I had thought that, I would have elected 
 to stay in my room till I could appear like a Christian. But 
 it only bears out my contention — civilized people should es- 
 chew barbarian environments; they are not safe."
 
 140 
 
 "A bad lookout for me," laughed George, who had been 
 given three days' leave in order to escort the party to head- 
 quarters. Gwen turned to him in kindly familiarity. 
 
 " You ! Oh, I'll except you as beyond temptation if you 
 like. Shall you be here on my return ? the next is ours, re- 
 member." 
 
 She knew quite well that the boy had remembered little 
 else since she had given the promise half an hour before ; but 
 she knew also how sweet the reminder would be with all those 
 older aspirants standing by. And she was always anxious to 
 please when she could. Lewis Gordon, however, lifted his 
 eyebrows and walked over rather aggressively to Rose Tweedie. 
 "Why aren't you dancing?" he asked. " I am, unfortunately, 
 a cripple; but Keene, I am sure, would be horrified if he saw 
 you sitting down. May I tell him?" 
 
 " No, thanks. I don't feel up to dancing to-night, I fancy 
 I have been overdoing myself a little over tennis and riding at 
 Hodinuggar." 
 
 There was no challenge in her manner, but Lewis chose to 
 suppose one. 
 
 "Your wisdom, Miss Tweedie, is of that truly feminine type 
 which begins when the cake is finished. But it is refreshing 
 to find you have these womanly weaknesses ; without them 
 you would be unassailable." 
 
 " If the carriage is here," remarked Rose, quietly, " I think I 
 shall go home. If you see my father, Mr. Gordon, tell him I 
 have done so." 
 
 His manner changed in an instant. "I will tell him now, 
 and join you if I may, for a lift back to the club. I am out of 
 it also ; my brute of a bearer has bandaged me all wrong, and 
 I must get it altered." 
 
 Rose, possessed of an ambulance certificate, would have liked 
 to offer help, but had to be silent. Even on such a charitable 
 errand, Mrs. Grund}' would have been horrified at a visit to a 
 bachelor's <]uartcrs. And while she acknowledged the limita- 
 tion, Rose felt irritated by it as she stood waiting at the door 
 for Lewis Gordon's return, and watching Mrs. LJoynton skim
 
 141 
 
 by like a swallow under Dan's guidance. Wliy should tlie 
 married women liavc all the chances? 
 
 "She waltzes beautifully, doesn't she?" asked Lewis, finding 
 her so engaged. 
 
 "She does everything beautifully," replied Rose, coldly. 
 
 Not a good beginning for their drive togetlier; but it was 
 always so. As she watched the carriage taking her companion 
 on to his quarters after it had set her down, she told herself, 
 disconsolately, that they seemed to have a bad effect on each 
 other, and to show to the very worst advantage in each other's 
 company. She, at any rate, was never so painfully uncompro- 
 mising in her condemnation of other people's foibles; perhaps 
 because she did not care whether they existed or not. But 
 she did care, dreadfully, when Lewis was in question ; that was 
 the worst of it. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton was not long, either, in leaving the hall ; in 
 fact, George Keene's promised waltz was but half through when 
 she exclaimed at the lateness of the hour, and after salving over 
 his disappointment with an invitation to tea on the morrow, 
 bade her coachman drive home — an order, however, which 
 she changed at the gates of the garden, so that the carriage 
 instead of turning westward towards the civil station, chose the 
 eastward road towards the native town ; towards the post- 
 ofRce, also, which lay close to the Dekhani gate of the city. 
 For a letter addressed to a certain Mrs. Arbuthnot should be 
 waiting " to be called for," and at that hour, a few minutes be- 
 fore closing time, all but subordinates would have left the 
 office ; so a veiled lady asking for a letter would run no risk 
 of being recognized. Yet, as Gwen Boynton drove home 
 again along the dark mall with the expected letter still unread 
 in her pocket, she told herself there was really no need for such 
 precautions ; only it was as well to prevent those gossiping 
 native jewellers from advertising the fact that Mem Boynton 
 salnb was so hard put to it that she had to sell her trinkets. 
 That was all ; yet each passing carriage as it flashed its lamp- 
 rays on her face, seemed desirous of proclaiming the fact that 
 she had been citywards to the eyes of its unseen occupants.
 
 142 
 
 She felt a feverish desire to know who those occupants might 
 be, and a distinct dislike to and distrust of the whole business 
 rose up in her, niakinq; her glad to find time had run so short 
 that she must dress at once for the dinner-party given to welcome 
 her back to Rajpore. With a feeling of relief from immedi- 
 ate certainty she threw the letter still unopened on the sitting- 
 room table as she passed it. But half an hour after when she 
 returned, in her trailing white garments, the sight of it changed 
 her mood. Better to know. After all, the things might be 
 paste, and worth nothing ; that would perhaps be the best 
 ending to the incident. 
 
 She sat down by the table, and turned the envelope over in 
 lier delicate hands. It might mean so mucli ; it might mean 
 so little. And what, in either case, did she mean to do? She 
 had literally no idea as with reluctant fingers she tore slowly 
 at the envelope. 
 
 It seemed to her as if ages had passed before she realized 
 that she was staring down at those few words telling her, 
 briefly, that the jewels sent were worth six thousand rupees, 
 and would she have the money in notes, or by bill of exchange? 
 
 How simple it was ! No question of taking or leaving. 
 Only whether it should be in notes, or by bill of exchange ! 
 And six thousand would not only pay Dan — if, indeed, she 
 decided on that — it would also leave something over for 
 the coming season at Simla. A welcome something, indeed, 
 when all one's wardrobe had been burned ; and people were so 
 particular how one was dressed. Then if one came to think of 
 it, did she not deserve some compensation for that loss of her 
 dresses? Trivial tliought going further towards decision than 
 any of the others. So in the midst of her meditations a 
 white-robed servant appeared at the door, saying, indifferently, 
 " Gordon sahib salaam delay 
 
 Another triviality ; yet she rose quickly, thrusting the letter 
 into her pocket. So he had come already ! She had known 
 well enough that he would miss ber; that he would come to 
 seek her, but this was soon, indeed. " Salaam belo^ She gave 
 the permission to show him in calmly, and yet the woman's
 
 143 
 
 triumph at her own power came uppermost, as awaiting his 
 entry she turned to finish the fastening of a bunch of white 
 gardenias. Her back was towards him, but he could see her, 
 and she knew that he couhl sec her, framed by the long mir- 
 ror like a picture, her hair a golden setting to the diamond 
 stars, her white arms whiter than her white dress — whiter 
 than the furred cloak hanging loosely from her white shoul- 
 ders, or the huge ostrich-feather fan dangling from her slender 
 waist. Lewis thought instantly of Fedora in the ballroom 
 scene ; and then that, on the stage or oil it, he had never seen 
 a more utterly desirable woman to present as his wife for 
 the world's approval. That is a feeling which decides many 
 marriages. 
 
 " It seems a shame to trouble you," he began, " but the 
 bearer is such a fool. The sling is always too high or too low, 
 and I want to go to the club. I thought you wouldn't mind 
 settling it, and I saw by the light in this room that you were 
 still here." 
 
 Every word of this speech, though the speaker was uncon- 
 scious of it, showed Gwen that her cousin had been thinking 
 the very thoughts she wished him to think. Translated by 
 her ietuimne Jinesse it stood thus: "You are too lovely to be 
 bothered, but then you do everything so well. It is too dead- 
 ly dull without you ; so, knowing I could rely on your sympa- 
 thy, I kept a lookout for some sign of your presence." Now, 
 when a woman hears everything she desires in the words of a 
 man, her reply is generally a return in kind. In this case 
 words were of less importance than those pretty, soft, white 
 hands so solicitous over his comfort. 
 
 "Is that better?" she asked. Her concern was absolutely 
 honest, for she was a woman every inch of her; loving to cos- 
 set and care for her men-folk. Those hands were so close to 
 liis cheek that their softness seemed to thrill through him. 
 After all, was it not a wife's part to flatter and cajole? — to 
 make life soft and sweet? Who could do that better than she? 
 
 "Dear little hands," he said, laying his suddenly on one and 
 pressing it tight to his breast. Then a quick passion blazed in
 
 144 
 
 his eyes. " Gwen," he cried, " ah, Gwen, how sweet you are !" 
 The ring in liis voice satisfied him. Yes, tliis was happiness ! 
 and tlie certainty made him stoop to kiss tlie face so close to 
 his own. And then? She was beautiful as ever; he was cool 
 as ever. The glamour had gone, the world was as it had been 
 before his fate was settled; for he had settled it definitely, 
 though he scarcely knew if he were glad or sorry for the fact. 
 
 "Am I to beg your pardon, dear?" he said, gently, looking 
 into her gracious eyes; "or will you believe that you have 
 spoiled me so that I cannot get on without the spoiler? Will 
 you forgive me, and try and put up with me, Gwen?" 
 
 "Of course I will forgive you, Lewis," she began, plaintively; 
 and then the lacli of emotion in her own voice, her own heart, 
 struck her disagreeably. Yet what else could she expect, when 
 her first thought had been one of gratitude for tliat offer of 
 six thousand ru[)ees in her pocket? For all that she felt ag- 
 grieved, thinking, illogically, how different it was with Dan. 
 y Unwonted tears rose to her eyes, and made her face tender as 
 she went on . " And why should I not spoil you, Lewis? You 
 know I am always glad to help — anyl»ody ; and after all we 
 are cousms — after all, there is always that between us." She 
 did not know why she offered him this excuse, this loop-hole 
 of escape. Not from calculation or finesse, certainly ; yet it 
 touched him as nothing else would have done ; for he, too, had 
 felt the flatness of it all — he, too, had thought vaguely that the 
 sacrifice of his freedom deserved more solid satisfaction in 
 return. 
 
 "Yes, dear," he replied, half playfully, " there is that; but 
 there is something more, is there not, Gwen ? At least I hope 
 so, for you have spoiled me — I cannot do witliout you." It was 
 her hand, however, that he kissed this time, and then the car- 
 riage being announced, he escorted her to it most decorously, 
 taking care that lier dress should not suffer from the wheel 
 with all the attentive calm of a husband. The fact struck \n\w 
 ruefully as he went off to the club, feeling that his fate was 
 definitely settled ; though, of course, the matter need not be 
 made public at once; Gwen would be sure to prefer that her
 
 145 
 
 season at Simla should be untraiiimelled by an open eniragement, 
 and he was in no hurry. Leave was inconvenient till the cold 
 weather; so, during the rains, when people wanted amusement, 
 they could afford them the excitement of the news. 
 
 Gwen's feelings as she drove to her dinner-party were of 
 the same nature. It was settled, definitely settled, of course ; 
 hut no one need know of it; no one must guess at it until she 
 liiid given Dan his conge. It was the first time she had ever 
 really put that thought into words, and the very suggestion 
 made her heart sink. There would be no lack of emotion 
 about that interview at any rate. Even the preliminary of 
 paying back the debt seemed beset with diflSculties. He was 
 so quick to understand, so hard to turn aside once he had the 
 least clew to her feelings. Finally, after much cogitation, she 
 decided on waiting until she had actually received the money 
 from Dellii. It would be more difficult for him to refuse the 
 notes down on the table; besides, George Keene's leave would 
 be over, he would have returned to Hodinuggar, and the pos- 
 sibility of confidences given under the influence of strong ex- 
 citement would be over; for Gwen had not failed to notice 
 the friendship growing between the two ; indeed, in a way, 
 she was vexed at what seemed to her a childish, almost absurd 
 deference, on Dan's part, to the lad's opinion — Dan, who was 
 his superior in every possible way ; that is to say, if he chose to 
 be reasonable. Last of all, the delay meant a closer proximity 
 to that annual flight to the Hills, which would provide her 
 with a safe retreat. So she set the idea aside for a time, and 
 became cheerful over the respite. 
 
 George, having tea with her next day, thought her, if possible, 
 gayer, brighter, more charming than ever ; especially when his 
 talk turned on his hero, Dan Fitzgerald. Now, no one had 
 ever heard Mrs, Boynton say an unkind word of her neigh- 
 bors ; indeed, the peculiar cachet this gave to her personality 
 made her remembered in after-years by all admirers, not so 
 much as a beautiful, but as a perfectly gracious woman. To 
 George, accustomed chiefly to the high-spirited freedom of sis- 
 ters, this virtue seemed divine, the more so because the world 
 
 10
 
 146 
 
 generally disapproved of Dan — of his recklessness and want of 
 reverence. Gwen Boynton, on the contrary, found nothing to 
 regret, save that Mr. Fitzgerald was not the finest man out of 
 the service, instead of in it; since, as Mr. Gordon said, he was 
 too good to slave among men years his junior. Whereupon 
 George, his young face full of importance, informed her, as a 
 dead secret, that the reason Dan stuck to his colors was that 
 a girl had promised to marry him whenever he got his pro- 
 motion ; that would be in the next spring at the latest, since 
 as he, George Keene, was in charge of the sluice, no prejudicial 
 contretemps could possibly occur. And Gwen, with an actual 
 smile at the mystification, which so many women dearly love, 
 reminded him that even when folk did their best, slips came 
 between cups and lips. The lad laughed joyously. 
 
 " Oh, I don't venture to stand sponsor for the young woman, 
 of course ! I only meant that Dan would get his promotion if 
 it depends on that gate being kept shut ; I carry the key about 
 with me, as Hare did in the ' Pair of Spectacles.' It's pecul- 
 iarly inconvenient, of course, but as tliey say on the Surrey side, 
 ' the villain who would reach it must pass over my dead body.'" 
 Gwen, who had a fine taste, admired the determination under- 
 lying the jest. Mr. Fitzgerald, she said, was lucky inj^such a 
 friend. Nevertheless, it might be a doubtful kindness, since 
 the loss of promotion might induce him to seek fairer fortune 
 elsewhere. 
 
 She insisted on this argument, even with herself, yet her 
 heart beat uncomfortably fast when, delay having been extended 
 to the limit of possibility, she sat awaiting Dan's arrival in the 
 pretty room which was so like herself in its softness and its 
 solid attention to comfort, beneath all the delicate tasteful 
 ornamentations. The three thousand rupees in notes were 
 ready for use in her pocket, and a long letter from Hodinuggar 
 in George's bold handwriting lay on the writing-table beside 
 the bouquet of flowers which Lewis had sent her from his 
 garden that morning. From the next room came the sound 
 of the ayah dusting out boxes against the immediate packing 
 up. All Gwen's excuses for delay had vanished ; yet she found
 
 147 
 
 it as hard as ever to face one man's confidence — the confidence 
 which showed in his glad greeting. It forced her into begin- 
 ning remotely, half affectionately, by regrets over his want of 
 tact at the Delhi conference. It had not been an unqualified 
 success so far as Dan's departmental popularity went, ilow 
 could it be one when he had deliberately but savagely at- 
 tacked the wisdom of his elders? True, the under- secretary 
 had snickered in describing the scene, and even Mr. Gordon 
 had laughed amid his vexation, saying that none knew better 
 than he what a confounded ass Colonel Twecdie could be 
 when confronted in public with new ideas. At the same time 
 it had been needless, almost brutal, on Fitzgerald's part, seeing 
 he had right on his side ; that alone should have made him 
 temperate. Of course, once his method had been suggested, 
 no other was open to any one out of a lunatic asylum ; all the 
 more reason for mercy in bringing the fact home. So Gwen 
 in her soft voice tried to convey her blame to the sinner, who, 
 with his hands in his coat-pockets, stood before her trying to 
 look penitent, and only succeeding in looking provokingly 
 debonnair. 
 
 " But sure, it's the blatant stupidity of the world that is its 
 greatest- crime," he protested. " Don't I remember my mother 
 saying to us, ' Ah, children, I don't mind your being naughty, 
 I can whack you for that, but I will not have you stupid.' " 
 
 Gwen laughed. Who could help it over that picture of 
 home training so utterly unfit for one recipient at least. In- 
 deed, she was conscious of a wish that her companion were 
 more dull; less full of eager vitality. It made that inevitable 
 task so hard. 
 
 "Dan," she began desperately, in sudden resolve,"! want 
 to talk about business. The fact is I've had a windfall of 
 money lately, and so I — I intend to pay you back that loan of 
 yours. It isn't fair — " 
 
 He was on his knees beside her to get a closer look at her 
 face ere she had finished. 
 
 " What is it, Gwen ?" he asked, rapidly, "you owe me noth- 
 ing. What do you mean ? There is no question of money
 
 148 
 
 between us," he went on, in answer to her silence, " there never 
 was, but once; there never shall be again. Is it anything 
 else, Gwen? Anything in which I can help? or are yon only 
 feeling afraid of the future? Tell me outright, dear." 
 
 Where was the good, she thought, petulantly, of delays and 
 preparations, when he raet her first hint in this direct fashion ; 
 yet against the grain, for she hated scenes, she took her 
 courage in her hand and spoke up : 
 
 " Yes, 1 am afraid — afraid of the future for you as well as 
 for myself. Oh, Dan ! I really wish you would sit down like 
 a Christian, and listen properly. Kissing my hand is no an- 
 swer, and I am serious. This idle, foolish promise of thinking 
 about it all seriously next year when you get your promotion 
 is not fair to you. Don't laugh, Dan — it isn't. It ties you 
 down, and prevents your doing yourself justice. And then it 
 isn't fair on me." 
 
 He interrupted her quickly. " How is it not fair on you, 
 Gwen ? I don't see it. You do not like any one else as much 
 as you like me ; you know you don't. And if this half-prom- 
 ise to me holds you back from marrying some one you do not 
 like as you like me, why then — " His voice lowered to ten- 
 der gravity, " I thank God for it as I should thank Him for 
 any good He sent into your life." 
 
 " You do not understand," she retorted, querulously. " Surely 
 I am the best judge of myself, and there is no reason why I 
 should want to marry some one else because I don't think it 
 would be right to marry you. I should make a bad wife, Dan, 
 to any poor man ; and I should not be happy. Surely, surely, 
 I ought to know best ! It isn't as if I were the inexperienced 
 girl I was before ; I have been married for years, and I think — 
 yes, I am sure — that I am happier as I am." Her last words 
 degenerated into something between a laugh and a sob. It 
 really was too ridiculous, too grievous that she, Gwen Boyn- 
 ton, with all her knowledge of the world, should not be con- 
 sidered fit to judge for lierself. 
 
 "Married?" he echoed, thoughtfully, and something in his 
 voice arrested her. " No, Gwen, ipy defir, you have never
 
 149 
 
 been married. You don't even understand what it moans to 
 be married ; for your knowledge of it is all evil. That's the 
 worst of it. Don't be angry, dear, I'm not going to lecture, 
 like Mrs. Grundy, on the sin of a loveless marriage, or the degra- 
 dation of one, like the sentimentalists. Surely, surely, a man 
 or a woman may marry from pity, from honor, from self-de- 
 votion, and yet touch the perfection of the tie. But you — " 
 he paused awhile — " you did not only lose the love of it, 
 Gwcn ; the thing itself was never yours. The facing of life, 
 hand in hand ; two of you where there was but one before. 
 See ! There is my liand, Gwcn, and there is yours. A differ- 
 ence, isn't there ? But how close they fit, each to each ! How 
 close and warm" — he paused again to smile at her. " What 
 is it the song says, Gwen, about giving your hand where your 
 heart can never be ? Fudge ! It should be, ' How can I give 
 my heart where my hand can never be.' Yes ! there they are 
 close. I am there too, my darling. Ready, always ready ! 
 Never again, Gwen, without the touch of a hand like 'chil- 
 dren friglitened in the night ; like children crying for the 
 light.' Never again, Gwen — never again !" 
 
 They were sitting together side by side on the sofa, her 
 hand held in his so lightly that she could have withdrawn it 
 without any effort. But it lay there in his clasp, as she sat 
 listening to the soft voice. Listening on, even when it ceased, 
 as if its spell lingered. They were not even looking at each 
 other. Beyond the silent room, through the open door, the 
 sunshine showed Gwen's bearer cleaning the lamps with a dirty 
 duster. Not a romantic sight ; but it is to be doubted if either 
 saw it; for their eyes were blinded by the great darkness in 
 which they found themselves, trustfully, hand in hand. At 
 last, with a little shiver, she tried to move, but his fingers 
 closed on hers more firmly. 
 
 " Too late, Gwen ! Too late ! You should have taken it 
 away when you had the chance," he said, joyously. O Gwen, 
 my darling, if we were married you would forget to be afraid, 
 as you did just now ; didn't you, Gwen ?" 
 
 " I believe you mesmerize me," she replied, trying to jest ;
 
 150 
 
 " and forgetting bills doesn't help to pay tbera, does it, 
 Dan ?" 
 
 " So you are back at the money again. Well, I don't care. 
 Money or no money ; promotion or no promotion." 
 
 "No, no!" she interrupted, yielding as she always did to 
 his decision ; " that really is not fair — the bargain was promo- 
 tion — it was indeed." 
 
 " Promotion be it," he assented, with a contented laugh ; 
 " though I can't for the life of me see what it has got to do 
 with the matter," 
 
 " You would at least have more pay," she put in, wondering 
 faintly the while how it came about that they should be dis- 
 cussing such questions when she had meant to be so firm. " I 
 could not marry a pauper, could I ?" 
 
 " Indeed, and indeed, it miglit be the best thing for you ; 
 then nobody would give you credit, dear, but me. And I — 
 O Gwen, my dear, my dear — you might be bereft of every- 
 thing — of all, save your own self, and sure I would give you 
 credit for the all still. Credit !" he echoed to his own words, 
 " isn't it absurd to be talking of it, as if either of us could be 
 debtor or creditor to the other." 
 
 That was all she gained from the interview ; that, and the 
 unwelcome remembrance of full five minutes when the touch 
 of her lover's hand and the sound of his voice had made her 
 forget the world, the flesh, and the devil. But not for long. 
 As she sat after Dan had gone, trying to comfort herself by 
 the fact that one never knew what might happen, that they 
 might all be dead and buried before the necessity of a choice , 
 arose, which, by-the-way, was her favorite consolation, she looked 
 up to see the servant standing at the door, doubtfully expectant. 
 
 " What is it?" she asked,languidly. 
 
 " The vakeel of the Dewans of Ilodinuggar, huzoor. lie 
 hath brought an offering, and desires an audience." 
 
 "The Dewans of Ilodinuggar!" repeated Gwen, startled. 
 
 " The agent, huzoor. Shall 1 tell him the mem sahib is going 
 to eat the air in her carriage ? It is but to say something about 
 a pot, he bade me mention, A pot that the huzoor fancied."
 
 151 
 
 Gwen stood up, holding on to the table. " Now !" she said, 
 after a pause, " show hiin in now." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton's neat victoria waited for its mistress long after 
 the smiling, obsequious visitor had given his shoe-money to the 
 servant and departed. Waited patiently till, as it grew dark, 
 the ayah came out and removed the cushions and parasol. 
 Mem, sahib was not well, and would not go to the gardens ; 
 she would not go out to dinner either, so the horses could be 
 put up. Then, the bearer coming into the veranda with the 
 lighted lamps, a shrill altercation began over the shoe-money; 
 the ayah asserting that when the visit was to a lady, her fe- 
 male attendant had a right to half, and even the grooms put- 
 ting in a claim on the ground that they had been present. 
 Their mistress, lying on the sofa where but a short time before 
 she had sat hand in hand with Dan Fitzgerald, heard the dis- 
 pute, and had not the courage to rebuke their greed. And yet 
 the vakeel of the dewans had simply brought a message that, 
 if the mem sahib would like another Ayodhya pot similar in 
 all respects to the last, one could doubtless be found and for- 
 warded without delay. She had refnsed the offer promptly, 
 decisively ; but the fact of its having been made filled her with 
 regrets and alarms. If — oh ! how lonely she felt, without a 
 soul to stand between her and trouble! Then Dan's words re- 
 curred to her, "bankrupt of everything, yet credited with all !" 
 They brought no comfort, however — only a vague irritation 
 against the speaker. But for him she would not have been 
 tempted ; but for him she would never have kept the discov- 
 ery of the pearls secret — if, indeed, it was a discovery. Could 
 it be a bribe? For what? Had they found out her entangle- 
 ment with Dan Fitzgerald ? Her vexation blazed up at the 
 bare suspicion, and though every fresh proof of the attraction 
 he had for her unstable nature invariably resulted in a recoil 
 of the pendulum, she was conscious this time that it had never 
 before swung back so far. He was to blame ; yes, he was un- 
 doubtedly to blame for the whole miserable business ! She 
 knew herself to be too upset for Lewis Gordon's sharp eyes to 
 be a safe ordeal ; so, as he was to be one of the dinner-party,
 
 152 
 
 she sent an excuse, and spent tlie long evening in nursing her 
 wrath; a very necessary process if Gwen Boyiiton was to bear 
 malice, since Aer temper was of the sweetest. Even with this 
 encouragement, the next morning found her ready with ex- 
 cuses for everybody, herself included. After all, matters were 
 not so serious. Three days would see her safe in Simla, where 
 six thousand rupees would be better than three, infinitely bet- 
 ter than none ; and it would be quite easy to keep her under- 
 standing with Lewis dark for some time to come. Then what 
 proof could any one have that she had sold or even found the 
 jewels? Who was to say that the pot had not been stolen, jew- 
 els and all? As for the jewellers who had bought them, they 
 neither knew her name nor address. The only possible danger 
 lay in weakly yielding to conscience in the way of attempted 
 restitution. Besides, if the pearls were really meant as a bribe, 
 surely those who offered it deserved to lose them and gain 
 nothing; for, of course, the idea of gaining anything from 
 her was preposterous. 
 
 She went to the hall that evening cheerful as ever, and ex- 
 claimed airily at the changes one short twenty-four hours had 
 wrought in the shifting society of mid-April. The Grahams 
 had left, the Taylors were to start that evening if there was 
 room in the train laden with women and babies flying before 
 the punkahs. Laden, too, with melancholy husbands convey- 
 ing tlieir families to the foot of the Hills, whence they would 
 return to stew in solitude. Lewis Gordon divided these un- 
 fortunates, cynically, into two classes — those who would bo 
 sent home in charge of the khansawah with a menu of the first 
 month's dinners, and an almost tearful injunction not to let the 
 master, when he went out to dine, eat things which were likely 
 to disagree with him ; and those given over to the " bottle- 
 washer" who "can cook a little, you know." And there was 
 truth in his cynicism. Mankind is not like an amoeba, all 
 stomach, yet nothing can be closer to tears than two sights 
 often to be seen during Indian hot weather : the one, a 
 meal sent away untouched in favor of a clean whiskey -and - 
 soda; the other, an elderly Mahoraedan at a bag dinner-party
 
 153 
 
 waving the lobster-salad away behind his master's back, and 
 presenting him with cheese and biscuits instead. There is 
 full-blown tragedy in both. Tragedy also in Lewis Gordon's 
 cheerful remark to his companion : " And, by-the-bye, Robin- 
 son has been ordered home by the next mail. They are afraid 
 of abscess. So that jolly little house at Simla is going a-beg- 
 ging. He asked me if I knew of a tenant, but it is rather late 
 in the day, I fear, even though he only asks half-rent." 
 
 "I'll take it," said Gwen, calmly. "Don't stare so. The 
 fact is, I have had a little windfall of money lately, and I hate 
 hotels. This will be almost as cheap, and much more com- 
 fortable." 
 
 " Infinitely so," assented Lewis. The house was fully a mile 
 nearer his quarters at Colonel Tweedie's, and that was a great 
 conveuience, especially during the rains.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 " Send it back ! It is liers ! It is not mine ! He gave it 
 her ! I stole it ! Don't tell ! Oh, send it back ! send it back 1" 
 
 Over and over again through the long hot days and nights, 
 the murmur, in its monotonous hurry, blending with the hum 
 of the potter's wheel. The old man had removed it to the 
 farther court-yard, where he sat working feverishly, yet with- 
 out avail, so far as the village people could see through the 
 door, beyond which they were forbidden to go. The simple 
 folk were agog at the potter's strange looks and strange ways. 
 He never seemed to cease working; for even when the familiar 
 sound of the wheel was hushed, an echo rose from within. 
 Those were the times when he stood wistfully in the dark, air- 
 less hut, beside a restless head turning itself from side to side 
 on the hard pillow, and keeping time to the monotonous 
 rhythm of the muruuirs, " Send it back — send it back 1" 
 
 "Yes, dear heart, I will send it." Then there would be 
 silence for a while; but only for a while, since the fever 
 strengthened day by day. Small wonder, when all nature 
 seemed in the grip of heat. The thermometer, we are told, is 
 accurately divided into degrees ; if so, the fallacy of such classi- 
 fication is self-evident, since every one with experience knows 
 that the difference between eighty-four degrees and eighty-six 
 degrees of Fahrenheit's instrument embraces the difference be- 
 tween comfort and discomfort. Between these two points 
 that engine of torture, the punka, trembles ere it begins the 
 steady swing which is only one degree less awful than the un- 
 steady swing necessitating the occnltation of boots and other 
 light articles of furniture with a human head. Doubtless to 
 the uninitiated it seems a trivial affair to loop a parti-colored 
 rag through hooks in the rafters, and to attach to it a white- 
 washed board with a newly-starched frill tacked to its lowest
 
 155 
 
 edge, thereafter making mysterious dispositions of a leathern 
 thong, the neck of an old wliiskey-bottie thrust through the 
 mud wall, and a circumambient flask of smelling-oil. But those 
 who know what it is, on returning from a moi'ning ride, to 
 find tlie pnnka in possession of your home, feel a chill at the 
 very thought such as the thing itself will never produce by 
 legitimate means. The hot v?eather is upon one, and God 
 only knows if fever, cholera, home-sickness, or sheer deadly ennui 
 will allow you to pass through it unscathed as an honest gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 George Keene, however, over in the branded bungalow, knew 
 nothing of the horrors of hot weather in the jungles, and while 
 poor little Azizan lay moaning out her impotent repentance, 
 was actually superintending the swinging of his punkas, 
 which is equivalent to a man personally conducting his own 
 hanging. He even, after the manner of engineers, took pride 
 in a device which was to secure a perfect silence in the infernal 
 machine, all unwitting of a time when, in the scorched dark- 
 ness, it might be preferable to curse a monotonous scoop 
 giving tangible excuse for wakefulness than to lie visualizing 
 the unseen swoop, as of some vampire eager to suck your 
 heart's blood. Those two degrees of heat bring a thousand 
 other changes. Even at Ilodinuggar, arid as it always was, 
 they intensified the drought till a drop of water seemed as vis- 
 ionary a consolation to the parched horizon as it must have 
 been to poor Dives in the fires of hell. The very canal denied 
 its nature as it slipped past, yellow and thick with silt from 
 the clayey defiles of the lower hills, each little swirl and eddy 
 looking as if streaked and pitted in mud. Yet the chill of its 
 snowy birth came with the flood, so that in the red-hot even- 
 ing George's factotum used to call through the yellow dust- 
 haze to the groom, who sat on the edge of the canal, appar- 
 ently moored to his place by a soda-water bottle tied to a 
 string. Then Ganesha, the groom, would haul in the strange 
 buoy, and scramble up the bank with it rapidly, so as to give 
 the master's dinner-drink a chance of being cool. 
 
 All this amused George Keene hugely — at first. He drew
 
 156 
 
 caricatures of it for tlie roctory, and sent a very impressionist 
 sketch of bis world to Mrs. Boynton. It consisted of a dust- 
 storm, a caper brush, and a rat-hole. She put it on the man- 
 tel-piece of the pretty drawino--room in the little house, among 
 scented pine woods, where she was just beginning- to appre- 
 ciate the soothing effect of having a decent balance at her 
 banker's. Her lady visitors laughed and said it was very clever, 
 but some of the men looked queer and muttered " poor devil " 
 under their breath. Not that George looked on himself in 
 that light; on the contrary, Ilodinuggar amused him. Its 
 dreary antiquity was all new to him, and as he went through 
 the cool, dark passages of the old palace on his way to play 
 chess with the dewan, he learned to admire some things about 
 it — notably the thickness of its walls, through which the sun 
 never filtered, though it soaked pitilessly into his red -brick 
 bungalow. Upon the roof Zubr-ul-zaman shrivelled under the 
 heat almost as much as a certain figure, which still lay huddled 
 up on the landing of the secret stair, in the thickness of the 
 tower beneath him as he sat at chess. Below that again 
 Khushal Beg lay stark naked, like a huge baby, in a swinging 
 cradle, which was pulled to and fro by a drowsy coolie, while a 
 bheestie supplied the fat carcass alternately outside and inside 
 with tepid water from his skin-bag; and as the mushk shrank 
 Khushal swelled visibly, horribly. 
 
 Yet farther, in the bazaar by the Mori gate, Dalel Beg, 
 abandoning European fashions under the stress of climate, slept 
 all day and waked all night — doing both more viciously than 
 before, like a snake rendered lively and dangerous by the heat; 
 but Chandni, from her cool arches, smiled calmly, even when 
 " Ta-ra-ra, boom-de-ay " rose from the opposite balcony, which 
 was now occupied by some one who could dance as well as 
 sing. To tell the truth, she was glad to be quit of Dalel's 
 amusement for a time. Such deviations from her control never 
 lasted long, and this time she knew that the dewan himself 
 was on her side. So she lounged about in the shadows, watch- 
 ing the pigeons in the niches, and rubbing her soft palms to- 
 gether. Sometimes a pellet of opium lay between them ;
 
 157 
 
 sometimes nothing at all, for it was a trick of licrs ; sometimes, 
 on the other liand, it was a great deal — neither more nor less 
 than one of the llodiniiggar pearls, which were as well known 
 to all the jewellers of that part of the country as the " Koh-i- 
 noor " diamond is to the keeper of the regalia. That was wliy 
 . Chandnl, on her return from Delhi, whither she had gone 
 ostensibly to learn new music-hall songs for Dalel's benefit, 
 had laughed so triumphantly at her own cleverness as she sat 
 at the dcwaii's feet, telling him what she had done, 
 
 " It was easy, with my cousin a jeweller ; and we of the 
 bazaar know a trick or two with goldsmiths. Manohar Lai 
 bath the pearls, sure enough. All thon hast to do is to offer 
 him a rupee more than he gave the mem (which will not be 
 half their value). The Hindoo pig will take it, seeing it is bet- 
 ter than having the yellow-trousered ones set on him as a re- 
 ceiver of stolen goods." 
 
 Zubr-ul-zaman looked at her approvingly from under his 
 bushy eyebrows. She was a clever woman, but he would im- 
 prove on her plan. He would put the screw tighter on the 
 Hindoo pig, and get the pearls back in exchange for a promise 
 to pay. So far, however, Chandni's plot had been unexpectedly 
 successful. Both George Keenc, by giving the Ayodliya pot 
 to the mem, and Dan Fitzgerald, by taking the jewels to Mono- 
 har Lai (as Chandni's spies said he had done), were mixed 
 up in the affair. There was sufficient foundation for an es- 
 clandre, of course. But how would that help them ? They 
 did not merely want revenge, as is so often the case ; they 
 wanted the key of the sluice-gate. The courtesan, standing 
 with wide-spread arms to fold her veil around her decently 
 ere she left the dcvvan's presence, laughed shrilly at his diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 "How? sayest th<ni. Who can tell? Save this: the mem 
 will send for more if she gets the chance. That is our way. 
 One rupee claims another. Bid the vakeel at Kajpore go to 
 her and suggest a marrow to the pot. All things go in pairs, 
 and we could send it through Keene sahib. For the rest we 
 must wait. There is time yet, and if we are to work by fear
 
 158 
 
 of exposure, that comes ever at the last moment. I play for a 
 high stake, as I have told thee, O my father ! And I mean 
 to win." 
 
 Then it was that the old man, with regretful thoughts of 
 his past youth, had promised her one of the pearls in pledge 
 for a future, when, if she succeeded, she would wear the whole 
 necklace as Dalel's wife. That was how she came to be rolling 
 the pearl against her palm lazily one moonlit night when George, 
 who began to find the long, empty evenings, coming at the end 
 of long, empty days, rather wearisome, strolled over, for the 
 first time since his return from Kajpore, to see the potter, and 
 while away half an hour in hearing some of his tales. Rather 
 to his surprise, since he knew nothing of the novel freak for 
 solitude, he found the outer palisade barred by thorn bushes, 
 and going a little farther along to where it joined the mud 
 wall, vaulted over the latter lightly into the inner court-yard. 
 It was empty, and the door of the hovel closed. Supposing the 
 old man to be absent, he was turning to go, when a low cough 
 from within made him pause and knock. The next instant the 
 potter burst out on him with eyes ablaze. "Devils! wilt not 
 leave rae in peace?" he began, before recognizing his visitor. 
 Then his manner changed; he drew the door to behind him, 
 saying hurriedly, "This slave mistook; the children tease. 
 But if the huzoor wants songs he must come to the outer 
 court. The wheel is there now. Will not the huzoor come?" 
 lie moved away like a plover luring an intruder from its nest; 
 but George paused again to listen to a repetition of the quick, 
 low cough. 
 
 " Who is that ill?" he asked, unwarily. The potter echoed 
 the sound instantly. 
 
 "It is T who cough, /iMSoor," he went on, still moving away. 
 " Pity of God, how I cough ! And I have fever, too, mercy of 
 the Most High ! Fever always, with mutterings hard to under- 
 stand. But 'tis no matter. We potters of Ilodinuggar do 
 not die ; we go and come, we come and go." 
 
 He had reached the wheel and set it a -spinning. But it 
 seemed pivoted askew in its new place, and whirled in fitful
 
 159 
 
 ovals. Then he looked up with a foolish laugh. " My thumb 
 will slip often now, huzoor. Maybe 'twere better Fuzl turned 
 no more pots." 
 
 The thought made him slacken the wheel to silence. lie 
 sat staring at it vacantly, while George looked at him, wonder- 
 ing at the change in the old man. His face had the weary, 
 overstrained expression of those who have wilfully forsaken 
 sleep — the look which comes to those who are on the rack day 
 and night, beside a sick-bed. And George, remembering the 
 cough, jumped to the conclusion that the potter had an invalid 
 in the hut — most likely some female relation; whence his 
 desire for secrecy. To be sure, the old man had often said he 
 lived alone; but in India one never could be sure how far 
 modesty interfered with the truth. So, being accustomed to 
 such vicarious prescribings, the young man suggested he should 
 send some medicine for the cough. His companion bright- 
 ened up immediately. "It is not all a cough, huzoor,^'' he re- 
 plied, hurriedly ; " it is fever. God ! what fever ! It is only a 
 little cough, with a rattle, as of dead wheat straw, under my 
 bosom as I draw breath ; quick, quick, with curving nostrils, 
 like a liorse galloping fast." 
 
 The vivid accuracy of the word-picture made George realize 
 an idea which had of late haunted his fancy : the idea of a 
 hand-to-hand fight with death, alone, unaided, as the beasts of 
 the field meet the destroyer. Here was some one doing it ; 
 dying, perhaps, of pneumonia, when others were being nursed 
 through a finger -ache. The pity, the injustice of it struck 
 him fairly. Then the potter's voice, going on softly, gave in- 
 consequent answer to the vague doubt surging against the 
 boy's youthful content. 
 
 "Not that it matters, as I tell myself in the night- season 
 when I am worse. We of Hodinuggar do not die ; we go 
 and come, we come again and go." Something in his words, 
 perhaps, seemed to arrest the old man's attention, and he paused. 
 
 '''' Huzoor,^'' he said, suddenly," I have something which belongs 
 to the Madr Mihrhun. If the huzoor would write an address." 
 
 "Belonging to Miss Tweedie?" echoed George, in surprise.
 
 160 
 
 "Do not thanks belong- to those who earn them?" replied 
 the potter, evasively. " If the huzoor could write. I have 
 pen and ink. Lo ! it is nought but a potter's work ; and the 
 miss was kind." 
 
 He fumbled in the niche beside his seat, and drew out a 
 parcel done up in wax-cloth. Evidently a pot of some sort, 
 thought George, beginning to print boldly, as one of his pro- 
 fession should, with the slant-cut native pen. The moonlight 
 shone full on the potter seated at his wheel, and on the young 
 Englishman stencilling Rose Tweedie's name. What was that 
 rising on the stillness of the night? A murmur from the hut? 
 George could not say for certain, as the old man set his wheel 
 a-humming instantly ; but once more the feeling of injustice, 
 the flash of pity, came to disturb his self-complacency. The 
 feeling lasted longer this time, and as he walked home his 
 thoughts were full of that uncertainty which is so hateful to 
 the young. The Mori gate showed black and white in the 
 moonshine. A clash of silver bells rose from the shadows as 
 he passed, and a pomegranate blossom fell at his feet. He 
 took a step aside to crush it fiercely, passionately. It lay be- 
 tween that and picking it up; he felt uneasy. Life was so 
 simple liere, so confusing in its simplicity. To live and to 
 die. Was that all ? He spent the remainder of the evening 
 writing to Mrs. Boynton, putting his heart into reserved, half- 
 jesting hints at his own puzzles. And as he wrote, the potter, 
 standing at the door of his hut, was listening to a murmur 
 coming from the darkness within. 
 
 " It is sent, dear heart. She has it. No one shall know," 
 he answered, softly. Then there was silence for a while, but 
 only for a while. The murmur came again and again through 
 the hot night, to be stilled by the same reply. 
 
 The post in due time brought Mrs. Boynton lier letter. She 
 read it with great interest, then promptly put it into the fire; 
 her favorite maxim being that the keeping of letters was, at 
 any rate, one reason for the slow progress of humanity, since 
 improvement was dangerous when you were tied down in 
 black and white to past opinions.
 
 161 
 
 And the postman, after leaving tlie snug little house in the 
 pine woods, came to Colonel Tweedie's with a packet for Rose. 
 Half an hour afterwards the girl was sitting with the contents 
 of the parcel on the table in front of her, puzzling her brains 
 why any one should have sent her back the Ayodhya pot, or 
 one exactly like it. There could be no doubt about it, how- 
 ever. She took up the wrapper more than once ; but the clear 
 print, if unmistakable, was also unrecognizable. She felt care- 
 fully inside, hoping for a scrap of paper, a hint of any kind ; 
 but there was nothing save a few bits of crumbling clay, leav- 
 ing a rough rim near the bottom of the pot. And all the time 
 her first impression remained unaltered. There was a mis- 
 take ; it had been meant for Mrs, Boynton, Undoubtedly 
 it was meant for her. Under ordinary circumstances, Rose 
 would most likely have taken the Ayodhya pot over to the 
 little house without more ado ; but though she did not ac- 
 knowledge it herself, she could not treat its occupant in an or- 
 dinary way. Besides, there was an element of mystery in the 
 whole affair, and Rose hated mystery. The memory of her 
 dream on the night of the storm at Hodinuggar annoyed her. 
 She had slurred it over at the time, merely mentioning it as 
 part of a feverish attack, but now she wondered if the dewan, 
 or some one else, could really have arranged a theft. And 
 gradually there grew up in her one distinct dislike to the 
 whole business. She would have nothing to do with it. She 
 would say nothing, but simply send the thing back whence it 
 came. She would not even suppose that George had sent it ; 
 she would return it straight. After all, it might be another 
 pot, and if she made a mistake in thinking this, they would 
 know the truth at Hodinuggar. 
 
 A knock at the door roused her, and she slipped the vase be- 
 hind another on the mantel-piece ere she said, "Come in." 
 
 "Only to say. Miss Tweedie," came in Lewis Gordon's voice 
 from the threshold, " that I shall not be in to lunch. Your 
 father has given me a half-holiday, and, like a good lijttle boy, 
 I am going to spend it with my relations. You will be at the 
 Grahams' tennis, I suppose ? We shall."
 
 163 
 
 "No. I shall utilize my half -holiday with my relations 
 also," she replied. " Father and I will go for a ride. I don't 
 often get him to myself." 
 
 "Then au revolr till dinner. How comfortable your little 
 snuggery is. It and Gwen's drawing-room are the prettiest 
 rooms in Simla." 
 
 Three days after this Chandni sat at the dewan's feet, once 
 more holding the Ayodhya pot in her hands. 
 
 "So I am right, O father!" she cried, with that shrill 
 laugh of hers, " the mem hath sent for more. Lo ! I shall 
 wear the pearls erelong." 
 
 " If they are sent again, thou raayest lose them this time," 
 retorted the old man ; but there was no warmth in his warning; 
 he had begun to believe in her luck. So the two sat in the 
 purgatorial heat on the roof, imagining evil as unconcernedly 
 as if the universe could hold no fiercer fire for the wicked. 
 The pearls must be sent again, of course, and the parcel given 
 to be addressed by Keene sahib. So much was clear ; and 
 Manohar Lai might be told to offer a less sum this time. 
 
 " Thy father was the devil," remarked Zubr-ul-zaman again, 
 this time more suavely, " and, pearls or no pearls, thou shalt 
 have Dalel. For, look you, Khushal is a water-butt, a grease 
 jar, and Dalel has forgotten how to deal fair, even by himself ; 
 but thou hast brains. So bring thine ear within reach of a 
 whisper. There is much to tell of Hodinuggar ways ere I for- 
 get with age." 
 
 She bent her head back till it almost rested on the old man's 
 breast, and brought her flower-decked ear close to his mouth. 
 One elbow touched his knee, the hand giving light support to 
 her chin — the attitude of one all ears to hear; the dewan, 
 still as a statue, nothing but a voice : a queer couple up there 
 on the roof overlooking the red - hot red - brick house where 
 George Keene was being introduced to what is familiarly 
 called a "go" of fever. 
 
 Even-that was, to begin with, somewhat of an amusement. 
 A certain feeling of self-complacency comes with the first in- 
 termission. After the tortures and fires of the damned for
 
 163 
 
 some hours, the su(idcn and complete escape from them seems 
 to redound to the credit of your constitution. You are con- 
 firmed in the impression that you are a fine fellow. But it is 
 not long before the fever fiend can knock that sort of conceit 
 out of a man, if it chooses. In George's case it did choose, 
 and, having got him well in its grip refused, after a dav or 
 two, to let him go again. The factotum lingered round v?ith 
 something he called beef-tea, and another thing he called bar- 
 ley-water. AVhich was which, the patient; with his mouth full 
 of Dead Sea apples and quinine, could not say ; nor after a 
 time did he very much care. He, cared for nothing; unless, 
 indeed, it was to get rid of that vision of the school-room in 
 the rectory — a school-room with a cherry-cheeked boy roasting 
 blackbirds at the fire. If you didn't twist the bit of brown 
 worsted stolen from your sister's work-basket, then the birds 
 slackened — slackened like the potter's wheel. Oh, it was a 
 lifetime of twisting, or there you were plumb, burning with a 
 horrid smell. When the factotum sat in the room the black- 
 birds didn't come; but then he breathed. Wasn't it rough 
 that a man could not stop breathing for half an hour just to 
 oblige a friend? Yet if the breathing beast sat outside, a 
 "whittering" beast came in its place — "whitter! whitter !" 
 under the bed, behind the boxes. That was the worst of a 
 musk-rat : no one could possibly tell where it would " whit- 
 ter " next. It wasn't its fault, of course ; it meant no harm. 
 Poor little beggar ! what a rummy sight it must be, if the yarn 
 was true, taking its kids out for a walk, tail by tail, in a string ! 
 And then, to his own infinite surprise and discomfiture, 
 George's feeble laugh ended in a flood of tears — tears like a 
 woman's, drenching the dry, hot pillow; that was one comfort ; 
 as good as a water-cart. So they came again between the 
 laughs. For George, seventy miles away from a white face, was 
 down with the worst type of jungle fever. Sometimes,when 
 he felt a little better, the factotum brought out the medicine- 
 chest, and between them they made wonderful compounds, 
 which the latter administered when the master had gone back 
 to the blackbirds,
 
 164 
 
 It is a common enough experience, and George, not being a 
 whit behind many another young Englishman, fought his way 
 through it pUickily, while Ganesha, the groom, fished for soda- 
 water bottles all day long, and the water-carrier circled round 
 the house, cooling the dust with sprinklings, and keeping an 
 eye on the punka- coolie during the factotum's absence over 
 barley- water or beef- tea. Scorching nights, blistering days, 
 devils in sparrow shape ; the fringe of the towel pinned to the 
 punka flickering your nose, yet sparing the mosquito fatten- 
 ing on your cheek. All this George knew till discomfort it- 
 self grew dim, and he ceased to care for anything in this world 
 or the next. 
 
 Then, after a time, there was something dead cold trickling 
 down his nose, and that surely was Dan's face. At any rate, it 
 was Dan's voice. 
 
 " It's all right, dear boy. Sure, the doctor's ridden out too, 
 and you'll be round in a jiffy." 
 
 It is an Eastern record of life which tells us of a love passing 
 the love of woman, and even in these latter days one sees it 
 more often East than West; perhaps, paradoxically, because men 
 have so often to play a woman's part towards each other in In- 
 dia. Dan Fitzgerald in particular was as gentle as any Sister of 
 Mercy, and stronger than most. To be sure, he sat on the bed 
 smoking, and after a day or two his language over the barley- 
 water was simply disgraceful. But by this time George had 
 come back from "No Man's Land," and could remember a little 
 booklet called Home Comforts Abroad, which had been given 
 him by his grandmother. So Dan ferreted it out from the 
 bottom of a box full of wire cartridges, and ordered the char- 
 coal-brazier into the veranda. Then he stirred diligently, while 
 George, propped up by pillows, read out the directions weakly, 
 the result being that the factotum bore away a deadly mixture 
 in triumph because, even with this surpassing love in his heart 
 for the compounder, the -boy could not swallow it. Neverthe- 
 less, wearied out by feeble laughter, he slept the first real sleep 
 of recovery, and woke to extol the factotum's beef-tea. That 
 functionary being thus appeased, the little red-brick furnace oqt
 
 165 
 
 in the wilderness became a home indeed ; that is to say, an 
 abode of love and peace and great contentment. 
 
 It was on the very day of promotion to an arm-chair and a 
 cigarette that George received a letter from Colonel Twcedie 
 enclosed in one from Rose. His eyes grew moist as he read 
 it; he had to pause ere he could turn to where his companion 
 sat busy over his share of the post, and even then his voice fal- 
 tered. 
 
 " You — you beast, Dan !" The words were uncompliment- 
 ary ; the tone was a caress. His hearer did not affect to mis- 
 understand. 
 
 " Well, it will be jolly for you at Simla. The gayest fort- 
 night of all just before the rains, and there's nothing like a 
 whiff of hill air for killing the microbes. Besides, the Twee- 
 die's house is awfully jolly to stay in." 
 
 "But you? You will be here," said George, remorsefully, 
 despite the eager pleasure in his eyes. 
 
 Dan laughed. " It isn't the first time I've been in a jungle 
 station. Are you thinking of the whiskey bottle again ? Sure, 
 I'll take a temperance ticket for the fortnight if it would make 
 my keeper easier." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Dan." He came round to lean over the 
 back of George's arm-chair. 
 
 " Is that the thanks I get for warming a viper in my bosom ? 
 But I must get back to the office for a day or two first, then 
 I'll start you off with my blessing and all the boiled shirts you 
 have in the world ; and more, by token — that picture of the 
 girl with the Ayodhya pot that's lying underneath them. Why 
 didn't you show it me before ? It's the best thing you ever 
 did, and must go to the Exhibition. Always put your best foot 
 foremost up at Simla among the big wigs. That is my advice." 
 
 " Which you don't follow yourself." 
 
 " But I do. Only my foot's a beetle-crusher, and the worms 
 don't like it. So that is settled, and we will tell the washerman 
 about the white ties. And look here, George, I'll bring the 
 duplicate of that key back with me; then you can take yours 
 and I shall know — "
 
 166 
 
 George's hand went up to the back of his chair as if to find 
 another; then he changed the venue with an odd little laugh. 
 
 "Give me a light, old man. I — I can't keep this cigarette 
 going, somehow." 
 
 As Dan stooped over him their eyes met. That was enough.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The angel Azrael had turned aside from other doors in Ho- 
 dinuggar besides that of the red-hot bungalow across the canal. 
 Fuzl Elahi, the potter, sat once more at his work with the old 
 calm on his face. The wheel was back in the inner yard again, 
 where the westering sun sent a creeping shadow of the high 
 wall almost to the edge of the spinning circle. It spun so 
 slowly that the eye could see the blue outline of a pot upon 
 the moulding-pirn. 
 
 " It was a woman seeking something. 
 Over hill and dale, through nigld and day, she sought for something. 
 Fold play, foul play ! look down and decide. 
 Not /— '"' 
 
 The chant stopped in a start. There was a grip on one 
 shoulder, a thin, brown hand over the other pointing accusing- 
 ly at the wheel. 
 
 " Why didst lie to me ?" panted a breathless voice, low yet 
 hard. " Why didst say thou hadst sent it to her. Why ? 
 Why ?" 
 
 " I lied not, heart's delight—" 
 
 The slackening wheel, as his hands fell away from it, showed 
 the Ayodhya pot, as if in denial of his words ; yet he repeated 
 them gently, looking back the while at the girl who had crept 
 from the open door of the hut behind him. " I sent it, but 
 it hath come back, as all things do in Ilodinuggar; as even 
 thou didst, Azizan. Be not angry with thy father. Lo ! it is 
 fate." 
 
 She set his deprecating hand aside roughly, " Let be, father 
 — if father thou art. I tell thee 'tis the pot. Give it me here. 
 Yea ! 'tis so — and thou hast put a false bottom of new clay to 
 it. Wherefore ?"
 
 168 
 
 The old man's forehead wrinkled in perplexity. "I do it 
 always. Let me finish the task, Azizan. Chandni the conr- 
 tesan will give money for it, as always; then thou shalt have 
 violet-sherbet to allay the cough. Pity of me, how thin thou 
 art !" 
 
 In truth, the girl was emaciated to skin and bone, and her 
 small face seemed all eyes ; yet, although she swayed as she 
 stood from sheer weakness, there was energy and to spare in 
 her grip on the Ayodhya pot. " Chandni !" she echoed ; then 
 suddenly the fire died down, the tension of her hold slackened. 
 " Lo ! wherefore should I care if it be lies or truth," she mut- 
 tered to herself ; " the old man is crazy, and 'tis the dewan's 
 when all is said and done — not hers. Here, take it, poor soul. 
 I care not now, so I be left in peace." 
 
 " Art not angry with thy father, Azizan ?" he asked, humbly ; 
 but there was no answer. He watched her languid retreat to 
 the hut almost fearfully. " Lo ! she forgets the things I have 
 remembered, and I forget those she remembers," he murmured, 
 before he broke once more into his chant with a quavering 
 voice. This forgetfulness of the girl's, showing itself so often, 
 was a perpetual wonder to the old man, who never for an 
 instant doubted that she was his daughter returned to him. 
 " Nay ! but thou knowest, beloved !" he would remonstrate 
 against her ignorance. " Hast not played in the Mori gate, 
 and bought sweetmeats of old Bishin, perched on my shoulder 
 like any tame squirrel ?" 
 
 *' Mayhap, mayhap !'* she would answer, impatiently ; " I 
 care not. There was a Hindoo girl, I remember, who did not 
 weep as the others used to do. Life was a dream, she said. 
 She would forget it soon in another. Mayhap 'tis' true, and I 
 have forgotten." 
 
 It suited her to deceive the old man. When she had first 
 realized the position, she had been too weak to do more than 
 wonder at it. Then, by degrees, while she still lay helpless, 
 the potter's talk, her own recollections of old Zainub's hints, 
 joined to the extraordinary similarity in those extraordinary 
 eyes, had given her a shrewd guess at the truth ; and with it
 
 169 
 
 came a fierce, savage delight in her inheritance of witchcraft. 
 It meant reveuge : revenge and safety. The potter deemed her 
 a ghost from another world, and the village-folk should think 
 the same. So she hid herself away in the dark hovel, spending 
 the long hot days in dreaming of a time when she could creep 
 out on some moonlit night and frighten the wits out of the 
 world which had wronged her. For her whole nature was jan- 
 gled and out of tune, and she hated everything and everybody, 
 herself included. Nor was her little world unwilling to be 
 frightened. Gossip of the strange doings at the potter's house 
 already began to pass from mouth to mouth — voices had been 
 heard, sights seen ; finally, Mai Jerun's longed-for son had been 
 born with a distinct thumb mark, and had died. The only per- 
 son, in fact, who could have allayed these fears lay shrivelling 
 into a mummy with the heat on the old secret stairs ; so that 
 Azizan might have wandered through the village had she 
 chosen, without fear of anything save sending the women into 
 hysterics, and making the men give themselves up as doomed 
 to die. She did not care to wander, however ; she cared for 
 nothing save to sit crouched up at the lintel of the hovel-door, 
 and stare into vacancy until the dawn sent her back to the dark- 
 ness within. The potter found her so when he returned from 
 taking the pot back to the Mori gate late in the evening. The 
 fading daylight struggled still with the rising moon, making 
 confused havoc among the shadows, and giving an odd irides- 
 cence to the dust-laden air. From without came a barking 
 of dogs, an occasional cry ; every now and again a group of 
 bleatings from the goat- pens — all the every- day common- 
 place sounds of village life ; and in the court-yard the same 
 lack of outward novelty. Only an old man with his puggree 
 off, eating his supper of bajra cakes and water beside a sick girl. 
 
 " An, beloved ! cough not so," came his tender voice. " Lo ! 
 I will go for the sherbet. Dittu was away when I passed his 
 shop but now. And see ! I will seek out the sahib ere he leaves 
 to-morrow, and ask for more medicine. It did thee good." 
 The girl's breath came faster. 
 
 " Leaves ? Wherefore ?"
 
 170 
 
 "He hath been ill, dear heart; so Chaudui says. He goes 
 to the mem sahib in the hills." 
 
 Azizan's hand clutched the old man's arm. " And the pot ! 
 What of the pot ?" 
 
 He shook his head. "Maybe it was for lier; I know not. 
 Cough not so, beloved. See, I will fetch the sherbet." He 
 bent over her as he rose in gentle pleading. "Go not from 
 me while I am away, Azizan ! Lo ! I will be back erelong." 
 She gave a short laugh and sank back, still breathless from her 
 fit of coughing. 
 
 " Go ! whither should I go ? God knows !" 
 
 The old man sighed, and as he turned away he looked back 
 more than once at the listless, dejected figure. So it remained 
 for an instant after his had disappeared through the outer 
 yard, then, as if galvanized, it rose suddenly, and the thin 
 arms were flung out passionately. 
 
 "She shall not have it ! Chandni shall not give it to her! 
 She shall not! She shall not!" 
 
 Five minutes after, trembling half from weakness, half from 
 sheer hurry, Azizan was on her way through the village 
 wrapped in a white sheet which she had snatched from the 
 hut. What she was going to do she scarcely knew, just as 
 she scarcely knew whither she was going. Though within a 
 stone' s-throw of her birthplace, the path down which she strug- 
 gled was as unfamiliar to her feet as the tempest of emotion 
 was to her mind. A fever of excitement, anger, mistrust of 
 everything and everybody, surged through her veins. The 
 road was silent, deserted ; but even had it been thronged the 
 girl would not have hesitated. Amid all the confusion one 
 thing was certain: Chandni must tell the truth — she must be 
 found and made to tell the truth. But where? Yonder was 
 the Mori gate; she had seen that before through the lattice, 
 and that at any rate would serve as a landmark. She would 
 go there first and see. 
 
 As she came within earshot of the tunnelled causeway a 
 woman's voice rang out in shrill laughter from the dark re- 
 cesses to the right. Her first instinct was to pause ; then sec-
 
 171 
 
 ond thought made her keep straight on her way as if to pass 
 through, till at the farther end of the causeway she turned and 
 sank down behind a plinth to the left. It was as if a shadow 
 bad disappeared. A minute to regain her breath, and then she 
 crept farther into the darkness, where, unless some belated 
 gossiper should choose that side of the arch, she was secure. 
 From over the way came a clash of anklets, and a low, full 
 voice, contrasting strangely with those high trills of hiugliter, 
 assured her that she had come straight upon her quarry. The 
 rest was patience, till sooner or later the woman would be left 
 alone. Sooner or later the laugh must cease; sooner or later 
 even wickedness must tire and turn to sleep. So the girl sat 
 crouched into herself in the curiously impassive attitude of her 
 race, her thin arms round her thin knees, whereon her small 
 chin rested. Not a very startling sight outwardly, tbough to 
 describe what lay within is wellnigh an impossible task with an 
 audience of Western ears. For Azizan's knowledge would be, 
 to such ears, incompatible with her ignorance ; her jealousy 
 and passion, with her patience. Such an audience must re- 
 member an upbringing foreign to their experience, and imagine 
 her still as a statue, though the blood raced like liquid fire 
 througli her limbs and throbbed like sledge-hammers on her 
 temples. 
 
 The moon, sinking slowly, sent a slanting yellow light 
 through the dust-haze visible beyond the arched causeway; the 
 village dogs ceased one by one the nightly challenge to their 
 fellows ; but still the laugh went on. Would wickedness 
 never tire? The wonder and her own heart-beats lulled the 
 girl into a drowsier patience. She woke to silence, and, stand- 
 ing up, strained her eyes and ears into the shadows. Not a 
 sound. She stole softly across the causeway, slipped into the 
 recesses on the right, and listened again. A low breathing 
 from one corner made her feel her way towards it, and her 
 touch, light as the breeze, hovered over a figure on the ground 
 wrapped from head to foot in a sheet like a corpse. A servant, 
 doubtless ; certainly not the woman she sought. She would 
 not choose so airless a spot. But there must be rooms above,
 
 m 
 
 and a roof above that ; it was worth a trial before going on 
 towards the bazaar. Slowly, for she knew nothing of where 
 she was, Azizan groped her way to some winding stairs, thence 
 to a suite of low chambers, empty of all save pigeons rustling 
 and cooing at her step in the dark. Upward again till, at a 
 turn, an archway gave on a terraced roof not six feet square ; 
 and there, lying on a string-cot which from its narrow resting- 
 place seemed suspended in mid-air, she saw the soft curves of 
 a woman's figure outlined against the moonlit dust-haze be- 
 yond. Not a place for a sleep-walker's slumbers, not even a 
 place for a restless one ; but Chandni slept the sleep of the 
 unjust, which, nine times out of ten, is sounder than that of 
 the just. Her conscience never troubled her; she belonged to 
 a race apart from the customs and creeds of the people — a race 
 born to the profession of panders and prostitutes, openly, 
 shamelessly. 
 
 So, not being afraid like other women-folk of sleeping in the 
 moonlight with her face uncovered, she lay carelessly as she 
 had thrown herself down, her tinsel-set veil thrown aside by one 
 arm thrust under her head, the other stretched almost straight 
 into the gulf of dusty air glittering faintly like the ghost of a 
 sunbeam. Beneath its filmy net-covering the bold sweep of 
 her bosom rose and fell softly with its burden of the past day's 
 faded jasmine chaplets. They gave out a last breath of per- 
 fume as Azizan's thin brown fingers closed round the sleeper's 
 throat. 
 
 "If you stir," said the girl to the startled eyes, as they 
 opened, " Til kill you ! Feel !" Only a prick above the heart, 
 but joined to that scorching, stifling grip it was sufficient to 
 send the coming shriek back from Ch^ndni's lips. She lay 
 terror-stricken, staring at the wild light eyes which, catching 
 the moon rays as they dipped to the horizon, seemed to glow 
 with a pale fire. This was no ghost ! it was something worse 
 than that. 
 
 *' Why didst send the Ayodhya pot to her ? Why ? Give 
 it me back !" 
 
 Chandni slackened all over in sudden relief; if she could
 
 173 
 
 have laughed with that hand on her throat the shrill sound 
 would have no doubt risen on the hot air. So that was all ! 
 Nothing but jealousy ! Of all things in the world the easiest 
 to rouse and to allay by lies; and she had plenty of these at 
 her command. So many, that poor Azizan, after a time, won- 
 dered sullenly how she came to be sitting amicably on the 
 string-cot beside the woman she had meant to coerce. 
 
 *' Poor little chicken !" said the courtesan, in contemptuous 
 consolation. " So thou wouldst have killed me, thy best friend. 
 One who seeks to destroy the mem ! 'Twill be the ruin of her, 
 look you, and then he will have none of her. That is their 
 way. She will not get him ; so pine no more, child. Lo ! I 
 will teach thee to have lovers and to spare." 
 
 "I v/ant no lovers," muttered the girl, angrily. "If 'tis to 
 harm her — and thou hast sworn to that — I care not; and thou 
 hast sworn to let me be also. That is enough." 
 
 As she rose, folding her white veil around her, Chandni felt 
 sorely tempted to give the little push which must have overset 
 the weak balance and sent Azizan to certain death below. But 
 the thought that if looks told the truth Fate would do the 
 work for her erelong and without scandal stayed her hand. Be- 
 sides, the knowledge that the girl was alive and intent on re- 
 venge might be of use in dealing with the palace if they showed 
 themselves traitorous to her claims. So when she had watched 
 Azizan go stumbling down the stairs, Chandni rolled over lazily 
 to meet the midnight wind which was springing up, and short- 
 ly afterwards fell asleep like a child. She was in dreamless 
 slumber long before Azizan, who had sunk down on a step of the 
 silent causeway, hoping to regain strength for the homeward 
 journey, had felt equal to the task, A deadly despondency 
 had replaced her excitement ; yet beneath this again lay a dull 
 resentment against Fate. If she had understood, if she had 
 known — as Chandni seemed to know — the ways and thoughts 
 of these white people, she might have done better. Slie had 
 meant no harm — no harm in her world, at least — for she was 
 not bad. He might, as Chandni said, turn avsfay from the mem 
 for being wicked, but he would never have had cause to turn
 
 174 
 
 away from her if slie had only known. She never would have 
 done anything to displease him — never have done, or said, or 
 looked : the sting of painful memory drove her from her rest- 
 ing-place to stumble on recklessly in the direction of a twin- 
 kling light upon the mound. That must be the potter's house, 
 he must be watching for her, and there she would at least find 
 shelter. But it was not the house, it was the potter himself 
 seeking for her among the ruins. His face, by the light of the 
 cresset he carried, showed haggard, and its anxiety soothed her, 
 even while it sent a new pain to her heart. He was unhappy 
 at losing her; and — ah God! — how her own heart ached. 
 Must it always be so when those you loved were lost? Then, 
 would he feel so if he had to turn away from the mem ? — 
 would it send that pain into his heart? 
 
 The question was insistent, imperative, as, scarcely listening 
 to the old man's deprecating delight, she followed him into the 
 darkness of the hut. Even there it haunted her. Through 
 the long night, through the long, hot day, as she lay huddled 
 up out of sight, it came back again and again. Would he 
 care ? And if he did care, would she be glad or sorry for his 
 pain ? 
 
 The moon and the setting sun were disputing possession of 
 the world again, and George lay on a lounge-chair in the ve- 
 randa of the red-hot bungalow. The air was fresher, if not 
 cooler there, and the factotum within was disturbing the foun- 
 dation of the round world in attempting to pack his master's 
 things ; among these, Azizan's picture, and a parcel which had 
 been sent from the palace addressed to Mrs, Boynton. Some- 
 thing, it was said, she had asked the vakeel at Rajpore to get 
 for her. The lad, though still weak, was joyous to the heart's- 
 core in the knowledge that another hour would see him on his 
 way to spend his holiday in the society of the most perfect 
 woman he had ever seen. That was how he viewed the future — 
 Gwen in full focus, the rest of the world out of it ; even poor 
 Dan, who was at that moment riding his hardest across the 
 desert to take charge of the subdivision at its uttermost limit, 
 and so give the boy every possible second of his leave. Not a
 
 175 
 
 very just estimate of relative values, but a very usual one when 
 Narcissus is absorbed in the reflection of himself. 
 
 " Salaam alaikoom,^^ came a breathless voice behind him. 
 He turned to see Azizan, who had sunk, as if exhausted, on the 
 veranda steps. He stared at her, silent with surprise, in which 
 a certain shamefaced annoyance was mingled. He had no 
 desire to be reminded of her existence at present, and even if, 
 as he had felt inclined to suspect, there was some mystery 
 about her, he could do no good by inquiring now, on the very 
 eve of his departure. 
 
 " I have come for the pot, huzoor,^'' she began without pre- 
 amble ; " they took it from rac. Lo ! I was poor, and the 
 poor have no voice. Justice, justice !" 
 
 *' Took it from you ?" echoed George, his annoyance in- 
 creased at this plunge into the past. "Do you mean by force?" 
 She nodded. " But," he went on, " you sold it. I gave the 
 money to your mother when she came here — on the night the 
 huts were burned." 
 
 " My mother died before that, huzoor. It was not my 
 mother who came, but a bad one from the palace. It is true 
 that I never sold it, never got the money. And now I want 
 the pot back again. It brings luck. I will not sell it." 
 
 " But why didn't you come at once and tell me ?" asked 
 George, angrily ; "then I might have done something; now — " 
 
 She interrupted him eagerly. 
 
 "Your slave has been ill, as the huzoor may perchance no- 
 tice." Her wistful tone made George look at her more closely. 
 
 " Very ill, I should say," he assented, shortly. " You are 
 not lit to come so far. Why did you ? Why didn't you send 
 some one else?" 
 
 " I thought the huzoor would not believe unless he saw me," 
 slie said, after a pause. " I heard the huzoor was going away 
 to-day, and I wanted the pot. Surely he will give it back ! 
 The Protector of the Poor has so many things ; his slave has 
 but this one thing." 
 
 Her face was outlined against the white pillar beside which 
 she sat, and, with all the languor of sickness on it, still showed
 
 176 
 
 strong in its entreaty. Something in it struck George with re- 
 gret, even amid the pressing desire to Itick somebody wliich 
 her words had aroused in him. " Give it back," he echoed, 
 savagely ; " of course I would, if I could ; but I can't ; it was 
 stolen — " 
 
 " It has been found again, Imzoory 
 
 " Perhaps ; but I haven't found it. I'm very sorry, my good 
 girl, but I haven't got it." 
 
 " The huzoor mistakes. He has it. It is in the parcel that 
 came from the palace. They took it from me again to send it 
 back to the mem.'''' 
 
 George stared at her, unable to believe his ears. " Took it 
 again — then you were the thief ? Is that it ?" 
 
 There was a slight pause ere she replied. " The huzoor al- 
 ways speaks the truth. I stole it — but it was mine." 
 
 George gave a low whistle ; then a sudden grimness came to 
 his face. " And you say it is in that parcel they sent addressed — 
 by Jove if it is," he added in English, as he rose hastily. A 
 minute after, when he returned from within, his face was still 
 more grim. " Here, take it," he said, thrusting the blue curves 
 of the Ayodhya pot at her, as if in haste to be rid of it and her. 
 *' When I get back I'll inquire, and if what you say is true — " 
 He paused, reduced in his anger to thinking incoherently of 
 Dalel and horsewhips. How dare he send it her, mixing her 
 up, as it were, in such a discreditable affair. " Well," he con- 
 tinued, looking impatiently at the girl; "that's all, I suppose. 
 You don't want anything more, do you ?" 
 
 The attitude in which she was sitting reminded him perforce 
 of the sunshine glowing on the blue-tiled mosque and the side- 
 ling pigeons; of a past of which he did not care to be reminded, 
 and a hardness crept over his face. 
 
 " That is all," she replied, rising to go. " But the huzoor 
 should not be angry ; the pot belonged to this slave." 
 
 " Angry," he echoed, with a sort of lofty consideration ; 
 " why should I be angry with yon? Every one has a right to 
 his own, surely. Now you have got it, go home and get 
 stronger, my child. Salaam, Azizan !"
 
 177 
 
 " Salaam, alaikoom, huzoory 
 
 He took up his cigar again, relieved to find it alight, for he 
 felt that he needed soothing. On his return, Dalcl must be 
 brought to book and smashed ; meanwhile he was not sorry 
 that the cursed pot had finally passed into the hands of its 
 rightful owner, for it had a knack of appearing and disappear- 
 ing in a way which annoyed his common-sense. Now he need 
 never see it or its owner again. One palpable reason for the 
 latter probability made him give a compassionate glance after 
 the thin, small face, on which consumption had set its mark 
 indubitably — the face which he had seen for the last time. 
 
 No, not the last ! She, too, was pausing to look back from 
 the gateless gateway, guiltless of a fence on either side, which 
 served no purpose save arbitrarily, uselessly, to divide one 
 portion of a dusty road from another. So he saw her outlined 
 against the shadows which softened the havoc sickness had 
 wrought in her young face. A graceful figure, seen, as he had 
 painted it, against the purple mound of Hodinuggar, with the 
 pot clasped to her breast. Yes, when Mrs. Boynton saw the 
 picture she would be pleased ; that is to say, if he showed it 
 to her at all. Perhaps it would be better not to -do so, since 
 she must not be mixed up with anything discreditable. 
 
 The thought absorbed him, and when he looked up the 
 shadows were empty.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Ten days bad passed since George, after many hours of 
 deadly discomfort, found himself admitting that the world was 
 not such an intolerable place, even in India ; that, when all was 
 said and done, there were some things in it worth looking at. 
 Those who have experience of these convalescent journeyings 
 will know at once that this must have been just about that 
 turn of the upward-trending road where a bridge slants the 
 dhooli across a dry torrent-bed, so that the traveller can see a 
 stream of pink oleander blossoms filling the narrow ravine. 
 The morning sunshine lies yellow on the red, parched hillocks, 
 the red rocks crumble from thirst, but the heat-hidden water 
 proclaims its presence beneath them by that glory of flowers ; 
 nothing else, far or near, suggesting moisture, save, perhaps, 
 the candlestick euphorbea, reminding one vaguely of the Ark 
 of the Covenant. Not a very welcome reminder, surely, in this 
 land of drought, where even a deluge of rain would be a bless- 
 ing. So, at least, thought George, all unwitting of the times, 
 now close at hand, when a racing, roaring demon would fill 
 that valley, and the oleander flowers would seem adrift, and 
 the arch of the bridge echo to the metallic churnings of the 
 boulders below ; until, maybe, it would take a fancy to join 
 them, and leave travellers staring at each other across an im- 
 passable torrent. 
 
 Another turn or two and the candlestick-bush is left behind. 
 The red-flowered indigo hides the dry, red soil, and from it rise 
 strange shrubs with spare foliage and abundant blossoms : yel- 
 lows and whites and lilacs, with here and there a pomegranate, 
 vivid green and crimson. A sweet scent fills the air from gray 
 aromatic herbs, among which the wild bees keep up a perpetual 
 hum. It is the land of honey and honey-bees — butterflies also ; 
 there goes a purple emperor, and, by Jove ! yonder is one of
 
 179 
 
 those swallow-tailed whoppers you have seen somewhere in 
 a glass-case. The head sinks back upon the pillow again, 
 tired, content to watch the scarlet flash of a sun-bird. Was 
 that a fern hidden in the crevice of the yellowing rocks? Yes; 
 parched, dwarfed, but still a fern. So on and up until the 
 coolies set the dhooli down on a bit of real green grass beside 
 the tiny trickle of the stream where they slake their thirst, and 
 some one from a shingled hut, hung with flowering, fruiting 
 gourds, brings the sahib a red-brown earthen pot. A land of 
 milk, this ; somewhat smoky, no doubt, but still milk. Over 
 the tops of the fragrant pine-trees something blue climbs up 
 into the skies. Can it be a hill — the hills ''''from whence cometh 
 our hel}) " ? The memory, perhaps, of some early morning- 
 service in the old little station church comes over you. The 
 punkas swinging overhead, the deputy commissioner reading 
 the Psalms, the involuntary stir northward of the small knot 
 of worshippers as the words sank straight into their hearts, 
 bringing thoughts of dear faces looking down on the heat-sod- 
 den plain. Yes, those are the hills ; for as the coolies slither 
 through the slippery pine-needles, the faint blue mist, blending 
 into clouds, rises, and the headman, pausing, points to a cluster 
 of white dots. Those are the sahib logue's houses. The path 
 steepens ; George pulls up the neglected shawl as shelter from 
 the growing cool, and, as he is hurried along the curving road 
 to find old familiar friends in every flower and leaf, his renewed 
 vitality expresses itself^ oddly enough, in the inward conviction 
 that here at last is a place in which one could die comfortably. 
 Not that George, or any other convalescent in his position, 
 contemplates the possibility of death. Why should one, when 
 life has suddenly become attractive ; when one can breathe in- 
 stead of merely drawing breath ; above all, when it is safe to 
 go out into the garden without a hat, and pick a carnation for 
 your button-hole before strolling over to have tea with the best 
 woman in the world ? 
 
 Those ten days, therefore, passed like wildfire. George knew 
 no more how he had spent them than how he had spent all his 
 money — chiefly, it may be said, on sweets at Peliti's, kid gloves,
 
 180 
 
 and new ties. It was the first time the young fellow had ever 
 been let loose on equal terms with the very best of society — a 
 society, moreover, bent on amusing itself. That he should fol- 
 low its example was a foregone conclusion ; and it must be 
 owned he certainly got his money's worth in solid enjoyment. 
 There is always one particular period in the life of every man 
 and woman when the sun seems to stand still in the heavens 
 on purpose to make pleasure perpetual. This had set in for 
 George, and it had its usual effect in giving a fine-drawn, eager 
 expression to his face. Small wonder, perhaps, seeing that, as 
 a rule, he never went to bed till three in the morning, and that 
 the days passed in one ceaseless round of amusement. It 
 seemed incredible even to himself that not a fortnight past he 
 had been agonizing at Hodiniiggar on beef-tea and barley-wa- 
 ter. But then Hodinuggar itself was incredible; almost as 
 much so as the fact that he had proposed to wear his old white 
 shirts, washed by a desert washerman, at Simla 1 They were 
 thrust aside in a bottom drawer now, and their place filled by 
 brand-new ones from a European shop ; for how could one dance 
 with the most perfect woman in the world in a shirt that had 
 no deportment ? How, in fact, could you do anything without 
 reference to the certainty that your unworthy self would form 
 a part of perfection's environment? That is what it comes to 
 when a steady, honest young fellow like George falls down on 
 his knees to worship a pretty face and a gracious smile. No 
 doubt it was not a very admirable occupation ; but it seemed so 
 to him, as it seems to that majority of mankind which does not 
 ask itself questions ; and this simply because he had been 
 taught, as we have all been taught, to look on sentimental love 
 between the sexes as something almost divine. Thus, the real 
 issues being hopelessly confused, this new feeling of passionate 
 worship had all the effect of a religion upon him, and other 
 things besides old shirts were thrust out of sight, among them 
 Azizan's picture. The idol should not see it till the depths of 
 deceit regarding the Ayodhya pot had been fathomed, lest in 
 any way perfection's ears should be sullied by a queer story. 
 By-and-by, when, on returning to Hodinuggar, he had time to
 
 181 
 
 unravel the mystery, he might send the portrait to her as the 
 best piece of work he had ever turned out ; but now ? Why 
 now, as usual, it was time to ride over on the hired pony — of 
 whose mane and tail you were inwardly ashamed — to the pretty 
 little house among the pine woods, and there, in Paradise, try 
 to forget that but three days more leave lay between you and 
 Purgatory. Certainly not an admirable occupation ; but the 
 novelty, the excitement, the supreme pleasure had gone like 
 wine to the boy's head, producing that exalted condition of 
 mind and body which has been described as leaving one in 
 doubt whether to have another whiskey-and-water or to say 
 one's prayers and go to bed. 
 
 Lewis Gordon, standing in the back veranda, watched the 
 young fellow ride off with a frown. " It's too bad of Gwen," 
 he murmured to himself, as he went back to finish dressing. 
 " I can't think what the fun can be. But the boy's having a 
 good time ; that's one thing. And I suppose we all have to go 
 through it some time or other." 
 
 When he had done putting himself into an extremely dandi- 
 fied racing kit, he passed through into the oflSce again and be- 
 gan work steadily on some files. He was not on leave, and if 
 he had to ride a steeple-chase at half-past four, that was no rea- 
 son why he should waste an hour in dawdling down to Annan- 
 dale beside Gwen's dandy. There was no reason, either, for 
 his doing duty with Colonel Tweedie and his daughter, who 
 had ordered their horses at three. Time enough if he galloped 
 down at four, when the road would be pretty clear, instead of 
 being clogged up by a perfect procession of women and coolies 
 masquerading in ridiculous costumes. Whence it may be in- 
 ferred that Lewis Gordon was in a bad temper. As a matter 
 of fact, he had been so ever since he arrived at Simla, despite 
 the welcome he received from Gwen's constant smiles, exquisite 
 dresses, and admirable lunches. Perhaps he was conscious that 
 some one would have to pay for all these amenities, and the 
 prospect of responsibility in the future weighed on him ; not 
 in a pecuniary point of view, but in reference to the fact that 
 the debtor would be his wife ; for, like most men of his genre,
 
 183 
 
 he was fastidious over the duties of women in any way connect- 
 ed with him. Anyhow, he was distinctively dissatisfied with 
 his world as he sat, buried shortsightedly up to his nose in piles 
 of paper, his racing colors, white with a crimson hoop, looking 
 ridiculously out of keeping with his occupation. A clatter of 
 hoofs told him that the colonel and Rose were oflf. He could 
 see them from his window passing a turn of the road below his 
 house, their figures outlined for the moment against the dim blue 
 of the valley. She sat straight, certainly, and as he watched her 
 a smile came to his face as he remembered the partridge hunt, 
 to be replaced immediately by a frown. For the memory of 
 Hodinuggar conjured up that of Dalel Beg, who had come up 
 to Simla for these races, and had, in Lewis's opinion, been mak- 
 ing himself most objectionable. There was no reason on earth, 
 of course, why Dalel should not come ; no reason on earth why 
 the governor-general should not shake hands with him, or any 
 one else — -that was part of the duty for which governors-gener- 
 al were paid ; but that Gwen Boynton should shake hands with 
 him and allow him to speak to her familiarly was different. 
 That was a matter of feeling, not a matter of reason. Apart 
 from the question of color, Dalel was an objectionable brute ; 
 could scarcely be otherwise, considering his upbringing. That 
 much of this was sheer insular prejudice on Lewis Gordon's 
 part may be true. If put to it, he would have frankly con- 
 fessed to many another objectionable brute with a white face ; 
 but that the dark skin should enter into the question is at pres- 
 ent inevitable in India, because it is typical of a variety of the- 
 ories and practices which make real social intercourse between 
 the upper classes of the two races an impossibility — at present. 
 
 And, to say sooth, Dalel was not nice outwardly or inwardly. 
 Even the best tailors in Simla could not make him look aught 
 but intolerable in his elaborate riding-gear, as he paused on his 
 way to the race-courses before a small shop in the bazaar — a 
 dark hole of a place, squalidly bare of all save a sign where, in 
 crooked lettering, it was announced that " Munohrlall of Delhi 
 Jewler gold works''^ was ready " tohyandselir 
 
 " No news of the pearls yet ?" asked Dalel, in an undertone,
 
 183 
 
 of tbe man in dirty wliite dhoti and low turban, who came out 
 hastily to cringe at his stirrup. 
 
 " Huzoor, no ; the ayah saith they have not come. Perhaps 
 the chota sahib — " 
 
 A measured shuffle of footsteps and a gay laugh arrested the 
 deprecating voice. It was Mrs, Boynton, carried by four men 
 arrayed in white; she herself a vision of angelic spotlessness. 
 Beside her, his hand on the shaft of her dandy, his young 
 face intent on hers, came George Keene. It needs great igno- 
 rance, or great experience, to walk in this fashion without ap- 
 pearing either ridiculous or unseemly. George looked neither 
 — only extremely happy. 
 
 " Who was that ?" he asked, as his companion bowed. 
 
 Her little gloved hand, resting so close to his, tightened 
 nervously. " Dalel Beg. He bowed to me." 
 
 George gave a quick glance backward. " By Jove ! so it is. 
 What cheek !" He thought so honestly as they passed on be- 
 tween the irregular rows of shingled huts, leaving the group 
 before the jeweller's shop looking after them curiously. Past 
 the bazaar, down many a turn, till a bare zigzag showed on the 
 hill-side beneath them ; below that, again, a green oval of valley 
 set in trees. The eye following each angle of descent could 
 see, as it were in terraces, an almost continuous stream of 
 dandies, ricJcshaivs, and ponies, all bent towards that grassy 
 oasis where a tent or two gleamed white, and a crowd of hu- 
 manity already swarmed like bees. 
 
 No gayer crowd in the universe than this ; though, even as 
 it passed downward, a man with a sober face and a telegram 
 in his pocket passed upward on a sorry errand. But ten 
 minutes before, that telegram, handed in to the club tent, had 
 hushed the laughter into silence for a while. " Cholera, of 
 course," said some one, after a pause. " I heard yesterday from 
 Galbraith ; it was getting rather stiffish in those parts. Poor 
 old Jackson ! After all these years, too." And then the recipi- 
 ent had ridden off in hot haste, because the widow of his best 
 friend was coming down at four o'clock, with his wife, to see 
 the steeple-chase, and it would be best to prevent that, if possi-
 
 184 
 
 ble. A sorry errand, indeed; past those holiday-makers, to 
 whom he had to give back greeting, irrespective of that death- 
 message in his pocket. Even to the pallid, pretty-faced wife, 
 raising herself eagerly from her pillows, to ask if Mrs. Jackson 
 had heard from her husband that morning. She had had no 
 letter; but, of course, Mr, Jackson would have mentioned it if 
 there had been anything wrong with Charlie. Doubtless, Mr. 
 Jackson would have written, came in answer to the wistful eyes, 
 ere the messenger rode on, full of that wrathful, surprised grief 
 which such scenes bring to the average Englishman. And it 
 must not be forgotten that it is in such scenes as these that 
 the foundation of all that is best in our Indian Empire is 
 laid. Going to the Hills ! Whose fault is it that the phrase 
 conjures up to the English ear a vision of grass-widows, flir- 
 tations, scandals, frivolities? Surely it is the fault of those 
 who, telling the tale of a hill-station, leave out the tragedy of 
 separation, which makes British rule in India such a marvel of 
 self-sacrifice, both to the woman and to the man. Yet below, 
 in the club tent and round the shady ring, the laughter went 
 on after its brief check; Mrs. O'Dowb, whose husband had 
 held Ilill appointments ever since he had married a big-wig's 
 daughter, improving the occasion against her bitterest foe, Mrs. 
 Larkins, by declaring that some women had no sense of duty, 
 and seemed to forget that they had sworn at the altar to cherish 
 their husbands. To which her little enemy, using the sharp 
 tongue which captivated mankind generally, assented smilingly; 
 she herself knew women who could not be brought to under- 
 stand that their absence must be a far greater comfort than 
 their presence. Whereat there was war. 
 
 A gay crowd indeed, with here and there a surge, accom- 
 panied by murmurs of " Your Excellency," and a steady circle 
 round some recognized leader holding her court. Not much 
 interest, on the whole, save in a knot of men near the betting- 
 tent, where Dalel Beg, hand in glove with a shady lot of fel- 
 lows from a newly-opened hotel, went swaggering about with 
 his jockey's colors pinned to his coat. 
 
 " I'm not on duty to-day," replied a handsome man to Gwen
 
 185 
 
 Boynton's inquiry, why he was not, as usual, in his tent. " A 
 contingent of bad lots brought their ponies up and rushed the 
 meeting. They do it sometimes, and then it isn't good enough 
 for old stagers. All we stewards can do is to keep them as 
 straight as we can, and that isn't easy. Weight for weight, 
 inches for inches, Mrs. Boynton, I'll back an Indian gymkhana, 
 where nobody has any money to pay — and all the subalterns 
 think they know something about a horse, especially their 
 own — to lick creation in sheer crookedness. And when the 
 profession come down like a wolf on the fold, as they have 
 done to-day, it is crookeder still. And all about a ^^an' mutuel, 
 for the most part." The look of disgust on the speaker's face 
 was almost comical. 
 
 " Poor Major Davenant !" smiled Gwen, sympathetically. 
 "But the chase will be good. Mr. Gordon is in it." 
 
 " I wish he weren't," said the major, briefly — a wish echoed 
 by Rose Tweedie, who stood within earshot. For the last half- 
 hour she had been trying to keep her eyes away from the zig- 
 zag — now almost deserted — on the opposite hill-side. An in- 
 effectual attempt — ineffectual as her wish; for there, coming 
 down at a rattling pace, was an unmistakable figure. She 
 clasped her hand tighter on her riding-whip, impatient at her 
 own nervousness, and went on talking to George Keene. 
 
 " No ; you aren't a creditable patient. You don't look a bit 
 better than you did a week ago ; I'm not sure you don't look 
 worse. And you have only three more days; you should ask 
 father for an extension." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton turned, round quickly. "What a splendid 
 idea ! Do, Mr. Keene ! Eose will back you up, and so will I. 
 You mustn't go before the club ball." 
 
 The young fellow flushed, but shook his head, with a laugh. 
 " And poor old Dan down in the wilderness I Not I. It is 
 only excess of amusement. Miss Tweedie; I shall soon get 
 over that at Hodinuggar." His face sobered at the very 
 thought. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" murmured Gwen, in an undertone, and he 
 brightened up again.
 
 186 
 
 " How many gloves was it to be on Bronzewing, Miss 
 Tweedie? You promised to back ber against tbe field, if yon 
 remember," came a voice, making Rose start. How nice be 
 looked, with bis covert coat just sbowing tbe wbite and 
 crimson ! Sbe bated berself for thinking such things, and yet 
 she thought them all the same. It seemed to ber, sometimes, 
 as if she were always thinking of him; but she had given up 
 bating herself for that. That had to be faced and kept secret, 
 like this strange feeling of dread. She had seen dozens of 
 men ride steeple-chases before without a flutter at ber heart; 
 but now — 
 
 " You bet ? Then I lay you three to one against. You 
 need not pay, lady-fashion," interrupted another voice ere sbe 
 bad time to reply. It was Dalel Beg, swaggering along, fresh 
 from a vice-regal handshake, to assert his rights in society — 
 notably with Mrs. Boynton, much to her tall companion's 
 horror ; for be bad done his best on two occasions to get the 
 offender kicked off a race-course. Tbe mirza's flabby hand was 
 now thrust out at Rose, but the riding-whip seemed a fixture 
 in both of hers, as it would have been if tbe band offered bad 
 been fair instead of dark ; for there was a certain class of men 
 with whom tbe girl never shook hands. Lewis Gordon, watch- 
 ing ber with curious impatience, as he often did in society, 
 bad often been forced to confess that ber instincts in this re- 
 spect were generally right. This time ber refusal gave him 
 distinct pleasure. 
 
 " I don't bet lady-fashion," she replied, coolly ; then, turn- 
 ing to Lewis, went on in tbe same tone : " I believe I did 
 promise, Mr. Gordon ; so perhaps Major Davenant wouldn't 
 mind half a dozen pairs to one on tbe mare." 
 
 " Double the odds wrong way up," smiled tbe major, cross- 
 ing over to ber side; "you wouldn't make your fortune as a 
 book-maker, I'm afraid. However, I'll take it, if you will let 
 me hedge for you." 
 
 " You don't know Bronzewing ; I do." 
 
 " You don't know tbe field ; I do. In fact, Gordon, if I 
 bad had any idea we were to be inundated with down-country
 
 187 
 
 rnck I should Lave advised you to scratch. They don't want 
 outsiders." 
 
 " They vpill have to thole them, as we say north of the 
 Tweed," replied Lewis. As a rule, he was shy of admitting his 
 Scotch birth, and the pronoun sounded sweet in Rose's ears. 
 
 *' What an arrant pirate you are, Gwen," he said, in a low 
 tone, as he took the place beside her dandy vacated by Dalel Beg, 
 who had returned to her for consolation, after his rebuff from 
 Rose. "You have been betting against me, haven't you, dear?" 
 
 "Against Bronzewing, you mean. What chance can she 
 have against the Confederation's Arab? If you were riding 
 it — and I am so badly off for gloves." She looked at her lav- 
 ender-cased lingers plaintively — as pretty and well-dressed a 
 picture of gracious womanhood as the imagination could paint. 
 The fact was mollifying, and brought admiration to his eyes. 
 
 *' Don't see it. Seems to me you are not wanting anything. 
 What a jolly shawl that is — too good, surely, to be crumpled 
 up that way." He was right ; a white cashmere, with a broad 
 bordering in faint grays and lavenders is hardly the thing for a 
 dust-cloak. Perhaps she was aware of the fact ; anyhow, she 
 colored up. 
 
 *' Not at all ; I bought it for a mere song. Isn't it time you 
 were weighing in, or something of that sort? They have been 
 ringing a bell." 
 
 *' Directly. You see, I'm dressed ready." 
 
 " Yes, I see ; you look so nice." 
 
 Rose might have made the remark with far more fervor than 
 Gwen could conjure into it, yet the latter scored the point. 
 Lewis strolled off, feeling less dissatisfied with life than before. 
 Men are trivial creatures when in the hands of that trivial creat- 
 ure — woman. 
 
 To a large proportion of men a horse-race is a most uninter- 
 esting affair ; to the majority of women a mere accessary to a 
 misused wedding-breakfast or a somewhat spoiled/e^e cliampHre. 
 This one was no exception to the rule, and the interest of the 
 resident racers being reduced to a minimum, there was little ex- 
 citement beyond the immediate circle of the tents.
 
 188 
 
 " Game little beast, that of Gordon's," remarked Major 
 Davenant, as Lewis cantered past; "pity he hasn't a chance, 
 but I'm afraid she is out-classed. By George ! they are off — 
 no! that's a pity" — a short man standing close by laughed — 
 " for Gordon. I know that beast — seen him down country ; 
 he is warranted to wear out the temper of any but his stable 
 companions. Is Bronzewing keen, Miss Tweedie ?" 
 
 " Very." 
 
 "I thought so; there! back again. Gordon looks pleased, 
 doesn't be?" His face certainly showed vexation, his hand 
 did not ; and as he turned the mare to face the starter again, 
 he leaned forward to pat the fine bronze neck. There was a 
 greater interest this time as the pace slackened to a walk. 
 
 "Splendid line," commented the major; "now then. Oh, 
 dash that mare ! No ! by Jove, that was well done !" 
 
 " For the dun !" echoed the short man. " Smart, very. 
 Wonder how he managed it ?" for, as the flag fell, Bronzewing 
 had reared straight on end, only to shoot forward with a bound 
 which more than compensated for the delay on which the 
 others had counted. 
 
 "Didn't you hear?" cried Rose, clasping her hands tight. 
 " It was the partridge's note did it. He — Mr. Gordon — gave 
 it. You heard it, didn't you, Mr. Keene ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I heard." He was as excited as she was. " By 
 Jove, what a sell for that dun brute! Look! there they are. 
 He is in — right in to the posts ; trust Gordon for that !" 
 
 Now to be in to the posts means something, when you have 
 to go twice round a course which follows the narrow oval of a 
 valley — except at the ends of the ellipse, when a less clever- 
 footed beast than Bronzewing might find trouble in the sharp 
 curve. 
 
 " Ob, how badly that man rides !" cried Rose. " He can't 
 hold his horse — ah !" She felt a wild inclination to cover her 
 eyes — to get away — not to see; for as the horses rose to a 
 stone-wall, a sudden swerve of his left-hand neighbor carried 
 Lewis Gordon's foot clear out of the stirrup. 
 
 "All right, Miss Tweedie; over, like a bird. But you are
 
 189 
 
 right ; Green rides — badly." And the short man looked at the 
 major comprehensively. "Jimmy," called the latter, quickly, 
 as the horses were seen again at the end curve, as they came 
 round on the winning-post for the first time, Bronzewing 
 fourth, and ousted from her inner place by Blue-and-White, who 
 was making the pace over the straightest bit in the course, 
 " get me all you can from them on the mare, in Simians — - 
 gold; I should like to let those fellows in." 
 
 " But she is behind — ever so far behind," interrupted Rose, 
 divided between regret and relief that she would not have to 
 watch a reckless tussle at the end, with its thousand possibili- 
 ties of mishap. 
 
 " There isn't a beast near her at the jumps, and if Gordon — 
 he's saving her now. Miss Tweedie — gets the inner lap again, 
 top and bottom, it is as near a moral as racing ought to be. 
 Lord! how she took that water! Well done, little 'un, well 
 done !" 
 
 He was almost as excited as George, who was craning for- 
 ward to catch a last glimpse of the trail of bright colors skim- 
 ming rouijd the farthest turn behind some trees. 
 
 "By Jove! he is in again; and how Green is riding hira. 
 Stick to it, man, stick to it ! Game little lady ! not an inch to 
 spare, and over it, as if she had the floor to herself. They 
 mean Blue-and-White to win, that's clear. Ah ! now it's on the 
 straight ; now Green will shoot ! Hum — not much to spare in 
 that cross. Green's in — that's an end. Blue-and-White wins 
 unless he makes a mistake." Major Davenant put down his 
 field-glasses with a sigh. On they came, the red hoop and the 
 green almost neck-and-neck close in to the posts ; keeping pace 
 half a length behind, in the clear, Blue-and- White, saving breath 
 for his awkward beast at the last hedge ; behind them a trail 
 of colors, like a pennant streaming backward. Now they are 
 at the sharpest corner, and a murmur rises as Bronzewing 
 shoots ahead, making the Green give way. 
 
 " Hullo, what's that," cries the major — " a foul ? Did any- 
 body see it ?" 
 
 No time for an answer as yet. Green, seeing his work over,
 
 190 
 
 slacks bis pace, and there is nothing but an easy hedge and a 
 couple of hundred yards galloping between the crimson hoop, 
 Blue-and-White, and the winning-post. Inch by inch Bronze- 
 wing giv'es way before the swinging stride of the Arab, but she 
 presses him hard — too hard for the last fence, easy as it is. 
 They rise almost at the same second. It is the mare's last 
 chance against those longer, clumsier legs, and she gains it. 
 Blue-and-White sways in his saddle as his beast, touching the 
 rail, staggers, jumps short, and rolls over easily. Green, half a 
 length behind, is alongside in a second, but a second too late ; 
 for Lewis Gordon wins by that second, and no more. 
 
 Rose, who for the last minute has been completely blinded 
 by the beating of her own heart, was left alone amid feminine 
 congratulations, the men having gone to offer theirs in person 
 to the winner. 
 
 " Oh, Jimmy, my boy, I wish I'd said thousands," mourned 
 Major Davenant, as he passed his pal in the outer tent. 
 
 Jimmy whistled softly.- "Just as well you didn't; they 
 claim a foul for Green, and it looks bad. I wish you had been 
 on. Williams and Grey are such duffers, and that Souter — " 
 A shrug of the shoulders completed his meaning effectually. 
 
 "A foul!" echoed the major, sadly, "Well, I must own it 
 seemed like one to me. What does Gordon say ?" 
 
 " Looks black as thunder. Go inside and see ; most of the 
 field swear to it, but it isn't like Gordon." 
 
 There was not much judicial serenity about the inquiry which 
 was being made, nor much of the circumstance of justice 
 either: a bare tent, a cane-bottomed chair or two, the weigh- 
 ing-machine, where Lewis still sat listening to Dalel Beg, who 
 was volunteering information. An Englishman in like position 
 would have been told to hold his tongue, but what are vaguely 
 termed political considerations affect the question in regard to 
 the native nobility, especially at headquarters. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I'm sure," interrupted one of the judges, 
 diffidently ; " but if you will allow me, since the claim is made, 
 perhaps Mr. Crosbie — that is, I think, your name, sir — will 
 kindly tell us what occurred." The man in green silk bowed
 
 191 
 
 — a i^entlcmanly-looking man, with a suspicion of past military 
 training in his carriage. 
 
 " I regret it exceedingly, and I am sure it was quite uninten- 
 tional on Mr. Gordon's part ; but there can be no question 
 about the foul. As most of those present can bear me out in 
 saying, I had taken and kept the inner place fairly. Mr. Gor- 
 don was riding for it also. At the corner-post his mount was 
 too eager, and the foul occurred — so violently that, as you see, 
 two buttons have been almost wrenched off my breeches. I 
 quite admit that I recovered an outside place without delay, 
 but I beg to remind the judges that the race was lost by a 
 second." 
 
 "And I beg to remind the judges," added the Blue-and- White 
 Jacket, " that I was on a level with Mr. Crosbie and Mr. Gor- 
 don, a little farther out, and saw the whole affair. It was not 
 Mr. Gordon's fault, but the foul was indubitable." 
 
 " And what have you to say about it, Mr. Gordon ?" 
 
 *' I ?" He rose, quietly, and went over to Green Jacket. " I 
 should advise Mr. Crosbie to try benzine; it's the best thing 
 I know for taking paint off breeches — doesn't stain in the 
 least. By-the-way, Davenant, I've often told you that it is a 
 most awkward post. It's just on the angle, and if you haven't 
 perfect control over your beast, it is almost certain to go the 
 wrong side, as Mr. Crosbie's did, and then if the thing is newly 
 painted, you — you spoil your clothes," He turned on his heel 
 as be drawled out the last words, and walked away. 
 
 " I utterly deny. I — I — It is impossible," stuttered Green 
 and Blue together. 
 
 Lewis Gordon looked back from the door. "Exactly so; I 
 leave you gentlemen to settle how Mr. Crosbie got that red paint 
 on his left knee, when, according to you, he was hugging the 
 post with his right. It is an interesting question, and I shall be 
 glad to hear the judges' decision, when they have arrived at it." 
 He was in a towering temper, despite his cool words, and Mrs. 
 Boynton felt quite a pang of alarm, as he apologized, curtly, 
 for not being able to wait for her, as he was in a hurry to get 
 home to some important work. That, however, as she noticed,
 
 193 
 
 keenly, did not prevent him spending five minutes beside Rose 
 Tweedie in eager conversation. Of course, Lewis Gordon was 
 not such a fatuous idiot as to allow the mere gain or loss of 
 half a dozen pairs of gloves to affect his arrangements for the 
 future; but it certainly affected him in the present, and Gwen 
 was quite aware of the fact. She felt glad that the proceed- 
 ings of the pari mutuel were strictly confidential, and as she 
 went home, listening gracefully to George Keene's adoring 
 small talk, her mind was full of care. Now at these periods 
 of life when the sun stands still in the heavens, and a man ac- 
 quires the art of talking about the most trivial details in a 
 tone which is a caress, he is apt to pall — unless the caress 
 means as much to the woman. So Gwen sent George home 
 from the turn up to her house, and went alone through the 
 scented pine woods, where the long shadows lay across the 
 path. Her face, now there was no need for a smile, looked 
 haggard and anxious; utterly out of keeping with the luxury 
 of her surroundings, and the comfort of the flower-decked 
 veranda, where the ayah stood waiting for her mistress, and some 
 one else, too, in highly-starched muslin, and a low-wound white 
 iniggree^ showing a triangle of pale pink folds about the fore- 
 head. A smirk was on his face, a wooden pen-box under his 
 arm, and an attendant was squatting beside some more boxes 
 done up in a Manchester handkerchief. 
 
 "J/em saliih see my thing. Gold-work, Delhi work, Cash- 
 mere work — all work," 
 
 He thrust a card into her hand. " Manohar Lai, from Delhi." 
 
 She turned away quickly. " I don't want anything. Ayah, 
 how often have I told you never to let these people come ?" 
 
 " Manohar Lai say he know mem sahib,^^ murmured the 
 ayah, sulkily, moving off with the wraps. 
 
 " No need to buy, huzoor,^'' said the crafty lips. *' I have 
 good things to look. Or I buy. Anything. Gold-work, silver- 
 work, pearls. I buy three big pearls of lady in Rajpore last 
 month. Shall I open boxes, huzoor?''^ 
 
 " Yes, you can open them," said Gwen, quickly.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Deodars and soft green stretches of turf surrounded by 
 a map of Asia in high relief. Silver streaks of rivers at the 
 bottom of the map, snowy peaks and passes at the top of 
 the map, just as if they were set there to show comparative 
 lengths and heights. Such was the scene from the ridge 
 chosen out for what is called a rajah's picnic. What rajah 
 or maharajah, what nizam or nawab, matters not. Some one 
 of the many feudatories who crowd to prefer their claims to 
 something at Simla had asserted his dignity by giving a pic- 
 nic to society; and society had consented to come and eat ^;die 
 de foie gras and drink champagne on a hill-side at the expense 
 of a man to whom one or other of these two things was an 
 abomination. That is the case in a nutshell; and so long as 
 the pate was not bought cheap from a box - wa/^aA, and the 
 champagne was drinkable, nobody cared whether the host was 
 or was not performing the whole duty of a man in tempting his 
 fellows to do those things which he himself considered worthy 
 of purgatorial pains. But, then, to nine-tenths of the guests 
 the host was a mere lay -figure, imported into society on certain 
 occasions to give it local color by the display of gold tissue 
 and diamonds. 
 
 Barring the shock it gives to first principles in some minds, 
 a rajah's entertainment is generally pleasant enough ; even 
 more so when it takes the form of a picnic, which, by-the-way, 
 the natives translate adroitly into inicjid khdna (fools' dinner). 
 This one was no exception to the rule. Two huge, flat-roofed 
 tents, open on all sides save for a deep flounce of gay applique 
 work, and supported by flower-and-fern-wreathed poles, served 
 as marquees, where a most elaborate lunch was laid out in a 
 style worthy of the great Simla caterer. What the cost was
 
 194 
 
 to be per head to the unfortunate noble playing the part of 
 host is a trivial detail. 
 
 So to him was the lunch itself, seeing that in this particular 
 case the host was a Hindoo of the strictest caste — too pure, too 
 proud even to sit down at a table spread with such abhorred 
 viands. Ilis part consisted, therefore, in receiving the company 
 in a Cashmere shawl tent with silver poles, yawning between the 
 handshakes, and thereafter, when the ontcastis were safely start- 
 ed on the champagne and the pate, jolting back joyfully in a 
 jhan-pan to Simla in order to purify himself in unmentionable 
 ways before starting his own dinner. The next day or the day 
 after he would pay the bill, some official would be told off to 
 congratulate him on the success of the entertainment ; perhaps 
 
 if he were a great swell to say that U E y had enjoyed 
 
 it immensely. And then the only thing remaining to be done 
 would be to enter the cost in the state accounts, under what 
 heading outsiders cannot presume to say ; possibly civilization ! 
 
 But none of the guests troubled themselves about these de- 
 tails. The sky was blue as blue could be, the gray bloom on 
 the spreading deodar branches glinted white in the strong 
 light, the shadows beneath them showed black. Across the 
 valley, contours of terraced crops round a cluster of apricot- 
 trees showed the village sites. Blue air between you and them, 
 blue air between them and the snows, blue air giving a thou- 
 sand iridescent tints to the plains which rolled up into the 
 southern sky beyond the dotted range of Simla; and below 
 you, drifting up the valley like grazing sheep, little fleecy mist 
 clouds, inconsequent, hopelessly astray. 
 
 " Poor things, how lost they look," said Gwen, gayly point- 
 ing at them with her white-lace parasol." 
 
 " A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind," quoted one of 
 her circle. " Mrs. Boynton knows what it is for a heavenly 
 being to be condemned to earth." 
 
 " That sounds prettier than it is — an angel astray ! Lewis, 
 defend me from my friends !" 
 
 She turned to him with the prettiest air of appeal, the sweet- 
 est confidence in a regard which to the outside world was
 
 195 
 
 cousinly — to those two something more. Such a bait seldom 
 fails to rouse a man's vanity, even if it leaves his heart un- 
 touched. 
 
 " My dear Gwen," he replied, readily, " there is no need for 
 defence. The angel is not astray, since yon are here with us 
 and we are in paradise." 
 
 George Keene applauded with both hands as he sat at her 
 feet looking out over the plains. Once more it seemed incred- 
 ible that there should be such a place on God's earth as Hodi- 
 nuggar. 
 
 " Well, some of us will be sitting at the gate thereof, dis- 
 consolate, ere long," remarked a man leaning against a rock 
 with a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. "By -the -way, 
 Keene, we might share a tonga the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Mr. Keene is not going," interrupted Mrs. Boynton quick- 
 ly. " No one wants him down there, and we need dancing 
 men dreadfully. Miss Tweedie has spoken to her father 
 about it." 
 
 " And you ?" 
 
 The question, which came almost in a whisper, was answered 
 by a smile only, but it brought a sort of mist to George Keene's 
 young eyes as he looked out over the plains again. The spir- 
 itual exaltation of it all was almost too much at times for the 
 hard-headed young fellow who had clothed his own honest up- 
 rightness with a woman's softness and sweetness in order to 
 worship it. Now, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Boynton had said 
 ■nothing to Colonel Tweedie about the lad's leave; still, as she 
 fully intended doing so in the course of the afternoon, her 
 smile was perhaps excusable. What is more, she kept to her 
 intention. Half an hour afterwards any one rash enough to 
 do so might have interrupted a tete-a-tote that she was conced- 
 ing to the colonel in the shade of a large deodar-tree, to one 
 side of a level stretch where two mud tennis-courts had been 
 laid out. But no one did. A certain officialdom prevails in 
 Simla society, and the heads of departments have recognized 
 rights and privileges. The colonel, however, would scarcely have 
 admitted that he owed his good-fortune to his seniority, for he
 
 196 
 
 felt juvenile in a new louns^e-suit with ver}' baggy trousers — 
 quite the thing for lolling about in on the grass while a pretty 
 woman leaned over the shafts of her dandy which she was us- 
 ing as a seat, and asked for your opinion on a number of triv- 
 ial, personal questions. Yet Gwen Boynton was in earnest 
 about it all, to judge from her eyes, as she let the conversation 
 drift further afield. 
 
 " He is such a nice boy. One of those boys who make a 
 woman think how delightful it would be to have a son in her 
 old age. But he looks as if he would be the better for anoth- 
 er week among the hills, and I suppose even you cannot man- 
 age that." 
 
 He smiled condescendingly. "The lieutenant-governor 
 might object, of course." 
 
 "Then you can! O Colonel Tweedie, if you would! He 
 really isn't fit to go down, and Mr. Fitzgerald, who is as strong 
 as a horse, could easily sto[) at Hodinuggar. He wouldn't like 
 it, of course, but it wouldn't hurt him. Only" — She paused, 
 looked at her companion, and shook her head gravely, 
 
 "Only?" echoed her elderly admirer; the heart which had 
 melted at her cavalier mention of Dan stiffened again at what 
 might be consideration for that most ill-advised person. 
 
 " Only George won't consent to that, I'm afraid. He has 
 such a ridiculous attachment to Mr. Fitzgerald. And I suppose 
 it would be quite impossible to leave the place even for a few 
 days without a really first-class man in charge. What a com- 
 fort it must be to you to have officers on whom you can rely, 
 like Mr. Fitzgerald." 
 
 Colonel Tweedie gave his little preparatory cough. "No 
 doubt; no doubt. At the same time, I'm not aware that Mr. 
 Fitzgerald's presence er — is — is — er — indispensable. The fact 
 is, my dear Mrs. Boynton, that owing — er — to previous occur- 
 rences, we were anxious to keep him out — er — of the responsi- 
 bility as much as possible. In fact, but for his own request, I 
 should not — er — have arranged for him to take Mr. Keene's 
 work at all. To refuse, however, would have — er — given rise 
 to — er — unfounded comment, and so — "
 
 197 
 
 She interrupted his halting mixture of dignity and desire to 
 be at once considerate and captious with a sigh. 
 
 " Poor Mr. Fitzgerald ! lie has been unlucky, and I sup- 
 pose if anything were to go wrong when he was there you 
 would liave to take notice of it. IIovv dreadful for him. Per- 
 haps, after all, it would be better for George to go back. One 
 would need to be omnipotent to carry out all one's kindly im- 
 pulses, wouldn't one, Colonel Tvveedie ? And we women are 
 so helpless." 
 
 He leaned forward and laid his hand close to hers, as it rest- 
 ed on the framework of the dandy. "Unless you have a 
 stronger arm at your disposal, as you have now — my dear lady, 
 if only for your kindness to my daughter — and, as you say, 
 young Keene is not quite the thing. Besides, I — I mean you 
 — I mean there are privileges which — " 
 
 What those privileges were remained unexplained, though 
 Gwen, no doubt, had a shrewd guess at them, for just at that 
 moment Dale! Beg, having no fear of departments before his 
 eyes, came swaggering up in a bright-green velvet coat. 
 
 " Aha, you there ! Hi ! you khitmutgar ! Bring me cham- 
 pagne cup. Jolly, Tweedie, ain't it?" 
 
 The colonel's face belied the epithet, but the new-comer was 
 not one of those who look for support to their surroundings. 
 He was a law unto himself only. " You see I wear swagger 
 clothes like you, Mrs. Boynton, rajah sahib old-style man, so I 
 come as native of India to please him. He is neighbor, Mrs. 
 Boynton, by Hodinuggar down waste-water canal cut. You 
 give him water, sir, he give you laces on laces !" 
 
 This time the colonel's expression was a study ; but Gwen, 
 despite her usually keen sense of the ludicrous, did not add a 
 smile to the mirza sahib^s crackling laugh. 
 
 " I regret " — began the head of the department, loftily, but 
 Dalel's mind was full of one thing only, and that was himself ; 
 his immense superiority over the rajah sahib ; his equality with 
 the saldb logues. 
 
 '''' W\, khitmutgar ! Ai ! soor kibutcha! kyon nahin sunte ho? 
 (Oh, son of a pig ! why don't you listen ?) £k glass cura^oa.
 
 198 
 
 Cup what you call hog -wash — eh, Tvveedie? Rajah, poor 
 chap, know nothing about cup. Khausamah do liim in the 
 eye. Hee-hee. Poor old chappie. Gone home to do poojah 
 and have baths. What rot." 
 
 " Will you take me to get a cup of coffee V said Gwen, hasti- 
 ly, to Colonel Tvveedie, " I won't trouble you to bring it here ; 
 it spills so in the saucer, and then it drops over one's best 
 frock." 
 
 The courteous excuse for escape, which came naturally to 
 Gwen's lips, pleased neither of her companions. The gracious 
 instinct prompting it, which to Colonel Tvveedie seemed quite 
 uncalled for, was totally lost on the niirza. He scowled after 
 her, muttering something as he tossed off the glass of curagoa, 
 and went off to bestow his favors elsewhere. A minute or two 
 afterwards George Keene ran up to the empty dandy and 
 pushed his watch and chain under the cushion. " She won't 
 mind," he said, half aloud, " and it's safer there than in the 
 tent. Wouldn't do to lose it here, of all places in the world. 
 All right, Markham, I'm coming. Spin for court. Rough? 
 Rough it is. If I'd only known they were going to put me 
 up in the doubles I'd have come in flannels." 
 
 With coat and waistcoat off, however, his white shirt-sleeves 
 rolled up, showing young, white, round arms, and his Cooper's 
 Hill scarf doing duty for a belt, George looked workmanlike 
 enough to play in the impromptu match of civil against mili- 
 tary ; and being of wholesome mind and person, straightway 
 forgot the round world in the effort to keep one ball a-rolling. 
 The sun hung in the west abo,ve a frilled edging of lilac-tinted 
 hills, the snows began to glisten, the valleys on either side grew 
 fathomless as the mist rose from the streams dashing through 
 them. On the ridge itself the deodars sent long shadows east- 
 ward, though the yellow sunshine seemed to crisp the tufted 
 parsley fern, among which civilization grouped itself in cliques 
 and sets for afternoon tea, and in which the servants, decked 
 in gorgeous liveries for the occasion, flitted about like gay 
 butterflies. A great content was on all. Perhaps the memory 
 of an excellent lunch lingered with the men, the gratifying
 
 199 
 
 consciousness of being well dressed with the women ; but the 
 most of them felt that it was good to be there, transfigured, as 
 it were, on a hill-top, forgetful even of Simla, whose shingled 
 roofs showed on a jagged outline to the south. 
 
 Yet Gwen Boynton, who, as a rule, would have shown her 
 best in such a scene — a situation — a society, pleaded a head- 
 ache as an excuse for getting away early ; so that when George 
 came back to where he expected to find the dandy, she was 
 already on her way back to Simla. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Keene?" asked Rose, who was mounting 
 her pony close by. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, only I put my watch and keys under the 
 cushion of Mrs. Boynton's dandy, and now she has gone off. 
 If you should see her on the road, you might tell her. I have 
 to play a return match — bad luck to it." 
 
 "You don't look very unhappy," laughed the girl, as he 
 finished the task of putting her up by giving sundry profes- 
 sional little tugs at her habit to make it sit wrinkleless. " And 
 oh, by-the-way, it's all right about your leave. Father has 
 arranged it ; he told me so just now." 
 
 " How good you are 1 If I could only leave my interests in 
 your hands always, the future would have no terror for me, as 
 they say in the melodrama. Good-bye, Miss Tweedie, till 
 dinner-time; and you won't forget about the watch, will you? 
 I don't want Mrs. Boynton — " 
 
 " I'll take care she doesn't make off with it," interrupted 
 Rose, wilfully unsympathetic, as she moved away at a walk. A 
 hundred yards or so along the broad ride which had been cut 
 for the occasion in the hill -side from the high-road to the 
 picnic-place, a zigzag bridle - path led down into the valley. 
 Rose had never ridden that way, but she knew that once at the 
 stream below, a recognized short cut would take her direct to 
 her destination. At the worst she might have to dismount and 
 lead her horse for a while, and there was something decidedly 
 fascinating in a downward path at all times; more especially 
 when every step showed something new stealing into vision out 
 of a blue mist. In addition, she would avoid the rush of peo-
 
 200 
 
 pie, and of late Rose Tweedie Lad found a large portion of her 
 fellow - creatures very tiresome; perhaps because humanity is 
 only gifted with a certain capacity for liking, and she expend- 
 ed too much of hers on one person. The first mile or so fully 
 justified her choice. The path, if steep, was safe ; and after 
 passing over a small bridge she was about to follow a track 
 apparently leading down the right side of the ravine, when she 
 heard a faint shout behind her to the left. With her experi- 
 ence of the Himalayas she stopped instantly, knowing she must 
 be on the wrong path, and retraced her steps, expecting after a 
 few turns to come on the shepherd or coolie, who, having seen 
 her from above, had raised the warning cry. Instead of this 
 she met Lewis Gordon, riding at what was really a break-neck 
 pace for the style of path. He pulled up suddenly. " Miss 
 Tweedie, you don't mean to say it was you I saw on the other 
 bank? I had half a mind not to shout; for a man with a 
 clever pony could do it easily. What a piece of luck for you I 
 did." 
 
 She flushed up at once. " I'm afraid I don't see it in that 
 light. I've no doubt I should have done it as easily as a man, 
 and it is annoying to be brought back half a mile out of your 
 road for nothing." 
 
 "Unless that road happens to be a mile longer, as it is in 
 this case," replied Lewis, coolly; " but you really ought not to 
 have tried the short cut alone. Your father, of course, had ar- 
 ranged to meet the lieutenant-governor, and Keene couldn't get 
 away ; but if you had asked me I should have been delighted 
 to do my duty — I suppose you wouldn't let me say my pleas- 
 ure ; that is reserved for my juniors." 
 
 There was a certain snappishness in the conclusion of his 
 speech which somehow appeased Rose's wrath. The futility of 
 many proverbs has scarcely a better example than that which 
 sets the orthodox number for a quarrel at two, when almost uni- 
 versally it is either one or three. For the spectacle of another 
 man losing his temper is almost sure to soothe the first offender, 
 unless dispassionate humanity appears in the form of a specta- 
 tor. So Rose said sweetly that he was always very kind, and
 
 201 
 
 that she would certainly have asked him to accompany her if 
 she had anticipated any difficulty, since no one could give a bet- 
 ter lead-over than Bronzewing and her rider. And then, hav- 
 ing reached the valley and a broader path, they dawdled along 
 it at a walk, beside the very edge of a stream splashing and 
 dashing over its pebbly bed, and curving round tiny meadows 
 just large enough to serve as a stand for some huge walnut- 
 tree. The soft mist they had seen from above, now they were 
 in it, only intensified the blueness of the shadows or the gold of 
 the sunlight following the contours of the hills, Down in the 
 hollows the maidenhair fern grew like a fairy forest; out in 
 the open great turk's-cap lilies rose higher than the blue-and- 
 white columbines; and in every cranny the potentilla hung out 
 its bunches of scarlet, tasteless, strawberry-like fruit. 
 
 Thus, side by side for a mile or more, they dawdled along a 
 level grassy path, as if there were no such thing as effort in the 
 world ; as if civilization and comfort, dinner and bed, all the 
 necessaries of life, in fact, did not lie two thousand feet or so 
 above their heads. 
 
 " This way, I'm afraid," said Lewis at last, turning his pony 
 into a road joining the path at right angles — an engineered 
 road with drains and retaining walls ; scientific, uninteresting, 
 guiltless of ups and downs, facing the ascent evenly. 
 
 " Oh dear !" cried Rose, in tones of regret, and then they 
 both laughed — laughed so gayly that the peace of the valley went 
 with them, and the sound of their light chatter echoed up the 
 zigzagging road to where glimpses of a rfa?ic/y toiling on ahead 
 showed through the trees. Its occupant, looking downward, could 
 see them far below : the girl in front, the man behind; their 
 voices becoming clearer and clearer until, just at the last turn 
 where the zigzag merged into the high-road, each careless word 
 was distinctly audible as they came scrambling up below the re- 
 taining wall, which at this point carried the branch to its junc- 
 tion with the main road. Gwen Boynton's hand closed tight on 
 the shaft of her dandy, partly in sympathy with her thoughts, 
 partly because the coolies swung round the last corner sharply. 
 The wall, not two feet high at the turn, sloped rapidly up to
 
 202 
 
 some fifteen feet before ending in tbe one which supported the 
 big road above. As is usually the case, it was built in steps or 
 terraces, giving the required slant backward. Just as the dandy 
 was at the turn, a horseman followed by two mounted order- 
 lies came clattering along the road. Perhaps this frightened 
 Rose's pony ; perhaps the sudden swerve of the dandy to get 
 out of the new-comer's way just as the girl was about to pass 
 it actually forced her mount into shying and backing. Any- 
 how, it did. There was a struggle, a rattle of stones over the 
 edge, a slip, tlien a jerk forward, as the beast found a momen- 
 tary foothold for its hind-legs on the narrow step some two feet 
 down. 
 
 A cry of dismay broke from the spectators, for, with the 
 next movement, a fall backward seemed inevitable ; but it 
 ended in one of relief as Rose wheeled the pony clear round 
 with swift decision, and, giving it a cut with her whip, leaped it 
 into the road below. 
 
 A bold stroke for life instead of death ; and even so, as the 
 pony came on its knees with the shock, it seemed for an in- 
 stant as if both it and its rider must go rolling over and over 
 down the side of the hill. The next moment they had both 
 struggled to their feet, and stood quivering all over ; but safe 
 and absolutely unhurt. 
 
 Lewis, who had pulled up at the corner, aghast with impotent 
 horror, was beside her, almost incoherent in his relief and ad- 
 miration. 
 
 " And — and — I only had a snaffle," said Rose, with a tremu- 
 lous laugh not far removed from tears. She felt it imperative, 
 if those were to be controlled, that they should descend to com- 
 monplace at once, and she was aided in this purpose by Dalel 
 Beg, who, having reined in at the sight of a disaster for which 
 he was partly responsible, was now standing by Gwen's dandy 
 oblivious of apology. 
 
 '' ShdlMsh! Well done, indeed ! Pretty! Pretty! You 
 are rippin' rider. Miss Tweedie. If you ride race, you win 
 like Gordon. Aha ! Gordon. I congratulate you for lucky 
 accident of paint. That Crosbie take me in, also. He swore it
 
 203 
 
 was foul, Mrs. Boynton, and I thought I saw foul — you believe 
 that, eh, Gordon f ' 
 
 Lewis — to whom the temporizing decision of the judges that, 
 foul or no foul, Mr. Crosbie was out of the race by having 
 been at the wrong side of some post at some part of the course 
 had been irritating — scowled up at the group above. 
 
 " I am sure you saw foul," he replied. " Now, Miss Twecdie, 
 if you please ! The beast is all right, and the sooner you get 
 home for a quiet rest the better." 
 
 He was so occupied with the shock to her that he scarcely 
 seemed to realize that it must have been one to his cousin also; 
 though Rose, as she passed the dandi/, paused to say that she 
 was absolutely unhurt, and that it was nobody's fault but her 
 own for riding an unsteady pony in the hills. They had gone 
 on nearly half a mile before she recollected George Keene's 
 message. 
 
 " I don't see the necessity for going back at all," said Lewis, 
 crossly, " but since you are so determined to obey orders I'll 
 go. If you ride on at a reasonable pace I'll catch you up again 
 in no time. What was it he left in her dandy ?" 
 
 " His watch," called Rose after him. As he galloped back 
 his temper was none of the best. He objected to a great many 
 things : to George's familiarity with Gwen ; to Rose's familiarity 
 with George ; and, as he came on the dandy, to Dalel Beg's fa- 
 miliarity with it, for the mirza had dismounted and was walk- 
 ing along with his hand on the shaft, just as if he were an Eng- 
 lishman. The sight and thought enlarged the focus of Lewis's 
 displeasure, making it include Gwen. 
 
 " It was only a message from Keene," he said, curtly, in re- 
 ply to her welcoming smile. " He asked Miss Tweedie to tell 
 you, but she forgot ; so I came back. He put his watch in 
 your dandy to keep it safe." 
 
 " His watch 1" echoed Gwen, feeling at the same time among 
 the cushions. " Yes, here it is ! Lewis, what am I to do 
 with it ? Won't you take it ?" For without drawing rein he 
 had turned his pony and was riding off. He looked back care- 
 lessly.
 
 204 
 
 " Keep it, I suppose, till Keene comes to claim it ; that 
 won't be long.'' 
 
 As he rounded the next curve in the road, Mrs. Boynton and 
 Dalel Beg were left face to face with George Keene's watch 
 between them. It had a Chnbbs key attached to the chain, 
 and Dalel Beg's eyes, as he stood beside the dandy, clothed in a 
 green velvet coat and European rowdyism, were attached to 
 the key. Gwen's were on Lewis's retreating figure, and there 
 was real jealousy and anger at her heart. 
 
 An hour and a half later, George, galloping the hired pony 
 alono" the mall, after the manner of very young men on hired 
 ponies, pulled up at the side of Mrs. Boynton's dandy in pleased 
 surprise. 
 
 " I'm so glad !" she exclaimed, before he could say a word. 
 " There is your watch." As she handed it over to him their 
 eyes met, and his took an expression of concern. 
 
 '" I'm afraid your headache is very bad ; you should have 
 been at home hours ago." 
 
 "On the contrary it is better," she I'cplied, quickly. "I 
 came by the low road and dawdled. Besides, I had to call at 
 the dress-maker's, and she kept me waiting for ages. By-the- 
 way. Colonel Tweedie says you are to have another week's 
 leave." 
 
 *' So his daughter told me. How good you both are to me ; 
 only liodinuggar will be worse than ever — afterwards." He 
 would have liked to say "after paradise," but he refrained. She 
 gave a nervous little laugh. 
 
 "Don't think of it yet. I hate thinking. It does no good, 
 for one never knows what mayn't happen. You are safe for a 
 week anyhow." 
 
 As she lay awake that night in defiance of her own wisdom, 
 thinking over the matter in all its bearings, she told herself 
 that he was safe for more than a week. Everyone was safe. 
 At the worst Dan might lose his promotion, but even that 
 would be no unmixed evil if it forced him into independence. 
 Indeed, if he knew of her woi'i'ies, of the snare laid for her, of 
 the covert hints about an esclandre involving both him and
 
 205 
 
 George Keene wliicli were wearing her to death, he would 
 gladly sacrifice something for the sake of safety. If by any 
 chance the sluice were to be opened during that week of ab- 
 sence, how it would simplify the whole business! And after 
 all, what had she done? Nothing. Surely a woman might 
 go and see her dress-maker sometimes and leave her dandy out- 
 side? Was it her fault if the dress-maker lived in a house 
 close to the bazaar, in full view of Manohar LaFs shop ? Was 
 it her fault if the coolies slipped away to smoke their hookahs? 
 Was it her fault that the key of the sluice was behind the 
 cushions of the dandy, and that Dalel Beg knew it was there ? 
 AVliat had she done ? Wliat had she said ? Nothing. Had she 
 not set aside the mirza's suggestion that she should look in on 
 Manohar Lai's new jewellery on her way home by saying that 
 she had no time — that she must go to the dress-maker? Had 
 she not hitherto refused to listen to hints or threats? Had she 
 not even defied Manohar Lai ? And now would it really be her 
 fault if any one had taken advantage of her absence? 
 
 Gwen turned her face into the pillow and moaned help- 
 lessly, telling herself that never was woman before so beset by 
 misfortune. She had meant no harm, yet George had given 
 her the pot, and Dan had taken the jewels to Manohar Lai's. 
 There was no proof, of course, against her or any one else ; but 
 the esclandre would kill her. That must bo averted at all 
 costs.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Mrs. Boynton was physically incapable of being constant 
 to anything disagreeable, even to her own thoughts. The love 
 of ease which came uppermost in her made it impossible ; so 
 as she sat waiting for George Keene on the following evening 
 she had forgotten the vague remorses and regrets which had 
 assailed her the night before. All she chose to remember was 
 that both George and Dan would be away from Hodinuggar \f 
 anything Itappeyied. What more could anybody ask from one 
 in her position ? She made a pretty picture in the pretty 
 room. A wood fire blazed on the hearth, a scent of English 
 flowers filled the air. Everything — from the books on the table 
 to the graceful figure in white satin and pearls on the wicker- 
 chair — told a tale of delicacy and refinement; of what it is the 
 fashion nowadays to call culture. On the mantel-piece, among 
 a Noah's Ark of china beasts, and supported by a placid brass 
 Buddha, George Keene's sketch of the dust-storm, the kikar- 
 tree, and the rat -hole struck a dissonant note in the general 
 harmony ; but Gwen's cars were too rauch attuned to content 
 for her to notice it. Briefly, she was full of solid relief; not 
 only because escape from a tight corner seemed assured, but 
 that such relief liad come in the nick of time ; for Lewis 
 Gordon had been over to tea, saying things which made it im- 
 perative that something definite should be settled about Dan's 
 promotion and prospects. Saying, for instance, that he was 
 sick of doing orderly duty at the Tweedie's house, and wanted 
 one of his own ; that she needed a firm hand to prevent her 
 wasting her pension on pan" mutuels. 
 
 Beneath these jesting complaints she had seen real discon- 
 tent and a determination for a change in the future. And was 
 he not right? Iler whole mind gave its assent to his wisdom. 
 What an unspeakable relief it would be to find herself back in
 
 207 
 
 a straight path ; not only for her own sake, but also for the 
 sake of others — of those two especially whom she had impli- 
 cated all unwittingly. But for them she would have defied the 
 plotters ; but for them she would never have stopped to flatter 
 Dalel Beg, and take shawls and ornaments at nominal prices 
 from Manohar Lai ; to do any of those things, in short, with 
 which their covert hints had forced her to rivet the chain which 
 bound her to deceit. At least, so she told herself ; but then she 
 was a proficient in the art of playing the thimble trick with 
 her own mind, and as often as not was really incapable of 
 saying where the motive-power of her actions lay. So, as she 
 sat in the wicker-chair waiting for George Keene, she felt quite 
 virtuous over the sacrifice of her honorable instincts on the 
 shrine of friendship. Even if anything did liai^pen^ all real 
 blame would lie with Colonel Tweedie for allowing both George 
 and Dan to be absent; but what was blame to the head of a 
 department? It slipped from him like water from a duck's 
 back. And then in regard to the water itself? Even Lewis al- 
 lowed that the poor people might just as well have it as not. 
 
 " Keene nahih salaam deta,''^ said the servant, interrupting 
 her soliloquy of smooth things. She rose, with outstretched 
 hand and kindly smile. 
 
 " Punctual, as ever ; we shall be in time for number two — " 
 Then she paused abruptly, in careless surprise. George, who had 
 been told off as escort during the three-mile dandi/-ndQ to the 
 town-hall, was still in his light morning-suit — smart enough 
 in his new shirt and tie, and with a carnation in his button- 
 hole, but still scarcely in the costume for a bachelors' ball. 
 " What is the matter? Aren't you coming?" she asked, quick- 
 ly, as be stood silent, yet disturbed — the sigbt of her having 
 always the nature of an electric shock upon him. 
 
 "To see you so far, of course. To the ball? I'm afraid 
 not. You see, I have to start to-night." 
 
 "Start? Where?" 
 
 "For Hodinuggar; where else?" He spoke lightly, but his 
 face contradicted his tone. When is it a light matter to leave 
 Paradise ?
 
 208 
 
 " Nonsense !" broke in Gwen, sliarply, startled out of all 
 sane negation. " You must not go." 
 
 " Must, I'm afraid," he echoed, and his voice was a trifle un- 
 steady. " You see," he went on, more confidently, " I ought 
 never to have taken that offer of extra leave. I knew it at the 
 time, but I thought Dan would stop, and the temptation — 
 however, I'm off now." 
 
 "Now?" she echoed, in her turn, still lost in her surprise. 
 
 " To-night, I mean. Of course I have no chance of a tonga, 
 so I must go by dhooli. It's a bore, but it can't be helped." 
 
 This phrase seemed to bolster up his manliness, and he smiled 
 at her. Such a pleasant-faced boy ; so clean, so wholesome, so 
 full of promise for the future. A pang shot through Gwen's 
 heart, and roused quick opposition to unlucky chance. 
 
 "But why? It isn't as if you were keeping him — I mean 
 Mr. Fitzgerald. We settled all that; he goes back to Rajpore, 
 all the same." 
 
 " So Gordon told me this afternoon. That is why I must 
 return ; the place must not be left alone, of course." As he stood 
 leaning ao-ainst the mantel-piece his eye caught his own sketch, 
 and he took it up mechanically. "To think I shall be back in 
 that hole the day after to-morrow," he said, with a short laugh. 
 He felt very sore, yet determined to face Ids pain in dignified 
 fashion. " Meanwhile," he added, " you must not be late. Is 
 that your cloak ?" 
 
 The futility of being tactful, even for your most familiar 
 friends, was being born in upon Gwen Boynton with the re- 
 membrance of her own certainty that Dan Fitzgerald's return to 
 Rajpore must be necessary to the lad's acceptance of the leave. 
 And here he was declaring it to be the stumbling-block ! The 
 thought sapped the very foundation of her general security, 
 and made the results, which this change in his plans might 
 produce in hers, strike her confusedly. She set aside the wrap 
 he held out to her with quite a nervous hand. 
 
 " You arc very foolish. Nobody wants you to go. Even 
 Dan—" 
 
 " Perhaps," he interrupted, feeling quite set-up by her evi-
 
 209 
 
 dent regret; "but if anything were to go wrong, you know, I 
 should never forgive myself." 
 
 The words were, to a certain extent, quite meaningless to 
 him; he did not even seriously contemplate the possibility of 
 what he suggested, yet they roused her fears, her regrets. 
 
 " But if anything were to go wrong," she answered, forget- 
 ting caution in her eagerness, "it would be better you should 
 be away. Surely you must see that it would be better for 
 you both to be away— if — if anything should hapjjen.^^ 
 
 He smiled indulgently. "But nothing would happen while 
 I am there. And it means such a lot to Dan, I think I told 
 you he is engaged to a girl — " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I know — I know — But, as I said, if I were the 
 girl — " She broke off hurriedly, then began again: "George, 
 what has that to do with the question? Nothing will happen, 
 of course, and then you will have lost your pleasure for noth- 
 ing. Don't go ! It is foolish. It is unkind — when we all 
 want you to stay — when I want you — I do, indeed — you will 
 stay, won't you, George ? Just to please me !" 
 
 To do her justice, she seldom stooped to use her own per- 
 sonal charm, as she did then, wilfully ; but the case was urgent 
 — the boy must not go. George stared at her incredulously 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Don't," he said, in a low voice, " please don't." 
 
 " But it is true, George," she went on, laying her hand on 
 his arm. " I do want you to stay. I do, indeed," 
 
 His hand met hers suddenly, almost unconsciously, to fall 
 away from it again with a gesture of quick renunciation. 
 
 " No, no !" he began, in the same low tone ; " it isn't true ; 
 how can it be true?" Then his whole nature seemed to cast 
 reserve aside, and his voice rose passionately. " Why should 
 you care? I have never thought you could; never! I swear 
 to you, never ! How could I ? Do you not see it is only 
 what you are to me, not what I am to you. What does that 
 matter ? But for the other — for what you have been, and are, 
 and will be all my life? Oh! that is different. Yet you know well 
 enough — you must know — for I can't tell it, not even to you."
 
 210 
 
 And there, English boy as he was, she saw him on his knee, 
 stooping to kiss the hem of her garment. It was cut in the 
 latest fashion, full round the edge and bordered by pearls of 
 great size. They might have been of great price also — the 
 Hodinuggar pearls, for instance — and George been none the 
 wiser. He saw nothing but a blaze of light through the open 
 gates of heaven, showing him a woman, transfigured, glorified. 
 And she? There was nothing before her eyes but a boy at 
 her feet — a very ordinary boy, whose every-day admiration she 
 had accepted carelessly ; yet it was she who, covering her face 
 with her hands, shrank back, as if blinded. " Don't !" she 
 cried, in sharp accents of pain. " You don't know — I — I 
 don't like it." 
 
 He was on his feet again in an instant, blushing, confused. 
 " I — I beg your pardon," he stammered ; " I don't know what 
 induced me to — to behave — like — like a fool." 
 
 In sober truth, he did not, being all unused to sclf-anaiysis, 
 and far too young to understand his instinctive recoil from the 
 cheap cajolery which had caused his outburst. But she was 
 older; she understood. He would not let her stoop, and yet 
 — ah, God ! how low she had stooped already ! So the 
 emotion she had wantonly provoked in liim caught her and 
 swept her from her feet. 
 
 " Oh, George !" she cried, coming a step nearer, and thrust- 
 ing her hands into his, as if to hold him fast and make liim 
 listen; "it was a mistake! I meant no harm — no harm to 
 anybody — least of all to you." 
 
 " No harm !" he echoed, blankly. " What harm have you 
 done?" 
 
 She looked at him, realizing her own imprudence ; yet for all 
 that not sufficiently mistress of herself for caution. A worse 
 woman than she might have kept silence ; but she could not. 
 The shame, the dread of betraying the lad who trusted in her 
 so fully forced her on. 
 
 "Don't ask, George!" she pleaded. "I can't tell you — in- 
 deed, there is nothing to tell. Only you must not go down to 
 Hodinuggar now. Believe me, it is better you should not. I
 
 211 
 
 can give you no reason, but it is so. Don't go, George, for 
 my sake." 
 
 " For your sake," he echoed, still more blankly. " Why — 
 I don't understand — Mrs. Boynton, I — " He paused; hia hand 
 went up in a fierce gesture, and came down in still fiercer clasp 
 on the mantel-piece. His eyes left her face, shifting their 
 startled, incredulous gaze to his own grim jest, leaning against 
 the brass Buddha. " Unless — " 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 "If there is anything to tell," he said, at last, "tell it to me, 
 for God's sake — it would be better — than this. Why am I to 
 stay — for your sake ?" 
 
 Tell ! How could she tell the horrible truth? And yet if he 
 knew all he might be able to help. Then the need for sup- 
 port, the craving for sympathy, which at all times make it 
 hard for a woman in trouble to keep her own counsel, fought 
 against the evasion suggested by caution. 
 
 "Oh, George, I meant no harm! I did not, indeed." 
 
 The weak appeal for mercy, which presages so many a miser- 
 able confession, struck cold to the lad's heart, lie walked over 
 to the table and flung himself into a chair, hiding his face in 
 his clasped hands. 
 
 "You had better tell me everything," he said, in a muffled 
 voice ; " then I shall know what to do. Don't be afraid — it — 
 it won't make any difference." 
 
 Once more his words aroused her self-scorn, and made her 
 forget herself for a time. " But it must make a diSerence," 
 she cried, hotly, crossing to the table in her turn, and seating 
 herself opposite him. "Yes, I will tell you; it is the only 
 thing to be done now." 
 
 She was never a woman given to sobs and tears, and even 
 through the shame of it all there was a relief in telling the 
 tale. 
 
 " Yes, yes 1" he said once, interrupting that ever-recurring 
 plea of her own innocence of evil intent, "of course you meant 
 no harm. So you took the jewels and sold them to Manoliar 
 Lai for six thousand rupees." The fact rccoutited in his hard,
 
 212 
 
 hurt voice seemed to strike her in its true Hght for the first 
 time, and she looked up wildly from the resting-place her head 
 had found upon her bare, crossed arms. 
 
 "Did I?" she asked, pushing the curls from her forehead. 
 " Yes, I suppose I did ; it seems incredible now. Oh, George, 
 what shall I do? what shall I do?" It did seem incredible; 
 and yet his fears as to what she might yet have to tell him 
 proved his credence of what he had already heard. 
 
 "You had better go on," he answered, dully ; " I can't say 
 what is to be done till I have heard all." The sound of his 
 own voice shocked him. Was it possible that he was sitting 
 calmly listening to such a story from her lips, and asking her 
 to go on? The curse of the commonplace seemed to settle 
 upon him, depriving him even of the right to passionate 
 emotion. 
 
 " Is that all ?" he asked, wearily, when she had told him of 
 everything save of the empty dandy waiting outside the dress- 
 maker's shop. That seemed beyond her powers. The ques- 
 tion came more from the desire to help her along, should there 
 be more to tell, than from curiosity or fear, since from the very 
 beginning he had been vexedly conscious of his own relief in 
 remembering that she had returned his watch and chain before 
 she had even reached home. The query, however, suddenly 
 roused in her a fierce resentment against her own humiliation. 
 Every syllable of that story, now that it was told, seemed an 
 outrage on that love of smooth things which were her chief 
 characteristic, and a sort of vague wonder at her own con- 
 fidence made her answer, swiftly: "That is all I know. Is it 
 not enough?" In her anger she told herself that what she said 
 was the bare truth. What was there more to tell save merest 
 possibilities? 
 
 Her reply left George face to face with action, yet he sat on 
 silent, unable even to speak. At last he rose, and, coming to 
 where she leaned, face downward over the table, stood beside 
 her with quivering lips. "I am sorry," he began; then stopped 
 before the fatuity of his own words. 
 
 "Do you think I am not sorry, too?" she broke in, reck-
 
 213 
 
 lessly, raising herself to look him full in the face. "I wish I 
 were dead, if that would help ; but it won't. Something must 
 be done, and done at once, George ! Why should you go 
 down? To stay is so simple, and it will hurt no one. Believe 
 me, it is the best — best for us all." She was back to the po- 
 sition she had taken before her appeal to his passion had re- 
 coiled upon herself; but he could not follow her so far, and 
 he gave a bitter laugh. 
 
 " For you and for me, no doubt ! But for Dan ? Remem- 
 ber what the possible loss of promotion means to him. Be- 
 sides, I have promised. No ! I must go down ; that much is 
 certain." 
 
 "And after?" 
 
 For the life of him he could not tell. He seemed incapable 
 of thinking of any course of action save the palpably prober 
 one of going straight to the chief and telling him of the plot laid 
 against the sluice-gate, his instinct for this remaining clear 
 and well-defined amid all the confusion. As he stood silent, 
 almost sullen, she laid her hand quickly on his arm. " You 
 will not be rash, George. For my sake, you will not." 
 
 " Whatever I do will be for your sake," he said, unsteadily. 
 
 " And you must not be angry with me. Indeed, indeed I 
 meant no harm at first, and afterwards I was so frightened — 
 so afraid of you all. Oh, don't be angry with me, George !" 
 
 He set her hand aside with a hopeless gesture, and turned 
 away to hide the tears in his eyes. She did not understand, 
 and a great dumbness was upon him. He could say nothing. 
 After all, what was there to say ? She had done this thing 
 meaning no harm, and he must save her, and himself, and Dan 
 from the consequences somehow. He took out his watch me- 
 chanically and looked at the time. Barely ten o'clock. So it 
 was impossible to destroy heaven and earth in half an hour. 
 
 " It is time you were going," he said, in quite a common- 
 place tone. " You had better go. Gordon — and the others — 
 might wonder." 
 
 It was the first time he had even hinted at the supposition 
 that some definite tie existed between her and her cousin ; this
 
 214 
 
 and his cynical acceptance of the fact that in the tragedy of 
 life action must be swayed by the desire of the spectators as 
 much as by the emotions of the actors themselves, brought 
 home to Gwen her crime against the boy's youth. For the 
 first time she broke into a sob. 
 
 "Oh, George, why did I do it? why did I do it?" 
 
 Why, indeed? A pitiable thing, surely, to stand silent with- 
 out an answer. Pitiable also for the woman, forced by worldly 
 considerations into self-control ; into bathing her face and per- 
 haps powdering it, certainly rearranging the pretty, artful curls, 
 and so setting off through the dark to the town-hall, as if noth- 
 ing had happened. For what loss of liberty is comparable to 
 that entailed on the possessor of a fringe which will come out 
 of curl, even with the damp of tears? 
 
 The first clouds of the coming monsoon were drawn over the 
 heads of the hills like an executioner's cap, and George, riding 
 the tired pony behind the dandy, felt as if he were following 
 the funeral of a faith condemned to death, A dreary little 
 possession this, despite its goal, as it wound its way through 
 the dark chasm of the valleys on the one side, and the dark 
 shadow of the hills on the other. And then, like some en- 
 chanted palace set between earth and sky, that pile upon the 
 ridge sending long beams of light and fitful snatches of dance- 
 music across the ravines. So familiar, yet so strange. Then, 
 finally, the twinkling lamps, the crowd of rickshaws and dandies 
 blocking up the angles and arches, the red carpet in the porch, 
 the red streak of baize climbing up the white stairs. He kept 
 that pearl- edged garment from the dust till she reached them. 
 
 " Have you settled on what you are going to do?" she asked, 
 in a low voice, as he held out his hand to say good-bye. 
 
 He shook his head. " I'll settle it, somehow ; you needn't 
 be afraid." 
 
 " I am not afraid. But if the worst comes to the worst . . . 
 I will not let others suffer for my fault. So be careful, for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Whatever I do will be for your sake ; you know that." 
 
 He stood watching her go up the stairs — up and up, until
 
 215 
 
 the last trail of that hem disappeared amid the colored lamps 
 and flowers. Tliat was the end of it all — of all save Ilodinug- 
 gar, and the desire to kill somebody. First of all, liowever, 
 safety for her; and that might be secured by money. During 
 that three miles' ride his thoughts had been busy over possibil- 
 ities, and one of them made him turn the tired pony's nose 
 towards Manohar Lai's shop instead of homeward. There was 
 no power in India like the power of the rupee ; and that, with 
 the club still open and half a dozen young fellows, as reckless 
 as yourself, ready to back the chance of your living to pay 
 your debts, was not difficult to borrow for a month or two. 
 Especially when there was something — not much, but a few 
 hundred pounds or so — to come when the dear old governor — 
 George choked down a sob in a curse at the tired pony for 
 stumbling over the ill-paved alley. 
 
 The dawn had broken when the patient beast pulled up for the 
 last time by the veranda of Colonel Tweedie's house. A drowsy 
 servant dozed against the long coffin-like dhooli, the bearers 
 crouched outside, nodding in a circle round a solitary hookah. 
 
 "The huzoor, having lost chance of the mail, may perhaps 
 delay till eve," suggested the half-roused torch-bearer, mechan- 
 ically corking up his useless bottle of oil, at the sight of 
 the growing glow in the east. George, his face flushed, yet 
 haggard, stood for an instant looking over the pine woods, 
 where, liad the light been stronger, he might have seen the 
 angle of a little house among the trees. After all, why should 
 he not stop now, if only to see her gratitude? Twelve hours' 
 delay was not much, especially when she was safe. Why need 
 that be the last sight of her? — going up the stairs with the 
 pearls ! . . . pearls. 
 
 An hour afterwards, when the sun tipped over the lower 
 hills, to make the morning-glories, festooned from rock to rock, 
 open their eyes, they opened them upon the coffin-like dhooli 
 going rapidly downhill to the accompaniment of shuffles and 
 grunts and recurring protestations that the sahib was " do ?nun 
 jnicckay If the heaviness of heart could have been meas- 
 ured, George might have weighed a ton.
 
 yi(i 
 
 Even at the best of times the descensus avernus from the 
 cool hills to the hot plains is never easy, and in this case Para- 
 dise lay behind, Purgatory in front. 
 
 " I am so sorry Mr. Keene has gone," said Rose Twcedie at 
 breakfast. "I shall miss him dreadfully." Lewis Gordon's 
 eyebrows went up superciliously. 
 
 " No doubt ; but he was right to go, in more ways than 
 one." 
 
 Colonel Tweedie, busy over a virtuous plate of porridge and 
 milk, which, in some mysterious way, he regarded as a sign of 
 youth, gave his preliminary cough. 
 
 " I scarcely agree with you, Gordon. In my opinion, there 
 is — er — a savor — of — of — insubordination ; or, not to speak 
 so strongly, a want of respect in this sudden departure. Of 
 course the zeal, and the — the desire to do his duty — are pleas- 
 ing in so young a man. At the same time, a little more con- 
 fidence in — ei — the judgment of — " 
 
 "Mr. Gordon wasn't thinking of that, father," interrupted 
 the girl, with her gray eyes showing some scorn for both her 
 companions. " He meant to imply that George — Mr. Keene — 
 was better away from Simla." 
 
 " Your perspicacity does you credit. Miss Tweedie. I did 
 mean it. He has been going rather fast, and will be none the 
 worse for saving up some more rupees at Hodinuggar." 
 
 " If he had the money to spend, I don't see why he 
 shouldn't spend it in having a good time," retorted Rose, 
 quickly. "He won't ask you to pay the bills, will he?" 
 
 " Hope not, I'm sure ; but the bearer brought quite a little 
 pile of them to me this morning, by mistake." 
 
 Rose bit her lip. " Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell 
 your man to put them back in Mr. Keene's room. I'll forward 
 them when I write. Are you coming with me to the Grahams' 
 this afternoon, father?" 
 
 But Colonel Tweedie was not to be diverted from the head- 
 of-the-department frown he had been preparing. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it. To say the least, it is bad taste to 
 —to—"
 
 217 
 
 "Leave I O U's instcnd of P P C's," reiuarlvcd Lewis, flip- 
 pantly. "But roalh', sir, I don't see how he could liolp it, 
 after all. He bad to go in such a hurry." 
 
 "I deny the necessity," continued the colonel, pompously. 
 "I fail to see any just cause for setting his opinion against that 
 of — of Iiis elders and superiors." 
 
 " Unless he had a private reason of his own," suggested his 
 daughter. 
 
 " My dear Rose, a public servant can have no private rea- 
 sons." 
 
 There was an epigrammatic flavor about this remark which, 
 to the colonel's ears, completely covered its absolute want of 
 sense. He felt vaguely that he had said something clever, and 
 that it might be as well to let it close the subject, which he 
 did by answering the previous question as to whether he would 
 go to the Grahams'. Certainly, if it did not rain ; but the ba- 
 rometer was falling fast, and a telegram had come to the office 
 that morning to say the monsoon had broken with unusual 
 violence at Abu. It might be expected north at any moment. 
 On which the two fell to talking about dams and escapes, in- 
 undation, cuts, and such things, while Rose, indignant with 
 Lewis, yet disturbed at the confirmation his hints gave to her 
 own fears, sat thinking over what had been said. George had 
 been reckless; there could be no doubt about that. Had not 
 one of lier particular partners last night told her that he had 
 left George playing poker at the club but a half hour before? 
 George, who had declared he had no time to put in an appear- 
 ance at the ball ? 
 
 When breakfast was over she went into the lad's empty 
 room for the bills and took the opportunity of giving a house- 
 wifely glance round, to see that nothing had been left behind 
 or taken away in the hurry. The former, certainly; for there 
 was the bottom drawer quite full : old shirts and ties, a rather 
 battered pot-hat, and, beneath the wliole, a picture. Slie stood 
 looking at it blankly. What a very odd coincidence! The 
 girl of her dream ! The girl with the quaint dress and the 
 Ayodhya pot clasped to her breast. Why had George brought
 
 218 
 
 it up to Simla and never shown it to any one ? Why, wlien 
 the pot was stolen, had he said nothing about the girl ? 
 Though, on the other hand, she had kept silence about her 
 dream. She puzzled over it for some time; at last, finding 
 certainty on only one point — namely, that for some reason or 
 other George had wished to keep the picture secret — she 
 took it away to her own room ; for she was of those who re- 
 gard the unspoken wish of a friend to be quite as binding as 
 any they may express. 
 
 Just about the same time Gvven Boynton, still in her bed, 
 ■was looking at something else George had left behind him, 
 but this had only an envelope carefully addressed to her. It 
 contained two pieces of paper signed by Manohar Lai : one a 
 receipt for a diamond necklace on which the six thousand 
 rupees had been lent ; the other, a later date, giving a quit- 
 tance in full for the same, plus interest. 
 
 How simple ! Why had she never thought of such a plan 
 before ? But where could she have raised money enough to 
 buy freedom? Besides — She buried her face in the pillow in 
 a vain desire to shut out the conviction which rushed in on her, 
 as she recognized that if the plotters had gained what they 
 ■wanted from the empty dandy outside the dress-maker's shop, 
 they would naturally be quite ready to deal with George and 
 take money for a security they were already pledged to give ; 
 which, in fact, they would have given, since the canons regu- 
 lating bribery in India are strict in regard to value returned 
 for value received. Every penny, therefore, of the money 
 George must have paid for these papers was so much clear, un- 
 expected gain to Manohar Lai — if the 2^lotters had alreadij at- 
 tained their object. 
 
 Still she was safe; and even if anything happened, nobody 
 could blame George. Now she had had time to consider the 
 whole bearings of the matter, she told herself such blame was 
 impossible; while, as for Dan, if he would only leave govern- 
 ment service and make money, she was read to marry him to- 
 morrow! She had woven a conscience- proof garment for 
 herself out of the old hair-splitting arguments long before
 
 219 
 
 George's dhooli had reached the level plain. When it did, the 
 clouds had banked themselves against the higher hills, shutting 
 out the boy's farewell glance. As he climbed into the country 
 gig, in which forty miles of dusty road had to be covered, the 
 barometer was falling fast, and the driver remarked cheerfully 
 that when the rain came the cholera would increase. It had 
 been bad at the third stage that day, and one of the coolies 
 belonging to the government bullock-train had died on the 
 road, about five miles farther on. The sahib might, perhaps, 
 still see the body lying there.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The last twelve hours before the advancing rains break over 
 your particular portion of the fiery furnace ! — who can de- 
 scribe them ? Who liaving once endured them can need de- 
 scription as an aid to memory ? The whole world one incarnate 
 expectation — blistering, parched, like the tongue of Dives : the 
 heavenly drop of water for which you long squandered on the 
 hot air, moist with a vanguard of vapor, so that the breath 
 you draw is even as the breath you exhale — if, indeed, you 
 breathe at all ; if, indeed, by sensation or touch or temperature 
 you can differentiate yourself from the sodden heat of all 
 tilings, or get rid of the conviction that, like the devils in 
 a still hotter place, you are an integral part of the business ! 
 
 And Hodinuggar, on this sodden July day, had small hope of 
 future improvement to lighten the burden of the present, for 
 it stood on the edge of the rainless tract, in the debatable land 
 of meteorological reporters. Not more than a shower or two 
 from that southwesterly column of cloud was due to bring 
 up its scanty average of rainfall, which came, for the most 
 part, from electrical dust-storms, and suchlike turbulent, undis- 
 ciplined outbreaks; so the heat lay over it hopelessly, and 
 even the peasant, patiently awaiting the return of the smith 
 who was to mend his ploughshare, did so more from habit 
 than from any expectation of having use for the tool in any 
 immediate future. After all, waiting was the chief occupation 
 of his life : waiting for something to grow, or for something 
 to be reaped ; waiting for some one to be born, or for some 
 one to die. So the smith being absent over some work at the 
 palace, why should he not be waited for, even though the sun 
 was setting red behind the heat-haze? For one thing, it would 
 be cooler to tramp home with the ploughshare on your 
 shoulder. A tall, grave, bearded man was the peasant, sitting
 
 221 
 
 with his back against the wall, his hands hanging listlessly 
 between his knees. The painted girl in the balcony above 
 looked down and told him the news, calling him father, re- 
 spectfully. No question of her trade here, with this dweller 
 in the fields; only a pious "God keep us all" ere she became 
 voluble over Shumshere the zither-player's seizure by cholera 
 that morning, as he lay fighting quails in the street. Doubt- 
 less he was dying, now the sun was setting; any moment the 
 wail might arise from that seventh arch down the colonnade, 
 where he lodged. Whereat the long beard below wagged 
 slowly over the fact that the great sickness had visited the 
 hamlet, also bidding a crony or two wait no longer for any- 
 thing — not even for ploughshares or rain. And then, to solace 
 themselves, both courtesan and peasant quenched their thirst 
 on great chunks of watermelon bought for a cowry from a 
 heap of grecn-and-red fruit which had just been shot off a 
 donkey's back into the dust at one corner of the Mori gate, the 
 donkey meantime browsing at the edge of the pile, unrebuked. 
 
 ^''Ari, father! There it is! Did I not say so?" remarked 
 the painted one, as a low moan rising to a bai^shee shriek broke 
 the sodden stillness of the air. 
 
 ''''Rain! rain P'' ejaculated the peasant, piously. "It is a bad 
 year for sure, rain or no rain." 
 
 So, having finished his watermelon, he broke a morsel of 
 opium from a lump he carried in a fold of his turban, rolled it 
 under his tongue, and dozed off, still propped up against the 
 wall. And the sunset faded, leaving the world liotter than 
 ever, though in the crypt beneath the staircase in the Mori 
 gate the air was cooler than outside, despite the fire which 
 flickered fitfully over the blackened arches. It flickered also 
 on the silver bracelets circling Chandni's round brown arms 
 as she lay curved across a string-bed, her jingling feet swaying 
 softly in time with the tinsel fan she waved above the bold 
 outlines of tliroat and bosom. And the fan in its turn kept 
 time with the flicker of the fire atul the wheezing breath of a 
 smith's bellows rousing the charcoal embers into dancing flame, 
 or lettino- them die down to a dull red fflovv.
 
 " Thou art long, Lolmr-ji^'' she said, looking backward 
 at the bare bronze figure crouching before a low anvil. " All 
 these hours to make a key, when thou hast a mould before 
 thine eyes too !" 
 
 " True, O mother ; but the key is not as our fathers' keys, 
 and the hand lacks cunning in new patterns. Lo ! I had made 
 one for the treasure-chest of kings in half the time. But 
 there ! 'tis done. Sec how it fits its bed — like the seed of a 
 pomegranate to the shell. God send it may do its work fairly 
 and well 1" 
 
 " God send it may for thy sake, smith-/i,'' she replied, indif- 
 ferently. " Here, take the rupees, and have a care no key is 
 forged to unlock thy tongue regarding this matter. The 
 dewan is old ; but there are others behind him, and behind him 
 again, and Chandni behind them all." The reckless triumph 
 of her words rang through the low arches as she brought her 
 feet to the ground with a clash. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards she was looking down on a slender 
 key lying in Zubr-ul-zaman's nerveless hands. 
 
 " I have won the prize," she said ; " the pearls are mine." 
 
 The hands quivered, and the keen old eyes seemed to seek 
 her out from head to foot, revelling in her beauty and her 
 boldness. Then the light died out of them, the head sank 
 again. "The game is played," he muttered, "the game is 
 played." 
 
 " Yea ; it is played indeed." The woman's contemptuous 
 laugh echoed out into the dark night, through which George 
 Keene, on a hired camel, was making his way across the desert — 
 not by the usual road, since that meant delay and Dan's 
 questioning eyes at Rajpore ; but by a side route, branching 
 from the railway farther to the south. A hot night — an in- 
 tolerable smell of camel — dust in the eyes and nose and mouth 
 — dust and ashes in the heart ; even the twinkling lights of 
 the palace homelike and welcome in the endless darkness of 
 all things. The consciousness of doing your duty soothes the 
 mind, but is powerless before bodily discomfort ; and George was 
 wretchedly uncomfortable. To begin with, a high-paced camel
 
 323 
 
 driven at fall speed is not an easy method of conveyance ; nor 
 docs the necessity for havino- its unwashed attendant bumping 
 in the after-saddle add to the charm, even though that saddle 
 be to the leeward of you — for which Heaven be thanked I And 
 then the lad had had nothing to eat since the hastily swallowed 
 breakfast at a rest-house, save some smoked milk and tough 
 dough -cake brought him at the village where he changed 
 camels. So, as he bumped through the silent night on the 
 bubbling, breathing, silent-footed beast, with that other breath- 
 ing beast behind him, more than half George's slender hold on 
 the joys of life lay in the prospect of supper, even though it 
 must be one of the factotum's barraecidal feasts. Such things 
 defy the mind, especially when that mind is lodged in a young 
 and healthy body. Thus, while he could set his teeth over the 
 remembrance of tliat half -hour during which his world came 
 to pieces in his hand, he could not prevent himself coming to 
 pieces on the camel, A dark night indeed — so dark that the 
 red - brick bungalow showed only by the white arches of the 
 veranda a ghostly colonnade rising out of the shadow. The 
 servants' houses, too, dark as the night itself, and silent as the 
 grave. George, stepping ankle-deep into yielding sand, called 
 once, twice; then, giving in with irritation to his knowledge 
 of native slumber, walked over in the direction of the cook- 
 room — too sandy for snakes ; besides, booted as he was, they 
 would hardly reach him. Necessary thoughts, these, now that 
 lie was back in Purgatory, with death, for aught he knew, 
 coiled in the path ; they came back to him naturally, as part of 
 the environment of life. Another call without the screen of tall 
 grass, sacred to the modesty of the compounder of egg-sarse ; 
 then an impatient setting aside of the mat at the entry. 
 
 "They might as well be dead!" he muttered, angrily, going 
 up to a string-bed set in the centre of the little yard, whereon 
 he could just distinguish a figure long enough to be a man, 
 " Get up, you lazy brute !" cried George, shaking it by the shoul- 
 der. No answer ; and he drew back hastily, shouting for some 
 one — any one. 
 
 A twinkling light from the stables ; a drowsy exclamation
 
 324 
 
 from behind the hut. So, out of the surrounding dark came 
 timorous steps, a hand bearing a cresset, a doubtful face or two 
 peering at the intruder, then yielding to surprised salaams; 
 finally a sudden breaking into garrulous clamor: " Ohi ! Olii ! 
 'Tis the huzoor returned ! and the huzoor's faithful servant 
 hath been summoned by the Lord, Lo ! if the huzoor had but 
 come three hours ago there would still have been a khitmutgar 
 in his honor's house. But it was the great sickness, Jmzoor, 
 which waits not; all day long ill in the huzoor's cook-room 
 with great patience. Ohi! Ohi! the 5a/«'6 must be hungry ; 
 and, lo ! where is he who gave the sahib meat fit for his rank? 
 O, my sister ! 0, bereaved one ! 0, widow ! put thy grief 
 from thee, and prepare food for thy master ; in duty sorrow 
 finds solace." 
 
 " Is — is he dead ?" asked George, standing, dazed, looking 
 incredulously at the sheeted figure dimly visible by the flicker- 
 ing rush-light. He had seen the man asleep thus dozens of 
 times. At the question, another sheeted figure, which had 
 crept from the hut into the circle of light, broke out into a 
 gurgling cry: " Ohi! meri admi murgya ! meri dil murgya ! 
 murgya !''"' (Ah ! my husband is dead! my husband is dead !) 
 And one or two later arrivals, in like disguise, crouched beside 
 the voice, joining in the strange, low whimper of the conven- 
 tional wail. George fell back a step or two, repelled to his 
 heart's core, shocked out of speech. 
 
 " Weep not, O widow !" snivelled the water-carrier, who, be- 
 ing the only Mohammedan male present, felt impelled to the 
 duty of consoler. "Didst not give him beef-tea? Aye! and 
 barley-water likewise? even as to the huzoor when he was 
 stricken, and did not the master arise to health thereby ? 
 Wherefore, is it not the will of God, plainly, that the man 
 should find freedom ? Therefore, place thy heart on comfort. 
 lie will be buried at suHrise, huzoor, so the sahib will have no 
 more annoyance ; and by the fortune of the Most High there 
 is even now to be had without delay a servant who can cook — 
 the one who is dead is as nothing to him — faithful to salt, hav- 
 ing many certificates, mine own wife's cousin, a — "
 
 325 
 
 George, wlio by this time was half-way back to the dark 
 house, cursed him and his wife's relations utterly; then bade 
 him bring a light somehow. Meanwhile, scarcely conscious of 
 what he was doing, the lad had groped bis way into the room 
 where he had first seen her^ and, stumbling against a chair, sat 
 down mechanically, resting his head on the back over his crossed 
 arms. Would the light never come? and when it came, what 
 would it reveal ? More dead men, waiting to be roused ? Oh, 
 horrible ! — most horrible ! — the remembrance of that — No ! 
 no ! no ! he would not think of it. He would think of that 
 other face, asleep on the rod cushions of the easy-chair ; but 
 that was dead, too. The face of a dead ideal ! Ah ! the light 
 at last, thank God ! and he could be sensible. 
 
 Whatever it showed George, he showed it a mask, terrible 
 in its needless pain, ghastly in the hunted, shrinking look in 
 the young eyes which used to be so bold. Even the water- 
 carrier, dense as he was, saw it, and understood vaguely. 
 
 *' This is bad word that the huzoor should return like this. 
 It is not fitting his honor. If he had only waited till Fitzger- 
 ald sahib comes back — " 
 
 " Comes back !" echoed George, dully. " Why should he come 
 back ?" Yet he knew quite well in his own mind that Dan, too, 
 had judged it wrong to leave the fort unguarded, as it were. 
 His mind wandered to the love he bore this man, while the wa- 
 ter-carrier went on volubly about the sahib having gone off in a 
 hurry that morning, and being very angry about something he 
 had lost ; something that the sahiUs base-born personal attend- 
 ant had said must have been stolen ; as if — 
 
 George, looking at all things with uncomprehending eyes, 
 suddenly lost patience, cursed the speaker, quite quietly this 
 time, and bade him go about his business. 
 
 **Your honor's Jchitmutgar'' s widow can cook food, if the 
 huzoor — " 
 
 George did it a third time, solemnly. When he was left 
 alone he glanced round quickly, as if uncertain of what the 
 room might contain. The easy-chair, with its red cushions ; a 
 bare bed — brought in, doubtless, for the sake of the larger room 
 
 15
 
 226 
 
 and cooler air — a dirty table-cloth on the table, littered with 
 the crumbs and plates of Dan's last meal, left, in slovenly na- 
 tive fashion, to await deferred cleansing. A half-empty whis- 
 key-bottle and a watcr-sia'ahi ; that, at any rate, was something, 
 and his hand went out to them instinctively. Even in his gen- 
 eral confusion, however, the precepts of modern hygiene re- 
 maining clear, he deferred to drink till they brought him some 
 tepid soda-water. Such precaution was necessary with cholera 
 in the compound. Whatever else it may do, civilization cer- 
 tainly intensifies the dread of death. The peasant and the cour- 
 tesan had munched melon in the very shadow, but George's 
 cultured nerves had no such courage. He was no coward, but 
 he had received a shock which was bound to make its mark on 
 the highly sensitized mind and body ; bound to weaken them 
 for the time. 
 
 Ah ! that was better. The room did not seem quite so 
 dreary. Another soda? Yes, another soda. After that the 
 outlook itself seemed less dreary. Dan had been right in say- 
 ing that he, George, did not know the temptations of stimu- 
 lants. Temptations ? If they brought you up to your bearings 
 with a round turn in this fashion — why, he felt twice the man 
 he had been five minutes ago ! Now he could think ; now he 
 could see clearly ; now he could reason, and decide what ought 
 to be done. To begin with, she was safe. Those papers, joined 
 to little Azizan's confession of having stolen the Ayodhya pot, 
 made it quite impossible to prove that she knew anything about 
 the jewels. As for himself, that did not matter, though for a 
 fact he was quite as safe as Dan. That is to say, the palace 
 devils might raise a scandal, but the break-down of their case in 
 regard to her would show it was all no more than revenge for 
 their failure ; for they would fail, of course. So far nothing 
 had happened. There was no water in the overflow cut ; he 
 had made sui*e of that as he came along. And now that he was 
 on the spot, he could do quite as much, off his own beat, to 
 prevent treachery as any one — the colonel and all the depart- 
 ment to boot — could have done, had he reported the whole 
 affair. To-morrow the guard would be changed and doubled,
 
 327 
 
 to provide against any violent attempt ; an unlikely event, how- 
 ever, as such an assault v?ould take time, and he meant to pitch 
 his tent down at the sluice, so as to be on the spot at night. 
 During the day he could watch from the bungalow. Against 
 other and more stealthy treachery he was also provided — ab- 
 solutely ; so absolutely that he gave a short laugh as he drew a 
 couple of Chubbs' keys and a new lock from his wallet. But 
 that, also, was for to-morrow ; there remained to-night. No ! 
 not to-night, since already it was past one o'clock. What won- 
 der that he was tired ! did any one in the wide world know or 
 care how tired ? He stood up sharply, every vein tingling now ; 
 his whole mind aglow, despite his weariness. He must have 
 something to eat first, of course ; his very determination insist- 
 ed upon that ; but not from those plague-stricken purlieus out 
 yonder — cautious civilization insisted upon that. Biscuits or 
 something in the cupboard. As he crossed over to it, the mem- 
 ory of his raid while she slept among the red cushions returned 
 to make him laugh again. 
 
 " And when she got there, 
 The cupboard was bare." 
 
 The childish doggerel fitted the occasion, and left him smiling 
 at ship's biscuits — the last resource of hunger by sea or land — 
 left at the bottom of a tin. Dan certainly xvas a bad house- 
 keeper. The comedy of his disappointment struck him ; the 
 tragedy, needing the sequel to develop it, remained invisible, 
 like a photograph in film-embryo. Dry work, ship's biscuits, 
 in a fiery furnace, with a ten-pound thirst upon you and whiskey- 
 and-soda within reach. When he stood up again the weariness 
 seemed to have crept upward, leaving nothing alert save his 
 brain. Had he ever been so tired in all his life ? As tired as 
 she must have been when she fell asleep in the chair he was just 
 passing. His hand lingered on the back of it for an instant, 
 almost caressingly. 
 
 By Jove, what a furnace outside ! Lighter than it had been, 
 however, because of the suggestion of a moon low down in the 
 heat-haze. And there was the potter's lamp, twinkling like a
 
 228 
 
 star above the domed shadow of the Hodinuggar mound. 
 Queer old cbap — queer start the whole thing, if one came to 
 think of it; a crazy, irresponsible creator, as Dan had called 
 him. Why not he as well as another? Who knew? who 
 cared ? 
 
 He stood for a space, looking out with sensitive seeing eyes 
 to the broad shadows, formless save for the pin-point flicker of 
 the potter's light. Face to face at last, he and Hodinuggar; 
 between them the sliding water, mother of all things. 
 
 " Hath not the jJotter power over the clay f If that was all 
 the light amid the shadows of life, better far were darkness ! 
 If that — He turned quickly, beset by uncontrolled, passion- 
 ate contempt, uncontrolled passion for some action, and be- 
 neath his shaking hand the lamp on the table flared out smok- 
 ily. A poor protest, yet the dark was better — darkness and 
 rest, if rest could come to one so tired as he was, as it had 
 come to her. Not that it mattered if he were tired or not. 
 
 Five minutes after, the twinkling light, could it have reached 
 so far, would have found him fast asleep, peaceful as a child, 
 among the red cushions where she had slept. But even Azizan's 
 eyes, keen set as they were by devotion, could not pierce the 
 darkness. The cresset was in her hand as she stood looking 
 out from the yard towards the other bank of the canal. 
 
 " It hath gone out again," she murmured; "a servant, likely, 
 on no good errand; and the old man tells me the truth, I think. 
 Another week ere he returns. I would it had been sooner, so 
 that I might have warned him. But there ! 'tis the same ; the 
 task is mine in the end." 
 
 As she crossed back to the hut she paused an instant to look, 
 by the cresset light she shaded with her fingers, on the figure 
 of old Fuzl Elahi asleep, in the open, beside his wheel. 
 
 " Poor fool !" she said, softly, as if to the sleeper. And after 
 that even the potter's light disappeared, leaving both sides of 
 the sliding water to darkness. 
 
 The dawn came and went ; the sun climbing up into the sky 
 turned it into brass — a brazen dome, in which the sun itself 
 seemed merged and lost. Yet still George slept on, undisturbed
 
 229 
 
 even by the water - earner's cautious peepings through the 
 chink. 
 
 " Lo ! the huzoor is young, and he was broken into pieces by 
 thy bad animal," he said to the carael- driver, who was impa- 
 tiently awaiting payment. " Sleep is even as food and drink 
 to him ; and, besides, ere he wakes, my wife's cousin, whom I 
 have sent for, will be present to cook my lord's breakfast. 
 There is great virtue in being niajood {i. e., created on the spot), 
 and the man who cooks one meal hath himself to blame if he 
 cook not many. If thou art hurried, go. Who wants thee 
 and thy evil -smelling brute?" 
 
 So George slept on ; and when he woke at last, it was to the 
 confused, unreasoning consciousness of those who have been 
 drugged. He stared around him incredulously, until, out of 
 the mist, as it were, the empty whiskey-bottle on the table 
 grew clear, accusingly clear, and he sprang to his feet, becom- 
 ing aware as he did so of a racking headache. Undoubtedly 
 he had been drinking — not, perhaps, without cause, he added, 
 as memory began to return. The next instant he was at the 
 door. Yellow haze, yellow heat, and through it a silver streak 
 steering to the south ! 
 
 That was all he saw, but that little changed the whole world 
 for him in the twinkling of an eye. The sluice-gate was open ! 
 The devils had won ! they had won ! they had won !" 
 
 What use is there in saying that he felt this, that he felt 
 that? What use in pointing out whether anger or regret came 
 uppermost in the conglomerate of passion ? As a matter of 
 fact, George felt nothing consciously ; not even when, after an 
 hour or more, he came back to his red-hot bungalow out of the 
 red-hot air. 
 
 He sat down, then, at the table, now cleared of last night's 
 crumbs, and re-laid by the wife's cousin with that superfluity 
 of covers which marks new zeal in India, and tried to think of 
 what he had thought, or said, or done since he first caught 
 sight of that silver streak steering southward, where no streak 
 should be. But after a time he found himself deeply inter- 
 ested in reconstructing the pyramid of five forks intertwined,
 
 230 
 
 with which the new hand had adorned the table. What a fool — 
 what an arrant fool he was, to be sure ! Even if there had been 
 any one upon whom to use the revolver, he would most likely 
 have lost his opportunity or missed the beggar ; but there had 
 been nobody, and he might as well have left it at home, lying 
 on the table ready, as it was now. The sluice-gate had been 
 opened, not ten minutes before he woke, by a key — a key 
 which had broken in the lock, making it impossible to close it 
 again till it had been repaired. Of course, there was the other 
 key and the new lock ; but what need was there to hurry now ? 
 No power on heaven or earth could hide the fact that the 
 sluice-gate had been opened. For months to come miles on 
 miles of crops, ripening to harvest, would proclaim the failure, 
 the treachery ! " As ye have sown so shall ye reap." Con- 
 cealment was impossible — that much was certain ; and the cer- 
 tainty brought with it an odd sort of content. Since it was 
 all his fault from beginning to end, it was quite right that he 
 should suffer. Yes ! Opened quietly, while the guard was eat- 
 ing his dinner ; opened quietly, while he, George, was asleep — 
 why not say drunk at once ? that was nearer the truth. 
 
 And the dewan ! George's listless hands tightened as he 
 thought of that brief interview with the old man on the roof, 
 his own torrent of reckless abuse, the courteous regrets and 
 replies ignoring his very accusations. But those palace devils 
 could afford to eat abuse ! Zubr-ul-zaman had played, and the 
 game was won indeed. But how ? Half mechanically George 
 drew out the key attached to his watch-chain and looked at it, 
 carelessly at first, and then carefully. And what he saw there, 
 clinging to the inner surface of a ward, changed heaven for 
 him in the twinkling of an eye, even as the silver streak of 
 water had changed the world. 
 
 A very simple thing : only a piece of wax. 
 
 How long he sat there staring at it he did not realize. The 
 yellow haze outside grew ruddier with the sinking of the sun ; the 
 water-carrier, shadowed by the white-robed aspirant to the dead 
 factotum's duties, hovered about the veranda expectantly. 
 
 " What do you want, you fool ?" bawled George, looking
 
 231 
 
 up, surprised at his own anger, surprised that anything should 
 touch him save the thought that she had known — must have 
 known ; that she had done it — must have done it. 
 
 The man edged in through the chink, signing to the white- 
 robed one to follow his example. 
 
 *' Only to bring the huzoor this," he began, noisily ; " only 
 to bring this proof of honesty to the feet of justice. Lo ! it 
 was found even now by this man, with a foresight and quick- 
 ness to be commended, in the sahiUs own room, huzoor, 
 beneath the matting, thus causing the face of the big sahiVs 
 ill-begotten servant to be blackened by reason of his base in- 
 sinuation of theft ! Theft ! How can there be theft in a 
 house where the water-carrier is as I am, and the khit will be 
 as this one — my own wife's brother, huzoor — " 
 
 George broke out suddenly into dull laughter. " Oh, go to 
 blazes with your wife's brother ; put the thing down there on 
 the table, I tell you, and go. Go ! Do you hear ?" 
 
 Anger and something more than anger was back in his tone 
 when he ended, and the water-carrier, knowing his master's 
 voice, fled. The white-robed one, with the courage of igno- 
 rance, risked all by a salaam. 
 
 "At what hour will the huzoor please to dine?" The young 
 man looked at him curiously, feeling that the world was past 
 his comprehension. 
 
 " The usual time, I suppose." 
 
 As well this fool as another ; as well to-morrow as to-day. 
 Everything was trivial, commonplace. The interruption had 
 somehow brought home the reality of what had happened to 
 the lad, and his head sank on his crossed arms once more in 
 utter dejection. She might have told him, warned him. Surely 
 when he had promised she might have done so much for his 
 sake, and Dan's — by the way, what was it that Dan had lost, 
 and that chattering idiot had brought in with him ? George's 
 right hand trembled a little as he reached over the table to 
 take a plain gold locket on a slender chain. It was familiar 
 enough to him. Dan wore it night and day, and many a time 
 had George chafed him about the young woman ! No wonder
 
 232 
 
 the dear old man was vexed at the thought of losing it. Los- 
 ing it or losing her ? In the keen thrust of this thought the 
 locket slipped through George's fingers, and, falling, opened. 
 So it lay, face upward, while the boy sat staring out into the 
 open, blindly intent on the remembrance that after all it was 
 not a case of whether a man or a woman should suffer ; it was 
 one woman or another — the woman he loved, or the woman 
 Dan loved. A hundred thoughts beset him, but, analyzed, 
 they all resolved themselves to this : his love or Dan's. To 
 save her from even a breath of scandal be was willing to bear 
 the blame ; but how could this be without imperilling Dan's 
 future ? No ! if the worst came ; if he could find no way — yet 
 surely, surely, there must be some way, some simple way of 
 taking all the responsibility on his own shoulders. If not, then 
 she must be brave, she must tell the truth and save this woman 
 whom Dan loved, whose face — He looked down at the locket. 
 
 " Given r 
 
 The sound, barely a whisper, scarcely stirred the sodden air. 
 After a while he pushed back the chair slowly, and crossed to 
 stand once more looking out over Hodinuggar. It seemed to 
 have a fascination for him ; yet his mind held but one thought: 
 to find some place where there were neither truth nor lies, 
 where he need say nothing. That surely would settle it. " No 
 you loouldnH, old chap — not unless you wanted them to believe 
 you guilty.'''' Lewis Gordon's idle words, as they stood laughing 
 and jesting on the balcony yonder, but a few months ago, 
 came back to him — the only living memory in the chaos of 
 his present pain. The scene reproduced itself before his hag- 
 gard young eyes. Yes, that would settle it ; and, after all, he 
 was guilty. Why had he not told the colonel ? Why had he 
 slept ? Why— 
 
 The sound was louder now ; yet not loud enough to disturb 
 the servants, chattering across in the cook-room over the 
 chances of perquisites under the new regime. Loud enough, 
 for all that, to deafen the lad's ears forever to questionings of 
 truth or untruth. 
 
 He lay on his back, face upward, and a faint stream of
 
 333 
 
 blood oozing from the blue bruise just over his heart traced a 
 fine girdle round his breast — perhaps to show that the potter's 
 thumb had slipped, and the pot had cracked in the firing. 
 
 Maybe a fiery furnace and a red-hot bungalow are trying 
 even to the best of clay when it is fresh from the moulder's 
 hand ; but that is neither here nor there. The fact remains that 
 George had run away from truth and untruth, from himself 
 and his fellow-men, but most of all from Hodinuggar and the 
 crazy, irresponsible creator ; yet could he have realized the fact, 
 no one in the wide, wide world would have been more incredu- 
 lous of his own action. 
 
 And as he lay dead, with a bullet through his heart, the ba- 
 rometer upon the mantel-piece was falling faster and faster, 
 while Dan, with a telegram in his pocket, was riding all he 
 knew across the desert to open the sluice-gate against the big- 
 gest flood within the memory of man — to open it so far and 
 no farther, and to prevent any weakening of the channel for 
 a while. Too late ! For already the peasants were knee-deep 
 in their own fields, breaking through every obstacle which 
 might stem the rising water. And still the barometer fell 
 faster and faster ; but the only one who could have understood 
 the silent warning had deserted his post.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 She was waiting for darkness, like many anotlier woman in 
 India; waiting for the veil of night to destroy the veil of man's 
 contriving. Not so much because she dreaded to show her 
 face in the daylight, but because it suited her to keep up the 
 mystery of her appearance. Waiting, however, for the last 
 time ; since, once her work of warning was done, there need 
 be no more concealment, no more playing like a cat over a 
 mouse with the palace -folk. Once that was done she would 
 forget caution and kill some of tliem ; for her own death was 
 nig-li, and revenge would sweeten the end of life. As she sat, 
 her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, 
 Azizan had no very distinct plans for that revenge. First of 
 all, the Ayodhya pot must be taken from its hiding-place in 
 the stair of the old tower. That, with its secret bribe of 
 jewels, would prove to the sahib that there was truth in the 
 tale she had gathered during her nightly wanderings as a ghost 
 about Uodinuggar. When that was done, she would be free, 
 in some of those nightly wanderings, to kill the dewan, or his 
 son, the man who had killed her mother. Perhaps she might 
 be able to kill both, and yet have some strength left for 
 Chandni — Chandni, who had told her so many lies. For 
 there was a fire now in Azizan's light eyes which quite ac- 
 counted for the consideration which the courtesan had shown 
 the girl when, more than once, Chandni had wakened to find 
 them looking at her. By - and - by, the latter had decided, 
 a stop must be put to this masquerading through the village; 
 at present it would be unsafe, when so much depended on good- 
 luck ; thus Azizan had hitherto been unmolested. Indeed, 
 Chandni herself had taken malicious pleasure in countenancing 
 current tales of the return of the potter's dead daughter ; and 
 once when Khushal Beg, during his son's absence, had deemed
 
 235 
 
 it well to single her out for favor, she had sent the hoary old 
 sinner bact to his swinging cradle like a quaking jelly, from 
 abject fear of what he might meet on the way. It was only 
 when she was on the roof with the old dewan that she vent- 
 ured to speak in whispers of a time when this mad girl should 
 be taught her own impotence for good or evil. But in the 
 meantime this freedom from interruption, and the dread which 
 the mere thought of her roused in the simple village-folk, all 
 conspired to increase Azizan's faith in her supernatural power. 
 As she sat in the growing dusk, no doubt of her own success 
 assailed her. The chota sahib had returned, so said the old 
 man, who, with all his craziness, was to be trusted. Therefore, 
 in less than an hour, he would know all, since the day was 
 dying down quickly, smothered in a hot, hazelike smoke; 
 not a shadow anywhere — just a dull darkness, growing mo- 
 mentarily, as the dull darkness had grown upon her mind day 
 by day. For all that, she had the power. The potter might 
 mould the clay, the palace-folk might plot and plan ; but she, 
 the woman with the evil-eye, was stronger than they. 
 
 *' Azizan ! Oli, thou art there still. Heaven be praised !" 
 The cry roused her from a sort of dream, to find the old man 
 beside her, breathless as from running, his mild face, seen 
 dimly in the darkness, full of piteous entreaty. " Go not 
 from me this night, O heart's joy ! Leave me not again in 
 the storm !" 
 
 " The storm ! What storm, poor fool ?" she asked, indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 He laid his trembling hand on her arm. " Listen ! Thou 
 canst hear the noise of many waters. They came before, so 
 the fathers sang, and made a new world. Down yonder at 
 the palace, where thou goest, 'twill run like the race of a river, 
 and the stones of the old wall where thou liest will be crum- 
 bling into it. Go not there to-night, O light of mine eyes ! It 
 is safe here on the heights." 
 
 "There is no water," she answered, with a short laugh. 
 " There will be none, save in the canal. The sahib will see to 
 that, now he hath returned."
 
 236 
 
 " How can be see, when he is dead — " 
 
 *' Dead !" she echoed. " Bah ! thou liest ! He is not dead. 
 There is no water, and there is no death — " She broke off sud- 
 denl\% silenced by his look as he stood, with one hand raised, 
 as if listening. In the breathless air a strange whispering 
 reached her ear, and like an arrow from a bow she flew to the gap 
 in the palisade, whence she could see the dip between the river 
 and the canal-bank, and beyond that silver streak again to 
 the bungalow dotted down upon the level plain. 
 
 " Dohai ! Dohai /" 
 
 The Great Cry — the blind human cry of her race for justice 
 — burst from her instinctively. The next moment found her 
 bare-faced, in the open, on her way to prove if the old man 
 spoke truth about death also. 
 
 " Azizan, go not ! Leave not the House of Safety ! It is 
 the Flood of the Most High ! Go not ! ah, go not !" 
 
 His unavailing plea came back to him unanswered from the 
 night, which had fallen suddenly, as the dust from below sprang 
 up electrically to meet the dust above, and hide everything 
 from sight.. But through the thick veil that rush of running 
 water rose louder and louder as the girl sped on her way. 
 That was true ; so much of what the old man had said was 
 true ; she had seen it. There was a river by the old palace. 
 Was the other thing true also? Was the sa/iifi dead ? Had 
 they killed him ? The darkness, as she ran over the bridge, 
 lightened a little, so that she could see a great swirl of yellow 
 water shooting past the piers not three inches below the key- 
 stone of the arch. Lower down it had found the sluice-gates 
 open, hurled them from their foundations, and carried them 
 with it as it burst through the embankment, weakened by the 
 new-made cuttings of the villagers, and raced in a mad river, to 
 fling itself against the mound of Hodinuggar, tearing down 
 yard after yard of crumbling sand as it turned abruptly from 
 the collision to try conclusions by a flank movement. Azizan 
 saw none of this — nothing but the dim white arches, where 
 she had waited once before. 
 
 " Sahib ! Sahib r
 
 237 
 
 No answer ; and in her eagerness she crouched down at the 
 closed door, tapping softly. 
 
 ''Sahib! Sahib r 
 
 Only a quarter-inch planking between them ; that was all. For 
 they had left him as he fell, till some other white face should 
 come to accept the responsibility of interference. Yet it did 
 the work as effectually as all the barriers of custom and culture 
 which had divided them in life. 
 
 ''Sahib/ Sahib r' 
 
 Could it be true ? It must be true that he was dead ; other- 
 wise he would surely hear her cry 1 
 
 " Sahib ! Sahib ./" 
 
 As she crouched she might have put out her hand and 
 taken his, but for that trivial quarter - inch of wood between 
 them ; but he did not hear. Because he was dead? Perhaps ; 
 yet even in life he had not heard — he had not known. The 
 light in the potter's yard lit by her passionate love and care 
 had only served to arouse his contempt — better darkness, he 
 had thought, than such a light as that. 
 
 " Sahib ! Sahib r 
 
 At last she rose and stumbled across to the servants' quarters, 
 seeking the certainty which she must gain, somehow. A light 
 glimmered behind the grass palisades sacred to her namesake's 
 modesty, and from within came the eager yet subdued tones 
 of gossiping women. Azizan crept close, and, crouching in on 
 herself, held her breath to listen. 
 
 "Lo! I content myself with good-will towards all men," 
 came the widow's voice, self-complacently. " Yet, Motiya, 
 wife of Gunga the syce, I make bold to aver that this is no 
 more nor less than a judgment on — " 
 
 " What ! Dost think it to be really the Flood of Destruc- 
 tion?" broke in Motiya, whimpering. 
 
 " Ai, pargul P'' (fool), who cares for the water? It flows 
 south, not north ; so we are safe. No ! 'tis the sahib^s death. 
 Mayhap 'twill teach other folks' relations not to be in such a 
 hurry to thrust themselves into other folks' service, against the 
 custom — "
 
 238 
 
 « But—" 
 
 " Ai teri! wouldst deny my right — the widow's right? Ai, 
 meri admi! thy sahib is dead, and there is none to see jus- 
 tice done and employ thy relations ! Ai! meri dil murgija ! 
 murgya /" As the renewed sense of her wrongs rose in the 
 familiar wail, the women from within joined in it dutifully. 
 Without, the girl, with her hands clinched and her wild eyes 
 straining into the shadows, seemed to be so caught and carried 
 away by it also that her shrill voice echoed theirs instinc- 
 tively. 
 
 '^^Ai! meri sahib murgya! Ai ! meri dil murgya! murgya!''^ 
 
 The women, scared to death at the unexpected aid, stopped 
 suddenly, and the young voice rose alone : "^i / meri dil 
 murgya! murgya!'''' The sound of her own wailing brought 
 home to her the truth, rousing her passion, her grief, her anger, 
 to madness; and in one swift desire for revenge she turned and 
 ran. 
 
 " Meri sahib murgya!'''' The wail echoed over the wild swirl 
 of the flood as she crossed the bridge once more. It was trem- 
 bling now before its doom, as the water rose inch by inch. 
 And could that be rain? — that large warm drop upon her 
 hand, so large that it ran down between her fingers — anoth- 
 er on her upturned face blinding her? If those were rain-drops, 
 and many of them came, it might indeed be the Deluge of the 
 Most High. And if it were ? Had not the end of all things 
 come to her already? Yet, as she ran, she looked curiously 
 into the sky. Not a cloud visible ; only an even haze of gray 
 vapor, through which now and again a great drop splashed 
 down upon her, warm and soft. 
 
 " Ai ! meri sahib ! meri sahib /" No more than a sob now ; 
 yet even that she hushed as the Mori gate showed black before 
 her. Should it be Chandni ? No, not yet. But for Dalel and 
 the hopes of him, the woman would have cared nothing for 
 water or no water. So she passed on through the causeway. 
 One or two villagers, hurrying like her through the darkness, 
 talking in scared whispers of the strange flood, fell back from 
 her path, terrified. A knot of men in the bazaar huddled aside
 
 339 
 
 as she slipped by like a shadow ; even in the court-yard of the 
 palace the watchmen, gathered round one pipe for the comfort 
 of companionship in such uncanny times, gave no more than an 
 uneasy glance at the half-seen figure which they did not care to 
 challenge. 
 
 Should it be Khushal Beg in his swinging cradle ? He had 
 betrayed her mother, and the knife she carried was long enough 
 to reach through the fat to his heart — long enough to do the 
 mischief when held in reckless hands, even if aid came to the 
 unwieldy body. No, it should not be Khushal, either. Let 
 him wait awhile, since he had done little to harm the saliih. 
 The true quarry lay higher, in the old man up yonder in his 
 nest, like a bird of prey, seeing all things with his keen old 
 eyes, plotting and planning with his wise old brain. But for 
 him the others had not been ; but for him the sahib would 
 have been alive, and now he was dead. Each step of the stairs 
 as she labored up them seemed to need that cry of " dead ! 
 dead 1" to help her on her way ; and they left her breathless on 
 the first platform of the roof, where those huge drops of rain 
 were falling in audible thuds upon the hard plaster — faster 
 and faster. This was not rain ; something must have given 
 way in the sky, and, as the old man had said, it was Tofhan 
 ElahL So much the better for her purpose. In the arcades 
 on either side faint figures, glimmering white in the shadows, 
 showed where some of the servants were sheltering. So much 
 the better, also, since she might find the old man alone ; not 
 that she cared for that, either, save in its greater assurance of 
 success. He would not be in the pavilions at this time, but in 
 the room to the north end of the tower, of which she had heard 
 the woman speak ; the room with the big jutting balcony 
 whence you could see north, cast, and west — everything except 
 Hodinuggar itself. 
 
 By this time the rain-drops, falling faster and faster, had 
 become a sheet of water, streaming straight down with such 
 curious force that she staggered under it. A little sun-baked 
 fireplace against which she stumbled dissolved to sheer mud 
 ere she had recovered her balance, and a loosened brick in the
 
 240 
 
 last step upward rolled down, beaten from its place, ere her 
 foot touched it. It was the Tofhdn Eldhi indeed, though 
 every moment the sky grew lighter, and she could now see her 
 way clearly. 
 
 " Meri sahib murgya ! murgya /" She kept the wildfire 
 glowing in heart and eyes by the murmur, until, through an 
 open door, she saw what she sought : an old man seated still 
 as a statue at a chess-table. With a cry she darted forward, 
 snatching at the knife in her girdle ; then paused abruptly. 
 Where was the hurry ? he could not move. So, with a half- 
 laugh of exultation, she turned back deliberately to bolt the 
 door — a strong door, as befitted one living on the favorite 
 sleeping-place of despotism. It would need time to force an 
 entry — more time than she would need to do her work. Mean- 
 while she must look at this arbiter of her fate ever since she 
 was born ; this tyrant whom she had never seen. A wreck of 
 a man, with his head on bis breast ! Was that all ? But as 
 she came nearer, the light, such as it was, from the wide-arched 
 balcony, aided by a cresset smoking in a niche, showed her 
 something of the youth in his eyes. Perhaps it showed him 
 something of the age in hers, for the dewan paused with one 
 query on his lips, then began again with another going closer 
 to the root of the matter — as if in appreciation of the resolve 
 on her face. 
 
 " Hast come to frighten me, as thou frightenest the vil- 
 lagers, Azizan, daughter of the potter's daughter ?" he asked, 
 coldly. He was defenceless, save for craft of the brain, and 
 he knew it. 
 
 " Nay ; I have come to kill thee, Zubr-ul-Zaman, Dewan of 
 Hodinuggar," she replied — " to kill thee, as thou hast killed the 
 sahiby A sound which might have been a laugh reached her 
 as she took a step nearer, brandishing the knife ; perhaps it 
 was that which made her pause again ; laughter was hardly 
 what she had expected. 
 
 " I did not kill the sahib, fool. He killed himself for love 
 of the mem sahib — the fair mem who took the Ayodbya 
 pot."
 
 241 
 
 The girl fell back the step she had taken, and the hand bear- 
 ing the knife went up to her forehead in a gesture matching 
 her sharp cry of pain. The truth struck home ; yet she caught 
 at denial desperately. " Thou liest ! She did not take it. I 
 took it, once, twice. I have the pearls — the Ilodinuggar pearls. 
 I— I— not she—" 
 
 One of those curious spasms of life came to the wreck of a 
 man as it turned to look at the girl more closely. " So ! Thou 
 also hast brains. 'Tis the woman's yog nowadays. My son and 
 my son's son have none. Thou shouldst have been my grand- 
 daughter, Azizan, had I but known. Thou mayst be now." 
 
 His granddaughter ! Of course. She had suspected so all 
 her life, had known it to be so for months, yet she never real- 
 ized the fact till now ; and an odd, inexplicable sense of kin- 
 dred rose up in her against her will. 
 
 " I shall kill thee, no matter who thou art !" she cried, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Wherefore ? What harm have I done to thee, Azizan ? 
 'Twould have suited me better had the sahib fancied thy face. 
 Thoa hadst thy chance." 
 
 Something in her shrank back abashed before the naked 
 truth of the old man's words. She had her chance, according 
 to her world, and she had failed. She had failed utterly ; 
 and yet something else in her — strange, incomprehensible — 
 clamored against the verdict. The deadly weariness, the pas- 
 sionate apathy she had felt so often before came over her. 
 The knife dropped to her side, and, half mechanically, she 
 looked out through the arches of the balcony to where the red- 
 brick bungalow should stand. Nothing but sheets of water 
 streaming from above and from below — a rush, a roar. Sud- 
 denly, on the floor, int-pat, pat-pit, in half a dozen places. 
 The rain had conquered the thick domed roof. 
 
 "It is Tofhan, Elahi,^'' she said; and even as she spoke 
 a babel of voices rose at the closed door. 
 
 "Open, open ! The river saps the foundations! Ari, hhai! 
 Is he dead that he hath no fear? Beat it down! O dewan 
 sahib! O servant, who hath closed the door, open! open! 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 Nay ! — without a smith 'tis hopeless — and I tarry not — listen ! 
 — there goes more of the wall — open ! fools — open !" . . . 
 
 Amid the roar and rush, the vain blows and shouting, the 
 old man's eyes were on Azizan's, not so much in appeal as in 
 command. He could not move ; his faded voice would never 
 reach through the clamor ; his only safety lay in her obedience. 
 But she shook her head; then crouched down as if to wait till 
 they should once more be alone — crouched in her favorite atti- 
 tude, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chin, 
 the knife still clasped in her hand ready for use. A louder 
 roar came from without, a rattle as of bricks mingled with 
 cries of caution and alarm ; then gradually the blows and 
 voices dwindled away from the ceaseless clamor of the rain, 
 and the intermittent rumblings of falling masonry, as the 
 smallest crack widened beneath the pressure to a broach, and 
 bit by bit the solid walls seemed to melt -away. 
 
 " Why didst thou not open the door, Azizan ?" The words 
 in the great silence were just audible to the girl. 
 
 " Because I did not choose." Again the odd sound like a 
 laugh came from that bent figure. 
 
 " The woman's reason. Why didst thou not choose, Azizan ?" 
 Tbere was no anger, scarcely a trace of anxiety even, in his 
 tone. He was no novice to the ways of women, and the girl's 
 face told him that his chance of life was almost gone. What 
 must be must, and death came to all — to the mad fool, in her 
 turn. The sombre fire of her eyes met his sullenly; but she 
 made no answer, save to lay the knife down quietly on the sill 
 of the arch against which she leaned. The steel rang clear 
 upon the hard red sandstone. The old dewan's wrinkled hand 
 hovered for a moment over the pieces on the board, then fell 
 back upon his knees. So they sat staring at each other 
 silently, in the bow of the balcony. There was nothing more 
 to be said. She had chosen ; why, she knew not. And as the 
 clamor of the rain and the rush of the river rose higher and 
 higher, Zubr-ul-Zamun's head sank upon his breast with the 
 old formula: 
 
 ^^ Rani ki mat ; klicl ho-chukha'''' (Queen's mate; the game
 
 343 
 
 is done). The woman's reason or unreason had conquered the 
 strength of the world. But that was no new thing to the old 
 dewan's wisdom. 
 
 But to the people outside in the open, huddling together 
 under the pitiless downpour for safety's sake, it was more or 
 less of an amusement to wonder how long the old tower would 
 hold out against the mad stream sapping at its foundations. 
 Not long ; for already the mined wall had gone, disclosino- a 
 portion of the secret stair where Zainub, the old duenna, lay, 
 parched up almost to a mummy — a hideous sight, no doubt, 
 had there been light enough to see it ; but there was not, and 
 the refugees upon t])e higher ground could discern nothing but 
 the block of the old tower and the swirling water below. A 
 faint light came from the balcony of the room, where the 
 dewan was known to be; and as they watched it, people specu- 
 lated how the door came to be fastened. Perhaps it had 
 swung to, perhaps — Well, he must be dead, or would soon be 
 dead, since rescue was impossible. And, after all, he had lived 
 his time ; Khushal had been saved from his swinging cradle, 
 and then there was Dalel away up at Simla. Rulers enough 
 for a poor country-side, if God spared it from the Tofhdn 
 Eldhi ; and if not, why then the old man was at least better 
 off than they, exposed as they were to the elements — far 
 better; both he and the outcasts in their straw-huts, which 
 would hurt no one even if they fell. So the first in the land 
 was as the last, and the last first. Sohhan Ullah! 
 
 As the rain slackened the night grew darker, until even the 
 block of the tower ceased to show against the sky, and the little 
 company of watchers could only hear the thunder of its fall. 
 
 " God rest him !" muttered a peasant, muffled into a formless 
 bundle in his blanket. " He was a hard master, and the new 
 one may be harder still. There will be a good crop, anyway." 
 
 And down on the very edge of the boiling stream, when the 
 rain ceased, a light went twinkling up and down. It was the 
 potter looking for his dead daughter, as the debris of the old 
 wall, beneath which she had been buried sixteen years before, 
 crumbled away, bit by bit before the furious stream.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 The dawn broke upon a new world as far as Hodinuggar 
 was concerned. Where the desert had stretched, thirsty and 
 dry, lay a shoreless sea. Where the streak of silver had split 
 the round horizon in halves, the double line of the canal-banks 
 looked like twin paths leading to some world beyond the waste 
 of waters. They steered straight out of sight on either 
 side, almost unbroken save for the great gap where the sluice- 
 gate had stood. There the stream still swept sideways, to cir- 
 cle round the island of Hodinuggar, bearing, like an ark, its 
 company of refugees from the surrounding plains — a little 
 company, which straightway, taking advantage of the coming 
 sun, began to wring out its wet garments and spread them out 
 to dry, until the general air of washing-day reduced the tragedy 
 of the past night to the commonplace. And, after all, what had 
 happened? An old woman or two had been drowned, the 
 dewan and his tower swept away. But the world held too 
 many old women and more than enough of nobles. For the 
 rest, it had not been the flood of the Most High; and though 
 death came to all in the end and the loneliness of it must be 
 dreary, still it was somehow more terrifying to die in batches, 
 wholesale. 
 
 So, clothed in their white, new-washed robes like the elect, 
 they went down after a time in companies, to see the extent of 
 damage done to their belongings, and test how far it was pos- 
 sible to wade through the water towards the village homestead 
 or two which rose above the flood. Canalwards, of course, 
 passage was barred — would be barred for days, until the stream 
 ceased flowing or a boat was brought. So the horseman, pick- 
 ing his way flounderingly along the northern bank, might be 
 the only survivor of the big world beyond, and they be none 
 the wiser — for the time. It was Dan Fitzgerald, who, after an
 
 245 
 
 enforced shelter at the half-way village, was wondering who 
 could have taken the responsibility of anticipating the telegram 
 he carried in his pocket by opening the sluice-gates, and so, in 
 all probability, saving the big Sunowlie embankment farther 
 down. For it had been opened; that was evident to his experi- 
 ence at once. "Without the lead of current to cut, the flood 
 would have swept on to do its worst elsewhere. Well, who- 
 ever had done it, be he watchman or dewan, he would de- 
 serve something at the hands of the department, and be the 
 past record a bad one, this should have its reward — its just re- 
 ward — if he could compass it. 
 
 Ten minutes after he had driven the chattering servant from 
 the room, and grief-stricken, yet convinced into a sort of calm 
 acceptance of the inevitable, had lifted the poor lad's body ten- 
 derly to the bed. He scarcely even thought of a reason ; per- 
 haps there was none. Dan, in his rough-and-ready life, had 
 seen such a thing before; had known the useless search for some 
 adequate cause. And was there not cause enough for a sudden 
 loss of balance ? The race down from Paradise to Purgatory ? 
 The intolerable journey, the horrible home-coming; and then 
 the cursed bottle he had left ! The remembrance sent his whole 
 mind into useless regrets. If he had only ridden faster, if 
 somehow he could have been there in time to prevent the lone- 
 liness, the awful desolation of it all. He had been through it 
 himself; he knew what it had been to him. Perhaps, taking 
 his own excitability as a standard, he over-estimated the effect 
 on George's nature. At any rate, as he stooped mechanically 
 to pick up the revolver round which the dead boy's liand had 
 still been closed, he felt that given the necessity for sudden re- 
 turn the rest might be inferred. And then beside the revolv- 
 er he saw the open locket, with Gwen's smiling face still star- 
 ing up at him. G^oen ! Great God ! what did it mean ? His 
 own locket, of course, and yet — He sat down at the table, white 
 as death, looking first at the pretty face, then at the still figure 
 on the bed, now decently shrouded from the glaring light of 
 day. And by degrees the color returned to his cheeks. No 1 
 it could not be so. She was not cruel, only careless ; and ah !
 
 246 
 
 what a grief this would be to her! Besides, George was 
 not the one to put life-long regret into a friend's life. So 
 among other incidents of the terrible home-coming had been 
 that of learning who Dan's sweetheart was ; that had not hap- 
 pened at Simla ; that could not have been the cause of the 
 lad's sudden return. It was a relief. But why had he come ? 
 The new lock and keys lying on the table gave hira a clew, 
 and his quick wits suggested danger to the gates. Then the 
 thought struck him suddenly, in a flash, confusedly, almost irra- 
 tionally, that it had been done for his sake and hers. He was 
 on his knees by the bed in a minute. " O George, George ! 
 why did you do it?" And in the answering silence came a de- 
 cision, impulsive, yet unmistakable. Such blame as could be 
 taken, he would take. No one should know or dream of failure. 
 No one should ever say, " Ah, poor fellow, he shot himself ; 
 must have been something wrong, you know." Rapidly he 
 counted the cost, the possibility of concealment. Hodinuggar, 
 separated from hira by an unpassable stream, could not be 
 taken into account, and he must accept the risk there ; it would 
 be not much if the servants' tale was true, if they had only dis- 
 covered their master's death when the storm began, and had 
 done no more than send word to the palace. If so, no one had 
 seen the body save those four or five servants who loved their 
 master and worshipped rupees ; and beyond even rupees, peace 
 and quiet, instead of the dangerous rakings up of the past, fol- 
 lowing always on the advent of the police. Then for the de- 
 partment itself. Whether George had opened the sluice when, 
 as the servants said, he went out in the middle of the day, or 
 whether the palace -folk had done it, the department, in either 
 case, owed the opener a debt of gratitude. If the latter, the 
 Moguls would be glad to keep silence; if the former, even if 
 they set up a claim for compensation to the ruined tower, they 
 would have been due so much had he, Dan, arrived in time to 
 carry out his orders. So half an hour afterwards one of the 
 servants started along the path to the outer world with a tele- 
 gram to headquarters, and that evening, when the flood subsided 
 a little, Dan chose out the driest spot he could find in the sandy
 
 247 
 
 compound, and read the Church service over his friend's body. 
 No one should know — except some day, perliaps, Gwen, when 
 she came there as his wife. Then he would tell her the pity, 
 the needlessness of it all ; yet the Heedlessness liad this virtue 
 in it: that concealment was possible. The flood had swept 
 away the error, if error there had been. 
 
 The telegram reached Colonel Tweedie next morning, among 
 many more, telling of disaster and death along the line of the 
 great canal. Yet none was more pitiful than this : 
 
 " Opening of the sluice-gate, as ordered, saved Sunowlie embankment, but 
 palace injured. George Keene died yesterday of cholera. Very prevalent 
 here. Details by post." 
 
 *' Dear, dear," fussed the colonel, " how very sad ! What a 
 blow to poor Mrs. Boynton ! She is so tender-hearted, and 
 really she was almost unnecessarily interested, in that boy." 
 They all thought of her; even Lewis Gordon, as, yielding to that 
 odd desire to see for one's self, which besets us all when bad 
 news comes by telegram, he sat looking at the flimsy message 
 of evil. Yet his first words were of Rose. 
 
 " Your daughter will feel it also, sir — feel it very much, I'm 
 afraid." Then he paused, to resume in more ordinary tones : 
 " I had, I think, better start at once, sir. I can report all 
 along the line, and wire if your presence seems necessary. I 
 hardly think so, and it is useless inconveniencing yourself for 
 nothing." 
 
 Colonel Tweedie bridled. " I am not accustomed to con- 
 sider my own convenience as against public service," he was 
 beginning, pompously, when Lewis cut him short. 
 
 " I'm afraid I wasn't thinking so much of you, sir, as of Miss 
 Tweedie. This will be a great blow to her." He thought so 
 honestly, and as he jolted down the hill in a ton(/a half an hour 
 afterwards he told himself he was glad to escape from the ne- 
 cessity of seeing her grief, even while he was conscious of a 
 certain curiosity to know how she would take the news. There 
 was no such difliculty in imagining Gwen's behavior. He could 
 almost see the pretty, pathetic face keeping back its tears, and
 
 248 
 
 hear the soft voice saying with a little thrill in it that George 
 was the nicest, dearest boy she had ever met, and that she 
 would never forget his kindness — never — never ! As he thought 
 of this his expression was not pleasant; for Gwen had, in his 
 opinion, done her level best to turn the lad's head. In saying 
 that sort of thing she must surely know she was talking bun- 
 kum; a man, at any rate, would call it so, though perhaps it was 
 not fair to judge a woman's by a man's standard of truth. 
 Gwen, doubtless, was as genuine as she knew how to be — as 
 genuine, anyhow, as Rose Tweedie, with her pretensions of ut- 
 ter indifference to all sentiment. Well, poor girl, she was face 
 to face with realities now ; for she had certainly cared a good 
 deal for George — even to the extent of keeping him from 
 Gwen's wiles. Poor George ! a fine young fellow who, for one 
 thing, had been saved a bad heartache. Lewis Gordon had 
 intended passing on as quickly as possible to Hodinuggar, but, 
 being delayed by settling endless requisitions for repairs, had 
 barely reached Rajpore ere Dan Fitzgerald returned, reporting 
 that there was no reason for him to go out. Permanent repair 
 was impossible till the rains should be over, as every lesser 
 flood must run down the channel cut out for it by the deluge, and 
 everything to assure the future safety of the palace had been 
 done. Barring the dewan's tower, not much damage had, after 
 all, been done, as the jewels and treasure in the vaults below 
 had been saved; besides, the bumper crops which would follow 
 on the inundation would more than compensate for any loss. 
 There was a certain anxiety in Dan's face as he said this. 
 
 "Well, even if they were to claim," replied Lewis, compla- 
 cently, "the saving of the Sunowlie bank would be dirt-cheap 
 at a few thousands. It cost us over two lacs, and I was in an 
 awful funk about it, thinking we must be too late. I tried to 
 intercept poor George with a wire, knowing he would take the 
 order quicker, as he was already on the way." 
 
 Dan's whole soul leaped towards the possibility. " Then he 
 got it, after all ! I was wondering — " lie paused, angry at 
 his own imprudence. 
 
 " Wondering what ?" asked Lewis, impatiently. " I was go-
 
 249 
 
 ing to say I missed him, and then I didn't sec how you could 
 possibly get there in time. By-the-way, when did you get my 
 wire ?" 
 
 *' About an hour after you sent it off," said Dan, uneasily. 
 He did not care for Lewis Gordon's sharp, practical eyes on 
 these details. 
 
 "That is to say, ten o'clock on the morning of the 6th, I 
 suppose. Good riding, indeed ! And that reminds me. The 
 report from the rajah's people which came through your office 
 says that the water first ran through the cut about middle-day 
 on the 6th. Manifestly impossible. You had hardly left for 
 Hodinuggar. 'Tis a trifle, of course, but you had better stamp 
 on the inaccuracy, and show you are on the watch, or they will 
 go on to cooking generally." 
 
 " Yes," replied Dan, slowly. This simple difficulty in con- 
 cealing the discrepancy in the time had escaped him before, 
 but he was fully alive to it now. Most men in his place would 
 have set the question aside at all costs for further consideration, 
 and risked the possible consequences of the evasion. But 
 Dan's mind was of a finer temper ; he could trust it to thrust 
 home at any moment. This is the true test of power, and it is 
 only the second thoughts of the commonplace which are better 
 than their first ; so he took the occasion calmly, knowing his 
 man. 
 
 " But they are right — I did not open the gates. I believe 
 George did, but even of that I am not sure. However, you 
 shall judge for yourself. I don't ask for confidence, of course ; 
 I haven't the right ; but I expect you will give it all the same." 
 
 Then boldly, plainly, yet with one reservation, he told the 
 tale of what he knew and what he surmised. George had shot 
 himself — of that there was no doubt. The sluice had been 
 opened in his, Dan's, opinion, by treachery, of which George 
 at Simla had received some hint, and he had arrived too late to 
 prevent; though this also was mysterious, since the gates had 
 not been opened till long after George's arrival. The guard at 
 the sluice had been drowned or had disappeared. The new 
 dewan, Khushal, professed pious ignorance. Only this much
 
 250 
 
 was certain — the Siinowlie embankment had been saved ; George 
 bad taken the responsibility on himself, even to the death, and 
 the flood had made it possible to keep his memory from stain. 
 For the sake of his friends, was not this desirable ? This hint, 
 no more, he gave of the inner tragedy connected with the 
 locket. Yet as those two men sat looking at each other across 
 the littered office-table, their thoughts, all unknown to each 
 other, flew to the one woman. But the memory brought tears 
 to Dan's dark eyes, and left Lewis hard as the nether mill-stone 
 in the conviction that Gwen was at least morally responsible for 
 George Keene's death. It came to him as a certainty, yet a 
 contemptuous tolerance came with it. She had not meant, of 
 course — women never did — to play fast and loose with the boy's 
 heart ; yet she had done so. He had spent too much money, 
 he had been careless ; honest, perhaps, though even that might 
 not be so. No one could tell ; why should they tell now, when 
 it was all irrevocable, when no harm could come out of it save 
 to the poor boy himself ? A good sort he had been — too good 
 for such an end. And then, even for Gwen's sake ? He felt 
 very bitter against her, very sore ; yet such things must not be 
 said about his future wife as might be said if the truth were 
 really known. " I suppose it had better remain as it is," he 
 said at last, moodily. " Cholera has served its turn in such 
 a case before — one of the advantages of living in a land 
 of sudden death. Poor George ! I dare say there was 
 treachery." 
 
 Dan, shading his eyes with his clasped hands, was silent for 
 a minute. " If there was, he had no part in it. I wonder if 
 you remember a conversation on the balcony at Hodinuggar 
 about what a man would do in such a case. ' No, you wouldn't, 
 not unless you wanted to be thought guilty.' Do you remem- 
 ber saying that, Gordon ?" Lewis nodded ; it was not a pleas- 
 ant memory. " I can't tell you the whole ; but I am convinced 
 that George shot himself to save me. He knew — what perhaps 
 you don't — that I was engaged to a woman — " 
 
 Gordon pulled some papers towards him impatiently, and 
 took up a pen as if to end the subject. " I suppose it is always
 
 251 
 
 ' cherchez la femmc ' ; yet it does not seem to me an agreeable 
 factor in existence." 
 
 " Cherchez la femme,^'' echoed Dan. " Why not ? They are 
 our mothers and sisters, our sweethearts and wives, after all. 
 And have you ever thought, Gordon, what it must be to look 
 back over a lifetime, and see next to nothing that you would 
 rather have left undone ? Or, if you are pious, to take a sort 
 of pride in pillorying yourself for a cross word as a taradiddle ? 
 There isn't a man in a million with that record ; half the women 
 one meets — aye, half the women one jJi^ti-onizes — have it. Per- 
 haps it's small blame to anything but fate ; yet still they have 
 it." 
 
 '* Or think they have, which has the same effect. You re- 
 mind me of a countryman of yours, a doctor I knew once. 
 ' The sex,' he said, * can't do wrong, and when it does it's hys- 
 teria.' However, let us leave that poor lad to rest in peace ; in 
 a way, that is more worth looking to than the happiness of any 
 woman who has ever been born. And look here ; make the 
 tale of reports complete and send them to me, and I'll consign 
 them, dates and all, to oblivion. That is the beauty of official 
 mistakes ; you can pigeon-hole them and no one is the wiser, 
 unless, indeed, some personal motive crops up ; but that is not 
 likely. So far as I can see, it is to no one's interest to make a 
 row — not even if there is a woman at the bottom of it all." 
 
 There was a concentrated bitterness in his tone due to no 
 cynicism — rather to an intensity of pain,, For if Rose Tweedie 
 belonged by birth to that strange latter-day development which 
 unconsciously sets passion aside both from mind and emotion, 
 and will none of it spiritually or physically, Lewis belonged to 
 that still larger class of men who have driven it from the mind ; 
 who say openly that it is despicable, but that the world can- 
 not get on without it ; who insist, in a breath, in its unwor- 
 thiness and its necessity. Gwen, he said to himself, after Dan 
 had gone, was very womanly, and capable of ruining any man in 
 a week if she chose, and then being sorrowfully surprised at the 
 result. Still, it would be unkind to wound her unnecessarily 
 by telling her that result, the more so because she would ccr-
 
 253 
 
 tainly tell other people, and Rose Tweedie might break her 
 heart over it. Even if the pigeon-holed mistake were found 
 out, they might get up a fiction about the telegram having 
 reached George, after all. The compensation might have to be 
 given ; but even in that case he could see no reason for raking 
 up the mud. Nevertheless, a week after, when he and Dan 
 were again seated opposite each other at the office-table, he felt 
 vaguely uncomfortable; for the schedule of the dead lad's 
 debts, which lay between them ready for the administrator- 
 general, showed an item of six thousand rupees, borrowed on 
 his note of hand, backed by some youngsters, on the very day 
 he left Simla. 
 
 " It was a first holiday, you know," said Dan, regretfully ; 
 "and Hodinuggar is such a hole! There were the races, you 
 know — and — •" 
 
 " Cherchez la femme f quoted Lewis. " I don't blame him ; 
 not a bit. I spent more than that, I remember; but if there 
 had been an inquiry, Fitzgerald ?" 
 
 Dan shook his head, and sighed fiercely. " Yes, I know. 
 For all that, he was straight — straight as a die ! My only re- 
 gret in keeping' the thing dark is that some one has got to go 
 scot free.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A SHIVERING woman in one pannier ; in the other, such things 
 as a breathless fugitive can gather together in one half-hour. 
 Between them the hump of a camel — a camel which every in- 
 stant seems as though it must split into halves as its long splay 
 legs slither and slide in the mud covering all things. Such was 
 the method of Chandni's flight from Hodinuggar. Not com- 
 fortable, but, under the circumstances, necessary ; nor was she 
 altogether unprepared for that necessity. People of her trade 
 know what to expect when they are attached to petty intriguing 
 courts, where one ruler's meat is invariably the next ruler's poi- 
 son. JBesides, in this case she had to reckon on Khushal 
 Beg's anger at the repulse she had given him on more than one 
 occasion — given him, of course, with a view to future possi- 
 bilities with his sou Dalel ; but that rather increased than dimin- 
 ished the offence. And now her patron, old Zubr-ul-zaman, was 
 dead, Khushal had supreme power, and, what is more, three 
 pearls were missing from the Hodinuggar necklace ; three pearls 
 which could be easily traced home to her safe-keeping, and no 
 further, if need be. So, at the first hint of inquiry, Chandni 
 had deemed it wiser to seek the protection of the only man 
 who knew something, if not all, about the intrigue which had 
 ended so strangely in a providence setting aside the necessity 
 for any intrigue at all. Dalel chose to remain at Simla, where, 
 no doubt, he was amusing himself hugely. 
 
 Well, she would not interfere with his amusements. That 
 had never been her plan. She would only resume her empire 
 over his weak, worn-out wickedness. And yet the flight en- 
 tailed horrible discomfort. The splaying camel was to her 
 what a bad passage across the Channel is to a fashionable lady. 
 As she clutched wildly at the sides of the panniers, she decided 
 that life was not long enough for a repetition of such experi-
 
 254 
 
 ence. If she returned to Hodinuggar at all, it must be in a 
 position which would insure a different style of locomotion. 
 Even the night journe)' by rail, cooped up behind iron bars in 
 the wild-beast-cage-like compartment, labelled in three lan- 
 guages for " modest women," was in comparison comfort itself. 
 Huddled up decently into a shapeless bundle, she could at least 
 think over the odd turn affairs had taken, and make up her 
 mind what had best be done. The first thing, of course, was 
 to bring Dalel to her heel. That ought not to be difiicult, for 
 though, the water having been procured, he might, like his 
 father, find it convenient to underrate her services in the mat- 
 ter, she had one or two good cards to play in her adversary's 
 strong suits which might with care save the trick ; at any rate, 
 they ought to prevent any reckless disregard of her claims. 
 
 First, they wanted the pearls ; and now that the dewan was 
 dead, she was the only person who could tell them the ins 
 and outs of that transaction. Next, they wanted payment of 
 the heavy douceur promised to them by the rajah for good 
 offices in making it possible for the water to irrigate that basin 
 of alluvial soil to the south. But now the dewan was dead, 
 they would find difficulty in proving that anything had been 
 done ; that the flood was not responsible for all, unless she 
 chose to help them with her evidence. For the rest, give her 
 Dalel and a bottle of champagne to herself for one hour. If 
 in that space he did not come back, as he had done a dozen 
 times before, to her empire of evil, she would have none of him. 
 He would be dead to all she had to offer in the fullest perfec- 
 tion ; he would be beyond her influence, as it were, and so use- 
 less for her purpose. She was not going to marry a fool in 
 order to wear a veil and live with a lot of women. 
 
 By this time two coolies were carrying her up the hill from 
 Solon in a thing like a bird-cage slung on poles, so small, so 
 square, that she had to sit crossed-legged and bolt-upright. But 
 though she could not sleep, even with the aid of opium, and 
 though the hill-sides after the first rush of rain were clothed 
 with tinted blossoms, and the winding valleys were green as 
 emeralds with the young rice, Chandni never parted the thick
 
 255 
 
 patchwork curtains which shrouded her from the public gaze 
 until the setting down of the dhooli warned her of an oppor- 
 tunity for a gossip and a pipe. Then her feet came over the 
 sides with a challenging clash of silver bells and a quick stir 
 round the sleepy, sun-sodden stage, where travellers and coolies 
 and sweetmeat-sellers lay huddled together in the shade. Eveu 
 the cowboy, driving his cattle from the bales of fodder on their 
 way up for sahib logue's ponies, paused to look at her with a 
 grin, while his beasts ate on. The bees were flitting from 
 flower to flower, a golden oriole flashed through the green trans- 
 parency of the walnut-trees. Below the branches the great 
 emerald hearts of the yam leaves outlined themselves against 
 the sapphire distance of the valley, which was divided from the 
 sapphire distance of the sky by the glittering diamond spike- 
 lets of the snowy range. And this in turn was echoed and re- 
 echoed in every receding distance by the pearly clouds dividing- 
 one sea of ether from another. In all this world nothing 
 worth a look, apparently, save Chandni, the courtesan, swinging 
 her silver anklets over the edge of the dhooli — to judge, at any 
 rate, by those human eyes. 
 
 She did not go straight to her destination, but paused at a 
 house in the bazaar, where such as she were all too welcome. 
 There was never any mincing of words or thoughts with 
 Chandni. To one end she had been born a Kunjeri, and to 
 this end she lived to the best of her ability. So she paused to 
 clothe herself in clean, clear muslins, and hang great garlands 
 of tuberose and jasmine about the column of her massive 
 throat, to redden her lips, and give a deeper shadow to her 
 eyes; looking at herself the while in the thumb-mirror, worn 
 on her left hand ; no more, no less intent on appearing at her 
 best than many a person who has not been born to that end — 
 many a decent, respectable person, with povvder-puflf and curl- 
 ing - tongs, who would be dreadfully shocked at having her 
 innocent half-hour before the cheval-glass likened to Chandni's 
 most reprehensible occupation. Perhaps the difference lies in 
 the size of the mirrors ; at any rate, it is not probably apparent 
 elsewhere.
 
 256 
 
 Mirza Dalel Beg was living, she knew, as the upper-ten of 
 the natives love to do, in a European house ; why, is, in five 
 cases out of six, a mystery. The sixth, no doubt, has acquired 
 exotic tastes; the remaining five, no doubt, consider it good 
 style to pretend them, and so, after paying roundly for the 
 privilege of toilet-sets and dinner-services, prefer the bheesti 
 with his mussuck to a lavatory, and a big platter on the floor 
 to all the neatly laid dining-tables in creation. A curious ex- 
 ample of the fascination which useless comforts have for some 
 people came to light during one of the many embassies from 
 Cabul which British diplomacy, or the want of it, has inveigled 
 into India. During its stay there, district officers were in- 
 structed to provide the whole horde of barbarians with house- 
 room in European fashion, to avoid invidious distinctions. So, 
 as a rule, the local Parsee was invited to furnish a requisite 
 number of empty houses with the necessary rep curtains, 
 French clocks, Britannia metal teapots, and German prints 
 needed for the night's hospitality. Next day, so runs the tale, 
 there never was a soup-plate to be found. Occasionally the 
 guests packed up a French clock ; once, it is affirmed, a sponge- 
 bath went a-missing ; but unless they ate them, that embassy 
 must have gone back to Cabul with some hundreds of dozens 
 of soup-plates stowed away among the official presents of 
 watches that won't go and guns that won't fire. And soup is 
 not a national dish in Afghanistan. 
 
 So Dalel Beg had rented a house, which he got cheap, be- 
 cause three of its tenants had died of typhoid-fever — a pretty 
 place enough, shut in somewhat by the ravines which furrow 
 the lower part of the ridge, but with an outlook beautiful be- 
 yond belief over the plains. The single dahlias, refuse run wild 
 from many a garden above, found foothold in every cranny of 
 the rocks, and the morning-glories climbed over the broken 
 palings fencing the narrow path from the steep khud, which 
 seemed to leap at one bound to the pale blue of the valley 
 below. Chandni, on her way to seek Dalel, looked out at it 
 distastefully, reached forth a strong ring- bedecked hand, ap- 
 propriated a yellow dahlia which she stuck behind her ear, and
 
 257 
 
 called ; then the bells clashed again as she walked with a free 
 step over to the veranda of the house, raised the chick and 
 looked in, while the dhooli-hGAXcx?, squatted down beside the 
 railings, and, apparently, resumed a conversation begun in the 
 bazaar. For the rest, sunshine and silence. 
 
 Chandni, dazzled by the glare outside, could see nothing 
 clearly. The room seemed to her unaccustomed eyes crammed 
 full of useless things. Then suddenly there came a shrill, un- 
 formed voice, 
 
 "Go away! we don't want you. Mamma, send her away. 
 Go, I tell you! The mirza is married now, I am his wife." 
 
 Not more than fifteen by the look of her, with a frizz of hot- 
 pressed light hair over her forehead, and a skin which gave 
 one the impression of being bleached, perhaps, because of the 
 coal-black eyes set in the narrow, sharp face ; yet with a cer- 
 tain attractiveness about the figure, dressed as it was in the 
 height of fashion, with sleeves to the ears, and a waist requir- 
 ing the surgical bandage of folded silk to prevent it breaking in 
 two. His wife ! Chandni looked from her full height and mag- 
 nificent development at her as distastefully as she had looked 
 at the view from the terrace. Neither was to her liking; they 
 appealed too much to the imagination. This one was better, 
 though past her prime and pulpy ; drowsy, too, from the snooze 
 she had been enjoying on the sofa — still with a torrent of 
 capable, tell-tale abuse for the intruder, 
 
 "^n'," laughed Chandni, contemptuously, when the fat lady 
 paused for breath, " so thou too hast been of the bazaar. But 
 I want not thee, or the half-fledged thing who calls herself a 
 wife ; I want Dalel, Where is he ?" 
 
 " Mamma," cried the unformed voice, in English, breaking 
 down over its own feeble passion, "send her away, I tell you! 
 The mirza will be back soon, and she must not be here. Don't 
 fool with words. Call the servants, Ai^ hudzart ! (base born); 
 I will throw thee down the khud f'' 
 
 Chandni laughed again — laughed louder — as in response to 
 the girl's cry a face showed itself behind her, 
 
 " Salaam, bhai /" (brother), she said, nodding her head at
 
 258 
 
 the new-corner. "Ah, 'tis thou, Mohammed; look you, this 
 image saith she will fling me down the khud. If it came to 
 force, my pigeon, I know which would have the mirza. But I 
 will not fight for him thus ; he is not wortli it. So he fancies 
 thee ! God help him ! Sure, thy mother is the better woman." 
 
 "Come, come. Mother Chandni," urged the servant, in an- 
 swer to shrill commands. "This is no place for thee now. 
 These are mems. And he hath married her," he went on, fast and 
 low. " Yea, 'tis true ; the nikkah hath been read, so abuse is vain. 
 Come, thou canst see him elsewhere." 
 
 " Nay; I will see him here — here with his mem," retorted 
 Chandni, airily. Then she turned swiftly on the elder woman, 
 who, going to the door, was about to call for further assistance. 
 " What harm shall I do thee, fool, who art as I am with a pie- 
 bald skin, or as this one, who would be as I am had God made 
 her a woman. Lo ! ask thy servants who Chandni the courtesan 
 is, and what she has been — aye, and will be, if she chooses !" 
 
 It was an odd scene : the room, decorated into bastard civ- 
 ilization ; the girl, depending on a lack of pigment in her 
 skin for all her claims to memship^ that being the only trace 
 of her unknown European father ; her mother, without even 
 this distinction, yet clinging to her taint of Western blood as 
 to a patent of nobility -^clinging to it desperately, in fringe 
 and furbelow — in fashion generally; before them, against 
 them, Chandni, in her trailing white Delhi draperies and mas- 
 sive garlands, a figure which might have stood for some of 
 those strange solemn-eyed statues, half Greek, half Indian, 
 which are found buried in the sand-hills of the frontier. 
 There was a little crowd now of dark, expectant faces at the 
 door, towards which she nodded familiarly. 
 
 " Go back, O brothers ! I do no harm. 'Tis not my way 
 with women-folk. I wait the mirza's return. Then, if I am 
 not wanted, I will go. Lo ! Chandni the courtesan hath no 
 need to keep a man in a leash ; she hath no need to have the 
 nikkah read, my little pigeon, as thou hast. Ari / so the pict- 
 ures in the papers Dalel used to bring me are true, and 'tis a 
 beauty to have no body and a big head."
 
 259 
 
 Beatrice Norma Elfiida D'Eremao, presently Her Highness 
 Mrs. ])aIol Beg, gave a little scream of rage, and stamped lier 
 tiny, liigli-liecled shoes on the floor. Mrs. Lily Violet D'Ere- 
 mao, her mother, known in her time by many a different sobri- 
 quet until she settled down to sobriety and the education of a 
 fair daughter, screamed too, in voluble abuse ; but they were both 
 quite helpless before the white-robed figure standing between 
 them and the sunlight, with a laugh on her red lips. 
 
 It did not leave them when into the midst of the scene came 
 Dalcl Beg, got up in his dandy riding-gear, only the folded 
 puggree remaining to tell the tale of his birth, perhaps because 
 the ideas within the head it covered needed some such excuse 
 for their existence. His face was hideous in its sheer malice; 
 livid, not with passion or fear, but from that hatred of oppo- 
 sition which belongs to his race. And Chandni, recognizing 
 this, swept him a low salaam, graceful to the uttermost curve 
 in each finger — a salaam which would have made Turveydrop 
 die of envy, a salaam such as one sees once or twice in a life- 
 time. A minute before she might have given it in derision ; 
 now she yielded it to the lingering majesty in this pitiful rep- 
 resentative of a long line of tyrants. 
 
 " Long life attend my lord," she said, in those liquid tones 
 of set ceremony which her class pride themselves in acquiring 
 — and even among them Chandni had a silver tongue; none 
 near her, so the report ran. Dalel Beg's eyes saw, his cars 
 heard ; they would not refuse their wonted office. And yet as 
 he took a step nearer he raised the hunting-crop he held. 
 
 "Go!" he cried, "go! Mohammed! Fujju ! turn this scum 
 of the bazaars from the door!" 
 
 " Which scum of the bazaars?" she asked, coolly. "This — 
 or that ?" 
 
 It was not scorn exactly; it was an indifferent contempt, 
 which seemed to leave no denial possible, and which held action 
 arrested. 
 
 "Which is it to be, mirza sahib f she asked again, cross- 
 ing swiftly to where the girl stood, as if to measure her height 
 against that small, insignificant figure. " There is not much
 
 260 
 
 to choose between us except in the outside — and thou hast 
 eyes ! 
 
 " Fujju ! Mohammed ! Ditta! Scoundrels ! turn her out ! call 
 the Kotwal ! Turn her out, I say !" shrieked the mirza, fast losing 
 all dignity in a sort of animal admiration for this woman who, 
 he knew, would come back to him at a word — a word he dare 
 not give; which, as yet, he did not wish to give. 
 
 "Softly! softly! O my brothers," came that soft, liquid 
 voice. " There is no need to touch Cliandni the courtesan. 
 The master hath his right, and I will go. I only ask a word, 
 and sure my words are better for the ears than hers." 
 
 Incontestably true, for mother and daughter were now at the 
 liighest pitch of the Eurasian accent, aggravated by hysterics. 
 The men stood uncertain, siding, every one of them, with that 
 which was familiar. 
 
 " The word is this," she went on, boldly : "I have done my 
 part. Is there to be payment V 
 
 Dalel's face lost its last trace of dignity, and settled down into 
 mere spite. " So ! it is payment. Lo ! mother-in-law, hold 
 thy peace! 'Tis nothing but a bad debt — a debt without a 
 bond ! Payment ! Go, fool, and ask it of the old man — the 
 old devil who was drowned. Ask not here ; here we need all 
 the money we can get !" 
 
 Then, in his deliglit and content in this opportunity of mal- 
 ice, he forgot a suspicion of fear which had been with him 
 hitherto, and turned to the girl with a leer and a laugh. "Aha! 
 we want the oof ourselves, don't we. Tricks. Lo ! I give you 
 gold watch and chain to-day. I give you gold bangle to-mor- 
 row, if you good girl. But that one — nothing — nothing." 
 He echoed the last words jeeringly in Hindostanee, cutting 
 with his whip towards Chandni as one cuts at a dog to frighten 
 it from the room. Perhaps he was nearer than he thought 
 for; anyhow, the uttermost end of the lash touching the silver 
 bells on her ankle, set them jingling — a slight thing to make 
 two women cease their cries and half a dozen men or more hold 
 their breath involuntarily ; yet it did. 
 
 "Lo! thou hast given me something, Mirza Dale) Beg,
 
 261 
 
 which no man hath given before to Chandni the courtesan. It 
 is enough. I go." So far dignity went with her. But at the 
 door she turned to give the women back in tlieir kind, and 
 witli interest, the abuse tiiey had given to her. Even with a 
 despicable cheat like the mirza there was a reputation to keep 
 up; he was at least the descendant of worthy men who had 
 done their best for such as she ; but with those two — women 
 even as herself, without her claims? 
 
 Yet ere she was half-way back to the bazaar she had for- 
 gotten them and their abuse; forgotten everything save that 
 clash of the silver bells. That was an end, an end forever, to 
 Dalel. In a way she was glad ; for he was unendurable when 
 sober, not much better when drunk. Now nothing remained 
 save the necessity for compensation and revenge. If the Moguls 
 would not pay, there were others who would. The mem, for in- 
 stance, who had taken the pearls. And those who had spread 
 it abroad that the chota sahib had died in his bed, they would 
 not care to have their truth impugned. They had bribed the 
 servants, no doubt, the dewan was dead, and they had held the 
 water sufficient inducement for silence in the others. But she ? 
 She had had nothing, and she meant to have something. And 
 then when she had got her money's-worth for silence, she 
 would go and sell that silence to the rajah ; unless, indeed, by 
 that time the Moguls had bidden liighcr for lier speech. 
 Without her, the question as to whether the bribes were hon- 
 estly for favors done could not be settled. She would be- 
 gin with the 77iem ; not by demanding money, but the 
 pearls; since, most likely, they had been disposed of, and 
 the difficulty of getting bold of them again would, as it 
 were, increase her power of screw. If at the end of a month 
 the sahib logues defied her, slie would oflEer her silence or speech 
 to the highest bidder and give lier evidence for either. After 
 that a merry life, even if it had to be a short one. Even the 
 mere taste of comparative freedom she had had that morning 
 in the wooden house in the Simla bazaar had aroused the old 
 reckless instincts ; and before the evening was over the news 
 that Chandni, singer and dancer from Delhi, had come to the 
 place was on the tip of every native's tongue.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Mrs. Boynton had behaved very much as Lewis Gordon 
 had anticipated on hearing of George Keene's sudden death 
 from cholera. She liad wept honest tears over the dear lad, even 
 while she could not help feeling happier than she had done for 
 months, because of the flood which had come and gone, sweep- 
 ing away with it all her difficulties, all her troubles. Yet it 
 brought her one unavailing regret : that she should so unnecessa- 
 rily have put the bitter pain of hearing her confession into those 
 last days ; that he should have gone down to his death, not 
 thinking unkindly of her — the dear lad would never have done 
 that — but hurt, disappointed, nnhappy. She would have liked 
 him to see a certain letter which lay in the drawer of her 
 writing-table — a letter addressed, sealed, stamped, ready for 
 sending, which she had only kept back one day. Only one ; 
 yet, but for that lucky chance, it might have fallen into Dan's 
 hands while George was ill, and brought needless pain into an- 
 other kind heart; for there was, thank Heaven, no more need 
 for humiliation and confession and promises of restitution. 
 She had torn open the letter in order to read it again, and had 
 been quite satisfied with its straightforward avowal of respon- 
 sibility and firm intention, should difficulties arise, of taking 
 the whole blame upon herself. Then she had put it away again 
 as a perpetual witness to her repentance and amendment. And 
 surely these virtues had a right to forgiveness! 
 
 One person, she knew, would do more than forgive if he knew 
 all, and this knowledge, joined to the sense of loss which his 
 prolonged absence from her environment always produced in 
 Gwen Boynton, made her think very tenderly of Dan, who 
 wrote her such kind, sympathetic letters from liodinuggar about 
 the dear lad. He was not jealous and full of evil imaginings 
 like Lewis, whose temper had certainly not been improved by his
 
 263 
 
 visit to tlic plains. Though she did not consciously feel the need 
 of soraethincj stronger than the cousinly affection she had for the 
 latter, there is no doubt that the shock of her own lapses from 
 strict honesty, joined to that of George Keene's sudden death, 
 had made her disinclined for final decision ; so the fact that 
 Dan would, from pressure of work, be unable to get leave that 
 year, and Lewis, from the same cause, was not likely to be ur- 
 gent in love-making, suited her capitally. She would have 
 time to recover her tone. To this end she proceeded, with a 
 curious strength of purpose, to dismiss the nightmare of the 
 past from her mind. It was over. What had been, had been. 
 She would reach out to the things which were before — No, not 
 reach out — she would not again be premature ; she would let 
 fate and luck have their say to the full. 
 
 One small fact showed the state of her mind exactly. She 
 dismissed her ayah, giving her as a parting present most of the 
 articles which Manohar Lai had forced her into buying from 
 him. The woman sulked, yet held her tongue, no doubt know- 
 ing through lier patron, the jeweller, that so far as he was con- 
 cerned the mem was safe; besides, when all was said and done, 
 the bucksheesh was sufficient, and under no circumstances could 
 she have expected more. So, on the whole, life went pretty 
 smoothly in the pretty little drawing-room where poor young 
 George had sat with his head on the table, dazed and stunned by 
 his bitter pain. 
 
 Over the way, however, in Colonel Twecdio's house, things 
 were different. Lewis Gordon, up to the ears in endless calcu- 
 lations, yet had time to notice that grief suited Rose very ill. 
 And grief, forsooth, for a boy who had not cared a pin for her, 
 who had run into debt and gambled and lost his head com- 
 pletely over another woman ; who, if the truth were known, 
 had shot himself because — to take the most charitable view of 
 the matter — he had not the pluck to bear disappointment. 
 Naturally, a young fellow felt being fooled — more or less — by a 
 woman, because certain instincts were the strongest man had — 
 as a man. But one expected something more, or less, in a gen- 
 tleman. And there was Miss Tweedie, who depended for at-
 
 264 
 
 tractiveness on the beaute du diable, looking pale and worn 
 over a mere sentimentalisin ; since she herself would be the first 
 to deny that she had been what he, Lewis, would call "in love" 
 with George. Finally, although he, knowing to the full Gwen's 
 responsibility of the boy's suicide, liad every right, if he chose, 
 to be hard on his cousin, why should this girl, wlio knew noth- 
 ing, stand aloof and show her disapproval so plainly? 
 
 "You don't understand girls," said Gwen, easily, in reply to 
 some hints of his in this respect; " dear Rose can't help huffing 
 me at present. I should feel the same towards any one who 
 had to my mind stood between me and my dear dead." 
 
 Lewis shifted irritably in his chair and wished to goodness 
 she would talk sense. 
 
 "Sense! Why you yourself are always blaming me in your 
 heart because that poor boy thought me the most perfect wom- 
 an in creation. You know you are! As if it were my fault. 
 As if I ever encouraged such an idea in any one, or set up for 
 being perfection." 
 
 It was true enough. She never posed as anything but a 
 woman pur et simj^le. That was one of her charms in his 
 eyes, and the injustice of cavil at what he really liked made him 
 say more gently, "I don't suppose you could help it, dear; 
 and perhaps Miss Tweedie can't, either. I don't pretend to un- 
 derstand women — liave enough to do to understand the atro- 
 cious English men put in their reports. But I wish you would 
 come over sometimes as you used to do; the girl oughtn't to 
 be allowed to eat nothing and grow so disagreeably thin." 
 
 Gwen gave an odd laugh. " Well, I'll invite myself to lun- 
 cheon to-morrow. It is bad for the girl, and so useless into the 
 bargain." 
 
 The common- sense of the last remark lingered in Lewis 
 Gordon's mind comfortably as he went home. In more ways 
 than one it was quite useless to dwell on George Keene's unfort- 
 unate death. No doubt Rose, if she knew all, would judge 
 Gwen very hardly — not only Gwen, but those who, knowing 
 as they did, went on as if notliing had liappened. But Rose 
 Tweedie, the fates be praised, was not his judge. And yet
 
 265 
 
 when lie passed the window of lier room on liis way to liis 
 own, she was, in sober trutli, sitting in judgment on the figure 
 she saw for a second between the draped curtains. He had 
 been over as usual to Mrs. Boynton's; to tlie woman who had 
 been tlie last to see George Keene, and yet would say so little 
 about the interview; to the woman who was no doubt to blame 
 if, as her father said, George had run into debt and gambled 
 and lost his head. Lewis must know all this — perhaps more; 
 yet he went on approvingly. By-and-by he would marry this 
 woman, for they were engaged, of course, even now. Was not 
 that enough to make any one who cared for him as she cared — 
 Rose leaned forward over the book she was studying, and tried 
 hard to bend her mind also to its consideration. 
 
 Despite these thoughts, she received Mrs. Boynton on the next 
 day without a sign of disapproval ; for Rose, like most unmar- 
 ried girls at the head of a house, was intensely proud of her 
 position. In society, if she did not care to speak to Gwen, she 
 would not speak; if she did not care to have her in the house, 
 she would not ask her; but if she came, as she did now, unin- 
 vited, she was nothing more nor less than a guest, to be treated 
 as a guest should be treated. Perhaps Lewis Gordon had an 
 inkling as to her graciousness, but Colonel Tvveedie saw noth- 
 ing but a renewal of those amenities, the loss of which he had 
 so helplessly deplored during the past fortnight. It had put 
 him out considerably, and left him completely puzzled as to its 
 cause. Certainly not to any change in his mind, for it had 
 broken in on a steadily growing conviction that he would not 
 only like, but that he also ought to ask, Mrs. Boynton to mar- 
 ry him. Rose was too much alone; she brooded, as the for- 
 mer had kindly pointed out, over life, and fancied herself in 
 love with subordinates. She was too sensible for that sort of 
 thing to be real, but the constant companionship of a woman 
 of the world was a necessity to a young girl. It is surprising 
 how many second marriages arc inspired by secondary consid- 
 erations of convenience, and still more surprising why such con- 
 siderations should then be thought virtuous, moral, blameless; 
 yet be deemed anathema maranatha in first marriages. But
 
 266 
 
 there are some tbitif^s whicli, as Dundreary pointed out, " no fel- 
 lah can find out"; one being the curious ethical code wliich 
 has quite obscured the real issues of marriage, and thus made 
 it j)ossible for quick-witted men and women to quarrel desper- 
 ately with each other about their own feelings in regard to 
 something else which is not marriage. Colonel Tweedie, how- 
 ever, treated his secondary reasons with the greatest respect, 
 and beamed pompously round the luncheon-table as he an- 
 nounced his infinite regret that the duties of his responsible 
 position made it necessary for him to leave such pleasant com- 
 pany sooner than he otherwise would have done. Mrs, Boyn- 
 ton, however, would readily understand that councils of state 
 were paramount to the public servant. Whereupon Gwen, 
 after her fashion, took the edge ofE his anguish by saying that 
 she also had to be home early, seeing she had promised to inter- 
 view some dreadful Madrassee creature who had been recom- 
 mended to her as an ayah. 
 
 "Why did you send old Munia away?" asked Rose, sudden- 
 ly. They had risen as they were speaking, and she had been 
 standing by the window, listening, with a certain weariness in 
 her face, to her father's ornate regrets. 
 
 " The old reason : ' / t?o not like thee, Dr. Fell^ " laughed 
 Gwen. "I suppose it is very illogical — therefore, as Lewis 
 would say, very womanly ; but I can't help disliking my world 
 by instinct." 
 
 " That is monstrously unkind," broke in the colonel, eager 
 as a boy over the opportunity, " when your world cannot help 
 doing the reverse." There is something very satisfactory, ap- 
 parently, in a compliment to the person who makes it, and the 
 colonel felt and looked very lighthearted over his. 
 
 " When you have got rid of us all. Miss Tweedie," said Lewis 
 Gordon, in a low tone which yet covered G wen's little laugh, 
 "you should go out and have a jolly ride. I'm not using 
 Bronzewing : she frets at waiting, so she is at your disposal, if 
 you care — " He paused in quick surprise. 
 
 Such a very little thing upsets a woman's balance at times, 
 and Bronzewing had been the very subject over which they
 
 267 
 
 had quarrelled the day of his accident. It was very foolish, 
 but the look on her face made iiiin turn hastily from the win- 
 dow to his cousin, and catch at the first thing likely to give the 
 girl a chance of recovering herself. 
 
 " I believe your ayah is coming here, Gwcn ; at least, T see 
 one of those little covered dhooUes descending from your house ; 
 and if there are to he j^urda nishin women about, sir, it is time 
 we were going." 
 
 "Don't be ridiculous, Lewis! It is somebody going to pay 
 a visit to the khansaman s wife. Tlie ayah wouldn't dare to 
 come here; and if she did, I am not going to make a zenana 
 out of Colonel Tweedie's drawing-room." 
 
 "But you could go into Rose's sitting-room, of course,'' pro- 
 tested the colonel ; " couldn't she, my dear?" 
 
 "But, indeed, good people," began Gwen, laughing, "it 
 can't — " Just then a servant, entering stolidly, announced a 
 woman waiting to see mem Boynton sahib. 
 
 " I told you so 1" cried Lewis, joyfully ; " and, as a matter of 
 fact, we ought to be oflf, sir. It will take us a good twenty 
 minutes to the Secretariat." 
 
 "Show the woman into the miss sahib's office," cried the 
 colonel, fussily. " Rose, my dear — " But the girl had taken 
 the opportunity of escaping through the open French window. 
 
 "Please don't mind," said Mrs. Boynton. "I know my way 
 about this house ; at any rate, I ought to, seeing how hospita- 
 ble you have been always. Good-bye; I hope your interview 
 will prove more pleasant than mine is likely to be." Their 
 ponies were waiting, and she stayed to give them a parting nod 
 as they rounded the last visible turn of the path leading to the 
 Mall. Gwen always added these pleasant, friendly touches to 
 the bareness and business of life; they came to her by instinct, 
 and she herself felt cold and cheerless without them. Then, 
 very well satisfied with herself, she crossed the long matted 
 passage which ran from end to end of the house separating the 
 portion Colonel Twcedic reserved for his own use from that 
 occupied by the office. Here, beside her father's private room, 
 was Rose's little study, and beyond that again Lewis Gordon's
 
 368 
 
 quarters, and tlie big glazed veranda wliere the clerks sat de- 
 signing. 
 
 It was quite a tiny room, and it seemed to Mrs. Boynton as 
 she entered it to be over-full of perfume ; possibly from the 
 vase fill! of wild turk's-cap lilies on the table. The window 
 was shut, too, and Gwen, as slie made her way to the most 
 comfortable chair with scarcely a glance at the white - robed 
 figure standing in the shadow of the curtains, gave a quick yet 
 languid order to set the glazed doors wide open. 
 
 "They are best shut, if the huzoor does not mind. I have 
 that to say which requires caution." 
 
 These round, suave tones, with almost the nightingale thrill in 
 them, belonged to no ai/ah, surely ! Gwen looked round hasti- 
 ly. No ayalis figure either — tall, supple, unabashed. Instinc- 
 tively the Englishwoman stood up and confronted her visitor, 
 n)ore curious than alarmed. Even to that ignorance of native 
 life which is so typical of the mem sahib — an ignorance not al- 
 together to be deprecated — the woman's trade was unmistak- 
 able. That was writ large in the trimness and cleanliness, the 
 spotless white, the chaplets of flowers, the scent of musk and 
 ambergris filling the room. All the more reason for surprise 
 at her presence there. Yet, even so, curiosity outweighs indig- 
 nation and resentment in Gwen's cold questioning. 
 
 " Who are you? What do you want?" 
 
 The answer came quick : so quickly that it left the hearer 
 with the breathless sense of pained relief that the worst is 
 over which comes with the clean, sharp cut of the surgeon's 
 knife. 
 
 " I am Chandni of Delhi. I want the Hodinuggar pearls 
 which the huzoor took out of the Ayodhya pot." No mincing 
 of the matter here; none of that beating about the bush which, 
 as a rule, Gwen loved. Yet the directness did not displease 
 her ; it seemed to rouse in her a novel combativeness, taking 
 form in similar effrontery and cool assertion. 
 
 " I don't know what you arc talking about," she said, indif- 
 ferently, " and I don't want you. Go !" 
 
 Ilcr llindostanee, though limited, was naturally of that im-
 
 269 
 
 perative order, and suited the occasion ; yet it evoked one of 
 Cliandni's shrill, mocking laughs. 
 
 " The mem sahih forgets. She is not, as I am, a dangliter of 
 the bazaars, and if it comes to words, Chundni liath two to her 
 one. So I come quietly to ask reasonably for my rights; not 
 to dispute, after the manner of my kind. There is no need to 
 tell the meyn sahib the story. She remembers it perfectly. 
 She knows it as well as I. But this she does not know : the 
 pearls are mine, and I will have them back, or their price, in 
 revenge !" 
 
 "I think you are mad!" cried Gwen, more hastily. "Go! 
 Go, instantly, or I will call the servants." 
 
 "That were not wise! Lo! I know all about the papers 
 of safety which Manohar Lai gave in exchange for the chota 
 sahil/s rupees. But the pearls went not once but — twice." 
 
 "Twice!" The involuntary echo liad a surprise in it which 
 angered the courtesan. 
 
 " Yes, twice I The mem knows that as well as I do. The 
 Ayodhya pot — " 
 
 "Was stolen from me in the palace," put in Gwen; "you 
 stole it, I dare say." 
 
 Again Chandni laughed. " If I did, wliat then ? The mem 
 got it again, and sent it back through the post for more pearls. 
 But we did not send it thus ; we sent it by the chota sahih, who 
 gave it to the metn, and she sent the key in return. The papers 
 are about the first pearls. These are the second ; and there are 
 no safety papers about them." 
 
 " It is not true — it is a lie! He never took them — he never 
 gave them to me !" cried Gwen, her courage, oddly enough, 
 failing before what was to her an absolute, novel, and un- 
 founded accusation. " I will not listen ! Go ! or I will call." 
 
 Chandni took a step nearer, lowering her voice. "What! 
 wouldst let the truth be known, when thou canst conceal it 
 — forever? Give me the pearls, and no one shall know — no 
 one shall cast dirt on the mem and on the chota sahib — no one 
 shall know how he took the bribes for you — no one shall know 
 thou didst beguile him as men are beguiled — "
 
 270 
 
 " I— I did not ! It is a lie ! I—" faltered Gwcn, falling 
 back till Cliandni's hand closed like a vice on her wrist. 
 
 " TFaA / What use to deny it to me? Do I not know the 
 trick ? A word — a look ; no more. What ! do men send bul- 
 lets through their hearts as Keene sahib did for no cause? Ari, 
 sister! we know better." 
 
 The jeering comradeship was too much for caution, even 
 though the story of poor George's death passed by as wanton 
 lies. Gwen, struggling madly, gave one scream after another 
 for help, and, breaking from her persecutor's hand, turned to 
 fly. At the same moment Rose, who had been in her father's 
 study for a book, burst through the door and stood bewildered 
 at the scene. 
 
 " Send her away ! She tells lies — lies about me and George 
 — lies about everything. Oh ! have her sent away, Rose. 
 Please send her away." The girl, clasping the hands with 
 which Gwen clung to her, turned on the intruder angrily, and 
 an indescribable hardness and contempt came to her face as 
 she took in the meaning of the figure and its dress. 
 
 " How dare you come here ? Go this instant. Put on your 
 veil, hide yourself, and go ! Impertinent ! Shameless !" 
 
 There was no answering laugh here. " The huzoor speaks 
 truth," replied the courtesan, quietly. " I have no business 
 here. I came but to see the mem^ bethinking me she might 
 listen better in the house of those who were friends to the 
 chota sahib — " But Gwen's immediate terror had passed, 
 leaving her face to face with future fears. 
 
 " Don't listen, Rose," she interrupted, in English ; " you 
 should never listen to what women of that sort say about any 
 one. She frightened me at first with her lies, but the wisest 
 plan is to send her away. I'll call a servant." Chandni, lis- 
 tening to the quick whisper, smiled. 
 
 "The mem sahib wants silence," she said, nodding her head, 
 " but silence is ever unsafe unless tongues are tied. And mine 
 will wag — if not here, then elsewhere — unless I get the Ayodhya 
 pot." 
 
 Rose gave a quick exclamation; but Gwen's hand was on her
 
 271 
 
 arm, her voice full of passionate entreaty. "Don't, Rose! don't 
 speak to her. I can tell you it is ail lies : some rigmarole de- 
 claring that after the pot had been stolen from Ilodiniiggar it 
 was sent back to me at Simla; that I returned it again. There 
 isn't a word of truth in it. I never — " 
 
 But the girl set aside the detaining hand with an impatient 
 gesture, and crossed to where Chandni stood watching them. 
 " You have made a mistake," came the clear, unfaltering voice ; 
 "the Ayodhya pot was not sent to the mem sahih. It was 
 sent to me, and it was / wiio returned it. What then ?" 
 
 The frank admission brought a curiously similar expression 
 to those two listening faces ; it seemed to leave both abashed, 
 uncertain, so that Rose had to repeat her clear question before 
 it gained reply. 
 
 " What then ?" echoed the courtesan at last, somewhat sulk- 
 ily. " How can I tell if this be so ; and if it be so, how can 
 I tell what must come ? Only this I do know : the pot went 
 to Keene sahib the day he left. He gave it to some one ; let 
 that some one answer. I care not who 'tis, so long as I have 
 my pearls that were hidden in the pot." 
 
 " Pearls! There were no pearls in it when it came to me," 
 cried Rose, quickly ; then, remembering the jagged edge of 
 clay she had noticed inside, she turned to Gwen. " Did you 
 notice anything like a false bottom when you had it before ?" 
 
 The face into which she looked paled. " You don't under- 
 stand," cried Gwen, petulantly ; " the woman says that the 
 pearls were put there after it was stolen ; so how could I notice 
 anything when I tell you I never saw — never heard anything of 
 it again? I told the woman so just now ; I will tell her again 
 before you. Then I must, I will, have her sent away ; she has 
 no business here." 
 
 But Chandni's recklessness had grown in the interval. " T 
 care not who has them. See ! there are three of us here in tliis 
 room who have handled the pot ; let her who hath it and its 
 hoard speak truth, and save the chota sahib. For lie had it 
 sure enough ; of that there is proof," 
 
 " Three of us !" repeated Rose, absently, as if struck by a
 
 273 
 
 thouglit. Then, obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to a 
 portfolio standing in one corner of the room. "You mistake," 
 she continued, her eyes full on the courtesan, " there are not 
 three but four of us. Look ! Keonc sahib painted that." 
 
 Chandni fell back, averting her face from the portrait of 
 Azizan which Rose placed against an easel on the table. "The 
 evil -eye! the evil -eye! God save us from the witch!" she 
 muttered, thrusting out her right hand in that tvvo-fingcred 
 gesture which is used against a baleful glance in both East and 
 West. 
 
 But Gwen, pressing closer, looked at the picture with a 
 dawning light of comprehension on her face. "Did he paint 
 that? How pretty it is! And it explains — it explains — a — a 
 great deal. He gave her the pot, I suppose. Well, it is a pity, 
 but one ought not to be — " 
 
 "Ought not to be what?" interrupted Rose, quickly, with a 
 fine scorn in her face, scarcely less concealed than the contempt 
 with which she turned to the other woman, as she went on : 
 " You both seem to know more about this picture than I do," 
 slfe said, superbly. " Perhaps you can tell me whom it repre- 
 sents ?" 
 
 "My dear Rose," expostulated Gwen, aside, "don't, for pity's 
 sake, ask that creature. What would your father say if he 
 knew ? You may mix yourself up — " 
 
 " Whose picture is it, I ask ?" repeated Rose, unheeding. 
 Then, in the silence of Chandni's smile and Gwen's frown, she 
 turned passionately to the portrait itself. " Why don't you 
 speak and shame them ? You look as if you could tell the 
 truth, and if he made you so it is true!" The very vehemence 
 of her own fanciful appeal imposed on her as she stood as if 
 waiting for a reply. It came with a laugh from Chandni. 
 " She ! She was another of the chota suhilj^s friends. The 
 miss saith true ; there are four of them here. Which will give 
 back the pearls and save him ?" 
 
 "Save him from what?" cried Rose, disregarding Gwen's 
 appealing prayer for her to leave the mad woman to the serv- 
 ants. " What has Keene sahib done that you can dare to 
 threaten ?"
 
 273 
 
 The girl's bitter contempt roused Cliandni's innate savage- 
 ncss. After all, she was the mistress, and this girl, despite her 
 courage, was in her power ; what is more, she should learn it. 
 "From what? From the shame which comes to the sahib 
 logues when their pretence of honesty is found out — from the 
 shame of having friends — the shame of taking jewels for those 
 friends — the shame of being untrue to salt — ask the mem how 
 it is done ; she knows. The shame of sending the key of the 
 sluice-gate so that the water — " Her voice had risen so far 
 with each sentence ; now it ended in a gasp and a gurgle. 
 
 " Open the door, please," said Rose to Mrs. Boynton, who 
 gasped also in intense surprise of the girl's swift action. 
 " Don't struggle, fool 1" she went on, in the same hard tones, 
 only the dead whiteness of her face and a catch as she drew 
 breath telling of the wild passion surging in her veins, " I 
 won't choke you if you hold your tongue." Once before 
 Chandni had felt a girl's grip on her throat — a hot, straining 
 grip. This was neither. It was the grip of a strong, healthy 
 hand, made vigorous by constant use. Those fierce fights over 
 bat and ball with the dead lad had had their share in the sheer 
 muscle of her defence of him, before which Chandni's large 
 softness gave way, leaving her not even a slandering tongue. 
 
 "Put the veil over her face, if you please! I won't even 
 have it known who dared to come here !" continued the girl, 
 forcing the woman backward step by step till they reached the 
 door; then she pushed her from it magnificently. "Now go! 
 and tell what lies you like elsewhere." 
 
 But her face changed as she turned, when the door was 
 closed and bolted, to Gwcn Boynton. " Is it true ? For 
 God's sake, tell me if there's a word of truth in it, and I will 
 find the money." 
 
 Gwen dissolved into helpless tears — tears at once of vague 
 remorse and a very real sense of injustice. "True! Oh, Rose, 
 how can you ask ? Of course it isn't true. I wouldn't have 
 done it for the world. Indeed and indeed I never saw the 
 Ayodhya pot again, and I don't believe George did. He was 
 the soul of honor, and so good — so good to me. It is all
 
 274 
 
 wiclved, wicked lies ; unless, indeed, that girl — But there, I 
 dare say she was bad, like that horrid creature. Perhaps they 
 stole the pot between them, and are now trying to blackmail 
 us." 
 
 "Stole the pot!" repeated Rose, slowly, remembering for the 
 first time her dream on the night of the storm at llodinuggar. 
 "Yes, that is possible; and yet" — she looked at Azizan's pict- 
 ure, and then back at Gwen, who was dabbing her eyes with 
 a soft pocket-handkerchief — " you are sure f she began again. 
 
 " Of course, I am quite sure," retorted Gwen, whose remorse 
 had vanished into anger at this impudent attempt to amend 
 and enlarge the text of a past incident. " I never saw or heard 
 of the pot again. I may be weak ; T may have done things, for 
 which I am sorry, in the past ; but whatever you may think, 
 my conscience is clear. And as for the sluice, Dan opened it 
 by order. Besides, there was the flood. It is all an attempt 
 to blackmail me, and I won't be blackmailed. I have done 
 nothing they can take hold of — nothing, nothing." 
 
 Eose gave a sigh, almost of dissatisfaction. If it really was 
 a case of blackmailing, payment would be but a temporary re- 
 lief. Perhaps, as Gwen had suggested, the girl in the picture 
 was in league with Chandni, and yet she did not look that sort. 
 Nor did she look as if — Rose glanced from the pure oval of 
 the cheek and the fine long curves of the mouth to Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton's tear-stained face, and frowned. 
 
 " Some one has the pearls," she said, " and George's memory 
 must be saved — somehow."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 " Come in." The words were given in an impatient tone, 
 for Lewis Gordon was busy, and lie liated being disturbed — es- 
 pecially when, as now, he had taken his coat off, literally as 
 well as figuratively, before a difficult file. The garment hung 
 on the back of his chair, which, in obedience to a fad of his, 
 was the only one in the office ; a second one, he declared, being 
 easily sent for if required, while its absence shortened many 
 a trivial interruption. Otherwise a comfortable enough room, 
 with a large French window set wide on a magnificent view of 
 the serrated snows resting on the wall of blue distance, and 
 framed by the curved tops of a forest of young deodars. The 
 day was bright as a morning in the rainy season can be ; bright 
 by very contrast between the brilliant lights and shadows in 
 earth and sky ; bright as a rain-cloud itself when the sun shines 
 on it. A fresh breeze came in with Rose Tvveedie through the 
 opening door, and blew some papers off the table. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," came in duet, as Lewis fumbled blind- 
 ly for his coat, liis eye-glass having deserted him in the sur- 
 prise, after the manner of eye-glasses. As he did so he felt in- 
 jured ; not that he was such a crass idiot as to be outraged by 
 a pair of shirt-sleeves in himself as in others. But he knew 
 quite well that no man can look dignified when struggling even 
 into a lounge-coat, and he liked to be dignified, especially with 
 Rose Tweedie. His irritation, however, hid itself under a dif- 
 ferent cloak; that is to say, annoyance at a most unusual in- 
 trusion. Perhaps she read the expression of it in his face, for 
 her first words were an excuse. 
 
 " I came here — to your office, I mean — because I want to ask 
 you something, and I didn't want you to feel hampered — not 
 as a friend, you know." Her eyes met his in confidence of be-
 
 276 
 
 ing understood so far, at any rate, and he gave rather a stiff 
 little bow. 
 
 "You are very welcome. Won't you take a chair — the 
 chair, perhaps I ought to say? I've been sitting all the morn- 
 ing and shall be glad of a change, unless you require some 
 time. If so, I will send — " 
 
 "No, thanks; I prefer standing also," she interrupted, with 
 a quick flush. " I only wanted to ask you a question. It is 
 about George Keene." 
 
 "Yes," he replied coldly, unsympathetically ; and yet he was 
 noting her anxious eyes and haggard face with a sort of angry 
 wonder why she should make herself so unhappy. Rose's fin- 
 gers held nervously to the edge of the table by which she 
 stood. 
 
 "Have you any reason — I mean is there, officially, any rea- 
 son — to suppose that the llodinuggar sluice was opened before 
 the flood came down, or before Mr. Fitzgerald — " She paused, 
 with her eyes on Lewis's face. She had lain awake almost all 
 the night thinking of Chandni's threats and hints, and with her 
 clear sight had seen that their worth or un worth depended 
 largely upon the official report of what had actually happened 
 at Hodinuggar. To her father she could not go without dan- 
 ger from his want of judgment ; there remained Lewis, who 
 was always just, always to be trusted in such matters. 
 
 His heart gave quite a throb of dismayed surprise at her 
 question, and forced him by contraries into still greater chill- 
 ness of manner. " I'm afraid I can't quite see your right to 
 ask me such a question as yet. Perhaps if you could give me 
 a reason — " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I can give you a reason," she interrupted, with a 
 ring of scorn in her voice, " though I think you might credit 
 me with a good one where George is concerned, surely. Only, 
 if I have to tell, you had better send for the chair. I thought 
 perhaps you would understand — for onco." 
 
 The bitterness of her tone did not escape him, and accentu- 
 ated his annoyance. As he handed her the chair and leaned 
 negligently against the table, his hands behind him, he told
 
 277 
 
 liimsolf that he was in for a mauvais quart ofheure with the 
 girl. Man-like, she would expect to know all ; woman-like, she 
 would expect sentiment to outweigh official integrity. These 
 thoughts did not serve to soften his heart towards the dead lad 
 even at the beginning, and as her story unfolded itself his face 
 grew sterner and sterner. But liers lightened ; it was an infi- 
 nite relief to have his advice, his help, and she told hiin so 
 frankly, even while she appealed for it. 
 
 " You needn't even answer my question, Mr. Gordon," she 
 went on, earnestly. " You will know so much better than I do 
 what had best be done. I thought of going to see the woman 
 myself—" 
 
 " You didn't go, I hope," put in Lewis, hastily. 
 
 "No; I made up my mind to ask you first. You see, if there 
 is no truth in all this — no truth whatever — " 
 
 "That is unlikely, I warn you," interrupted Lewis. "These 
 women — really. Miss Tweedie, if you follow my advice, much 
 as it may pain you at the time — you will leave this business 
 alone, absolutely alone. It is not one with which — excuse 
 me for even alluding to the fact — a girl such as you are should 
 meddle. Unfortunately, we men have to face these things, and 
 they are not pleasant — even for us." 
 
 " You speak as if you thought George was guilty," said 
 Rose, hotly. " What right have you to do that?" 
 
 " I may have more right than you suspect. Believe me, 
 Miss Tweedie, I am heartily sorry — especially for you — and, 
 so far as is compatible with the facts, I Avill do my best to 
 avoid official esdandre should this matter really crop up. In 
 the meantime I am afraid I must decline to interfere in what 
 Mrs. Boynton, you tell me, stigmatized as an impudent attempt 
 at blackmailing. She has her faults, no doubt, like everybody 
 else, but she has, excuse me for saying so, more knowledge 
 of the world than you have. In fact, you could scarcely do 
 better than take her advice on this point." 
 
 The girl, with a frown on her face, rose from her seat slowly, 
 " Then you refuse to find out the truth. You are content to 
 let this suspicion lie upon — upon me, and your cousin?"
 
 278 
 
 Lewis smiled. " Tliat is rather far-fetclicd, Miss Tweedie, 
 surely. The idea of suspicion with you is simply absurd, and 
 as for Gwen ! Well, I know you are ready to admit she has 
 her faults, but she has called this claim impudent blackmailing, 
 and you must excuse me if I incline to believe her." 
 
 "And for George Keene? Do you suspect him ? Are you 
 going to allow his memory to be smirched?" 
 
 " I have told you I will do my best. For the rest, he must take 
 the consequences of his own acts, I'm afraid. Indeed, I am 
 sorry — very sorry," he added, hastily, impelled to it by the look 
 on Rose Tweedie's face ; it had grown ashy pale. Yet she 
 stood steadily before him, her eyes on his unflinchingly. 
 
 " Then there is truth in it. You had better tell me. It 
 would be kinder to tell me, if you can." 
 
 Perhaps, after all, it would. Perhaps if this scandal had to 
 come to light, it would be better she should be prepared; and 
 even if it did not, was it not wiser she should know the real 
 truth about George Keene, and so be able to judge him fairly ? 
 Not a bad boy, of course ; that talk of bribery was no doubt 
 false, and he had done no more in other ways than hundreds of 
 boys in a like position. Even at Simla he had only run wild 
 a bit, and for that he was not the only one responsible. Still, 
 when all was said and done, he had shot himself, and that 
 alone made the task of whitewashing him an impossibility if 
 these women chose revenge. 
 
 " Yes, there is some truth in it," he said, gravely. " If you 
 will sit down again, I will tell you everything I know, and 
 then you can judge for yourself. I should like you to under- 
 stand, however, that, in spite of appearances, I don't believe 
 George lent himself to anything more than — what you would — 
 not you, perhaps — but most of us would expect in a young fellov^- 
 of his age and his position. Life is — is rather intoxicating to 
 — to some of us." So, leaning against the table, he told her 
 the truth, trying to do his task calmly and kindly, yet beset 
 by a certain impatience at the still figure seated in his office- 
 chair, its elbows among his files, the coils of its beautiful hair 
 showing beyond the hands in which the face was liiddcn.
 
 279 
 
 What business liad it tlierc ? What business had the thought 
 of its pain to come so close to him — closer, even, than his own 
 reason, his own sense of justice? 
 
 " And you have known that he shot himself from the begin- 
 ning?" she asked, raising her head suddenly to look him full 
 in the face. He assented, with a distinct self-complacency. 
 
 " Then what did you think made him do it ? Then — before 
 you knew anything about the debts — or the opening of the 
 gates?" 
 
 The self-complacency vanished. " There are many reasons, 
 or want of reasons, for that sort of thing, Miss Tweedie," 
 he said, evasively. " I did not — I mean it was impossible to 
 say absolutely, and that is why I acquiesced in Fitzgerald's 
 {ilan. It was more convenient to every one concerned." 
 
 " Much more convenient," echoed Rose, sharply. "And you 
 have known this all the time, and not — " She broke off, as if 
 incredulous of her own half-uttered thought. 
 
 "Certainly I have known it, and we would have kept the 
 secret, Fitzgerald and I, but for this unfortunate business," he 
 retorted, and his tone was not pleasant. 
 
 " Ah, he is different — he did not know ! he thought George 
 had done it for his sake — to screen him ! But you ! What 
 did you believe?" The girl's very voice was a challenge. 
 
 " I must say. Miss Tweedie, that I scarcely see how my belief 
 affects the question, or, pardon me, what it matters to you," 
 he replied, taking refuge once more in his indifference. 
 
 "Do you not? Then I do. Not that it matters now," she 
 added, in sudden passion, " for I will have my way iu the 
 future. If you won't help me, I can't help that; but I will 
 have the truth. I will go down to this woman in the bazaar 
 and make her tell me. Whether her story is a lie or not, 
 there shall be no more concealment. I will not have it." 
 
 " And George Keene's memory ?" he suggested, angered al- 
 most beyond his self-control by her unmistakable defiance. 
 "My advice is unwelcome, of course; but if you took it — and 
 Mrs. Boynton's — only that is unwelcome, too — you might avoid 
 all scandal. I cannot say for certain that it would, but as I
 
 280 
 
 have told you I would do my best — officially, even, I will do 
 my best. That seems to be an offence also for some reason, 
 but I would do it as much for the sake of the department as 
 for the boy's. You, I know, think only of him — " 
 
 She turned upon him like liglitning, carried out of herself 
 by her scorn, her passion. "Of him ! I was not thinking of 
 him at all! I was thinking of you — of you only, as I always 
 do. Why should you not know the truth ? You will not care 
 a pin whether I think of you or not. And I? I care for 
 nothing — nothing so long as you do not blindfold yourself wil- 
 fully — so long as you are just and honest. Oh ! you may 
 think I am mad — perhaps, if what you believe about men and 
 women is true, I am ; but it means everything — everything in 
 the world to me that you should be so — just and honest; be- 
 cause, what you are is more to me than all the world beside. 
 That is the truth." The last words came slowly, as the fire of 
 her passion died down; yet there was no uncertainty in them. 
 "I suppose I oughtn't to have said this," she went on, turning 
 from him to lean her elbows on the table and rest her head on 
 her hands wearily. " But you won't mind, and I don't care. 
 It can't hurt any man to know that he is loved — it can't." 
 
 Loved ! The word sent a thrill through the man such as he 
 had never felt before. Loved ! Was that what she meant ? 
 The thought broke through even his armor of surprise. He 
 stood for an instant, looking down at her ; then turned slowly 
 and walked to the window — to return, however, in a second, 
 with quick, clear steps, breaking the silence of the room. 
 " What do you mean ? I can't believe it. What do you mean ?" 
 he asked, imperatively ; but his impatience would not wait for 
 a reply in words. Iler face would give it truly ; that he knew, 
 and he stooped over her, taking her by the wrists in order to 
 draw her hands apart. Then she turned to him, bravely enough. 
 
 "Rose!" It was almost a cry, as, stooping lower still, he 
 knelt before her, his eyes on hers, incredulous, yet soft. Then, 
 suddenly, still clasping her slender wrists, he buried his face 
 upon them in her lap. "Oh, I am sorry — I am sorry!" 
 Never since, as a child, he had said his prayers at his mother's
 
 281 
 
 Icncc, had Lewis Gordon so knelt to man or woman. And 
 something of the child's unquestioning belief in an unselfish 
 love came back to him, joined to a perfect passion of the man's 
 clear-sighted remorse and regret. 
 
 " Don't," she said, gently bending over him. " Please don't. 
 There is nothing for you to be sorry about ; indeed, there 
 isn't." 
 
 Nothing to be sorry about ! Once more he echoed this girl's 
 words to himself, with that strange thrill, as, recovering his 
 self-command, he stood straight and stiff beside her, conscious 
 only of one vehement desire to care for and to protect her. 
 " What is it you want me to do?" he said at last, unsteadily. 
 " Tell me, and I'll do it." 
 
 Then, woman-like, she began to cry ; it is a way the good 
 ones have when they succeed in imposing their own will on 
 those they love. " I don't think I want you to do anything — 
 particular," she answered, trying to conceal her tears. " I don't 
 know ; besides, I would much rather vou did it vour own 
 way." 
 
 If the uttermost truth could be told about a man's emotion 
 in such scenes, as it can be regarding a woman's, it would have 
 to be confessed that Lewis Gordon came very near to crying, 
 also, over this foolish, unconditional surrender on Rose Twee- 
 die's part. For he understood the irresolution of a generous 
 nature before its own success, and, what is more, the woman's 
 desire to give the man she loves the glory of gratifying her 
 belief in him. He felt quite a lump in his throat, and had to 
 seek escape from the tenderness of one sex in the decision of 
 the other. In nine cases out of ten these are but different 
 methods of showing the same emotion. 
 
 " I will go down and see this woman to-day ; and then — " 
 lie paused, not in order to think over his next move — that, un- 
 doubtedly, would be to see Gwen Boynton — but to overcome a 
 dislike to mentioning her name, which suddenly assailed him. 
 Why, he scarcely knew, save that it seemed mean, unmanly. 
 Rose, however, saved him from the necessity by again repeat- 
 ing, this time almost abjectly, that she would rather not know
 
 383 
 
 — that sbo would be quite content to leave the matter in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Thank you," replied Lewis, in such a very low tone that 
 it was almost a whisper. It did not lead, however, as might 
 have been expected, to a silence, but to a louder, more aggres- 
 sive gratitude. " I have to thank you — for many things. I 
 won't affect to ignore or set aside what you did me the honor 
 of telling me just now. That would be sheer impertinence on 
 my — " Now, when he had got so far in a perfectly admirable 
 sentiment calculated to soothe both her feelings and his own, 
 why he should suddenly have found his hands in hers again, 
 his heart full of an unpremeditated assertion that be was 
 glad she loved him, cannot be explained logically ; but so it 
 was. Yet before the scared look in her eyes his own fell; 
 be loosened his clasp, and the appeal died from his lips. There 
 was no place for him, or his questionings, in her avowal ; that 
 hedged itself about from intrusion with a dignity he recog- 
 nized. So what remained, save to pass on with as much dig- 
 nity as he could compass to the work assigned to him ? " I 
 will come in and tell you what I have done this afternoon, 
 about five o'clock," he said, quietly ; " that is, if it is con- 
 venient." 
 
 " Quite, thank you." The baldest, most conventional of 
 tones on both sides. The baldest, most conventional holding 
 open of the door for her to pass out — to pass out from a scene 
 that would linger in his memory — in nothing else. The descent 
 to normal diapason comes sooner or later, no matter how highly 
 strung the instruments may be to begin with — and the most melo- 
 dramatic of incidents fades into padding. But in real life this 
 return to the commonplace generally leaves some of the actors 
 dissatisfied with the way the scene has been played. Lewis 
 Gordon felt this distinctly when he was left looking at his own 
 chair, as if he still saw a gill's figure seated there, her elbows 
 resting on the litter of official pa[)ers, and the great coils of her 
 burnished hair showing beyond the hands which hid her face. 
 
 " It can't hurt any man to know he is loved !" She had said 
 so ; but she was wrong. It did hurt confoundedly. So that
 
 283 
 
 was what she meant by love, was it? If any of the trivial in- 
 terruptions which Lewis Gordon so much dreaded had come 
 during the following five minutes they would have found the 
 coveted chair vacant, though the owner's face was buried in 
 his hands among the files and reports. Apparently he gained 
 little consolation from them ; for when he resumed work he 
 looked about as upset and disordered as a tidy man can do 
 when he is cool and properly clothed. Nor did they gain much 
 from him during the next hour, which ticked away remorse- 
 lessly from the chronometer by which Lewis loved to map out 
 his day. He thrust them aside at last impatiently and ordered 
 his pony, thinking that maybe when he had got through that 
 visit to the bazaar he might feel less of a duffer and not quite 
 so much knocked out of time. And yet she had said there 
 was nothing to regret — that he would not care — that it would 
 not matter to him if she thought of him or not! 
 
 It was a queer world ! He set his teeth over it as he rode 
 reluctantly between the shingled arcades of the big bazaar and 
 then through a narrow paved alley, pitching, as it were, sheer 
 down into the blue mists of the valley below. And so on to 
 the balconied house where, from inquiries at the Kotwali, he 
 learned that Cht\ndni was lodging. The task before him was 
 a disagreeable one; yet he swore inwardly as he thought that, 
 but for his abject capitulation. Rose would have attempted it 
 herself. Rose ! Yes, he began to understand that the femi- 
 nine world could not be divided into two classes. There was a 
 third composed of one specimen : Rose — and Rose only. And 
 as he went on, the very cleanliness and order, contrasting so 
 sharply with the dirt of surrounding respectability, struck him 
 offensively on the girl's behalf, while the giggling in the lower 
 story gave him a vicarious shock, and the obsequiousness of his 
 introduction into the higher one where Chandni sat secluded 
 actually made his cheek burn. " It can't hurt any man to know 
 that he is loved!" He set aside the haunting words angrily, 
 and began his task so soon as the patchwork draj)ery at the 
 door fell behind him, leaving him face to face with white-robed, 
 salaaming grace.
 
 284 
 
 " Sec here, ray sister ! This is for the triitli. 'Tis not often 
 thv sort are asked for it; but I ask nothing else. I will take 
 iiothinj^ else." 
 
 Checked thus in her lano;iiid welcome to the unknown guest, 
 Cliaudiii looked distastefully at the hundred-rupee note thrust 
 into her hand, then at the giver; though both were to her 
 liking. The latter she recognized instantly as having been 
 among the party at liodinuggar, and the recognition showed 
 her that her seed of slander had taken root already. So far, 
 good. 
 
 "My lord shall have that which he requires, surely. Where- 
 fore else are there such as I?'' she replied, and the cynical truth 
 of her answer convinced him of her wit at once. He acknowl- 
 edged it, frankly, when half an hour afterwards he felt himself 
 baffled by the calm simplicity of her story. Most of it he had 
 already heard, but the details proved more unpleasant than lie 
 had imagined possible. Azizan, it appeared from Chandni's ac- 
 count, had been a palace lady, with whom George had had 
 clandestine meetings, over which he had first become mixed up 
 with the intrigues about the water. The key of the sluice had 
 been sent from Simla, whether by the 7ncm or the miss, or the 
 sahih himself, she did not know — she could not say. Was she 
 not telling huzoor the bare truth she knew to be true, and noth- 
 ing else ? 
 
 "And how much do you want to keep all this quiet?" he 
 asked, calmly, when she had finished. It was as well to know 
 her price, at any rate. For an instant the immediate tempta- 
 tion to take the bird in the hand made the courtesan hesitate. 
 Then she struck boldly for higher game. " The pearls, huzoor/ 
 — the pearls or my revenge !" This man with the cool, refined 
 face, and the contempt which made her involuntarily remember 
 the miss sahib^s also, affected indifference now, and would most 
 likely offer her some paltry sum. But she could afford to wait 
 for the change which was sure to come; for she was not in the 
 least afraid of anything Lewis could do, and, without being ab- 
 solutely insolent, took care to show him the fact as she lolled 
 about at her ease chewing betel ostentatiou.sly. She had noth-
 
 285 
 
 ing to gain here by affecting delicacy, so he miglit see her at 
 her coarsest and worst; it contrasted -better with his brains. 
 The result being that Lewis Gordon came into Gwen Boyn- 
 ton's drawing-room for his next interview looking depressed: 
 partly because he had been riding through a tepid shower-bath ; 
 for recurring rain had washed away the bright promises of the 
 morning and was falling drearily over the rank, dank grasses, 
 and beating down the fringes of delicate ferns growing upon 
 the dripping branches of the oak-trees, until they lost shape 
 and became nothing but a green outline against the gray mist. 
 Within, however, by the light of a blazing pine-wood fire, Mrs. 
 Boynton looked bright yet soft, like a yjastel painting or a fig- 
 ure seen in a looking-glass; for she soon recovered from her 
 emotions, and took pains to hide their effects even from herself. 
 So the fact that she had lain awake half the night wondering 
 if by chance Chandni's impudent lies had been prompted by 
 any flaw in the chain-armor of security which George and the 
 flood bad forged for her, did not sliow on her face. For they 
 were lies: even that tale of the dear lad's death, which had 
 given her such a shock at the time, was nothing but the vile 
 woman's wicked, cruel invention. Rose had evidently heard 
 nothing and still knew nothing of it ; besides, Dan did not 
 know ; and even if he had wished to keep the pain of such 
 knowledge from her, Lewis, with his jealous blame, would have 
 been sure to have used it to point a moral — a pointless moral, 
 nevertheless, since George could have had no cause for despair. 
 Had not the flood come to end even the anxiety? unless, in- 
 deed, there was any truth in the tale about the portrait. Yet 
 why should truth be supposed in one incident, when causeless, 
 wicked lying was evident in all the others? No; it was an im- 
 pudent attempt at extortion, and must be met by denial. There- 
 in lay safety both for her and for poor George Keene's memory ; 
 the conspirators would never face the evidence of those papers 
 which they knew she held. So, as her cousin came in she greet- 
 ed him with a smile, changing to sweet concern at his ill-looks. 
 "I have a headache," he replied, curtly. "No wonder; the 
 smells and the ofeneral abominations of the bazaar are enouo-h
 
 286 
 
 to kill one, and I had to go down there. Besides, I'm damp, 
 and I've had no lunch. Isn't that a long-enough catalogue of 
 ills? No, thanks — don't order anything for me. I'd rather 
 have a cup of tea by-and-by." It was the worst thing for him, 
 he knew that ; nothing but a quiet cigar and a man's drink 
 would have restored his balance. But he told himself, captious- 
 ly, that he had been in a melodramatic atmosphere all the morn- 
 ing, and might as well go in for it to the bitter end. He felt 
 demoralized, and so, almost out of contrariety, put himself at a 
 further disadvantage by rushing at his fence. 
 
 " Gwen," he began, abruptly, " I've come to ask you for the 
 truth." He did not hand her a bank-note, as he had done to 
 the other woman ; yet the thought crossed his mind bitterly that 
 one of sufficient value might be useful ; and though he set it 
 aside, of course, as utterly unworthy, the knowledge that it had 
 been there remained. In common justice he had no more right 
 to prejudge Gwen's implication than he had to prejudge Rose 
 Tweedie's. Of course, there was the fact of George Keene's 
 suicide against the one, but that was no new thing. She had 
 been judged on that count before, and he had decided to save 
 her from the pain of knowing it. To that decision, also, he 
 meant to keep if it were possible. Gwen's heart gave a great 
 throb ; she understood in an instant that the crisis had come 
 sooner than she expected ; yet she was prepared for it. 
 
 " I suppose Rose Tweedie — " she began, coldly. 
 
 " Yes ; Rose Tweedie asked my advice, and I've been down 
 to that woman in the bazaar. She sticks to her story ; so now 
 I have come to you — " 
 
 "If you had come to me first, Lewis," she interrupted, with 
 a vibration of real anger in her voice, " I would have warned 
 you not to waste your time in playing Don Qui.xote at Rose 
 Tweedie's bidding. The woman is an impostor and should be 
 treated as such. I would have sent the police after her yester- 
 day, had I thought it wise to take even so much notice of her 
 lies. And now you have been to see her! It is too foolish, 
 too annoying ! And all because Rose went crying to you, I 
 suppose, about her lover. Ilcr lover, indeed ! You are very
 
 287 
 
 soft-liearted, Lewis! Perhaps some day your desire to console 
 will lead you into taking bis place." 
 
 He stared at her. That sort of thing was so unlike Gvven's 
 usual sweetness. But his surprise did not equal his confusion, 
 and his common-sense showed iiim her possible wisdom. "Miss 
 Tweedie did not cry over her lover, I assure you," be began — 
 feeling, in very truth, that the young lady in question had 
 meted out more blame than sympathy — "and I did not choose 
 to allow such tales of you to pass unnoticed." 
 
 " So you listened to them again '" retorted Gwen, in rising 
 anger which she wilfully exaggerated — "listened to what a 
 common woman in the bazaar had to say of me ! Really ! I 
 am obliged to you, Lewis! And she, I suppose, told you that 
 I had stolen the pearls and the pot, and then taken it and a 
 fresh bribe from poor George? Well, now that you have come 
 to me at last for the truth, I tell you, as I told Rose — who per- 
 haps did not repeat it — that I have never seen the thing since 
 the night of the storm at Hodinuggar. So I have less to do 
 with it than she; since she confesses it was sent to her, and 
 that she sent it back on the sly. Did she tell you that? And 
 have you been asking her for the truth, also? or am I the only 
 one who has to be questioned like that creature in the bazaar?" 
 Gwen had never looked better than she did, with the unwonted 
 fire of real indignation lighting up her face, and Lewis Gordon 
 felt vexed that it awoke no thrill in him. Was he really allow- 
 ing Rose Tweedie's open mistrust to bias him ? The idea made 
 him reply more gently than he might otherwise have done. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right to be angry with me," he said, qui- 
 etly. " I beg your pardon if I have hurt you ; but indeed it 
 seemed best to me at the time. Perhaps, as you say, it would 
 liave been better to wait awhile until, for instance, I can con- 
 sult with Fitzgerald. I wired him to-day to come up on three 
 days' urgent private business, lie knows a lot." 
 
 Gwen gave an odd sort of laugh, not unlike a sob, and her 
 face softened. "I'm glad he is coming," she cried, passionate- 
 ly ; " very glad. lie always understands, and he knows." Yes, 
 he understood and trusted her — would stand by her even if he
 
 288 
 
 knew of that one fatal mistake — whereas Lewis would treat 
 her as a Magdalen ! as if she, Gwen Boynton, were a fit sub- 
 ject for a penitentiary ! " Yes," she repeated, slowly, " I am 
 glad he is coming. You did the right thing there, Lewis, at 
 any rate." 
 
 So with this small consolation he had to make his way back 
 to give his report to the girl who had told him that she loved 
 him. Another delicate task, and he felt himself detestably 
 awkward over it; the more so because Rose herself met him 
 as if nothing unusual had occurred. 
 
 "Well," she asked, eagerly, "what news?" He told her 
 briefly that there was none. He had had three versions of truth 
 — her own, Cliandni's, and Mrs. Boynton's, and there seemed 
 nothing to be done save wait for Dan's arrival. He might be 
 able to throw some light on the subject; he was the only 
 person, at any rate, who was likely to do so. 
 
 " You forget the girl — the girl of the portrait, I mean," sug- 
 gested Rose, quickly. He frowned ; there were some things 
 which he did not intend to tell Rose, and the story about 
 Azizan was one of them. 
 
 " She disappeared, they say, just before we reached Hodinug- 
 gar. I should like, by the way, to see the picture, if you don't 
 mind." He stood looking at it in silence for some time. 
 " And that, you say, was the face in your dream ?' he asked at 
 last. 
 
 " The face, the dress, the pot clasped so to her breast. I 
 seem to grow more sure of it every hour. And I am certain 
 now that it was she who said ' I am Azizan.' " 
 
 " That sort of certainty grows upon one unconsciously," he 
 replied, after another pause. "I confess it is odd; but you 
 can hardly believe it really was the potter's daughter. She 
 has been dead these sixteen years. You think it was her ghost, 
 perhaps ; but did George paint the ghost ?" 
 
 Rose stood silent, her hands clasped tightly. " Who knows ?" 
 she said, slowly. " One knows so little. When I think of it 
 all — of that strange old man with his refrain, ' We come and 
 go, we go and come ' — I seem to feel that odd, uncanny sense
 
 289 
 
 of helplessness which one has during a storm at sea when yon 
 realize that the waves are not moving at all, but rise and fall, 
 rise and fall forever in the same place. It is the ship which 
 drifts within their power, giving them their wrecker's chance 
 once more ; and now you will say that I am superstitious, but 
 I almost regret that you should bring Mr. Fitzgerald into this 
 business at all. You remember the potter's measure? Think 
 of it, and how poor George himself — " She paused, her eyes 
 full of tears. 
 
 Lewis, watching her, told himself he would never understand 
 women-folk. Here was a girl overflowing with fanciful senti- 
 ment in some ways, who yet, apparently, had none to spare 
 for the one subject round which sentiment was supposed to 
 cling — love and marriage. In addition, here were two women, 
 both of whom he desired to help, and yet they were at dag- 
 gers-drawing about the best method of giving that aid. If 
 he pleased one, he displeased the other; and, anyhow, he got 
 no comfort out of either. 
 
 19
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 "Nay, thou hast given me enough, O mirza sahib — more 
 tlian a free woman cares to have," said Chandni, with a shrug 
 of her massive shoulders. " Thou hadst thy chance to pay me 
 fair." 
 
 Dalel Beg, clad in his European clothes, and perched, in all 
 the isolation of an esteemed visitor, in the cane-bottoraed chair 
 of state, felt he would like to be on a level with those jeering 
 lips, as he used to be at Hodinuggar. Not for the sake of desire 
 only, or for the sake of revenge, but for a mixture of both. 
 As usual, the very audacity of her wickedness fascinated him ; 
 yet now that wickedness was directed against himself, he could 
 have strangled her for it. 
 
 " Pay thee ! how can I pay tliee," he whispered, " when 
 those low-caste white swindlers witli whom I betted will not 
 pay what I have won; when those white devils of women turn 
 the place into a museum, until every Parsee in the bazaar threat- 
 ens to summon me to court?" 
 
 It was not much more than a week since he had defied Chan- 
 dni in the presence of the said white devils ; but the interval had 
 not been pleasant. Beatrice Norma Elfrida's mamma knew all 
 about Chandni's long years of hold on the mirza sahib, and he 
 was totally unaccustomed to the nagging of wifely jealousy. 
 Besides, somcthing*liad happened which had opened his eyes to 
 the danger of allowing the courtesan to have a free hand. A 
 proposal had been made to the Canal Department to allow water 
 to run permanently along the sluice cut ; the rajah who owned 
 the land to the south having spent a whole season at Simla in 
 order to work the oracle, and the flood having come oppor- 
 tunely as a warning to the experts that it might be wise to pro- 
 vide a more satisfactory outlet for the surplus water. Now in 
 this case Hodinuggar, which would benefit but little by the
 
 391 
 
 plan, being for the most part barren desert, might, by judicious 
 application of the screw, make the rajah pay for its consent, as 
 a considerable portion of its best land would have to be taken 
 up for various works. This sort of secret intrigue, these al- 
 most endless ramifications of rights and dues, underlie the sim- 
 plest transactions in India, and are recognized by its people as 
 an integral part of administration. Besides, Hodinuggar itself, 
 in lieu of compensation for damage done — which, for various 
 reasons, it had not yet claimed, one being a delay on the part 
 of the rajah in paying the promised fee for the opening of the 
 sluice — might manage by the same judicious diplomacy to se- 
 cure some trifling hold on the water supply ; something, in 
 short, which might be used as a screw for the extortion of a 
 perpetual, if small, I'evenue. But for all this, silence as to the 
 past was necessary. This, to European ears, may seem almost 
 too fine-drawn to be worth consideration. To Dalel Beg and 
 Chandni it was quite the reverse ; for he came from a long 
 line of courtiers born and bred in such intrigues; men whose 
 trades had passed with the corrupt courts of other days, while 
 the memory of it survived in their title: Devvans of Hodinug- 
 gar; not Nawabs or Nizams, but Dewans; that is, in other 
 words. Prime Minister. And she ? Every atom of her blood 
 came from the veins of those who for centuries had woven a 
 still finer net of woman's wit around the intrigues of their pro- 
 tectors. It is this extraordinary strength of heredity towards 
 virtue as well as towards vice which, in India, makes the cheap 
 tinkering of Western folks, who are compounded of butchers, 
 bakers, and candlestick-makers, so exasperating to those who 
 have eyes to see. If English philanthropists would spend their 
 motley benevolence on the poor, the diseased, the drunken of 
 their own country, it would be better both for it and for India, 
 where the death-rate is no higher, drunkenness is comparatively 
 unknown, and poverty is neither unhappy nor discontented. 
 
 Thus, Chandni and Dalel were well matched, as she leaned 
 back in her cushions with a laugh. "So she spends money! 
 Lo ! since thou hast married a vilayeti wife, thou canst adver- 
 tise, as the sahibs do, in the papers, that thou art not responsi-
 
 293 
 
 ble for her debts. There is no sense in stopping half-way, as 
 thou hast done. Thou shouldst have gone to a missen and 
 been baptized, instead of making that half-caste girl repeat the 
 ' Kulma ' on the promise that thou wilt not in future claim the 
 right of the faithful to other women. Yea ! yea ! I know the 
 trick." 
 
 " If I have," muttered Dalel, vexed, yet pleased, at her bold- 
 ness, her shrewdness, " such promises are easily broken. Di- 
 vorce is easy." 
 
 "If thou hast money to pay the dower to her people, not 
 otherwise ; so both ways thou art snared." 
 
 That, she told herself, was always the result of trying new 
 ways of wickedness instead of keeping to the old ones. She 
 did not, and, on the whole, felt contemptuous over her adver- 
 saries so far. The miss sahib's arms were strong, for sure, but 
 the men were worth nothing ; not even the long sahib, who had 
 come blustering to her about the pearls. 
 
 Dan Fitzgerald, dangling his long legs disconsolately from 
 Lewis Gordon's office-table, allowed as much himself. 
 
 " The fact is, I ought to have killed her," he said ; " only I 
 didn't feel up to it to-day, after my journey. Oh, you may 
 smile, Gordon I" he went on, more eagerly, his face losing some 
 of its dejection in his love of the extravagant, " but it is true. 
 That sort of woman doesn't belong to our civilized age. We 
 are absolutely at a disadvantage before her. There was I, 
 strong as a horse — as the mad old potter said, with a hero's 
 measure round the chest — driven to words and threats of a po- 
 liceman. I couldn't, even at the time, but think of that old 
 sinner Zubr-ul-zaman, and what her chance would have been 
 with him. Just an order, a cry, and then silence. Sure one 
 feels helpless at times, when one stands face to face with that 
 old world. What's the use of strength — what's even the use of 
 brains — nowadays, except to make money ? There was I, with 
 that woman, I give you my word, at the end of her tether ; 
 but it was the hangman's rope for me if I went a step closer; 
 and so I didn't." 
 
 " If you didn't," remarked Lewis, grimly, *' there isn't a civ-
 
 293 
 
 ilized man wl)o will. So we had better try something else. 
 Slill, unless that woman is silenced, we must face an inquiry, 
 and then the facts of poor Keene's death must come out. By 
 the way, Miss Tvvcedie knows them, but we have agreed to keep 
 them, if possible, from ray cousin. There is no use — " 
 
 "I'm glad of that," interrupted Dan, with a sudden quiver 
 of his mouth. " I should be sorry to have that memory 
 spoiled." He was pacing up and down the room now, his 
 hands in his pockets, the brightness of his face absorbed, as it 
 were, by a frown. 
 
 "Gordon !" he said, abruptly, " I'd give everything I possess 
 if I could lay my hands on that cursed pot. Not that it would 
 satisfy that horse-leech's daughter unless it contained the pearls 
 — which isn't likely — for I believe the whole story is a myth. 
 But the thought that it is somewhere visible, palpable to the 
 meanest fool on God's earth, is maddening. Or if we could 
 say to tliat she-devil, ' Do your worst !' Oh ! why didn't you 
 send that wire sooner, and save poor George from his needless 
 death?" 
 
 " Why didn't you tell the truth about it at first? You might 
 as well ask that. It would have been better, as it turns out, if 
 you had ; but who could tell ? As it is, I'm quite ready, as I 
 told you before, to burke everything I can, in conscience ; but, 
 as far as I can see, it will do no good. If that woman breaks 
 silence, the main facts must come to light." 
 
 "I wish I had killed her," said Dan, regretfully. 
 
 "And I wish she were dead," replied Lewis, cynically ; "that 
 is the difference between us. You are active, I'm passive ; 
 but we don't either of us seem to be of much use." 
 
 That was the truth ; and they had to confess as much to 
 Gwen Boynton that afternoon. She looked a little haggard as 
 she listened, though she protested bravely that, in her opinion, 
 that vile creature would never dare to put her lies to the proof. 
 But they were playing at cross-purposes : for she could not tell 
 them of the papers she held in absolute disproof of the first 
 accusation ; and they wished, if possible, to save her from the 
 knowledge of George Keene's suicide. Perhaps if they liad
 
 294 
 
 set their own feelings aside and told her, she might even then 
 have confessed her lion's share in the blame. But only per- 
 haps ; for she was a clever woman, capable of seeing that her 
 confession would do no good, and that she had, as it were, lost 
 her right to save poor George from suspicion. Besides, she 
 had brought herself to believe in the duty of denial; for, like 
 many another woman, she required a really virtuous motive 
 before she could do a really wrong thing. In sober fact, even 
 in her worst aberrations from the truth, never losing hold of a 
 fixed desire to be amiable and estimable. To this self-decep- 
 tion, as was natural, Lewis Gordon's half-hearted belief was gall 
 and wormwood; while Dan's wholesale confidence was balm in- 
 deed. She could not refrain from telling him so when the 
 former, pleading stress of work, left the latter alone with her 
 beside the cosey little tea-table glittering in the firelight. 
 
 "Now don't spoil it all, dear, by wanting me to marry you 
 to-morrow," she added, half laughing, half crying, when his 
 pleasure at her words showed itself. " We are all too busy for 
 such talk, and too sad — at least, I am. He was so good to me 
 — you don't know how good. I shall break my heart if this 
 vile creature succeeds in sullying his memory." 
 
 " It will not be your fault, dear, if she does." A chance shot 
 may hit the quarry truer than the best aim, and Gwen turned 
 quickly towards him with a little cry. 
 
 "Dan, you will prevent it, won't you? You are so clever, 
 and really it is for my sake as well. For my sake you will, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 "I do everything for your sake — you know that," he an- 
 swered, simply. Gwen stared at him as if she had seen a 
 ghost. Perhaps she did — the ghost of a dead boy, who had 
 said those very words to her in that very room not a month 
 ago. 
 
 "Gwen, what is it?" came Dan's voice sharply, anxiously. 
 " What is the matter— tell me !" 
 
 Yes, the past was repeating itself. George had begged her 
 to tell him also, in much the same words; and in her selfishness, 
 her fear, she had yielded and put a needless pain into a life
 
 295 
 
 passing to its close. Slie would not yield again ; in denial lay 
 her dut}'. 
 
 " Nothing is the matter," she echoed, " save this : that you 
 say we can do nothing. I do not believe it. God will never 
 Jet these lies prevail ; he will never let my poor lad's memory 
 suffer — never, never 1" 
 
 If her mind could have been taken to pieces and strictly an- 
 alyzed as she gave utterance to this burst of real feeling, it 
 would have afforded fruitful study to a whole college of psy- 
 chologists. Yet the mental condition -described as " sitting in 
 a clothes-basket and lifting yourself up by the handles" is 
 quite common to humanity of both sexes, though women are 
 the greater adepts in the art. Mrs. Boynton was really a firm 
 believer in a Providence which was bound by many promises to 
 help the virtuous. George, therefore, had a claim to its assist- 
 ance. The fact that Providence might possibly have appoint- 
 ed her as its instrument was a totally different affair. So good 
 faith and good feeling made her voice thrill as she went on 
 fervently answering Dan's doubtful yet admiring face. " Oh, 
 you mayn't think so ; you perhaps don't believe as I do, Dan, 
 in a ' Providence which shapes our ends, rough hew them as 
 we will ' ; you don't — '' 
 
 "Don't I?" he asked, catching fire, as it were, more from his 
 own thoughts tlian from her words. " Oh, Gwen, ray dear ! it's 
 little you know of me, then, if you think that. Don't I see it 
 — who but the blind do not — in everything? Isn't it that 
 which makes me content to go on as I'm doing? Gwen! it's 
 because I know that it is bound to come ; that sooner or later 
 you will take my hands in yours, as I take yours just now. 
 Yes, Gwen, it's fate ; but when will it be, my dear — when will 
 it be ?" 
 
 She was never proof against this mood in the man ; this 
 tone in his voice. "Oh, Dan !" she cried, with a petulance that 
 was all feigned, " didn't I say you would be asking me to marry 
 you to-morrow if I was so rash as to tell you that you were a 
 comfort to rae ? As if that had anything to do with it." 
 
 " Sure, it has everything to do with it !" cried her lover,
 
 296 
 
 fondly. The future, in trntli, gave him few fears. It was the 
 present, with the chance of annoyance, if that venomous wom- 
 an remained unscathed in the bazaar, which caused him anxiety. 
 On the other hand, it was the future over which Lewis Gordon 
 frowned as he sat trying to make up bis mind about his own 
 feelings. The present was unpleasant, but it was palpably 
 clear that they must face the possibility of scandal boldly, when 
 in all probability Chandni's story would break down utterly as 
 regarded everybody save George. He, poor lad, had brought 
 this on himself. But when all this was over, he (Lewis) was 
 going to marry Mrs. Boynton. No doubt about it, for it was 
 too late to judge her for that other fault — far too late. He 
 had condoned it with the full knowledge of what he was doing, 
 and the fact that Rose Tweedie's subsequent scorn had awak- 
 ened a tardy blame did not alter the past. At the same time, 
 he had an insane desire that Rose Tweedie should be brought 
 to see this as clearly as he saw it. In fact, the idea of talking 
 over the matter with her, and perhaps taking her advice on it, 
 had an attraction for him; and though he heaped contumely 
 on himself for the mere thought, it lingered insistently. It was 
 partly that which made him pause to knock at her sitting-room 
 door on his way to the drawing-room before dinner. She 
 would be glad to have the last news of the miserable affair, he 
 told himself, but in his heart he knew that was not the real 
 reason — that he himself scarcely knew what the reason was. 
 Reason? There was none. Only a foolish curiosity to under- 
 stand better what this icicle of a girl meant by love. It did 
 not seem to hurt her, at any rate. But as he entered to see her 
 sitting there by the fire, the reading-lamp on the table lighting 
 up her dress but leaving her face in shadow, he seemed to for- 
 get all these thoughts in the friendly confidence of her greet- 
 ing. 
 
 " I'm so glad you have come. I was wondering if you 
 would. What news?" 
 
 He shook his head. " None. We have all had our chance 
 and failed." 
 
 " Not all," she answered, quickly, pointing to Azizan's por-
 
 297 
 
 trait, which showed diinly above the mantel-piece, against which 
 he leaned. " You forget the girl ; she has not yet said her 
 say." 
 
 The unreality, the strangeness of it all, struck hira sharply, 
 not for the first time, as he replied, after a pause : 
 
 " And never will ; she is dead. Fitzgerald managed to get 
 that out of the woman to-day. She must have been hidden 
 away, as a punishment, most likely, in some dungeon of the 
 tower, for her dead body was found among the ruins — by — by 
 the old potter. Yes, I know what you are thinking of; but 
 that is impossible. He was always searching about, you know, 
 and so it was more likely he would find — something — than 
 others. It is a coincidence, I admit, but the fact of the death 
 seems undoubted. The woman let it out in her anger — Fitz- 
 gerald is not a nice cross-examiner, I expect — and tried to glaze 
 it over afterwards. Perhaps it is as well ; her story may be best 
 unknown." 
 
 " I don't agree with you," said Rose, quickly. " I have been 
 counting on her help, perhaps more than I realized, and now 
 that her chance is gone — " The girl's eyes filled with tears, 
 and her voice failed her for a moment. " It seems as if we 
 could do nothing more to save him." 
 
 " I'm afraid not. You see, once we begin to question out- 
 siders we show our hand. There is no alternative between the 
 silence and defiance which Gwen advocates so strongly and a 
 bold and open inquiry. In my opinion, it is time for the latter. 
 You see my cousin is not quite a fair judge ; she does not 
 know that so far Fitzgerald and I have concealed George 
 Keene's suicide, and that from purely personal motives we — or, 
 at least, I — cannot have this scandal sprung on me by an out- 
 sider, lie would take the risk, he says ; but I, in my position, 
 conceive that it is not my duty to do so. He, however, has 
 suggested that we four shall meet and tallc it over finally before 
 I take any action, so I took the liberty of asking Gwen to 
 come down to-morrow morning. It is Fitzgerald's last day, 
 and something must be done before he goes down. I don't 
 see the use of this meeting myself — we have all, as I said, had
 
 298 
 
 our chance; but it can do no liann, and it may satisfy Gwen — 
 and you," 
 
 "I am satisfied already," she replied, gently. "You could 
 have done no more tlian you have done. I see that now." 
 
 " I am glad," he began, and then stopped short, realizing that 
 he was not glad of the evident finality in her meaning. Was 
 she contented that things should end as they had begun ? Had 
 her passionate interest in him died down with his obedience to 
 her orders? A sorry reward, surely! A most perplexing 
 result. 
 
 " I shall be glad," he corrected himself, almost angrily, 
 " when we have got out of this muddle. Of course, I have 
 heard before of such intrigues. But I never came in personal 
 contact with that sort of thing before. It is maddening. I 
 scarcely seem to know whether we are in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury or the ninth. Ever since we met at Hodinuggar we seem 
 to liave got mixed up with some antique dream ; the whole 
 thing is absurd — scarcely credible." 
 
 As he spoke the dinner-bell rang, and he held the door open 
 for her to pass from the consideration of these things to the 
 well-appointed table, worthy of a house in Belgravia, where the 
 dark-skinned, white -robed servants handed sherry with the 
 soup and vinegar with the salmon quite as naturally as Jeames 
 or John in their plush liveries. But heredity was here also; 
 Jeames's father may have been a day-laborer; but not one of 
 these could not have answered, truthfully, '^ Iluzoor, my father 
 was servant to so and so, or so and so, in the Great Mutiny 
 time, and his father served such and such a sahib in the Sutlej 
 campaign, or in Cabul, or somewhere else" — faithfulness or 
 unfaithfulness to salt being a different question; though that 
 also might be one of heredity. Such thoughts strike one 
 sometimes after years of complacent blindness, and on this 
 evening they increased the sense of unreality which had al- 
 ready taken possession of Lewis Gordon. Nor did a remark 
 of Colonel Tweedie's on his daughter's improved looks during 
 the past few days amend matters. He felt that he might be 
 living in that twenty-ninth century, when humanity may reason-
 
 299 
 
 ably be supposed to Lave educated itself out of some frailties, 
 as, in the necessary glance at the young lady's face required 
 by decorous assent, he met a perfectly unconscious, happy 
 smile ; so full of friendly confidence that a positive gladness 
 glowed at his heart that she should be content with him. 
 Nevertheless, he made one more effort to get back finally to 
 the every-day world by riding over to the club after dinner 
 and listening to the gossip of the day. There was nothing 
 wrong with the world. It was going on as usual. He played 
 a game or two of pool, talked gravely with Major Davenant 
 over some new rules intended to prevent such another ^'asco as 
 the last race-meeting, heard the latest official canards, and lis- 
 tened, more patiently than usual, to some boys who had to go 
 down from leave next day, bemoaning the general beastliness 
 of the country as a residence for an English gentleman. It 
 was only, so the verdict ran, fit for niggers. Yet even this 
 demonstration, that life in the main was commonplace as usual, 
 did not restore Lewis Gordon's general indifference. And the 
 knowledge that this was so made him more than ever deter- 
 inined to carry his point when, next morning, the four met in 
 Rose Tweedie's room to settle the course of events. 
 
 The rain, after a downpour in the night, had ceased ; or 
 perhaps had become too light to make its way through tlie 
 thick, wliite mist which had settled down like cotton - wool 
 upon everything, blotting out the world. There was not a 
 breath of air, not a sound, save occasionally a soft j'J^7, />a^, as 
 the vapor, condensing on the roof, dropped into the hearts of 
 the rain lilies which fringed the veranda with their upturned 
 orange cups. Yet it was neither dark nor dull, as on a cloudy 
 day. The whiteness of the mist was almost luminous, and 
 through the wide-set windows sent a faint glow, like that from 
 newly-fallen snow, on the faces of poor George Keene's friends, 
 and showed still more clearly on the even surface of Azlzan's 
 portrait, as it stood upon the mantel-shelf. Rose stood beside 
 it, looking beyond everything in the room, beyond the row of 
 orange lilies, into the cotton-wool mist which seemed bent on 
 suffocating the house and its inhabitants. There was silence
 
 300 
 
 in the room ; the silence which comes to a discussion when 
 the last objection has palpably fallen through, and a conclusion, 
 absolutely satisfactory to no one, seems inevitable. Gwen, a 
 flush of excitement on her cheek, lay back among the cushions 
 of her easy-chair nervously turning and twisting the rings upon 
 her fingers. Dan Fitzgerald, who was seated close beside her, 
 had evidently been the last to speak, and was now leaning tow- 
 ards her, his eyes fixed with kindly encouragement and sym- 
 pathy on her face. Lewis Gordon, his elbows resting on the 
 table, apart from the others, looked half-regretful, half-resentful ; 
 the look of a man who knows he must take the initiative in a 
 singularly disagreeable duty. 
 
 At last, through the silence came Rose Tweedie's voice, reluc- 
 tant, yet with a sort of challenge in it. "I suppose that is 
 settled, and that we can none of us suggest any other reason 
 •why we should delay longer." 
 
 " I have told you before," broke in Mrs. Boynton, " that I 
 have every reason to believe that no action will be taken by 
 this woman ; that she will never court inquiry." 
 
 " I did not mean that," replied Rose, still with the same note 
 in her voice. " I meant that if none of us have any further 
 knowledge beyond what we have already discussed, Mr. Gor- 
 don's plan for a private, yet open inquiry, with ray father's 
 knowledge, seems the best. I, for one, have none. I know 
 nothing, absolutely nothing, in favor of delay. Nothing that 
 would prevent the possible danger to George Keene's memory." 
 
 Lewis Gordon followed fast on her words in swift, vexed 
 comprehension of her challenge. " I fancy we are all able to 
 say the same. Miss Tweedie. If we agree, I may have to speak 
 of something I should not otherwise mention, but it is no 
 reason for delay. On the contrary, it is a reason why open 
 inquiry will be the safest, even for George Keene's memory. 
 I know nothing better. I wish I did." 
 
 " Nor I," said Dan Fitzgerald, then paused, and, rising from 
 his chair, crossed to the open door, whence he looked out, as 
 Rose had done, beyond the rain lilies to the mist. " I know 
 better than any of you what George was, I know better than
 
 301 
 
 any of you what he did, and if this is settled T, too, will have 
 to tell something to his credit — something that will make in- 
 quiry the better for him. Yet I'd give all I possess to save 
 the necessity for it. But I'm lost" — he stretched his hands 
 out impulsively into the mist — " lost as any one might be out 
 yonder — lost, as the lad's own explanation is lost in the mys- 
 tery of his death. It's hard to say so, George, but I can't 
 help it." 
 
 He spoke as if to somebody out of sight, and Gwen Boyn- 
 ton sat up suddenly, nervously, with a scared look in her eyes. 
 
 " I think you are all wrong," she said, querulously. " The 
 woman must know that proof is against her story ; but you 
 will not believe it, and so I cannot help it, I cannot, indeed." 
 Her voice died away to a sort of sigh, and she sank back 
 again clasping her hands tightly together. Rose let hers fall 
 from its grip on the mantel - piece. Dan's tall figure leaned 
 more loosely against the lintel, and Lewis Gordon mechanically 
 turned the leaves of a book lying beside him on the table. 
 The tension was over, and the relief of decision, even of help- 
 less decision, held them silent in the silence for the moment. 
 They had done their best. They had played their part in the 
 strange play. 
 
 Then suddenly, out of the mist, a quavering, chanting 
 voice : 
 
 "/i! was a woman seeking something, 
 Through day and night — " 
 
 " Listen 1" said Dan, his face ablaze. Rose's hand went up 
 again, suddenly, to the picture, and Lewis started to his feet. 
 Only Gwen looked from one to the other, bewildered. 
 
 " OVr kill and dale seeking for something^ 
 
 The voice grew clearer, as if the singer were toiling up the 
 unseen path below the lilies. 
 
 ^^ Foul play ! Foul play ! look down and decide?^ 
 
 •' The mad potter," cried Dan, with wonder in his tone.
 
 303 
 
 " Azizan ! it is her turn at last," cried Rose, witli a hush in 
 her voice which sent a thrill through Lewis Gordon. But he 
 only said, prosaically : 
 
 " I'll go and see who it is." 
 
 But Dan had forestalled the thought, and, vaulting the rail- 
 ings, had disappeared into the mist. They could hear him 
 hallooing down the path to the unseen singer, as they stood 
 waiting by the lilies. Then came a quick greeting and a low 
 reply ; so, clearer and clearer — though they could see nothing 
 — every syllable of eager questioning, till, as if from behind 
 a veil, a strange couple stepped into sight : Dan, eager, ex- 
 cited, towering above the bent, deprecating figure of the old 
 potter. 
 
 They had heard so much that Rose, without a pause, could 
 step to meet them, and strike at the very root of the matter. 
 " What is it ? What is it that you want of me ?" 
 
 The shifty light eyes settled on her face with a look of re- 
 lief before the old man bent to touch her feet. " Mddr- 
 mihrbdn^'' he said, '"'' Mddr-mihrhan ! that is well." 
 
 He was still breathless from his swifter climb beside Dan's 
 long stride, and as he straightened himself again, his supple 
 fingers, busied already in a knotted corner in the cotton shawl 
 folded round him, trembled visibly. 
 
 " Lo ! I sent it before," he went on, in low excuse, " but 
 it returned, as all things return at Hodinuggar. Then she was 
 vexed and could not rest. " Send it back !" she cried, all night 
 long. Pity of God ! what a fever ; but now she sleeps sound — " 
 lie paused to fumble closer at the knot. 
 
 " You mean Azizan, your daughter ?" suggested Rose, softly, 
 while the others stood silent, listening and looking, the whole 
 world seeming to hold nothing for them save this tall girl with 
 her bright, eager face, and that bent old man trying to undo 
 a knot. 
 
 '"'' Huzoor ! Azizan!" came the quivering voice. "I looked 
 for her so often till the Mddr-mihrhan came. Then I fouud 
 her with the pot clasped to her breast, but the bad dreams 
 would not let her sleep. ' It is not mine ! it is hers !' It
 
 303 
 
 kept her awake always. So when I found her again lying 
 asleep by the river, with it still in her bosom, I said to myself, 
 ' I will not set a writing on it, and put it in a box with a slit 
 as I did last time, trusting it to God knows who in the new 
 fashion. I will take it myself in the old fashion and give it 
 to the Mddr-inilirban s own hands, and pray her to hold it 
 fast so it return not to wake my child ; for she sleeps sound 
 at last in the dust of her fathers.' " 
 
 The knot was undone. The shaking fingers held the Ayodhya 
 pot for a second, the white glare of the mist shining in a broad 
 blaze of light upon the intense glowing blue. The next, it had 
 slipped from the potter's hand, and lay in fragments on the 
 ground. Still fragments of sapphire color; moving fragments 
 of milky white, rolling hither and thither like drops of dew on 
 a leaf seeking a resting-place for their round lustre. 
 
 Pearls 1 The Hodinuggar pearls ! 
 
 And Gwen's voice, with a triumphant ring in it, became ar- 
 ticulate above the old man's cry of distress and the low excla- 
 mation of the others. 
 
 " So Azizan stole them, after all 1" 
 
 Rose turned on her sharply. " Who knows ? This much is 
 certain: she has brought them back, and saved George Keene's 
 memory when we could not." 
 
 " Yes, she has saved hira," assented Dan. " We have that 
 she-devil on the hip now !" 
 
 Lewis Gordon stood silent for a moment ; he had grown 
 very pale. " You are both right, I expect," he said, quietly. 
 " It settles everything — everything." 
 
 Gwen drew a long breath of relief, but Rose seemed lost in 
 thought. " No, not everything," she said, absently, half to 
 herself; "it does not tell us why George shot himself." She 
 scarcely knew she spoke aloud; she had forgotten everything 
 but the dead boy. 
 
 " Shot himself!" The words came back to her in a sort of 
 cry. " Shot himself ! What do you mean ? What does she 
 mean ?" 
 
 Gwen stood as if petrified before those regretful faces; then
 
 304 
 
 as the truth struck at her, beating down her shield of self- 
 deception, she turned, at last, forgetful of all else, to the shel- 
 ter of Dan's kind arms. 
 
 " Oh, Dan ! Dan ! it isn't true — it can't be true ! say it isn't 
 true !" 
 
 He drew her closer to him, looking down into her agonized 
 face with a perfect passion of tenderness and kissed it, for- 
 getful, in his turn, of everything save that she had come to 
 him at last. 
 
 "It is true, my darling; he did it to save me and you. 
 Gwenl Gwen! it wasn't your fault. My God! she has fainted." 
 
 " I'm sorry," began Rose, feeling paralyzed by surprise. 
 
 But Dan's kind smile was ready, even in his distress. " Don't 
 worry. It's best over, for I must have told her. You see, 
 we have been engaged for years, and George knew it. If I 
 carry her to your room. Miss Rose, she will be better there. 
 'Tis the shock, and she was so fond of him — dear heart i" 
 
 Left alone in the veranda while another man, before his very 
 eyes, carried oflE the woman to whom he supposed himself 
 engaged, Lewis Gordon felt that the world had broken loose 
 from its foundations altogether. So that was the explanation ! 
 And then a low murmur of mourning from the potter arrested 
 his attention, which, as is so often the case after a shock, had 
 lost its balance and become vagrant. The old man, still crouched 
 beside the fragments of the Ayodhya pot, was rocking him- 
 self backward and forward and muttering to himself, " She 
 will be angry ; the Mddr-mihrhan will be angry, and then 
 Azizan will not sleep." 
 
 Lewis Gordon walked up to him, and laid his hand, reassur- 
 ingly, on the thin, bent shoulders. " I don't think the Madr- 
 raihrhan will be angry. I'm almost sure she won't." His own 
 words made him smile, until, as he looked at the old man's 
 shifty light eyes raised to his doubtfully, he remembered the 
 young sad face which George had painted. " And Azizan is 
 asleep," he said, gently ; " she will not wake again." As he 
 stooped to gather up the jewels, his eyes were dim with un- 
 wonted tears — why, he scarcely knew.
 
 305 
 
 When Rose came back, ten minutes after, leaving Gwen to 
 Dan's kind consolation, she found Lewis leaning over the rail- 
 ings, looking at the rain lilies through his eye-glass as if it had 
 been a microscope. He turned to her with the air of a man 
 who has made up his mind. 
 
 "You thought I was engaged to my cousin, Miss Tweedie," 
 he said. "So did I. Apparently, I was mistaken. So let us set 
 that aside, once and for all, and think over more important 
 matters. There is no lack of other surprises, thank Heaven." 
 
 The semi-cynicism of his words did not set ill on him, and 
 Rose recognized that he had certainly chosen the most digni- 
 fied way out of the difficulty. At the same time, it left her 
 free to consider the position as an outsider, and all involunta- 
 rily, yet naturally enough, her first thought expressed itself in 
 words. 
 
 " I wonder what father will say ?" 
 
 This was too much both for temper and dignity — fortunately 
 also for humor ; he gave her one indignant look, then relapsed 
 into a smile. "Really, Miss Tweedie, in this comedy of er- 
 rors I am only responsible for my part ; and that, believe me, 
 is rather a sorry one."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Whether Lewis Gordon spoke truth or not regarding the 
 part he had to play, there could be no doubt that Dan found 
 his anything but sorry. A subdued sort of radiance softened 
 yet brightened the man as he came out to ask Rose for the 
 loan of her dandy ^ as Mrs, Boynton was anxious to get home as 
 soon as possible. There seemed no need for words; the situation 
 explained itself. And even Lewis, looking at his rival's face, 
 could not help acknowledging that Dan was more likely to 
 give Gwen the support she really needed than he was. Besides, 
 the sudden change in the future seemed lost sight of in that 
 which the opportune arrival of the Ayodhya pot had on the 
 present and on Chandni's impudent claim. It was, of course, 
 clear evidence against the truth of the story as far as Gwen 
 was concerned ; but whether it would prevent the woman rak- 
 ing up the facts of George Keene's death, out of sheer wanton 
 malice, was another thing. Lewis felt himself rather helpless 
 before the phenomenon of such a nature as hers, and confessed 
 as much when Dan came racing back breathless and excited, 
 after having seen Mrs. Boynton safely home, for a council of 
 war. He brought a quick decision and intuition with him. 
 The sluice had been opened by treachery, of course ; now that 
 he was free to speak of his engagement, Dan told the story of 
 the open locket, which to him seemed proof positive that 
 George had voluntarily taken the blame on himself when 
 thrown off his balance by the discovery that the happiness 
 of the man and the woman he loved best in the world de- 
 pended on Dan's getting his promotion. How the sluice had 
 been opened was another thing; Chandni said by means of a 
 key made after an impression sent from Simla. But this was 
 manifestly impossible, nnless some servant had done it. In- 
 deed, he had never paid much attention to this assertion, for
 
 307 
 
 the woman, in making it, had contradicted herself more than 
 once, and evidently had no definite story as to how the im- 
 pression had been secured. In his own mind he had deter- 
 mined that the key itself had been stolen from the boy while 
 he slept heavily, and that the knowledge that this was so had 
 had its share in bringing about the rash act. So that even if 
 tbe real facts came out, nothing beyond carelessness could be 
 laid to George's charge, now that the potter was there to prove 
 that the girl had had the Ayodhya pot ail the time, and they 
 were there to prove that the pearls had remained in the pot. 
 So much for Cliandni and the only possible cause of further 
 action — a woman's wanton cruelty. For the rest, the old dewan 
 was dead, Khushal seemed to be out of it, and Dalel had 
 everything to lose and nothing to gain by a scandal. These 
 intrigues were as a house of cards : remove one support and 
 the whole structure disappeared. 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Dan, looking across the table with a 
 grim smile, " I'm not going to take you down as a witness to 
 my interview with that she-devil this afternoon. You are too 
 fine for the task, and that's a fact." 
 
 "Can I lend you anything peculiarly barbaric in the way of 
 a knife?" asked Lewis. "I've a Malay crease in my room 
 which fills most people with alarm, though personally I should 
 funic at a woorall dart more than anything." 
 
 " Oh, you may jeer ; but 'tis true. Sure, it's at the bottom 
 of half our mistakes in this country. Even in our kindness we 
 treat these people as we would like to be treated oui'selves; 
 it's poor philanthropy, besides, treating them as they would 
 like to be treated. And when we come to mere justice ! we 
 might as well give a child the right to appeal against his 
 mother when he has disobeyed her. What chance would the 
 child have, to begin with, and then what good would it do ? 
 What good is our complicated system of procedure, save to put 
 power into the hands of the educated few, who naturally clamor 
 for more. But there ! this has nothing to do with Chandni. She 
 wouldn't care a tinker's dam for what you'd say to her, be- 
 cause you would be regulating yourself by codes and sections,
 
 308 
 
 instead of by the way sbe is made. I won't. I don't mind 
 stooping to her level to get my will. So let me go with the 
 old mad potter and his eyes, and see if between us we can't 
 make a settlement. And then, please God, we will have done 
 with the whole bad dream from beginning to end. So if you 
 have three thousand rupees you can spare on a loan, I'll just 
 have them handy in my pocket as a salve to her wounded 
 feelings when I've got my own way." 
 
 What really happened at the bazaar Dan resolutely refused 
 to say. On his return from the bazaar he asked for a whiskey- 
 and-soda and a hot bath to take the taste of it out of his soul 
 and body. Yet he returned triumphantly with a written dec- 
 laration signed by Chandni, stating that she had stolen the 
 key from George while he slept. 
 
 " It isn't true, of course," said Dan, with a rueful look at 
 Lewis, "but, upon my soul, no one could tell if it were true or 
 not. My mind seemed a vast cobweb, with lines going every 
 way into the outside world, but all beginning in that woman. 
 The only way was to smash through it ; and she has done 
 worse things — -that's one comfort. Maybe the pearls should 
 have gone back to Hodinuggar direct; but she will make her 
 bargain there, never fear. And, by God, they deserve — " 
 
 He broke out, then, into curses and the tale of Azizan's birth, 
 which, it seems, had been his strong card — that and the potter's 
 eyes. He had played the one against the other till he wormed 
 the story out of his enemy, while the old man waited below, 
 ready, if Dan failed, to be told the truth, and bring his evil 
 g-lance to bear on the question. That fear had really settled 
 it. She had acknowledged the part Azizan had had in bring- 
 ing her plans to nought, and confessed the wisdom of dancing 
 to a different tune in the future. 
 
 " So we parted on the best of terms. She offered me cinna- 
 mon tea and fritters, and I took some as a sign of peace," 
 finished Dan, with a final shudder. " And now I must be off 
 to tell poor Gwen 'tis all settled forever." He lingered a 
 minute as he rose to say, with a half-shy, half-happy smile, 
 " Were you very much surprised, old man."
 
 309 
 
 "Very," replied Lewis, with dignity. But Dan still lingered. 
 
 " I wonder what on earth the colonel will say," he remarked, 
 after a pause, apprehensively. Then Lewis laughed ; he could 
 not help it. And actually the thought of playing second fiddle 
 to Colonel Tweedie's disappointment in the eyes of the world 
 helped him materially in the interview which he had with his 
 cousin next morning. Even without this, however, he would 
 have found it difficult to be severe, for he found her full of re- 
 morse and self-abasement — rather vague, perhaps, but still real. 
 She would never forgive herself, she said, not so much about her 
 indecision about Dan — she had always loved him, and Lewis 
 was well quit of her selfish regard — no! it was about poor 
 George ! She had sided with Simla in turning the poor boy's 
 head ; she had made too much of him, and had behaved most 
 imwiscly — really, Lewis must let her say what she knew to be 
 true; she had been over- friendly, over -confidential, and had 
 asked him to do too much for her. All this and his foolish 
 fancy about being the keeper of Dan's conscience, of which 
 the latter had told her, had been too much for the dear lad's 
 kind, sensitive heart. Then the terrible home-coming, after all 
 the pleasure and spoiling ! Was not that enough, more than 
 enough, to upset the balance? She was so insistent on this 
 point that Lewis had to confess his assent to it, and finally 
 went away feeling that she had more heart than he had given 
 her credit for in the past, and that he might be in a measure 
 responsible for not having appealed to this better nature while 
 he had the chance. Dan seemed to have done it successfully, 
 for she had evidently given up all thoughts of a mercenary 
 marriage ! Ue understood her, she said, plaintively ; he knew 
 her faults, and yet he loved her ; while Lewis — he must forgive 
 her saying so — had always treated her as if she had no heart, 
 no sentiment; had always committed the unpardonable mistake 
 of making her remember that she did not love him. Of course, 
 she had behaved abominably to everybody — far worse than 
 they would allow, for they were all too good for her; but in 
 the future she would have Dan, who was a tower of strength 
 to her.
 
 310 
 
 In fact, like many another woman of her type — many a man, 
 too — Gwen Boynton had taken refuge from the greater re- 
 morse in the lesser one, if, indeed, there was a greater one ; 
 if, indeed, the real limit of her sin had not been that over-con- 
 fidence to which she had confessed. Not in detail, truly ; still, 
 she had confessed it with tears to Dan, and he had forgiven 
 her en masse — as, no doubt, he would forgive in detail if she 
 had thought it right to tell him what she had told George. 
 But what right had she to put this pain into another man's life, 
 or speak of that vague fear which even Chandni's confession of 
 having stolen the key would not smother utterly ? It would 
 be worse than foolish ! it would be wicked ; and this dreadful 
 doubt was her cross, her punishment, which she thoroughly de- 
 served for doing as she had done. And then, when she had 
 got so far, her remorse was once more clear, open channel, 
 where it could spread itself out and lose its chill under the sun- 
 shine of Dan's kind consolations. 
 
 Thus it really turned out that, after all, the person most 
 upset by this unexpected denouement of affairs was Colonel 
 Tweedie. 
 
 " Engaged for years !" he said, angrily, in reply to his daugh- 
 ter's information. "Well, I am surprised! A most extraordi- 
 nary proceeding, which — er — er complicates the — er — If 
 you had said 'of late,' I might have seen some sense in it, for 
 during the last week or so even Gordon — who is generally to 
 be relied upon — has been absent over his work — er — not to 
 say somewhat negligent. Audj of course, being his cousin — 
 the — er — interest — " 
 
 Rose hastened to confess that the engagement had only, as 
 it were, been a definite one during— here she hesitated a little 
 — the last few days. Which tribute to his perspicacity soothed 
 the colonel's dignity, and encouraged him to further ventures 
 in the seer's path by a suggestion that, no doubt, his daughter's 
 improved appetite and appearance, which he had observed dar- 
 ing the same period, was due to the proverbial interest which 
 women took in the matrimonial affairs of their neighbors; 
 though for his part he must say that the friendly admiration he
 
 311 
 
 had had for Mrs. Boynton had been very considerably im- 
 paired b}' — er — the lack of judgment slie had displayed in en- 
 gaging herself to an assistant engineer; a man whose promo- 
 tion, he believed, could not possibly come before the following 
 July — if then. lie went ofl[ to discuss the departmental lists 
 with portentous gloom, leaving his daughter defenceless before 
 the truth. Certainly, she had been much happier since Lewis 
 had known the truth. What is more, Mrs. Boynton's decision 
 in favor of Dan was a great relief in one way ; in another, how- 
 ever, it was disturbing, confusing ; for, despite her theories, 
 Rose felt that the fact of his freedom to make other ties did 
 make a difference in her relations with Lewis Gordon. It 
 ought not to, of course; she was angry with herself for admit- 
 ting it, but she was totally unable to juggle with realities. No 
 thougiit of marriage, or what she was pleased to call senti- 
 mental rubbish, had marred the self-forgetfulness of that un- 
 [)rcmcditated appeal she had made to her belief in him. No 
 such thought existed now, and that the fear of it should creep 
 in was intolerable, absurd. No! she must feign the virtue of 
 unconsciousness, even if she had it not, and by an increase of 
 friendly confidence, combined with a strict attention to prose, 
 prevent the awkwardness of the position from falling on inno- 
 cent Lewis, and show him clearly that the altered situation had 
 made no change in her, and was not expected to make any 
 change in him. Only by these means could she show him — 
 what was really the truth — that her avowal of interest was not 
 mere sentiment. 
 
 Lewis, for his part, also tackled the position with a boldness 
 which he had denied to himself while he was still engaged to 
 his cousin, still smarting under the curiously mixed sensations 
 which the knowledge of the girl's real feelings had aroused. 
 Then he felt bound to conventional modes of thought ; and, to 
 tell the truth, had been more or less afraid lest, on inquiry, a 
 sentimental love for Rose might pop up somewhere like a 
 Jack-in-the-box. For her confession liad affected him in a per- 
 fectly incomprehensible way ; and the only other explanation 
 of it he had been loath to admit, since it ran counter to all his
 
 312 
 
 pet theories. What feeling could there be between a raan and 
 a woman save the one feeling ? This warmth at his heart 
 when he thought of her praise, this pain at the thought of her 
 blame, could only be the old, old story. And yet he had been 
 in love before, and this was not the same experience. Well, 
 it might be milk -food suited to babies and women. It was 
 not strong meat for men ; withal it was strangely satisfying, 
 strangely final. So that when a return to commonplace diet 
 became possible he found himself in two minds about it. She, 
 however, evidently had but one ; she evidently had given all 
 she intended to give, and the only return he could make 
 was by showing her that he did not misunderstand this, and 
 that he did not think it necessary to salvo over her wounded 
 modesty by making love to her. Wounded modesty ! The 
 very thought seemed an insult. He could not agree with her 
 theories altogether ; but he could at least respect them. 
 
 So for the next month, while Gwen was slowly recovering 
 from her shock, and all Simla was divided into factions over 
 her engagement to penniless Dan Fitzgerald, a very pretty 
 little comedy was being enacted in the big house where Rose, 
 as hostess, treated Lewis Gordon as a friend, and he returned 
 the compliment in kind. There was absolutely no humbug, 
 no effort about it all. They were not in love with each 
 other ; they were not restless, or moody, or excited, but abso- 
 lutely content and happy with things as they were : a state 
 of affairs accentuated by the relief from anxiety, the improving 
 weather, and the charming gayety and verve of the society in 
 which they lived. Thus it happened that Rose Tweedie had 
 her chance of being wooed in the only possible way in which 
 girls of her type can be wooed. One sees dozens of them 
 nowadays in society ; one will see more and more, year by year, 
 as the unnatural disproportion in the number of the sexes 
 tends to intensify the seclusion of the nicest girls from the 
 men. It is not the fault of the latter. In a bevy of several 
 hundred young ladies, the fortunate possessor of the handker- 
 chief throws it at some of those who press forward into indi- 
 viduality, or at some fair face which even a crush cannot hide.
 
 313 
 
 So the choice of a wife falls on either beauty or brass. The 
 latter may be too hard a term, yet the girls Avho are the most 
 likely to make faithful wives, the most devoted mothers, are 
 not those who are readiest to attract or assent. On the con- 
 trary, they do not fall in love easily, and men have no time to 
 give them friendship. Friendship ! They are engaged, nay 
 married, before the mere thought of such a thing crops up. 
 
 So the younger generation of girls is rapidly dividing itself 
 into the girls who dress and the girls who don't dress. In 
 other words, those willing to attract men by one certain, if 
 seamy, side of their natures, and those who are not so willing. 
 ^Yho does not know the opposite extremes of these two fac- 
 tions ? — the girl who forces you instinctively to think of a 
 looking-glass, and the girl who makes you wonder if there be 
 such a thing in her room ; the girl with not a hair out of 
 place, and the girl with a hiatus between her skirt and blouse — 
 between her soul and her body, as the feminine phrase runs. 
 Rose belonged outwardly to neither faction, yet in her heart 
 she strenuously resented the old-fashioned theory that marriage 
 was the larger half of a man's life and the whole of a woman's. 
 Truthfully, though she was three- and -twenty, she had never 
 felt the slightest desire to marry anybody, not even Lewis, and 
 she felt proportionately grateful to him for behaving, at any 
 rate, as if he believed that fact. 
 
 Yet, even so, they sometimes found each other out, as, for 
 instance, one day when he came back from his cousin's, full of 
 unexpected news. Dan Fitzgerald had sent in his resignation 
 to the department, and had accepted the offer of employment 
 in Australia. 
 
 "I'm as glad," said Lewis, heartily, "as if I had had the 
 chance myself; partly because I couldn't make anything of it! 
 Brown — that is the man who has wired for him — was out here 
 contracting one of the big railway bridges. A bloated me- 
 chanic — began life as a rivetter sort of fellow, but with a knack 
 of making money and with a keen eye for business beyond be- 
 lief. I remember his telling me that Dan was too good for us, 
 and that if ever he came across a job in which he needed lielp,
 
 314 
 
 he would try and steal him. This is some huge irrigation 
 scheme — private — down South, If Dan succeeds, and he will 
 if any one can, there will be millions in it." 
 
 "I suppose your cousin is delighted," said Rose. 
 
 " Gwen ? Never saw a woman so relieved in my life. For, 
 mind you, though she is so awfully fond of Dan — fonder than 
 I personally should have thought she could have been of any 
 one — the idea of the poverty was telling on her. You know 
 it is absurd to think of her as an assistant engineer's wife. It 
 is really not an environment in which she was likely to shine, 
 and, when all is said and done on the romantic side, people 
 ought to consider surroundings in making a settlement for life. 
 Besides, I am sure she is relieved to get away from us all and 
 make a fresh start. She feels it more than I could have ex- 
 pected." 
 
 "Mr. Gordon," said Rose, suddenly, "I'm very sorry I judged 
 her so harshly that — that time. I've wanted to say so often ; 
 then it seemed foolish — as if it could have mattered what I 
 said or thought." 
 
 " I don't think it really did matter," he replied, frankly; "rath- 
 er the other way round, I expect. Yet, if you did judge her 
 harshly, it could hardly have been as harshly as she judges her- 
 self now ; so it is far better she should leave all these associa- 
 tions behind. If he and she had had to go inspecting at 
 Ilodinuggar, or even if she had had to meet Dalel Beg and his 
 wife (did I tell you that I saw her at the viceregal squash 
 yesterday — a perfect child, in the most awful get-up ?), why, 
 then, it would revive the old affair. And if by chance — " he 
 paused a moment. "One never knows what may crop up, and 
 Dan is a queer chap in some ways. He works by instinct, as 
 it were, and hitherto it has led him right. If it didn't and he 
 found it out, I don't know what mightn't happen. lie is not 
 what I call a very safe man unless he is successful. So they 
 are both lucky to get out of the uncongenial atmosphere which 
 government service is to him and poverty is to her. They 
 start in smooth water ; and I must buy my wedding-present, 
 for they are to be married next month."
 
 315 
 
 " So soon !" 
 
 " lie lias to leave at once. The wedding is to be at Rajporo, 
 after we all go down. No bridesmaids; and I'm best man. If 
 you want to know the wedding-dress, ask Gwen. She is sure 
 to have it settled long ago. Women always do." 
 
 " I haven't," protested Rose, hastily. " I shall be married in 
 my every-day things." She tried hard to be grave while Lewis 
 roared with laughter, but in the end she joined in the joke 
 against herself. For they never quarrelled now. "What was 
 there to quarrel about? 
 
 It was on another of those pleasant, peaceful days that he 
 came to lunch with the news that Dalel Beg was even now de- 
 taining her father by abject apologies for past old-style misde- 
 meanors at llodinuggar, and profuse promises that in the 
 future it would be the abode of all civilized virtues. Khu- 
 shal Beg, it appeared, had died of apoplexy, brought on, no 
 doubt, by the unrestrained orgies with which the fat man had 
 celebrated his accession, and, in consequence, Dalel was king. 
 
 "I don't quite understand it all," he said, thoughtfully. 
 " He is a fool, yet he is playing his cards well. Do you know 
 that I shouldn't be at all surprised to hear that Chandni was 
 back again as chief adviser. She is a very clever woman. It 
 seems that there is a scheme on foot for establishing stud- 
 farms, or grazing-paddocks, for government remounts. It is 
 supposed to be cheaper and better in the end to buy them as 
 yearlings and let them run loose, instead of being tethered, 
 heels, heads, and tails, native fashion. And as the water sup- 
 ply is to be constant at llodinuggar now, Dalel proposes that 
 government should utilize some of his waste -land there, and 
 put him in charge, or partly in charge. Of course, it will bring 
 hira in a steady income if he gets his finger in the pie." 
 
 " He ought to get nothing," interrupted Rose, hastily. " I 
 believe he was at the bottom of all that intrigue. We shall 
 never know what went on exactly, but there was intrigue, and 
 that sort of thing should be punished." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. But, as I said before, Dalel is a fool — except 
 about a horse. It was the old man and Chandni ; they belong
 
 316 
 
 to that age. This raan tries to break the Ten Commandments 
 in two languages, and spoils the idiom of both. But he does 
 know the points of a horse, and as government must keep up 
 these old families and try to civilize them, it is as well to get 
 some work out of them." 
 
 " Hodinuggar civilized ! I can't imagine it," echoed Rose. 
 "When I think of that old potter and that mirrored room on 
 the roof, of Azizan and the Ayodhya pot, it seems like some 
 old dream of life into which we nineteenth-century folk strayed 
 by mistake." 
 
 " With disastrous results," put in Lewis, thoughtfully. " Well, 
 with half the dramatis personce of the play dead and the other 
 half married, it should have come to an end like a decently- 
 behaved drama. Not a very moral play, I'm afraid, Miss Tweedie, 
 and virtue must be its own reward." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she asked. 
 
 " You and I have been left out of the prizes altogether ; but 
 then, as the potter said, we didn't belong to his world." 
 
 " I wish you had not reminded me of that scene," she inter- 
 rupted, hastily. " I cannot help thinking of how Mr. Fitz- 
 gerald sat smiling at me while the old man measured him — 
 just as George did when he measured himself, and he is dead." 
 
 " What a woman you are, when all is said and done !" he 
 replied, smiling at hei". " Still, I do think that poetic justice 
 has not been meted out fairly all round. Gwen, for instance, 
 has everything she wants, and I am out in the cold.'' 
 
 " Do you feel out in the cold ?" asked Rose, quite aggres- 
 sively. He hastened to assure lier that, on the contrary, he was 
 quite warm and comfortable ; but, in spite of this, the conversa- 
 tion languished till Colonel Tweedie came in full of his inten- 
 tion of recommending Dalel's plan strongly to the authorities. 
 
 To say, however, that it was Dalel Beg's plan was, as Lewis 
 Gordon had expected, to credit that gentleman with too much 
 sense. It was Chandni's. When Dan Fitzgerald had left her, 
 after partaking in a friendly fashion of cinnamon tea, she had put 
 the pearls away in a safe place, and had looked after Dan as he 
 rode away without the least malice, saying that there was a
 
 317 
 
 man indeed — one of tlie old sort, like tlie dewan ; and if lie had 
 had her in the olden days, say, at Hodinuijgar, there wonld just 
 have been one order and then silence. Slie nodded her head 
 and smiled over the thought. But now she had three thousand 
 rupees and the pearls. She could not sell these, of course — 
 could not, at present, let anybody know she had them ; they 
 were too well known, these Hodinuggar pearls, for Chandni to 
 traffic in them without fear of being accused of theft. By-and- 
 by, perhaps, she must trade them oS on Dalcl ; but nothing of 
 that sort was safe as long as Kliushal was alive. So long, too, 
 as the palace-folk thought that the mem had them, they would 
 not dare to move in the matter, now there was all this talk of 
 a permanent water supply. For Chandni, in the wooden-bal- 
 conied house at Simla, heard all the latest talk, and had quite a 
 bevy of respectable native gentlemen, who drank sherbets at 
 her expense. She heard also from a friend at court of this 
 taking up of waste-land; and as she listened to all the stir of 
 intrigue after this thing and that thing, she felt a pang of regret 
 for that vanished dream of some day being a motive-power in 
 Hodinuggar. This court life was as tlie breath of her nostrils, 
 and if she had been in the place of that half-caste girl down in 
 the house with the dahlias, she would not have been half- 
 starved and beaten ; for, if bazaar rumor said sooth, Dalel Beg 
 had carried his Occidental estimate of the marriage-tie to this 
 almost incredible length. 
 
 Then one day, after a rich Hindoo contractor roused her 
 wrath by claiming her more or less as his especial property by 
 reason of the money he had chosen to lavish on her, came the 
 news of Khushal Beg's death in the odor of court sanctity. 
 She could imagine it all, down in the ruined palace out in the 
 desert : the old ways, the old etiquette ; poverty - stricken, 
 maybe, yet still courtly. And why, in these pushing days, 
 when fat pigs like that Hindoo made money, should they re- 
 main poverty-stricken ? Even so, it was better to be Chandni 
 of Hodinuggar than Chandni of a bazaar, especially as one 
 grew older. That same afternoon a patchwork-covered dhooli 
 went jolting down to the house with the dahlias — a miserable
 
 318 
 
 spot now, deserted, forlorn. A miserable room also, whence 
 the indignant Parsees had reft the French clocks and the bric- 
 a-brac. A most miserable pair of women, too, rednced to cook- 
 ing tlieir own food at tlie drawing-room fire, lest their over- 
 looking neighbors might see them in the degradation of the 
 cook-room, the deepest degradation of all in Eurasian eyes 
 being to be servantless. 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" said Cbandni to Mrs. D'Eremao's shrill 
 abuse, as the former walked in upon them unceremoniously, and, 
 squatting down, went on calmly chewing betel. "You have 
 nothing to do with the business ; but if she is wise, she will 
 listen." Beatrice Norma Elfrida looked at her shrewdly and 
 said, " Be quiet, mamma ; there is no harm in hearing what she 
 has to say." 
 
 Not much, but to the point. No doubt they had appealed 
 to English justice, and they could force the dewan, now that 
 he was dewan, to support his wife. But how ? At Hodinug- 
 gar, under lock and key ? It would not be nice, and Cliandni 
 had tales to tell which made Mrs. D'Eremao's hair stand on 
 her head, even while she protested she was a freeborn British 
 subject. Doubtless ; but then they must give up all hopes of the 
 position for which the girl had married such an atrocity. Here 
 Beatrice Norma Elfrida dissolved into tears. That was not the 
 way to treat a Maliomedan gentleman, an offshoot of the Great 
 Moguls; but for a consideration she was quite willing to use 
 her influence with Dalel to set things straight. She did not 
 want him, and had flouted his proposals of peace a dozen times ; 
 but she was quite ready, for a consideration, to make herself 
 useful. Briefly, that consideration was a free hand if she could 
 get it, no cabals against her position, and an assignment in case 
 of Dalel's death of a good slice of that State pension which in 
 such case would be given to the wife. If there were children, 
 so much the better, since the pension would be larger. The 
 offer was a fair one ; besides, to refuse it would not amend the 
 position, since Dalel would no doubt bribe Cliandni back in 
 some way or other. 
 
 A week after this, the name of Iler Highness Beatrice Norma
 
 319 
 
 Elfrida, of Ilodinuwar, appeared on the list of donors to a cer- 
 tain charitable fund, opposite to no less a sum than one thou- 
 sand rupees, and she herself appeared at the next vicercijal squash 
 in full native costume. Iler hair was quite straioht and many 
 shades darker in color, and she sat and talked affably to a stout 
 English matron about her husband's great desire to assimihxle 
 the lives of Indian women more closely to those of their Euro- 
 pean sisters. So that on her return home the stout English 
 matron mentioned to her stout English husband, who happened 
 to be a commissioner, that the Ilodinuggar creature seemed to 
 have ideas, and should be encouraged. 
 
 And that evening Dalel said to Chandni, ere he left the little 
 balconied room where so many grave and reverend gossip-mon- 
 gers sat drinking sherbet, " Thou wilt return to Hodinuggar, as 
 thou hast promised ?" 
 
 " I will return ; but not as before. I am free to come and 
 go. And see that thou pay me back that thousand rupees out 
 of the first batch of horses. Else Chandni goes, never to come 
 asrain."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 It was a hot October. The rains, coming early, had stopped 
 early, giving Lewis Gordon and Rose that charming, sunshiny 
 month in the hills of which mention has been made — a whole 
 month of almost idyllic happiness and content. And now, after 
 the usual hiatus of a visit or two for Rose en route, and a hasty 
 tour for her father round some outlying canals, they had settled 
 down again for the cold-weather life at Rajpore. Perhaps it 
 was only the rather unusual heat which made it seem less pleas- 
 ing to at least two of the party than it was generally. More 
 so, however, to Lewis Gordon than to the girl, for she had the 
 occupation and distraction of preparing for Gwen's approaching 
 marriage. Naturally, it was to be a great function, for if her 
 admirers were legion, Dan's friends were many ; besides, as ev- 
 erybody admitted, the bride and bridegroom alone would be 
 •worth going to see — worth remembering as a pattern pair of 
 lovers. So the Tweedies were lending their house for the 
 breakfast, which was to be a real breakfast, since the marriage 
 "was to take place so as to allow of a start by the cool morning 
 mail, the regiment was lending its band for the wedding- 
 march, and on this tepid October afternoon every garden in 
 the place was sending white oleanders and tuberoses to the odd 
 octagon church which had once been a Mahomedan tomb. Nay, 
 more : one devoted though disappointed lover far down by 
 some distant canal had sent, by special messenger, a great bas- 
 ket of belated white lotus lilies, with a request that they might 
 be trodden on by the bride's happy feet. 
 
 Gwen, as she bent over this offering, sniffing at the faint 
 almond scent of the huge jewelled flowers, was a gracious sight 
 to look upon, for she had quite recovered herself, and, in sober 
 truth, felt absolutely content. " How nice of the dear thing," 
 she murmured, sweetly. And so it was — very nice. One might
 
 331 
 
 give it another epithet and say it was ahnost heroic ; but of this 
 Gwen Boynton had no conception, and never would have one. 
 That side of human nature, its passion, its tears, its tempta- 
 tions, and its triumphs had been left ont of her composition. 
 She roused it, she played with it prettily in others, she even 
 spoke warily and discreetly about it ; yet Rose Tvveedie, despite 
 her girlish disdain, had more real sympathy with it than she. 
 
 Dan, meanwhile, in Lewis Gordon's office, disregardful of the 
 lack of chairs, was kicking his heels as he sat on the table, de- 
 claring loudly that he would of a certainty break down in re- 
 plying to the toast which was to be given at the club dinner in 
 his honor that night. What the dickens did the fellows mean 
 by giving him a dinner? What had he ever done for any of 
 them ? What had he ever been but a reckless, insubordinate, 
 unsteady, loafing brute, who ought to have been kicked out of 
 the service years ago ? 
 
 " I expect they know their own minds," said Lewis, rather 
 wearily. lie had a headache ; men have them as well as wom- 
 en, and he was telling himself it was liver, when he knew quite 
 well it was not; a most unsatisfactory phase of depression, in- 
 deed, when even a blue-pill fails to hold out cheering hopes of 
 recovery. Yet he spoke kindly, and patiently also, for he 
 must have been of base clay indeed who would not have recog- 
 nized that this man, transfigured on the summit of his hopes, 
 was a worthy sight in a workaday world ; that it was well to 
 be there also. " Besides, I think I overheard Simpson saying 
 something about a sick baby — " 
 
 " Oh, bad cess to the baby !" interrupted Dan, hastily. 
 " Sure, it's a boy now, and one can't see a child die for the 
 want of ice when your pony has four legs ; more by token, it 
 had but three for a month after, poor beast. But what's that 
 to do with it ? The fact is, it isn't so much that I'm too bad ; 
 it's the world that's too good, and that's the truth. When I 
 think of all you fellows that have been so good and patient 
 with me, my heart's broke about it entirely ; and when I think 
 of George, it's only Gwen's kind face — Oh, Gordon ! what have 
 I done that she should be going to marry me to-morrow ?" 
 
 21
 
 322 
 
 So he ran on, as many another man has run on — as most 
 men, good and true, do run on when they are just about to 
 marry the woman they love. And Lewis Gordon sat listening 
 to liim with a headache and a pain in his heart; for the most 
 part thinking that if Rose could only see this man, only hear 
 him, she might not be quite so disdainful of it all ; might ac- 
 knowledge that be it bad or good in its essence, it did step into 
 a man's life for the first time and claim him body and soul, to 
 the detriment of neither. 
 
 " And by-the-bye," said Dan, suddenly, " I've* been mean- 
 ing to ask you for a long time, but I wasn't sure if you'd like 
 it. And now I'm going away for good and all, and you can't 
 get out of being my best man, so I'll ask it : When are you go- 
 ing to marry Miss Tweedie ?" 
 
 "Never!" replied Lewis, firmly, roused into instant resist- 
 ance. " What put such a fancy into your head now ?" 
 
 " Now ?" Dan's face was a study in tender humor. " It's 
 been in my head for the last year, and in yours too. I told 
 Gvven so, I remember, before we went to Hodinuggar that time, 
 and I could see by her manner she thought so also." 
 
 Lewis looked at him with an odd expression. " Then you 
 were both mistaken, that's all. And, Fitzgerald, if you've quite 
 done talking about yourself — I've a lot of work to finish, old 
 chap—" 
 
 Dan laughed. "Well, I'll go. But it's true, Gordon, and 
 she likes you — any one can see that." 
 
 True, absolutely true I Lewis acknowledged so much when 
 he was left alone. The remembrance of it filled him now, as 
 ever, with a glow of kindly emotion ; and yet he was forced to 
 acknowledge that he was not happy. The idyllic month had 
 been charming, but the fortnight of absence had been less 
 pleasing. What he felt now was something very different 
 from the calm, contented confidence in their mutual friendship, 
 though that remained as a thing apart ; so that he could set the 
 other aside, and think, with the old glow at his heart, of Rose. 
 He bad felt the other before, for other women — that restless, 
 moody, selfish desire of appropriation. He could call it all
 
 323 
 
 these hard names, 3'ct there it was, a palpable factor in his life, 
 and he feit himself none the worse for it. And it was extreme- 
 ly natnral ; he had been thrown in the constant company of an 
 extremely nice and rather nice-lookinq; girl, and he had fallen 
 in love with her. That was the plain truth. He gave a queer 
 little grimace, and began to add up a column of figures. He 
 would get over it, doubtless, as he had got over similar attacks 
 in th3 past; at any rate, lie was not going to let Rose know 
 that, after all, he had failed to understand the absolute uncon- 
 sciousness of her regard for him. Apart, even, from his pride, 
 or from this thought of her wishes, his own seemed vaguely' to 
 resent this blending of his feeling for her with something which 
 he had felt before for others. It seemed almost as if it would 
 have been easier to go and tell her what bad happened, if he 
 could have kept it quite apart from their friendship ; and he 
 told himself, with a smile, that it would have been much sim- 
 pler to send the barber round with proposals to her father ; 
 after all, there was an immense deal to be said for that side of 
 the question. And then, in his careful, methodical manner, he 
 began to add up the columns again. This time the total was 
 different. He did it once more, and a fresh set of figures re- 
 warded his industry. Then he threw the pen aside and faced 
 himself resolutely. He had been doing atrocious work lately, 
 and that was a fact ! He had been thinking of Rose all day 
 long — morning, noon, and night; and if this sort of thing was 
 to go on, the sooner he took advantage of the many changes 
 in the department consequent on Dan's going, and the usual 
 cold - weather returns from furlough, in order to give up his 
 present position, the better. There was nothing like breaking 
 loose at once, and he was due some promotion. But if he had 
 to do this. Rose ought to know. Why should she live in a 
 fool's paradise? Why should she not face the facts of life as 
 well as he? If she had been like other women, he would have 
 made love to her and proposed, as a matter of course; but she 
 was not like other women to him ; or rather, all that he did 
 know was that never by word or look or sign liad she shown 
 her knowledge even of the most elementary facts in life. How
 
 324 
 
 could you go to a girl like that and ask her to marry you straight 
 off, especially when she had, as it were, insisted that romantic 
 love had nothing to do with marriage? What could you do, 
 save gloze over the question by phrases, by mixing it up with 
 other things, and especially with that perfect, angelic, absolute- 
 ly unselfish affection and regard which she had given him, and 
 which he, apart from all this, felt for her? Still, it had to be 
 done if he had to go away. Then, in common fairness to her 
 and to himself, he must tell her that he was a fool, and that 
 life was quite unendurable without her, since there was no other 
 earthly reason why he should run away. And if all this had to 
 be, there was no time like the present. 
 
 So, ten minutes after, he walked into the room where Rose 
 sat making wedding-favors as for dear life, surrounded by a 
 perfect chevaux-de-frise of white satin ribbons, bows, and flow- 
 ers. The windows were set wide open on to the veranda, where 
 great baskets of white flowers lay awaiting lier final visit to the 
 church. On the table lay the lotus -lily offering, with a note 
 from Gvven to say they were too good to be trodden on, and 
 would dear Rose see they were put on the altar, where they 
 would look quite sweet. Wedding preparations everywhere; 
 and Rose herself, in her white dress, her brisk hands flying 
 about scissors, needle, and thimble, partook of the same un- 
 sympathizing connection with his purpose, making him say dis- 
 contentedly, as he paused beside her to lean against the table, 
 *' I thought you didn't approve of wedding-favors." It was an 
 opening of the siege at the very furthermost outworks of the 
 position, which she frustrated by a laugh. 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter; other people seem to like them, and 
 I've made you a beauty. There it is beside you on the table — 
 you're almost sitting on it. Smell it — it's real orange blossom." 
 
 There was not a vacant chair, apparently, in the room. They 
 were all occupied with white wreaths and true -lovers' knots; 
 with a cross here and there, he was glad to see, as, still leaning 
 against the table, he smelled perfunctorily at his own favor, and 
 thought rather angrily of the utter inconsequence of the femi- 
 nine mind. "I wish you would put that work down for a min-
 
 325 
 
 ute, Rose," he said, suddenly. " I have something I want to 
 say to yon, and it disturbs me." 
 
 Her liands paused, arrested among the wliite ribbons ; licr 
 mind on the one word "Rose." He had never called her that 
 before. So she sat looking at him expectantly, the light from 
 the windows behind her edging the great coils of her hair with 
 bronze. 
 
 " I have come to tell you that I'm a fool," he began, slowlv, 
 almost argumentatively. "At least I suppose it's foolish. I 
 am quite ready to admit, if you like, that it is foolish ; but the 
 fact remains. I can't go on as we are — as we have been, I 
 should say — any longer. You mustn't think it is because I 
 don't understand your theory. I do; at least I think I do. 
 You are a real friend, and will be that alwavs, I hope; I don't 
 say the best friend I ever had, or ever shall have, because that 
 has nothing to do with the matter, and besides, there aren't any 
 degrees in friendship; you have taught me that, at any rate. 
 So I think you may admit I understand you in a measure — 
 the question is if you'll understand me." He paused, and 
 Rose's kind, shadowless eyes noted with a sudden shrinking 
 back from the sight that his usual calm was broken by a palpa- 
 ble effort to steady his voice to prepare himself for what had 
 to come ! He felt, indeed, that he had not the least clew to 
 the girl's mind, that he was absolutely taking a leap in the 
 dark, and that what he had to say was in reality so foreign to 
 every single word they had ever said to each other in the past 
 that, even if she consented to marry him, he could not be sure 
 if she meant it — if she would really understand what she was 
 promising. 
 
 " Rose," he went on, " the fact is that I've fallen in love with 
 — with you ; and if you don't really want to marry me, I'd 
 better go away. I would take an out-dislrict for a time. I've 
 had enough, perhaps too much, secretary work " — he seemed 
 to take refuge in details from the main point, but she held him 
 to it firmly, almost reproachfully. 
 
 " Why — why should you go away ? she asked. " We were 
 very happy, weren't we?" Her eyes had sought her hands
 
 326 
 
 among tlie white satin bows, but something in his tone brought 
 tlicm back to his face anxiously. Her theories were one thing, 
 his happiness another; there could be no choice between them. 
 
 " Wliy?" he broke out, passionately, and as he went on his 
 words, his voice, his manner, trembled in the fine balance be- 
 tween the humor of his explanation and its gravity — "ah! 
 Rose, that's it — because I'm a fool, say you ; because I'm a 
 man, say I ; because I love you. Rose ; because I think of you 
 wlien I ought to be thinking of other things; because I'm an 
 idiot and have gone all to pieces; because it's torture to think 
 you may go away and marry some one else ; because I haven't 
 even been able to add up a column of figures properly for won- 
 dering what you would sa}' — what you will say now — now when 
 I ask you to marry me." He had held out his hands towards 
 her, in tlie growing passion of his appeal, as if deprecating her 
 impatience, and, as he paused, hers came out to meet them 
 and held them fast. 
 
 "Oh, Lewis!" she cried, impulsively, "what a wretch I've 
 been. Why didn't you ask me before ?" 
 
 "' Why — didn't — you — ask me before?'" he repeated, slowly, 
 as if he could not believe his ears. The favors from her lap 
 had fallen all round their feet, and those on the table were 
 squashed remorselessly as he seated himself upon its edge with 
 the air of a man who requires some physical support, and still 
 holding her by the hands, drew her down beside him, looking 
 at her in fond amazement. "I shall never understand you, 
 dear, thank God!" he said, at last; then went on in a louder 
 voice : " It is a little confusing, Rose, you must admit. All 
 this time, ever since you told me that you — " 
 
 Her color came up then, fast and hot, and she interrupted 
 his reminiscence sharply. " Oh ! but that was a totally differ- 
 ent thing altogether — " 
 
 "Totally different? Yes, I suppose so," he echoed, meekly; 
 and then he paused again, his eyes on hers. " I suppose you 
 would rather I didn't kiss you," he began, tentatively, when 
 she again interrupted him — this time in a great hurry. 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind! it doesn't really matter — if you — you
 
 327 
 
 like. Only don't talk nonsense, Lewis; please don't. I do 
 hate it so; it raakcvS nie feel inclined to put my bead in a 
 hag." 
 
 " Then I won't ; I can't afford to lose sight of your dear 
 face just now." 
 
 " Lewis !" 
 
 " But if I am not to say that sort of thing, what are we to 
 talk about?" he asked, but half in jest. "The weather? the 
 news? Not very interesting topics, either of them, to a man 
 when the girl he loves has just promised to marry him — for 
 you have promised, haven't you. Rose?" 
 
 She took no notice of his question. "Talk about?" she 
 echoed, her kind eyes growing a little absent. "Surely there 
 are heaps of things to talk about besides you and me. There 
 is the house we are going to have, Lewis ; such a nice house ! 
 The prettiest drawing-room you ever saw. I will have it so ; 
 and a study for you all to yourself, sir, where you can go when 
 you're tired of me. And then the dinners, Lewis! That's one 
 blessing of my having kept house for father; I know all about 
 it. There won't be any cold mutton, Lewis ; but the nicest 
 little dinners — " She paused to nod her head. 
 
 " Go on," said Lewis, falling in with her mood half-jesting- 
 ly, "this is most interesting — most interesting and reassuring." 
 
 "Then the garden. I'll make you such a garden, Lewis! 
 though I don't believe you know the difEerence between a car- 
 nation and a chrysantheaium. Never mind, you shall tie them 
 up for me — I hate tying up flowers. And I'll copy your re- 
 ports for you and keep the house quiet ; and then — and then 
 everybody will be so hungry, Lewis, and there will be so many 
 bills to pay ; but it won't matter, either, for every one will be 
 happy, and the children will brag about their home, you'll see, 
 to all the other girls and boys — " 
 
 " Go on, dear — go on." There was a little tremble in his 
 voice now, and as she sat among the wedding-favors his right 
 arm drew her closer to him, but she seemed not to notice it ; a 
 half-smile was on her lips, a certain sadness had come to her 
 eyes.
 
 328 
 
 "I don't know, then, dear; perhaps there will be trouble— 
 who knows? and children die sometimes; but afterwards" — 
 her voice took a more cheerful tone — " why then, dear, I'll 
 grow stout — yes, I'm afraid I will — I'm the sort of girl, you 
 know, who is apt to get stout — and you are sure to grow 
 bald. Then I'll be cross, and you'll be cross ; only it won't so 
 much matter, for we will both be cross together; and no won- 
 der, with the boys wanting cricket-bats, and the girls clamoring 
 for music-lessons! So there will be more bills than ever. 
 Then you and I will begin to get old, Lewis, and the girls will 
 want me to sit up till three in the morning at balls, and I shall 
 be so sleepy ; but you shall stop at home and smoke, dear. 
 And then the boys will get into scrapes — boys always do, 
 don't they, Lewis? — they're not like girls, you know. And 
 when they come to me to get them out of the troubles I 
 shall say, ' No, dears, go to your father — for — for he is — the 
 best man I ever — " Her voice ended in a little sob ; he could 
 feel it, hear it as if it were his own, for her face was hidden 
 on his breast. 
 
 "Rose! Rose! ray darling, ray dear!" It was almost a cry. 
 He would have liked to kneel before this love as he had done 
 before the other, but with her there he could only hold her 
 fast, and pray Heaven that in those long years to come it 
 might be even as she had said, and that in word, thought, or 
 deed he might never sully her pure wisdom. 
 
 So they sat silent — for, to tell truth, other words seemed to 
 him sacrilege, and she had said her say — until, with a half- 
 apologetic smile, she drew herself away decisively. 
 
 *' I'm sure you are sitting on your favor, Lewis, and I've 
 such a lot more to make, and I promised to go down to the 
 church at half-past five. It must be that now, and I've wasted 
 all this time." 
 
 " I've been here seven minutes and a half," he replied, 
 gloomily, taking out his watch, "for I looked just before I 
 came in." 
 
 She laughed. " Well, that was very methodical of you, and 
 I think, on the wliole, dear, that you managed very nicely.
 
 329 
 
 And now, as I hear tlic carriage comino; round, you might just 
 help me to put in tlie flowers. Aren't the lotuses lovely ?" 
 
 There was no help for it. She was hopelessly back in real- 
 ities, and Lewis had to accept the position. After all, he ac- 
 knowledged, as he watched her drive off, like a bride herself in 
 the midst of her white flowers, she had managed to compress a 
 great deal into those seven and a half minutes — a whole 
 dream of life, which must, which should come true. It would 
 be more diSicult for him than for her, of course ; perhaps that 
 was one reason why he was still thinking over it long after 
 she had forgotten everything else in the fervor of a free fight 
 with the parson, who objected, on principle, to lotus blossoms 
 in the chancel. They were a heathen flower, sacred to unmen- 
 tionable beliefs and rites, and could not be admitted beyond 
 the body of the church. It was but an offshoot of an old 
 quarrel between these two, which renewed itself every Christ- 
 mas and Easter; but Rose, who by instinct understood the 
 story which these particular flowers had to tell, opened up the 
 whole question of symbolism hotly, finally marching off with 
 her lilies in a huff to the lectern, whence, she told herself, their 
 message of love and sacrifice might fittingly go forth. And 
 while she worked away under the echoing dome of the old 
 tomb, the band in the bit of public garden close by was clash- 
 ing and dashing away at "Rule Britannia" and " Ta-ra-ra, 
 boom-de-ay," much to the delight of ayahs leading sallow, 
 dark-eyed children by the hand, and a motley crowd of ser- 
 vants and shopkeepers from the neighboring bazaar. 
 
 Sometimes, drawn by an anatomy of a horse, a green box on 
 wheels, with four or five specimens of Tommy Atkins and a 
 black bottle inside, would come rattling past, and leave a 
 shower of jokes and greetings behind it for those other green 
 boxes on wheels driven up beside the road, while the gayly- 
 dressed occupants chewed betel, or strolled about with clanking 
 feet among the long shadows thrown by the flowering shrubs. 
 Light and laughter and noise ; a whole eternity of time and 
 space between this life and the girl under the dome, decorat- 
 inof the Bible with lotus blossoms.
 
 330 
 
 " There's going to be a big shadi (wedding) in the girja 
 gliur (cliurch) to-uiorrow morning," said a woman in tiglit 
 luauve silk trousers, as she chambered back into the green box, 
 where a figure in white lay listening lazily. " They are doing 
 all sorts oi pooja there to-day. It is that big long sahib in the 
 canals and Boynton sahiVs widow. Ai, the sorry tale ! mak- 
 ing a fuss of shadi about a woman who has had the misfortune 
 to kill one man." 
 
 Chandni sat np suddenly. " Tobah / a sorry tale, for sure. 
 So she is to marry liim ! Lo ! there is a man, indeed; but I 
 wonder what he would say if he knew what I know now ?" 
 
 "Dost know aught? Dost know him?" began the other, 
 enviously. 
 
 " I have seen him. He was down at LTodinuggar a week 
 ago, putting up a white marble stone to the 3'oung sahib who 
 died there of the sickness last rains. They were friends, see 
 you — great friends. Lo ! tell thy driver to go on, Lain ; this 
 wearies me — the folk have no manners." 
 
 They had not far to go — only to the Badami bazaar, with its 
 current of life below and its latticed balconies above. The full 
 moon rose through the golden dust-haze, to hang like a balloon 
 above the feathery crowns of the palm-trees, the clatter of 
 horses' hoofs bearing their owners home to dinner died from 
 the Mall hard by, and Rose stood at the door of the tomb, look- 
 ing back into the shadowy dome, where the huge lilies showed 
 like the ghosts of flowers. It would look very nice, she 
 thought, in the cool light of early morning; she would have it 
 just the same when she and Lewis were married. 
 
 But Chandni, as she paused to think of the future, thought 
 of the past also. " He fought me fairly," she said to herself, 
 " and for his beauty's sake I could bear more than he gave. 
 This is our way. But she ? Lo ! she is even as I, and he 
 shall know it. I will put that in the platter as the wedding- 
 tribute, and it will help him to pay her for me. 'Tis almost as 
 well I liad not learned the tale from Dalel in those days. It 
 comes better now." 
 
 So as tlie night fell she wrapped herself in the white dom-
 
 331 
 
 ino of respectability, sent for another green box on wheels, and 
 drove in the direction of the house where Dan was living. 
 That was not difficult to discover — just a word to the general 
 merchant who sold everything heart could desire in tlie shop 
 below the balcony. And the night was warm ; she would as 
 lief sit in the moonshine, behind the hedge of white oleanders, 
 and talk to the gardeners as stay in the stuffy bazaar, with its 
 evening smells of fried meats and pungent smoke.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 "I WAS never so happy or so sorry in all my life before, and 
 I tliank Heaven that I'm enough of an Irishman still to say so 
 without being laughed at." 
 
 He stood at one end of the table looking his best, as a gentle- 
 man always does in his evening dress — a curious fact, since 
 there is no more cruel test for the least lack of good-breeding. 
 But this man stood it triumphantly, and not one of those other 
 men seated that night round the long table but carries to his 
 grave a remembrance of Dan Fitzgerald's look when he was 
 bidding good-bye to his friends. The eager vitality of the 
 man — always his strongest characteristic — seemed to have 
 reached its climax. 
 
 " I'm not going to say anything of her," he went on, the 
 rich, round voice softening ; " there isn't any need, since you all 
 know her. Besides, though you have all come here to-night — 
 why, I can't for the life of me tell — to wish ns good-luck in the 
 future, it isn't so much of the future I'm thinking as of the 
 past. It has been so happy, thanks to you all ; and it's over, 
 that is the worst of it. I suppose it isn't quite what a man is 
 expected to say on these occasions, but the ladies — God bless 
 them — would, I'm sure, agree, if they could only be made to 
 understand, that marriage is the end of a man's youth. It 
 doesn't alter the case at all that it may be the end of the wom- 
 an's also, or that we get something that may be as good in ex- 
 change. What has that to do with the past — the merry, care- 
 less past which I've enjoyed so much, and to which I'm now 
 saying good-bye. Well, Heaven help those who say good-bye 
 to it without a solid reason, or have a sneaking intention of not 
 really saying good-bye to it at all ; for their lives are in evil 
 places. And that sounds like a sermon ; and you never heard 
 Dan Fitzgerald preach before, and you never will again. It
 
 333 
 
 isn't only that I'm off with the morning to tlie other end of the 
 world — to a new world, if it comes to that, worth this old one, 
 and the past, 'and all of you put together — if you'll excuse my 
 saying so. It is because, even if I were stopping here, I should 
 be out of the old life as surely as if I were dead and buried. 
 To begin with, I shall have to think of every penny I spend, so 
 that I may have enough to pay for Paradise ! The world is full 
 of paradoxes for me to-night, and I'm the greatest of them all 
 myself; for I don't want to say good-bye, and yet I wouldn't 
 miss having to say it for the world. Then it seems to me to- 
 night as if I'd solved the great puzzle ; and there's Doveton, 
 the old bachelor, grinning as if he knew I was a fool, and that 
 I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I don't think so 
 — I don't think t shall ever think so ; I hope not, anyhow. And 
 so good-bye to you — good-bye! And may none of us, married 
 or single, live to know the pain of a heart grown cold, a head 
 grown gray — in vain !" 
 
 Down the disordered table, with its litter of glasses and flow- 
 ers, its atmosphere heavy with the odors of dinner and drink, 
 a hush lay for a second — not more. Then some one laughed, 
 and, with a roar of applause — the general tone varying from 
 concert pitch to normal diapason, according to the taste of the 
 owner — struck into the old chorus : the refrain which, touch- 
 ing as it does the lowest and the highest ideals of humanity, 
 has provoked more mixed sentiment and emotion than any 
 other in the language : 
 
 " For he's a jolly good f el-low. 
 For he's a jolly good f el-low /" 
 
 Love, admiration, assent; but towards — what? That lies in 
 the creed of the singer. And Dan, as the chorus went swayino^ 
 and surging about in the discords and harmonies, was left alone 
 — silent, as it were, on a pinnacle. Lewis Gordon, feeling re- 
 sponsible for his man and noting his growing excitement, in- 
 veigled him out, after a time, for a quiet cigar in the veranda, 
 and then suggested lie should go to bed. Whereat Dan laughed 
 softly, and asked if his best man did not see that the idea was
 
 334 
 
 palpably absurd when life itself was a dream — a dream that 
 only came once to a fellow ; when you hadn't a wish ungrati- 
 fied, save, of course, that some others you wot of might have as 
 good-luck as you had. 
 
 "If you mean me," replied Lewis, stolidly, "I'm all right. 
 I am going to marry Rose Tweedie whenever she can spare five 
 minutes from your wedding to arrange mine." 
 
 " You don't say so ! By the powers 1 what a good match- 
 maker I am. And so it is settled. I say, Gordon, do you think 
 there is any chance of her being up still ?" put in Dan, all in 
 one breath. 
 
 "Couldn't say; she had a lot of favors to make — and re- 
 make — when I last saw her, certainly," replied Lewis, with an 
 inward smile at the remembrance, " but you can't go and call 
 on her now ; it's half-past ten at least." 
 
 "Can't I? There is nothing I couldn't do to-night, it seems 
 to me. And you are yawning. Oli, go to bed, old man, or you 
 will spoil the show to-morrow." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I'm off, too, but not to bed. No, you needn't be afraid; 
 I'll turn up again in time." 
 
 The glamour of the soft Indian night was on Lewis also ; even 
 on those who, one by one, drifted out from the laughter within 
 to stand for a few minutes arrested by the peace without be- 
 fore going on their way. And, if this were so to men in the 
 slack- water of life, what must it have been to Dan on the flood- 
 tide of his threescore years and ten ? — to Dan, with his vivid 
 imagination, his soft heart, his excitable, impulsive nature? As 
 he rode along noiselessly at a footpace through the sandy 
 dust, which looked hard as marble in the glare of the moon, he 
 and his shadow were the only moving things in that world of 
 light. There was no darkness anywhere, not even in the dis- 
 tant arcades of trees — nothing but a soft gray mist of moon- 
 light, blending all things into the semblance of a mirage seen 
 from afar. A fire-fly or two flickered against the flowering shrubs 
 in intermittent glimpses of light — here a moment, then cone; 
 and far and near, like the beating of a heart, the soft quiver of
 
 835 
 
 the insistent cicadas in the air. Was not life worth living in- 
 deed, if only for such a night as this? 
 
 " On such a night did young Lorenzo — " 
 
 But Dan Fitzgerald had passed beyond even that flood-inark 
 on the shore. Passion, it is true,- counted for mucli in that 
 elation of mind and body which was the apotheosis of both ; 
 but love counted for more, and the memory of a thousand 
 griefs and pains with pity hidden in their hearts, came to fill 
 the mystic cup of life which the Unseen, Unknown Hand held 
 out to him from Heaven — the Sangreal of Humanity, the sac- 
 rament of Birth and Death. The child dying of the potter's 
 thumb-mark in the dust; that other in loving arms, with the 
 ice chilling even Death's cold touch ; George, with the bullet 
 piercing the devotion in his heart; Rose, with her pure wisdom 
 fearless and unashamed — these and many another remem- 
 brance seemed to blend sorrow and joy into peace, even as the 
 moon-mist blended the world around him into vague beauty. 
 And there was Rose herself. He could see her, as, with the 
 easy friendliness of India, he paced his pony through the open 
 gates of the garden, and so past the house. She was still at 
 work among the white flowers beside the door, which was set 
 wide upon the warm, balmy night. 
 
 " Is that you, Mr. Fitzgerald ?" she called, pausing at the 
 faint sound of his coming to look out into the flood of moon- 
 light, clear as noonday. 
 
 " It is I, Miss Tweedie." He had slipped from his pony, and 
 stood beside it welcoming her with outstretched hands, as she 
 came forth eager with some message for the morrow which he 
 might deliver. 
 
 " Lewis has told me, and I'm so glad," he said, breaking in 
 on her words. " It's the best wedding-present I've had vet, 
 and I came along on the chance of seeing you. I've somethitio- 
 to give you. I meant it for to-morrow, as a parting gift — just 
 a remembrance of your kindness to us both. But I'd rather 
 give it to you with our best wishes." He unfastened something 
 from his own wrist and put it, soft and warm, into her hand.
 
 336 
 
 It was a native armlet, cnnnino-ly twisted of silk thread and 
 pearls, with a triangle of some blue stone strung in the centre. 
 "'Tis only a glorified ram rxikliri^'' he went on, half-jestingly 
 — " the bracelets, you know, that sisters give their brothers to 
 bring them good-hick; only it is the other way with you." 
 
 Rose looked at the blue of the triangle doubtfully, then at 
 his kindly face. 
 
 "Yes! it's a bit of the Ayodhya pot — the only bit that 
 wasn't in pieces. And it has my name on the back and — 
 and George's." 
 
 " And George's!" echoed Rose, softly. 
 
 "Aye. He would have liked it, I know; for you were kind 
 to him — kind to us both always, Madr-mihrhan — as the old 
 potter called you. And we two, George and I, are one part of 
 the story. I was thinking of it as I came along just now — " 
 
 She put ont her hand with a sudden gesture. " Don't think 
 of it, Mr. Fitzgerald ; forget all about it. Go away and for- 
 get." ■ 
 
 He gave a happy laugh. " Why should I? I don't want to 
 forget anything to-night, except my sins; the rest is all good. 
 Let me put that on for you — so. Good-night ! We'll say good- 
 bye to-morrow." 
 
 He was out again a minute after on the deserted roads with 
 the same happy unrest in his heart. He would go down and 
 see the old familiar places in the garden opposite once more; 
 even the pond where the ducks and geese had quacked and 
 gabbled him into silence. So, through the hanging tassels of 
 the tamarisk-trees, round the gleaming white road to the blue- 
 tiled minarets of the old watch-tower standing causelessly upon 
 the level plain where four ways met. Then back again, station- 
 wards, to the stunted dome of the church. The throbbing of 
 tom-toms proclaimed the nearness to the bazaar; but the build- 
 ing itself stood unassailably silent and deserted on its high 
 white plinth. Only a string bed, set in a shadow by the door, 
 with some one lying on it. Dan slipped from his pony again, 
 and hitched the reins to a broken iron clamp in the stone-work 
 of the steps. The doors he knew would be open to let in the
 
 337 
 
 cool niglit air. He would look in — go round the course — as a 
 hors\' friend of liis bad said when discovered doing the same 
 thing before bis marriage. The remembrance made him smile 
 as he stepped into the dark building and paused, arrested by 
 the strangeness of what he saw. The dome was full of fire- 
 flies brought thither in tlic flowers; full of a ceaseless glimps- 
 ing of pale green fires, showing for an instant the wbite hearts 
 of the fading blossoms. The air was burdened with scent, yet, 
 distinct through it all, came a faint, deadly smell of bitter al- 
 monds; that must be from the lotus Gwen had mentioned. 
 There they were, in the shaft of moonlight through the upper 
 window, standing like sentinels over the lectern. 
 
 " Om mani padina horn /" What did it really mean, that 
 invocation used by so many millions of worshippers? What 
 was the mystic jewel in the lotus? Something fair but far, no 
 doubt, such as all religions promise; and then with a rush 
 came the thought that Gwen would stand beside them on the 
 morrow, fair and near! 
 
 The echo of his pony's galloping feet made that throbbing 
 in the bazaar pause an instant as if to listen — pause and go 
 on when he had passed. The darkened houses of his friends 
 rose up and were left behind him, the club with its still-twin- 
 kling arches, the garden wiiere Chandni sat gossiping, waiting 
 for her chance to kill his faith wantonly. All these he passed, 
 for awake or sleeping he must be uear Gwen for an instant, 
 must bid her good-night before the day came. 
 
 The chiming, echoing gong from the secretarial ofiice rang 
 twelve clear; then the others began, here and there from 
 other centres of law and order, many-voiced from the massive 
 pile of the distant city. He was too late, then, yet not too 
 late ; for there was a light still in the little front-room, now 
 despoiled of its prettiness and littered with boxes. She was 
 awake, busy like Rose, over the morrow. 
 
 " Gwen !" he called to her softly, for the chick was down, 
 the door half closed. 
 
 " My dear Dan !" Her voice, as she opened it and came hur- 
 riedly into the veranda, was full of amused horror, half-vexed
 
 338 
 
 kindness. "Do go away, there's a dear! I never heard of 
 such a thing, never! And the hotel is crammed full of people!" 
 " Sure, it is only to wish you many happy returns of the 
 day, dear !" he whispered, fondly. " When I've done that I'll 
 go away content — 
 
 " ' Ah, the jewel in the lotus, the Buddhist formula.'' 
 
 Who wouldn't be content, with you, Gwen ? And yet I 
 wouldn't spare an inch of it all — I couldn't. Gwon, do you 
 remember the day when your bearer was cleaning the lamps 
 out here, and we were sitting on the sofa? — Odd, isn't it, how 
 one remembers these things all in a jumble, the one with the 
 other ; and I said to you — the very words come back to me, 
 dear, every one of them, ' You might be bankrupt of every- 
 thing, Gwen, of everything save yourself, and I'll give you cred- 
 it for it all the same.' Do you remember, dear ? Well I've come 
 to take the promise back. You've spoiled me, Gwen, I can't 
 do it." 
 
 "I — I don't understand," she said, faintly ; " I wish you 
 would go, Dan, we can talk of it to-morrow — afterwards." 
 
 "To-morrow? Sure, it's to-day already — our wedding-day I 
 and if I can't keep the promise, am 1 not bound to take it 
 back while I can? Not that I'm afraid — that is why I've 
 come to tell you, the selfish brute that I am. That is why I 
 want it all — every scrap of your beauty, your goodness. I'll 
 take nothing less, dear, now, for I know it's yours, and what 
 is yours will be mine, by right." 
 
 She had grown very pale, and a sort of terror came into her 
 eyes. " O Dan ! what is the use of talking ! I give you all I 
 can — my best. I can't do more, and it isn't kind — " She 
 broke off almost impatiently, and yet she did not move from 
 bis clasp. 
 
 " Not kind, when I know what the best means ? And yet, 
 Gwen, it just comes upon me that I couldn't stand it — if — if 
 it were not true! Not after this Midsummer-Night's Dream ! 
 — of madness if you will. Yes, dear, I'm going — I am indeed. 
 But Gwen — it's an idle fancy, and yet — if there was anything
 
 839 
 
 it would be better to tell me now. You're not ani^ry at the 
 thought — it's only a thought. See, give me one kiss — just 
 one — to be an answer for always." 
 
 One kiss ! A Judas kiss ! No ! no ! ^Yhat right, she asked 
 herself, fiercely, had she to hesitate? What possible right, 
 standing, as she did, on the threshold of a new life, where no 
 one could ])0ssihli/ knoiu? She herself was back in the low levels 
 among the ordinary considerations of convenience and safety 
 as she kissed him, but the touch of her lips sent his blood 
 surging through his heart and brain. Without another word, 
 another look, he turned and left her — content, absolutely con- 
 tent. Love, friendship, pity, passion, had all combined to 
 raise him to the uttermost limit of vitality. He might come 
 near it, perhaps, in the future; but he was not likely ever to 
 reach it again, not even if there had been no Chandni waiting 
 to tell him the truth about the key, on his return to the old 
 little house right at the other end of the station. 
 
 He was so lost, so mazed in his own happiness, that he 
 neither knew nor cared where he was going ; but his pony, 
 feeling a free rein and tired of these incomprehensible wander- 
 ings, set its galloping hoofs on the shortest way home — that is 
 to say, through the densely-wooded grounds of the Residency. 
 So, dashing along a grassy ride or two, across a short cut, Dan 
 by degrees forgot even his joy in the keen effort of steer- 
 ing a runaway through the trees ; a runaway unheld, free to 
 go as fast — nay, faster — than it chose, yet obedient to that grip 
 to right or left. A mad ride — a mad rider ; yet a masterful 
 one: will wrestling imperiously with brute force, as the trees 
 thicken and the gloom grows, bringing darkness and danger 
 together; the dark heat of a past day imprisoned here by the 
 dense foliage above. Dan, looking down at the pony's heav- 
 ing flanks, as it paused, wearied with its short, sharp, unavailing 
 struggle against his strong hands, felt flushed and hot ; not 
 wearied — he could not be that on such a nio-ht — but o^lowino- 
 palpitating, excited — drunk, almost, as if with wine. But yon- 
 der stood a remedy in that low, long, thatched roof, supported 
 on brick pillars, and hung round with heavy bamboo screens.
 
 340 
 
 Dan laughed as he slid to the ground, thinking of the twelve 
 feet of clear cool water running fresh and fresh into one end 
 of the big swimming-bath, out at the other to irrigate the 
 green levels of the garden. Fresh and fresh all through the 
 scorching summer weather, when life held no greater pleasure 
 than to feel that cool water close round the hot limbs. Fre- 
 quented then, morning and evening ; but deserted, empty, 
 through the colder months. Only the day before, Dan's smooth, 
 dark head had come up from its depths rejoicing, and now the 
 thought of it was luxury itself, when the blood was beating in 
 his temples and racing at fever-heat through his veins. More 
 than once, coming home at night after careless, reckless enjo}-- 
 ment, he had stopped here, as he did now, to try the water- 
 cure — as he had tried it in the canal at Ilodinuggar. 
 
 " Sure, I need it to-night, if ever I did," he said, half aloud ; 
 " 'tis the wine of life has got into njy head." 
 
 Dark, almost too dark, inside. That was because the fools 
 had put down all the screens when they should be opened by 
 night, to let in the fresh air. He told himself that he would 
 speak to the secretary about the caretaker's neglect, and then he 
 smiled; how could that be, since he would never see him again? 
 Yes, it was for the last time; and how many times had he not 
 gone sizzling down red-hot from the spring-board, as he would 
 do in a minute or so, to come up out of the dark water a new 
 man, with all the evil tempers and the prickly-heat quenched 
 out of him. Sure, as a regenerating element, fire wasn't in it 
 with water ! A leap in the dark, indeed ! but that was life it- 
 self, and he was not afraid of it. 
 
 The little bars of moonlight shining through the chinks be- 
 tween the bamboos lay so far on the smooth white floor, and 
 then came a soft, dark chasm, and above it Dan poised for a 
 second. 
 
 " I come, Mother of all !" The old, oft-repeated cry rang 
 joyously up into the roof. 
 
 Then followed a strange dull thud, and silence ; dead silence. 
 For the bath had been emptied that morning for the cold 
 weather, and Dan Fitzgerald was lying, face downward, on the
 
 341 
 
 hard cement with a broken neck. Dead ! Dead without a 
 word, a sigh, or a regret. And Chandni, tired of patience, 
 went home to the bazaar grumbling at her ill-luck, telling her- 
 self she might still write, if it were worth while. 
 
 But Dan was beyond her spite, beyond other things which, 
 even without that spite, might have killed the best part of him. 
 Yet, even in romance, the sixth commandment outweighs all 
 the others. The novelist may maim and degrade, may bear 
 false witness against his own creations, and filch from them 
 the very characteristics which he has given them in order to 
 make degradation happy ; but he must not kill, since death, 
 even to those who believe in another life, is the worst tragedy 
 in this. Such, at any rate, seemed to be the verdict of most 
 people when, in the early morning, the gardeners, coming to 
 their work, found Dan's pony browsing, half asleep, still tethered 
 to one of those hibiscus-bushes, whose great blossoms, in topsy- 
 turvy fashion, show rosv-red in death and snowy-white in life. 
 
 It was terribly sad, an unredeemed tragedy, cruel ! needless! — 
 a dispensation of Providence needing much true Christian faith 
 — one of the accidents of life, so exasperating because so cause- 
 less, so inartistic because so unnecessary. These, and many 
 other comments, the mourners made, as, the funeral over, they 
 returned home ; and so, it being Sunday morning, they straight- 
 way went to church and sang "Jerusalem the Golden " piously. 
 
 Only Rose Tweedie lingered, her kind, soft hands laying the 
 dead lotus blossoms like sentinels on the grave ; for Gwen's 
 prim white cross of gardenia had, at her request, been buried 
 on the cofBn. 
 
 " I can't somehow be so sorry," said the girl to Lewis, be- 
 tween her sobs ; " he was so happy that last night. I seem to 
 see his face still." 
 
 But the man caught his breath in hard. There was a verse 
 which would ring in his ears and his heart ; for he had helped 
 to lift poor Dan, and it had come to him then — 
 
 '■'■Like a potter^ s vessel.^' 
 Yet, what did it matter ? A little sooner, a little later ; that
 
 343 
 
 was all the difference. Yet, Rose must never know ; in such 
 things he would stand between her and needless pain. 
 
 And Gwen ? She, as the phrase goes, bore up wonderfully. 
 Not that she did not love the dead man dearly, but because she 
 did love him. Odd as it may seem, somewhat topsy-turvy, 
 perhaps, like the hibiscus flowers, she had the same consolation 
 as Rose Tweedie had. 
 
 " I did not tell him," she said to herself, as she lay in her 
 darkened room. " He was happy to the last. I did my best — 
 I did my best." 
 
 So she cried softly ; so once more she escaped from her own 
 remorse, and was comforted.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Both for the reader's and the writer's sake, it is never fair to 
 end a story as you would a play — in a situation; for the former 
 tries — vainly, it may be — to present life, even in its trivialities; 
 the latter, only in its more dramatic moments. So, though there 
 is little more to tell, save what might easily be filled in by the 
 reader's imagination, it would give a false impression of the 
 real value of poor Dan Fitzgerald's tragic death were the 
 curtain to come down on the rest of the dramatis personce in 
 the first bewilderment and sorrow which such unexpected and 
 causeless accidents must always arouse. As a matter of fact, 
 there is no grief that passes sooner from daily life than that 
 caused by death, especially when a real and unselfish love has 
 existed between the dead and the living. The mind, after the 
 first physical sense of loss has spent itself, refuses to believe in 
 the extinction of a feeling which, in its own experience, has sur- 
 vived death, and is comforted, not by forgetfulness, but by re- 
 membrance. Besides, it is false art to end any history embrac- 
 ing the life of more than one person with the balance in favor of 
 pain. For were this so in reality, pain would cease to be pain, 
 and would become pleasure, because it would then be the normal 
 condition of life; since it is clearly to be demonstrated, physio- 
 logically and psychologically, that it is in the disintegration of 
 reminiscent habit that the phenomena of pain arise. Indeed, 
 in the mind pain is incredible, impossible, before we have first 
 formed the habit of pleasure, since it consists essentially in 
 privation. 
 
 Therefore, the novelist who wishes to give a true picture of 
 life will always leave his puppets fairly happy. Nor does this 
 limit his field unduly, since it is clearly as much the duty and 
 privilege of the writer to present new forms of content to his 
 readers, as it is for him to present them with scenes, or situa-
 
 344 
 
 tions, or characters of which they have no previous knowledge. 
 Because Jones thinks the soul of bliss is incarnate in roast 
 beef and plum -pudding, is that any reason why the more 
 ethereal Brown should be denied his cup of nectar, or that the 
 philosophic Robinson, seeing that birth and death are alike 
 inscrutable phenomena, should refuse to believe empirically that 
 the one is joyful and the other sorrowful ? " Oh, don't kill 
 him, or her, or them," say the public, cheerfully; "let them 
 enter into life, halt, or maimed, and blind. What does any- 
 thing matter so long as they have the average number of 
 breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners allotted to humanity, and 
 can go down to their graves in the fulness of time with the 
 pleasing consciousness that their funeral cortege is followed 
 by a Noah's Ark consisting of the ghosts of the animals they 
 have devoured?" For the world sides with Esau, who bartered 
 his birthright for a mess of pottage. And good pottage is 
 warming, comforting, consoling; for all that the two hundred 
 and seventy millions of India seldom see it; and yet they are 
 happy. But, then, to them birth and death are alike the pivot 
 on which the wheel of life turns. 
 
 So thought the potter of Ilodinuggar. So had thought his 
 fathers who lay buried in the dust beside him, and though the 
 old man had no son to step on to the treadles when his feet 
 slipped from them, the wheel spun steadily, and the women of 
 the village, as they rung the temper of the water-jars before 
 they bought them, nodded their heads, saying: " Fuzl is a 
 good potter. Look you, it comes with a man's birth. When 
 he goes, we shall have to send for another. Miroo thinks he 
 can make them because the sirkar taught him when he was 
 three years in jail for cattle-thieving. But it takes more than 
 three years to make a potter." 
 
 Still Fuzl Elahi showed no signs of going; on the contrary, 
 he seemed to have a firmer hold on life than ever, as if time 
 had stood still for him. Rose Gordon remarked on it to her 
 husband as they sat side by side on the old log. They had 
 been married nearly a year, and he had brought her out for 
 change of air on one of his inspection tours; for he had given
 
 345 
 
 up the secretarysliip on his mm-rlage, in favor of greater quiet 
 and more freedom. 
 
 "It is so strange, Lewis," she said, "yon and I being here 
 again — and yet we have all changed — everything and every 
 one has changed ! Even the palace scarcely looks the same 
 with that dreadful sort of Swiss chalet Dalel has built for 
 Beatrice Norma tacked on the ruins of the old tower. And 
 George and Dan are dead, and the water is running in the cut 
 yonder as if there had never been any tragedy about prevent- 
 ing it from running there. Yet the village with the potter sit- 
 ting in the topmost house is just the same." 
 
 Lewis Gordon smiled. " You never read Mcgasthenes' ac- 
 count of his travels through India in the year 300 b.c, or you 
 wouldn't be surprised. It might have been written to-day ; 
 for these people do not change, except under piessure from 
 without, and then they disintegrate suddenly. But the old 
 man seems to me more sane than he was ; more at rest. No 
 doubt Azizan's death — " 
 
 The familiar name caught the potter's ear, and lie looked up 
 from his work. "Yes; she sleeps still, huzoor. The breaking 
 of the pot did not disturb her at all ; she was weary, see you, 
 after sixteen years of walking. So now when my fathers say, 
 ' Where is Azizan ?' I can answer, ' Hush ! slie sleeps ! she will 
 awaken when she is refreshed.' Lo ! it is well the pot broke ; it 
 was accursed — bringing ill to all." 
 
 "There, you see, Lewis!" began Rose, eagerly. 
 
 "It did not bring ill-luck to me, dear," he replied, interrupt- 
 ing her, " and a man can but judge from his own experience. 
 And then, as I have told you, we really know nothing for cer- 
 tain—" 
 
 "Except," pat in Rose, obstinately, "that poor George — " 
 
 "Don't you think we ought to be moving," said he, quiet- 
 ly; "remember you promised Mrs. Dalel to have tea in the 
 chalet and inspect the son and heir. You are tired enough as 
 it is." 
 
 " But you said you wanted to go and see some slope or an- 
 other, and I'm not the least tired," she insisted, when they had
 
 346 
 
 left the yard and reached the road. " Lewis, yon never used 
 to fnss this way ; I wish you wouldn't." 
 
 "It is only another method of showing my real views on the 
 mental and physical calibre of women. You must have read, 
 my dear, of the wonderful recuperative power which the lower 
 animals have of reproducing another tail when — But, by-the- 
 way, this is not a safe spot ; I remember saying something of the 
 same sort on purpose to annoy when we were here before — " 
 He paused, and looked down the narrow valley of the village 
 to where the palace was beginning to share the unreal beauty 
 which the dust-cloud from the feet of the homing cattle gave 
 to the whole scene. Like a golden mist it hid the dull plain, 
 and lent distance and height to the low sand-hillocks behind 
 which the sun was setting cloudlessly. A glorious sight; the 
 dignity and calm majesty of which lingers long in tlie memory 
 of those who have seen it in India, day after day, month after 
 month ; lingers to claim a higher place in the imagination than 
 the more varied and complex sunsets of the West, with their 
 stormy contrasts and passionate beauty. 
 
 " Leave me here," she said, suddenly. " I should like it. 
 " ni sit on that pile of old potsherds and wait till you come 
 back. It will rest me." Peaceful enough of a certainty ! Only 
 every now and again came the tinkle of a low-toned bell from 
 some leader of the herds below, chiming in on the musical 
 moan of the potter's wheel heard over the low wall — 
 
 " It was a woman scckvir/ something.'''' 
 
 The rhythm came back to her, stirring the old sense of curi- 
 ous interest ; stirring it in others of her sex also, if one might 
 judge by the eyes which, seeing the stranger alone, began to 
 peer from the neighboring hovels. Deep- bosomed mothers, 
 most of them, with a slim girl or two doing nurse-maid to other 
 folks' babies. 
 
 Nearer and nearer they came, attracted by the great femi- 
 nine quality, until, in answer to Rose's nods of welcome and en- 
 couragement, they squatted near yet far, gathered in as it were 
 upon themselves, apart even from that other woman ; even
 
 347 
 
 from her, with the cares of comini; motherhood writ clear upon 
 her, and making her look at those other mothers with kindly, 
 friendly eyes. 
 
 '^Ari bahin" said one, with a nado-e to her neighbor. " 'Tis 
 for sure she that played bat and ball last year like a boy. Wah f 
 that is over; she knows her work now." 
 
 " I trow not," replied another, shrilly. " She hath been sitting 
 with the potter's eyes upon her this half-hour past. She is bad, 
 caring but for her pleasure." 
 
 "Mayhap she knows not," said an older voice, "and they 
 have no mothers, these ones, nor mothers-in-law. Yea ; 'tis 
 true. My man went to dig for the sahibs the year there was 
 no corn in the land, and he bath told me. Thev marry of 
 themselves, and there is none to see to tliem that they fall not 
 into ignorant mischief. It is fool's work." 
 
 "No mothers-in-law!" tittered a bold-faced lump. "^1« teri! 
 that is no fool's work." 
 
 But the elder woman had risen, to stand a few steps nearer 
 Rose, looking down at her with dignified wonder. "May the 
 Lord send a son," she began, going to the very root of the 
 matter without preamble. 
 
 "I will take whichever He chooses to send me, mother," re- 
 plied Rose, smiling. 
 
 " Tra — ra — " The matron's pliant forefinger wagged side- 
 ways in that most impressive gesture of denial which is never 
 seen out of India. " Mention not such things, my daughter," 
 went on the grave voice, " lest He take thee at thy word ; then 
 what wouldst thou say ? And see ! — go no more to the pot- 
 ter's yard ; it is not safe. Wouldst have the son come to thee 
 with his mark on the breast? I trow not." 
 
 They had come forward one by one to cluster round the 
 speaker, their dark, assenting eyes on Rose. " 'Tis not to be 
 helped, though," put in another. "Do I not know — I, Jewun, 
 whose son died of it last year? Yet I remembered the old 
 ways and my mother's counsel. Lo ! it is fate; nought else. 
 And 'tis better to crack and be done with it. Then folk know. 
 Not like my new milk-jug this day, sound to sight and touch,
 
 348 
 
 yet six good quarts of milk spilled on the ground as it crumbled 
 like sand ere a body could put a hand to it. The old man 
 shall give me another in the place of it. It is not fair." 
 
 "Nay, Mai Jewun," put in a third, "the pots come to 
 pieces ever. If not one, then another way, when it is tired of 
 going to the well for water. Thou hast nought to complain 
 about. ^/, sisters ! hither returns the sa/«'i .' lie will be angry 
 that we have spoken to his mem." 
 
 " He will not be angry," protested Rose; but tlie thought 
 was beyond them. They were off swiftly, yet sedately, only 
 the elder woman pausing to waggle her finger again. " Go not 
 to the potter's. It is not well. I, Juntu, mother of seven, say so." 
 
 There were tears in Rose's eyes when Lewis came up, and, 
 in consequence, he did look angrily at the retreating fig- 
 ures. She was pale and tired, he said, and must send an ex- 
 cuse to Mrs. Dalel. He would not have her knocking herself 
 up with other folks' infants. So they went back quietly to the 
 two white tents standing beyond the Mori gate, where the 
 pigeons, as of old, circled iridescent round the dark niches. As 
 of old, too, the clash of silver anklets came from the shadows, 
 for Cliandni was back in her old quarters and with a recognized 
 position. Her Highness Beatrice Norma Elfrida, being a shrewd 
 little person, knowing that she would need help to hold lier 
 own amid the intrigues of that surely coming long minority 
 which lay in the future. For it is a recurring fraction, that 
 long minority, in the problem of our dealings with petty prin- 
 cipalities and powers, since civilization does not conduce to 
 longevity with the native noblemen. Besides, Dalel, with the 
 income from the stud-farm, was diligently burning his feeble 
 little constitution at both ends — on the sly, however; for virt- 
 ue, to all outward appearances, reigned at Ilodinuggar. Only 
 that morning Rose had inspected a female school — rows on 
 rows of nice little girls, with very clean primers and brand-new 
 slates; a brand-new visitors' book, too, in which Rose, with mis- 
 givings, had inscribed her name, tacked on to a trite remark 
 about the blessings of education, for she was only just be- 
 ginning to make up her bundle of opinions.
 
 349 
 
 But that night, as he was carefully guiding her steps througli 
 the maze of ropes and pegs to the door of the sleeping-tent, 
 she paused suddenly to say to her husband : "Lewis, riii glad 
 we came here, I thought it would be so painful, seeing George's 
 deserted grave and reviving the old memories ; but it has only 
 seemed to make it all more natural — to make everything, some- 
 how, more simple." 
 
 This, then, was what the years were bringing to Rose. She 
 and Lewis were very happy ; though sometimes, especially 
 when they were out in camp together, he would enter a feeble 
 protest against her lack of sentiment — perhaps when, after 
 work and dinner were over, they sat beside the stove, the 
 mingled lamplight and firelight making the tent cosey beyond 
 belief, and he, laying down the volume from which he was 
 reading aloud, would remark, for the hundredth time, that Rose 
 was like one of his favorite heroines. 
 
 "If you say those stupid things, Lewis," she would reply, 
 " I will make you read shilling shockers." 
 
 "Oh, it is all very well to scoff," he would continue, in in- 
 jured tones, " but I am the victim of unrequited attachment. 
 You are the heroine of my romance, always, and you never 
 had a romance at all." 
 
 " Well, dear, that is better than having one with some one 
 else, isn't it ?" she would answer, placidly, and Lewis's hand 
 would reach out to touch the one which was so busy with 
 needle and thimble and thread — just to touch it for an instant, 
 in a certain shamefaced, deprecating acknowledgment of her 
 wisdom. For he knew quite well that he, like most men, had 
 had several romances in his life, and that the possibility of 
 several more still remained in him. 
 
 Whether the climax of Rose's dream of the future ever came 
 about and the boys got into scrapes cannot be told, for Lewis 
 himself is still within the torrid zone of life; but he does his 
 best to prepare for the crisis, and he follows his wife's lead in 
 this : that he finds life more simple and less sad as time goes 
 on, and he faces its facts less egotistically. 
 
 Gwen Boynton, however, found it quite the reverse. She
 
 350 
 
 married Colonel Tweedie two years after Dan's death, Laving, 
 she said, buried all thoughts of personal happiness in the grave 
 of the only man she had ever loved. This, as usual with 
 Gwen's remarks, was true in itself, and yet left her free to 
 marry for position without remorse ; or, rather, accurately 
 speaking, to utilize her regret as a motive for doing as she 
 wanted to do without remorse. So she made Colonel Tweedie 
 an excellent wife, much to his delight and comfort ; for, as Rose 
 acknowledged, he sorely needed some one to keep him from 
 fussing when she had gone to perform the same kind office 
 for Lewis. Nevertheless, Gwen Boynton, when she came back 
 to society, after the shock of Dan's death, had lost some of her 
 charm ; and from being a fascinating woman had become ele- 
 gant and interesting, as befitted one with a history. Life, she 
 said, was so mysterious, Humanity a mere shuttlecock in the 
 hand of Fate, beaten backward and forward by devastating 
 passions ! Altogether the world was a sad sojourning, in which 
 a vague mysticism was the only anodyne for the sensitive. She 
 became a half-hearted disciple of Madame Blavatsky, and 
 reached what may be called the climax of her kindly, absolute- 
 ly untrustworthy nature when, with tears in her eyes, and 
 much gentle, mournful resignation to the mysterious Inevitable, 
 she would tell the story she had heard from Rose, of how Dan 
 Fitzgerald and George Kcene had been measured for heroes in 
 the potter's yard, and of their sad deaths within the year. Of 
 course it was incredible — and yet? 
 
 Thus, none of the actors in the little drama ever knew the 
 whole truth about it. Gwen had the best chance, so far as facts 
 went, but she, being handicapped by her method of vision, failed 
 to see her real part in the tragedy. For she resolutely set aside 
 the possibilities of that hour during which her dandy waited 
 outside the dress-maker's. And then she knew no more than 
 the rest of that other key to the position which lay in Azizan's 
 love for George. Perhaps this remained hidden even from him, 
 though every night, winter and summer, an odd little light, 
 like a lost star, twinkled on the summit of the shadowy mound 
 of llodinuggar. It was the oil cresset which the old potter
 
 5351 
 
 put nightly on Azizan's grave to prevent her from having bad 
 dreams. The branded-brick bungalow was deserted and empty, 
 now that the shiice-gate required no guarding, so there was no 
 one to see its feeble, persistent light. For all that, it could be 
 seen distinctly from the little enclosure where, on a white mar- 
 ble stone, the legend ran that here lay 
 
 St. George IRccne, 
 
 Aged Twenty-one, 
 Who Died at His Post of Cholera. 
 
 And between the two graves the gleaming streak of the big 
 canal lay like a sword, splitting the world into East and West.
 
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