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FAR TO SEEK
FAR TO SEEK
A ROMANCE OF ENGLAND AND INDIA
BY
MAUD DIVER
AUTHOR OF " THE STRONG HOURS," "CAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C."
ULAMANI," DESMONDS DAUGHTER, ETC.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1931, BY MAUD DIVEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TO MY BLUE BIRD
BRINGER OF HAPPINESS TO MYSELF AND OTHERS
I DEDICATE THIS IDYLL OF
A MOTHER AND SON
The dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills.
The stars hold their breath, counting the hours . . .
There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky.
Bird, oh my Bird, listen tome do not close your wings.
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
204 6819
I am athirst for far-away things,
My soul goes out in longing to touch the skirt of the
dim distance. . . .
O Far-to-Seek! the keen call of thy flute ... 1
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
His hidden meaning dwells in our endeavours;
Our valours are our best gods.
- JOHN FLETCHER
AUTHOR'S NOTE
As part of my book is set in Lahore during the outbreak, in April,
1919, 1 wish to state clearly that, while the main events are true
to fact, the characters concerned, both English and Indian, are
purely imaginary. At the same time, all opinions expressed by
my Indian characters, on the present outlook, are based on the
written or spoken opinions of actual Indians loyal or disaf-
fected, as the case may be. There were no serious British casual-
ties at Lahore; though there were many elsewhere. I have im-
agined one, locally, for the purposes of my story. In all other
respects, I have kept close to recorded facts.
M.D.
CONTENTS
PHASE I '
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM
65
PHASE III
PISGAH HEIGHTS 137
PHASE IV
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 287
- PHASE V
A STAR IN DARKNESS ' 421
FAR TO SEEK
PHASE I
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM
FAR TO SEEK
PHASE I
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM
CHAPTER I
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful, there in the nest it is thy love that
Encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours.
RABINDBANATH TAGOEE
BY the shimmer of blue under the beeches Roy knew that sum-
mer really truly summer! had come back at last. And
summer meant picnics and strawberries and out-of-door lessons,
and the lovely hot smell of pine-needles in the pine-wood, and
the lovelier cool smell of moss cushions in the beech-wood home
of squirrels and birds and bluebells; unfailing wonderland of dis-
covery and adventure.
Roy was an imaginative creature, isolated a little by the fact
of being three and a half years older than Christine, and 'miles
older' than Jerry and George, mere infants, for whom the magic
word 'adventure' held no meaning at all.
Luckily there was Tara, from the black-and-white house:
Tara, who shared his lessons and, in spite of the drawback of
being a girl, had long ago won her way into his private world
of knight-errantry and romance. Tara was eight years and five
weeks old; quite a reasonable age in the eyes of Roy, whose full
name was Nevil Le Roy Sinclair and who would be nine in June.
With the exception of grown-ups, who didn't count, there
was no one older than nine in his immediate neighbourhood.
Tara came nearest: but she wouldn't be nine till next year, which
made all the difference, becausp by *% tirne fee would be ten.
The point was she coulqYj; caj;ch him up jf sjie fried ever so.
4 FAR TO SEEK
It was Tara's mother, Lady Despard, who had the happy idea
of sharing lessons that would otherwise be rather a lonely affair
for both. But it was Roy's mother who had the still happier
idea of teaching them herself. Tara's mother joined in now and
then; but Roy's mother who loved it beyond every thing
secured the lion's share. And Roy was old enough by now to be
proudly aware of his own good fortune. Most other children of
his acquaintance were afflicted with tiresome governesses, who
wore ugly jackets and hats, who said, 'Don't drink with your
mouth full,' and 'Don't argue the point!' Roy's favourite
sin and always told you to 'Look in the dictionary' when you
found a scrumptious new word and wanted to hear all about it.
The dictionary, indeed! Roy privately regarded it as one of the
many mean evasions to which grown-ups were addicted.
His ripe experience on the subject was gleaned partly from
neighbouring families, partly from infrequent visits to 'Aunt
Jane' whom he hated with a deep, unreasoned hate and
'Uncle George,' who had a kind, stupid face, but anyhow tried
to be funny and made futile bids for favour with pen-knives and
half-crowns. Possibly it was these uncongenial visits that quick-
ened in him very early the consciousness that his own beautiful
home was, hi some special way, different from other boys' homes,
and his mother in a still more special way different from
other boys' mothers. . . .
And that proud, secret conviction was no mere myth born of
his young adoration. In all the County, perhaps in all the
Kingdom, there could be found no mother hi the least like
Lilamani Sinclair, descendant of Rajput chiefs and wife of an
English baronet, who, in the face of formidable barriers, had
dared to accept all risks and follow the promptings of his heart.
One of these days there would dawn on Roy the knowledge that
he was the child of a unique romance, of a mutual love and cour-
age that had run the gantlet of prejudices and antagonisms, of
fightings without and fears within; yet, in the end, had tri-
umphed as they triumph who will not admit defeat. All this
initial blending of ecstasy and pain, of spiritual stri ing and
mastery, had gone to the makhig of Roy, who \n the fulness of
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 5
time would realise perhaps with pride, perhaps with secret
trouble and misgiving the high and complex heritage that was
his.
Meanwhile he only knew that he was fearfully happy, espe-
cially in summer-time; that his father who had smiling eyes
and loved messing with paints like a boy was kinder than
anyone else's, so long as you didn't tell bad fibs or meddle with
his brushes; that his idolised mother, in her soft coloured silks
and saris, her bangles and silver shoes, was the 'very most
beautiful' being in the whole world. And Roy's response to the
appeal of beauty was abnormally quick and keen. It could
hardly be otherwise with the son of these two. He loved, with
a fervour beyond his years, the clear pale oval of his mother's
face, the coils of her dark hair, seen always through a film of
softest muslin moon-yellow or apple-blossom pink, or deep
dark blue like the sky out of his window at night spangled with
stars. He loved the glimmer of her jewels, the sheen and feel
of her wonderful Indian silks, that seemed to smell like the big
sandalwood box in the drawing-room. And beyond everything
he loved her smile and the touch of her hand and her voice that
could charm away all nightmare terrors, all questionings and
rebellions, of his excitable brain.
Yet, in outward bearing, he was not a sentimental boy. The
Sinclairs did not run to sentiment; and the blood of two virile
races English and Rajput was mingled in his veins. Al-
ready his budding masculinity bade him keep the feelings of
' that other Roy ' locked in the most secret corner of his heart.
Only his mother, and sometimes Tara, caught a glimpse of him
now and then. Lady Sinclair herself never guessed that, in the
vivid imaginations of both children, she herself was the ever-
varying incarnation of the fairy princesses and Rajputni hero-
ines of her own tales. Their appetite for these was insatiable;
and her store of them seemed never-ending: folk-tales of East and
West; true tales of crusaders, of Arthur and his knights; of Raj-
put Kings and Queens, in the far-off days when Rajasthan a
word like a trumpet call was holding her desert cities against
hordes of invaders, and heroes scorned to die in their beds.
6 FAR TO SEEK
Much of it all was frankly beyond them; but the colour and the
movement, the atmosphere of heroism and high endeavour quick-
ened imagination and fellow-feeling, and left an impress on both
children that would not pass with the years.
To their great good fortune, these tales and talks were a part
of her simple, individual plan of education. An even greater
good fortune in their eyes was her instinctive response to
the seasons. She shared to the full their clear conviction that
schoolroom lessons and a radiant day of summer were a glaring
misfit; and she trimmed her sails or rather her time-table
accordingly.
"Sentimental folly and thoroughly demoralising," was the
verdict of Aunt Jane, overheard by Roy, who was not supposed
to understand. "They will grow up without an inch of moral
backbone. And you can't say I didn't warn you. Lady Des-
pard's a crank, of course: but Nevil is a fool to allow it. Good-
ness knows he was bad enough, though he was reared on the
good old lines. And you are not giving his son a chance. The
sooner the boy's packed off to school the better. I shall tell
him so."
And his mother had answered with her dignified, unruffled
sweetness that made her so beautifully 'different' from or-
dinary people, who got red and excited and made foolish faces:
"He will not agree. He shares my believing that children are in
love with life. It is their first love. Pity to crush it too soon;
putting their minds in tight boxes with no chink for Nature
to creep in. If they shall first find knowledge by their young
life-love, afterwards they will perhaps give up their life-love to
gain it."
Roy could not follow all that, but the music of the words,
matched with the music of his mother's voice, convinced him
that her victory over horrid, interfering Aunt Jane was com-
plete. And it was comforting to know that his father agreed about
not putting their minds in tight boxes. For Aunt Jane's drastic
prescription alarmed him. Of course school would have to come
some day; but his was not the temperament that hankers for it
at an early age. As to a ' moral backbone ' whatever sort of an
affliction that might be if it meant growing up ugly and 'dis-
agreeable,' like Aunt Jane or the 'Aunt Jane cousins,' he fer-
vently hoped he would never have one or Tara either. . . .
But on this particular morning he feared no manner of bogey
not even school or a moral backbone because the bluebells
were alight under his beeches hundreds and hundreds of them
and ' really truly ' summer had come back at last !
Roy knew it the moment he sprang out of bed and stood bare-
foot on the warm patch of carpet near the window, stretching
his slim, shapely body, instinctively responsive to the sun's
caress. No less instinctive was his profound conviction that
nothing possibly could go wrong on a day like this.
In the first place it meant lessons under their favourite tree.
In the second, it was history and poetry day; and Roy's delight
in both made them hardly seem lessons at all. He thought it
very clever of his mother, having them together. The depth of
her wisdom he did not yet discern. She allowed them, within
reason, to choose their own poems: and Roy, exploring her book-
case, had lighted on Shelley's "Cloud" the musical flow of
words the more entrancing because only half understood. He
had straightway learnt the first three verses for a 'surprise.'
He crooned them now, his head flung back a little, his gaze in-
tent on a gossamer film that floated just above the pine-tops
still as a brooding dove. . . .
Standing there, in full sunlight the modelling of his young
limbs veiled yet not hidden by his silk night-suit, the carriage
of head and shoulders betraying innate pride of race he looked,
on every count, no unworthy heir to the House of Sinclair and
its simple, honourable traditions: one that might conceivably
live to challenge family prejudices and qualms. The thick, dark
hair, ruffled from sleep, was his mother's; and hers the semi-
opaque, ivory tint of his skin. The clean-cut forehead and nose,
the blue-grey eyes with the lurking smile in them, were Nevil
Sinclair's own. In him, at least, it would seem that love was
justified of her children.
But of family features, as of family qualms, he was, as yet,
radiantly unaware. Snatching his towel, he scampered barefoot
8 FAR TO SEEK
down the passage to the nursery bathroom, where the tap was
already running.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed but hatless and still barefoot,
he was racing over the vast dew-drenched lawn, leaving a trail of
grey-green smudges on its silvered surface, chanting the opening
lines of Shelley's "Cloud" to breakfast-hunting birds.
CHAPTER II
Those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they -what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day . . .
WORDSWORTH
THE blue rug under Roy's beech-tree was splashed with freckles
of sunshine; freckles that were never still, because a fussy little
wind kept swaying the topmost branches, where the youngest
beech-leaves flickered, like golden-green butterflies bewitched
by some malicious fairy, so that they could never fly into the
sky till summer was over, and all the leaf butterflies in the world
would be free to scamper with the wind.
That was Roy's foolish fancy as he lay, venire & terre to the
obvious detriment of his moral backbone chin cupped in the
hollow of his hands. Close beside him lay Prince, his beloved
retriever; so close that he could feel the dog's warm body through
his silk shirt. At the foot of the tree, in a nest of pale cushions,
sat his mother, in her apple-blossom sari and a silk dress like the
lining of a shell. No jewels in the morning, except the star that
fastened her sari on one shoulder and a slender gold bangle
never removed the wedding ring of her own land. The boy,
mutely adoring, could, in some dun way, feel the harmony of
those pale tones with the olive skin, faintly aglow, and the deli-
cate arch of her eyebrows poised like outspread wings above the
brown, limpid depths of her eyes. He could not tell that she was
still little more than a girl; barely eight-and- twenty. For him she
was ageless: protector and playfellow, essence of all that was
most real, yet most magical, in the home that was his world.
Unknown to him, the Eastern mother in her was evoking,
already, the Eastern spirit of worship in her son.
Very close to her nestled Tara, a vivid, eager slip of a child,
with wild-rose petals in her cheeks and blue hyacinths in her
eyes and sunbeams tangled in her hair, that rippled to her waist
io FAR TO SEEK
in a mass almost too abundant for the small head and elfin face
it framed. In temperament she suggested a flame rather than a
flower, this singularly vital child. She loved and she hated, she
played and she quarrelled, with an intensity, a singleness of aim,
surprising and a little disquieting in a creature not yet nine. She
was the despair of nurses and had never crossed swords with a
governess, which was a merciful escape for the governess.
Juvenile fiction and fairy tales she frankly scorned. Legends of
Asgard and Arthur, the virile tales of Rajputana and her war-
rior chiefs she drank in as the earth drinks dew. Roy had a
secret weakness for a happy ending in his own phrase, 'a
beautiful marry.' Tara's rebel spirit rose to tragedy as a flame
leaps to the stars; and there was no lack of high tragedy in the
records of Chitor queen of cities, thrice sacked by Moslem
invaders, deserted, at last, and left in ruins a sacred relic of
great days gone by.
This morning Rajputana held the field. Lilamani, with a thrill
in her low voice, was half reading, half telling the adventures of
Prithvi Raj (King of the Earth) and his Amazon Princess, Tara
the Star of Bednore: verily a star among women for beauty,
and wisdom and courage. Many princes were rivals for her
hand; but none would she call 'lord' save the man who restored
to her father the kingdom snatched from him by an Afghan
marauder. " On the faith of a Rajput, I will restore it," said
Prithvi Raj. So, in the faith of a Rajputni, she married him:
and together, by a daring device, they fulfilled her vow.
Here, indeed, was Roy's ' beautiful marry,' fit prelude for the
tale of that heroic pair. For in life Lilamani told them mar-
riage is the beginning, not the end. That is only for 'fairy tales.
And close against her shoulder, listening entranced, sat the
child Tara, with her wild-flower face and the flickering star in
her heart a creature born out of time into an unromantic
world; hands clasped round her upraised knees, her wide eyes
gazing past the bluebells and the beech-leaves at some fanciful
inner vision of it all; lost in it, as Roy was lost in contemplation
of his mother's face. . . .
And this unorthodox fashion of imbibing knowledge in the
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 11
very lap of the Earth Mother, was Lilamani Sinclair's impracti-
cable idea of 'giving lessons'! Shades of Aunt Jane! Of gov-
erness and copybooks and rulers!
Happily for all three, Lady Roscoe never desecrated their
paradise in the flesh. She was aware that her very regrettable
sister-in-law had 'queer notions' and had flatly refused to engage
a governess of high qualifications chosen by herself; but the half
was not told her. It never is told to those who condemn on
principle what they cannot understand. At their coming all the
little private gateways into the delectable Garden of Intimacy
shut with a gentle, decisive click. So it was with Jane Roscoe,
as worthy and unlikeable a woman as ever organised a household
to perfection and alienated every member of her family.
The trouble was that she could not rest satisfied with this
achievement. She was afflicted with a vehement desire she
called it a sense of duty to organise the homes of her less
capable relations. If they resented, they were written down as
ungrateful. And Nevil's ingratitude had become a byword. For
Nevil Sinclair was that unaccountable, uncomfortable thing
an artist; which is to say he was no true Sinclair, but the son of
his mother, whose name he bore. No one, not even Jane, had suc-
ceeded in organising him nor ever would.
So Lttdmani carried on, unmolested, her miniature attempt at
the 'forest school' of an earlier day. Her simple programme in-
cluded a good deal more than tales of heroism and adventure.
This morning, there had been rhythmical exercises, a lively in-
terlude of 'sums without slates,' and their poems a great mo-
ment for Roy. Only by a superhuman effort he had kept his
treasure locked inside him for two whole days. And his moth-
er's surprise was genuine: not the acted surprise of grown-ups,
that was so patent and so irritating and made them, look so
silly; and the smile in her eyes as she listened had sent a warm,
tingly feeling all through him, as if the spring sunshine itself
ran in his veins. Naturally he could not express it so; but he
felt it so. And now, as he lay looking and listening, he felt it
still. The wonder of her face and the wonder of her voice, and
all the many wonders that made her so beautiful, had hitherto
12 FAR TO SEEK
been as much a part of him as the air he breathed. But this
morning, in some dun way, things were different and he could
not tell why. . . .
His own puzzled thoughts and her face and her voice became
entangled with the chivalrous story of Prithvi Raj holding court
hi his hill fortress with Tara fit wife for a hero, since she
could ride and fling a lance and bend a bow with the best of
them. When Roy caught him up, he was in the midst of a great
battle with his uncle, who had broken out in rebellion against
the old Rana of Chitor.
"All day long they were fighting, and all night long they were
lying awake beside great watch-fires, waiting till there came
dawn to fight again . . ."
His mother was telling, not reading now. He knew it at once
from the change in her tone. "And when evening came, what
did Prithvi Raj? He was carelessly strolling over to the enemy's
camp, carelessly walking into his uncle's tent to ask is he well, in
spite of many wounds. And his uncle, full of surprise, made
answer: 'Quite well, my child, since I have the pleasure to see
you.' And when he heard that Prithvi had come even before
eating any dinner, he gave orders for food: and they two, who
were all day seeking each other's life, sat there together eating
from one plate.
" ' In the morning we will end our battle, Uncle,' said Prithvi
Raj, when time came to go.
"'Very well, child, come early,' said Surajmul.
"So Prithvi Raj came early and put his uncle's whole army to
flight. But that was not enough. His uncle must be driven from
the kingdom. So when he heard that broken army was hiding in
the depths of a mighty forest, there he went with his bravest
horsemen and suddenly, on a dark night, sprang into their midst.
Then there was great shouting and fighting; and soon they came
together, uncle and nephew, striking at each other, yet never hat-
ing, though they must make battle because of Chitor and the
Kingdom of Mewar.
"To none would Suraj yield, but only to Prithvi, bravest of
the brave. So suddenly in a loud voice he cried, ' Stay the fight,
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 13
nephew. If I am killed, no great matter. But if you are killed,
what will become of Chitor? I would bear shame for ever.'
"By those generous words he made submission greater than
victory. Uncle and nephew embraced, heart to heart, and all
those who had been fighting each other sat down together in
peace, because Surajmul, true Rajput, could not bring harm,
even in his anger, upon the sacred city of Chitor."
She paused her eyes on Roy, who had lost his own puzzling
sensations in the clash of the fight and its chivalrous climax.
"Oh, I love it!" he said. "Is that all?"
"No, there is more."
"Is it sad?"
She shook her head at him smiling.
"Yes, Roy. It is sad."
He wrinkled his forehead.
"Oh, dear! I like it to end the nice way."
"But I am not making tales, Sonling. I am telling history."
Tara's head nudged her shoulder. "Go on please," she
murmured, resenting interruptions.
So Lilamani still looking at Roy told how Prithvi Raj
went on his last quest to Mount Abu, to punish the chief who
had married his sister and was ill-treating her.
"In answer to her cry he went; and, climbing her palace walls
in the night, he gave sharp punishment to that undeserving
prince. But when penance was over, his noble nature was ready,
as before, to embrace and be friends. Only that mean one, not
able to kill him in battle, put poison in the sweets he gave at
parting and Prithvi ate them, thinking no harm. So when he
came on the hill near his palace the evil work was done. Help-
less he, the all-conqueror, sent word to Tara that he might see her
before death. But even that could not be. And she, loyal wife,
had only one thought in her heart. 'Can the blossom live when
the tree is cut down? ' Calm, without tears, she bade his weeping
warriors build up the funeral pyre, putting the torch with her
own hand. Then before them all, she climbed on that couch of
fire and went through the leaping, scorching flames to meet her
lord"
I 4 FAR TO SEEK
The low, clear voice fell silent and the silence stayed. The
thrill of a tragedy they could hardly grasp laid a spell upon the
children. It made Roy feel as he did in church, when the deepest
notes of the organ quivered through him; and it brought a lump
in his throat, which must be manfully swallowed down because
of being a boy . . .
And suddenly the spell was broken by the voice of Roger the
footman, who had approached noiselessly along the mossy track.
"If you please, m'lady, Sir Nevil sent word as Lord and Lady
Roscoe 'ave arrived unexpected and, if quite convenient, can
you come in?"
They all started visibly and their dream-world of desert and
rose-red mountains and battle-fields and leaping flames shiv-
ered like a soap-bubble at the touch of a careless hand.
Lilamani rose, gentle and dignified. "Thank you, Roger. Tell
Sir Nevil I am coming."
Roy suppressed a groan. The mere mention of Aunt Jane
made one feel vaguely guilty. To his nimble fancy it was almost
as if her very person had invaded their sanctuary, in her neat,
hard coat and skirt and her neat, hard summer hat with its one
fierce wing that, disdaining the tenderness of curves, seemed to
stab the air, as her eyes so often seemed to stab Roy's hyper-
sensitive brain.
"Oh, dear!" he sighed. "Will they stop for lunch?"
"I expect so."
He wrinkled his nose in a wicked grimace.
" Bad boy ! " said Lilamani's lips, but her eyes said other things.
He knew, and she knew that he knew how, in her secret heart, she
shared his innate antagonism. Was it not of her own bestowing
a heritage of certain memories ineffaceable, unforgiveable
during her early days of marriage? But in spite of that
mutual knowledge, Roy was never allowed to speak disrespect-
fully of his formidable aunt.
"You can stay out and play till half -past twelve, not one min-
ute later," she said and left them to their own delectable de-
vices.
Roy had been promoted to a silver watch on his eighth birth-
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 15
day; so he could be relied on; and he still enjoyed a private sense
of importance when the fact was recognised.
Left alone they had only to pick up the threads of their game;
a sort of interminable serial story, in which they lived and
moved and had their being. But first Tara in her own person
had a piece of news to impart. Hunching up her knees, she
tilted back her head till it touched the satin-grey bole of the tree
and all her hair lay shimmering against it like a stream of pale
sunshine.
" What do you think? " she nodded at Roy with her elfin smile.
" We've got a Boy-on-a- Visit and his mother, from India. They
came last night. He's rather a large boy."
"Is he nine?" Roy asked, standing up very straight and slim,
a defensive gleam in his eye.
"He's ten and a half. And he looks bigger'n that. He goes to
school. And he's been quite a lot in India."
"Not my India."
"I don't know. He called it 'Mballa. That letter I brought
from Mummy was asking if she could bring them for tea."
"Well, I don't want him for tea. I don't like your Boy-on-a-
Visit. I'll tell Mummy."
"Oh, Roy you mustn't." She made reproachful eyes at
him. "Coz then / couldn't come. And he's quite nice only
rather lumpy. Anyhow you can't not like someb'dy you've
never seen."
"I can, I often do." The possibility had only just occurred to
him. He saw it as a distinction and made the most of it. " 'Course
if you're going to make a fuss "
Tara's eyes opened wider still. "Oh, Roy, you are ! 'Tisn't
me that's making fusses."
Though Roy knew nothing as yet about woman and the last
word, he instinctively took refuge hi the masculine dignity that
spurns descent to the dusty arena, when it feels defeat in the air.
"Girls don't never fuss do they?" he queried suavely.
"Let's get on with the Game and not bother about your Boy-of-
Ten."
"And a half," Tara insisted tactlessly with her sweetest smile.
16 FAR TO SEEK
But when Roy chose to be impassive, pin-pricks were thrown
away on him. " Where'd we stop?" he mused, ignoring her re-
mark. "Oh I know. The Knight was going forth to quest
the Elephant with Golden Tusks for the High-Tower Princess
who wanted them in her crown. Why do Princesses always want
what the Knights can't find?"
Tara's feminine intuition leaped at a solution.
"I spec it's just to show off they are Princesses and to keep the
Knights from bothering round. So off he went and the Princess
climbed up to her highest tower and waved her lily hand
In the same breath she, Tara, sprang to her feet and swung
herself astride a downward-sweeping branch just above Roy's
head. There she perched like a slim blue flower, dangling her
tan-stockinged legs and shaking her hair at him like golden rain.
She was in one of her impish moods; reaction, perhaps though
she knew it not from the high tragedy of that other Tara, her
namesake, and the great-greatest-possible grandmother of her
adored 'Aunt Lila.' Clutching her bough, she leaned down and
lightly ruffled his hair.
He started and looked reproachful. "Don't rumple me. I'm
going."
"You needn't, if you don't want to," she cooed caressingly.
"I'm going to the tipmost top to see out over the world. And
the Princess doesn't care a bean about the Golden Tusks truly."
" She's jolly pleased of the Knight what finds them," said Roy
with a deeper wisdom than he knew. "And you can't be stopped
off quests that way. Come on, Prince."
At a bend in the mossy path, he looked back and she waved her
'lily hand.'
To be alone in the deep of the wood in bluebell-tune was, for
Roy, a sensation by itself. In a moment, you stepped through
some unseen door straight into fairy-land or was it a looking-
glass world? For here the sky lay all around your feet in a shim-
mer of bluebells: and high overhead were domes of cool green
light, where the sun came flickering and filtering through mil-
lions of leaves. Always, as far as he could remember, the magical
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 17
feeling had been there. But this morning it came over him in a
queer way. This morning though he could not quite make it
out there was the Roy that felt and the Roy that knew he felt,
just as there had suddenly been when he was watching his
mother's face. And this magical world was his kingdom. In
some far-off time, it would all be his very own. That uplifting
thought eclipsed every other.
Lost in one of his dreaming moods, he wandered on and on
with Prince at his heels. He forgot all about Tara and his knight-
hood and his quest; till suddenly where the trees fell apart
his eye was arrested by twin shafts of sunlight that struck down-
ward through the green gloom.
He caught his breath and stood still. "I've found them! The
Golden Tusks!" he murmured ecstatically.
The pity was he couldn't carry them back with him as trophies.
He could only watch them fascinated, wondering how you could
explain what you didn't understand yourself. All he knew was
that they made him feel " dazzled inside " and he wanted to watch
them more.
It was beautiful out in the open with the sunshine pouring
down and a big lazy white cloud tangled in tree-tops. So he flung
himself on the moss, hands under his head, and lay there, Prince
beside him, looking up, up into the far blue, listening to the swish
and rustle of the wind talking secrets to the leaves, and all the
tiny, mysterious noises that make up the silence of a wood in
summer.
And again he forgot about Tara and the Game and the silver
watch that made him reliable. He simply lay there in a trance-
like stillness, that was not of the West, absorbing it all with his
eyes and his dazzled brain and with every sentient nerve in his
body. And again as when his mother smiled her praise the
spring sunshine itself seemed to flow through his veins. . . .
Suddenly, he came alive and sat upright. Something was hap-
pening. The Golden Tusks had disappeared and the domes of
cool green light and the far blue sky and the lazy white cloud.
Under the beeches it was almost twilight a creepy twilight, as
if a giant had blown out the sun. Was it really evening? Had he
18 FAR TO SEEK
been asleep? Only his watch could answer that and never had
he loved it more dearly. No it was daytime. Twenty past
twelve and he would be late
A long, rumbling growl, that seemed to shudder through the
wood, so startled him that it set little hammers beating all over
his body. Then the wind grew angrier not whispering secrets
now, but tearing at the tree- tops and lashing the branches this
way and that. And every minute the wood grew darker, and the
sky overhead was darkest of all the colour of spilled ink. And
there was Tara his forgotten Princess waiting for him in her
high tower or perhaps she had given up waiting and gone home.
"Come on, Prince," he said, "we must run!"
The sound of his own voice was vaguely comforting: but the
moment he began to run, he felt as if someone or Something
was running after him. He knew there was nothing. He knew
it was babyish. But what could you do if your legs were in a
fearful hurry of their own accord? Besides Tara was waiting.
Somehow Tara seemed the point of safety. He didn't believe
she was ever afraid
All in a moment the eerie darkness quivered and broke into
startling light. Twigs and leaves and bluebell spears and tiny
patterns of moss seemed to leap at him and vanish as he ran: and
two minutes after, high above the agitated tree-tops, the thunder
spoke. No mere growl now; but crash on crash that seemed to be
tearing the sky in two and set the little hammers inside him beat-
ing faster than ever.
He had often watched storms from a window: but to be out in
the very middle of one all alone was an adventure of the first
magnitude. The grandeur and terror of it clutched at his heart
and thrilled along his nerves as the thunder went rumbling and
grumbling off to the other end of the world, leaving the wood so
quiet and still that the little hammers inside seemed almost as
loud as the heavy plop-plop of the first big rain-drops on the
leaves. . . .
Yet in spite of secret tremors, he wanted tremendously to hear
the thunder speak again. The childish feeling of pursuit was gone.
His legs, that had been in such a fearful hurry, came to a sudden
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 19
standstill; and he discovered, to his immense surprise, that he was
back again
There lay the rug and the cushions under the downward-sweep-
ing branches with their cascades of bright new leaves. No sign of
Tara and the heavy drops came faster, though they hardly
amounted to a shower.
Flinging down bow and arrows he ran under the tree and
peered up into a maze of silver grey and young green. Still no
sign.
"Tara!" he called. "Are you there?"
" 'Course I am." Her disembodied voice had a ring of triumph.
"I'm at the topmost top. It's rather shaky, but scrumshous.
Come up quick!"
Craning his neck, he could just see one leg and the edge of her
frock. Temptation tugged at him; but he could not bear to
disobey his mother not because it was naughty, but because
it was her.
"I can't now," he called back. "It's late and it's raining.
You must come down."
"I will if you come up."
" I tell you, I can't!"
"Only one little minute, Roy. The storm's rolling away.
I can see miles and miles right to Farthest End."
Temptation tugged harder. You couldn't carry on an argu-
ment with one tan shoe and stocking and a flutter of blue frock,
and he wanted badly to tell about the Golden Tusks. Should he
go on alone or should he climb up and fetch her ?
The answer to that came from the top of the tree. A crack, a
rustle, and a shriek from Tara, who seemed to be coming down
faster than she cared about.
Another shriek. "Oh, Roy! I'm stuck! Do come!"
Stuck! She was dangling from the end of a jagged bough that
had caught in her skirt as she fell. There she hung ignominiously,
his High-Tower Princess, her hair floating like seaweed, her
hands clutching at the nearest branches, that were too pliable for
support. If her skirt should tear, or the bough should break
"Keep stuck!" he commanded superfluously; and like a squir-
20 FAR TO SEEK
rel he sped up the great beech, its every foothold as familiar to
him as the ground he walked on.
But to release her skirt and give her a hand he must trust him-
self on the jagged bough, hoping it would bear the double weight.
It looked rather a dead one and its sharp end was sticking
through a hole in Tara's frock. He set foot on it cautiously and
proffered a hand.
"Now catch hold!" he said.
Agile as he, she swung herself up somehow and clutched at him
desperately with both hands. The half-dead bough, resenting
these gymnastics, cracked ominously. There was a gasp, a
scuffle. Roy hung on valiantly, dragging her nearer for a firmer
foothold.
And suddenly down below Prince began to bark a deep,
booming note of welcome.
" Hullo, Roy ! " It was his father's voice. "Are you murdering
Tara up there? Come out of it!"
Roy, having lost his footing, was in no position to look down
or to disobey: and they proceeded to come out of it, with rather
more haste than dignity.
Roy, swinging from a high branch for his final jump a bit of
pure bravado because he felt nervous inside discovered, with
mingled terror and joy, that his vagrant foot had narrowly
shaved Aunt Jane's neat, hard summer hat: Aunt Jane, of all
people. He almost wished he had kicked the fierce little feather
and broken its back
He was on the ground now, shaking hands with her, his sensi-
tive, clean-cut face a mask of mere politeness: and Tara was
standing by him a jagged hole in her blue frock and a red
scratch across her cheek and her hair-ribbon gone looking
suspiciously as if he had been trying to murder her instead of
doing her a knightly service.
She couldn't help it, of course. But still it was a distinct
score for Aunt Jane, who, as usual, went straight to the point.
"You nearly kicked my head just now. A little gentleman
would apologise."
He did apologise not with the best grace.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 21
"My turn next," his father struck in. "What the dickens
were you up to tearing slices out of my finest tree?" His
twinkly eyes were almost grave and his voice was almost stern.
("Just because of Aunt Jane!" thought Roy.)
Aloud he said: "I'm awfully sorry, Daddy. It was only . . ,
Tara got in a muddle. I had to help her."
The twinkle came back to his father's eyes.
"The woman tempted me!" was all he said: and Roy, hope-
lessly mystified, wondered how he could possibly know. It was
very clever of him. But Aunt Jane seemed shocked.
"Nevil, be quiet!" she commanded in a crisp undertone: and
Roy, simply hating her, pulled out his watch.
"We've got to hurry, Daddy. Mother said 'not later than
half-past.' And it is later."
" Scoot, then. She'll be anxious on account of the storm."
But though Roy, grasping Tara's hand, faithfully hurried
ahead because of mother, he managed to keep just within ear-
shot; and he listened shamelessly because of Aunt Jane. You
couldn't trust her. She didn't play fair. She would bite you be-
hind your back. That's the kind of woman she was.
And this is what he heard.
"Nevil, it's disgraceful. Letting them run wild like that; dam-
aging the trees and scaring the birds. " She meant the pheasants,
of course. No other winged beings were sacred hi her eyes.
" Sorry, old girl. But they appear to survive it." (The cool
good-humour of his father's tone was balm to Roy's heart.)
"And frankly, with us, if it's a case of the children or the birds,
the children win, hands down."
Aunt Jane snorted. You could call it nothing else. It was a
sound peculiarly her own and it implied unutterable things. Roy
would have gloried had he known what a score for his father was
that delicately implied identity with his wife.
But the snort was no admission of defeat.
"In my opinion if it counts for anything," she persisted,
" this harum-scarum state of things is quite as bad for the chil-
dren as for the birds. I suppose you have a glimmering concern
for the boy's future, as heir to the old place?"
22 FAR TO SEEK
Nevil Sinclair chuckled. "By Jove! That's quite a bright
idea. Really, Jane, you've a positive flair for the obvious."
(Roy hugely wanted to know what a 'flair for the obvious*
might be. His eager brain pounced on new words as a dog
pounces on a bone.)
"I wish I could say the same for you," Lady Roscoe retorted,
unabashed. "The obvious, in this case though you can't or
won't see it is that the boy is thoroughly spoilt and in Sep-
tember he ought to go to school. You couldn't do better than
Coombe Friars."
His father said something quickly in a low tone and he couldn't
catch Aunt Jane's next remark. Evidently he was to hear no
more. What he had heard was bad enough.
"I don't care. I jolly well won't," he said between his teeth
which looked as if Aunt Jane was not quite wrong about the
spoiling.
"No, don't," said Tara, who had also listened without shame.
And they hurried on in earnest.
"Tara," Roy whispered, suddenly recalling his quest, "I
found the Golden Tusks. I'll tell it you after."
" Oh, Roy, you are a wonder! " She gave his hand a convulsive
squeeze and they broke into a run.
The 'bits of blue' had spread half over the sky. The thunder
still grumbled to itself at intervals and a sharp little shower
whipped out of a passing cloud. Then the sun flashed through it
and the shadows crept round the great twin beeches on the lawn
and the day was as lovely as ever again.
And yet for Roy, it was not the same loveliness. Aunt
Jane's repeated threat of 'school' brooded over his sensitive
spirit, like the thundercloud in the wood that was the colour of
spilled ink. And the Boy-of-Ten a potential enemy was
coming to tea . . .
Yet this morning he had felt so beautifully sure that nothing
could go wrong on a day like this! It was his first lesson, and not
by any means his last, that Fate unmoved by 'light of smiles
or tears ' is no respecter of profound convictions or of beautiful
days.
CHAPTER III
Of Heaven, what boon to buy you, boy, or gain
Not granted? Only O on that path you pace
Run all your race. brace sturdier that young strain.
G. M. HOPKINS
TARA was right. The Boy-of-Ten (Roy persistently ignored the
half) was rather a large boy: also rather lumpy. He had little
eyes and freckles, and what Christine called a 'turnip nose.' He
wore a very new school blazer, and real cricket trousers, with a
flannel shirt and school tie that gave Roy's tussore shirt and
soft brown bow almost a girlish air. Something in his manner
and the way he aired his school slang made Roy who never
shone with strangers feel 'miles younger,' which did not help
to put him at ease.
His name was Joe Bradley. He had been in India till he was
nearly eight; and he talked about India, as he talked about
school, in a rather important voice, as befitted the only person
present who knew anything of either.
Roy was quite convinced he knew nothing at all about Rajpu-
tana or Chitor or Prithvi Raj or the sacred peacocks of Taipur.
But somehow he could not make himself talk about these things
simply for 'show off,' because a strange boy, with bad manners,
was putting on airs.
Besides, he never much wanted to talk when he was eating,
though he could not have explained why. So he devoted his at-
tention chiefly to a plate of chocolate cakes, leaving the Boy-of-
Ten conversationally in command of the field.
He was full of a recent cricket match and his talk bristled with
such unknown phrases as ' square leg,' ' cover point,' and ' caught
out.' But, for some reason pure perversity, perhaps they
stirred in Roy no nicker of curiosity, like his father's ' flair for
the obvious.' He didn't know what they meant and he didn't
care, which was not the least like Roy. Tara, who owned big
24 FAR TO SEEK
brothers, seemed to know all about it, or looked as if she did; and
to show you didn't understand what a girl understood, would be
the last indignity.
When the cricket show-off was finished, Joe talked India and
ragged Tara, in a big-brotherly way, and ignored Christine, as if
five and a half simply didn't count. That roused Roy; and by
way of tacit rebuke, he bestowed such marked attention on his
small sister that Christine (who adored him, and was feeling
miserably shy) sparkled like a dewdrop when the sun flashes
out.
She was a tiny creature, exquisitely proportioned; fair, like
her father, yet in essence a replica of her mother, with the same
wing-like brows and dark, limpid eyes. Dimly jealous of Tara,
she was the only one of the three who relished the presence of the
intruder and wished strange boys oftener came to tea.
Millicent, the nursery-maid, presided. She was tall and smil-
ing and obviously a lady. She watched and listened and said
little during the meal.
Once, in the course of it, Lilamani came in and hovered round
them, filling Roy's tea-cup, spreading Christine's honey -
extra thick. Her Eastern birthright of service, her joy in waiting
on those she loved, had survived ten years of English marriage,
and would survive ten more. It was as much an essential part
of her as the rhythm of her pulses and the blood in her veins.
She was no longer the apple-blossom vision of the morning.
She wore her mother-o'-pearl sari with its narrow gold border.
Her dress, that was the colour of a dove's wing, shimmered
changefully as she moved, and her aquamarine pendant gleamed
like imprisoned drops of sea water on its silver chain.
Roy loved her in the mother-o'-pearl mood best of all; and he
saw, with a throb of pride, how the Important Boy-from-India
seemed too absorbed in watching her even to show off. She did
not stay many minutes and she said very little. She was still,
by preference, quiet during a meal, and it gave her a secret thrill
t>f pleasure to see the habit of her own race reappearing as an in-
stinct in Roy. So, with merely a word or two, she just smiled at
them and gave them things and patted their heads.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 25
And when she was gone, Roy felt better. The scales had swung
even again. What was a school blazer and twenty runs at cricket,
compared with the glory of having a mother like that?
But if tea was not much fun, after tea was worse.
They were told to run and play in the garden; and obediently
they ran out, dog and all. But what could you play at with a su-
perior being who had made twenty runs not out, in a House
Match whatever that might be? They showed him their
ring-doves and their rabbits; but he didn't even pretend to be
interested, though Tara did her best, because it was she who had
brought this infliction on Roy.
"How about the summer-house?" she suggested hopefully.
For the summer-house locker contained an assortment of old
tennis-bats, mallets, and balls that might prove more stimulating
than rabbits and doves. Roy offered no objection: so they strag-
gled across a corner of the lawn to a narrower strip behind the
tall yew hedge.
The grown-ups were gathered under the twin beeches; and
away at the far end of the lawn Roy's mother and Tara's mother
were strolling up and down hi the sun.
Again Roy noticed how Joe Bradley stared: and as they
rounded the corner of the hedge he remarked suddenly: "I say!
There's that swagger ayah of yours walking with Lady Despard.
She's jolly smart, for an ayah. Did you bring her from India?
You never said you'd been there."
Roy started and went hot all over. "Well, I have just on a
visit. And she's not an ay ah. She's my Mummy!"
Joe Bradley opened his mouth as well as his eyes, which made
him look plainer than ever.
"Golly! what a tale! White people don't have ayahs for
Mothers not hi my India. I s'pose your Pater married her
out there?"
"He didn't. And I tell you she's not an ayah"
Roy's low voice quivered with anger. It was as if ten thousand
little flames had come alight inside him. But you had to try and
be polite to visitors; so he added with a virtuous effort: "She's
a really and truly Princess so there 1"
26 FAR TO SEEK
But that unspeakable boy, instead of being impressed, simply
laughed in the rudest way.
"Don't excite, you silly kid. I'm not as green as you are.
Besides who cares ? "
It flashed on Roy, through the blur of his bewildered rage,
that perhaps the Boy-from-India was jealous. He tried to speak.
Something clutched at his throat; but instinct told him he had a
pair of hands . . .
To the utter amazement of Tara, and of the enemy, he silently
sprang at the bigger boy; grabbed him unscientifically by the
knot of his superior necktie and hit out, with more fury than pre-
cision, at cheeks and eyes and nose
For a few exciting seconds he had it all his own way. Then
the enemy recovered from the first shock of surprise
spluttered wrathfully and hit out in return. He had weight in
his favour. He tried to bend Roy backwards; and failing began
to kick viciously wherever he could get at him. It hurt rather
badly and made Roy angrier than ever. In a white heat of rage,
he shook and pummelled, regardless of choking sounds and fin-
gers clutching at his hair . . .
Tara, half excited and half frightened, could only grab Prince's
collar, to keep him from rushing into the fray; and when Joe
started kicking, it was all she could do not to let him go. But she
knew Athol her dearest brother would say it wasn't fair
play. So she tugged, and Prince tugged; while the boys, fiercely
silent, rocked to and fro; and Christine sobbed piteously
"He's hurting Roy he's kitting Roy!"
Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out, "Don't
be a baby, Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine
simply didn't believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It
mightn't be his, but still It made even Tara feel rather sick;
and when a young gardener appeared on the scene she called out:
"Oh, Mudford, do stop them or something'll happen."
But Mudford British to the bone would do nothing of
the kind. He saw at once that Roy was getting the better of an
opponent nearly twice his weight; and, setting down his barrow,
he shamelessly applauded his young master.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 27
By now, the Enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the
brand-new blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you
little beast!"
But Roy, fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder.
" Tologise 'pologise! Say she isn't!"
His forward jerk on the words took Joe unawares. The edge of
the lawn tripped him up and they rolled on the grass, Joe under-
most, in a close embrace
And at that critical moment there came strolling round the
corner of the hedge a group of grown-ups Sir Nevil Sinclair
with Mrs. Bradley, Lady Roscoe, Lady Despard, and Roy's
godfather, the distinguished novelist Cuthbert Broome.
3 Mudford, and his barrow, departed; and Tara looked appeal-
ingly at her mother.
Roy intent on the prostrate foe suddenly felt a hand on
his shoulder and heard his father's voice say sharply: "Get up,
Roy, and explain yourself!"
They got up, both of them and stood there, looking shy
and stupefied and very much the worse for wear: hair ruffled,
faces discoloured, shirts torn open. One of Roy's stockings was
slipping down; and, in the midst of his confused sensations, he
heard the excited voice of Mrs. Bradley urgently demanding
to know what her 'poor dear boy' could have done to be treated
like that.
No one seemed to answer her; and the poor dear boy was too
busy comforting his nose to take much interest in the proceed-
Lady Despard (you could tell at a glance she was Tara'^s
mother) was on her knees comforting Christine; and, as Roy's
senses cleared, he saw with a throb of relief that his mother
was not there. But Aunt Jane was and Uncle Cuthbert -
He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless
silence, full of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving
him a few seconds it was no more to recover himself.
Then: "What do you mean by it, Roy?" he asked: and this
time his voice was really stern. It hurt more than the bruises.
"Gentlemen don't hammer their guests." This was an unex-
28 FAR TO SEEK
pected blow. And it wasn't fair. How could he explain before
'all those? His cheeks were burning, his head was aching; and
tears, that must not be allowed to fall, were pricking like
needles under his lids.
It was Tara who spoke still clutching Prince, lest he over-
whelm Roy and upset his hardly maintained dignity.
"Joe made him angry he did," she thrust in with feminine
officiousness; and was checked by her mother's warning finger.
Mrs. Bradley long and thin and beaky bore down upon
her battered son, who edged away sullenly from proffered
caresses.
Sir Nevil, not daring to meet the humorous eye of Cuthbert
Broome, still contemplated the dishevelled dignity of his own
small son half puzzled, half vexed.
"You've done it now, Roy. Say you're sorry," he prompted;
his voice a shade less stern than he intended.
Roy shook his head.
" It's him to say not me."
" Did he begin it?"
"No."
"Of course he didn't," snapped the injured mother. "He's
been properly brought up" which was not exactly polite; but
she was beside herself simply an irate mother-creature, all
beak and ruffled feathers. "You deserve to be whipped. You've
hurt him badly."
"Oh, dry up, Mother," Joe murmured behind his sanguinary
handkerchief, edging still farther away from maternal fussings
and possible catechism.
Nevil Sinclair saw clearly that his son would neither apologise
nor explain. At heart he suspected young Bradley, if only on ac-
count of his insufferable mother, but the laws of hospitality must
be upheld.
" Go to your own room, Roy," he said with creditable severity,
"and stay there till I come."
Roy gave him one look mutely reproachful. Then to
everyone's surprise and Tara's delight he walked straight up
to the Enemy.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 29
"I did hammer hardest! 'Pologise!"
The older boy mumbled something suspiciously like the fatal
word: a suspicion confirmed by Roy's next remark: "I'm sorry
your blazer's spoilt. But you made me."
And the elders, watching with amused approbation, had no
inkling that the words were spoken not by Roy Sinclair, but
by Prithvi Raj.
The Enemy, twice humbled, answered nothing; and Roy
his dignity unimpaired by such trifles as a lump on his cheek, a
dishevelled tie, and one stocking curled lovingly round his
ankle walked leisurely away, with never a glance in the direc-
tion of the 'grown-ups,' who had no concern whatever with this,
the most important event of his life.
Tara torn between wrath and admiration watched him
go. In her eyes he was a hero, a victim of injustice and the den-
sity of grown-ups.
She promptly released Prince, who bounded after his master.
She wanted to go too. It was all her fault, bringing that horrid
boy to tea. She did hope Roy would explain things properly.
But boys were stupid sometimes and she wanted to make sure.
While her mother was tactfully suggesting a homeward move,
she slipped up to Sir Nevil and insinuated a small hand into his.
"Uncle Nevil, do believe," she whispered urgently. "Truly it
isn't fair "
His quick frown warned her to say no more; but the pressure of
his hand comforted her a little.
All the same she hated going home. She hated 'that putrid
boy' a forbidden adjective; but what else could you call him?
She was glad he would be gone the day after to-morrow. She
was even more glad that his nose was bleeding and his eye
bunged up and his important blazer all bloodied. Girl though
she was, there ran a fiercer strain hi her than hi Roy.
As they all moved off, she had an inspiration. She was given
that way.
"Mummy darling," she said in her small, clear voice, "mayn't
I stay back a little and play with Chris? She's so unhappy.
Alice could fetch me couldn't she? Please."
30 FAR TO SEEK
The innocent request was underlined by an unmistakeable
glance through her lashes at Joe. She wanted him to hear; and
she didn't care if he understood him and his beaky mother!
Clearly her own Mummy understood. She was nibbling her lips,
trying not to smile.
"Very well, dear," she said. "I'll send Alice at half-past six.
Run along."
Tara gave her hand a grateful little squeeze and ran.
She would have hated the 'beaky mother' worse than ever
could she have heard her remark to Lady Despard, when they
were alone.
"Really, a most obstinate, ungoverned child. His mother, of
course a very pretty creature but what can you expect?
Natives always ruin boys."
Lady Despard Lilamani Sinclair's earliest champion and
friend could be trusted to deal effectually with a remark of
that quality.
As for Tara once 'the creatures' were out of sight they were
extinct. All the embryo mother in her was centred on Roy. It
was a shame sending him to his room, like a naughty boy, when
he was really a champion, a King-Arthur's Knight. But if only
he properly explained, Uncle Nevil would surely understand
And suddenly there sprang a dilemma. How could Roy make
himself repeat to Uncle Nevil the rude remarks of that abomina-
ble boy? And if not how was he going to properly explain ?
CHAPTER IV
What a great day came and passed;
Unknown then, but known at last
AXICE MEYNEIX
THAT very problem was puzzling Roy as he lay on his bed with
Prince's head against his shoulder, aching a good deal, exulting
at thought of his new-born knighthood, wondering how long he
was to be treated like a sinner and, through it all, simply
longing for his mother.
It was the conscious craving for her sympathy, her applause,
that awakened him to his dilemma.
He had championed her with all his might against that lumpy
Boy-of-Ten who kicked in the meanest way; and he couldn't
explain why, so she couldn't know ever. The memory of those
insulting words hurt him so that he shrank from repeating them
to anyone least of all to her. Yet how could he see her and
feel her and not tell her everything? She would surely ask
she would want to know and then when he tried to think
beyond that point he felt simply lost.
It was an impasse none the less tragic because he was only nine.
To tell her every little thing was as simple a necessity of life as
eating or sleeping; and till this bewildering moment as
much a matter of course. For Lilamani Sinclair, with her East-
ern mother genius, had forged between herself and her first born
a link woven of the tenderest, most subtle fibres of heart and
spirit; a link so vital, yet so unassertive, that it bid fair to stand
the strain of absence, the test of time. So close a link with any
human heart, while it makes for beauty, makes also for pain
and perplexity; as Roy was just realising to his dismay.
At the sound of footsteps he sat up, suddenly very much aware
of his unheroic dishevelment. He tugged at the fallen stocking
and made hasty dabs at his hair. But it was only Esther the
housemaid with an envelope on a tray. Envelopes, however, were
always mysterious and exciting.
52 FAR TO SEEK
His name was scribbled on this one in Tara's hand; and as
Esther retreated he opened it, wondering . . .
It contained a half-sheet of note-paper and between the folds
lay a circle of narrow blue ribbon plaited in three strands. But
only two of the strands were ribbon; the third was a tress of her
gleaming hah-. Roy gazed at it a moment, lost in admiration,
still wondering; then he glanced at Tara's letter not scrawled
but written with laboured neatness and precision.
Dear Roy, it was splendid. You are Prithvi Raj. I am sending you
the bangel like Aunt Lila told us. It can't be gold or jewels. But I've
pulled the ribbin out of my petticote and put in sum of my hair to
make it spangly. So now you are Braselet Bound Brother. Don't
forget. From Tara.
I hope you aren't hurting much. Do splain to Uncle Nevil properly
and come down soon. I am hear playing with Chris. Tara.
. Roy sat looking from the letter to the bangle with a distinctly
pleasant kind of mixed-up feeling inside. He was so surprised, so
comforted, so elated by this tribute from his High-Tower Prin-
cess, who was an exacting person in the matter of heroes. Now
besides being a Knight and a champion he was Bracelet-
Bound Brother as well.
Only the other day his mother had told them a tale about this
old custom of bracelet sending in Raj pu tana: how, on a certain
holy day, any woman married or not married may send her
bracelet token to any man. If he accepts it, and sends in return
an embroidered bodice, he becomes, from that hour, her bracelet
brother, vowed to her service, like a Christian Knight in the days
of chivalry. The bracelet may be of gold or jewels or even of silk
interwoven with spangles like Tara's impromptu token. The
two who are bracelet-bound might possibly never meet face to
face. Yet she who sends may ask of him who accepts any service
she pleases; and he may not deny it even though it involve the
risk of his life.
The ancient custom, she told them, still holds good, though it
has declined in use, like all things chivalrous, in an age deafened
by the clamour of industrial strife; an age grown blind to the
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 33
beauty of service, that, in defiance of 'progress,' still remains the
keynote of an Indian woman's life.
So these privileged children had heard much of it, through the
medium of Lilamani's Indian tales; and this particular one had
made a deeper impression on Tara than on Roy; perhaps because
the budding woman in her relished the power of choice and com-
mand it conferred on her own sex.
Certainly no thought of possible future commands dawned on
Roy. It was her pride in his achievement, so characteristically
expressed, that flattered his incipient masculine vanity and
added a cubit to his stature.
He knew now what he meant to be when he grew up. Not a
painter, or a soldier, or a gardener but a Bracelet-Bound
Brother.
Gingerly, almost shyly, he slipped over his hand the deftly
woven trifle of ribbon and gleaming hair. As the first glow
of pleasure subsided, there sprang the instinctive thought
"Won't Mummy be pleased!" And straightway he was caught
afresh in the toils of his dilemma How could he possibly ex-
plain ?
What was she doing? Why didn't she come ?
There ! His ear caught far-off footsteps too heavy for
hers. He slipped off the bracelet, folded it in Tara's letter, and
tucked it away inside his shirt.
Hurriedly a little nervously he tied his brown bow and
got upon his feet, just as the door opened and his father came in.
"Well, Roy!" he said, and for a few seconds he steadily re-
garded his small son with eyes that tried very hard to be grave
and judicial. Scoldings and assertions of authority were not in
his line: and the tug at his heart-strings was peculiarly strong in
the case of Roy. Fair himself, as the boy was dark, their intrinsic
likeness of form and feature was yet so striking that there were
moments as now when it gave Nevil Sinclair an eerie sense
of looking into his own eyes; which was awkward, as he had
come steeled for chastisement, if needs must, though his every
instinct revolted from the mutual indignity. He had only once
inflicted it on Roy for open defiance in one of his stormy ebulli-
34 FAR TO SEEK
tions of temper; and, at this moment, he did not seem to see a
humble penitent before him.
"What have you got to say for yourself?" he went on, hoping
the pause had been impressive; strongly suspecting it had been
nothing of the kind. " Gentlemen, as I told you, don't hammer
their guests. It was rather a bad hammering, to judge from his
handkerchief. And you don't look particularly sorry about it,
either."
"I'm not not one littlest bit."
This was disconcerting; but Nevil held his ground.
"Then I suppose I've got to whack you. If boys aren't sorry
for then* sins, it's the only way."
Roy's eyelids flickered a little.
"You better not," he said with the same impersonal air of
conviction. "You see, it wouldn't make me sorry. And you
don't hurt badly. Not half as much as Joe did. He was mean.
He kicked. I wouldn't have stopped, all the same, if you
Hadn't come."
The note of reproach was more disconcerting than ever.
"Well, if whacking's no use, what am I to do with you? Shut
you up here till bedtime eh? "
Roy considered that dismal proposition, with his eyes on the
summer world outside.
"Well you can if you like. But it wouldn't be fair." A
pause. "You don't know what a horrid boy he was, Daddy.
F0w'd have hit him harder even if he was a guest."
"I wonder!" Nevil fatally admitted. "Of course it would all
depend on the provocation."
"What's 'provication'?"
The instant alertness over a new word brought back the smile
to Nevil's eyes.
" It means saying or doing something bad enough to make
it right for you to be angry."
"Well, it was bad enough. It was" a portentous pause
"about Mummy."
"About Mummy?" The sharp change in his father's tone
was at once startling and comforting. "Look here, Roy. No
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 35
more mysteries. This is my affair as much as yours. Come
here."
Pulling a bedside chair near the window, he sat down and
drew Roy close to him, taking his shoulders between his hands.
"Now, then, old boy, tell me just exactly what happened as
man to man."
The appeal was irresistible. But how could he ? The
very change hi his father's manner made the telling at once more
difficult and more urgent.
" Daddy it hurts too much. I don't know how to say it "
he faltered, and the blood tingled in his cheeks.
If Nevil Sinclair was not a stern father, neither was he a very
demonstrative one. Even his closest relations were tinged with
something of the artist's detachment, and innate respect for the
individual even in embryo. But at sight of Roy's distress and
delicacy of feeling, his heart melted in him. Without a word, he
slipped an arm round the boy's shoulder and drew him closer
still.
"That better, eh? You've got to pull it through, somehow,"
he said gently, so holding him that Roy could, if he chose, nestle
against him. He did choose. It might be babyish; but he hated
telling: and it was a wee bit easier with his face hidden. So, in
broken phrases and in a small voice that quivered with anger
revived he told.
While he was telling, his father said nothing; and when it was
over, he still said nothing. He seemed to be looking out of the
window and Roy felt him draw one big breath.
"Have you got to whack me now, Daddy? " he asked, still
in his small voice.
His father's hand closed on his arm. "No. You were right,
Roy," he said. "I would have hit harder. Ill-mannered little
beast! All the same "
A pause. He, no less than Roy, found speech difficult. He had
fancied himself, by now, inured to this kind of jar so frequent
in the early years of his daringly unconventional marriage. It
seemed he was mistaken. He had been vaguely on edge all the
afternoon. What young Joe had rudely blurted out, Mrs.
36 FAR TO SEEK
Bradley's manner had tacitly expressed. He had succeeded
in smothering his own sensations only to be confronted with the
effect of it all on Roy who must somehow be made to under-
stand.
"The fact is, old man," he went on, trying to speak in his
normal voice, "young Bradley and a good many of his betters
spend years hi India without coming to know very much about
the real people over there. You'll understand why when you're
older. They all have Indians for servants and they see Indians
working in shops and villages, just like plenty of our people do
here. But they don't often meet many of the other sort like
Mummy and Grandfather and Uncle Rama except sometimes
in England. And then they make stupid mistakes just
because they don't know better. But they needn't be rude about
it, like Joe: and I'm glad you punched him hard."
"So'm I. Fearfully glad." He stood upright now, his head
erect: proud of his father's approval, and being treated as
'man to man.' "But, Daddy what are we going to do ...
about Mummy? I do want her to know ... it was for her. But
I couldn't tell what Joe said. Could you?"
Nevil shook his head.
"Then what?"
"You leave it to me, Roy. I'll make things clear without
repeating Joe's rude remarks. She'd have been up before this;
but 7 had to see you first because of the whacking!" His eye
twinkled. " She's longing to get at your bruises."
"Oh, nev' mind my bruises. They're all right now."
"And beautiful to behold!" He lightly touched the lump on
Roy's cheek. "I'd let her dab them, though. Women love
fussing over us when we're hurt especially if we've been
fighting for them!"
"Yes they do," Roy agreed gravely; and to his surprise, his
father drew him close and kissed his forehead.
His mother did not keep him waiting long. First the quick
flutter of her footsteps. Then the door gently opened and she
flew to him, her sari blowing out in beautiful curves. Then he
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 37
was in her arras, gathered into her silken softness and the faint
scent of sandalwood; while her lips, light as butterfly wings,
caressed the bruise on his cheek.
"Oh, what a bad, wicked Sonling!" she murmured, gathering
him close.
He loved her upside-down fashion of praise and endearment;
never guessing its Eastern significance to avert the watchful-
ness of jealous gods swift to spy out our dearest treasures, that
hinder detachment, and snatch them from us. "Such a big rude
boy and you tried to kill him only because he did not under-
stand your queer kind of mother! That you will find often, Roy;
because it is not custom. Everywhere it is the same. For some
kind of people not to be like custom is much worse than not to be
good. And that boy has a mother too much like custom. Not
surprising if he didn't understand."
"I made him, though I did," Roy exulted shamelessly,
marvelling at his father's cleverness, wondering how much he had
told. "I hammered hard. And I'm not sorry a bit. Nor Daddy
isn't either."
For answer she gave him a convulsive little squeeze and
felt the crackle of paper under his shirt. "Something hidden
there! What is it, Sonling?" she asked, with laughing eyes: and
suddenly shyness overwhelmed him. For the moment he had
forgotten his treasure; and now he was wondering if he could
show it even to her.
"It is Tara I think if s rather a secret " he began.
"But I may see?" Then, as he still hesitated, she added with
grave tenderness: "Only if you are wishing it, son of my heart.
To-day you are a man."
From his father that recognition had been sufficiently up-
lifting. And now from her . . . ! The subtle flattery 9f it and
the deeper prompting of his own heart demolished his budding
attempt at reserve.
"I am truly," he said: and she, sitting where his father
had sat, unfolded Tara's letter and the bangle lay revealed.
Roy had not guessed how surprised she would be and how
pleased. She gave a little quick gasp and murmured something
38 FAR TO SEEK
he could not catch. Then she looked at him with shining eyes,
and her voice had its low, serious note that stirred him like music.
"Now you are Bracelet-Bound, my son. So young!" Roy
felt a throb of pride. It was clearly a fine thing to be.
"Must I give a 'broidered bodice'?"
"I will broider a bodice the most beautiful; and you shall
give it. Remember, Roy, it is not a little matter. It is for al-
ways."
" Even when I'm a grown-up man? "
"Yes, even then. If she shall ask from you any service, you
must not refuse ever."
Roy wrinkled his forehead. He had forgotten that part of it.
Tara might ask anything. You couldn't tell with girls. He had a
moment of apprehension.
"But, Mummy, I don't think Tara didn't mean all that.
It's only our sort of game of play "
Unerringly she read his thoughts, and shook her head at him
with smiling eyes, as when he made naughty faces about Aunt
Jane.
"Too sacred thing for only game of play, Roy. By keeping the
bracelet, you are bound." Her smile deepened. "You were not
afraid of the big rude boy. Yet you are just so much afraid
for Tara." She indicated the amount with the rose-pink tip of
her smallest finger. "Tara almost like sister would never
ask anything that could be wrong to do."
At this gentle rebuke he flushed and held his head a shade
higher.
" I'm not afraid, Mummy. And I will keep the bracelet and
I am bound."
"That is my brave son."
"She said I am Prithvi Raj."
" She said true." Her hand caressed his hair. "There! Now
you can run down and tell you are forgiven."
"You too, Mummy?"
"In a little time. Not just now. But see " her brows flew
up. "I was coming to mend your poor bruises!"
"I haven't got any bruises!"
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 39
The engaging touch of swagger delighted her. A man to-day
in very deed. Her gaze dwelt upon him. It was as if she looked
through the eyes of her husband into the heart of her son.
Gravely she entered into his mood.
"That is good. Then we will just make you tidy and one
littlest dab for this not-bruise on your cheek."
So much he graciously permitted: then he ran off to receive the
ovation awaiting him from Tara and Chris.
CHAPTER V
When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.
RABINDRANATH TAGOBE
LEFT to herself, Lilamani moved back to the window with her
innate, deliberate grace. There she sat down again, resting her
cheek on her hand; drinking in the serenity, the translucent still-
ness of clear, green spaces robed in early evening light, like a bride
arrayed for the coming of her lord. The higher tree-tops were
haloed with glory. Young leaves of beeches and poplars gleamed
like minted gold; and on the lawn the great twin beeches cast
a stealthily encroaching continent of shadow. In the shrubbery
birds were trilling out their ecstasy of welcome to the sun, in his
Hour of Union with Earth the Divine Mother, of whom every
human mother is, in Eastern eyes, a part, a symbol, however
imperfect.
Yet, beneath her carven tranquillity, heart and spirit were
deeply stirred. For all Nevil's skill in editing the tale of Roy's
championship, she had read his hidden thoughts as unerringly as
she had divined Mrs. Bradley's curiosity and faint hostility be-
neath the veneer of good manners not yet imparted to her son.
Helen Despard wife of a retired Lieutenant-Governor
had scores of Anglo-Indian friends; but not all of them shared
her enthusiasm for India, her sympathetic understanding of its
peoples. Lilamani had too soon discovered that the ardent decla-
ration, "I love India," was apt to mean merely that the speaker
loved riding and dancing and sunshine and vast spaces, with
' the real India ' for a dim, effective background. And by now,
she could almost tell at a glance which were the right, and which
the wrong, kind of Anglo-Indian so far as she and Nevil were
concerned. It was not like Helen to inflict the wrong kind on her;
but it had all been Mrs. Bradley's doing. She had been tactless ;
insistent in her demand to see the beautiful old garden and
the famous artist-baronet, who had so boldly flouted tradition
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 41
Helen's lame excuses had been airily dismissed and the discour-
tesy of a point-blank refusal was beyond her.
She had frankly explained matters to her beloved Lilamani as
they strolled together on the lawn, while Roy was enlightening
Joe on the farther side of the yew hedge.
Roy's championship had moved his mother more profoundly
than she dared let him see without revealing all she knew. For
the same reason, she could not show Nevil her full appreciation of
his tact and delicacy. How useless trying to hide his thoughts
he ought to know by now : but how beautiful how endearing !
That she, who had boldly defied all gods and godlings, all
claims of caste and family, should have reaped so rich a har-
vest ! For her high priestess of the inner life that was the
miracle of miracles: scarcely less so to-day than in that crown-
ing hour when she had placed her first man-child in the arms
of her husband, still, at heart, lord of her being. For the tale of
her inner life might almost be told in two words she loved.
Even now so many years after she thrilled to remember
how, in that one magical moment, without nearness or speech or
touch, the floating strands of their destinies had become so
miraculously entangled, that neither gods nor godlings, nor house-
hold despots of East or West had power to sever them. From
one swift pencil sketch, stolen without leave he sitting on the
path below, she dreaming on the hotel balcony above had
blossomed the twin flower of their love: the deeper revealing of
marriage its living texture woven of joy and pain; and the
wonder of their after life together a wonder that, to her ardent,
sensitive spirit, still seemed new every morning, like the coming of
the sun. A poet in essence, she shared with all true poets that
sense of eternal freshness in familiar things that, perhaps more
than any other gift of God, keeps the bloom on every phase and
every relation of life. By her temperament of genius, she had
quickened in her husband the flickering spark that might else
have been smothered under opposing influences. Each, hi a
quite unusual degree, had fulfilled the life of the other, and so
wrought harmony from conflicting elements of race and religion
that seemed fated to wreck their brave adventure. To gain all,
42 FAR TO SEEK
they had risked all: and events had amazingly justified them.
Within a year of his ill-considered marriage, Sir Nevil had
astonished all who knew him with the unique Exhibition of the
now famous Ramayana pictures, inspired by his wife: a series
of arresting canvases, setting forth the story of India's great epic,
her confession of faith in the two supreme loyalties of the
Queen to her husband, of the King to his people. His daring
venture had proved successful beyond hope. Artistic and critical
London had hailed him as a new-comer of promise, amounting to
genius: and Lilamani Sinclair, daughter of Rajputs, had only
escaped becoming the craze of the moment by her precipitate
withdrawal to Antibes, where she had come within an ace of
losing all, largely through the malign influence of Jane her
evil genius during those wonderful, difficult, early months of
marriage.
Nevil had returned to find himself a man of note; a prophet,
even in his own county, where feathers had been ruffled a little
by his erratic proceedings. Hence a discreetly changed attitude
in the neighbourhood, when Lilamani, barely nineteen, had pre-
sented her husband with a son.
But for all the gracious condescension of the elderly, and
the frank curiosity of the young only a discerning few had
made any real headway with this attractive, oddly disconcerting
child of another continent; this creature of queer reserves and
aloofness and passionate pride of race. The friendliest were
baffled by her incomprehensible lack of social instinct, the fruit
of India's purdah system. Loyal wives and mothers who ' adored'
their children yet spent most of then* day in pursuit of other
interests were nonplussed by her complete absorption in the
joys and sanctities of home. Yet, in course of time, her patient
simplicity and sincerity had disarmed prejudice. The least per-
ceptive could not choose but see that she was genuinely, in-
trinsically different, not merely in the matter of iridescent silks
and saris, but in the very colour of her soul.
Not that they would have expressed it so. To talk about the
soul and its colour savoured of being psychic or morbid which
Heaven forbid 1 The soul of the right-minded Bramleigh matron
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 43
was a neutral-tinted, decently veiled phantom, officially recog-
nised morning and evening, also on Sundays; but by no means
permitted to interfere with the realities of life.
The soul of Lilamani Sinclair tremulous, passionate, and
aspiring was a living flame, that lighted her thoughts, her
prayers, her desires, and burned with clearer intensity because
her religion had been stripped of all feastings and forms and cere-
monies by a marriage that set her for ever outside caste. The
inner Reality free of earth-born mists and clouds none
could take from her. God manifest through Nature, the Divine
Mother, must surely accept her incense and sacrifice of the spirit,
since no other was permitted. Her father had given her that
assurance; and to it she clung, as a child in a crowd clings con-
fidingly to the one familiar hand.
She was none the less eager to glean all she could assimilate of
the religion to which her husband conformed, but in which, it
seemed, he did not ardently believe. Her secret pangs on this
score had been eased a little by later knowledge that it was he who
shielded her from tacit pressure to make the change of faith
expected of her by certain members of his family. Jane out
of regard for his wishes had refrained from frontal attacks;
but more than one flank movement had been executed by means
of the Vicar (a second cousin) and of Aunt Julia a mild,
elder Sinclair, addicted to foreign missions.
She had not told Nevil of these tentative fishings for her soul,
lest they annoy him and he put a final veto on them. Being well
versed hi their Holy Book, she wanted to try and fathom their
strange, illogical way of believing. The Christianity of Christ
she could accept. It was a faith of the heart and the life. But its
crystallized forms and dogmas proved a stumbling-block to this
embarrassing slip of a Hindu girl, who calmly reminded the
Reverend Jeffrey Sale that the creed of his Church had not
really been inspired by Christ, but dictated by Constantino and
the Council of Nicea; who wanted to know why, in so great a
religion, was there no true worship of woman; no recognising
in the creative principle the Divine Motherhood of God?
Finally, she had scandalised them both by quarrelling with
44 FAR TO SEEK
their exclusive belief in one single instance, through endless
ages, of the All-embracing and All-creating revealed in terms of
human life. Was not that same idea a part of her own religion
a world-wide doctrine of Indo-Aryan origin? Was every other
revealing false, except that one made to an unbelieving race only
two thousand years ago? To her unregenerate but not un-
believing the message of Krishna seemed to strike a deeper
note of promise. " Wherever irreligion prevails and true religion
declines, there I manifest myself in a human form to establish
righteousness and to destroy evil."
So she questioned and argued, in no spirit of irreverence,
but simply with the logic of her race, and the sweet reasonable-
ness that is a vital element of the Hindu faith at its best. But,
after that final confession, Aunt Julia, pained and bewildered,
had retired from the field. And Lilamani, flung back on the
God within, had evolved a private creed of her own; shed-
ding the husks of Christian dogmas and the grosser superstitions
of her own faith, and weaving together the mystical elements
that are the life-blood of all religious beliefs.
For the lamps are many, but the flame is one. . . .
Not till the consummation of motherhood had lifted her
status in her own eyes at least did she venture to speak
intimately with Nevil on this vital matter. Though debarred
from sharing of sacred ceremonies, she could still aspire to be
true Sahardantini 'spiritual helpmate.' But to that end he
also must co-operate; he must feel the deeper need . . .
For many weeks after the coming of Roy she had hesitated,
before she found courage to adventure farther into the misty
region of his faith or unfaith in things not seen.
" If I am bothering you with troublesome questions forgive.
But, in our Indian way of marriage, it is taught that without
sharing spiritual life there cannot arrive true union," she had
explained, not without secret tremors lest she fail to evoke full
response. And what such failure would mean, for her, she could
hardly expect him to understand.
But by the blessing of Sarasvati, Giver of Wisdom she
; THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 45
had succeeded, beyond hope, in dispelling the shy reluctance of
his race to talk of the 'big little things.' Even to-day she could
recall the thrill of that moment: he, kneeling beside the great
chair in his studio their sanctuary; she, holding the warm
bundle of new life against her breast.
In one long look his eyes had answered her. "Nothing short
of 'true union' will satisfy me," he had said with a quiet serious-
ness more impressive than any lover's fervour. "God knows if
I'm worthy to enter your inner shrine. But unwilling never.
In the 'big little things' you are pre-eminent. I am simply your
extra child mother of my son."
That tribute was her charter of wifehood. It linked love with
life; it set her, once for all, beyond the lurking fear of Jane;
and gave her courage to face the promised visit to India, when
Roy was six months old, to present him to bis grandfather, Sir
Lakshman Singh.
They had stayed nearly a year; a wonderful year of increasing
knowledge, of fuller awakening . . . and yet . . . !
The ache of anticipation had been too poignant. The foolish
half hope that Mataji might relent, and sanctify this first grand-
child with her blessing, was in the nature of things Oriental
foredoomed to failure. And not till she found herself back among
sights and sounds hauntingly familiar, did she fully awake to
the changes wrought in her by marriage with one of another
race. For, if she had profoundly affected Nevil's personality, he
had no less profoundly influenced her sense of values both in art
and in life.
She had also to reckon with the insidious process of idealising
the absent. Indian to the core, she was deeply imbued with the
higher tenets of Hindu philosophy that lofty spiritual fabric
woven of moonlight and mysticism, of logic and dreams. But
the new Lilamani, of Nevil's making, could not shut her eyes to
debasing forms of worship, to subterranean caverns of gross
superstition, and lurking demons of cruelty and despair. While
Nevil was imbibing impressions of Indian art, Lilamani was
secretly weighing and probing the Indian spirit that inspired it;
sifting the grain from the chaff a process closely linked with
46 FAR TO SEEK
her personal life; because, for India, religion and life are one.
But no shadow had clouded the joy of reunion with her
father; for both were adepts in the fine art of loving, the touch-
stone of every human relation. And in talk with him she could
straighten out her tangle of impressions, her secret doubts and
fears.
Also there had been Rama, elder brother, studying at college
and loving as ever to the sister transformed into English wife-
yet sister still. And there had been fuller revelation of the won-
ders of India, in their travels northward, even to the Himalayas.
abode of Shiva, where Nevil must go to escape the heat and paint
more pictures always more pictures. Travelling did not suit
her. She was too innately a creature of shrines and sanctities.
And in India home of her spirit there seemed no true home
for her any more . . .
Five years later, when Roy was six and Christine two and a
half, they had been tempted to repeat their visit, in the teeth of
stern protests from Jane, who regarded the least contact with
India as fatal to the children they had been misguided enough to
bring into the world. That second time, things had been easier;
and there had been the added delight of Roy's eager interest;
his increasing devotion to the grandfather whose pride and joy
in him rivalled her own.
"In this little man we have the hope of England and India!"
he would say, only half in joke. "With East and West in his
soul the best of each he will cast out the devils of conflict
and suspicion and draw the two into closer understanding of one
another."
And, in secret, Lilamani dreamed and prayed that some day
. . . possibly . . . who could tell ?
Yet, still there persisted the sense of a widening gulf between
her and her own people; leaving her doubtful if she ever wanted
to see India again. The spiritual link would be there always; for
the rest was she not wife of Nevil, mother of Roy? Ungrateful
to grieve if a price must be paid for such supreme good fortune.
For herself she paid it willingly. But must Roy pay also?
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 47
And in what fashion? How could she fail to imbue him with the
finest ideals of her race? But how if the magnet of India proved
too strong ? To hold the scales even was a hard task for
human frailty. And the time of her absolute dominion was so
swiftly slipping away from her. Always, at the back of things,
loomed the dread shadow of school; and her Eastern soul could
not accept it without a struggle. Only yesterday, Nevil had
spoken of it again no doubt because Jane made trouble
saying too long delay would be unfair for Roy. So it must be not
later than September year. Just only fifteen months! Nevil had
told her, laughing, it would not banish him to another planet.
But it would plunge him into a world apart utterly foreign to
her. Of its dangers, its ideals, its mysterious influences, she knew
herself abysmally ignorant. She must read. She must try and
understand. She must believe Nevil knew best she, who had
not enough knowledge and too much love. But she was upheld
by no sustaining faith in this English fashion of school, with its
decree of too early separation from the supreme influences of
mother and father and home . . .
Later on, that evening, when she knelt by Roy's bed for good-
night talk and prayer, his arms round her neck, his cool cheek
against hers, the rebellion she could not altogether stifle surged
up in her afresh. But she said not a word.
It was Roy who spoke, as if he had read her heart.
"Mummy, Aunt Jane's been talking to Daddy again about
school. Oh, I do hate her!" (This in fervent parenthesis.)
She only tightened her hold and felt a small quiver run through
him.
"Will it be fearfully soon? Has Daddy told you?"
"Yes, my darling. But not too fearfully soon, because he
knows I don't wish that."
"When?"
"Not till next year, in the autumn. September."
"Oh, you good goodest Mummy!"
He clutched her in an ecstasy of relief. For him a full year's
respite was a lifetime. For her it would pass like a watch in the
night.
CHAPTER VI
Thou knowest how, dike, to give and take gentleness in due season
...the noble temper of thy sires shinelh forth in thee
PINDAR
IT was a clear mild Sunday afternoon of November; pale sun-
light, pale sky, long films of laminated cloud. From the base of
orange-tawny cliffs the sands swept out with the tide, shining
like rippled silk, where the sea had uncovered them; and sunlight
was spilled in pools and tiny furrows: the sea itself grey-green
and very still, with streaks and blotches of purple shadow flung
by no visible cloud. The beauty and the mystery of them fasci-
nated Roy, who was irresistibly attracted by the thing he could
not understand.
He was sitting alone, near the edge of a wooded cliff; troubles
forgotten for the moment; imbibing it all ...
His fifteen months of reprieve had flown faster than anyone
could have believed. It was over everything was over. No
more lessons with Tara under their beech-tree. No more happy
hours in the studio, exploring the mysteries of 'maths' and
Homer, of form and colour, with his father, who seemed to know
the "Why" of everything. Worse than all no more Mummy,
to make the whole world beautiful with the colours of her saris
and the loveliness and the dearness of her face and her laugh and
her voice.
It was all over. He was at school: not Coombe Friars, decreed
by Aunt Jane; but St. Rupert's, because the Head was an artist
friend of his father's, and would take a personal interest in Roy.
. But the Head, however kind, was a distant being; and the
boys, who could not exactly be called kind, hemmed him in on
every side. His shy, sensitive spirit shrank fastidiously from the
strange faces and bodies that herded round him, at meals, at
bedtime, in the school-room, on the play-ground; some curious
and friendly; others curious and hostile: a very nightmare of
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 49
boys, who would not let him be. And the more they hemmed
him in, the more he felt utterly, miserably alone.
As the endless weeks dragged on, there were interesting, even
exciting moments when you hardly felt the ache. But other
tunes evenings and Sundays it came back sharper than
ever. And in the course of those weeks he had learnt a number of
things not included in the school curriculum. He had learnt
that it was better to clench your teeth and not cry out when your
ears were tweaked or your arm twisted, or an unexpected pin
stuck into the soft part of your leg. But, inside him, there
burned a fire of rage and hate unsuspected by his tormentors. It
was not so much the pain, as the fact that they seemed to enjoy
hurting him, that he could neither understand nor forgive.
And by now he felt more than half ashamed of those early
letters to his mother, pouring out his misery of loneliness and
longing; of frantic threats to run away or jump off the cliff that
had so strangely failed to soften his father's heart. It seemed he
knew all about it. He had been through it himself. But Mummy
did not know; so she got upset. And Mummy must not be upset,
whatever happened to Roy, who was advised to 'shut his teeth
and play the man ' and he would feel the happier for it. That hard
counsel had done more than hurt and shame him. It had steadied
him at the moment when he needed it most. He had somehow
managed to 'shut his teeth and play the man'; and he was the
happier for it already.
So his faith hi the father who wouldn't have Mummy upset
had increased tenfold: and the letter he had nearly torn into
little bits was treasured, like a talisman, in his letter -case
Tara's parting gift.
It was on the Sunday of the frantic threats that he had wan-
dered off alone and discovered the little wood on the cliff in all
its autumn glory. It was a very ordinary wood of mixed trees
with a group of tall pines at one end. But for Roy any wood was
a place of enchantment; and this one had trees all leaning one
way, with an air of crouching and hurrying that made them seem
almost alive; and the moment they closed on him he was back
50 FAR TO SEEK
in his old familiar world of fancy, where nothing that happened
in houses mattered at all
Strolling on, careless and content, he had reached a gap, where
the trees fell apart, framing blue deeps and distances of sea and
sky. For some reason they looked more blue, more beautiful, so
framed than seen from the open shore; and there sitting alone
at the edge of all things he had felt strangely comforted; had
resolved to keep his discovery a profound secret; and to come
there every Sunday for 'sanctuary'; to think stories, or write
poetry a very private joy.
And this afternoon was the loveliest of all. If only the shel-
tering leaves would not fall so fast!
He had been sitting a long time, pencil in hand, waiting for
words to come; when suddenly there came instead the very
sounds he had fled from the talk and laughter of boys.
They seemed horribly close, right under the jutting cliff; and
their laughter and volleys of chaff had the jeering note he knew
too well. Presently his ear caught a high-pitched voice of defi-
ance, that broke off and fell to whimpering a sound that made
Roy's heart beat in quick jerks. He could not catch what they
were saying, nor see what they were doing. He did not want to
see. He hated them all.
Listening yet dreading to hear he recognised the voice
of Bennet Ma., known strictly out of earshot as Scab
Major. Is any school, at any period, quite free of the type? It
sounded more like a rough than an ill-natured rag; but the
whimpering, unseen victim seemed to have no kick in him: and
Roy could only sit there wondering helplessly what people were
made of who found it amusing to hurt and frighten other people,
who had done them no harm. . . .
And now the voice of Scab Major rang out distinctly: "After
that exhibition, he'll jolly well salaam to the lot of us, turn about.
If he's never learnt, we'll show him how."
The word 'salaam' enlightened Roy. Yesterday there had
been a buzz of curiosity over the belated arrival of a new boy
an Indian weedy-looking and noticeably dark, with a sullen
mouth and shifty eyes. Roy, though keenly interested, had
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 51
not felt drawn to him; and a new, self-protective shrinking had
withheld him from proffering advances that might only embroil
them both. He had never imagined the boy's colour would tell
against him. Was that what it meant making him salaam?
At the bare suspicion, shrinking gave place to rage. Beasts
they were! If only he could take a flying leap on to them, or roll
a few stones down and scare them out of their wits. But he could
not stir without giving away his secret. And while he hesitated,
his eye absently followed a moving speck far off on the shining
sand.
It was a boy on a bicycle hatless, head in air, sitting very
erect. There was only one boy at St. Rupert's who carried his
head that way and sat his bicycle just so. From the first Roy
had watched him covertly, with devout admiration; longing to
know him, too shy to ask his name. But so far the godlike one,
surrounded by friends, had hardly seemed aware of his existence.
Swiftly, he came nearer; and with a sudden leap of his pulses,
Roy knew he had seen
Springing off his bicycle, he flung himself into the little group
of tormentors, hitting out vigorously right and left. Sheer sur-
prise and the fury of his onslaught gave him the advantage; and
the guilty consciences of the less aggressive were his allies. . . .
This was not cruelty, but championship: and Roy, determined
to see all, lay flat on his front danger of discovery forgotten
grabbing the edge of the cliff, that curved inward, exulting in the
triumph of the deliverer and the scattering of the foe.
Bennet Major, one of the first to break away, saw and seized
the prostrate bicycle. At that Roy lost his head ; leaned perilously
over and shouted a warning, "Hi! Look out!"
But the Scab was off like the wind: and the rest, startled by a
voice from nowhere, hurriedly followed suit.
Roy, raising himself on his hands, gave a convulsive wriggle
of joy that changed midway, into a backward jerk . . . too
late!
The crumbling edge was giving way under his hands, under his
body. No time for terror. His jerk gave the finishing touch . . .
Down he went over and over; his Sunday hat bouncing
52 FAR TO SEEK
gaily on before; nothing to clutch anywhere; but by good luck,
no stones
The thought flashed through him, "I'm killed!" And five
seconds later he rolled breathless and sputtering to the
feet of the two remaining boys, who had sprung back just hi
time to escape the dusty avalanche.
There he lay shaken and stupefied his eyes and mouth
full of sand; and his pockets and boots and the inside of his
shirt. Nothing seemed to be broken. And he wasn't killed!
Someone was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his
eyes to find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and con-
cerned.
" I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark
were you up to? Are you hurt? "
"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I
spec it startled you. I'm sorry."
The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's
minions a jolly sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good
riddance eh, Chandranath? "
To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered
assent. He stood a little apart, looking sullen, irresolute, and
thoroughly uncomfortable, the marks of tears still on his face.
"Thanks veree much. I am going now," he blurted out
abruptly; and Roy felt quite cross with him. Pity had evaporated.
But the other boy's good-humour seemed unassailable.
"If you're not in a frantic hurry, we can go back together."
Chandranath shook his head. "I don't wish to go back.
I would rather be by myself."
"As you please. Those cads won't bother you again."
"If they do I will kill them."
He made that surprising announcement in a fierce whisper.
It was the voice of another race.
And the English boy's answer was equally true to type.
" Right you are. Give me fair warning and I'll lend a hand."
Chandranath stared blankly. "But they are of your
country," he said; and turning, walked off in the opposite
direction.
'THE GLORY AND THE DREAM ' 53
"A queer fish," Roy's new friend remarked. "Quite out of
water here. Awfully stupid sending him to an English school."
"Why?" asked Roy. He was sitting up and dusting himself
generally.
"Oh, because " the boy frowned pensively at the horizon.
"That takes some explaining, if you don't know India."
"D'yow know India?" Roy could not keep the eagerness out
of his tone.
"Rather. I was born there. North- West Frontier. My
name's Desmond. We all belong there. I was out till seven and a
half and I'll go back like a bird the minute my schooling's over."
He spoke very quietly; but under the quietness Roy guessed
there was purpose there was fire. This boy knew exactly what
he meant to do in his grown-up life that large, vague word
crowded with exciting possibilities. He stood there, straight as
an arrow, looking out to sea; and straight as an arrow he would
make for his target when school and college let go their hold.
Something of this Roy dimly apprehended: and his interest was
tinged with envy. If they all 'belonged,' were they Indians, he
wondered; and decided not, because of Desmond's coppery
brown hair. He wanted to understand to hear more. He
almost forgot he was at school.
"We belong too " he ventured shyly; and Desmond turned
with a kindling eye.
"Good egg! What Province?"
L "Rajputana."
" Oh miles away. Which service? "
Roy looked puzzled. "I don't know. You see it's my
mother that belongs. My grandfather's a Minister in a big
Native State out there."
"Oh I say!"
There was a shadow of change in his tone. His direct look was
a little embarrassing. He seemed to be considering Roy in a new
light.
"I I wouldn't have thought it," he said; and added a shade
too quickly: "We don't belong that way. We're all Anglo-
Indians Frontier Force." (Clearly a fine thing to be, thought
54 FAR TO SEEK
Roy, mystified, but impressed.) "Is your father in the Polit-
ical?"
More conundrums! But, warmed by Desmond's friendliness,
Roy grew bolder.
"No. He hates politics. He's just just a gentleman."
Desmond burst out laughing.
"Top-hole! He couldn't do better than that. But if your
mother he must have been in India? "
"Afterwards they went. I've been too. He found Mother in
France. He painted her. He's a rather famous painter."
"What name?"
"Sinclair."
" Oh, I've heard of him. And your people are always at home.
Lucky beggar!" He was silent watching Roy unlace his boot.
Then he asked suddenly in a voice that tried to sound casual:
" I say have you told any of the other boys about India
and your mother?"
" No why? Is there any harm? " Roy was on the defensive
at once.
"Well no. With the right sort, it wouldn't make a scrap of
difference. But you can see what some of 'em are like Bennet
Ma. and his crew. Making a dead set at that poor blighter, just
because he isn't their colour "
Roy started. "Was it only because of thai?" he asked with
emphasis.
" 'Course it was. Plain as a pike-staff . I suppose they'd bullied
him into cheeking them. And they were hacking him on to his
knees; forcing him to salaam." Twin sparks sprang alight in his
eyes. "That sort of thing makes me feel like a kettle on the
boil. Wish I'd had a boiling kettle to empty over Bennet."
"So do I the mean Scab! And he's pinched your bicycle."
"No fear! You bet we'll find it round the corner. He wouldn't
have the spunk to go right off with it. But look here what I
mean is" hesitant, yet resolute, he harked back to the main
point ' ' if any of that lot came to know about India and your
mother, well they're proper skunks, some of them. They might
say things that would make you feel like a kettle on the boil."
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 55
"If they did I would kill them."
Roy stated the fact with quiet deliberation, and without noticing
that he had repeated the very words of the vanished victim.
This tune Desmond did not treat it as a joke.
"'Course you would," he agreed gravely. "And that sort of
shindy's no good for the school. So I thought better give you
the tip "
"I see," Roy said in a low voice, without looking up. He
did not see; but he began dimly to guess at a so far unknown and
unsuspected state of mind.
Desmond sat silent while he shook the sand out of his boots.
Then he remarked in an easier tone: "Quite sure there's no
damage? "
Roy, now on his feet, found his left leg uncomfortably stiff
and said so.
" Bad luck! We must walk it off. I'll knead it first, if you like.
I've seen them do it on the Border."
His unskilled manipulation hurt a good deal; but Roy, over-
come with gratitude, gave no sign.
When it was over they set out for then- homeward tramp, and
found the bicycle, as Desmond had prophesied. He refused to
ride on; and Roy limped beside him feeling absurdly elated.
The godlike one had come to earth, indeed! Only the remark
about his mother still rankled; but he felt shy of returning to the
subject. The change in Desmond's manner had puzzled him.
Roy glanced admiringly at his profile the straight nose, the
long mouth that smiled so readily, the resolute chin, a little in the
air. A clear case of love at sight, schoolboy love; a passing phase
of human efflorescence; yet, in passing, it will sometimes leave a
mark for life. Roy, instinctively a hero-worshipper, registered a
new ambition to become Desmond's friend.
Presently, as if aware of his thought, Desmond spoke.
"I say, Sinclair, how old are you? You seem less of a kid than
most of the new lot."
I'm ten and a half," said Roy, wishing it was eleven.
"Bit late for starting. I'm twelve. Going on to Marl-
borough next year."
5 6 FAR TO SEEK
Roy felt crushed. In a year he would be gone! Still there
were three more terms: and he would go on to Marlborough
too. He would insist.
"Does Scab Ma. bother you much?" Desmond asked with a
friendly twinkle.
"Now and then nothing to fuss about."
Roy's nonchalance, though plucky, was not quite convincing.
"Righto! I'll head him off. He isn't keen to knock up against
me." A pause. "How about sitting down my way at meals?
You don't look awfully gay at your end."
"I'm not. It would be ripping."
"Good. We'll hang together, eh? Because of India; because
we both belong in a different way. And we'll stick up for that
miserable little devil Chandranath."
Yes we will." (The glory of that 'we.') "All the same
I don't much like the look of him."
"No more don't I. He's the wrong jal. 1 He won't stay long
you'll see. But still he shan't be bullied by Scabs, because he's
not the same colour outside. You see that sort of thing in India
too. My father's fearfully down on it, because it makes more bad
blood than anything; I've heard him say that it's just the blight-
ers who buck about ' the superior race ' who do all the damage
with their inferior manners. Rather neat eh?"
Roy glowed. "Your father must be a splendid sort. Is he a
soldier?"
" Rather/ He's a V.C. He got it saving a Jemadar a Native
Officer."
Roy caught his breath.
"I would awfully like to hear how "
Desmond told him how . . .
It was a wonderful walk. By the end of it Roy no longer felt a
lonely atom hi a strange world. He had found something better
than his Sanctuary he had found a friend . . .
Looking back, long afterwards, he recognised that Sunday as
the turning-point . . .
Later in the evening he poured it all out to his mother in four
closely written sheets.
1 Caste.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 57
But not a word about herself, or Desmond's friendly warning,
which still puzzled him. He worried over it a little before he fell
asleep. It was the very first hint given, in all friendliness
that the mere fact of having an Indian mother might go against
you, in some people's eyes. Not the right ones, of course; but still
in the nature of things he couldn't make it out. That would
come later.
At the time its only effect was to deepen his private satisfaction
at having hammered Joe Bradley; to quicken his attitude of
championship towards his mother and towards India, till ulti-
mately the glow of his fervent devotion fused them both into one
dominant idea.
CHAPTER VII
He it is the Innermost One who awakens
my being with, his deep hidden touches.
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
LILAMANI read and re-read that letter curled among her cushions
in the deep window-seat of the studio, a tower room with tall
windows looking north, over jagged pine-tops, to the open moor.
And while she read, Nevil stood at his easel, seizing and re-
cording the unconscious grace of her pose, the rapt stillness of
her face. He was never weary of painting her never quite
satisfied with the result; always within an ace of achieving the
one perfect picture that should immortalise a gleam from her
inner, uncaptured loveliness the essence of personality that
eternally foils the sense, while it sways the spirit. Impossible, of
course. One might as well try to catch the fragrance of a rose,
the bloom of an April dawn, or any other fragment of the world's
unseizable beauty. But there remained the joy of pursuing
and pursuing, not achieving, is the salt of life.
Something in her pose, her absorption, lips just parted,
shadow of lashes on her cheek, primrose-pale sari against the
green velvet curtain, had fired him, lit a spark of inspira-
tion . . .
If he made a decent thing of it, Roy should have it for a
companion to the Antibes pastel: her two aspects wife of
Nevil; mother of Roy. Later on, the boy would 'understand.
His star stood higher than usual, just then. For Nevil had
detested writing that letter of rebuke; had not dared show it to
his wife; and Roy had taken it like a man. No more lamenta-
tions, so far. Certainly not on this occasion, judging by her rapt
look, her complete absorption that gave him the chance of
catching her unawares.
For, in truth, she was unaware; lost to everything but the joy
of contact with her son. The pang of parting had been dulled to
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 59
a hidden ache; but always the blank was there; however richly
filled with other claims on heart and spirit. A larger schoolroom
now: and Nevil, with his new Eastern picture on hand, making
constant demands on her as usual in the initial stages;
till the subject of the moment eclipsed everything, everyone
sometimes even herself. Her early twinges of jealousy, during
that phase, rarely troubled her now. As wife and mother, she
better understood the dual allegiance the twofold strain of the
creative process, whether in spirit or flesh. Now she knew that,
when art seemed most exclusively to claim him, his need was
greater, not less, for her woman's gift of self-effacing tenderness,
of personal physical service. And through deeper love came
clearer insight. She saw Nevil the artist as a veritable
Yogi, impelled to ceaseless striving for mastery of himself, his
atmosphere, his medium: saw her wifely love and service as the
life-giving impetus without which he might flag and never reach
the heights.
Women of wide social and intellectual activities might raise
perplexed eyebrows over her secluded life, still instinct with the
' spirit of purdah: She found the daily pattern of it woven with
threads so richly varied that to cherish a hidden grief seemed
base ingratitude. Yet always at the back of things lurked
her foolish mother anxieties, her deep, unuttered longing. And
letters were cold comfort. In the first weeks she had come to
dread opening them. Always the bitter cry of loneliness and
longing for home. What was it Nevil had said to make so sur-
prising a change? Craving to know, she feared to ask; and more
than suspected that he blessed her for refraining.
And now came this long, exultant letter, written in the first
flush of his great discovery
And as she read on, she became aware of a new sensation.
This was another kind of Roy. On the first page he was pouring
out his heart in careless, unformed phrases. By the end of the
second, his tale had hold of him; he was enjoying perhaps
unawares the exercise of a newly awakened gift. And, looking
up, at last, to share it with Nevil, she caught him in the act of
tracing a curve of her sari in mid-air.
60 FAR TO SEEK
With a playful movement pure Eastern she drew it half
over her face.
"Oh, Nevil you wicked! I never guessed "
"That was the beauty of it! I make my salaams to Roy!
What's he been up to that it takes four sheets to confess?"
" Not confessing. Telling a tale. It will surprise you."
"Let's have a look."
She gave him the letter; and while he read it, she intently
watched his face. " The boy'll write I shouldn't wonder," was
his verdict, handing back her treasure, with an odd half smile in
his eyes.
" And you were hoping he would paint? " she said, answering
his thought.
"Yes, but scarcely expecting. Sons are a perverse genera-
tion. I'm glad he's tumbled on his feet and found a pal."
"Yes. It is good."
"We'll invite young Desmond here and inspect him, eh?"
"Yes we will"
He was silent a moment, considering her profile humanly,
not artistically. "Jealous, is she? The hundredth part of a
fraction?"
" Just so much ! " she admitted in her small voice. " But under-
neath I am glad. A fine fellow. We will ask him later."
The projected invitation proved superfluous. Roy's next
letter informed them that after Christmas Desmond was coming
for 'ten whole days.' He had promised.
He kept his promise. After Christmas he came and saw
and conquered. At first they were all inclined to be secretly
critical of the new element that looked as if it had ' come to stay.'
For Roy's discreetly repressed admiration was clear as print to
those who could read him like an open page. And, on the
whole, it was not surprising, as they were gradually persuaded to
admit. There was more in Lance Desmond than mere grace
and good looks, manliness and a ready humour. In him two
remarkable personalities were blended with a peculiarly happy
result.
They discovered, incidentally, his wonderful gift of music.
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 61
"Got it off my mother," was his modest disclaimer. "She and
my sister are simply top-hole. We do lots of it together."
His intelligent delight in pictures and books commended him
to Nevil; but, at twelve and a half, skating, tramping, and
hockey matches held the field. Sometimes when it was skating
Tara and Chris went with them. But they made it clear, quite
unaggressively, that the real point was to go alone.
Day after day, from her window, Lilamani watched them go,
across the radiant sweep of snow-covered lawn; and, for the first
time, where Roy was concerned, she knew the prick of jealousy;
a foretaste of the day when her love would no longer fill his life.
Ashamed of her own weakness, she kept it hid or fancied she
did so; but the little stabbing ache persisted, in spite of shame
and stoic resolves.
Tara and Christine also knew the horrid pang; but they
knew neither shame nor stoic resolves. Roy mustn't suspect, of
course; but they told each other, in strictest confidence, that they
hated Desmond; firmly believing they spoke the truth. So it was
particularly vexatious to find that the moment he favoured them
with the most casual attention, they were at his feet.
But that was their own private affair. Whether they resented,
or whether they adored, the boys remained entirely unconcerned,
entirely absorbed in each other. It was Desmond's opinion of
them that mattered supremely to Roy; in particular Des-
mond's opinion of his mother. After those first puzzling remarks
and silences, Roy had held his peace; had not even shown Des-
mond her picture. His invitation accepted, he had simply
waited, hi transcendent faith, for the moment of revelation.
And now he had his reward.
After a prelude of mutual embarrassment, Lance had suc-
cumbed frankly to Lady Sinclair's unexpected charm and her
shy, irresistible overtures to friendship: so frankly, that he
was able, now, to hint at his earlier perplexity.
He had seen no Indian women, he explained, except in ba-
zaars or in service; so he couldn't quite understand, until his
own mother made things clearer to him and recommended him
to go and see for himself. Now he had seen and succumbed:
62 FAR TO SEEK
and Roy's private triumph was unalloyed. Second only to that
triumph, the really important outcome of their glorious Ten
Days was that with Desmond's help, Roy fought the battle of
going on to Marlborough when he was twelve and won . . .
It was horrid leaving them all again; but it did make a won-
derful difference knowing there was Desmond at the other end;
and together they would champion that doubtfully grateful
victim Chandranath. Their zeal proved superfluous. Chand-
ranath never reappeared at St. Rupert's. Perhaps his people
had arrived at Desmond's conclusion that he was not the right
jdt for an English School. In any case his disappearance was a
relief and Roy promptly forgot all about him.
Years later many years later he was to remember.
After St. Rupert's Marlborough and just at first he hated
it, as he had hated St. Rupert's, though in a different fashion.
Here it was not so much the longing for home, as a vague yet
deepening sense that, in some vital way not yet fully under-
stood he was ' different ' from his fellows. But once he reached
the haven of Desmond's study, the good days began in earnest.
He could read and dream along his own lines. He could scribble
verse or prose, when he ought to have been preparing quite other
things; and the results, good or bad, went straight to his mother.
Needless to say, she found them all radiant with promise;
here and there a flicker of the divine spark: and, throughout the
years of transition, the locked and treasured book that held them
was the sheet anchor to which she clung, till Roy, the man,
should be forged out of the backslidings and renewals incidental
to that time of stress and becoming. What matter their young
imperfections, when for her it was as if Roy's spirit reached
out across the dividing distance and touched her own. In the
days when he seemed most withdrawn, that dear illusion was her
secret bread.
And all the while, subconsciously, she was drawing nearer to
the given moment of religious surrender that would complete
the spiritual link with husband and children. As the babies grew
THE GLORY AND THE DREAM 63
older, she saw, with increasing clearness, the increasing difficulty
of her position. Frankly, she had tried not to see it. Her free
spirit, having reached the Reality that transcends all forms,
shrank from returning to the dogmas, the limitations of a definite
creed. In her eyes, it seemed a step backward. Belief in a per-
sonal God, above and beyond the Universe, was reckoned by her
own faith a primitive conception; a stage on the way to that
Ultima Thule where the soul of man perceives its own inherent
divinity, and the knower becomes the known, as notes become
music, as the river becomes the sea. It was this that troubled her
logical mind and delayed decision.
But the final deciding factor though he knew it not was
Roy. By reason of her own share in him, religion would probably
mean more to him than to Nevil. For his sake for the sake of
Christine and Tara and the babies, fast sprouting into boys
she felt at last irresistibly constrained to accept, with certain
mental reservations, the tenets of her husband's creed; and so
qualify herself to share with them all its outward and visible
forms, as already she shared its inward and spiritual grace.
The conviction sprang from no mere sentimental impulse.
It was the unhurried work of years. So when there arose the
question of Roy's confirmation, and Tara's, at the same Easter-
tide, conviction blossomed into decision, as simply and naturally
as the bud of a flower opens to the sun. That is the supreme
virtue of changes not imposed from without. When the given
moment came the inner resolve was there.
Quite simply she spoke of it to Nevil, one evening over the
studio fire. And behold, a surprise awaited her. She had rarely
seen him more deeply moved. From the time of Roy's coming,
he told her, he had cherished the hidden hope.
" Yet too seldom you have spoken of such things why? " she
asked, moved in her turn and amazed.
" Because from the first I made up my mind I would not have
it, except in your own way and in your own time. I knew the
essence of it was in you. For the rest I preferred to wait till
you were ready Sita Devi."
"Nevil lord of me!" She slipped to her knees beside him.
64 FAR TO SEEK
" I am ready. But, oh, you wicked, how could I know that all the
time you were caring that much in your secret heart!"
He gathered her close and said not a word.
So the great matter was settled, with no outward fuss, or
formalities. She would be baptized before Roy came home for
the Easter holidays and his confirmation.
" But not here not Mr. Sale," she pleaded. "Let us go away
quietly to London we two. Let it be in that great church
where first the thought was born in my heart that some day . . .
this might be."
He could refuse her nothing. Jeffrey might feel aggrieved,
when he knew. But after all this was their own affair. Time
enough afterwards to let in the world and its thronging notes of
exclamation.
Roy was told when he came home. For imparting such inti-
mate news, she craved the response of his living self. And if
Nevil's satisfaction struck a deeper note, it was simply that Roy
was very young and had always included her Hindu-ness in the
natural order of things.
Wonderful days! Preparing the children, with Helen's help;
preparing herself, in the quiet of her 'House of Gods' a tiny
room above the studio in much the same spirit as she had
prepared for the great consecration of marriage, with vigil and
meditation and unobtrusive fasting noted by Nevil, though
he said no word.
Crowning wonder of all, that golden Easter morning of her
first Communion with Roy and Tara, with Nevil and Helen:
unfolding of heart and spirit, of leaf and blossom; dual miracle of
a world new-made. . . .
END OF PHASE I
PHASE II
THE VISIONARY GLEAM
PHASE II
THE VISIONARY GLEAM
CHAPTER I
Youth is lifted on wings of his strong hope and
soaring valour; for his thoughts are above riches.
PINDAR'S ODES
OXFORD on a clear, still evening of June: silver reaches of Isis and
Cher; meadows pied with moon daisies and clover, and the rose
madder bloom of ripe grasses; the trill of unseen birds tuning up
for evensong; the passing and repassing of boats and canoes and
punts, gay with cushions and summer frocks; all bathed hi the
level radiance that steals over earth like a presence in the last
hours of a summer day . . .
Oxford shrine of the oldest creeds and the newest fads
given over, for one hilarious week, to the yearly invasion of
mothers and sisters and cousins, and girls that were neither;
especially girls that were neither . . .
Two of the punts, clearly containing one party, kept close
enough together for the occupants to exchange sallies of wit, or
any blissful foolishness in keeping with the blissfully foolish mood
of a moonlight picnic up the river in ' Commem.'
Roy Sinclair's party boasted the distinction of including one
mother, Lady Despard; and one grandfather, Cuthbert Broome;
and Roy himself a slender, virile figure hi flannels, and New
College tie was poling the first punt.
As in boyhood, so now, his bearing and features wereNevil in-
carnate. But to the shrewd eye of Broome the last seemed subtly
overlaid with the spirit of the East a brooding stillness wrought
from the clash of opposing forces within. When he laughed and
talked, it vanished. When he fell silent, and drifted away from
his surroundings, it reappeared.
It was precisely this hidden quality, so finely balanced, that
68 FAR TO SEEK
intrigued the brain of the novelist, as distinct from the heart of
the godfather. Which was the real Roy? Which would prove
the decisive factor at the critical corners of his destiny? To
what heights would it carry him into what abyss might it
plunge him that gleam from the ancient soul of things?
Would India and his young glorification of India be, for
him, a spark of inspiration or a stone of stumbling?
Broome had not seen much of the boy, intimately, since the
New Year; and he did not need spectacles to discern some inner
ferment at work. Roy was more talkative and less communica-
tive than usual; and Broome let him talk, reading between the
lines. He knew to a nicety the moment when a chance question
will kill confidence or evoke it. He suspected one of those
critical corners. He also suspected one of those Indian cousins
of his: delightful, both of them; but still . . .
The question remained, which was it the girl or the boy?
The girl, Aruna student at Somerville College was re-
clining among vast blue and pink cushions in the bows, pensively
twirling a Japanese parasol, one arm flung round the shoulders
of her companion a fellow-student; fair and stolid and good-
humoured. Broome summed her up, mentally: "Tactless but
trustworthy. Anglo-Saxon to the last button on her ready-
made Shantung coat and the blunted toe of her white suede
shoe."
Aruna in plain English, Dawn was quite arrestingly
otherwise. Not beautiful, like Lilamani, nor quite so fair of skin;
but what the face lacked in symmetry was redeemed by lively
play of expression, piquante tilt of nose and chin, large eyes,
velvet-dark like brown pansies. The modelling of the- face its
breadth and roundness and upturned aspect gave it a pansy-
like air. Over her simple summer frock of carnation pink she
wore a paler sari flecked with gold; and two ropes of coral beads
enhanced the deeper coral of her full lower lip. Not yet eighteen,
she was studying "pedagogy" for the benefit of her less adven-
turous sisters in Jaipur.
Clearly a factor to be reckoned with, this creature of girlish
laughter and high purpose; a woman to the tips of her polished
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 69
finger-nails. Yet Broome had by no means decided that it was
the girl . . .
After Desmond Dyan Singh: each, in his turn and type
own brother to Roy's complex soul. Broome in no insular
spirit preferred the earlier influence. But Desmond had sped
like an arrow to the Border, where his eldest brother commanded
their father's old regiment; and Dyan Singh handsome and
fiery, young India at its best reigned in his stead. The two
were of the same college. Dyan, twelve months younger, looked
the older by a year or more. Face and form bore the Rajput
stamp of virility, of a racial pride verging on arrogance; and the
Rajput insignia of breeding noticeably small hands and feet
He was poling the second punt with less skill and assurance
than Roy. His attention was palpably distracted by a vision of
Tara among the cushions in the bows; an arm linked through her
mother's, as though defending her against the implication of
being older than anyone else, or in the least degree out of it
because of that trifling detail tacitly admitted, while hotly
denied; which was Tara all over.
Certainly Lady Despard still looked amazingly young; still
emanated the vital charm she had transmitted to her child. And
Tara at twenty, in soft, butter-coloured frock and with roses in
her hat, was a vision alluring enough to distract any young man
from concentration on a punt pole. Vivid, eager, and venture-
some, singularly free from the bane of self-consciousness- not
least among her graces and rare enough to be notable was
the grace of her chivalrous affection for the older generation In
Tara's eyes, girls who patronised their mothers and tolerated
then- fathers were anathema. It was a trait certain to impress
Roy's Rajput cousin; and Broome wondered whether Helen was
alive to the disturbing possibility; whether, for all her genuine
love of the East, she would acquiesce . . .
Only the other day, it seemed, he and she had sat together
among the rocks of the dear old Cap, listening to Nevil's amaz-
ing news. She it was who had championed his choice of a bride:
and Lilamani had justified her championship to the full. But
then Lilamani was one in many thousands; and this affair
70 FAR TO SEEK
would be the other way about: Tara, the apple of their eye;
Tara, with her wild-flower face and her temperament of clear
flame ?
How sharply they tugged at his middle-aged heart, these ca<
ual and opinionated young things, with their follies and fanati-
cisms, their Jacob's ladders hitched perilously to the stars; with
their triumphs and failures and disillusions all ahead of them;
airily impervious to proffered help and advice from those who
would agonise to serve them if they could -
A jarring bump in the small of his back cut short his flagrantly
Victorian musings. Dyan's punt was the offender; and Dyan
himself, clutching the pole that had betrayed him, was almost
pitched into the river.
His achievement was greeted by a shout of laughter, and an
ironic 'Played indeed!' from Cuthbert Gordon Broome's
grandson. Roy, tumbled from some starry dream of his own,
flashed out imperiously : " Look alive, you blithering idiot. ' Who
are you a-shoving?" 3
The Rajput's face darkened; but before he could retort, Tara
had risen and stepped swiftly to his side. Her fingers closed on
the pole; and she smiled straight into his clouded eyes.
"Let me, please. I'm sick of lazing and fearfully keen. And
I can't allow my mother to be drownded by anyone but me.
I'd be obliged to murder the other body, which would be awk-
ward for us both!"
"Miss Despard there is no danger " he muttered -
pervious to humour; and as if by chance one of his hands
half covered hers.
"Let go," she commanded, so low that no one else knew s.
had spoken; so sternly that Dyan's fingers unclosed as if they
had touched fire.
"Now, don't fuss. Go and sit down," she added, in her lighte:
vein. "You've done your share. And you're jolly grateful to
me, really. But too proud to own it!"
"Not too proud to obey you," he muttered.
She saw the words rather than heard them; and he turned
away without daring to meet her eyes.
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 71
It all passed in a few seconds; but it left him tingling with re-
pressed rage. He had made a fool of himself in her eyes; had
probably given away his secret to the whole party. After all,
what matter? He could not much longer have kept it hidden. By
the touch of hands and his daring words he had practically told
her . . .
As he settled himself, her clear voice rang out. "Wake up,
Roy! I'll race you to the backwater."
They raced to the backwater; and Tara won by half a length,
amid cheers from the men.
"Well, you see, I had to let you," Roy exclaimed, as she con-
fronted him, flushed with triumph. " Seemed a shame to cut you
out. Not as if you were a giddy suffragette! "
"Qui s' excuse s' accuse!" she retorted. "Anyway 7'm
the winner."
"Right you are. The way of girls was ever so. No matter
what line you take, it's safe to be the wrong one.''
"Hark at the Cynic!" jeered young Cuthbert. "Were you
forty on the Qth, or was it forty-five?"
Roy grinned. "Good old Cuthers! Don't exhaust yourself
trying to be funny! Fish out the drinks. We've earned them,
haven't we High-Tower Princess?" The last, confidentially,
for Tara's ear alone.
And Dyan, seeing the smile in her eyes, felt jealousy pierce
him like a red-hot wire.
The supper, provided by Roy and Dyan, was no scratch way-
side meal, but an ambrosial affair: salmon mayonnaise, ready
mixed; glazed joints of chicken; strawberries and cream; lordly
chocolate boxes; sparkling moselle and syphons for the ab-
stemious.
It was a lively meal: Roy, dropped from the clouds, -the film
of the East gone from his face, was simply Nevil again; <?ven as
young Cuthbert, with his large build and thatch of tawny hair,
was a juvenile edition of Broome. And the older man, watching
them, bandying chaff with them, renewed his youth for one care-
less golden hour.
The punts were ranged alongside; and they all eat together,
72 FAR TO SEEK
English and Indian. No irksome caste rules on this side of the
water; no hint of condescension in the friendly attitude of
young Oxford. Nothing to jar the over-sensibility of young
India prone to suspect slight where no thought of it exists;
too often, also, treated to exhibitions of ill-bred arrogance that
undo in an hour the harmonising work of years.
Dyan sat by Tara, anticipating her slightest need; courage
rising by leaps and bounds. Aruna, from her nest of cushions,
exchanged lively sallies with Roy. Petted by a college full of
friendly English girls, she had very soon lost what little shyness
she ever possessed. Now and again when his eyes challenged
hers, she would veil them and watch him surreptitiously; one
moment approving his masculine grace; the next boldly asking
herself: "Does he see how I am wearing the favourite sari and
how my coral beads make my lips look red? " And again : " Why
do they make foolish talk of a gulf between East and West?"
To that profound question came no answer in words; only in
hidden stirrings, that she preferred to ignore. Both brother and
sister had persuaded themselves that talk of a gulf was exag-
gerated by unfriendly spirits. They, at all events, having built
their bridge, took its stability for granted. Children of an emo-
tional race, it sufficed to discover that they loved the cool green
freshness of England, the careless, kindly freedom of her life and
ways; the hum of her restless, smoky, all-embracing London; her
miles and miles of books and pictures. Above everything they
loved Oxford, where all were brothers in spirit with a proper
sense of difference between the brothers of one's own college and
the mere outsider: Oxford, at this particular hour of this par-
ticular June evening. And at this actual moment, 'they loved
salmon mayonnaise and crushed strawberries fully as much as
any other manifestation of the delectable land.
And down in subconscious depths untroubled by the play
of surface emotions burned their passionate, unreasoned love
of India that any chance breath might rekindle to a flame
Presently, as the sun drew down to earth, trees and meadows
swam in a golden haze. Arrows of gold, stealing through alders
and willows, conjured mere leaves into discs of pure green light.
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 73
Clouds of pollen brightened to dust of gold. In the near haze
midges flickered; and, black against the brightness, swallows
wheeled and dipped, uttering thin cries in the ecstasy of their
evening flight.
On the two punts in the backwater a great peace descended
after the hilarity of their feast. Clouds of cigarette smoke kept
midges at bay. In the deepening stillness small sounds asserted
themselves piping of gnats, the trill of happy birds, snatches
of disembodied laughter and talk from other parties, in other
punts, somewhere out of sight . . .
Only Aruna did not smoke; and Emily Barnard, her fanatic
devotee, retired with her to the bank, where they made a lazy
pretence of "washing up." But Aruna's eyes would stray to-
ward the recumbent figure of Roy, when she fancied Emmie
was not looking. And Emmie who could see very well without
looking wished him at the bottom of the river.
Propped on an elbow, he lay among Aruna's cushions, his
senses stirred by the faint carnation scent she used, enlarging on
the theme of his latest enthusiasm Rabindranath Tagore, the
first of India's poet-saints to challenge the ethics of the with-
drawn life. When the mood was on, the veil of reserve swept
aside, he could pour out his ardours, his protests, his theories,
in an eloquent rush of words. And Aruna absently wiping
spoons and forks listened entranced. He seemed to be ad-
dressing no one in particular; but as often as not his gaze
rested on Broome, as though he were indirectly conveying to him
thoughts he felt shy of airing when they were alone.
A pause in the flow of his talk left a space of silence into which
the encompassing peace and radiance stole like an inflowing tide.
None loved better than Roy the ghostly music of silence; but to-
night his brain was filled with the music of words not his own.
"Just listen to this," he said, without preamble. His eyes took
on then- far-away look; his voice dropped a tone.
The night is night of mid-May; the breeze is the breeze of the South.
From my heart comes out and dances the image of my Desire.
The gleaming vision flits on.
I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray.
I seek what I cannot get; I get what I do not seek.
74 FAR TO SEEK
To that shining fragment of truth and beauty his audience
paid the fitting tribute of silence; and his gaze returning to
earth caught, in Tara's eyes, a reflection of his exalted mood.
Dyan saw it also; and once more that red-hot wire pierced his
heart.
It passed in a second ; and Roy was speaking again not to
Tara, but to her mother.
" Is there any poet, East or West, who can quite so exquisitely
capture the essence of a mood, hold it lightly, like a fluttering
bird, and as lightly let it go?"
Lady Despard smiled approval at the simile. "In that one,"
she said, "he has captured more than a mood the very essence
of life. Have you met him? "
" Yes, once after a lecture. We had a talk I'll never for-
get. There's wonderful stuff in the new volume. I know most
of it by heart."
" Spare us, good Lord," muttered Cuthbert neither preju-
diced nor perverse, but British to the core. "If you start again,
I'll retaliate with Job and the Psalms!"
Roy retorted with the stump of an extinct cigarette. It smote
the offender between the eyebrows, leaving a caste-mark of warm
ash to attest the accuracy of his aim.
"Bull's-eye!" Tara scored softly: and Roy, turning on his el-
bow, appealed to Broome. "Jeffers, please extinguish him!"
('Jeffers' being a corruption of 'G.F.', alias 'Godfather').
Broome laughed. "I had a hazy notion he was your show
candidate for the Indian Civil!"
"He's supposed to be. That's the scandal of it. A mighty lot
of interest he's cultivating in the people and the country he as-
pires to administer."
"High art and sloppy sentiment are not in the bond," Cuth-
bert retorted, with a wink at Dyan Singh.
That roused Lady Despard. " Insight and sympathy must be in
the bond, unless England and India are to drift apart altogether.
The Indian Civilian should be caught early, like the sailor, and
trained on the spot. Exams make character a side issue. And one
might almost say there's no other issue in the Indian services."
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 75
Cuthbert nodded. "Glorious farce, isn't it? They simply
cram us like Christmas turkeys. Efficiency's the war-cry, these
enlightened days."
"Too much efficiency," Cyan struck in, with a kindling eye.
"Already turning our ancient cities into nightmares like Man-
chester and Birmingham, killing the true sense of beauty, giving
us instead the poison of money and luxury worship. And what
result? Just now, when the West at last begins to notice our
genius of colour and design even to learn from it we find it
slipping out of our own fingers. Nearly all the homes of the Eng-
lish educated are like caricatures of your villas the worst kind.
Yet there are still many on both sides who wish to make life
not so ugly, to escape a little from gross superstition of facts"
"Hear, hear!" Broome applauded him. "But I'm afraid, my
dear boy, the Time Spirit is out to make tradesmen and politi-
cians of us all. Thank God the soul of a race lives hi its books, its
philosophy and art."
"Very well, then" Roy was the speaker. "The obvious
remedy lies in getting the souls of both races into closer touch
philosophy, art, and all that eh, Jeffers? That's what we're
after Dyan and I on the lines of that society Dad belongs
to."
Broome looked thoughtfully from one to the other. "A tall
order," said he.
"A vision splendid!" said Lady Despard.
Roy leaned eagerly towards her. " You don't sneer at dreams,
Aunt Helen."
"Nor do I, my son. Dreamers are our strictly unpaid torch-
bearers. They light the path for us; and we murmur, 'Poor
fools ! ' with a kind of sneaking self -satisfaction, when they come a
cropper."
"'Which I 'ope it won't 'appen to me!'" quoted Roy, cheered
by Lady Despard's approval. "Anyway, we're keen to speed
up the better understanding move on the principle that Art
unites and Politics divide."
"Very pithy and approximately true! May I be allowed to
proffer a sound working maxim for youth on the war-path?
76 FAR TO SEEK
1 Freedom and courage in thought obedience in act.' When I
say obedience, I don't mean slavish conformity. When I say
freedom, I don't mean licence. Only the bond are free."
"Jeffers, you're a Daniel! I'll pinch that pearl of wisdom!
But what about democracy Cuthers' pet panacea? Isn't it
making for disobedience in act rebellion; and enslavement in
thought every man reared on the same catchwords, minted
with the same hall-mark?"
That roused the much-enduring British Lion in the person
of Cuthbert Gordon.
"Confound you, Roy! This is a picnic, not a bally Union de-
bate. You can't argue for nuts; and when you start spouting
you're the limit. But two can play at that game!" He nourished
a half-empty syphon of lemonade, threatening the handle with a
very square thumb.
"Fire away, old bean!" Roy opened his mouth by way of in-
vitation. Cuthbert promptly pressed the trigger and missed
his mark.
There was a small shriek from Tara and from the girls on the
bank: then the opponents proceeded to deal with one another in
earnest . . .
Dyan soon lost interest when India was not the theme ; and, as
the elders fell into an undercurrent of talk, his eyes sought Tara's
face. Her answering smile spurred him to a bold move; and he
leaned towards her, over the edge of the boat. "Miss Despard,"
he said under his breath. "Won't you come for a stroll in the
field? Do."
She shook her head. "I'm too lazy! We've had enough exer-
cise. And there's the walk home."
Her refusal jarred him; but desire overruled pride. "You
couldn't call it exercise. Do come."
"Truly I'm tired," she insisted gently, looking away from
him towards her mother.
It was Lady Despard's boast that she could listen to three con-
versations at once; but even Tara was surprised when she casu-
ally put out a hand and patted her knee. "Wise child. Better
keep quiet till we start home."
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 77
The hand was not removed. Tara covered it with her own and
further maddened the discomfited Dyan by saying, with her very
kindest smile: "I'm so sorry. Don't be vexed."
Vexed! The bloodless word was insult piled on injury. All the
pride and passion of his race flamed in him. Without answering
her :smile or her plea, he drew abruptly away from her; stepped
out of the punt and went for his stroll alone.
CHAPTER II
Who knows what days I answer for to-day? . . .
Thoughts yet unripe in me, I bend one way . . .
ALICE MEYNELL
WHILE Broome and Lady Despard were concerned over indica-
tions of a critical corner for Roy, there was none save perhaps
Aruna to be concerned for the dilemma of Dyan Singh, Rajput
half savage, half chivalrous gentleman; idealist in the grain;
lover of England and India; and now fiercely, consumedly -
lover of Tara Despard, with her Indian name and her pearl-
white English skin and the benign sunshine of England in her
hair.
It is the danger-point for the young Indian overseas, unused to
free intercourse with women other than his own; saddled, very
often, with a girl-wife in the background; the last by no means
a matter of course in these enlightened days. In Dyan Singh's
case the safeguard was lacking. His mother being dead, he had
held his own against a rigidly conventional grandmother, and
insisted on delaying the inevitable till his education was com-
plete. Waxing bolder still he had demanded the same respite
for Aruna; a far more serious affair. For months they had waged
a battle of tongues and temper and tears, with Mataji high-
priestess of the Inside with the family matchmaker and the
family guru, whom to offend was the unforgiveable sin. Had
he not power to call down upon an entire household the curse of
the gods?
More than once Aruna had been goaded to the brink of sur-
render; till her brother grew impatient and spurned her as a
weakling. Yet her ordeal had been sharper than his own. For
him, mere moral suasion and threats of ostracism. For her, the
immemorial methods of the Inside; forbidden by Sir Lakshman,
but secretly applied, when flagrant obstinacy demanded drastic
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 79
measures. So neither Dydn nor his grandfather had suspected
that Aruna, for days together, had suffered the torment of Tanta-
lus food set before her so mercilessly peppered that a morsel
would raise blisters on her lips and tongue; water steeped in salt;
the touch of the "fire-stick" applied where her skin was tender-
est; not to mention the more subtle torment of gibes and threats
and vile insinuations that suffused her with shame and rage. A
word to the menfolk, threatened Mataji, and worse would befall.
If men cared nothing for family honour, the women must vindi-
cate it in their own fashion. For the two were doing their duty,
up to their lights. Only the knowledge that Dyan was fighting
her battle, as well as his own, had kept the girl unbroken in spirit,
even when her body cried out for respite at any price. . . .
All this she had confided to him when, at last, they were safe
on the great ship, with miles of turbulent water between them
and the ruthless dominion of dasttir. That confession with its
unconscious revealing of the Rajput spirit hidden in her laughter-
loving heart had drawn them into closest union and filled Dyan
with self-reproach. Small wonder if Oxford seemed to both a
paradise of knowledge and of friendly freedom. Small wonder
if they believed that, in one bold leap, they had bridged the gulf
between East and West.
At Bramleigh Beeches, Lilamani who knew all without tell-
ing had. welcomed them with open arms: and Lady Despard
no less. It was here that Dyan met Tara, who * had no use for col-
leges ' and, in the course of a few vacation visits, the damage
had been done.
At first he had felt startled; even a little dismayed. English
education and delayed marriage had involved no dream of a
possible English wife. With the Indian Civil in view, he had
hoped to meet some girl student of his own race, sufficiently ad-
vanced to remain outside purdah and to realise that a modern
Indian husband might crave companionship from his wife no less
than motherhood, worship, and service.
And now . . . this /
Striding across the field, in the glimmer of a moon just begin-
80 FAR TO SEEK
ning to take colour, he alternately raged at her light rebuff and
applauded her maidenly hesitation. As a Hindu and a man of
breeding, his natural instinct had been to approach her parents;
but he knew enough of modern youth, by now, to realise that
English parents were a side issue in these little affairs. For him-
self, the primitive lover flamed in him. He wanted to kneel and
worship her. In the same breath, he wanted simply to possess
her, would she or no ...
And in saner moods, uncertainty racked him. What did they
amount to, her smiles and flashes of sympathy, her kind, cousinly
ways? By the same token, what did Roy's cousinly kindness
amount to, with Aruna? If in India they suffered from too
much restriction, it dawned on him that in England trouble
might arise from too much freedom. Always, by some cause,
there would be suffering. The gods would see to it. But not
through loss of her he mutely implored them. Any way but
that!
Everything hung on the walk home. Those two must have
finished their sparring match by now.
They had. Roy was on the bank, helping Aruna pack the bas-
ket; and Cuthbert in possession of Tara not for long.
He was called upon to punt back; and at the boat-house, where
a taxi removed the elders and the picnic impedimenta, he essayed
a futile manoeuvre to recapture Tara and saddle Dyan with the
solid Emily. Failing, he consoled himself by keeping in touch
with Aruna and Roy.
Dydn patently delayed starting; patently lagged behind. Un-
skilled and desperately in earnest, he could not lead up to his
moment. He was laboriously framing the essential words when
Tara scattered them with a light remark, rallying him on his
snail's pace.
"You would go for that stroll; and you strolled so vio-
lently!"
"Because my heart in me was raging aching, violently!'
he blurted out with such unexpected vehemence, that she started
and stepped back a pace. "Of course I knew there must
be difficulties so I have been waiting and hoping . . ." An
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 81
idiotic catch in his throat brought a sudden hot wave of self-
consciousness. He flung out both hands. "Tara !"
Instinctively, she drew her own out of reach. A ghost of a
shiver ran through her. "No no. I don't ... I never have
... If I've misled you, I'm ever so sorry."
"If you are sorry give me hope," his voice, his eyes implored
her. "You come so near then you draw back; like offering a
thirsty man a cup of water he must not drink. Give me only
a little time a little chance "
She shook her head. " Please believe me. I'm not the wavering
kind. I'm keen to go on being friends because of Roy. But,
truthfully, it's no use hoping for anything more ever."
Her patent sincerity, the sweet seriousness of her face, car-
ried conviction. And conviction turned his ardour to bitter-
ness.
"Why no use ever? " he flung out, maddened by her empha-
sis on the word.
"I suppose because I know my own mind."
"No. Because I am Indian." His voice was changed and
harsh. " We are all British subjects oh, yes when conven-
ient ! But the door is opened only so far. If we make bold to
ask for the best, it is slammed in our faces."
"Dyin Singh, if I have hurt you, it was quite unintentional.
You know that. But now, with intention, you are hurting me."
Her dignity and gentleness, the justice of her reproof, smote him
silent; and she went on: "You forget, it is the same among your
own people. Aunt Lila was cast out for always. With an Eng-
lish girl that could never be."
Too distraught for argument, he harked back to the personal
issue. "With you there would be no need. I would live alto-
gether like an Englishman "
"Oh, stop!" she broke out "desperately. "Don't start all over
again "
"Look alive, you two slackers!" shouted Roy, from the far
corner of the road. " I'm responsible for keeping the team to-
gether."
"Coming!" called Tara, and turned on Dyan a final glance of
82 FAR TO SEEK
appeal. " I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart. I can't say
more." And, setting the pace, she hurried forward.
For the fraction of a second, he hesitated. An overmastering
impulse seized him to walk off in the opposite direction. His
eager love for them all had suddenly turned to gall. But pride
forbade. He would not for the world have them guess at his re-
buff not even Ariina . . .
He slept little that night; and it was not Dyan Singh of New
College who awoke next morning. It was Dyan Singh, Rajput,
Descendant of the Sun. Yet the foolish round of life must go on
as if no vital change had come to pass.
That afternoon, he was going with Roy to a select drawing-
room meeting. A certain Mr. Ramji Lai had been asked to read
a paper on the revival of Indian arts and crafts. Dyan had been
looking forward to it keenly; but now, sore and miserable as he
was all sense of purpose and direction gone he felt out of
tune with the whole thing.
He would have been, thankful to cry off. Roy, however, must
not suspect the truth Roy, who himself might be the stum-
bling-block. The suspicion stung like a scorpion; though it
soothed a little his hurt pride of race.
Embittered and antagonistic, he listened only with half his
mind to his own countryman's impassioned appeal for renewal of
the true Swadeshi 1 spirit in India; renewal of her own innate
artistic culture, her faith in the creative power of thought and
ideas. That spirit said the speaker has no war-cries, no
shoutings in the market-place. It is a way of looking at life. Its
true genesis and inspiration is in the home. Like flame, newly lit,
it needs cherishing. Instead, it is in danger of being stamped out
by false Swadeshi an imitation product of the West; noisy and
political, crying out for more factories, more councils; caring
nothing for true Indian traditions of art and life. It will not buy
goods from Birmingham and Manchester. But it will create
Birmingham and Manchester in India. In effect, it is the age-old
argument whether the greatness of a nation comes from the
dominion of men or machinery . . .
1 Own Country.
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 83
For all this, Dyan had cared intensely twenty-four hours ago.
Now it seemed little better than a rhapsody of fine phrases
'sounding brass and tinkling cymbals.'
Could the mere word of a woman so swiftly and violently
transform the mind of a man? His innate masculinity resented
the idea. It succumbed, nevertheless. He was too deeply hurt
in his pride and his passionate heart to think or feel sanely while
the wound was still so fresh. He was scarcely stirred even by
the allusion to Rajputana in Mr. Ramji Lai's peroration.
"I ask you to consider, in conclusion my dear and honoured
English friends the words of a veteran lover of India, who is
also a son of England. It was his conviction it is also mine
that the still living art of India, the still living chivalry of
Rajputana, the still living religion of the Hindus are the only
three points on which there is any possibility of regenerating the
national life of India the India of the Hindus ..."
Very fine; doubtless very true; but what use after all
their eternal talk? By blowing volumes of air from their lungs,
did they shift the mountains of difficulty one single inch? More
talk followed ; tea and attentions that would have flattered him
yesterday. To-day it all passed clean over his head. They were
ready enough to pamper him, like a lapdog, these good ladies;
forgetting he was a man, with a man's heart and brain, making
demand for something more than carefully chosen sugar-plums.
He had never been so thankful to get away from that hospita-
ble house, where he had imagined himself so happy . . .
They were out in the street again, striding back to New College :
Roy not yet alive to the change hi him full of it all; talking
nineteen to the dozen. But Dyan's urgent heart spoke louder
than his cousin's voice. And all the while, he kept wondering,
consumedly Was it Roy?
He could not bring himself to ask outright. The answer would
madden him either way. And Goodness or Badness knew
he was miserable enough : hurt, angry, with Fate, with England,
even with Tara lovely and unattainable! She had spoilt
everything: his relation with her, with her people, with Roy.
She had quenched his zeal for their joint crusade. All the same,
84 -FAR TO SEEK
he would hold Roy to the India plan; since there was just a
chance and it would take him away from her. He hated him-
self for the thought; but jealousy, in the East, is a consuming
fire . . .
Roy's monologue ceased abruptly. " Your innings, old chap, I
think !" he said. " You're mum as a fish this afternoon. I noticed
it in there I thought you'd have lots to say to Ramji Lai."
Dyan frowned. He could not for long play at pretences with
Roy.
"Those ladies did all the saying. They would not have liked
it at all if I had spoken my true thought ' He paused and
added deliberately "That we are all cracking our skulls against
Btone walls."
" My dear chap ! " Roy stared in frank bewilderment.
" What's gone wrong? Your liver touched up? Too much salmon
mayonnaise and cream?"
His light tone goaded Dyan to exasperation. "Quite likely,"
he retorted, a sneer lurking in his tone. "Plenty of mayonnaise
and cream, for all parties. But when we make bold to ask for
more satisfying things, we find 'No Indians need apply.'"
"But my good Dyan !"
"Well it's true. Suppose I wish to promote that closer
union we all chatter about by marrying an English girl what
then?"
Up went Roy's eyebrows. "Are you after an English wife?"
"I am submitting a case that might easily occur." He
spoke with a touch of irritation; and, fearing self-betrayal,
swerved from the main issue. "Would you marry an Indian
girl?"
"I believe so. If I was keen. I'm not at all sure, though, if
it's sound in principle mixing such opposite strains. And
in your case hypothetical, I suppose ?"
Dyan's grunt confessed nothing and denied nothing.
"Well from what one hears, an English wife, out there,
might make a bit of complication, if you get the 'Civil.'"
Dyan started. " I shan't go up for it. I've changed my mind."
"Good Lord! And you've been sweating all this time."
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 85
Dyan's smile was tinged with bitterness.
" Well one lives and learns. I can make good use of my
knowledge without turning myself into an imitation Englishman.
An Indian wife might make equal difficulty. So with all my
zeal I am between two grindstones. My father joined the
Civil. He was keen. He did well. But no promotion; and
little friendliness, except from very few. I believe he was never
happy. I believe it killed him. I was cherishing a hope that,
now, things might be better. But I am beginning to see I may
be wrong. Safer to see it in time "
Roy looked genuinely distressed. "Poor old Dyan. Perhaps
you're right. I don't know much about British India. But it
does seem hard lines and bad policy to choke off men like
you."
"Yes. They might consider that more, if they heard some
of our fire-eaters. One was at me last week. He gave the British
ten years to survive. Said their lot could raise a revolution to-
morrow if they had money a trifle of five millions! He was
swearing the Indian princes are not loyal, in spite of talk and sub-
scriptions; that the Army will join whichever side gives best pay.
We who are loyal need some encouragement some recognition.
We are only human I"
"Rather. But you won't go back on our little show, old chap.
Just when I'm dead keen laying my plans for India "
He took hold of Dyan's upper arm and gave it a friendly shake.
" No, I'll stick to that. But are you sure you can work it
with your people? If you back out, I swear, by the sin of the sack
of Chitor, I'll join the beastly crowd who are learning to make
bombs in Berlin."
At that the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of a
Rajput Roy looked startled. Then he laughed.
" ' Commem' seems to have disagreed with you all round! But
I won't be intimidated. Likewise I won't back out. But I
intend opening diplomatic conversations with Jeffers to-night.
Recherche dinner for two in my room. All his little weaknesses 1
He'd be a strong ally. Wish me luck."
Dyan wished him luck in a rather perfunctory tone, consider-
86 FAR TO SEEK
ing his vehemence of a moment earlier. All the fire seemed sud-
denly to have gone out of him.
They had just entered the college gate; and a few yards ahead,
they caught sight of Lady Despard and Tara; the girl's hand
linked through her mother's arm.
"Oh, I clean forgot," remarked Roy. "I said they could look
in."
CHAPTER III
It is the spirit of the quest which helps.
I am the slave of this spirit of the quest.
KABIR
ROY'S recherche little dinner proved an unqualified success.
With sole and chicken saute, with trifle and savoury, he mutely
pleaded his cause; feeling vaguely guilty, the while, of belittling
his childhood's idol, whom he increasingly admired and loved.
But this India business was tremendously important, and the
dear old boy would never suspect
Roy watched him savouring the chicken and peas; discussing
the decay of falling in love, its reasons and remedies; and thought,
for the hundredth time, what a splendid old boy he was; so big
and breezy, nothing bookish or newspapery about him. Quite a
masterpiece of modelling, on Nature's part; the breadth and
bulk of him; the massive head, with its thatch of tawny-grey
hair that retreated up the sides of his forehead, making corners;
the nose, full of character, the beard and the sea-blue eyes that
gave him the sailor aspect Roy had so loved in nursery days.
Now he appraised it consciously, with the artist's eye. More: a
vigorous bust of his godfather was his acknowledged masterpiece,
so far, in the modelling line, which he preferred to brush or pencil.
But first and foremost, literature claimed him: poetry, essays,
and the despised novel truest and most plastic medium for in-
terpreting man to man and race to race: the most entirely obvious
medium, thought Roy, for promoting the cause he had at heart.
Though his brain was overflowing with the great subject, he
was reserving it, diplomatically, for the more intimate atmosphere
of port wine, coffee, and cigars. Meantime they always had
plenty to talk about, these two. Broome held the unorthodox
view that he probably had quite as much to learn from the young
as they from him; and at the moment, the question whether Roy
should take up literature in earnest was very much to the fore.
88 FAR TO SEEK
Once or twice during a pause, he caught the shrewd blue eye
watching him from under shaggy brows; but each kept his own
counsel till the scout had removed all superfluities. Then Broc
chose a cigar, sniffed it, and beheaded it.
"My particular weakness!" he remarked pensively, whi
filled his glass. "What an attentive godson it is! And after this
intriguing prelude what of the main plot - India? "
Under a glance as direct as the question Roy reddened fu-
riouslv The 'dear old boy' had done more than suspect, he had
seen through the whole show - the indignity of all others
youth can least abide.
At sight of his crestfallen countenance, Broome laughed
right "Bear up, old man! Don't grudge me a fraction of the wits
I live by Weren't you trying to give me an inkling yesterday f
Roy nodded, mollified a little. But his self-confidence, never a
hardy plant, wilted under the false start. How about arm-
chairs?'' he remarked tentatively, very much engaged wit]
their coffee-cups, and sipped once or twice in
silence " I'm waiting," said Broome, encouragement in his tone.
But Roy still hesitated. "You see" he temporised;
so fearfully keen, I feel shy of gassing about it. Might see:
you mere soppy sentiment."
Broome's sailor eyes twinkled. "You pay me the compliment,
my son, of treating me as if I were a fellow-undergrad!
the teens and the twenties of this very new century that are
mortally afraid of sentiment - the main factor in human happi-
ness If you had not a strong sentiment for India, you won
unworthy of your mother. You want to go out there -
the rub?"
"Yes. WithDyan."
"In what capacity?"
"A lover and a learner. Also - by way of - a budding authoi
I was hoping you might back me up with a few commiss
my preliminary stuff." . ,
"You selected your godfather with unerring foresight! \nd,
preliminaries over - a book, or books, would be the end :
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 89
"Yes and other things. Whatever one can do, in a small
way to inspire a friendlier feeling all round; a clearer con-
viction that the destinies of England and India are humanly
bound up together. I'm sure those cursed politics are respon-
sible for most of the friction. It's art and literature, the emo-
tional and spiritual forces that draw men together, isn't it
Jeffers? You know that "
He leaned forward, warming to his subject; the false start for-
gotten; shyness dispelled.
^ And, once started, none knew better than Broome how to lure
him on to fuller, unconscious self-revealing. He knew very well
that, on this topic, and on many others, Roy could enlarge more
freely to him than to his father. Youth is made that way. In his
opinion, it was all to the good that Roy should aspire to use his
double heritage, for the legitimate and noble purpose of inter-
preting as far as might be East to West, and West to East:
not least, because he would probably learn a good deal more than
he was qualified to teach. It was in the process of qualifying
himself, by closer acquaintance with India, that the lurking dan-
ger reared its head. But some outlet there must be for the
Eastern spirit in him, and his early efforts pointed clearly to
literary expression, if Broome knew anything of the creative gift.
Himself a devotee, he agreed with Lafcadio Hearn that 'a man
may do quite as great a service to his country by writing a book
as by winning a battle'; and just so much of these thoughts as
seemed fit he imparted to Roy, who in response to the last
glowed visibly.
"Priceless old Jeffers! I knew I could reckon on you to back
me up and buck me up! Of course one will be hugely encour-
aged by the bleating of the practical crowd Aunt Jane and Co.
Why^ waste your time writing silly novels?' And if you try to
explain that novels have a real function, they merely think
you've got a swelled head."
"Never mind, Roy. 'The quest is a noble one and the hope
great.' And we scribblers have our glorious compensations. As
for Aunt Jane - ' He looked very straight at her nephew
and winked deliberately.
90 FAR TO SEEK
"Oh, of course she's the unlimited limit," Roy agreed
shamelessly. "I suppose if Dad plays up, she'll give him hell?"
" Good measure, pressed down. By the way have you
spoken to him yet of all this ?"
"No. Mother probably guesses. But you're the first. I made
sure you'd understand "
"You feel doubtful about Father?"
"M Yes. I don't quite know why."
Broome was silent a moment. "After all it's natural. Put
yourself in his place, Roy. He sees India taking a stronger hold
of you each year. He knows you've a deal of your mother and
grandfather in your make-up. He may very well be afraid of the
magnet proving too strong at close quarters. And I suspect he's
jealous for England. He'd like to see your soul centred on
Bramleigh Beeches; and I more than suspect they'd both prefer
to keep you nearer home."
Roy looked distressed. "Hard lines. I hadn't got to that yet.
But it wouldn't be for always. And there's George and Jerry
sprouting up."
" I gather that George and Jerry are not precisely - .oy -
" Jeffers you old shiner! I can't flatter myself -
"Don't be blatantly British, Roy! You can flatter yourself
you know as well as I do!"
" I know it's undiplomatic to contradict my elders!" countered
Roy, lunging after pipe and pouch.
"Especially convenient godfathers, with press connections?
Roy fronted him squarely, laughter lurking in his eyes. "Are
you going to be convenient that's the rub ! Will you give Dad
a notion I may turn out something decent when I've scraped up
some crumbs of knowledge ?"
Broome leaned forward and laid a large, reassuring hand on
his knee. "Trust me to pull it off, old man provided Mother
approves. We couldn't press it against her wish either of
us."
No _ we couldn't." There was a new gravity in Roy's tone.
"As I said, she probably knows all about it. That's her way.
She understandeth one's thoughts long before." The last in a
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 91
lower tone as if to himself his eyes dwelling on her por-
trait above the mantelpiece: the one in the studio window-seat.
And Broome thought: "With all his brains, the man's hardly
astir in him yet: and the boy's still in love with her. This notion
may be an unconscious outlet. A healthy one if Nevil can be
got to see it that way."
After a perceptible pause, he said quietly: "Remember, Roy,
just because she's unique, she can't be taken as representative.
She naturally stands for India in your eyes. But no country can
produce beings of her quality by the score "
" I suppose not." Roy reluctantly shifted his gaze. "But she
does represent what's best in the Indian spirit: the spirit that
people over here might take more pains to understand."
"And you are peculiarly well fitted to assist them, I admit
if Father's willing to bear the cost of your trip. It's a compact
between us. The snare of your Ai dinner shall not have been
laid in vain!"
They sat on together for more than an hour. Then Broome
departed, leaving Roy to dream in a blue mist of tobacco
smoke the opal-tinted, egocentric dreams of one-and-twenty.
And to-night one dream eclipsed them all.
For years the germ of it had lived in him like a seed in darkness;
growing with him as he grew. All incidents and impressions that
struck deep had served to vitalise it: that early championship
of his mother; her tales of Rajputana; his friendship with Des-
mond and Dyan; and, not least, his father's Ramayana pictures,
in the long gallery at home, that had seized his imagination in
very early days, when their appeal was simply to his innate
sense of colour, and the reiterate wonder and beauty of his moth-
er's face in those moving scenes from the story of Sita India's
crown of womanhood . . .
Then there was the vivid memory, stamped on his mind in de-
tail, of a room in his grandfather's house; the stately old man,
with his deep voice, speaking words that he only came to under-
stand years after; and the look in his mother's eyes, as she clapped
her hands without sound, in the young fashion he loved . . .
92 FAR TO SEEK
And Chandranath another glimpse of India; the ugly side
. . . And stories from Tod's Rajasthan that grim and stirring
panorama of romance and chivalry, of cruelty and cunning;
orgies of slaughter and miracles of high-hearted devotion . . .
Barbaric; utterly foreign to life, as he had lived it, those tales
of ancient India most strangely awakened in him a vague, thrill-
ing sense of familiarity ... He knew . . . ! Most clearly he
knew the spirit that fired them all, when the legions of Akbar
broke, wave on wave, against the mighty rock-fortress of Chitor
far-famed capital of Mewar, thrice sacked by Islam and de-
serted by her royal house, so that only the ghost of her glory re-
mains a protest, a challenge, an inspiration . . .
Sometimes he clreamed it all, with amazing vividness. And
in the dreams there was always the feeling that he knew ... It
was a very queer, very exciting sensation. He had spoken of it
to no one but his mother and Tara; except once at Marlborough,
when he had been moved to try whether Lance would under-
stand.
Priceless old Desmond ! It had been killing to watch his face
interested, sceptical, faintly alarmed, when he discovered that
it was not an elaborate attempt to pull his leg. By way of reas-
suring him, Roy had confessed it was a family failing. When
things went wrong, his mother nearly always knew: and some-
times she came to him, in dreams that were not exactly dreams.
What harm?
Desmond, puzzled and sceptical, was not prepared to hazard
an opinion. If Roy was made that way, of course he couldn't
help it. And Roy, half indignant, had declared he wouldn't for
worlds be made any other way . . .
To-night, by some freak of memory, it all came back to him
through the dream-inducing haze of tobacco smoke. And there,
on his writing-table, stood a full-length photograph of Lance in
Punjab cavalry uniform. Soldiering on che Indian Border, ful-
filling himself in his own splendid fashion, he was clearly in his
element; attached to his father's old regiment, with Paul for
second-in-command; proud of his strapping Sikhs and Pathans;
watched over, revered, and implicitly obeyed by the sons of men
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 93
who had served with his father men, for whom the mere name
Desmond was a talisman. For that is India's way.
And here was he, Roy, still at his old trick of scribbling poems
and dreaming dreams. For a fleeting moment, Desmond was out
of the picture; but when time was ripe he would be in it again.
The link between them was indestructible elemental. Poet
and Warrior; the eternal complements. In the Rig Veda l both
are one; both Agni Kula 'born of fire'; no fulness of life for
the one without the other.
The years dominated by Desmond had been supreme. They
had left school together, when Roy was seventeen; and, at the
tune, their parting had seemed like the end of everything. Yet,
very soon after, he had found himself in the thick of fresh
delight a wander-year in Italy, Greece, the Mediterranean,
with the parents and Christine
And now, here he was, nearing the end of the Oxford interlude
dominated by Dyan and India; and, not least, by Oxford her-
self, who counts her lovers by the million; holds them for the
space of three or four years and sets her impress for life on their
minds and hearts. For all his dreamings and scribblings, he had
played hard and worked hard. In the course of reading for
Greats, he had imbibed large draughts of the classics, the 'books
that show, contain, and nourish all the world.' He had browsed
widely on later literature, East and West; won the Newcastle,
and filled a vellum-bound volume his mother's gift with
verse and sketches in prose, some of which had appeared in the
more exclusive weeklies. He had also picked up Hindustani
from Dyn and looked forward to tackling Sanskrit. In the
Schools, he had taken a First in Mods; and, with reasonable
luck, hoped for a First in the Finals. Once again, parting would
be a wrench, but India glowed like a planet on the horizon; and
he fully intended to make that interlude the pick of them all ...
What novels he would write! Not modern impressionist stuff;
not mean streets and the photographic touch. No his adven-
turing soul, with its tinge of Eastern mysticism, craved colour and
warmth and light; not the mere trappings of romance, but the
1 Ancieut Hindu scriptures.
94 FAR TO SEEK
essence of it that imparts a deeper sense of the significance and
mystery of life; that probes to the very mainsprings of personal-
ity, the veiled yet intensely vital world of spiritual adventure.
Pain and conflict; powers of evil, of doubt and indecision: no
evading these. But in any imaginative work he essayed, beauty
must be the prevailing element if only as a star in darkness.
And nowadays Beauty had become almost suspect. Cleverness,
cynicism, sex, and sensation all had their votaries and their
vogue. Mere beauty, like Cinderella, was left sitting among the
ashes of the past ; and Roy prince or no was her devout lover.
To the son of Nevil and Lilamani, her clear call could never
seem either a puritanical snare of the flesh, or a delusion of the
senses; but rather a grace of the spirit, the joy of things seen de-
tached from self-interest: the visible proof that love, not power,
is the last word of Creation. Happily for him, its outward form
and inward essence had been his daily bread ever since he had
first consciously looked upon his mother's face, consciously de-
lighted in his father's pictures. They lived it, those two: and
the life lived transcends argument.
At this uplifted moment whatever might come later -
blessed them for his double heritage; for the perfect accord be-
tween them that inspired his hope of ultimate harmony between
England and India, in spite of barriers and complexities and
secret fomenters of discord; a harmony that could never arrive
by veiled condescension out of servile imitation. Intimacy with
Dyan, and his mother, had made that quite clear. Each must
honestly will to understand the other; each holding fast the es-
sence of individuality, while respecting in the other precisely
those baffling qualities that strengthen their union and make r
vital to the welfare of both. Instinctively he pictured them as
man and woman; and on general lines the analogy seemed to
hold good. He had yet to discover that analogies are often de-
ceptive things; peculiarly so, in this case, since India is many, not
one. Yet there lurked a germ of truth in his seedling idea: and
he was at the age when ideas and tremendous impulses stir in
the blood like sap in spring-time; an age to be a reformer, a
fanatic, or a sensualist.
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 95
Too often, alas, before the years bring power of adjustment,
the live spark of enthusiasm is extinct. . . .
To-night it burned in Roy with a steady flame. If only he
could enthuse his father !
He supposed he would go in any case: but he lacked the
rebel instinct of modern youth. He wanted to share, to impart
his hidden treasure; not to argue the bloom off it. And his
father seemed tacitly to discourage rhapsodies over Indian
literature and art. You couldn't say he was not keen: only
the least little bit unresponsive to outbursts of keenness in his
son; so that Roy never felt quite at ease on the subject. If only
he could walk into the room now, while Roy's brain was seething
with it all, high on the upward curve of a wave . . .
CHAPTER IV
You could humble at your feet the proudest heads in the world.
But it is your loved ones . . . whom you choose to worship, therefore
I worship you.
RABINDEANATH TAGORE
ROY, after due consideration, decided that he would speak first
to his father the one doubtful element in the home circle. But
habit and the obsession of the moment proved too strong, when
his mother came to 'tuck him up,' as she had never failed to
do since nursery days.
Seated on the edge of his bed, in the shaded light, she looked
like some rare, pale moth in her moon-coloured sari flecked and
bordered with gold; amber earrings and a rope of amber beads
his own gift; first fruits of poetic earnings. The years be-
tween had ripened and embellished her; rounded a little the
oval of her cheek; lent an added dignity to her grace of bearing
and enriched her wisdom of the heart.
It was as he supposed. She had understood his thoughts long
before. He flung out his hand a fine, nervous hand and
laid it on her knee.
"You're a miracle. I believe you know all about it."
" I believe I do," she answered, letting her own hand rest on
his; moving her fingers, now and then, hi the ghost of a caress: -
an endearing way she had. " You are wishing to go out there? "
"Yes. I simply must. You understand? "
She inclined her head and, for a moment, veiled her eyes. "I
am proud. But you cannot understand how difficult ... for us
. . . letting you go. And Dad . . ."
"You'll think he'll hate it want to keep me here?"
"My darling 'hate' is too strong. He cares very much for
all that makes friendship between England and India. But is
it wonder it he cares more for his own son? You will speak to him
soon? "
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 97
"To-morrow. Unless a word or two, first, from you "
"No, not that!" She smiled at his old boyish faith in her.
"Better to keep me outside. You see I am India. So I am
already too much in it that way."
"You are in it up to the hilt!" he declared with sudden fer-
vour: and his tongue unloosed he poured out to her a meas-
ure of his pent-up feelings; how they had inspired him she
and his father how he naturally hoped they would back him
up; and a good deal more, that was for her private ear alone
Her immense capacity for listening, her eloquent silence and
gentle flashes of raillery, her occasional caress all were balm
to him in his electrical mood . . . Were ever two beings, he won-
dered,_quite so perfectly in tune ? Could he possibly leave her,
when it came to the final wrench?
When, at last, she stooped to kiss him, the faint clean whiff of
sandalwood waked a hundred memories, and he held her close a
long time, her cheek against his hair.
"Bad boy! Let me go!" she pleaded.
With phenomenal obedience he unclasped his hands. "See if
you can go now!"
It was his old, childish game. The moment she stirred his
hands were locked again.
"Son of my heart I must!"
"One more kiss then for luck!"
So she kissed him, for luck, and left him to his midnight
browsings . , .
Next morning she sat among her cushions in the studio, os-
tensibly reading a long letter from her father. Actually, her mind
was intent on Nevil, who stood at his easel absorbed in fragmen-
tary studies for a new picture flying draperies; a man's face
cleverly foreshortened.
Though nearing fifty, he looked more like five-and-thirty; his
face^singularly free of lines; his fair hair scarcely showing the in-
trusion of grey. To her he seemed perennially young; and dearer
than ever if that could be as the years mellowed and deep-
ened the love on which they had boldly staked everything that
98 FAR TO SEEK
counted most for them both. Yet, for all her skill in divination,
she could not tell precisely how he would take the things Roy had
to say; nor whether Roy himself would say them in just the right
way. With Nevil, so much depended on that.
Till this morning, she had scarcely realised how unobtrusively
she had been, as it were, their connecting link in all difficult or
delicate matters, where their natures were not quite in tune.
But now, Roy being a man, they must come to terms in their
own fashion . . .
At the first far-off sound of his step on the stairs, she rose
came over to the easel, and stood there a few moments -
fascinated always by the swift, sure strokes.
" Good eh?" he asked, smiling into her serious eyes.
She nodded. "Quite evident you are hi the mood!" Her
fingers lightly caressed the back of his hand. "I will come back
later. Such a tray of vases waiting for me in the drawing-room ! "
As Roy entered, she passed him and they exchanged a smile.
Her eyes, mutely blessing him, besought him not to let his eager
tongue run away with itself. Then she went out, leaving them
together the two who were her world.
Down in the drawing-room, flowers, cut by Christine her
fairy daughter lay ready to hand. Between them they fi
the lofty room with fragrance and delicate colour. Then Chris-
tine flew to her beloved piano; and Lilamani wandered away to
her no less beloved rose garden. Body and mind were restless.
She could settle to nothing till she knew what had passed be-
tween Nevil and Roy. His boyish confidences and adorations of
the night before had filled her cup to overflowing. She felt glad
and proud that her first born should have set his heart on the
high project of trying to promote deeper sympathy between his
father's great country and her own people, in this time of danger-
ous antagonism and unrest.
But beneath her pride and gladness stirred a fear lest the s
she had tried to hold even should be inclining to tilt the wrong
way For duty to his father's house was paramount. Too strong
a leaning towards India no matter for what high purpose -
would still be a tilt the wrong way. She had seen the same fear
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 99
lurking in Nevil's heart also; and now, unerringly, she divined
the cause of that hidden trouble which baffled Roy. Nevil feared
that, if Roy went to India, history might repeat itself. She ad-
mitted the danger was real; and she knew his fear implied no re-
flection on herself or her country. Best of all she knew that
because of his chivalrous loyalty that had never failed her he
would not speak of it, even to his son.
Clearly, then, if Roy insisted on going to India, and if a word
of warning must be spoken to ease Nevil's mind, only one per-
son in the world could speak it herself. For all her sensitive
shrinking she could not, at this critical turning-point, stand out-
side. She was 'in it' as Roy dramatically assured her up to
the hilt ...
Time passed and he did not come. Troubled, she wandered
back towards the house; caught sight of him, lonely and ab-
stracted, pacing the lawn; saw him stop near the great twin
beeches that embowered a hammock, chairs, and rugs and
disappear inside. Then she knew her moment had come . . .
She found him lying in the hammock; not even smoking;
staring up into the cool green dome, fretted with graceful con-
volutions of trunk and branches. One lightly clenched hand hung
over the edge. Attitude and abstraction alike suggested a listless
dejection that sharply caught at her heart.
He started at sight of her. "Blessed little Mummy no
hiding from you/"
He flung out his left hand. She took it and laid it against her
cheek ; a form of caress all her own.
"Were you wishing to hide? I was waiting among the roses,
to show you the new sweet peas."
"And I never came. Proper beast I am! And sprawling
here ' He swung his long legs over the side and stood up, tall
and straight taller than Nevil smiling down. at her. "I
wasn't exactly hiding. I was shirking a little bit. But now
you've found me, you won't escape!"
Pressing down the edge of the hammock, he half lifted her into
it and settled her among the cushions, deftly tucking in her
silks and muslins.
I00 FAR TO SEEK
"Comfy?" he asked, surveying her, with Nevil's own smile in
his eyes.
"Comfy," she sighed, wishing discreet warnings at the bottom
of the sea. Just to be foolish with him the bliss of it! To
chime in with his moods, his enthusiasms, his nonsense she
asked nothing better of life, when he came home. "Very clever,
Sonling. But no " She lifted a finger. "That won't do. You
are twenty-one. Too big for the small name now. So far away
up there!"
"If I shot up as high as a lamp-post, my heart would stil
down there at your feet."
He said it lightly that was the Englishman. But he said
it that was the Rajput. And she knew not which she loved the
best. Strange to love two such opposites with equal fervour.
She blew him a kiss from her finger-tips. "Very well. We will
not be unkind to the small name and throw him on the rubbish
heap. But now sit, please Sonling. You have been talking -
you and Dad? Not any decision? Is he not wishing you should
work for India? "
"Mummy, I don't know." He secured a chair and sat down
facing her. "He says he's not the kind of father who thunders
vetoes from the family hearthrug! All the same I gather he's
distinctly not keen on my going out there. So what the devil
am I to do? He insists that I'm full young no hurry but
I feel there's something else at the back of his mind."
He paused and she could hesitate no longer.
"Yes, Roy there is something else "
"Then why can't he speak out?"
"Not to be so impatient," she rebuked him gently. '
because he so beautifully remains my lover, he cannot put in
words any thought that might give - ' She flung out an
appealing hand. "Oh, Roy can you not guess the trouble?
He is afraid for your marriage "
"My marriage!" It was clear he did not yet grasp the truth.
"Really, Mummy, that's a trifle previous. I'm not even think-
ing of marriage."
" No, Stupid One! But out there you might come to think of
THE VISIONARY GLEAM
101
it. No man can tell when Kama, godling of the arrows, will
throw magic dust in his eyes. You might meet other cousins
like Aruna; and there would come trouble, because" she
faced him^steadily and he saw the veiled blush creep into her
that kind of marriage for you must not be "
Now he understood; and, for all her high resolve, she thrilled
at the swift flash of anger in his eyes.
"Who says it must not be?" he demanded with a touch of
heat. Aunt Jane confound her! When I do marry it will
be to please myself not her!"
" Oh, hush, Roy and listen! You run away too fast. It is
not Aunt Jane it is / who am saying must not, because I
know the difficult thought in Dad's heart. And I know it is
right "
"Why is it right?" He was up in arms again. Obstinate
but how loveable! - "Why mayn't I have the same luck as he
- if it comes my way? I've never met a girl or woman that
could hold a candle to you for all-round loveliness. And it's the
East that gives you inside and out a quality, a bloom
unseizable like moonlight "
"But, my darling! You make me blush!" She drew her sari
across her face; hiding, under a veil of lightness, her joy at his
outspoken praise.
"Well, you made me say it! And I'm not sentimentalising.
I m telling a home truth!"
His vehemence was guarantee of that. Very gently he drew
back the sari and looked deep into her eyes.
" Why should we only tell the ugly ones, like Aunt Jane? Any-
way, I've told you my truest one now and I'm not ashamed
of it."
"No need. It is a jewel I will treasure in my heart."
She dropped the veil of lightness, giving him sincerity for sin-
ity as he deserved. "But Ancient One, have you seen so
many girls and women in your long life ?"
"I've seen a pretty good mixture of all sorts Oxford, Lon-
lon, and round here," he insisted, unabashed. "And I've had
my wits about me. Of course they're most of them jolly and
I02 FAR TO SEEK
straight. Good fellows, in fact; talking our slang; playing our
games. No harm, of course. But it kills the charm of contrast -
the supreme charm. They understand that in India better than
we do here."
The truth of that last Lilamani could not deny. Too clearly
she saw in the violent upheaval of Western womanhood the
hidden germs of tragedy, for women themselves, for the race.
"You are right, Roy," she said, smiling into his serious face.
"From our from Hindu point of view, greatest richness of
life comes from greatest possible difference between men and
women. And most of all it is so in Rajputana. But over here . . ."
She sighed, a small, shivering sigh. The puzzle and pain of it
went too deep with her. "All this screaming and snatching and
scratching for wrong kind of things hurts my heart; because -
am woman and they are women desecrating that in us which
is a symbol of God. Nature made women for ministering to Life
and Love. Are they not believing, or not caring, that by strug-
gling to imitate man (while saying with their lips how they de-
spise him!) they are losing their own secret, beautiful differ-
ences, so important for happiness for the race ? But marriage
in the West seems more for convenience of lovers than for the
race "
"Yet your son, though he is of the West must not consider
his own inclination or convenience
"My son," she interposed, gently inflexible, "because he i
also of the East, must consider this matter of the race; must try
and think it with his father's mind."
"All the same making such a point of it seems like an in-
sult to you "
"No, Roy. Not to say that " The flash in her eyes, tl
almost 'anger, startled and impressed him more than any spoken
word. "No thought that ever came in your father's mind could
be like insult to me. Oh, my dear, have you not sense to see
that for an old English family like his, with roots down deep in
English soil and history, it is not good that mixture of race should
come twice over in two generations? To you our kind of mar,
riage appears a simple affair. You see only how close we are now,
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 103
in love and understanding. You cannot imagine all the diffi-
culties that went before. We know them and we are proud,
because they became like dust under our feet. Only to you
Dilkusha, 1 1 could tell ... a little, if you wish for helping you
to understand."
"Please tell," he said, and his hand closed on hers.
So, leaning back among her cushions speaking very simply
in the low voice that was music to his ears she told . . .
The telling fragmentary, yet vivid lasted less than half
an hour. But in that half-hour she revealed more than she real-
ised of herself, of the man she loved; and Roy gleaned a jewel of
memory that the years would not dim. The very words would
remain . . .
Yet in spite of that revealing because of it rebellion
stirred afresh. And, as if divining his thoughts, she impulsively
raised her hand. "Now, Roy, you must promise. Only so, I can
speak to Dad and rest his mind."
Seizing her hand, he kissed it fervently.
" Darling after all that, a mere promise would be a fatuous
superfluity. If you say, 'No Indian wife,' that's enough for me.
I suppose I must rest content with the high privilege of possessing
an Indian mother."
Her radiant surprise was a beautiful thing to see. Leaning
forward, she took his head in her hands and kissed him between
his eyebrows where the caste mark should be.
"Must it be October so soon?" she asked.
He told her of Dyan, and she sighed. " Poor Pyn ! I wonder?
It is so difficult even with the best kind this mixing of
English education and Indian life. I hope it will make no harm
for those two "
Then they started, almost like lovers; for the drooping branches
rustled and Tara stood before them a very vision of June; in
her straight frock of delphinium blue; one shell-pink rose in her
hat and its counterpart in her waist-belt. Canvas shoes and
tennis racquet betrayed her fell design on Roy.
"Am I despritly superfluous? " she queried, smiling from one to
the other.
1 Joy of my Heart.
104 FAR TO SEEK
"Quite too despritly," Roy assured her with emphasis.
She wrinkled her nose at him, so far as its delicate aquiline
would permit. "Speak for yourself, spoilt boy!"
But she favoured him with her left hand, which he retained,
while she stooped over the hammock and kissed Lilamani on
both cheeks. Then she stood up and gently disengaged her hand.
"Christine's to blame. She guessed you were here. I came in
hopes of tennis. It's just perfect. Not too hot."
"Still more perfect in here, lazing with Mummy," said grace-
less Roy.
"I disown you; I am ashamed!" Lildmani rebuked him only
half in jest. " No more lazing now. I have done with you. Only
you have to get me out of this."
They got her out, between them; fussed over her and laughed
at her; and then went off together for Roy's racquet.
She stood in the silvery sunlight watching them till they dis-
appeared round the corner of the house. Not surprising that
Nevil said 'No hurry!' If he would only wait . . . ! He was
still too young, too much in love with India with herself. Yet,
had he already begun inditing sonnets, even to the most accept-
able eyebrow, her perverse heart would doubtless have known the
prick of jealousy as in Desmond's day.
Instead she suddenly knew the first insidious prick of middle
age; felt dazzled, for a mere moment, by the careless radiance of
then- youth; to them an unconsidered thing; but to those who
feel it relentlessly slipping through their fingers . . .
Her small fine hands clenched in unconscious response to her
thought. She was nearing forty. In her own land she would be
reckoned almost an old woman. But some magic in the ah" and
way of life in this cool, green England seemed to keep age at bay:
and there remained within a flame-like youth of the spirit not
so easy for even the Arch-Thief to steal away . . .
CHAPTER V
The bow saith to the arrow, "Thy freedom is mine."
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
AND while Lilamani reasoned with the son whose twofold
nature they had themselves bestowed and inspired Nevil was
pacing his shrine of all the harmonies, heart and brain dis-
turbed as they had not been for years
Out of the troubled waters of family friction and delicate ad-
justments, this adventurous pair had slid into a haven of peace
and mutual understanding. And now, behold, fresh portent of
trouble arising from the dual strain in Roy the focal point
of their life and love.
Turning in his stride, his eyes encountered a head and shoul-
ders portrait of his father, Sir George Sinclair: an honest, bluff,
unimaginative face: yet suddenly, arrestingly, it commanded
his attention. Checking his walk, he stood regarding it: and his
heart went out to the kindly old man in a quite unusual wave
of sympathetic understanding. He saw himself the 'damned
unsatisfactory son,' Bohemian and dilettante, frankly at odds
with the Sinclair tradition now standing, more or less, in that
father's shoes; his heart centred on the old place and on the boy
for whom he held it in trust; and the irony of it twisted his lips
into a rueful smile. By his own over-concentration on Roy, and
his secret dread of the Indian obsession, he could gauge what his
own father must have suffered in an aggravated form, blind as
he was to any point of view save his own. And there was Roy
like himself in the twenties, but how much more purposeful!
drawn irresistibly by the lure of the horizon; a lure bristling
with dangers the more insidious because they sprang from the
blood in his veins.
Yet a word of warning, spoken at the wrong moment, in the
wrong tone, might be disastrously misunderstood; and the dis-
tracting sense of being purely responsible for his own trouble
I0 6 FAR TO SEEK
stung him to renewed irritation. All capacity for work had been
dispelled by that vexatiously engaging son of his, with his heart
in India and his head among the stars . . .
Weary of pacing, he took out his pipe and sat down in the
window-seat to fill it. He was interrupted by the sound of an un-
mistakeable footstep; and the response of his whole being justi-
fied to admiration Lilamani's assurance that his hidden trouble
implied no lightest reflection on herself. Lilamani and irritation
simply could not co-exist within him; and he was on his feet
when she opened the door.
She did not come forward at once. Pushing it shut with both
hands, she stood so a hovering question in her eyes. It re-
called, with a tender pang, the earlier days of worshipful aloof-
ness, when only by special invitation would she intimately ap-
proach her lord.
That she might guess his thought he held out his arms. "
along English wife!"
It had been their private password. But her small teeth im-
prisoned her lip.
No King of me Indian wife: making too much trouble
again!"
"Lilamani! How dare you! Come here."
His attempt at sternness took effect. In one swift rush sari
blown backward she came: and he, smitten sharply with self-
reproach, folded her close; while she clung to him in mute, pas-
sionate response.
"Beloved," she whispered. "Not to worry any more in your
secret heart. I told he understands."
R oy _? My darling! But -what?" His incoherence was
a shameless admission of relief. "You couldn't you haven't
told him ?"
"Nevil, I have told him all. I saw lately this trouble in your
thoughts: and to-day it came in my mind that only I could speak
could give command that one kind of marriage must not
be."
He drew her closer, and she suppressed a small sigh.
"Wasn't the boy angry?"
THE VISIONARY GLEAM ' 107
" Only at first on account of me. He is so very darling, so
worshipping his foolish little mother."
"A weakness he shares with his father," Nevil assured her:
and in that' whispered confession she had her reward. For
after twenty-three years of marriage, the note of loverly ex-
travagance is as rare as the note of the cuckoo in July
"Sit, little woman." He drew her down to the window-seat,
keeping an arm round her. "The relief it is to feel I can talk it all
over with you, freely. Where the dickens would we be, Roy and I,
without our interpreter? And she does it all unbeknownst; like a
Brownie. I have been worrying lately. The boy's clean gone on
his blessed idea. No reasoning with him; and the modern father
doesn't venture to command! It's as much as his place is
worth! Yet we see the hidden dangers clearer than he can.
Wouldn't it be wiser to apply the curb discreetly before he slips
off into an atmosphere where all the influences will tug one
way?"
It was the sane masculine wisdom of the West. But hers
that was feminine and of the East went deeper.
" Perhaps it is mother-weakness," she said, leaning against him
and looking away at a purple cloud that hung low over the moor.
"But it seems to me, by putting on the curb, you keep only his
body from those influences. They would tug all the stronger
in his soul. Not healthy and alive with joy of action, but
cramped up and aching, like your legs when there is no room
to stretch them. Then there would come impatience, turning
his heart more to India, more away from you. Father had that
kind of thwarting when young so I know. Dearest one, am
I too foolish?"
"You are my Wisest of Wise. Is there more?"
" Yes. It is this. Perhaps, through being young and eager, he
will make mistakes; wander too far. But even if he should wander
to farthest end, all influence will not tug one way. He will carry
in his heart the star of you and the star of me. These will shine
brighter if he knows how we longed for ourselves to keep
him here; yet, for himself, we let him go. I have remembered al-
ways one line of poetry you showed me at Como. 'To take by
108 FAR TO SEEK
leaving, to hold by letting go.' That is true truth for many
things. But for parents truest of all."
High counsel, indeed! Good to hear; hard to act upon. Nevil
Sinclair knowing they would act upon it let out an in-
voluntary sigh and tightened his hold of the gentle, adoring
woman whose spirit towered so far above his own.
"Lilamani you've won," he said, after a perceptible pause.
"You deserve to win and Roy will bless you. It's the high
privilege of mothers, I suppose, to conjure the moon out of
Heaven for their sons."
"Sometimes, by doing so, they nearly break their hearts,"
she answered, very low.
He stooped and kissed her. "Keep yours intact for me. I
shall need it." Her fingers closed convulsively on his " England
will seem sort of empty without Roy. Is he dead keen on
going this autumn?"
"Yes I am afraid. A little because of young impatience. A
little because he is troubled over Dyan; and he has much influ-
ence. There are so many now in India dragged two ways."
Nevil sighed again. "Bless the boy! It's an undeniable risk.
And what the family will say to our midsummer madness, God
knows! Jane can be trusted to make the deuce of a row. And
we can't even smooth matters by telling her of our private pre-
caution "
"No not one little word"
Lilamani sat upright, a gleam of primitive hate in her eyes.
Nevil smiled, in spite of secret dismay. "You implacable little
sinner! Can't you ever forgive her like a Christian?"
No _ no t ever." The tense quiet of her tone carried con-
viction. "Not only far-off things, I can never forget nearly
killing me and and Roy. But because she is always stabbing
at me with sharp words and ugly thoughts. She cannot ever for-
give that I am here that I make you happy, which she could
not believe. She is angry to be put hi the wrong by mere Hindu
wife " She paused in her vehement rush of speech: saw the
look in Nevil's face that recalled an earlier day; and anger van-
ished like a light blown out. "King of me I am sorry. Only
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 109
it is true. And she is Christian born. But I down in my
deepest places I am still Rajputni. Just the same as, after
twenty- three years of English wife, I am still in my heart like
the 'Queen who stood erect'!"
On the word she rose and confronted him, smiling into his
troubled eyes; grace of girlhood and dignity of womanhood ador-
ably mingled in her pose.
"Who was she?" Nevil asked, willingly lured from thoughts
of Jane.
" Careless one! Have you forgotten the story of my Wonder-
Woman how a King, loving his Queen with all his soul, bowed
himself in ecstasy and ' took the dust of her feet ' hi presence of
other wives who, from jealousy, cried: 'Shameless one, lift up the
hands of the King to your head.' But the Queen stood erect,
smiling gladly. 'Not so: for both feet and head are my Lord's.
Can I have aught that is mine? ' "
The swiftness of transition, the laughing tenderness of her eyes
so moved him and so potent in her was the magical essence of
womanhood that he, Sir Nevil Sinclair, Baronet, of Bramleigh
Beeches, came near to taking the dust of her feet in very deed.
CHAPTER VI
Qui n'accepte pas U regret, n'accepte pas la vie.
NEVIL'S fears were justified to the full. Lady Roscoe was one of
those exasperating people of whom one can predict, almost to a
word, a look, what their attitude will be on any given occasion.
So Nevil, who shirked a 'scene' above all when conducted by
j ane _ p u t off telling her the unwelcome news as long as he
dared, without running the dire risk of its reaching her 'round the
corner.'
Meantime he was fortified and cheered by a letter from Cuth
bert Broome a shrewd, practical letter amounting to a sober
confession of faith in Roy, the embryo writer, as in Roy, the
budding man.
" I don't minimise the risk," he concluded, with his accustomed
frankness (no relation to the engaging candour that dances a
war-dance on other people's toes) . " But, on broad lines, I hereby
record my conviction that the son of you two and the grandson of
Sir Lakshman Singh can be trusted to go far to keep his head
as well as his feet, even in slippery places. He is eager for knowl-
edge, for work along his own lines. If you dam up this strong
current, it may find other outlets, possibly less desirable. !
came on a jewel the other day. As it's distinctly applicable, I
pass it on.
'"The sole wisdom for man or boy who is haunted with ti
hovering of unseen wings, with the scent of unseen roses, and the
subtle enticement of melodies unheard, is work. If 'he follow any
of these, they vanish. If he work, they will come unsought . . .'
"Well, when Roy goes out, I undertake to provide him with
work that will keep his brain alert and his pen busy. That's my
proposed contribution to his start in life; and though 7 say
it! not to be despised. Tell him I'll bear down upon the
Beeches the first available week-end and talk both your heads
off! Yours ever, C. B."
THE VISIONARY GLEAM in
"After that" was Nevil's heroic conclusion, "Jane can say
what she damn well pleases."
He broke the news to her forthwith by post; the usual
expedient of those who shirk 'scenes.' He furthermore took the
precaution to add that the matter was finally settled.
She replied next morning by wire. "Cannot understand.
Coming down at once."
And, in record time, on the wings of her new travelling car
she came.
As head of the Sinclair clan in years and worldly wisdom,
at least she could do no less. From her point of view, it was
Nevil's clear duty to discourage the Indian strain in the boy, as
far as that sentimental, headstrong wife of his would permit.
But Nevil's sense of duty needed constant galvanising, lest it die
of inanition. It was her sacred mission in life to galvanise it,
especially in the matter of Roy; and no one should ever say she
shirked a disagreeable obligation. It may safely be added that
no one ever did!
Nevil who would have given a good deal to be elsewhere
awaited her in the library: and at the first shock of their
encountering glances, he stiffened all through. He was apt to
be restive under advice, and rebellious under dictation; facts
none knew better than Jane, who throve on advice and dictation
given, not received! She still affected the neat hard coat and
skirt and the neat hard summer hat that had so distressed the
awakening beauty-sense of nine-year-old Roy: only, in place
of the fierce wing there uprose in majesty a severely wired bow.
Jane was so unvarying, outside and in; a worse failing, almost,
in the eyes of this hopelessly artistic household, than her talent
for pouncing, or advising, or making up other people's minds.
But to-day, as she glanced round the familiar room, her sigh
half anger, half bitterness of heart was genuine. She did care
intensely, in her own way, for the brother whom she hectored
without mercy. And he too cared in his own way more than
he chose to reveal. But their love was a dumb thing, rooted in
ancestral mysteries. Their surface clash of temperament was
more loquacious.
ii2 FAR TO SEEK
"I suppose we're fairly safe from interruption?" she asked,
with ominous emphasis; and Nevil gravely indicated the largest
leather chair.
"I believe the others are out," he said, half sitting on the edge
of the writing-table and proceeding to light a cigarette. "But,
upon my soul, I don't know why you put yourself out to come
down all this way when I told you plainly everything was fixed
up."
"You thought I'd swallow that and keep my mouth shut?"
she retorted, bristling visibly. "I'm no fool, Nevil, if you are.
I told you how it would be, when you went out in '99. You
wouldn't listen then. Perhaps you'll at least have the sense to
listen now?"
Nevil shrugged. "As you've come all this way for the satisfac-
tion of airing your views I've not much choice in the matter."
And the latitude, thus casually given, she took in full measure.
For twenty minutes, by the clock, she aired her views in a stream
of vigorous colloquial English, lapsing into ready-made phrases
of melodrama, common to the normally inexpressive, in moments
of excitement . .
To the familiar tuning-up process, Nevil listened unmoved.
But his anger rose with her rising eloquence: the unwilling
anger of a cool man, more formidable than mere temper.
Such fine distinctions, however, were unknown to Jane. If you
were in a temper, you were in a temper. That was flat. And she
rather wanted to rouse Nevil's. Heated opposition would stiffen
her own . . .
"India of all countries in the world!" she culminated a
desperate note invading her wrath. "The one place where he
should not be allowed to sow his wild oats if the modern
anaemic young man has enough red blood in his veins, for that
sort of thing. And it's your obvious duty to be quite frank with
him on the subject. If you had an ounce of common sense in your
make-up, you'd see it for yourself. But I always say the clever
people are the biggest fools. And Roy's in the same boat being
your son. No ballast. All in the clouds. That's the fruits of Lil's
fancy education. And you can't say I didn't warn you. What he
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 113
needs is discipline a tight hand. Why not one of the Services?
If he gets bitten with India at his age, it's quite on the cards
that he may go turning Hindu or even repeat your folly "
She paused simply for lack of breath and became suddenly
alive to the set stillness of her brother's face.
"My folly as you are pleased to call it," he said with con-
centrated scorn, "has incidentally made our name famous, and
cleared the old place of mortgage. For that reason alone you
might have the grace to refrain from insulting my wife."
She flung up her head, like a horse at a touch of the curb.
'^Oh, if it's an insult to speak the simple truth, I'm quite out
of it. I never could call spades agricultural implements: and I
can't start new habits at my time of life. I don't deny you've
made a good thing out of your pictures. But no one in their
senses could call your marriage an act of wisdom."
Nevil winced visibly. "I married for the only defensible rea-
son," he said, in a low, controlled voice. "And events have more
than justified me."
"Possibly so far as you're concerned. But you can't get
over the fact that even if Roy marries the best blood of Eng-
land his son may revert to type; Dr. Simons tells me "
"Will you hold your tongue!" Nevil blazed out, in a white
fury. "I'll thank you not to discuss my affairs or Roy's
with your damned doctor. And the subject's barred between
us as you're very well aware."
She blenched at the force and fire of his unexpected onslaught,
never dreaming how deeply her thrust had gone home.
"Goodness knows it's as painful for me as it is for you "
"I didn't say it was painful. I said it was barred."
"Well, you goad me into it, with your unspeakable folly;
too much under Lil's thumb to check Roy, even for his own good.
For Heaven's sake, Nevil, put your foot down firmly, for once,
and reverse your crazy decision."
He gave her a long, direct look. "Sorry to disappoint, after all
the trouble you've taken," he said in a level tone, "but I've al-
ready told you the matter's settled. My foot is down on that as
firmly as even you could wish."
II 4 FAR TO SEEK
" You mean it? " she gasped, too incredulous for wrath.
"I mean it."
"Yet you see the danger?"
"I see the danger."
The fact that he would not condescend to lie to her eased a lit-
tle her bitter sense of defeat.
She rose awkwardly; all of a piece.
"Then I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you all.
Until you come to your senses, I don't cross this threshold again."
In spite of the threadbare phrases, genuine pain vibrated in her
tone.
"Don't rant, old thing. You know you'll never keep it up,"
Nevil urged more gently than he had spoken yet.
But anger still dominated pain.
"When / say a thing, I mean it," she retorted stiffly, "as you
will find to your cost." Without troubling to answer, he lunged
for the door-handle; but she waved him aside. "All humbug
playing at politeness, when you've spurned my advice."
/ "As you please." He stood back for her to pass. "Sorry it's
upset you so. But we'll see you here again when you've got
over it."
"The boy would have got over it in no tune," she flung back at
him from the threshold. "Mark my words, disaster will come of
it. Then perhaps you'll admit I was right."
He felt no call to argue that point. She was gone And she
had carefully refrained from slamming the door. Somehow that
trifling act of restraint impressed him with a sense of finality
oddly lacking in her dramatic asseveration.
He stood a few moments staring at the polished oak panels.
Then he turned back and sat down in the chair she had occu-
pied; and all the inner tension of the last hour went suddenly,
completely to pieces . . .
It was the penalty of his artist nature, this sharp nervous re-
action from strain; and with it came crowding back all the in-
sidious doubts and anxieties that even Lilamani's wisdom had not
entirely charmed away. He felt torn at the moment between
anger with Roy for causing all this pother; and anger with Jane,
THE VISIONARY GLEAM r 115
who, for all her lack of tenderness and tact, was right up to a
point. It was just Family Herald heroics about 'not crossing
the threshold.' At least rather to his surprise he found him-
self half hoping it was. Roy and Lilamani could frankly de-
test her and there an end. Nevil in spite of unforgiveable
interludes was liable to be tripped up by the fact that, after
all, she was his sister; and her aggression was proof that, in
her own queer fashion, she loved him. Half the trouble was
that the love of each for the other took precisely the form that
other could least appreciate or understand: no uncommon di-
lemma in family life. At all events, he had achieved his declara-
tion of independence. And he had not failed to evoke the ' deuce
of a row.'
With a sigh of smothered exasperation, he leaned forward and
hid his face in his hands . . .
The door opened softly. He started and looked up. It was Roy
in flannels and blazer, his dark hair slightly ruffled: considered
dispassionately (and Nevil believed he so considered him) a sin-
gularly individual and attractive figure of youth.
At the look in his father's face, he hesitated, wrinkling his
brows in a way that recalled his mother.
" Anything wrong, Daddums? I'm fearfully sorry. I came for
a book. Is it" still further hesitation " Aunt Jane?"
"Why? Have you seen her?" Nevil asked sharply.
"Yes. Was it a meteoric visitation? As I came up the path,
she was getting into her car. And she cut me dead!" He
seemed more amused than impressed. Then the truth dawned on
him. " Dad have you been telling her? Is she 'as frantic as a
skit'?"
Their favourite Hardy quotation moved Nevil to a smile.
"She's angry naturally because she wasn't consulted,"
he said (a happy idea). " And well, she doesn't understand."
"'Course she doesn't. Can she ever?" retorted impertinent
youth. "She lacks the supreme faculty imagination." Which
was disrespectful, but unanswerable.
Nevil had long ago recognised the futility of rebuke in the
matter of 'Aunt Jane'; and it was a relief to find the boy took it
ii6 FAR TO SEEK
that way. So he smiled, merely or fancied he did. But Roy
was quick-sighted; and his first impression had dismayed him.
No hesitation now. He came forward and laid a hand on his
father's shoulder. "Dads, don't get worrying over me out
there," he said with shy tenderness that was balm after the
lacerating scene Nevil had just passed through. "That'll be all
right. Mother explained beautifully."
But louder than Roy's comfortable assurance sounded within
him the parting threat of Jane: 'Disaster will come of it. Then
perhaps you'll admit I was right.' It shook the foundations of
courage. He simply could not stand up to the conjunction of
disaster and Roy. With an effort he freed himself of the in-
sidious thing : and just then, to his immense surprise, Roy
stooped and kissed the top of his head.
"Confound Aunt Jane! She's been bludgeoning you. And
you are worrying. You mustn't I tell you. Bad for your work.
Look here "a portentous pause. "Shall I chuck it for the
present, anyhow?"
The parental attitude of the modern child has its touching
aspect. Nevil looked up to see if Roy were chaffing; and there
smote him the queer illusion (rarer now, but not extinct) of look-
ing into his own eyes.
Roy had spoken on impulse a noble impulse. But he pa-
tently meant what he said this boy stigmatised by Jane as
'all in the clouds,' and needing a 'tight hand.' Here was one of
those 'whimsical and perilous moments of daily life' that pass in
a breath; light as thistledown, heavy with complex issues. To
Nevil it seemed as if the gods, with ironical gesture, handed him
the wish of his heart, saying: "It is yours if you are fool
enough to take it." Stress of thought so warred hi him that he
came to himself with a fear of having hurt the boy by ungracious
silence.
The pause, in fact, had been so brief that Roy had only just
become aware that his cherished dream was actually trembling
in the balance when Nevil stood up and faced him, flatly
defying Jane and Olympian irony.
"My dear old boy, you shall not chuck it," he said with smiling
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 117
decision. "I've never believed in the older generation being a
drag on the wheel. And, now it's my turn, I must play up.
What's life worth without a spice of risk? I took my own a
big one family or no "
He broke off and Roy filled the gap. "You mean...
marrying Mother? "
"Yes just that," he admitted frankly. "The greatest bit of
luck in my life. She shared the risk a bigger one for her. And
I'm damned if we'll cheat you of yours. There's a hidden key
somewhere that most of us have to find. Yours may be in India
who knows?"
He spoke rapidly, as if anxious to convince himself no less than
the boy. And he had his reward.
"Dad you're simply stunning you two," Roy said
quietly, but with clear conviction.
At that moment, the purring of the gong vibrated through the
house, and he slipped a hand through his father's arm. "That
reminds me I'm starving hungry! If they're still out, let's be
bold, and propitiate the teapot on our own!"
Lady Roscoe was, after all, a benefactor in her own despite.
Her meteoric visitation had drawn these two closer together than
they had been since schoolroom days.
CHAPTER VII
Ce que nous quittons c'est une partie de nous m&me.
Ilfaut mourir d une vie, pour entrer dans une autre.
ANATOLE FRANCE
AFTER all, human perversity decreed it should be Roy himself
who shrank most acutely from the wrench of parting, when it
loomed near enough to bring him down from Pisgah heights to
the dust of the actual.
Dyan was overjoyed, of course, and untroubled by qualms.
Towards the end of July, he and Aruna came for a brief visit.
His excuses for its brevity struck Roy as a trifle ' thin ' ; but Dyan
kept his secret and paid Tara Despard the compliment of taking
her answer as final.
It was during his visit that Roy suffered the first incipient
qualms; the first sharp contact with practical details: date of
sailing, details of outfit, the need for engaging a passage betimes.
As regards his destination, matters were simplified by the fact
that the new Resident of Jaipur, Colonel Vincent Leigh, C.S.I.,
D.S.O., very considerately happened to be the husband of Des-
mond's delightful sister Thea. The schoolboy link between
Lance and Roy had created a lasting friendship between their
respective families; and it was General Sir Theo Desmond -
now retired who had invited Roy, in the name of his 'Twin,'
to start with an unlimited visit to the Leighs; the sort of casual,
elastic visit that no one would dream of proposing outside In-
dia; unless it were Ireland, of an earlier, happier day. The pros-
pect was a secret consolation to Roy. It was also a secret jar
to find he needed every ounce of consolation available.
Very carefully he hid his ignominious frame of mind even
from his mother; though she probably suspected it and would
not fail to understand. What, precisely, would life be worth with-
out that dear, daily intimacy life uncoloured by the rainbow-
tinted charm of her gentle, passionate, humorous, delicately
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 1I9
poised personality? Relations of such rare quality exact their
own pitiless price; and the woman influence would always be
for Roy as for those men of genuine gifts and high purpose
his danger-point or salvation. The dim and distant prospect of
parting was thinkable though perturbing. But all this talk
of steamers and outfits startlingly illumined the fact that in Oc-
:ober he was actually going to the other end of the earth.
With Dyan's departure, realisation pounced upon his heart
and brain. Vaguely, and quite unjustly, he felt as if his cousin
were in some way to blame; and for the moment, he was not
sorry to be rid of him. Partings over, he went off for a lone prowl
- natless, as usual to quiet his jangling sensations and tell
that inner, irresolute Roy not to be a treble-distilled fool . . .
Nothing like the open moor to clear away cobwebs. Its sweeps
f heady colour and blue distances could be trusted to revive the
winged impulse that lured him irresistibly away from the tangi-
ble and assured. Is there no hidden link he wondered
between the wander-instinct of the home-loving Scot and the
vast spaces of moor and sky that lie about him in his in-
fancy . . . ?
But first he must traverse the enchanted green gloom of his
beech-wood, memory-haunted at every turn. Under his favour-
e tree, a wooden cross, carved by Tara and himself, markd
the grave of Prince, dead these three years of sheer old age
And at sight of it there sprang to memory that unforgotten day
f May; the fight with Joe; Tara's bracelet, still treasured in
his letter-case, even as Tara treasured the 'broidered bodice '
in a lavender-scented sachet, set apart from mere blouses and
scarves . . .
And again that troublesome voice within urged "What an
utter fool you are running away from them all!"
To him had fallen the privilege of knowing family life at its
the finest and happiest on earth; and he could not escape
the price exacted, when the call comes to act and decide and
suffer alone. Associations that grow up with us are more or
less taken for granted while their roots lie deep in the heart
I20 FAR TO SEEK
Only when the threat of parting disturbs the delicate fibres, their
depth and tenacity are revealed. And so it was with Roy. I
ing through his wood of knightly adventures, he felt besieged, m
spirit by the many loves that had hitherto simply been a part
his life; yet to-day pressed urgently, individually, upon h
sciousness, his heart . . .
And over against them was the counter-pull of deep an
tral stirrings; large, vague forces of the outer world; the sense , of
ferment everywhere; of storm clouds on the greater hor
with dramas that might rock the spheres . . .
All these challenging forces seemed to dwarf his juvenile agita-
tions- even to arraign his own beautiful surroundings as ate
too peaceful, too perfect. Life could not be altogether made up o
goodness and sweetness and poetry and philosophy. Somewher
- remote, unseen, implacable - there must lurk strong things,
big things, perhaps inimical things, waiting to pounce on him, tc
be tackled and overcome. Anyhow there could be no question,
after all his vapourings, of playing the fool and backing ou
He was on the ridge now; clear space all about him heal
underfoot; his stride keeping pace with the march of his though
Risks ? Of course there were risks. He recognised that mor
frankly now; and the talk with his mother had reveale,
one that had not so much as occurred to him. For Broome was
right. Concentration on her had, in a sense, delayed his emo-
tional development; had kept him - for all his artistry and his
First in Greats- very much a boy at heart. Certainly, Arunai
grace and gaiety had struck him more consciously, dun
last visit. No denying, the Eastern element had its perilous fas-
cination. And the Eastern element was barred. As for 1
sister and friend and High-Tower Princess in one -
much a part of home as his mother and Christine. He had simply
not seen her yet as a budding woman. He had, in fact, been
deeply absorbed in Oxford and writing and his dream and the
general deliciousness of life, to challenge the future definitely,
except in the matter of going to India, somewhen, somehow .
Lost in the swirl of his thoughts and the exhilaration o
and colour, he forgot all about tea-time . . .
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 121
It was after five, when, at last, he swung round the yew hedge
on to the long lawn; and there, at the far end, was Tara, evi-
dently sent out to find him. She was wearing her delphinium
frock and the big blue hat with its single La France rose. She
walked pensively, her head bowed; and, in that moment, by some
trick of sense or spirit, he saw her vividly, as she was. He saw
the grace of her young slenderness, the wild-flower colouring, the
delicate aquiline of her nose that revealed breeding and char-
acter; the mouth that even in repose seemed to quiver with
sensibility. And he thought: "Good Lord! How lovely she
is!"
Of course he had known it always at the back of his mind.
The odd thing was he had never thought it, in so many words,
before. And from the thought sprang an inspiration. If only she
could come out with them for a tune, at least. So imbued was
he with a sense of their brother-and-sister relation, that the idea
seemed as natural as if it had concerned Christine. He had cer-
tainly been aware, the last year or so, of a gossamer veil dropped
between them. He attributed this to mere grown-up-ness; but
it made him feel appreciably shy at thought of broaching his
brilliant idea.
She raised her head at that point; saw him, and waved a com-
manding hand. Impelled by eagerness, he condescended to hurry.
"Casual demon what have you been up to?" she greeted
him with mock severity.
"Prowling on the ridge. It was gorgeous up there," he an-
swered, noticing in detail the curve of her eyelid and thick
dark lashes.
"Well, tea's half cold and most of it's eaten; and Aunt Lila
seemed wondering a little. So I offered to go and unearth you."
"How could you tell?"
A dimple dipped in one cheek. " I couldn't ! I was going to the
wood, on chance. Come along."
"No hurry. If tea's half cold, it can wait a bit longer." He
drew a breath, nerving himself; then: "Tara I've got a pro-
posal to make."
"Roy!" her lips quivered, just perceptibly, and were still.
122 FAR TO SEEK
" Well, it's this. Wouldn't it be splendid if you came along out
with us three?"
"Roy!" It was a changed intonation. "That's not a subject
for a practical joke."
" But I'm in earnest. High-Tower Princess, wouldn't you love
to come? "
"Of course I would." Was it his fancy, or did the blood stir
ever so little in her cheeks? " But it's utterly, crazily impossible.
The sort of thing only you would suggest. So please let be and
come along in."
"Not till you promise. I'm dead set on this. And I'm going
to have it out with you."
" Well, you won't have me out with you if you talk till mid-
night."
"Why not?"
Her smile had its delicious tremulous quality. "Were you
twenty-one last birthday or twelve? If you think you'll be
lonely, ask for Christine. She's your sister I'm not!"
The emphasis and faint inflection of the last words had their
intended effect. Roy's face fell. "0-oh, I see. But you've al-
ways been my sort-of sister. Thea would understand. And now-
adays girls do all sorts of things."
"Yes they do!" Tara agreed demurely. "They scratch
faces and burn down beautiful harmless houses. But they don't
happen to belong to Mother. Roy, it's what I said crazily
utterly If it wasn't, d'you suppose I'd say No? "
Then Roy knew he was beaten. Also he knew she was right;
and that he had been an impulsive fool depressing convictions
both. For a moment he stood nonplussed while Tara fingered a
long chain he had given her and absently studied a daisy plant
that had dared to invade the oldest, loveliest lawn in that part of
the country.
But Roy was little used to being thwarted by home ele-
ments, at least: and when an idea seized him he could be pertina-
cious, even to the point of folly. He was determined Tara should
come with him. And Tara wanted to come. Add her perma-
nent dearness and her newly found loveliness, and there sprang
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 123
from the conjunction a second inspiration, even bolder than the
first.
"Tara dear," he ventured, in a changed tone that halted
between tenderness and appeal. " I'm going to say something
tremendous."
She deserted the daisy and faced him; blue eyes wide; her tell-
tale lower lip drawn in.
"Would it be quite so 'crazily utterly' if ... well,
if we were engaged?"
The tremendous word was out; and the effect on her was un-
mistakeable. Colour stirred visibly in her face. She straight-
ened herself with an air that seemed physically to increase the
distance between them.
" Really, Roy have you quite lost your senses to-day? "
He looked and felt crestfallen. "But, Tara," he urged,
" it's such a supreme idea. Wouldn't you think of it, ever?
We'd fit like a pair of gloves. Mummy would love it extrav-
agantly. And we've been kind of caring all these years. At,
least " sudden doubt assailed him "I suppose you do care '
still a little bit?"
"Silly boy! Of course I care ... a lot."
That was more like the Tara he knew. "Very well. Why ac-
cuse me of incipient lunacy? I care, too. Always have done.
Think how topping it would be, you and I together, exploring all
the wonderland of our Game and Mummy's tales Udaipur,
Amber, Chitor, perhaps the shrine of the real Tara "
Still demurely distant, she thought "how topping it would
be"; and the thought kept her silent so long that he grew im-
patient.
"High-Tower Princess do give over. Your grown-up ah*
are awfully sweet but not to the point. You are coming?
It'll spoil everything now, if you don't."
She shook her head with a small, wise smile that seemed to
push him away from her, gently yet inexorably; to make him feel
little more than a schoolboy confronted by a woman; very young
in her new shyness and dignity, but still a woman.
"No, Roy I'm not coming. It's dear of you to want me.
124 FAR TO SEEK
But I can't for lots of reasons. So please understand, once for
all. And don't fuss."
"But you said you cared," Roy murmured blankly.
"Of course I do. Only there's caring and caring...
since you make me say it. You must know that by now. Any-
way, 7 know we simply can't get married just because we're very
fond of each other and it would please 'Mummy' and be conven-
ient for India."
Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger
and younger with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It
was all so unlike his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered
a little his genuine dismay.
"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But, I'm
fearfully disappointed."
"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying
time for you yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go
out to India and do them. Then when the time really comes,
you'll understand and you'll be grateful to me for under-
standing now. There, what a lecture! But the point is we
can't: and I won't be badgered about it. I'm going back to tea;
and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila why."
He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would
you mind? "
"N-no, she'll understand."
"Bet she won't."
" She will. You're not the only person the darling understands,
though you are her spoilt boy."
She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her
normal self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to
keep pace with her. He had still more ado to unravel his own
tangle of thought and emotion. A few clear points emerged from
a chaos of sensations, like mountain-peaks out of a mist. He
knew she was all of a sudden distractingly lovely; that her charm
and obstinacy combined had thoroughly churned him up; that,
all the same, she was right about his unreadiness for marrying
now; that he hoped she didn't utterly despise him; that he hated
the idea of leaving her more than ever . . .
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 125
Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he
still had a lot to say.
"Tara why are you sprinting like this?" he broke out, re-
proachfully. "Are you angry with me? "
She vouchsafed him a small smile.
"Not yet. But I soon will be, if you don't take care. And I'm
dangerous in a temper!"
"Don't I know that? I once had a scratch that didn't heal for
a month! But do walk slower. You're not chucking me for
good eh?"
She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this
new and hopelessly intractable Roy.
"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions
in one hour before. You must have drunk some potion up on the
moor! Have you forgotten you're my Bracelet-Bound Brother? "
"But that doesn't bar the other thing. It's not one of the
Prayer-Book affinities! I say, Tara you might promise to
think it over. If you can't do that much, I won't believe you care
a bean about me, for all you say "
Her blue eyes flashed at that genuine fire; and she stood still
again, confronting him.
"Roy be quiet! You make me furious! I want to slap you!
First you suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into
a temper by behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for
an answer."
Roy straightened himself sharply. " I'm not spoilt and I'm
not a boy. I'm a man."
"Well, then, try and behave like one."
The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how
sharply she had hurt him; and, with a swift softening of her ex-
pressive face, she flung out a hand. He held it hard. And sud-
denly she leaned nearer; her lips tremulous; her eyes melting into
a half smile.
"Roy darling," she murmured, barely above her breath.
" You're really a little bit of all three. That's part of your deli-
ciousness and troublesomeness. And it's not your fault the
spoiling. We've all helped. I've been as bad as the others. But
126 FAR TO SEEK
this time please believe I simply, utterly can't even for
you."
Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand.
But with a deft movement she freed herself and fled
round the corner of the house; leaving him in a state of confusion
worse confounded, to seek his mother and the outraged teapot
alone.
He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths
of her great armchair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of
elaborate embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son.
Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room as re-created by Sir Nevil
Sinclair, for his Indian bride was a setting worthy of its
mistress: lofty and spacious, light-filled by three tall French
windows, long gold curtains shot through with bronze; gold and
cream-colour the prevailing tone; ivory, brass, and bronze the
prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and flowers in profusion
roses, lilies, sweet peas. Yet, in the midst of it all, the spirit
of Lilamani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of whom, too
soon, both she and her home would be bereft
At the sound of his step she looked up.
" Wicked one! What came to you?"
Impossible to hide from her the disarray of his emotions. So
he spoke the simple truth.
" Tara came to me ! I'd been prowling on the moor, and for-
getting the time. I met her on the lawn
"Yes where is she? And you ?"
He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was
kneeling by her chair, confessing all.
"Mummy, I've just asked her to marry me. And she sim-
ply . . . won't hear of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going
out together that it would please you so "
The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it
that way to her, my darling?"
"No not exactly. Naturally I did mention you and
India. She admits she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry.
I can't make her out."
A faintly aggrieved note in his voice implied expectation of
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 127
sympathy. To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if
to herself: "Such a wise Taral"
"Well, / don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered,
a trifle disconcerted.
"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day, perhaps, when your
eyes are not too dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth
of yourself you will see many surprises. You are not yet
ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart is reaching out to far-away
things. That she has been woman enough to guess."
"Perhaps. I'm not so sure. She seemed not a bit like her-
self, part of the tune." He looked pensively at a slim vase over-
flowing with sprays of blush rambler, that, for some reason,
evoked a tantalising vision of the girl who had so suddenly
blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking thought found
utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she be
in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?"
Lilamani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question!
Hard to tell. At this kind of age, when girls have so much char-
acter like my Tara they have a natural instinct for hiding
the thoughts of their hearts." She dropped her needlework now
and lightly took his head between her hands, looking deep into
his eyes. "Do you think you are yet in love with her, Roy?
Honest answer."
The touch of her hands stirred him all through. The question
in her eyes probed deep.
"Honest answer, Mummy I'm blest if I know," he said
slowly. "I don't think I've ever been so near it before; beyond
thrills at dances . . . and all that. She somehow churned me
up just now and made me want her tremendously. But I truly
hadn't thought of it that way, before. And I did feel it
might ease you and Dad about ... the other thing, if I went out
fixed up."
She drew his head to her, and kissed him, then let her hands
fall in her lap. " Wonderful Sonling ! Indeed it would ease me and
please me if coming from the true motive. Only remember, so
long as you are thinking first of me, you can be sure That Other
has not yet arrived."
I2 8 FAR TO SEEK
"But I shall always think first of you," he declared, catching
at her hands. "There's no one like you. There never will be."
No no t like, but different in dearness and nearness.
Love is one big impulse, but many forms. Like white light made
from many colours. No rival for me, That Other; but daughter-
in-law best gift a son can bring to his father's house. Just now
there is room inside you only for one big thing India."-
" And you "
"But I am India."
"Sublimated essence of it, according to Jeffers."
"Jeffers says many foolish things!" But she did not disguise
her pleasure.
"I've noticed occasional flashes of wisdom! But I say,
Motherling, what price tea?"
"Tea?" She feigned exaggerated surprise. "I thought you
were much too far in the clouds!"
"On the contrary. I'm simply famished."
And forthwith he fell upon a plate of sugared cakes; while she
rang for the fresh teapot so often in requisition for ' Mr. Roy.'
CHAPTER VIII
Comfort, content, delight, the ages 1 slow-bought gain,
They shrivelled in a night. Only ourselves remain
To face the naked days, in silent fortitude;
Through perils and dismays, renewed and re-renewed.
KIPLING
NEVIL was up in town on business; not returning till next day.
The papers were seething with rumours; but the majority of
every-day people, immersed in their all-important affairs, con-
tinued cheerfully to hope against hope. Sir Nevil Sinclair was
not of these; but he kept his worst qualms to himself. Neither
his wife nor his son was a keen newspaper reader: which, in his
opinion, was just as well.
Certainly it did not occur to Lilamani that any trouble in
Europe could invade the sanctities of her home, or affect the
shining destiny of Roy. That he was destined to shine, her
mother's heart knew beyond all doubt. And round that knowl-
edge, like an aura, glimmered a dream-like hope that perhaps
his shining might some day, in some way, strengthen the bond
between Nevil's people and her own. For the problem of In-
dia's changing relation to England lay intimately near her
heart. Her poetic brain saw England always as 'husband of
India'; while misguided or malicious meddlers who would
'make the Mother a widow' were fancifully incorporated in
the person of Jane. And, in this matter of India, Roy had tri-
umphed over Jane surely a good omen for bigger things:
for at heart she was still susceptible to omens; more so than
she cared to admit. Crazy mother-arrogance, Nevil would say.
But she seemed to feel the spirit of his grandfather at work in
Roy; and well she knew that the old man's wisdom would guide
and temper his young zeal. Beyond that, no human eyes could
see; only the too-human heart of a mother could dream and
hope . . .
130 FAR TO SEEK
Long ago her father had told that nations had always been
renewed by individuals; that India aristocratic to the deeps
of her Brahmin-ridden soul would never acknowledge the
crowd's unstable sway. For her it must always be the man
ruler, soldier, or saint.
Not that she had breathed a word of her 'arrogance* to Nevil,
or even to Roy. Nor had she shown to either a certain letter
from a distinguished Indian woman, received soon after the com-
ing of Roy. Pure Indian by birth, she was also by birth a Chris-
tian; her sympathy with East and West as evenly poised as
LMmani's own. The letter lived in a slim blue bag, lovingly
embroidered. Lilamani foolish and fanciful wore it like a
talisman, next her heart; and at night slipped it under her pillow
with her gold watch and wisp of scented lawn.
To-night, being alone, and her mind very full of Roy, she drew
it out and re-read it for the hundredth time; lingering, as always,
on its arresting finale.
"I have seen much and grieved more over the problem of the
Eurasian, as multiplied in our beloved country the fruit, most
often, of promiscuous unions between low-caste types on both
sides, with sense of stigma added to drag them lower still. But
where the crossing is of highest caste as with you and your
'Nevil' I can see no stigma; perhaps even spiritual gain to
your children. For I love both countries with my whole heart.
And to my love God has given the vision that India may some
day be saved by the son of just such a union as your own. He
will have the strength of his handicap; the soul of the East; the
forceful mind and character of the West. He will bring to the
task of uniting them such twofold love and understanding that
the world must needs take infection. What if the ultimate mean-
ing of British occupation of India be just this that the suc-
cessor of Buddha should be a man born of high-caste, high-souled
British and Indian parents; a fusion of the finest that East and
West can give? That vision may inspire you in your first flush
of happy motherhood. So I feel impelled to pass it on . . ."
Such a vision whether fantasy or prophecy could not
fail to stir Lilamani Sinclair's Eastern heart to its depths. But
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 131
she shrank from sceptical comment; and sceptical Nevil would
surely be. As for Roy, intuition warned her it was too heady
an idea to implant in his ardent brain. So she treasured it
secretly, and read it at intervals, and prayed that, some day, it
might be fulfilled if not through her, then through some other
Lilamani, who should find courage to link her life with England.
Above all, she prayed he who should achieve India's renewal
might spring from Rajasthan
In the midst of her thinking and praying, she fell sound asleep
to dream of Roy tossed out of reach on the waves of some large
vague upheaval. The 'how 'and 'why 'of it all eluded her. Only
the vivid impression remained . . .
And before the week was out, an upheaval, actual and terrible,
burst upon a startled, unheeding world; a world lulled into a
false sense of security; and too strenuously engaged in rushing
headlong round a centrifugal point called progress, to concern
itself with a mythical peril across the North Sea.
But at the first clear note of danger, devotees of pleasure and
progress and the franchise were transformed, as by magic, into a
crowd of bewildered, curious, and resentful human beings, who
had suddenly lost their bearings; who snatched at newspapers;
confided in perfect strangers; protested that a European War was
unspeakable, unthinkable, and all the while could speak and
think of nothing else . . .
It was the nightmare terror of earthquake, when the solid
ground underfoot turns traitor. And it shook even the stoutest
nerves in the opening weeks of the Great War, destined to shatter
their dear and familiar world for months, years, decades, per-
haps . . .
But underlying all the froth and fume of the earlier restless-
ness, of the later fear and futility, the strong, kindly, imper-
turbable ^ heart of the land still beat sanely if inconspicu-
ously in the home life of her cottages and her great country
houses. Twentieth-century England could not be called degen-
erate while she counted among her hidden treasures homes of
such charm and culture and mutual confidence as those that
132 FAR TO SEEK
produced the Grenfells, the Charltons, a Lord Elcho, an Edward
Tennant, and a Charles Sorley to pick a few names at ran-
dom from that galaxy of 'golden boys' who ungrudgingly gave
their lives for what?
The answer to that staggering question is not yet. But the
splendour of their gift remains a splendour no after-failure
can tarnish or dim . . .
To the inmates of Bramleigh Beeches Nevil excepted
the crash came with startling abruptness; dwarfing, in a flash, all
personal problems heart-searchings and high decisions. Even
Lady Roscoe forgot Family Herald heroics, and 'crossed the
threshold' without comment from Nevil or herself. The weighti-
est matters became suddenly trivial beside the tremendous ques-
tions that hovered in every mind and on every tongue: " Can We
hold Them?" "Can They invade Us?" "Can it be true this
whispered horror, that rumoured disaster?" And the test ques-
tion most tremendous of all, for the mere unit "Where do /
come in?"
Nevil came in automatically through years of casual connec-
tion with the Artists' Rifles. He was a Colonel by now; and
would join up as a matter of course to his wife's secret amaze-
ment and far from secret pride. Without an ounce of the soldier
in him, he acted on instinct like most Englishmen; not troubling
to analyse motives; simply in the spirit of noblesse oblige; or, in
the more casual modern phrase 'one just does.'
Roy poet and dreamer became electrically alive to his
double heritage of the soldier spirit. From age to age the prime-
val link between poet and warrior is reaffirmed in time of war:
and the Rajput in him recognised only one way of fighting
worthy the name the triune conjunction of man and horse and
sword. Disillusion, strange and terrible, awaited him on that
score: and as for India what need of his young activities, when
the whole Empire was being welded into one resistant mass by
the triple hammer-strokes of a common danger, a common
enemy, a common aim?
It was perhaps this sense of a clear call in an age of intellectual
ferment, of sex problems and political friction, that sent so many
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 133
unlikely types of manhood straight as arrows to that universal
target the Front. The War offered a high and practical outlet
for their dumb idealism; to their realism, it offered the 'terrific
verities of fatigue, suffering, bodily danger beloved life and
staggering death.'
For Roy, cavalry was a matter of course. In the saddle, even
Jane could find no fault with him; little guessing that, in his
genius for horsemanship, he was Rajput to the marrow. His
compact, nervous make, strong thigh and light hand marked him
as the inevitable centaur; and he had already gained a measure of
distinction in the cavalry arm of the Officers' Training Corps.
But a great wish to keep in touch with his father led him to fall in
with Sir Nevil's suggestion that he should start in the Artists'
Rifles and apply for a transfer later on when one could see
more clearly how this terrific business was likely to develop.
George and Jerry aged fifteen and sixteen and a half raged
at their own futile juvenility which, in happier circumstances,
nothing would have induced them to admit. Jerry a gay and
reckless being had fell designs on the Flying Corps, the very
first moment he could 'wangle it.' George the truest Sinclair
of them all sagely voted for the Navy, because it took you
young. But no one heeded them very much. They were all too
absorbed in newspapers and their own immediate plans.
And LMmani, also, found her niche, when the King's stirring
proclamation announced the coming of Indian troops. There
was to be a camp on the estate. Later on, there would be con-
valescents. Meantime, there was wholesale need of 'comforts' to
occupy her and Helen and Christine.
Tara's soaring ambition would carry her farther afield. Her
spirit of flame that rose instinctively to tragic issues and
heroic demands could be at peace nowhere but in .the splen-
did, terrible, unorganised thick of it all. Without making any
ado about the matter, she proposed to get there in the shortest
possible time; and, hi the shortest possible tune, by sheer con-
centration and hard work, she achieved her desire. Before Roy
left England, before her best loved brother a man of brilliant
promise had finished learning to fly, she was driving her car
134 FAR TO SEEK
in Belgium, besieged in Antwerp, doing and enduring terrible
things . . .
After Tara, Nevil for the Artists' Rifles were early in the
field. After Nevil, Roy his exchange effected very slim and
soldierly in cavalry uniform; his grey-blue eyes, with the lurking
gleam in them, more than ever noticeable in his sunburnt face.
The last day, the last hour, were at once sad and glad beyond
belief;, so that Lilamani's coward heart was thankful for urgent
trifles that helped to divert attention from the waiting shadow.
Even to-day, as always, dress and sari were instinctively chosen
to express her mood: the mother-o'-pearl mood; iridescence of
glad and sad: glad to give; yet aching to keep. Daughter of Raj-
puts though she was, she had her moment of very human shrink-
ing. When the sharp actuality of parting was upon them; when he
held her so close and long that she felt as if the tightened cord
round her heart must snap and there an end . . .
But, by some miracle, some power not her own, courage held;
though, when he released her, she was half blinded with tears.
Her last words entirely like herself though they were
surprised him. "Son of my heart live for ever," she whis-
pered, laying light hands on his breast. "And when you go into
the battle, always keep strongly in your mind that They must
not win, because no sacred or beautiful thing would be left clean
from their touch. And when you go into the battle, always re-
member Chitor."
"It is you I shall always remember looking like this," he
answered under his breath. But he never forgot her injunctions;
and through years of fighting, he obeyed them to the letter . . .
That was in April, after Neuve Chapelle, when even optimists
admitted that the War might last a year.
At Christmas-time he came home on short leave a changed
Roy; his skin browner; his sensitive lips more closely set under
the shadow line of his moustache; the very fibre of body and
spirit hardened, without loss of fineness or flexibility. Livelier on
the surface, he was graver, more reticent, underneath even
with her. By the look in his eyes she knew he had seen things
THE VISIONARY GLEAM 135
that could never be put into words. Some of them she, too, had
seen, through his mind; so close was the unspoken, spiritual link
between them. In that respect, at least, he was beautifully,
frankly, unchanged . . .
Nevil was home, too, for that wonderful Christmas; and Tara,
changed also, in her own vivid way; frank and friendly with Roy;
though the grown-up veil between them was seldom lifted now.
For the War held them both in its unrelaxing grip; satisfied, in
terrible and tremendous fashion, the hidden desire not un-
common in young things, though concealed like a vice to
suffer for others. Everything else, for the time being, seemed a
side issue. Personal affairs could wait . . .
When it came to letting Nevil and Roy go again, after their
brief, beautiful interlude together, Lilamani discovered how those
fifteen months of ceaseless anxiety and ceaseless service had
shaken her nerve. Gladness of giving could now scarce hold its
own against dread of losing; till she felt as if her heart must break
under the strain. It did not break, however. It endured as
the hearts of a million mothers and wives have endured in all
ages to breaking point . . . and beyond. The immensity of
the whole world's anguish at once crushed and upheld her, mak-
ing her individual pain seem almost a little thing
They left her. And the War went on disastrously, glori-
ously, stubbornly, inconclusively; would go on, it seemed, to the
end of Time. One came to feel as if life free from the shadow of
War had never been; as if it would never be again
END OP PHASE U
PHASE III
PISGAH HEIGHTS
PHASE III
PISGAH HEIGHTS
CHAPTER I
No receipt openeth the heart, but a true friend.
FRANCIS BACON
As early as 1819 there had been a Desmond in India; a soldier-
administrator of mark in his day. During the Sikh Wars there
had been a Desmond in the Punjab; and at the time of the Great
Mutiny there was a Punjab Cavalry Desmond at Kohat; a nota-
ble fighter, with a flowing beard and an easy-going uniform that
would not commend itself to the modern military eye. In the
year of the second Afghan War, there was yet another Desmond
at Kohat; one, that earned the cross 'For Valour,' married the
daughter of Sir John Meredith, and rose to high distinction.
Later still, in the year of grace 1918, his two sons were stationed
there, in the selfsame Punjab Cavalry Regiment. There was also
by now, a certain bungalow in Kohat known as 'Desmond's
bungalow,' occupied at present by Colonel Paul Desmond, now
in command.
That is no uncommon story in India. She has laid her spell
on certain families; and they have followed one another through
the generations, as homing birds follow in line across the sunset
sky. And their name becomes a legend that passes from father
to son; because India does not forget. There is perhaps noth-
ing quite like it in the tale of any other land. It makes for con-
tinuity; for a fine tradition of service and devotion; a tradition
that will not be broken till agitators and theorists make an end
of Britain hi India. But that day is not yet; and the best ele-
ments of both races still believe it will never be.
Certainly neither Paul nor Lance Desmond, riding home to-
gether from kit inspection, on a morning of early September, en-
tertained the dimmest idea of a break with the family tradition.
I4 o FAR TO SEEK
Lance at seven-and-twenty spare and soldierly, alive to the
finger-tips was his father in replica, even to the V.C. after his
name, which he had 'snaffled out of the War,' together with a
Croix de Guerre and a brevet-majority. Though cavalry had
been at a discount hi France, Mesopotamia and Palestine had
given the Regiment its chance with fever and dysentery and
chaos and all the plagues of Egypt thrown in to keep things
going.
It was in the process of filling up his woeful gaps that Colonel
Desmond had applied for Roy Sinclair, and so fulfilled the desire
of his brother's heart; also, incidentally, Roy's craving to serve
with Indian Cavalry. To that end, his knowledge of the lan-
guage, his superb horsemanship, his daring and resource in scout
work, had stood him in good stead. Paul who scarcely knew
him at the time very soon discovered that he had secured an
asset for the Regiment: the great Fetish, that had so far claimed
his paramount allegiance, and began to look like claiming it for
life.
"He's just John over again," Lady Desmond would say, r<
f erring to a brother who had served the great Fetish from subal-
tern to Colonel and left his name on a cross in Kohdt cemetery.
Certainly, in form and feature, Paul was very much a Mere-
dith: the coppery tone of his hair, the straight nose and
steadfast grey-blue eyes, the height and breadth and suggestion
of power in reserve. It was one of the most serious problems
of his life to keep his big frame under weight for polo, without
impairing his immense capacity for work. Apart from this im-
portant detail, he was singularly unaware of his striking personal
appearance, except when others chaffed him about his look of
Lord Kitchener, and were usually snubbed for their pains;
though, at heart, he was inordinately proud of the fact. He had
only one quarrel with the hero of his boyhood; the decree that
officially extinguished the Frontier Force; though the spirit of it
survives, and will survive, for decades to come. Like his brother,
he had 'snaffled' a few decorations out of the War: but to be in
command of the Regiment, with Lance in charge of his pet
squadron, was better than all.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 141
The strong bond of affection between these two first and
last of a family of six was enhanced by their very unlikeness.
Lance had the elan of a torrent; Paul the stillness and depth of a
mountain lake. Lance was a rapier; Paul a claymore; slow to
smite, formidable when roused. And both were natural leaders
of men. They had only returned in March from active service,
with the Regiment very much the worse for wear; heartily sorry
to be out of the biggest show on record; yet heartily glad to be
back in India, sadly changing India though it was.
Two urgent questions were seriously troubling the mind of
Lance as they rode at a foot's pace up the slope leading to the
Blue Bungalow. Would the board of doctors, at that moment
'sitting' on Roy, give him another chance? Would the impend-
ing reliefs condemn them to a 'down-country' station? For they
had only been posted to Kohat till these came out.
To one of those questions Colonel Desmond already knew the
answer.
"I had a line from the General this morning," he remarked,
after studying his brother's profile and shrewdly gauging his
thoughts.
True enough his start betrayed him. "The General? Re-
liefs?"
"Yes." A pause. "We're for Lahore Cantonments."
"Damn!"
"I've made that inspired remark already. You needn't flatter
yourself it's original!"
"I'm not in the mood to flatter myself or anyone else. I'm in a
towering rage. And if dear old Roy is to be turned down into the
bargain !" Words failed him. He had his father's genius for
making friends; and among them all Roy Sinclair reigned su-
preme.
"I'm afraid he will be if I know anything of medical boards."
"Why the devil?" Lance flashed out. "It's not as if Ai
oflkers were tumbling over each other in the Service. If Roy was
a Tommy, they'd jolly soon think of something better than leave
and futile tonics."
Colonel Desmond smiled at the characteristic outburst.
142 \ FAR TO SEEK
"Certainly their tinkering isn't up to much. But I'm afraid
there's more wrong with Roy than mere doctoring can touch.
Still he doesn't seem keen on going Home."
Lance shook his head. "Naturally poor old chap. Feels he
can't face things, yet. It's not only the delights of Mespot that
have knocked him off his centre. It's losing that jewel of a
mother." His eyes darkened with feeling. "You can't wonder.
If anything was to happen " He broke off abruptly.
Paul Desmond set his teeth and was silent. In the deep of his
heart, the Regiment had one rival and Lady Desmond knew
it ...
They found the bungalow empty. No sign of Roy.
"Getting round 'em," suggested Paul optimistically, and
passed on into his dufter.
Lance lit a cigar, flung himself into a verandah chair and
picked up the 'Civil and Military.' He had just scanned the war
telegrams when Roy came up at a round trot.
Lance sat forward and discarded the paper. An exchange of
glances sufficed. Roy's determination to 'bluff the board' had
failed.
He looked sallow in spite of sunburn; tired and disheartened;
no lurking smile in his eyes. He fondled the velvet nose of his
beloved Suraj; a graceful creature, half Arab, half Waler; and
absently acknowledged the frantic jubilations of his Irish terrier
puppy, christened by Lance the 'Holy Terror'- 'Terry' for
short. Then he mounted the steps with no spring in his move-
ment, subsided into the other chair, and dropped his cap and
whip on the ground.
"Damn the doctors! " said Lance, questions being superfluous.
That so characteristic form of sympathy moved Roy to a
rueful smile. "Obstinate devils. I bluffed 'em all. I knew. Over-
did it, perhaps. Anyway, they weren't impressed. They've dis-
pensed with my valuable services. Anaemia, mild neurasthenia,
cardiac symptoms and a few other pusillanimous ailments.
Wonder they didn't throw in housemaid's knee! Oh, confound
'em all!" He converted a sigh into a prolonged yawn. "Let's
make merry over a peg, Lance. Doctors are exhausting folk to
PISGAH HEIGHTS 143
argue with. And Cuthers always said I couldn't argue for nuts!
Now, then how about pegs?"
"A bit demoralising at midday," Lance murmured without
conviction.
"Well, I am demoralised; dead damned done for. I'm
about to be honoured with a blooming medical certificate to that
effect. As a soldier, I'm extinct from this time forth for ever-
more. You see before you the wraith of a Might-Have-Been.
After that gold-medal exhibition of inanity, kindly produce said
pegs!"
Lance Desmond listened, with a grave smile and a sharp con-
traction of heart, to the absurdities of this first-best friend, who
for three years had shared with him the high and horrible and
ludicrous vicissitudes of war. He knew only too well that trick
of talking at random to drown some inner stress. With every
word of nonsense he uttered, Roy was implicitly confessing how
acutely he felt the blow; and to parade his own bitter disappoint-
ment seemed an egotistical superfluity. So he merely remarked
with due gravity: "I admit you've made out an overwhelming
case for 'said pegs'!" And he shouted his orders accordingly.
They filled their tumblers in silence, avoiding each other's
eyes. Every moment emphasised increasingly all that the de-
tested verdict implied. No more polo together. No more sharing
of books and jokes and enthusiasms and violent antipathies, to
which both were prone. No more 'shoots' in the Hills beyond
Kashmir.
From the first of these they had lately returned: sick-leave,
in Roy's case; and the programme was to be repeated next April,
if they could ' wangle ' first leave. Each knew the other was think-
ing of these things. But they seemed entirely occupied in quench-
ing their thirst, and their disappointment, in deep draughts of
sizzling ice-cool whiskey-and-soda. Moreover ignominious,
but true when the tumblers were emptied, things did begin to
look a shade less blue. It became more possible to discuss plans.
And Desmond was feeling distinctly anxious on that score.-
"You won't be shunted instanter," he remarked; and Roy
smiled at the relief in his tone.
I44 FAR TO SEEK
"Next month, I suppose. We must make the most of the next
few weeks, old man."
"And then what? . . . Home?"
Roy did not answer at once. He was lying back again, staring
out at the respectable imitation of a lawn, its central rose-bed,
carpeted with over-blown mignonette; at a lone, untidy tama-
risk that flung a spiky shadow on the grass. And the eye of
his mind was picturing the loveliest lawn of his acquaintance
with its noble twin beeches and a hammock slung between an
empty casket ; the jewel gone. It was picturing the drawing-room ;
the restful simplicity of its cream-and-gold: but no dear and
lovely figure, in gold-flecked sari, lost in the great armchair. Her
window-seat in the studio empty. No one in a 'mother-o'-
pearl mood' to come and tuck him up and exchange confidences,
the last thing. His father, also invalided out; his left coat-sleeve
half empty, where the forearm had been removed.
"N-no," he said at last, still staring at the unblinking sun-
shine. "Not Home. Not yet anyway."
Then, having confessed, he turned and looked straight into the
eyes of his friend the hazel-grey eyes he had so admired, as
a small boy, because of the way they darkened with anger or
strong feeling. And he admired them still. "A coward
I? It's not a flattering conclusion. But I suppose it's the cold
"It hasn't struck me that way," Desmond frankly returned his
look.
"That's a mercy. But if one's name happened to be Lance
Desmond, one would go anyhow."
"I doubt it. The place must be simply alive -^ with memo-
ries. We Anglo-Indians, jogged from pillar to post, know pre-
cious little about homes like yours. A man can't judge -
"You're a generous soul, Lance!" Roy broke out with sudden
warmth. "Anyway coward or no I can't face the ordeal,
yet awhile. I believe my father will understand. After all
here I am in India, as planned, before the Great Interruption.
So given the chance, I might as well take it. The dear old
place is mostly empty, these days with Tiny married and
PISGAH HEIGHTS 145
Dad's Air Force job pinning him to Town. So as I remarked
before!"
"You'll hang on here, for the present? Thank God for that
much."
Desmond's pious gratitude was so fervent that they both burst
out laughing; and their laughter cleared the air of ghosts.
"Jaipur it is, I suppose, as planned. Thea will be overjoyed.
Whether Jaipur's precisely a health resort ?"
"I'm not after health resorts. I'm after knowledge and a
few other things. Not Jaipur first, anyway. The moment I get
the official order of the boot I'm for Chi tor."
"Chitor?" Faint incredulity lurked in Desmond's tone.
"Yes the casket that enshrines the soul of a race; buried in
the wilds of Rajasthan. Ever heard tell of it, you arrant Punjabi?
Or does nothing exist for you south of Delhi? "
"Just a thing or two not to mention Thea!"
" Of course I beg her pardon ! She would appreciate Chitor."
"Rather. They went there and Udaipur, last year. She's
death on getting Vincent transferred. And the Burra Sahibs are
as wax hi her hands. If they happen to be musical, and she ap-
plies the fiddle, they haven't an earthly ! "
Roy's eyes took on their far-away look.
"It'll be truly uplifting to see her and hear her magic fid-
dle once more, if she's game for an indefinite dose of my society.
Anyway, there's my grandfather "
"Quite superfluous," Desmond interposed, a shade too
promptly. "If I know Thea, she'll hang on to you for the cold
weather; and ensure you a pied d terre if you want to prowl round
Rajputana and give the bee in your bonnet an airing! You'll
be in clover. The Residency's a sort of palace. Not precisely
Thea's ideal of bliss. She's a Piffer 1 at heart; and her social
talents don't get much scope down there. Only half a dozen
whites; and old Vinx buried fathoms deep in ethnology writing
a book. But, being Thea, she has pitched herself head fore-
most, into it all. Got very keen on Indian women. She's mixed
up in some sort of a romance now. A girl who's been educated
1 Punjab Irregular Frontier Force.
146 FAR TO SEEK
at home. It seems an unfailing prescription for trouble. I rather
fancy she's a cousin of yours."
Roy started. " What Aruna? "
"She didn't mention the name. Only ructions and Thea to
the rescue!"
"Poor Aruna! She stayed in England a goodish time, be-
cause of the War and Dyan. I've not heard of Dyan for an
age; and I don't believe they have either. He was knocked out in
1915. Lost his left arm. Said he was going to study art in Cal-
cutta I wonder ? "
Desmond who had chiefly been talking to divert the current
of his thoughts noted, with satisfaction, how his simple tactics
had taken effect.
"We'll write to-morrow eh?" said he. "Better still happy
thought! I'll bear down on Jaipur myself, for Christmas leave.
Rare fine pig-sticking in those parts."
The happy thought proved a master-stroke. In the discussion
of plans and projects Roy became almost his radiant self again:
forgot, for one merciful hour, that he was dead, damned, and
done for the wraith of a 'Might-Have-Been.'
CHAPTER II
Oh, not more subtly silence strays
Amongst the winds, between the voices, . . .
Than thou art present in my days.
My silente, life returns to thee
In all the pauses of her breath.
And thou, wake, ever wake for me!
ALICE MEYNELL
SOME five weeks later, Roy sat alone very completely and
desolately alone in a whitewashed, unhomely room that every-
where bore the stamp of dak bungalow, from the wobbly teapoy *
at his elbow to the board of printed rules that adorned the empty
mantelpiece. The only cheering thing in the room was the log
fire that made companionable noises and danced shadow-dances
on the dingy white walls. But the optimism of the fire was dis-
counted by the pessimism of the lamp that seemed specially
constructed to produce a minimum of light with a maximum of
smell and rank kerosene at that.
Ddk bungalows had seemed good fun, in the days of his leave,
when he and Lance made merry over their well-worn failings.
But it was quite another affair to smoke the pipe of compul-
sory solitude on the outskirts of Chitor, hundreds of miles away
from Kohat and the Regiment; to feel oneself the only living
being in a succession of empty rooms; for the servants were
housed in their own little colony apart. Not a sound anywhere,
except the whisper of falling ash and the regular breathing of
Terry curled up at his feet. Solitude, in the right mood, and the
right place, was bread and wine to his soul; but acute loneliness
of the dak bungalow order was not in the bond. For four years
he had felt himself part of a huge, incarnate purpose; intimately
part of his Regiment a closely knit brotherhood of action.
Now, the mere fact of being an unattached human fragment
1 Tripod table.
I 4 8 FAR TO SEEK
oddly intensified his feeling of isolation. For, with all his indi-
viduality, he was no egoist, and very much a lover of his kind;
imbued with the spirit of the quest, yet averse by temperament
io ploughing the lonely furrow.
It had been his own choice if you could call it so starting
this way, instead of in the friendly atmosphere of Jaipur Resi-
dency. But was there really such a thing as choice? In effect, he
had simply obeyed an irresistible impulse: and to-morrow, he
would be glad of it. To-night, after that interminable journey,
his head ached atrociously. He felt limp as a wet dishclout; his
nerves all out of gear . . . Perhaps those confounded doctors were
not such fools as they had seemed. He cursed himself roundly for
a spineless ineffectual messing about with nerves when he had
been lucky enough to come through four years of war with his
full complement of limbs and faculties unimpaired. Two slight
wounds, a passing collapse, from utter fatigue and misery, soon
after his mother's death; and a spell of chronic dysentery, during
which he had somehow managed to keep more or less fit for duty;
that was his record of physical damage, in a war that had
broken its tens of thousands for life.
But there are wounds of the mind; and the healing of them is
a slow, complex affair. Roy, with his fastidious sense of beauty,
his almost morbid shrinking from inflicted pain, had suffered
acutely, where more robust natures scarcely suffered at all.
Yet it was the robust that went to pieces which was one of the
many surprises of a war that shattered convictions wholesale,
and challenged modern man to the fiercest trial of faith at a
moment when Science had almost stripped him bare of belief in
anything outside himself.
Roy, happily for him, had not been stripped bare of belief; and
his receptive mind had been ceaselessly occupied registering im-
pressions, to be flung off, later, in prose and verse, that She might
share them to the full. A slim volume published, at her wish,
in 1916 had attracted no small attention in the critical world.
At the time, he had deprecated premature rushings into print;
but afterwards it was a blessed thing to remember the joy he had
given her that last Christmas the very last . . .
PISGAH HEIGHTS 149
On the battle-field, if there had been nerve-shattering moments,
these had their counterbalance in moments when the spirit of
his^Rajput ancestors lived again in him, when he knew neither
shrinking nor horror nor pity: and in moments of pure pleasure,
during some quiet interlude, when larks rained music out of the
blue; when he found himself alone with the eerie wonder of dawn
over the scarred and riven fields of death; or when he discovered
his Oriental genius for scout work that had rapidly earned him
distinction and sated his love of adventure to the full.
And unfailingly he had obeyed his mother's parting injunction.
As a British officer, he had fought for the Empire. As Roy
Sinclair son of Lilamani he had fought for the sanctities
of Home; for Beauty intrinsic beauty of mind and body and
soul against hideousness and licence and the unclean spirit
that could defile the altar of God.
And always, when he went into battle, he remembered Chitor.
Mentally, he put on the saffron robe, insignia of 'no surrender.'
To be taken prisoner was the one fate he could not bring himself
to contemplate: yet that very fate had befallen him and Lance
in Mesopotamia the sequel of a daring and successful raid.
Returning, in the teeth of unexpected difficulties, they had
found themselves ambushed, with their handful of men out-
numbered, no loophole for escape.
For three months, that seemed more like three years, they had
lost all sense of personal liberty the oxygen of the soul. They
had endured misery, semi-starvation, and occasionally other
things, such as a man cannot bring himself to speak about or
consciously to recall: not least, the awful sense of being powerless
and hated. From the beginning, they had kept then- minds
occupied entirely with ingenious plans for escape, that, at times,
seemed like base desertion of their men, whom they could neither
help nor save. But when as by a miracle the coveted
chance came, no power on earth could have stayed them . . .
It had been a breathless affair, demanding all they possessed
of bodily fleetness and suppleness, of cool, yet reckless, courage.
And it had been crowned with success; the good news wired
home to mothers who waited and prayed. But Roy's nerves had
I 5 o FAR TO SEEK
suffered more severely than Desmond's. A sharp attack of fever
had completed his prostration. And it was then, in his moment
of passing weakness, that Fate turned and smote him with the
sharpest weapon in her armoury . . .
He had not even heard his mother was ill. He had just re-
ceived her ecstatic response to his wire and that very night
she came to him, vividly, as he hovered on the confines of sleep
There she stood by his bed, in her mother-o'-pearl gown and
sari; clear in every detail; lips just parted; a hovering smile in her
eyes. And round about her a shimmering radiance, as of moon-
beams, heightened her loveliness, yet seemed to set her apart;
so that he could neither touch her, nor utter a word of welcome.
He could only gaze and gaze, while his heart beat in long slow
hammer-strokes, with a double throb between.
With a gesture of mute yearning her hands went out to him.
She stooped low and lower. A faint breeze seemed to flit across
his forehead as if her lips, lightly brushing it, had breathed a
blessing.
Then, darkness fell abruptly and a deep sleep . . .
He woke late, next morning: woke to a startling, terrible cer-
tainty that his vision had been no dream; that her very self had
come to him that she was gone . . .
When the bitter truth reached him, he learnt, without surprise,
that on the night of his vision her spirit passed . . .
It was a sharp attack of pneumonia that gave her the coup de
grace. But, in effect, the War had killed her, as it killed many
another hypersensitive woman, who could not become inured to
horror on horror, tragedy on tragedy, whose heart ached for the
sorrows of others as if they were her own. And her personal share
had sufficiently taxed her endurance, without added pangs for
others, unseen and unknown. George her baby had gone
down in the Queen Mary. Jerry, too early sent out to France,
had crashed behind the German lines; and after months of un-
certainty they had heard he was alive, wounded in German
hands. Tara, faithful to the Woman's Hospital in Serbia, had
been constantly in danger, living and moving among unimag-
PISGAH HEIGHTS 151
inable horrors. Neva, threatened with septic poisoning, had only
been saved at the cost of his left forearm. Not till he was inva-
lided out, near the close of 1916, had he realised too late
that she was killing herself by inches, with work that alone could
leaven anxiety up to a point.
But it was the shock of Roy's imprisonment and the agony
of suspense that finally stretched her nerve to breaking point;
so that the sudden onslaught of pneumonia had slain her in the
space of a week. And Roy, knowing her too well, had guessed
the truth, in spite of his father's brave attempt to shield him
from it.
His first letter from that bereft father, written in the nadir of
grief and loneliness, had been little short of a revelation to the
son who had ventured to suppose he knew him: a rash supposi-
tion where any human being is concerned. There had been
more than one such revelation in the scores of letters that at once
uplifted and overwhelmed him, and increased tenfold his pride in
being her son. But outshining all, and utterly unexpected, was a
letter from herself, written hi those last days, when the others still
hoped against hope, but she knew
It had come, with his father's, in a small, gold-embroidered
bag scent and colour and exquisite needlework all eloquent of
her; and with it came the other, her talisman since he was born.
Reaching him while brain and body still reeled under the be-
wildering sense of loss, it had soothed his agony of pain and re-
bellion like the touch of her fingers on his forehead; had taken
the sting from death and robbed the grave of victory . . .
To-night, in his loneliness, he drew the slim bag out of an inner
pocket, and re-read with his eyes the words that were imprinted
on his memory.
Roy, son of my heart,
This is good-bye but not altogether good-bye. Between you and
me that word can never be spoken. So I am writing this, in my foolish
weakness, to beg of you by the love between us, too deep for words
not to let heart and courage be quite broken because of this big sor-
row. You were brave in battle, my Prithvi Raj. Be still more brave
I 5 2 FAR TO SEEK
for me. Remember I am Lilamani Jewel of Delight. That I have
tried to be in my life, for every one of you. That I wish to be always.
So I ask you, my darling, not to make me a Jewel of Sorrow because I
have passed into the Next Door House too soon. Though not seen, I
will never for long be far from you. That is my faith; and you must
share it; helping your dear father, because for him the way of belief is
hard.
Never forget those beautiful words of Fouquet in which you made
dedication of your poems to me: 'How blessed is the son to whom it is
allowed to gladden his mother's heart with the blossom and fruit of his
life!' And you will still gladden it, Dilkusha. I will still share your
work, though in different fashion than we hoped. Only keep your man-
hood pure and the windows of your spirit clear, so the Light can shine
through. Then you will know if I speak truth and you will not feel
altogether alone.
Oh, Roy, I could write and write till the pen drops. My heart is too
full, but my hand is too feeble for more. Only this, when your time
comes for marriage, I pray you will be to your wife all that your splen-
did father has been for me king and lover and companion of body
and spirit. Draw nearer than ever, you two, because of your so beauti-
ful love for me unseen now, but with you always. God bless you. I
can write no more.
Your devoted MOTHER.
The last lines wavered and ran together. In spite of her in-
junction, tears would come. Chill and unheeded, they slipped
down his cheeks, while he folded his treasure, and put it away
with the other, that went to his head, a little, as she had foreseen;
though in the event, it had been overshadowed by her own, than
which she could have left him no dearer legacy. In life, she had
been an angel of God. In death, she was still his angel of comfort
and healing. She had bidden him share her belief; and he never
had felt altogether alone. Sustained by that inner conviction, he
had somehow adapted himself to the strangeness of a life empty
of her physical presence. The human being, in a world of pain,
like the insect in a world of danger, lives mainly by that same
ceaseless, unconscious miracle of adaptation. Dearly though he
craved a sight of his father and Christine, he had not asked for
leave home. There were bad moments when he wondered if he
PISGAH HEIGHTS 153
could ever bring himself to face the ordeal. He sincerely hoped
they understood. Their letters left an impression that it was so.
Jeffers obviously did.
And Tara ? Her belated letter, from the wilds of Serbia,
had revealed, in every line, that she understood only too well.
For Tara, not long before, had passed through her own or-
deal the death, in a brilliant air fight, of her second brother
Atholl, her devotee and hero from nursery days. So when Roy's
turn came, her fulness of sympathy and understanding were out-
stretched like wings to shield him, if might be, even a little,
from the worst as she had known it.
For that once, she flung aside the veil of 'grown-up' reserves
and wrote straight from her eager, passionate heart to the Brace-
let-Bound Brother, unseen for years, yet linked with her by an
imperishable memory; and now linked closer still, by a mutual
grief.
The comfort to Roy of that spontaneous, Tara-like outpouring
had been greater than she knew than he could ever let her
know. For the old intimacy had never been quite re-established
between them since the day of his tactless juvenile proposal
for so he saw it now. They had only met that once, when he was
home for Christmas. On the second occasion, they had missed.
Throughout the War they had corresponded fitfully; but her
letters, though affectionate and sisterly, lacked an unseizable
something that insensibly affected the tone of his response. He
had been rash enough, once, to presume on their special relation.
But he was no longer a boy; and he had his pride.
He wondered sometimes how it would be if they met again.
Would he fall in love with her? She was supreme. No one like
her. But he knew now as she had instinctively known then
that his conviction on that score did not amount to being in love.
Conviction must be lit and warmed with the fire of passion. And
you couldn't very well fall in love across six thousand miles of
sea. Certainly none of the girls he had danced with and ridden
with since his arrival in India had affected him that way. And
for him marriage was an important consideration. Some day he
supposed it would confront him as an urgent personal issue. But
154 FAR TO SEEK
there was a tremendous lot to be done first; and girls were kittle
cattle.
Unsuspected by him, the intimate relation with his mother
while it quickened his need for woman's enveloping tenderness
and sympathy insensibly held his heart in leash by setting up
a standard to which the modern girl rarely aspired, much less
attained.
And, now she was gone, in some strange, enthralling way she
held him still. At rare intervals she came again to him in dreams;
or when he hovered on the verge of sleep. Dreams or visions,
they persisted as clearly in memory as any waking act, and un-
failingly left a vivid after-sense of having been in touch with her
very self. More and more conviction deepened in him that she
still had joy hi 'the blossom and fruit of his life'; that even in
death she was nearer to him than many living mothers to their
sons.
A strange experience: strangest of all, perhaps, the simplicity
with which he came to accept it as part of the natural order of
things. The intuitive brain is rarely analytical. Moreover, he
had seen; he had felt; he knew. It is the invincible argument of
the mystic. Against belief born of vivid, reiterate experience, the
loquacity of logic, the formulas of pure intellect break like waves
upon a rock and with as little result. The intensity and per-
sistence of Roy's experience simply left no room for insidious
whispers of doubt; nor could he have tolerated such scepticism in
others, natural though it might be, if one had not seen, nor felt,
nor known.
So he neither wrote nor spoke of it to anyone. He could scarce
have kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had, shared all his
thoughts and dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too
remote in every sense for a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To
his father he would fain have confided everything, remembering
her last command; but Sir Nevil's later letters though unfail-
ingly sympathetic were not calculated to evoke filial outpour-
ings. For the tune being, he seemed to have shut himself in with
his grief. Perhaps he, of all others, had been least able to under-
stand Roy's failure to press for short leave home. He had said
PISGAH HEIGHTS 155
very little on the subject. And Roy with the instinct of sensi-
tive natures to take their tone from others had also said little:
too little, perhaps. Least said may be soonest mended; but there
are times when it may widen a rift to a gulf.
In the end, he had felt impelled at least to mention his dream
experiences and let it rest with his father whether he said any
more.
And, by return mail, came a brief but poignant answer:
Thank you, my dearest Boy, for telling me what you did. It is a re-
lief to know you have some sort of comfort if only in dreams. You
are fortunate to be so made. After all, for purposes of comfort and
guidance, one's capacity to believe in such communion is the measure
of its reality. As for me, I am still utterly, desolately alone. Perhaps
some day she will reach me in spite of my little faith. People who re-
sort to mediums and the automatic writing craze are beyond me:
though the temptation I understand. You may remember a sentence
of Maeterlinck "We have to grope timidly and make sure of every
footstep, as we cross the threshold. And even when the threshold is
crossed, where shall certainty be found ? One cannot speak of these
things the solitude is too great." That is my own feeling about it
at present.
The last had given Roy an impression that his solitude, how-
ever desolating, was a sort of sanctuary, not to be shared as yet,
even with his son. And, in the face of such loneliness, it seemed
almost cruel to enlarge on his own clear sense of intimate com-
munion with her who had been unfailingly their Jewel of De-
light.
So, by degrees in the long months of separation from them
all his ethereal link with her had come to feel closer and more
real than his link with those others, still in the flesh, yet strangely
remote from his inner life.
To-night after reading both letters that sense of near-
ness seemed stronger than ever. Could it be that the resistless
magnetism of India was in the nature of an intimation from her
that for the present his work lay here? By the hidden forces that
mould men's lives he had been drawn to the land of heart's de-
156 FAR TO SEEK
sire] and at home, neither his family nor his country seemed to
have any particular need of him. Whether or no India had need
of him, he assuredly had need of her. And it was the very
strength of that feeling which had given him pause.
But now, at last, he knew, beyond cavil, that, for all his mind
or was it his conscience? might haver and split straws, he
had been drawn to Rajputana as irresistibly as if that vast
desert region were the moon and he a wavelet on the tidal shore.
With a great sigh he rose, yawned cavernously, and shivered.
Better get to bed and to sleep: a bed that didn't clank and
jolt and batter your brains to a pulp. Things would look amaz-
ingly different in the morning.
CHAPTER HI
Darkness and solitude shine for me.
For life's fair outward part, are rife
The silver noises; let them be.
It is the very soul of life
Listens for thee, listens for thee.
ALICE MEYNEIX
THE depressingly bare, whitewashed bedroom owned a French
bedstead, with brass rails; a welcome 'find' in a dak bunga-
low, especially after three very broken nights in an Indian train.
Tired to the point of stupefaction, Roy promised himself he
would sleep the clock round, eat a three-decker Anglo-Indian
breakfast, and thereafter be his own man again. In that faith
he laid his head on the least lumpy portion of the pillow and
in less than five minutes found himself quite intolerably wide
awake.
Though the bedstead neither repudiated him nor took liber-
ties with his person, ghostly clankings and vibrations still jarred
his nerves and played devil's tunes in his brain. Though he
kept his eyelids severely closed, sleep the coveted anodyne
seemed to hover on the misty edge of things, always just out of
reach. His body was over-tired, his brain abnormally alert.
Each change of position, that was to be positively the last, lost
its virtue hi the space of three minutes, till the sheet that was
too narrow for the mattress became ruckled into hills and
valleys and made things worse than ever. Having started like
this, he knew himself capable of keeping it up gaily till the small
hours; and to-night, of all nights
Even through his closed eyelids, he was still aware that his
verandah doorway framed a wide panel of moonlight the al-
most incredible moonlight of India. He had flung it open as usual
and rolled up the chick. A bedroom hermetically sealed made
him feel suffocated, imprisoned; so he must, perforce, put up
158 FAR TO SEEK
with the moon; and when the world was drowned in her radiance
sleep seemed almost a sin. But to-night, moon or no, he craved
sleep as an opium-eater craves his magic pellets; because he
wanted to dream. It was many weeks since he last had sight of
his mother. But he knew she must be near him in his loneli-
ness; aware, in some mysterious fashion, of the deep longing
with which he longed for sight or sense of her, to assure him
that in spite of qualms and indecisions he had chosen
aright. Conviction grew that directly the veil of sleep fell he
would see her. It magnified his insomnia from mere discomfort
to a baffling, inimical presence withholding him from her: till
at last utter weariness blotted out everything and even as he
hovered on the verge of sleep, she was there . . .
She was lying in her hammock under the beeches, in her apple-
blossom sari, sunlight flickering through the leaves. And he saw
his own figure moving towards her without the least surprise
that he could see and hear himself as another being while still
remaining inside himself.
He heard his own voice say, low and fervently, "Beloved little
Mother I am here. Always hi the battle I remembered Chitor.
Now turned out of the battle I have come to Chitor."
Then he was on his knees beside her; and her fingers, light as
thistledown, strayed over his hair, in the ghost of a caress that
so unfailingly stilled his excitable spirit. Without actual words,
by some miracle of interpenetration, she seemed to know all
that was in his heart the perplexities and indecisions; the
magnetism of Home and the dread of it; the difficulty of making
things clear to his father. And the magic of her touch charmed
away all headache and heartache. But when he rose impul-
sively, and would have taken her in his arms she was gone;
everything was gone; the hammock, the beeches, the sun-
beams . . .
He was standing alone on a moonlit plain, blotched and
streaked with shadows of dak-jungle and date-palm; and rising
out of it abruptly as he had seen it last night loomed the
black bulk of Chitor the sacred, solitary ghost of a city, linked
with his happiest days of childhood and his mother's heroic tales.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 159
The great rock was scarped and bastioned, every line of it. The
walls, ruined in parts, showed ghostly shades of ruins beyond;
and soaring high above all, Khumba Rana's nine-storied Tower
of Victory lifted a giant finger to the unheeding heavens. Watch-
ing it, fascinated, trying in vain to make out details, he was star-
tlingly beset by the strangest among many strange sensations
that had visited his imaginative brain: nothing less than a revival
of the long-ago dream-feeling, the strange sense of familiarity
he knew! Beyond all cavil, he knew every line of that looming
shadow, every curve of the hills. He knew the exact position of
the old bridge over the Gamberi River. From the spot where he
stood he could find his way unerringly to the Padal Pol; the
fortified entrance to the road of Seven Gates; the road that
had witnessed three times in three hundred years that heroic
alternative to surrender, the terrible rite of Johur: the final
down-rush of every male defender, wearing the saffron robe
and coronet of him who embraces death as a bride; the awful
slaughter at the lowest gate, where they fell, every man of them,
before the victors entered in ...
The horror and savage exaltation of it all stirred, so sensibly,
in his veins that he caught himself dimly wondering was it he,
Roy Sinclair, who stood there remembering these things or
another . . . ?
And before that crazy question could resolve itself behold
he was lying wide awake again hi his ruckled bed, on the lumpy
pillow, staring at the wide patch of moonlight framed by his open
door.
Not morning yet, confound it all! But the tiredness and loneli-
ness were clean gone. It was always so when she came to him
thus. Tacitly he knew it, and she knew it, for a visitation. There
was no delusion of having got her back again; only the comfort-
ing assurance that she was near him still. There was also, on this
occasion, a consuming curiosity and impatience not to be denied.
Switching on his electric torch, he consulted his watch.
Nearly half-past four why not . . . ? It was no distance to the
lower gate; and only a mile of zigzag road up to the city.
Thought and action were almost simultaneous. He was out of
160 FAR TO SEEK
bed, standing In the doorway. Unclouded brilliance seemed to
flood his brain; to clear it of cobwebs and dispel all desire of
sleep. For he loved the veiled spirit of night as most men love
the unveiled face of morning; and in no way, perhaps, was he
more clearly of the East. In a land where the sun slays his thou-
sands, the moon comes triumphantly to her own : and Roy de-
cided, there and then, that in the glamour of her light he would
take his first look at Chitor. Whether or no it really was his
first look, he might possibly find out when he got there.
His train-basket provided him with a hurried cup of tea, bis-
cuits, and a providential hard-boiled egg. He had no qualms
about rousing Bishun Singh to saddle Suraj, or disturbing the
soldiery quartered at the gates. His grandfather had written of
him to the Maharana of Udaipur a cousin in the third degree:
and he had leave to go in and out, during his stay, at what hour
he pleased. He would remain on the rock till dawn ; and from the
ninth storey of Khumba Rana's Tower he would see the sun rise
over Chitor . . .
Half an hour later, he was in the saddle trotting along the
empty road; Terry a scurrying shadow in his wake; Bishun
Singh left to finish his night's rest. Right before him loomed the
magnet that had dragged him out of bed at this unearthly hour
the great rock fortress, three miles long, less than a mile
broad, aptly likened to a battleship ploughing through the dis-
turbed sea of bush-grown hills at its base.
Riding quickly through new Chitor a dirty little town, fast
asleep he reached the fortified gateway; was challenged by
sleepy soldiery; gave his name and passed on into another
world; a world that grew increasingly familiar with every hun-
dred yards of ascent.
At one point he halted abreast of two rough monuments,
graves of the valiant parr who had fought and died, like Raj-
puts, hi that last terrible onslaught when the hosts of Akbar en-
tered in, over the bodies of eight thousand saffron-robed warriors,
and made Chitor a place of desolation for ever. One a mere
boy of sixteen was the only son of his house. Beside him,
lance in hand, fought his widowed mother and girl wife; and in
PISGAH HEIGHTS 161
death they were not divided. The other, Jaimul of Bednore,
was a far-away ancestor of his own mother. How often she had
told him the tale! adding proudly that, while Rajasthan en-
dured, the names of those two would shine clear in the firma-
ment of tune, as stars in the firmament of space.
Through gateway after gateway under the lee of a twenty-
foot wall pierced for musketry, he passed, a silent shadow.
And gradually there stole over him afresh the confused wonder
of his dream was it he himself who rode or was it that
other, returning to the sacred city after long absence? For the
moment he could hardly tell. But what matter? The aston-
ishing thrill of recognition was all ...
Roundabout the seventh gateway clustered the semblance of a
village; shrouded, slumbering forms strewn around in the open;
ghosts all. The only instant realities were himself and Suraj and
Chitor and the silence of the sleeping earth, watched over by the
unsleeping stars. Within, and about him, hovered a stirring con-
sciousness of ancient, unchanging India; utterly impervious to
mere birds of passage from the West; veiled, elusive, yet almost
hideously real. So real just then to Roy that for a few
amazing moments he was unaware that he rode through a city
forsaken by man. Ghosts of houses and temples slid by on either
side of him, as he spurred Suraj to a canter and made unerringly
for the main palace. There was news for the Rdna news of
Akbar's army that did not brook delay . . .
Not till Suraj stopped dead there where the palace had
once stood hi its glory did he come to himself, as abruptly as
when he waked hi the French bedstead an hour ago.
Gone was the populous city through which he had ridden in
fancy; gone the confusion of himself with that other self how
many centuries old? But the familiar look of the palace was no
dream; nor the fact that he had instinctively made his way there
at full speed. Bastioned and sharply domed, it stood before him
in clear outline; but within it was hollow as a skull; a place of
ghosts. Suddenly there came over him the old childish dread
of dark, that he had never quite outgrown. But, dread or no,
explore it he must . . .
162 FAR TO SEEK
As his foot touched earth, a low hiss warned him he was tres-
passing, and while, clutching Terry's collar, he stood rigid, the
whip-like shadow of death writhed across a strip of moonlight
and disappeared. There was life of a sort in Chitor.
So Roy trod warily as he passed from room to room; dread of
dark forgotten in the weird fascination of foreknowledge verified
without fail.
Through riven walls and roofs moonlight streamed in: its
spectral brightness intensifying every patch or streak of shadow.
And there, where kings and princes had held audience watched
by their womenfolk through fretted screens was neither roof
nor walls; only a group of marble pillars, as it were assembled in
ghostly conference. The stark silence and emptiness not of
yesterday, but of centuries smote him with a personal pang.
From end to end of the rock it brooded; a haunting presence
tutelary goddess of Chitor. There is an emptiness of the open
desert, of an untrodden snowfield, that lifts the soul and sets it
face to face with God; but the emptiness of a city forsaken is that
of a body with the spark of life extinct: ' the silver cord loosed,
the golden bowl broken, and the pitcher broken at the foun-
tain . . .'
Terry's sharp bark, a squawk, and a scuffle of wings made him
start violently and jarred him all through. It seemed almost pro-
fane; as if one were in a cathedral. Calling the marauder to heel,
he mounted and rode on towards the Tower of Victory. For
the moon was dipping westward; and he must see that vast view
bathed in moonlight: then the dawn
Once more deserting Suraj, he confronted Khumba's Tower;
scatheless, as the builder's hand left it four centuries ago. Mas-
sive and arrogant, it loomed above him. Scarcely a foot of stone
uncarven, so far as he could see exploring the four-square
base of it with the aid of the moon and his torch. Figures, in
high relief, everywhere animal, human, and divine; a riot of
impossible forms, impossibly intertwined; ghoulish in any as-
pect; and in moonlight hideously so: bewildering, repellent,
frankly obscene. But even while his cultured eye rejected it all,
some infinitesimal fragment of himself knew there was sym-
PISGAH HEIGHTS ' 163
bolic meaning in that orgy of sculpture could one but find the
key.
Up and up, round and round the inner spiral staircase he
climbed, in a creepsome darkness, invaded by moonbeams, hardly
less creepsome, admitted through window-like openings set in
every face of every storey. With each inrush of light, each flash
of his torch, in deepest darkness, those thronging figures, weirdly
distorted, sprang at him afresh, sending ignominious trickles
down his spine. Walls, window-slabs, door-beams the vast
building was encrusted with them from base to summit; a
nightmare of prancing, writhing, gesticulating unrest; only one
still face reappearing at intervals the Great God holding the
wheel of Law . . .
Never had Roy more keenly appreciated the company of
Terry, who in spite of a Celtic pedigree was not enjoying
this prolonged practical joke.
It was relief unspeakable to emerge, at last, into full light and
clean, sweet morning air. For the ninth storey, under the dome,
was arcaded on all four sides and refreshingly innocent of decora-
tion. Not a posturing figure to be seen. Nothing but restful
slabs of polished stone. There was meaning in this also could
one catch the trend of the builder's thought.
On a slab near an arcaded opening, Roy sat gratefully down;
while Terry, bored to extinction with the whole affair, curled
himself up in a shadowed corner and went fast asleep. "Un-
friendly little beast," thought Roy; and promptly forgot his ex-
istence.
For below him, in the silvery moonlight of morning, lay Chitor;
her shattered arches and battlements, her temples and palaces
dwarfed to mere footstools for the gods. And beyond, and
again beyond, lay the naked strength and desolation of northern
Rajputana white with poppy-fields, velvet-dark with scrub,
jagged with outcrops of volcanic rock; the gaunt warrior countrv,
battered by centuries of struggle and slaughter; making calamity
a whetstone for courage; saying, in effect, to friend and enemy,
'Take me or leave me. You cannot change me.'
The Border had fascinated Roy. The Himalayas had subju-
164 FAR TO SEEK
gated him. But this strong, unlovely region of rock and sand, of
horses and swords, of chivalry and reckless daring, irresistibly
laid siege to his heart; gave him the authentic sense of being one
with it all.
On a day in that summer of blessed memory, his mother had
almost promised him that once again she would revisit India if
only for the joy of making a pilgrimage with him to Chitor. And
here he sat on the summit of Khumba Rdna's Tower alone.
That was the way of life . . .
Gradually there stole over him a great weariness of body and
spirit; pure reaction from the uplift of his strange adventure. His
lids drooped heavily. In another moment he would have fallen
sound asleep; but he saved himself, just in time. When he craved
the thing, it eluded him; now, undesired, it assailed him. But it
would never do. He might sleep for hours. And at the back of
his mind lurked a clear conviction that he was waiting for more
than the dawn . . .
To shake off drowsiness he rose, stretched himself, paced to
and fro several times and did not sit down again. Folding his
arms, he leaned his shoulders against the stone embrasure; and
stood so, a long while, absorbing with every faculty of flesh
and spirit the stillness, the mystery, the pearl-grey light and
bottomless gulfs of shadow; his mind emptied of articulate
thought ... his soul poised motionless, as it were a bird on
outspread wings . . .
Was it fantasy, this gradual intensifying of his uplifted mood,
this breathless stir in the region of his heart, till some vital part
of him seemed gradually withdrawn up into the vastness and
the silence . . . ?
And suddenly, acutely, in every nerve, he knew he was
not alone: knew that, in the seeming emptiness of the place,
something, someone hovered near him. Amazed, yet exultant,
he held his breath; and an answering leap of the heart set him
tingling from head to foot. It was more than a vague ' sense of
presence.' Fused in the central happiness that flooded him as
the moonlight flooded the desert was an almost startling
awareness; not the mere emotional effect of music or a poem; but
PISGAH HEIGHTS 165
sure knowledge that she was there with him in that upper room;
her disembodied tenderness yearning towards him across a barrier
of empty space that neither she nor he could traverse, for all
their nearness, for all their longing . . .
If Lance himself had come audibly up those endless stairs and
stood beside him, he could not have felt more certain of his pres-
ence than he felt, at this moment, of her companionship, her un-
spoken assurance that he had chosen aright. He felt himself, if
possible, the less real of the two.
For that brief space, his world seemed empty of everything,
everyone, but they two so irrevocably sundered; so mysteri-
ously united.
Could he only have sight of her to complete the marvel of it!
But although he kept his eyes on the spot whence the 'feel of
her' seemed to come, not the shadow of a shade could he see;
only was it fancy? a hint of brighter radiance than mere
moonbeams there, near the opposite archway?
He dared not move a finger lest he break the spell. Yet he
could not restrain altogether the emotion that surged in him, that
filled his ears with a soft roar as of breaking waves.
"God bless you, little Mother!" he murmured barely above
his breath and waited; expecting he knew not what.
A ghost of a breeze passed close to him; truly a ghost, for
the night was dead still. Almost he could have sworn that if he
put out a hand he would have touched her. But reverence with-
held him, rather than fear.
And the next moment, the place was empty. He was alone . . .
He felt the emptiness as unmistakeably as he had felt her pres-
ence. But the pang of her going was shot through with elation
that at last his waking brain had knowledge of her a knowl-
edge that no man could wrest from him, even if she never so
came again. He had done her bidding. He had kept -his man-
hood pure and the windows of his soul clear and, behold, the
Light had shone through . . .
Impossible to tell how long he stood there. In those few mo-
ments of intensified life, time was not. The ordinary sense of
166 FAR TO SEEK
his surroundings faded. The inner sense of reality quickened in
like measure; the reality of her presence, all the more felt be-
cause it was unseen . . .
When he came clearly to himself again, the moon had vanished.
Eastward, the sky was full of primrose light. It deepened and
blazed; till, all in a moment, the sun leaped from the scabbard of
the hills, keen and radiant as a drawn sword.
A full minute Roy stood there eyes and brain blinded with
brilliance. Then he knelt down and covered his face, and so
remained, a long while, his whole being uplifted in a wordless
ecstasy of thanksgiving.
CHAPTER IV
The snow upon my life-bloom sits
And sheds a dreary blight;
Thy spirit o'er my spirit flits
And crimson comes for white.
ANON
ON an unclouded afternoon of October, Roy sat alone with Thea
Leigh in a shady corner of the Residency garden, smoking and
talking, feeling blissfully at ease in body, and very much at home
in spirit. After the wrench of parting with Desmond, it was balm
to be welcomed by the sister who shared his high courage and
enthusiasm for life, and who was smiling at Roy now with the
same hazel-grey eyes that both had gotten from their father.
But Thea's hair her crown of glory belonged exclusively to
herself. The colour of it reminded him, with a pang, of autumn
beech-leaves, in his own woods. It enhanced the vivid quality
of her beauty and added appreciably to his pleasure in watching
her while she talked.
Roy had arrived that morning, in the mist-laden chill of dawn;
had enjoyed a long talk with Colonel Leigh; had made the ac-
quaintance of Vernon and Phyllis, aged six and four; also of
Flossie Eden, a kind of adopted daughter, aged twenty; and,
tiffin being over, had announced his intention of riding out to
re-discover the rose-red wonderland of his childish dreams
the peacocks and elephants and crocodiles and temple bells.
Thea, however, had counselled patience, threatening him with
dire disillusion, if he went seeking his wonderland at that glar-
ingly unpoetic time of day.
"An early cup of tea, and a ride afterwards," she prescribed
in her best autocratic manner. "Only sunset, or the first glimmer
of dawn can throw a spell over the municipal virtues and artistic
backslidings of Jaipur! I speak with feeling; because 7 rushed
forth untimely; and, in the full glare of afternoon sunshine, your
168 FAR TO SEEK
rose-red city looked like nothing on earth but a fearful and won-
derful collection of pink-and-white birthday cakes, set out for a
giants' tea-party! It seemed almost a pity the giants had never
come and eaten them up. Vinx said I was ribald. As a matter of
fact, he was simply jealous of my brilliant metaphor! Look at him
now bored to death with me because I'm telling the truth!"
Colonel Leigh a tall, pensive-looking man, who talked little
and listened assiduously met her challenge with the indulgent
smile of a husband who can be at once amused and critical and
devoted: an excellent conjunction in marriage.
"If you can stay Roy's impatience with your metaphors, I'll
begin to have some respect for them! " said he.
And she was staying Roy's impatience now, with cigarettes
and coffee and the tale of Aruna 'England-returned.' She
had told him next to nothing by letter; an uncharacteristic touch
of caution derived from her husband, who questioned the wis-
don of her bold incursion into the complexities and jarring
elements of a semi-modern Hindu household. But Thea Leigh,
daughter of Honour Desmond, was strongly imbued with the
responsibility of the ruling race. She stoutly refused to preserve,
in Jaipur, the correct official detachment of Anglo-India. More:
she possessed a racial wisdom of the heart, not to be gainsaid;
as who should know better than her husband, since it had saved
him from himself. And now, having secured Roy for half an
hour, she confided; to him, unreservedly, all she could gather of
the tragic tangle she was unravelling in her own effective fashion.
" Aruna's the dearest thing," she told him as well he knew.
"And I'm truly fond of her. But sometimes I feel helpless.
They're so hard to come at these gentle, inscrutable Hindu
women. However, I'm getting quite nimble at guessing and
inferring; and I gather that your splendid old grandfather is
rather pathetically helpless with that hive of hidden womenfolk
and gurus. Also that the old lady Mataji is a bit of a tar-
tar. Of course, having lost caste makes the poor child's home
position almost impossible. Yet she flatly refuses to go through
their horrid rites of restitution. And Miss Hammond our
lady doctor at the hospital backs her up."
PISGAH HEIGHTS 169
"Well played, Miss Hammond!" quoth Roy: and, remem-
bering Aruna's cheerful letters (no word of complications), all
his sympathy went out to her. Might not he related, yet
free of grandmotherly tyranny somehow be able to help? Too
cruel, that from her happy time in England there should spring
such tragic issues. And she was not a creature made for trag-
edy, but for laughter and love and 'man's delight.' Yet, in the
Hindu nature of things, this very matter of marriage was the
crux of her troubles. To the Power behind the curtain it spelt
disgrace that the eldest granddaughter at the ripe age of
twenty-two should be neither wife nor mother. It would need
a very advanced suitor to overlook that damning item. Doubt-
less a large dowry would be demanded by way of compensation;
and, before all, caste must be restored. While Aruna remained
obdurate, nothing could be definitely arranged; and her grand-
father had not the heart to enforce his wife's insistent demands.
But if the Indian woman's horizon be limited, her shrewdness
and intuitive knowledge are often amazing; and this formidable
old lady skilled in the art of imposing her will on others
knew herself a match for her husband's evasions and Aruna's
flat rebellion.
She reckoned, however, without the daughter of Sir Theo
Desmond, who, at this point, took action sudden and dis-
concerting.
"You see, the child came regularly to my purdah parties,"
she explained to Roy, who was impatient no longer, only ab-
sorbed. " Sometimes I had her alone for reading and music; and
it was heart-breaking to see her wilting away before my eyes. So,
at last, in desperation, I broke loose as Vinx politely puts it
and asked searching questions, regardless of etiquette. After all,
the poor lamb has no mother. And I never disobey an impulse of
the heart. I believe I was only in the nick of time. It seemed the
old tartar and her widowed sister-in-law were in touch with a
possible husband. So they had given the screw a fresh turn, as-
sisted by the family guru. He had just honoured them with a
special visit expecting to find the lost sheep regenerate and eager
for his blessing. Shocked at the tale of her obstinacy, he an-
1 70 FAR TO SEEK
nounced that, unless he heard otherwise within a week, he would
put a nameless curse upon her; in which case her honourable
grandmother would not allow the poor child to eat or sleep under
her honourable roof."
Roy's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair. "Con-
found the fellow! It's chielly the mental effect they rely on.
They're no fools; and even men like Grandfather who can't
possibly believe such rot seem powerless to stand up against
them. Does he know all this? "
"It's hard to tell. They're so guarded even the most en-
lightened in alluding to domestic matters. Without a shade
of discourtesy, they simply keep one outside. Poor Aruna was
terrified at having told me. Broke down utterly. But no idea of
giving in. It's astonishing the grit one comes upon under their
surface gentleness. She said she would starve or drown rather.
/ said she should do notlu'ng of the kind; that I would speak
to Sir Lakshman myself oh, very diplomatically, of course!
Afterwards, all in a rush, came my inspiration. Some sort of
secretarial work for me would sound fairly plausible. (Did you
know I 'm making a name, in a small way, over my zeal for
Indian women?) On the strength of that, one could suggest a
couple of rooms in the Residency; and she could still keep on at
the hospital with Miss Hammond, giving me certain afternoons.
It struck me as flawless till I imparted it to Vinx and saw him
tweak his left eyebrow. Of course he was convinced it 'wouldn't
do ' ; Sir Lakshman my position and so on. I said I proposed
to make it do and the eyebrow twitched worse than ever. So
I mildly reminded him that he had not held Aruna sobbing in his
arms, and he didn't happen to be a mother! Which was unan-
swerable. And, my dear Roy, I had a hectic week of it, manip-
ulating Sir Lakshman and Aruna and the honourable grand-
mother strictly unseen! I'm sure she's anti-English. I've got
at all the other high-borns; but I can't get at her. However -
with a bold front and a tactful tongue, I carried the day. So I
hope the holy man will transfer his potent curse to me! Natu-
rally, the moment I'd fixed things up came Lance's letter about
you. But I couldn't back out. And I suppose it's all right? "
PISGAH HEIGHTS 171
"Well, of course." Roy was troubled with no doubts on that
score. " What a family you are ! I was hoping to pick up threads
with Aruna."
"You shall. But you must be discreet. Jaipur isn't exactly
Oxford! Brother and cousin are almost the same word with
them; but still"
"Is she at the hospital now?" Roy cut in irrelevantly. Her
insistence on discretion with Aruna, of all people struck
him as needless fussing and unlike Thea. And by now he was
feeling more impatient to see Aruna than to see Jaipur.
"No. But she seemed shy of appearing at tiffin. So I said if
she came out here afterwards, she would find you and me alone.
She's looked happier and less fragile lately. Even Vinx admits
the event has justified me. But of course it's simply an emer-
gency plan a transition "
"To what?" Roy challenged her with surprising emphasis.
"That's my puzzle of puzzles. Perhaps you can help me solve
it. Sometimes I wonder if she knows herself what she wants out
of life . . . But perhaps I haven't the key to her waverings . . ."
At that moment a sh'ght, unmistakeable figure stepped from
the shadow of the verandah down the shallow steps flanked with
pots of begonia; moving with the effortless grace that Roy's
heart knew too well. Dress and sari were carnation pink. Her
golden shoes glittered at every step: and she pensively twirled
a square Japanese parasol almond-blossoms and butterflies
scattered abroad on silk of the frailest blue.
" Is their instinct for that sort of thing unconscious I won-
der?" murmured Thea. "You shall have half an hour with her,
to pick up threads. Help me if you can, Roy. But be dis-
creet!"
Roy scarcely heard her. He had gone suddenly very still; his
gaze riveted on Aruna. The Indian dress, the carriage of her
veiled head, the leisured grace, so sharply smote him that tears
pricked his eyelids and, for one intoxicating moment, he was
wafted, in spirit, across the chasm of the War to that dear
dream-world of youth, when all distances were blue and all
the near prospect bright with the dew of the morning. Only
I72 FAR TO SEEK
under a masklike stillness could he hide that startling uprush of
emotion; and had Broome been watching him, he would have
seen the subtle film of the East steal over his face.
Thea saw only his sudden abstraction and the whitened knuck-
les of his left hand. She also realised, with a faint prick of anx-
iety, that he had simply not heard her remark. Was it possi-
ble could Roy be at the back of Aruna's waverings? Would
his coming mean fresh complications? Too distracting to be
responsible for anything of that kind . . .
Without a word, he had risen and went quickly forward to
meet her. Thea saw how, on his approach, all her studied com-
posure fell away; and both, when they joined her, looked so
happy, yet so plainly discomposed, that Thea felt ridiculously
at a loss for just the right word with which to effect a casual re-
treat. Responsibility for Sir Lakshman's granddaughter was no
light matter: at least she had done well hi warning Roy. These
emerging Indian girls . . . !
It was a positive relief to see the prosaic figure of Flossie Eden,
in brief tennis skirt and shady hat, hurrying across the lawn,
with her boyish stride; racquet swinging, her round face flushed
with exercise.
"I say, Aunt Thea you're wanted jut put," l she announced
briskly. "Verney's in one of his moods and Mr. Neill will
soon be in one of his tempers, if he isn't forcibly removed. In-
stead of helping with the balls, he's been parading up and down
the verandah, two tin pails, tied on to him with a string, clatter-
ing behind making a beast of a row. Shouting wasn't any
earthly. I rushed in and grabbed him. 'Verney drop it!
What are you doing? ' I said sternly; and he looked up at me like
a sainted cherub: 'Flop, don't hinder me. I'm walkin' froo the
valley of the shadow, an' goodness an' mercy are following me
all the days of my life.' That's the fruits of teaching the Bible
to innocents!"
Thea's laugh ended in a sigh. "I warned Miss Mills. But the
creature is getting out of hand. I suppose it means he ought to
go home. Mr. Neill," she explained to Roy, "is Vinx's short-
1 Instantly.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 173
hand secretary: volcanic, but indispensable to the Great Work!
So I must fly off and obliterate my superfluous son."
Her eyes tried to impart the warning he had not heard. Use-
less. His attention was centred on Aruna.
"Wonderful isn't she?" the girl murmured, looking after
her. Then swiftly, half shyly, she glanced up at him. "Still
more wonderful that, at last, you have come; that I am here too
only through her. She told you?"
"Yes. A little. I want to hear more."
"Presently. I would rather push away sad things now you
are here. If there was only Dyan too like Oxford days. And
oh, Roy, I was bad never writing . . . about her. I did try. But
so difficult . . . And you knew ?"
"Yes I knew," he said in a repressed voice. On that sub-
ject he could not trust himself just yet. Every curve and fold of
her sari, and the half-seen coils of her dark hah-, every move-
ment, every quaint turn of phrase set his nerves vibrating with
an ecstasy that was pain. For the moment, he wanted simply
to be aware of her; to hug the dear illusion that the years be-
tween were a dream. And illusion was heightened by the trivial
fact that her appearance was identical in every detail. Was it
chance? Or had she treasured them all this time? Only she
herself looked older. Though her face kept its pansy aspect,
her cheek-bones were a shade too prominent; no veiled glow
of health under her dusky skin. But her smile could still atone
for all shortcomings . . .
"Let's sit down," he added after a strained silence. "And tell
me what's come to Dydn?"
She shook her head. "Oh if we could know. Not much use,
after all, trying to push away sadness!" She sank into her chair
and looked up at him. "The more you push it away, the more it
comes flowing in from everywhere. Everything so broken and
confused from this terrible War. At the beginning how they said
all would be made new; East and West firmly united! But here,
at home, while the best were fighting, the worst were too busy
with ugly whispers and untrue talk. Even holy men, behind the
purdah . . ."
174 FAR TO SEEK
"As bad as that, is it?" asked Roy, distracted from his own
sensations by the subject that lay nearest his heart. "And you
think Dyan's in with that crew?"
"Yes, we are afraid ... A pity he came back from France
too soon, because half his left arm must be cut off. Then you
heard he went to Calcutta . . . ? "
"Yes, I wrote at the time. He didn't answer. I haven't heard
since."
She nodded. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Always now no
answer. Like trying to speak with some one dead. So Grand-
father fears he was not only studying art. You know how he is
too quick to catch fire. And too easily he might believe those
men who spin words like spiders' webs. Also he was very sore
losing his arm, by some small stupid chance; and there was bit-
terness for that trouble ... of Tara . . ."
Roy started. "Lord ! was it Tara? " Instantly there flashed
a vision of the walled lane leading to New College; Dyan's
embittered mood and bewildering change of front . . . Looking
back now, the thing seemed glaringly obvious; but,^through the
opalescent mist of his own dreams, he had seen Dyan in one re-
lation only. Just as well, perhaps. Even at this distance, the
idea amazed and angered him. Tara! The arrogance of it . . . !
"You didn't know never thought? . . . Poor Dyan!" One
finger-tip furtively intercepted a tear that was stealing down
the side of her nose. "I am too silly just now," she apologised
meekly. "To me, he only spoke of it long after, when coming
wounded from France. Then I saw how the bitterness was still
there, changing the noble thoughts of his heart. That is the
trouble with Dyan. First nothing good enough, for England.
But too fierce love may bring too fierce hate if they poison
his mind with cunning words dressed up in high talk of re-
ligion "
"How long since you heard? Have you any address?" Roy
dared not encourage her melting mood.
" Six months now," she stoically blinked back her tears. " Not
any word. Not any address, since he left Calcutta. Last week
I wrote, addressing to the office of a paper there, because once he
PISGAH HEIGHTS 175
said that editor gave him work. I told him all the pain in my
heart. If that letter finds him some answer must come."
" Well, if it does, I promise you this much. I'll unearth him
somehow, wherever he is "
"Oh, Roy! I hoped I knew 1" She clasped her hands to
hide their tremor, and the look in her eyes came perilously near
adoration.
Roy had spoken with the cool assurance of his father's
race and without a glimmering idea how his rash promise was
going to be fulfilled. "I'll do my level utmost, anyhow," he
added, more soberly. "But there's you your home compli-
cations."
She turned her hands outward with the expressive gesture of
her race. "That foolish sadness we can push away. What mat-
ter for anything now? I rest I breathe I am here !"
Her smile shone out, sudden and brilliant. "Almost like Eng-
land this big green garden and children and sound of playing
tennis. Let us be young again. Let us, for a small time, not re-
member that all outside is Jaipur and the desert dusty and
hot and cruel; and dark places full of secret and terrible things.
Here we are safe. Here it is almost England!"
Her gallant appeal so moved him, and the lighter vein so
charmingly became her, that Roy humoured her mood willingly
enough. . . .
When his tea arrived, she played hostess, with an alluring
mixture of shyness and happy importance, capping his lively
sallies with the quick wit of old days. And when Suraj was an-
nounced "Oh, please may I see him?" she begged eagerly
as a child.
Suraj graciously permitted his velvet nose to be stroked by
alien fingers, light as rose petals. Then Roy sprang into the
saddle; and Aruna stood watching him, as he went sais l and
dog trotting to heel a graceful, lonely figure, shadowed by her
semi-transparent parasol.
At a bend in the drive, where a sentry sprang to attention, he
turned for a parting salute. Her answering gesture might or
1 Groom.
176 FAR TO SEEK
might not have been intended for him. She at least knew all about
the need for being discreet. For, on leaving the tea-table, they
had passed from the dream of 'almost England' into the dusty
actuality of Jaipur.
CHAPTER V
Broadly speaking there are two blocks of people East and West; people who
interfere and people who don't interfere; . . . East is a fatalist. West is an ideal-
ist, of a clumsy sort.
STACY AUMONIER
A MILE, or less, of tree-bordered road sloped gently from the Resi-
dency gate-posts to the walled City of Victory, backed by craggy,
red-grey spurs of the Aravalli range, hidden almost in feathery
heads of banyan, acacia, and neem: a dusty, well-ordered
oasis, holding its own against the stealthy oncoming of the
desert.
North and east ran the screen of low hills with their creeping
lines of masonry; but from south and west the softly encroaching
thing crept up to the city walls, in through the gates, powdering
every twig and leaf and lattice with the fine white dust of death.
Shadeless and colourless to the Limit of vision, it rose and fell in
long billowing waves; as if some wizard, in the morning of the
world, had smitten a living ocean to lifeless sand, where nothing
flourished but the camel thorn and the ak plant and gaunt cactus
bushes their limbs petrified in weird gesticulation.
But on the road itself was a sufficiency of life and colour:
parrokeets flashing from tree to tree, like emeralds made visible
and audible; village women swathed in red and yellow veils;
prancing Rajput cavaliers, straight from the Middle Ages; ox-
carts and camels unlimited camels; a sluggish stream of life,
rising out of the landscape and flowing, from dawn to dusk,
through the seven Gates of Jaipur. And there, on the low spurs,
beyond the walls, Roy sighted the famous Tiger Fort, and the
marble tomb of Jai Singh he that built the rose-red city; chal-
lenging the desert, as Canute the sea; saying, in terms of stone
and mortar, 'Here shall thy proud waves be stayed!' Nearing
the fortified gateway, he noted how every inch of flat surface
was silkily powdered, every opening silted with sand. Would it
178 FAR TO SEEK
rest with desert or city, he wondered, the ultimate victory of the
last word . . . ?
Close against the ramparts sand and dust were blown into
a deep drift; or was it a deserted pile of rags ? Suddenly, with
a sick sensation, he saw the rags heave and stir. Arms emerged
if you could call them arms belonging to pinched, shadowy
faces. And from that human dust-heap came a quavering wail
"Maharaj! Maharaj!"
"What is it, Bishun Singh?" he asked sharply of the sais,
trotting at his stirrup.
"Only the famine, Hazur. Not a big trouble this year, they
say. But from the villages these come crawling to the city, be-
lieving the Maharaj has plenty, and will give."
"Does he give?"
Bishun Singh's gesture seemed to deprecate undue curiosity.
"The Maharaj is great, but the people are like flies. If their
Karma is good, they find a few handfuls; if evil they die."
Roy said no more. That simple statement was conclusive as
a dropped stone. But, on reaching the gateway, he scattered a
handful of loose coins; and instantly a cry went up: "He gives
money for food! Jai dea Mahar&j!" Not merely arms, but en-
tire skeletons emerged, seething, scrambling, with hands wasted
to mere claws. A few of the boldest caught at Roy's stirrup;
whereat Bishun Singh brushed them off, as if they were flies
indeed.
Unresisting, they tottered and fell one against another, like
ninepins: and Roy, hating the man, turned sharply away. But
rebuke was futile. One could do nothing. It was that which
galled him. One could only pass on; mentally brushing them
aside like Bishun Singh.
Spectres vanished, however, once he and Suraj were absorbed
into the human kaleidoscope of the vast main street, paved with
wide strips of hewn stone; one half of it sun-flooded; one half hi
shadow. The colour and movement; the vista of pink- washed
houses speckled with white florets; the gay muslins, the small
turbans and inimitable swagger of the Rajput Sun-descended,
PISGAH HEIGHTS ' 179
reawakened in him those gleams of ancestral memory that had
so vividly beset him at Chitor. Sights and sounds and smells
the pungent mingling of spices and dust and animals assailed
his senses with a vague yet poignant familiarity: fruit and
corn shops with their pyramids of yellow and red and ochre, and
the fat brown bunnia in the midst, shops bright with brass-
work and Jaipur enamel; lattice windows low-browed arches,
glimpses into shadowed courts; flitting figures of veiled women;
humbler women, unveiled, winnowing grain, or crowned with
baskets of sacred cow-dung, stepping like queens . . .
And the animals ! Extinct, almost, in modern machine-
ridden cities, here they visibly and audibly prevailed. For Asia
lives intimately if not always mercifully with her animals;
and Roy's catholic affection embraced them all. Horses first
a long way first. But bullocks had their charm: the graceful
trotting zebus, horns painted red and green. And the ponderous
swaying of elephants, sensitive creatures, nervous of their own
bulk, resplendently caparisoned. And there a flash of the
jungle, among casual goats, fowls, and pariahs went the
royal cheetahs, led on slips; walking delicately, between scarlet
peons, looking for all the world like amiable maiden ladies with
blue hooded caps tied under their chins. In the wake of their
magnificence two distended donkeys, on parodies of legs, stag-
gered under loads more distended still, plump dhobies perched
callously on the cruppers. Above all, Roy's eye delighted in the
jewelled sheen of peacocks, rivalling in sanctity the real lords of
Jaipur Shiva's sacred bulls which, milk-white and onyx-
eyed or black and insolent, sauntered among the open shop-
fronts, levying toll and obstructing traffic assured, arrogant,
immune. . . . And, at stated intervals, like wrong notes in a suc-
cession of harmonies, there sprang wrought-iron gas-lamps, fitted
with electric bulbs!
So riding, he came to the heart of the city a vast open space,
where the shops seemed brighter, the crowds gayer; and, by con-
trast, the human rag and bone heaps, beggars and cripples, more
terrible to behold. And here the first ray of actual recognition
flashed through the haze of f amiliar sensations. For here architec-
I8o FAR TO SEEK
tural exuberance culminated in the vast bewildering facade of the
Hall of the Winds and the Palace flaunting its royal standard
five colours blazoned on cloth of gold. But it was not these that
held Roy's gaze. It was the group of Brahmin temples, elab-
orately carven, rose-red from plinth to summit, rising through
flights of crows and iridescent pigeons; their monolithic forms
clean-cut against the dusty haze; their shallow steps flanked with
marble elephants, splashed with orange-yellow robes of holy
men and groups of brightly veiled women.
At sight of them Roy instinctively drew rein; and there, in
the midst of the shifting, drifting crowd, he sat motionless, letting
the vision sink deep into his mind, while Terry investigated a
promising smell and Bishun Singh wholly incurious gos-
sipped with a potter, from whose wheel emerged an endless suc-
cession of chirdghs primitive clay lamps, with a lip for the
cotton wick. His neighbour, with equal zest, was creating very
ill-shapen clay animals, birds, and fishes.
"Look, Haziir for the Dewali," Bishun Singh thrust upon
Roy's attention the one matter of real moment, just then, to
all right-minded Hindus. "Only two more weeks. So they are
making lamps, without number, for houses and shops and the
palace of the Maharaja. Very big tamasha, Hazur." He con-
tinued to enlarge volubly on the coming festival, to this sahib,
who took such unusual interest in the ways of India; while Roy
sat silent, watching, remembering . . .
Nearly nineteen years ago he had seen the Dewali Feast of
Lights; had been driven, sitting on his mother's knee, through a
fairy city outlined in tremulous points of flame, down to the
shore of the Man Sagar Lake, where the lights quavered and ran
together and the dead ruins came alive with them. All night they
had seemed to flicker in his fanciful brain; and next morning
unable to think or talk of anything else he had been moved to
dictate his very first attempt at a poem. . . .
Suddenly, sharply, there rose above the chatter of the crowd
and the tireless clamour of crows a scream of mingled rage and
anguish that tore at his nerves and sent a chill down his spine.
Swinging round in the saddle, he saw a spectral figure of a
PISGAH HEIGHTS 181
woman detached from a group of spectres, huddled ironically
against bulging sacks of grain. One shrivelled arm was lifted in
denunciation; the other pressed a shapeless bundle to her empty
breasts. Obviously little more than a girl yet with no trace of
youth in her ravaged face she stood erect, every bone visible,
before the stall of a bangle-seller, fat and well-liking, exuding
rolls of flesh above his doti, and enjoying his savoury chupattis
hot and hot; entirely impervious to unseemly ravings; entirely
occupied in pursuing trickles of gh i l with his agile tongue that
none might be lost.
"That shameless one was begging a morsel of food," the toy-
maker explained conversationally. "Doubtless her stomach is
empty. Wah! Wah! But she has no pice. And a man's food
is his own . . ."
As he spoke a milk-white bull ambled by, blundering and
plundering at will; his privileged nose adventuring near and
nearer to the savoury smell. Promptly, with reverential eager-
ness, the man proffered half a fresh chupatti to the sacred in-
truder; and, at that, the starving girl-mother lunged forward
with the yell of a hunted beast; lunged right across the path of a
dapper young man in an English suit, green turban, and patent-
leather shoes.
"Peace, she-devil! Make way!" he cried: and catching her
wrist that looked as if it would snap at a touch he flung
her aside so roughly that she staggered and fell the child be-
neath her emitting a feeble wail . . .
Since the days of his imprisonment, cruelty witnessed had a
startling effect on Roy. Between the moment when he sprang
from the saddle, in a blaze of fury, to the moment when he stood
confronting the suave, Anglicised Indian riding-crop in one
hand, the other supporting the girl and her babe his mind was
a blank. The thing was done almost before the impulse reached
his brain. He wondered if he had struck the fellow, whom he was
now arraigning furiously, in fluent Hindustani, and whose sullen,
shifty face was reminding him of someone somewhere . . .
"Have you no respect for suffering or for women other than
1 Melted butter.
1 82 FAR TO SEEK
your own?" he demanded, scorn undisguised in his look and
tone.
The man's answering shrug was frankly contemptuous. "All
you English are mad," he said in the vernacular. "If she die not
to-day, she will die to-morrow. And already there are too many
to feed "
"She will not die to-day or to-morrow," Roy retorted with
Olympian assurance. "Courage, little mother" he addressed
the girl "you shall have food, you and the sonling."
As she raised herself, clutching at his arm, he became uncom-
fortably aware that her rags of clothing were probably vermin-
ous ; that his chivalrous pity was tinged with repulsion. But pity
prevailed. Supporting her to a neighbouring stall, he bought
fruit, which she devoured like a wild thing. He begged a little
milk in a lotah and gave her money for more. Half dazed, she
dropped the money, emptied the small jar almost at a gulp, and
flung herself at his feet, pressing her forehead on his dusty boot;
covering him with confusion. Imperatively he bade her get up.
No result. So he stooped to enforce his command . . . She had
fainted.
"Help, mother, quick!" he appealed to an elder woman,
swathed in yellow muslin, who hovered near the stall, and re-
sponded, instinctively, to the note of command.
As she stooped over the girl, he said in low, rapid tones: "Lis-
ten ! It is an order. Give warm food to her and the child. Take
her to the Burra Sahib's compound. There she will be cared for.
I will give word."
He slipped two rupees into her hand, adding: "Two more
when all is done according to order."
"Hai! Hai! The sahib is a Son of Princes," murmured she
of the yellow robe, reflecting shrewdly that eight annas would
suffice to feed those poor empty ones; and gathering up her light
burden she bore it away to Roy's unfeigned relief.
Would Thea scold him or uphold him, he wondered
having committed himself. The whole thing had been so swift, so
unreal, that he seemed half a world away from the green Resi-
dency garden, with its atmosphere of twentieth-century Eng-
PISGAH HEIGHTS 183
land, scrupulously, yet unconsciously, preserved in a setting of
sixteenth-century India. And Roy as his father once said
had a strain of both in his composition.
Across the road Bishun Singh tolerant of his sahib's vagaries
was still chatting with the potter; a blare of discord in a mi-
nor key announced an approaching procession; and there, in talk
with the bangle-seller, stood the cause of these strange doings;
keeping a curious eye on the mad Englishman, but otherwise
frankly unconcerned. Again there dawned on Roy the convic-
tion that he had seen that face before. It was not in India. It
was linked with the same sensations, in a milder form. It would
come in a moment . . .
It came.
Behind the slight, foppish figure the eye of his mind saw
suddenly not the sunlight and colour of Jaipur, but a stretch
of grey-green sea, tawny cliffs, and sandy shore ... St. Rupert's 1
Of course unmistakeable: the sullen mouth, the shifty eyes . . .
Instantly he went forward and said in English: "I say ex-
cuse me but is your name Chandranath? "
The man started and stiffened. "That is no matter to you."
"Perhaps not. Only you're very like a boy, who was one term
at St. Rupert's School with me "
"Well, I was at St. Rupert's. A beastly hole" He, too,
spoke English, and scanned Roy's face with narrowed eyes.
"Sinclair is it? You tumbled down the cliff on to me and
that Desmond fellow ? "
"Yes, I did. Lucky for you," Roy answered, stiffening in his
turn. But because of old days because this unpromising speci-
men of manhood had incidentally brought him and Desmond to-
gether, he held out his hand. " 'Fraid I lost my temper," he said
casually, for form's sake. "But you put my blood up."
Chandranath's fingers lay limply in his grasp.
"Still so sensitive ? Then better to clear out of India. I
only pushed that crazy girl aside. Englishmen knock and kick
our people without slightest compunction. Perhaps you are a
tourist or new to this country?"
Words and manner set Roy's nerves on edge; but he had been
184 FAR TO SEEK
imprudent enough for one day. "I've spent seven months on the
frontier in a cavalry regiment," he said. "But I only came to
Jaipur yesterday."
"Well, take my advice, Mr. Sinclair, and leave these people
alone. They don't want Englishmen making pretence of senti-
mental fuss over them. They like much better to be pushed or
even starved by their ownjdt. You may not believe it. But I
belong to them. So I know."
Roy, who also 'belonged,' in a measure, very nearly said so.
But again prudence prevailed. "I'm rash enough to disagree
with you," he said placably. "The question of non-interference,
of letting ill alone because one's afraid or can't be bothered
isn't merely a race question; it's a root question of human
character. Some men can't pass by on the other side. Right
or wrong, it simply isn't arguable. It's a matter of the individual
conscience the heart."
" Conscience and heart if not drastically disciplined by the
logically reasoning brain propagate the majority of troubles
that afflict mankind," quoth Chandranath in the manner of
one familiar with platform oratory. "Are you stopping in
Jaipur?"
"Yes. At the Residency. Mrs. Leigh is Desmond's sister.
Did you know?"
" That is curious. I did not know. Too much heart and con-
science there also. Mrs. Leigh is thrusting her fingers into com-
plicated issues of which she is lamentably ignorant."
Roy, taken aback, nearly gave himself away but not quite.
"I gather she acted with Sir Lakshman Singh's approval," was
all he said.
Chandranath shrugged. "Sir Lakshman is an able but deluded
man. His dreams of social reform are obsolete. We of the new
school adhere patriotically to social and religious ordinances of
the Mother. All we agitate for is political independence." He
unfurled the polysyllables, like a flag; sublimely unaware of hav-
ing stated a contradiction in terms. "But your Sir Lakshman is
of the old-fashioned school English-mad."
"And your particular friends are sane eh? "
PISGAH HEIGHTS 185
The apostle of Hindu revival pensively twirled an English but-
ton of his creditably cut English coat.
"Yes. We are sane thanks to more liberalising influences.
Coloured dust cannot be thrown in our eyes, by bureaucratic
conjuring tricks, or imperialistic talk about prestige. To-day it
is India's turn for prestige. 'Arya for the Aryans' is the slogan
of the rising generation." He paused, blinked, and added with
an ingratiating chuckle: "You will go running away with an
impression that I am metamorphosed into red-hot revolutionary.
No, thank you! I am intrinsically a man of peace!" With a
flourish he jerked out a showy gold watch. "Ah getting late!
Very agreeable exchanging amenities with old schoolfellows. But
I have an appointment in the Palace Gardens, at the time they
feed the muggers. 1 That is a sight you should see, Mr. Sinclair
when the beasts are hungry and have not lately snapped up
a washerwoman or an erring wife!"
"I'd rather be excused this evening, thanks," Roy answered,
with a touch of brusqueness. "I confess it wouldn't appeal to my
sense of humour seeing crocodiles gorge, while women and
children starve."
"That is what they call, in a book I once read, 'little ironies of
life.' Good fortune, at least, for the muggers. Better start to
sharpen your sense of humour, my friend. It is incomparable
asset against the slings and arrows of outrageous contingencies."
This time his chuckle had an undertone of malice; and Roy,
considering him thoughtfully from green turban to patent-
leather shoes felt an acute desire to take him by the scruff
of his English coat and dust the Jaipur market-place with the
remnant of him.
Aloud he said coolly: "Thanks for the hint. Are you stopping
here long? "
"Oh, I am meteoric visitant. Never very long anywhere. I
come and go."
"Business eh?"
"Yes many kinds of business for the Mother." He
flashed a direct look at Roy; the first since their encounter; flut-
1 Crocodiles.
186 FAR TO SEEK
tered a foppish hand the little finger lifted to display a square
uncut emerald and went his way . . .
Roy, left standing alone in the leisurely crowd of men and ani-
mals at once so alien and so familiar returned to Bishun
Singh and Suraj in a vaguely troubled frame of mind.
"Which way to the house of Sir Lakshman Singh?" he asked
the maker of chirdgks, his foot in the stirrup.
Enlightened, he set off at a trot, down another vast street, all
hazy in the level light that conjured the dusty air to gold. But
contact with human anguish, naked and unashamed as he had
not seen it since the War and that sudden queer encounter
with Chandranath had rubbed the bloom off delicate films of
memory and artistic impressions. These were the drop scene,
merely: negligible when Life took the stage. He had an exciting
sense of having stepped straight into a crisis. Things were going
to happen in Jaipur.
CHAPTER VI
God has a few of us, whom he whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason and welcome . . .
R. BROWNING
- Living still, and the more beautiful for our longing.
VIRGIL
THE house of Sir Lakshman Singh, C.S.I. like many others in
'advancing' India was a house divided against itself. And the
cleavage cut deep. The furnishing of the two rooms in which he
mainly lived was not more sharply sundered from that of the
Inside than was the atmosphere of his large and vigorous mind
from the twilight of ignorance and superstition that shrouded
the mind and soul of his wife. More than fifty years ago
when young India ardently admired the West and all its works
he had dreamed of educating his spirited girl-bride, so that
the way of companionship might beautify the way of marriage.
But too soon the spirited girl had hardened into the narrow,
tyrannical woman, her conception of the wifely state limited to
the traditional duties of motherhood and household service.
Happily for Sir Lakshman, his unusual gifts had gained him wide
recognition and high service in the State. He had schooled him-
self, long since, to forget his early dreams: and if marriage had
failed, fatherhood had made royal amends. Above all, in Lila-
mani, daughter of flesh and spirit, he had found had in a meas-
ure created the intimate companionship he craved; a woman
skilled in the fine art of loving finest and least studied of all
the arts that enrich and beautify human life. But the gods, it
seemed, were jealous of a relation too nearly perfect for mortal
man. So Rama, eldest son, and Lilamani, beloved daughter, had
been taken, while the estranged wife was left. Remained the
grandchildren, hi whom centred all his hope and pride. So far as
the dividing miles and years would permit, he had managed to
keep in close touch with Roy. But the fact remained that Eng-
i88 FAR TO SEEK
land had first claim on Lilamani's children; and Rdma's were
tossed on the troubled waters of transition.
As for India herself sacred Motherland her distraught
soul seemed more and more at the mercy of the voluble, the half-
baked, the disruptive, at home and abroad.
Himself steeped in the threefold culture of his country
Vedantic, Islamic, and European he came very near the pre-
vailing ideal of composite Indian nationality. Yet was he not
deceived. In seventy years of life he had seen intellectual India
pass through many phases, from ardent admiration of the West
and all its works to no less ardent denunciation. And in these
days he saw too clearly how those same intellectuals with
catchwords meaningless to nine tenths of her people were
breaking down, stone by stone, the mighty safeguard of British
administration. Useless to protest. Having ears they heard not.
Having eyes they saw not. The spirit of destruction seemed
abroad in all the earth. After Germany Russia. Would it be
India next? He knew her peoples well enough to fear. He also
knew them well enough to hope. But of late, increasingly, fear
had prevailed. His shrewd eye discerned, in every direction,
fresh portents of disaster a weakened executive, divided
counsels, and violence that is the offspring of both. His own
Maharaja, he thanked God, was of the old school, loyal and
conservative; his face set like a flint against the sedition-monger
in print or person. And, as concessions multiplied and ex-
tremists waxed bolder, so the need for vigilance waxed in pro-
portion . . .
But to-day his mind had room for one thought only the
advent of Roy; legacy of her, his vanished Jewel of Delight.
A message from the Residency had told of the boy's arrival, of
his hope to announce himself hi person that evening; and now, in
the corner of a low divan, the old man sat awaiting him with a
keener, more profound emotion at his heart than the mere impa-
tience of youth. But the impassive face under the flesh-pink
turban betrayed no sign of disturbance within. The strongly
marked nose and eye-bones might have been "carved in old ivory.
The snowy beard, parted in the middle, was swept up over his
PISGAH HEIGHTS 189
ears; and the eyes were veiled. An open book lay on his knee.
But he was not reading. He was listening for the sound of
hoofs, the sound of a voice . . .
The two had not met for five years: and in those years the boy
had proved the warrior blood in his veins; had passed through
the searching test of a bitter loss. Together, they could speak of
her gone from them; yet alive in their hearts for evermore.
Seen or unseen, she was the link that kept them all united, the
pivot on which their lives still turned. There had been none with
whom he could talk of her since she went . . .
Over his writing-table hung the original Antibes portrait
life-size; Nevil's payment for the high privilege of painting her;
a privilege how reluctantly accorded none but himself had ever
known. And behold his reward: her ever-visible presence the
girl-child who had been altogether his own.
Hoofs at last and the remembered voice; deeper, more com-
manding; the embroidered curtain pushed aside. Then Roy
himself, broader, browner; his father's smile in his eyes; and,
permeating all, the spirit of his mother, clearly discernible to the
man who had given it life.
He was on his feet now, an imposing figure, in loose white rai-
ment and purple choga. In India, he wisely discarded English
dress, deeming it as unsuitable to the country as English politi-
cal machinery. Silent, he held out his arms and folded Roy in
a close embrace: then still silent stood away and consid-
ered him afresh. Their mutual emotion affected them sensibly,
like the presence of a third person, making them shy of each
other, shy of themselves.
It was Sir Lakshman who spoke first. " Roy, son of my Heart's
Delight, I have waited many years for this day. It was the hid-
den wish of her heart. And her spirit, though withdrawn, still
works in our lives. It is only so with those who love greatly,
without base mixture of jealousy or greed. They pass on yet
they remain; untouched by death, like the lotus, that blooms in
the water, but opens beyond its reach."
Words and tone so stirred Roy that tears filled his eyes. And
suddenly, through the mist of his grief, dawned a vision of his
190 FAR TO SEEK
mother's face. Blurred and tremulous, it hovered before him with
a startling illusion of life: then he knew . . .
Without a word, he went over to the picture and stood before
it, drowned fathoms deep . . .
A slight movement behind roused him; and with an effort he
turned away. "I've not seen' a big one since since my last
time at Home," he said simply. "I've only two small ones out
here."
The carven face was not impassive now. "After all, Dilkusha,
what matter pictures, when you have herself? "
Roy started. "It's true. I have herself. How could you
know?"
Five minutes later, he was sitting beside his grandfather, on
the deep divan, telling him all ...
Before setting out, he would not have believed it possible. But
instinctively he knew himself in touch with a quality of love that
matched his own; and the mere telling revived the marvel, the
thrill of that strange and beautiful experience at Chitor . . .
Sir Lakshman had neither moved nor spoken throughout.
Now their eyes met in a look of deep understanding.
"I am very proud you told me, Roy. It is not easy."
"No. I've not told anyone else. I couldn't. But just now
something seemed to draw it all out of me. I suppose some-
thing in you "
"Or perhaps herself? It almost seemed she was here
with us, while you talked."
" Perhaps she is here still."
Their voices were lowered, as in the presence of sacred things.
Never, till now, had Roy so keenly felt his individual link with
this wonderful old man, whose blood ran in his veins.
"Grandfather," he asked after a pause, "I suppose it doesn't
often happen that sort of thing? I suppose most common-
sense people would dismiss it all as sheer delusion? "
The young simplicity of the question lit a smile in Sir Laksh-
man's eyes.
"Quite possible. All that is most beautiful in life, most real to
saints and lovers, must seem delusion to those whose hearts and
PISGAH HEIGHTS 191
spirits are merely vassals to the body and the brain. But those
who say of the soul, 'It is not,' have still to prove it is not to those
who have felt and known. Also I grant the other way about.
But they speak in different languages. Kabir says, 'I disclose my
soul in what is hidden.' And again, 'The bird is beyond seeking,
yet it is most clearly visible.' For us, that is living truth. For
those others, a mere tangle of words."
"I see." Roy's gaze was riveted on the picture above the
writing-table. "You can't explain colours to the colour-blind.
And I suppose experiences like mine only come to those for
whom words like that are living truth? "
"Yes like yours. But there are other kinds; not always
true. Because, hi this so sacred matter clever people, without
scruple, have made capital out of the heart's natural longing;
and the dividing line is dim where falsehood ends and truth be-
gins. So it has all come into suspicion and contempt. Accept
what is freely given, Roy. Do not be tempted to try and snatch
more."
"No no. I wouldn't if I could." A pause. " You believe it
is true . . . what I feel? That she is often very near me? "
Sir Lakshman gravely inclined his head. "As I believe in
Brahma, Lord of all."
And for both the silence that fell seemed pulsating with her
unseen presence . . .
When they spoke again it was of mundane things. Roy vividly
described his sensations, riding through the city; the culminat-
ing incident, and his recognition of the offender.
"The queerest thing, running into the beggar again like that!
He looks as sulky and shifty as ever. That's how I knew."
"Sulky and shifty and wearing English clothes?" Sir
Lakshman's brows contracted sharply. "What name did you
say?"
"Chandranath, we called him."
"And you don't know his whereabouts?"
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't suppose his whereabouts mattered
a damn to anyone."
The stern old Rajput smiled. It did his heart good to hear the
192 FAR TO SEEK
familiar slang phrases again. "Whether it matters a damn as
you say depends on whether he is the undesirable I have in
mind. Quite young; but much influence, and a bad record.
Mixed up with German agents, before the War, and the Ghadr
party in California; arrested for seditious activity and deported:
but of course, on appeal, allowed to return. Always the same
tale. Always the same result. Worse mischief done. And India
the true India must be grateful for these mercies! Some-
times I think the irony is too sharp between the true gifts given,
unnoticed, by Englishmen working sincerely for the good of our
people; and the false gifts proclaimed from the house-tops, filling
loyal Indians with bewilderment and fear. I have had letters
from scores of these, because I am known to believe that loyal
allegiance to British Government gives India the best chance for
peaceful progress she is likely to have for many generations.
And from everyone comes the same cry, begging to be saved from
this crazy nightmare of Home Rule, not understood and not de-
sired except by those who invented it. But what appeal is possi-
ble to those who stop their ears? And all the time, by stealthy
and open means, the poison of race-hatred is being poured into
India's veins "
"But, Grandfather what about the War and pulling
together and all that?"
Sir Lakshman's smile struck Roy as one of the saddest he had
ever seen. "Four years ago, my dear boy, we all had many
radiant illusions. But this War has dragged on too long. It is
too far away. For our Princes and warlike races it has had some
reality. For the rest it means mostly news in the papers and
rumours in bazaars, high prices and trouble about food. No
better soil for sowing evil seeds. And friends of Germany are
still working in India remember that ! While the loyal were
fighting, these were talking, plotting, hindering: and now they
are waving, like a flag, the services of others, to gain their own
ends, from which the loyal pray to be delivered! Could irony be
more complete? Indian Princes can keep some check on these
gentlemen. But it is not always easy. If this Chandranath
should be the same man he is here, no doubt, for Dewali. At
PISGAH HEIGHTS 193
sacred feasts they do most of their devil's work. Did you speak
of connection with me? "
"No. But he seemed to know about Aruna: said you were
English-mad."
Sir Lakshman frowned. "English-mad! That is their jargon.
Too narrow to understand how I can deeply love both countries,
while remaining as jealous for all true rights of my Motherland
as any hothead who swallows their fairy-tales of a Golden Age,
and England as Raksha destroying demon! By help of such
inventions, they have /deluded many fine young men, like my
poor Dyan, who should be already married and working to fill my
place. Such was my hope in sending him to Oxford. And now
see the result ..."
On that topic he could not yet trust himself; and Roy, leaning
forward impulsively, laid a hand on his knee.
" Grandfather, I have promised Aruna and I promise you
that somehow, I will get hold of him; and bring him back to his
senses."
Sir Lakshman covered the hand with his own. "True son
of Lilamani! But I fear he may have joined some secret so-
ciety; and India is a large haystack hi which to seek one human
needle!"
"But Aruna has written again. She is convinced he will
answer."
Sir Lakshman sighed. "Poor Aruna! I am not sure if I was
altogether wise letting her go to the Residency. But I am deeply
grateful to Mrs. Leigh. India needs many more such English
women. By making friends with high-born Indian women, it is
hardly too much to say they might, together, mend more than
half the blunders made by men on both sides."
Thus, skilfully, he steered clear of Aruna's problem that was
linked with matters too intimately painful for discussion with
a grandson, however dear.
So absorbed was Roy hi the delight of reunion, that not till he
rose to go did he take in the details of the lofty room. Every-
where Indian workmanship was in evidence. The pictures were
old Rajput paintings; fine examples of Vaishnava art pure
194 FAR TO SEEK
Hindu, in its mingling of restraint and exuberance, of tenderness
and fury; its hallowing of all life and idealising of all love. Only
the writing-table and swivel chair were frankly of the West, and
certain shelves full of English books and reviews.
"I like your room," Roy announced after leisurely inspection.
"But I don't seem to remember "
"You would be a miracle if you did! The room you saw had
plush curtains, gilt mirrors, and gilt furniture; in fact, the correct
'English-fashion' guest-room of the educated Indian gentleman.
But of late years, I have seen how greatly we were mistaken,
making imitation England to honour our English friends. Some
frankly told me how they were disappointed to find in our houses
only caricatures of middle-class England or France. Such rooms
are silent barriers to friendship: proclaiming that East may go to
the West, but West cannot come to the East."
"In a way that's true, isn't it?"
"Yes in a way. This room, of course, is not like my inner
apartments. It is like myself, however; cultivated but still
Indian. It is my way of preaching true Swadeshi : Be your
own self, even with English guests. But so far I have few follow-
ers. Some are too foolishly fond of their mirrors and chandeliers
and gramophones. Some will not believe such trifles can affect
friendliness. Yet strange, but true too much Anglicising
of India, instead of drawing us nearer, seems rather to widen the
gulf."
Roy nodded. "I've heard that. Yet most of us are so keen
to be friends. Queer, perverse things, human beings aren't
they?"
"And for that reason, more interesting than all the wonders
of Earth!" Setting both hands on Roy's shoulders, he looked
deeply into his eyes. "Come and see me often, Dilkusha. It lifts
my tired heart to have this very human being so near me again."
Ten minutes later Roy was riding homeward through a changed
city; streets and hills and sky wrapped in the mystery of en-
croaching dusk.
South and west the sky flamed, like the heart of a fire opal,
PISGAH HEIGHTS 195
through a veil fine as gauze dust no longer; but the aura of
Jaipur. Seen afar, through the coloured gloom, familiar shapes
took on strange outlines; moved and swayed, mysteriously de-
tached, in a sea of shadows, scattered, here and there, by flames
of little dinner fires along the pavements. The brilliant, shifting
crowd of two hours ago seemed to have sunk into the earth. For
there is no night life in the streets of Jaipur. Travellers had
passed on and out. Merchants had stowed away then* muslins
and embroideries, their vessels of brass and copper and priceless
enamels. Only the starving lay in huddled heaps as before
ominously still; while above them vultures and eagles circled,
expectant, ink-black against the immense radiance beyond.
Grey, deepening to black, were flat roofs, cornices, minarets, and
massed foliage, and the flitting shadows, with lifted tails, that
careered along the house-tops; or perched on some jutting angle,
skinny elbows crooked, absorbed in the pursuit of fleas. For sun-
set is the monkeys' hour, and the eerie gibbering of these imps of
darkness struck a bizarre note in the hush that shrouded the
city.
Roy knew, now, why Thea had stayed his impatience; and
he blessed her sympathetic understanding. But, just then
steeped in India at her most magical hour it was hard to be-
lieve in the Residency household; in English dinner-tables and
English detachment from the mediaeval medley of splendour and
squalor, of courage and cruelty and dumb endurance, of arts and
crafts and all the paraphernalia of enlightened knowledge that
was Jaipur. It seemed more like a week than a few hours since
he had turned in the saddle to salute Aruna and ridden out into
another world: her world, which was also in a measure his
own . . .
On and on he rode, at a foot's pace, followed by his twin shad-
ows; past the temples of Maha Deo, still rosy where they faced
the west still rumbling and throbbing with muffled music; past
wayside shrines; mere alcoves for grotesque images Shiva,
Lord, of Death, or Ganesh, the Elephant God each with his
scented garlands and his flickering chirdgh; past shadowy groups
round the dinner fires, cooking their evening meal: on and out
196 FAR TO SEEK
through the double fortified gateways into the deserted road, his
whole being drenched in the silence and the deepening dusk.
Here, outside the city, emptiness loomed almost like a pres-
ence. Only the trees were alive; each with its colony of peacocks
and parrots and birds of prey noisily settling to rest. The pea-
cocks' unearthly cry and the far, ghostly laugh of jackals au-
thentic voice of India at sundown sent a chill down Roy's
spine. For he, who had scarcely known fear on the battle-field,
was ignominiously at the mercy of imagination and the eerie
spirit of the hour.
At a flick of the reins, Suraj broke into a smart canter, will-
ingly enough, What were sunsets or local devils to him compared
with stables and gram? 1
And as they sped on, as trees on either side slid by like stealthy
ghosts, the sunset splendour died, only to rise again in a volcanic
afterglow, on which trunks and twigs and battlemented hills
were printed in daguerreotype; and desert voices were drowned
in clamour of cicadas, grinding their knives in foolish ecstasy;
and, at last, he swerved between the friendly gate-posts of the
Residency the richer for a spiritual adventure that could
neither be imparted, nor repeated, nor forgotten while he lived.
1 Parched corn.
CHAPTER VII
The deepest thing in our nature is this dumb region of the heart,
where we dwell alom with our willingnesses and unwillingnesses,
our faiths and our fears,
WILLIAM JAMES
NOT least among the joys of Aruna's return to the freer life of
the Residency was her veiy own verandah balcony. Here, secure
from intrusion, she could devote the first and last hours of her
day to meditation 01 prayer. Oxford studies had confused a
little, but not killed, the faith of her fathers. The real trouble
was that, too often, nowadays, that exigent heart of hers would
intrude upon her sacred devotions, transforming them into day-
dreams, haloed with a hope the more frankly formulated because
she was of the East.
For Thea had guessed aright. Roy was the key to her waver-
ings, her refusals, her eager acceptance of the emergency plan:
welcome in itself; still more welcome because it permitted her
simply to await his coming.
They had been very wonderful, those five years in England;
in spite of anxieties and disappointed hopes. But when Dydn
departed and Mesopotamia engulfed Roy, India had won the
day. How unforgettable that exalted moment of decision, one
drenched and dismal winter evening; the sudden craving for
sights and sounds and smells of her own land! How slow the
swiftest steamer to the speed of her racing thoughts! How bitter,
beyond belief, the first faint chill of disappointment; the pang of
realising how reluctantly! that, within herself, she belonged
whole-heartedly to neither world !
She had returned qualified for medical work, by her experience
in a College hospital at Oxford; yet hampered by an innate
shrinking from the sick and maimed, who had been too much
with her in those years of war. Not less innate was the urge of
her whole being to fulfil her womanhood through marriage
198 FAR TO SEEK
rather than through work. And in the light of that discovery, she
saw her dilemma plain. Either she must hope to marry an Eng-
lishman and break with India, like Aunt Lilamani; or accept, at
the hands of the matchmaker, an enlightened bridegroom, un-
seen, unknown, whose family would overlook at a price
her advanced age and English adventures.
Against the last, all that England and Oxford had given her
rose up in revolt. ... But the discarded, subconscious Aruna was
centuries older than the half-fledged being who hovered on the
rim of the nest, distrustful of her untried wings and the pathless
sky. That Aruna had, for ally, the spirit of the ages; more for-
midable, if less assertive, than the transient spirit of the age.
And the fledgeling Aruna knew perfectly well that the English-
man of her alternative was, confessedly Roy. His mother
being Indian, she innocently supposed there would be no trouble
of prejudice; no stupid talk of the gulf that she and Dyan had
set out to bridge. That Dyan had failed only made her the more
anxious to succeed. . . .
Soon after arriving she had taken up hospital work in the
woman's ward because Miss Hammond was kind; and her edu-
cated self had need of occupation. Her other self deeply lov-
ing her grandfather had urged her to try and live at home; so
far as her unregenerate state would permit.
As out-of-caste, she had been exempt from kitchen work; de-
barred from touching any food except the portion set aside for
her meals, that were eaten apart in Sir Lakshman's room her
haven of refuge. In the Inside, she was at the mercy of women's
tongues and the petty tyranny of Mataji; antagonistic as ever;
sharpened and narrowed with age, even as her grandfather had
mellowed and grown beautiful, with the unearthly beauty of the
old, whose spirit shines visibly through the attenuated veil of
flesh. Aruna, watching him, with clearer understanding, mar-
velled how he had preserved his serenity of soul through a life-
time of Mataji's dominion.
And the other women relations in various degrees took
their tone from her, if only for the sake of peace: the widowed
sister-in-law, suavely satirical; a great-aunt, whose tongue clacked
PISGAH HEIGHTS 199
like a rice-busker; two cousins, correctly betrothed to unseen
bridegrooms, entitled to look askance at the abandoned one, who
was neither wife nor mother; and two children of a poor relation
embryo women, who echoed the jeers of their elders at her
English friends, her obstinacy in the matter of caste and the
inevitable husband. Hai! Hai! At her age, what did she fear?
Had the English bewitched her with lies? Thus Peru, aged nine,
jocosely proceeding to enlighten her; egged on by giggles and
high-pitched laughter from the prospective brides. For in the
senana reticence is not, even before children. Ariina herself had
heard such talk; but for years her early knowledge had lain dor-
mant; while fastidiousness had been engendered by English
studies and contact with English youth. Useless to answer. It
simply meant tears or losing her temper; in which case, Mataji
would retaliate by doctoring her food with red pepper to sweeten
her tongue.
Meantime sharpened pressure in the matter of caste rites, and
rumours of an actually maturing husband, had brought her very
near the end of her tether. Again Thea was right. Her brave
impulse of the heart had only been just in time. And hard upon
that unbelievable good fortune followed the news that Roy was
coming.
Tremulously at first, then with quickening confidence, her
happy nature rose like a sea-bird out of troubled waters, on the
wings of a secret hope . . .
And now he was here, under this friendly roof that sheltered
her from the tender mercies of her own kind. There were almost
daily meetings, however brief, and the after-glow of them when
past; all the well-remembered tricks of speech and manner; and
the twinkle of fun in his eyes. Lapped in an ecstasy of content,
hope scarcely stirred a wing. Enough that he was there
Great was her joy when Mrs. Leigh after scolding him in the
kindest way over the girl mother and two more starving rhildrui,
picked up afterwards had given her leave to take special charge
of them and lodged them with the dhobi's wife. This also brought
her nearer to Roy. And what could she ask more?
eoo FAR TO SEEK
But with the approach of the Dewdli, thoughts of the future
came flocking like birds at sundown. Because, on Dewali-night,
all tried their luck in some fashion; and Mai Lakshmi's answer
failed not. The men tossed coin or dice. The maidens, at sunset,
when the little wind of evening stirred the waters, carried each
her chirdgh lamp of her life and set it afloat on tank or
stream, praying Mai Lakshmi to guide it safe across. If the
prayer was heard, omens were favourable. If the lamp should
sink, or be shattered, omens were evil. And the centuries-old
Aruna still at the mercy of dasttir had secretly bought her
little chirdgh secretly resolved to try her fate on the night of
nights. If the answer were unfavourable and courage failed
her there was always one way of escape. The water that put
out her lamp would as carelessly put out the flame of her life; in
a little moment; without pain . . .
A small shiver convulsed her kneeling there in her balcony;
her bare arms resting on the balustrade. The new Aruna shrank
from thought of death. She craved the fulness of life and love
kisses and rapture and the clinging arms of little children . . .
For as she knelt in the moonlight, nominally she was invoking
Mai Lakshmi; actually she was dreaming of Roy; chiding herself
for the foolishness that had kept her from appearing at dinner:
hoping he might wonder, and think of her a little wishing her
there. But perhaps he was simply not noticing not caring at
all
Stung by the thought, she clenched her hands and lifted her
bowed head. Then she started and caught her breath
Could it be he, down there among the shadows; wandering,
dreaming, thinking of her, or making poems? She knew most of
his slim volume by heart. More likely he was framing bold plans
to find Dydn now the answer to her letter had come. It was
a strange, unsatisfying answer; full of affection, but too full of
windy phrases that she was shrewd enough to recognise as mere
echoes from those others, who had ensnared him in a web of
words.
"Fear not for me, sister of my heart," he wrote. "Rejoice
because I am dedicated to service of the Mother, that she may
PISGAH HEIGHTS 201
be released from political bondage and shine again in her ancient
glory; no longer exploited by foreigners, who imagine that with
bricks and stones they can lock up Veda eternal truth! The
gods have spoken. It is time. Kali rises in the East, with her
necklet of skulls giants of evil she has slain. It is she who
speaks through the voice of our patriot: 'Do not wall up your
vision, like frogs in a well Rise above the Penal Code into
the rarefied atmosphere of the Gita and consider the actions of
heroic men.'
" You ask if I still love Roy? Why not? He is of our own blood
and a very fine fellow. But I don't write now because he would
not understand my fervour of soul. So don't you take all his
opinions for gospel; like my grandfather's, they are well meant,
but obsolete. If only you had courage, Aruna-ji, to accept the
enlightened husband, who might not keep you in strict purdah,
then we could work together for liberation of the Mother. ' Sing
Bande Mataram, 1 forty thousand brothers! ' That is our battle-
cry. And one of those is your own fond brother Dyan Singh."
Aruna had read and re-read that bewildering effusion till tears
fell and blotted the words. Could this be the same Dyan who had
known and loved England even as she did? His eloquence some-
how failed to carry conviction. To her, the soul of new India
seemed like a book full of contradictions, written in many
strange languages, hard to read. But behind that tangle of
words beat the heart of Dyan the brother who was her all.
Still no address was given. But Roy had declared the Delhi
post-mark sufficient clue. Directly Dewali was over, he would
go. And, by every right impulse, she ought to be more glad than
sad. But the heart, like the tongue, can no man tame. And
sometimes his eagerness to go hurt her a little. Was he thinking
of Delhi down there or of her ?
The shadow had turned and was moving towards her. There
was a white splash of shirt-front, the glow of a cigarette.
Suddenly his pace quickened. He had seen her. Next moment
he was standing under her balcony. His low-pitched voice came
distinctly to her ears.
Hail, Mother!
202 FAR TO SEEK
"Good evening Juliet! Quit your dreaming. Come and be
sociable down here."
Delicious tremors ran through her. Much too bold, going
down in the dark. But how to resist?
"I think better not," she faltered, incipient surrender in
her tone. "You see not coming down to dinner ... Mrs.
Leigh..."
"Bother Mrs. Leigh. I've got a ripping inspiration about
Delhi. Hurry up. I'll be by the steps."
Then he had been thinking of Delhi. But he wanted her now;
and the note of command extinguished hesitation. Slipping on
a cloak, she reached the verandah without meeting a soul. He put
out a hand. Purely on impulse, she gave him her left one; and
he conducted her down the steps with mock ceremony, as if lead-
ing her out to tread a measure to unheard strains of the viola and
spinet. Happiness ran like wine in her veins: and catching his
mood she swept him a curtsy, English fashion.
"Fit for the Queen's Drawing-Room ! " he applauded; and she
smiled up at him under her straight lashes. "Why didn't you
appear at dinner? Is it just a whim hiding your light under
a bushel? Or do you get headaches and heartaches working in
the ward, and feel out of tune with our frivol?"
The solicitude in his tone was worth many headaches and
heartaches to hear again. But with him she could not pretend.
"No not headaches!" she said, treading the grass beside
him, as if it were a moonlit cloud. "Only sometimes ... I am
foolish not inclined for so many faces; and all the lights and
the talk."
He nodded. "I know that feeling. The same strain in us, I
suppose. But, look here, about Dyan. It suddenly struck me
I'd have ten times better chance if I went as an Indian. I can
talk the language to admiration. What d'you think?"
She caught her breath. A vision of him, so transformed,
seemed to bring him surprisingly nearer. "But how exciting!
How bold!"
"Yes but not impossible. If I could lodge with someone
who knew, I believe I could pull it through. Grandfather might
PISGAH HEIGHTS 203
arrange that. It would give me a chance to get in among Dydn'3
set and hear things. Don't breathe a word to anyone. I must
talk it all over with Grandfather."
"Oh! I would love to see you turned into a Rajput," she
breathed.
" You shall see me. I'll come and make my salaams and ask
your blessing on my venture."
"And I will make prasad for your journey!" Her unveiled
eyes met his frankly now. "A portion for Dydn too. It may
speak to his heart louder than words."
"Prasad/ What's that?"
"Food prepared and consecrated by touch of mother or sister
or or nearest woman relation. And by absence of those others
... it is ... my privilege "
"My privilege. I wouldn't forego it for a kingdom." Such
patent sincerity in the reverent quiet of his tone that she was
speechless.
For less than half an hour they strolled on that moon-enchanted
lawn. Nothing was said by either that the rest might not have
heard. Yet it was a transfigured Aruna who approached the
verandah, where Thea stood awaiting them; having come out to
look for Roy and found the clue to his prolonged meditations.
"What have you been plotting, you two?" she asked lightly
when they reached her. To Roy her eyes said: "D'you call
this being discreet?" To Aruna her lips said: "Graceless one!
I thought you were purdah nashin this evening!"
" So she was," Roy answered for her. "I'm the culprit. I in-
sisted. Some details about my Delhi trip I wanted to talk over."
Thea wrinkled her forehead. "Roy you mustn't. It's a
crazy plan "
"Pardon me an inspired plan!" He drew himself up half
an inch, the better to look down on her. "Nothing on earth can
put me off it except Grandfather. And I know he'll back
me up."
"In that case, I won't waste valuable verbal ammunition on
you! Come along in. We're going to have music."
But as Roy moved forward, Aruna drew back. "Please '
204 FAR TO SEEK
I would rather go to bed now. And please, forgive, little
Mother," she murmured caressingly. For this great-hearted
English woman seemed mother, indeed, to her now.
For answer Thea took her by the shoulders and kissed her
on both cheeks. "Not guilty this tune, pidri. 1 But don't do it
again!"
Roy's hand closed hard on hers, but he said not a word. And
she was glad.
Alone again on her balcony, gladness rioted through all her
being. Yet nothing had really happened. Nothing had been
said. Only everything felt different inside. Of such are life's
supreme moments. They come without flourish of trumpets;
touch the heart or the lips with fire; and pass on ...
While undressing, an impulse seized her to break her little
chirdgh and treasure the pieces in memory of to-night. Why
trouble Mai Lakshmi with a question already half answered?
But, lost in happy thoughts, inwoven with delicate threads of
sound from Thea's violin, she forgot all about it, till the
warmth of her cheek nestled against the cool pillow. Too deli-
ciously lazy and comfortable to stir, she told her foolish heart
that to-morrow morning would do quite as well.
But the light of morning dimmed, a little, her mood of exalted
assurance. Habit and superstition prevailed over that so arro-
gant impulse, and the mystic chirdgh of destiny was saved
for another fate.
1 Darling.
CHAPTER VIII
The forces that fashion, the hands that mould,
Are the winds fire-laden, lite sky, the rain:
They are gods no more, but their spells remain.
Sm ALFRED LYALL
DEWALI-NIGHT at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sun-
down awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its qual-
ity of miracle . . .
For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides,
turning out little clay chirdghs, by the thousand, that none might
fail of honouring Mai Lakshmi a compound of Minerva and
Ceres worshipped alike in the living gold of fire and the dead
gold of minted coin. And all day long there had ebbed and flowed
through the temple doors a rainbow-coloured stream of wor-
shippers: while the dust-laden air vibrated with jangle of metal
bells, wail of conches, and raucous clamour of crows. Within-
doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells. Young or old,
none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this auspicious
day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and freshly
plastered with cow-dung in honour of Vishnu's bride; and con-
spicuous among festal shop-fronts was the gay assemblage of
toys. For the Feast of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewilder-
ing variety; toys in sugar, in paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or
gorgeously painted with colours such as never were on ox or ele-
phant, fish or bird. What matter? To the uncritical Eastern
eye, colour is all.
And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was
spilled abroad in the wide main streets that are an arresting fea-
ture of Jaipur. Men, women, and children, in gala turbans and
gala draperies, laughing and talking at full pitch of then- lungs;
gala elephants sheathed in cloth of gold, their trunks and fore-
heads patterned in divers colours; scarlet outriders clearing a
pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to and fro like
206 FAR TO SEEK
a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate and apricot,
copper and flame-colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable
harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Laksh-
man told Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay.
Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with
his grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an
airy minaret on the roof-top. Then home to the Residency for
tea, only to insist on carrying them all back in the car Thea,
Aruna, Flossie, and the children, who must have their share of
strange sweets and toys, if only 'for luck,' the watchword of
Dewali.
As for Aruna to-day everything in the world seemed to
hang on the frail thread of those two words. And what of to-
night . . . ?
All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence
on the cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a pri-
vate confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group
of maidens who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate.
She was other than they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a be-
ing apart. And for most of them it was little more than a 'game of
play.' For her but that she kept to herself this symbolical
act of faith, this childish appeal for a sign, was a matter of life
and death. So to her chosen angle of the tank, she would go
alone; and there unwatched, save by Dewali lights of earth
and heaven she would confide her lamp to the waters and the
lively breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness.
But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewali
crowd. In Dyan's absence, he claimed the right to accompany
her, to be somewhere within hail. Having shed the Eastern pro-
tection of purdah, she must accept the Western protection of
escort. And straightway there sprang an inspiration ; he would
wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every detail, at Sir
Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed on
the Delhi adventure which his grandfather happily approved,
with what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy
did not even dimly guess.
At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city
PISGAH HEIGHTS 207
and finish up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace.
That would be Aruna's moment for slipping away. Roy hav-
ing slipped away in advance would rejoin her at a given spot.
And then ?
The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill
of his presence, conjured into one of her own people . . .
Sundown, at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was
an ecstasy no possible after-pain or disappointment could dun.
As the flaming tint of sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck
upward into the blue, buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas
seemed to melt into the landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert
dust.
Then the first flickering points of fire primrose-pale, in
the half light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the
east, and the little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own
volition, so skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work.
From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony, they ran: till
vanished Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured:
cupolas, arches, balconies, and temples, Palace of the Maharaja
and lofty Hall of the Winds every detail faultlessly traced on
darkness, in delicate, tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there
illusion was shattered by garish globes of electric light, dim-
ming the mellow radiance of thousands on thousands of modest
chir&ghs.
Aruna had seen many Dewali-nights hi her tune; but never at
a moment so charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed,
she sat by Thea in the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite;
Phyllis on her mother's knee; the others in the car on ahead
including a tourist of note outriders before and behind, clear-
ing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging on his feet,
was lost in wonder. Roy, like Aruna, said little. Only Thea kept
up a low npple of talk with her babe . . .
By now not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills,
where bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coronets twinkled on
bastions of the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve
and line of Jai Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage,
208 FAR TO SEEK
the crowd swayed and hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; in-
toxicated with the spirit of festival, that found an echo in Aruna's
heart and rioted in her veins. To-night she felt merged in India,
Eastern to the core; capable, almost, of wondering could she
put it away from her, even at the bidding of Roy ?
On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the
Man Sagar Lake, where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and
gleamed, knee deep in the darkling water; where jackals prowled
and cranes nested and muggers dozed unheeding. At a point of
vantage above the Lake, they halted and sat awhile in dark-
ness a group of silent shadows. Words did not meet the
case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered
no sound: for she had fallen asleep.
Aruna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in
a dream . . .
Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's
coat-sleeve. He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect
and was probably not aware of his trespassing arm; for he did not
shift it till he had gazed his fill. Then, with a long sigh, he leaned
back again. But Aruna's dream was shattered by sensations too
startlingly real to be ignored . . .
Once, driving back, as they passed under an electric globe, she
caught his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he
know ? Did he ever feel like that?
Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy
leaned towards her.
"I'll be quick as lightning don't stir till I come," he said
and vanished.
Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled
darkness, awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between
her hands. She had brought it with her, complete; matches and
a tiny bottle of oil, stowed in a cardboard box. Mrs. Leigh
angel of goodness had lit the wick with her own hand 'for
luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, she had
no idea. But who could resist him after all? Waiting alone,
her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, ar-
PISGAH HEIGHTS 209
rayed in a choga of some dark material and the larger turban of
the North; so changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted
and, with a gesture, bade her go forward.
Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings
they passed: and there lay before them the great tank patterned
with quivering threads of light. Her chosen comer was an un-
frequented spot. A little farther on, shadowy figures moved and
talked.
"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they
were conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there
making the mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge
new birth. I am only afraid it is getting a little too strong. And
if anything should hinder it from crossing, then there is no
answer. Suspense all the time. But we will hope. Now,
please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this building, few will
notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But don't go too
far."
"Trust me. And see here, Aruna, don't make too much of
it either way. Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immor-
tals "
"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!"
Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she
plays up royally."
And with a formal salute, he left her.
Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her cockle-
shell with its blown wisp of light. "0 Lamp of my life, flame of
my heart," she addressed it, just above her breath. "Sail safely
through the wavelets and answer truly what fate awaits me
now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave? "
With a gentle push she set it afloat; then, kneeling close
against the building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and
prayed, childish, incoherent prayers, for some solution of her
difficult problem that would be best, alike, for her and Roy.
But curiosity was clamant. She must see she must know
Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low
abutment, all her conscious being centred on the adventuring
flame that swayed and curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The
2IO FAR TO SEEK
effect of her concentration was almost hypnotic: as if her soul,
deserting her still body, flickered away there on the water; as if
every threat of wind or wavelet struck at her very life ...
Footsteps passed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached
her brain. The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two
ripples almost capsized her chirdgh. It dipped it vanished . . .
With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her bal-
ance, and would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fin-
gers closed on her arm and pulled her backward just in time.
"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the
water _'f or the precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there
jt jg safe . 1 "
"But what of you, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the
fate of your Dewali lamp?"
The words were spoken in the vernacular and not ]
voice of Roy. Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less
than middle height, bareheaded, wearing the orange pink draper-
ies of an ascetic. In the half dark she could just discern the col-
our and the necklace of carved beads that hung almost to his
"I am most grateful, guru-ji" l she murmured demurely ,_ also
in the vernacular; and stood so shaken a little by her fright:
unreasonably disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that
the providential intruder chanced to be a holy man^ "Will you
not speed my brave little lamp with your blessing? "
His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly
seen, lacked the unmistakeable stamp of the ascetic.
"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing
thus boldly and alone ..."
The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged,
she answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, guru-ji.^
am _ England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste."
He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then
" Frankness for frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no guru;
but like yourself, England-returned; caste restored, however.
Dedicated to service of the Mother -
1 Holy man.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 211
It was her turn to start and scrutinise him discreetly. " Yet
you make pretence of holiness ? "
"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the
note of reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons and
daughters. These clothes are passports to all, and wearing them
in her service is no dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I
might not have ventured near enough to save you from making
a feast for the muggers just for this superstition of Dewali
not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford. Was it Oxford?"
"Yes."
"Is it possible ?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her
frankly, almost boldly. "Am I addressing the accomplished
daughter of Ram Singh Bahadur ? "
At that she pulled her sari forward, turning away from him.
His look and tone repelled her, frightened her; yet she could not
call for Roy, who was playing his part too scrupulously well.
"Go ! Leave me ! " she commanded desperately, louder than
she had spoken yet. "I am not ungrateful. But making
pujah 1 I wish to be alone "
His chuckling laugh sent a shiver through her.
" Why these airs of the zenana with one enlightened like
yourself . . . ? "
He broke off and retreated abruptly. For a shadowy figure
had sauntered into view.
Anina sprang towards it zenana airs forgotten. " Roy ! "
"Did you call, Aruna?" he asked. "Thought I heard you,
This fellow bothering you ? I'll settle him Turning he
said politely: "My cousin is here, under my escort, to make
pujah, guru-ji. She wishes to be alone."
"Your cousin, except for my timely intrusion, would by this
time be permanently secure from interruption in the belly of
a mugger," retorted the supposed ascetic in English.
Roy started and stared. The voice was unmistakeable.
" Chandranath! Masquerading as a saint? You are no guru"
"And you are no Rajput. You also appear to be masquerading
as a lover, perhaps? Quite useless trying to fool me, Sinclair,
1 Prayer.
212 FAR TO SEEK
with play-acting about cousins. In my capacity of guru I feel
compelled to warn this accomplished young lady that her fine
cavalier is only a sham Rajput of British extraction ..."
"Sliam curse you! I'm a genuine Seesodia on one
side " The instant he had spoken, he saw his folly.
"Oho half-caste only ! "
An oath and a threatening forward move impelled the speaker
to an undignified step backward. Roy cooled a little at that.
The fellow was beneath contempt.
" I am of highest caste, English and Indian. I admit no slur
in the conjunction, and I take no insults from any man
He made another forward move, purely for the pleasure of seeing
Chandranath jerk backward. "If my cousin was in danger, we
are grateful to you. But I told you, she wishes to be alone. So
I must ask you to move on elsewhere."
"Oh, as to that I have no violent predilection for your
society."
And, as he sauntered off, with an elaborate air of pleasing no
one but himself, Roy kept pace alongside "For all the world,"
he thought, "like Terry edging off an intruder. Too polite to
go for him; but quite prepared if need be!"
When they had turned the corner of the building, Chandra-
nath fired a parting shot. "I infer you came here fancying you
can marry her, because diluted blood of Seesodias runs in your
veins. But here in India you will find forces too powerful militat-
ing against it."
But Roy was not to be goaded again into letting slip his self-
control. "The men of my stock, British and Rajput, are not in
the habit of discussing their women-folk with strangers," said
he and flattered himself he had very neatly secured the last
word.
As for Aruna left alone she leaned again on the low
abutment, but the hypnotic spell was broken: only acute anxiety
remained. For the lamp of her life had made scant progress; and
now she was aware of a disturbance in the water, little ominous
whirlpools not caused by wind. Presently there emerged a long
PISGAH HEIGHTS ' 213
shadow, like a black expanse of rock: unmistakeably a mug-
ger. And in that moment she felt exquisitely grateful to the hand
that had seized her in the nick of time. The next she wrung
her own together with a low, shivering cry.
For as the brute rose into fuller view, her chirdgh rose with it
and so remained; stranded high and dry somewhere near the
horny shoulder; tilted sideways, she judged from the slope of the
flame; the oil, its life-blood, trickling away. And as the mugger
moved leisurely on, in the wrong direction, breaking up the gold
network of reflections, she had her answer or no answer. The
lamp was neither wrecked nor shattered ; but it would never, now,
reach the farther shore. Mai Lakshmi's face was turned away, in
simple indifference, from the plea of a mere waverer between two
worlds, who ventured to set her lamp on the waters, not so much
in faith as in a mute gesture of despair . . .
She came very near despair, as she crouched sobbing there in
the shadow not entirely for the fate of her lamp, but in simple
reaction from the mingled excitements and emotions of the eve-
ning . . .
It was only a few minutes though it seemed an age be-
fore she felt Roy's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice,
troubled and tender beneath its surface note of command.
"Aruna what the get up. Don't cry like that you
mustn't"
She obeyed instinctively; and stood there, like a chidden child,
battling with her sobs.
"Where's the thing? What's happened?" he asked, seeming
to disregard her effort at control.
" There over there. Look ... the mugger! "
"Mugger?" He sighted it "Well, I'm the thieving
brute!" Humour lurked in his voice more tonic than sym-
pathy; yet in a sense, more upsetting. Her tragedy had Its vein
of the ludicrous; and at his hint of it, tears trembled into laugh-
ter; laughter into tears. The impact unsteadied her afresh; and
she covered her face, again shaken with sobs.
"Aruna my dear you mustn't, I tell you " More
tenderness now than command.
214 FAR TO SEEK
She held her breath pain shot through with sudden ecstasy.
For in speaking he had laid an arm round her shoulder; just sup-
porting her with a firm, gentle grasp that sent tingling shocks
along all her sensitised nerves.
"Listen, Aruna and don't cry," he said, low and urgently.
"No answer always leaves room for hope. And you shall have
your Dyan, I promise you. I won't come back without him.
I can't say fairer than that. So now "his hand closed on her
shoulder. " Give over breaking your poor heart! "
Comforted a little, she uncovered her face. "I will try. Only to-
night I would rather not the Palace dinner, the fireworks.
I would rather go home with Miss Mills and the children
"And cry your eyes out all alone. And spoil the whole eve-
ning for us both. No, you don't. Remember you are Raj-
putni: not to be hag-ridden by a mere chirdgh and a thieving
mugger. No more tears and terrors. Look me in the face
and promise."
As usual, he was irresistible. What matter Mai Lakshmi's
indifference since he cared so much? "Faithfully I prom-
ise, Roy," she said; and, for proof of courage, looked straight into
his eyes that seemed mysteriously to hold and draw her into
depths beyond depths.
For one incredible moment, his face moved a little nearer to
hers paused, as if irresolute, and withdrew.
So brief was the instant, so slight the movement, that she
almost doubted her senses. But her inmost being knew and
ached, without shyness or shame, for the kiss withheld . . .
"You've the grit I knew it," Roy said at last, hi the level
voice that had puzzled her earlier in the evening: and his hand
slid from her shoulder. "Come now we've been too long.
Thea will be wondering . . .
He turned; and she moved beside him walking in a dream.
"Did you say much, before I came?" he asked, after a pause,
"to that fellow Chandranath? "
"I spoke a little thinking him a gwrw - " She paused. The
name woke a chord of memory. " Chandranath," she repeated -
" that is the name they said
PISGAH HEIGHTS 215
"Who?" Roy asked sharply, coming out of his own dream.
"Mataji and the widowed aunt "
"What do they know of him?"
"How can I tell? I think it was through our guru, he made
offer of marriage for me; wishing for an educated wife. I was
wondering could it be the same ? "
"Well, look here," he rounded on her, suddenly imperious.
" If it is you can tell them I won't have it. Grandfather would
be furious. He ought to know and Dy&n. Your menfolk don't
seem to get a look-in."
"Not much with marrying arrangements. That is for
women and priests. But for now, I am safe, with Mrs.
Leigh "
"And you'll stay safe as far as he's concerned. You see,
I know the fellow. He's the man I slanged in the city that day.
Besides at school "
He unfolded the tale of St. Rupert's; and she listened, amazed.
"So you needn't worry over that," he concluded, in his kind
elder-brotherly tone. "As for your poor little chirdgh, for good-
ness' sake, don't let it get on your nerves."
She sighed knowing it would ; yet longing to be worthy of
hun. It seemed he understood, for his hand closed lightly on
her arm.
"That won't do at all! If you feel quavery inside, try holding
your head an inch higher. Gesture's half the battle of life."
"Is it? I never thought " she murmured, puzzled, but im-
pressed. And after that, things somehow seemed easier than she
had thought possible over there by the tank.
Secure under Thea's wing, she drove to the Palace, where they
were royally entertained by an unseen host, who could not join
them at table without imperilling his soul. Later on, he appeared
grey-bearded, courtly, and extensively jewelled supported
by Sir Lakshman, the Prince, and a few privileged notaRs;
whereupon they all migrated to the Palace roof for the grand dis-
play of fireworks fitting finale to the Feast of Lights.
Throughout the evening Roy was seldom absent from Aruna's
side. They said little, but his presence wrapped her round with
2i6 FAR TO SEEK
a sense of companionship more intimate than she had yet felt
even in their happiest times together. While rocket after rocket
soared and curved and blossomed in mid-heaven, her gaze re-
verted persistently to the outline of a man's head and shoulders
silhouetted against the sky . . .
Still later on, when he bade her good-night, in the Residency
drawing-room, she moved away carrying her head like a crowned
queen. It certainly made her feel a few degrees braver than when
she had crouched in the shadows praying vain prayers shed-
ding vain tears . . .
If only one could keep it up r 1
CHAPTER IX
Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;
And if I turn from but one sin, I turn unto a smile of thine.
ALICE MEYNELL
FOR Roy himself, no less than Aruna, the passing of those golden
October weeks had been an experience as beautiful as it was
unique. The very beauty and bewilderment of it had blinded
him, at first, to the underlying danger for himself and her. Be-
wilderment sprang from an eerie sense vivid to the verge of
illusion that his mother was with him again in the person of
Aruna: a fancy enhanced by the fact that his entire knowl-
edge of Indian womanhood the turns of thought and phrase,
the charm, at once sensuous and spiritual was linked indisso-
lubly with her. And the perilous charm had penetrated insid-
iously deeper than he knew. By the time he realised what was
happening, the spell was upon him; his will held captive in
silken meshes he had not the heart to snap.
As often as not, in that early stage, he craved sight and sound
of her simply because she wore a sari and carried her head and
moved her hands just so; because her mere presence stirred him
with a thrill that blended exquisite pleasure, exquisite pain.
There were times he would contrive to be alone in the room with
her; not talking; not even looking at her because her face
disturbed the illusion; simply letting the feel of her presence
ease that inner ache subdued, not stilled for the mother
who had remained more vitally one with him than nine mother?
in ten are able, or willing, to remain with their grown-up sons.
Thea Leigh, watching unobtrusively, had caught a glimpse
of the strange dual influence at work in him. She had occasion-
ally seen him with his mother; and had gleaned some idea of
their unique relation; partly from Lance, partly from her intimate
218 FAR TO SEEK
link with her own Theo, half a world away; nearly eighteen now,
and eager to join up before all was over. So her troubled scrutiny
was tempered with a measure of understanding. Roy had always
attracted her. And now, unmothered the wound not yet
healed she metaphorically gathered him to her heart; would
have done so physically without hesitation, but that Vincent had
his dear and foolish qualms about her promiscuous capacity for
affection. But Aruna was her ewe lamb of the moment; and not
even Roy must be allowed to make things harder for her than they
were already. . . .
So, after scouting the Delhi idea as preposterous, she suddenly
perceived there might be virtue in it for Aruna. Possibly it
would glorify him in her eyes: but it would remove the fatal
charm of his presence; give her a chance to pull up, before things
had gone too far. Whereat, being Thea, she spun round unasham-
edly, to Roy's secret amusement and relief. All the Desmond in
her rose to the adventure of it. A risk, of course ; but there must be
no question of failure: and success would justify all. She was en-
tirely at his service; discussed details by the hour; put him "on
to Vinx" for coaching in the general situation underground
sedition; reformers, true and false; telling arguments for the re-
claiming of Dyan Singh.
To crown all between genuine relief and genuine affection
she impulsively kissed him on departure under Vincent's very
eyes.
"Just only to give you my blessing!" she explained, laughing
and blushing like a girl at her own audacity. "Words are the
stupidest, clumsy things. I'm sure life would be happier and less
complicated if we only had the sense to kiss more and talk
less!"
This in the presence of Aruna and her husband and her six-
year-old son!
Roy, deeply moved and a little overcome, nodded assent, while
Vincent took her by the arms and gently removed her from fur-
ther temptation.
"Where you'd be, Madam, if talking was rationed !"
"I'd take it out in kissing Sir!" she retorted, unabashed;
PISGAH HEIGHTS 219
while Aruna glanced a little wistfully at Roy, who was fondling
Terry and talking nonsense to Vernon. For the boy adored him
and was on the brink of tears.
But if he seemed unheeding, he was by no means unaware. He
was simply fighting his own battle in his own way; incidentally,
he hoped, helping the girl to fight hers. For, by that time, he had
shaken himself almost free of his delicious yet disturbing illusion,
only to be confronted by a more profoundly disturbing reality.
Loyal to the promise tacitly given, he had simply not connected
her with the idea of marriage. The queer thrill of her presence
was for him quite another affair. Not until that night of wander-
ing hi the moonlight had it struck him, with a faint shock, that
she might be mistaking his friendliness for something more.
That contact with her had come at a critical moment for himself
was a detail he failed to realise. Beyond the sudden bewildering
sensations that prompted his headlong proposal to Tara, he had
not felt seriously perturbed by girl or woman; and, in the past
four years, life had been filled to overflowing with other things
That he should love Aruna, deeply and dearly, seemed as
simple and natural as loving Tara. But to fall in love was a risk
he had no right to run, either for himself or her. Yet in truth the
risk had been run before he awoke to the fact. And the events
and emotions of Dewali-night had drawn them irresistibly, dan-
gerously closer together. For the racial ferment had been strong
in him, as hi her. And the darkness, the subtle influence of his
Indian dress her tears her danger! How could any man,
frankly loving her, not be carried a little out of himself? That
overmastering impulse to kiss her had startlingly revealed the
true forces at work.
After all that, what could he do but sharply apply the curb
and remove himself for a time in the devout hope that
'things' had not gone too far? He had not the assurance to sup-
pose she was already hi love with him: but patently the risk \\ua
there.
So like Thea he had come to see the Delhi inspiration in
a new and surprising light. Setting forth in search of Dyan, he
was, in effect, running away from himself and Aruna, no less.
220 FAR TO SEEK
If not actually in love, he very soon would be did he dare to
let himself go.
And why not why not? The old, unreasoning rebellion
stirred in him afresh. His mother being gone, temptation
tugged the harder. Home, without the Indian element, was al-
most unthinkable. If only he could take back Aruna! But for
him there could be no 'if.' He had tacitly given his word to
her. And in any case there was bis father the Sinclair heritage.
So all his fine dreams of helping Aruna amounted to this
that it was he who might be driven in the end to hurt her more
than any of them. Life, that looked such a straight-ahead busi-
ness for most people, seemed to bristle with pitfalls and obstacles
for him; all on account of the double heritage that was at once
his pride, his inspiration, and his stone of stumbling.
Endless wakeful hours of the night journey were peopled with
thoughts and visions of Aruna her pansy face and velvet-soft
eyes, now flashing delicate raillery, now lifted in troubled appeal.
A rainbow creature that was the charm of her. Not beautiful
he thanked his stars; since his weakness for beauty amounted
to a snare; but attractive perilously so. For, in her case, the
very element that drew him was the barrier that held them apart.
The irony of it!
Was she lying awake, too, poor child missing him a little?
Would she marry an Indian ever? Would she turn her back
on India even for him? Unanswerable questions hemmed her
in. Could she even answer them herself? Too well he understood
how the scales of her nature hung balanced between conflicting
influences. As he was, racially, so was she, spiritually, a divided
being; yet, in spite of waverings, Rajputni at the core with
all that word implies to those who know. If she lacked his moth-
er's high, sustained courage, her flashes of spirit shone out the
brighter for her lapses into womanly weakness as in that
poignant moment by the tank, which had so nearly upset his
own equilibrium. Vividly recalling that moment, it hurt acutely
to realise that weeks might pass before he could see her again.
No denying he wanted her; felt lost without her. The coveted
PISGAH HEIGHTS 221
Delhi adventure seemed suddenly a very lonely affair; not even
a clear inner sense of his mother's presence to bear him company.
No dreams lately; no faint mystical intimation of her nearness,
since the wonderful hour with his grandfather. Only in the form
of that strange and lovely illusion had she seemed vitally near
him since he left Chitor.
Graceless ingratitude that 'only.' For now, looking back, he
clearly saw how the beauty and bewilderment of that early phase,
so mysteriously blending Aruna with herself, had held his emo-
tions in check; lifted them, purified them; had saved him, for all
he knew, from headlong surrender to an overwhelming passion
that might conceivably have swept everything before it. Pure
fantasy perhaps. But he felt no inclination to argue out the
unarguable. He preferred simply unquestioningly to believe
that, under God, he owed his salvation to her. And after all
take it spiritually or psychologically that was, in effect, the
truth . . .
Towards morning, utter weariness lulled him into a troubled
sleep not for long. He awoke, chilled and heavy-eyed, to find
the unheeded loveliness of a lemon-yellow dawn stealing over the
blank immensity of earth and sky.
In a moment he was up, stretching cramped limbs, thanking
goodness for a carriage to himself, leaning out and drinking huge
draughts of crisp, clean air, fragrant with the ghost of a whiff of
wood smoke the inimitable air of a Punjab autumn morning.
CHAPTER X
The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. . . .
The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.
ST. JAMES, m, 5, 8
ROY spent ten days in Delhi lodging with one Krishna Lai, a
jewel merchant of high standing, well known to Sir Lakshman
and never a word or a sight of Dyan Singh. The need for con-
stant precautions hampered him not a little; but if the needle
he sought was in this particular haystack, he would find it yet.
Meanwhile, at every turn he was imbibing first impressions, a
sufficiently enthralling occupation in Delhi, of all places on
earth: Delhi, mistress of many victors; very woman, in that
she yields to conquer; and, after centuries of romance and trag-
edy, remains, in essence, unconquered still. The old saying, 'Who
holds Delhi, holds India,' has its dark contradiction in the un-
written belief that no alien ruler, enthroned at Delhi, shall en-
dure. Hence the dismay of many loyal Indians when the
British Government deserted Calcutta for the Queen of the
North. And here, already, were her endless secretive byways
rivalling Calcutta suburbs as hornet-nests of sedition and
intrigue.
Roy was to grow painfully familiar with these before his search
ended. But the city's pandemonium of composite noises and
composite smells was offset by the splendid remnants of Imperial
Delhi: the Pearl Mosque, a dream in marble, dazzling against
the blue: inlaid columns of the Dewan-i-khas every leaf
wrought in jade or malachite, every petal a precious stone; swell-
ing domes and rose-pink minarets of the Jumna Musjid rising
superbly from a network of narrow streets and shabby, toppling
houses. For, in India, the sordid and stately rub shoulders with
sublime disregard for effect. In the cool aloofness of tombs and
temples, or among crumbling fragments of them on the plain, or
away beyond the battered Kashmir Gate ground sacred to
PISGAH HEIGHTS 223
heroic memories he could wander at will for hours, isolated in
body and spirit, yet strangely content . . .
And there was yet a third Delhi, hard by these two, yet curi-
ously aloof: official, Anglo-Indian Delhi, of bungalows and clubs
and painfully new Government buildings. Little scope here for
imaginative excursions, but much scope for thought in the queer
sensation that beset him of seeing his father's people, as it were,
through his mother's eyes.
New as he was to Anglo-Indian life, these glimpses from the
outskirts were sufficiently illuminating. Once he was present in
the crowd at a big Gymkhana; and more than once he strolled
through the Club gardens, where social Delhi pursued tennis
balls and shuttle-cocks gravely, as if life hung on the issue; or
gaily, with gusts of laughter and chaff, often noisier than need
be. And he saw them all, now, from a new angle of vision. Dis-
creetly aloof, he observed, in passing, the complete free-and-easi-
ness of the modern maiden with her modern cavalier; personali-
ties flying; likewise legs and arms; a banter- wrangle interlude
over a tennis racquet; flight and pursuit of the offending maiden,
punctuated with shrieks, culminating in collapse and undignified
surrender: while a pair of club peons also discreetly aloof
exchanged remarks whose import would have enraged the un-
suspecting pair. Roy knew very well they never gave the matter
a thought. They were simply 'rotting' in the approved style
of to-day. But, seen from the Eastern standpoint, the trivial
incident troubled him. It recalled a chance remark of his grand-
father's: "With only a little more decorum and seriousness in
their way of life out here, they could do far more to promote
good understanding socially between us all, than by making pre-
mature 'reforms' or tilting at barriers arising from opposite kinds
of civilisation."
Here was matter for the novel or novels to be born of his
errantry: the 'fruit of his life' that she had so longed to hold i' 1
her hands. Were she only at Home now, what letters-without-
end he would be pouring out to her! What letters he could
have poured out to Aruna did conscience permit. He allowed
himself two, in the course of ten days; and the spkit moved him,
224 FAR TO SEEK
after long abstention, to indulge in a rambling screed to Tara tell-
ing of his quest; revealing more than he quite realised of the
inner stress he was trying to ignore. The quest, he emphasised,
was a private affair, confided to her only because he knew she
would understand. It hurt more than he could admit to feel
how completely his father would not understand his present
turmoil of heart and brain . . .
Isolated thus, with his hidden, thwarted emotion, there re-
sulted a literary blossoming, the most spontaneous and satisfying
since his slow struggle up from the depths. Alone at night, and in
the clear, keen dawns, he wrote and wrote and wrote, as a thirsty
man drinks after a desert march: poems chiefly; sketches and
impressions; his dearest theme the troubled spirit of India or
was it the spirit of Aruna? poised between crescent light and
deepening shadow, looking for sane, clear guidance and find-
ing none. A prose sketch, in this vein, stood out from the rest; a
fragment of his soul, too intimately self-revealing for the general
gaze: no uncommon dilemma for an artist, precisely when his
work is most intrinsically true. Had he followed the natural urge
of his heart, he would have sent it to Aruna. As it was, he de-
cided to treasure it a little longer for himself alone.
Meantime Dyan half forgotten suddenly emerged. It
was at a meeting exclusively religious and philosophical; but
the police had wind of it; and a friendly inspector mentioned it
to Krishna Lai. The chief speaker would be a Swami of impec-
cable sanctity. "But if you have a sensitive palate, you will
doubtless detect a spice of political powder under the jam of
religion!" quoth Krishna Lai, who was a man of humour and no
friend of sedition.
"Thanks for the hint," said Roy and groaned in spirit,
Meetings, at best, were the abomination of desolation; and his
soul was sick of the Indian variety. For the 'silent East' is
never happier than when it is talking at immense length; de-
nouncing, inaugurating, promoting; and a prolonged dose of it
stirred in Roy a positive craving for his own kind; for men who
shot remarks at each other in 'straight-flung words and true.'
PISGAH HEIGHTS 225
But no stone must be left unturned. So he went; guided by
the friendly policeman, who knew him for a sahib bent on some
personal quest.
Their search ended in a windowless inner room; packed to
suffocation; heavy with attar of rose, kerosene, and human
bodies; and Roy as usual clung to a doorway that offered occa-
sional respite.
The Swami was already in full flow: a wraith of a man in
a salmon-coloured garment; his eyes, deep in their sockets,
gleaming like black diamonds. And he was holding his audience
spellbound: Hindus of every calling; students in abundance; a
sprinkling of Sikhs and Dogras from the lines. Some form of
hypnotism was it? Perhaps. Even Roy could not listen un-
moved, when the spirit shook the frail creature like a gust of
wind and the hollow chest notes vibrated with appeal or com-
mand. Such men and India is full of them are spiritual
dynamos. Who can calculate their effect on an emotional race?
And they no longer confine their influence to things spiritual.
They, too, have caught the modern disease of politics for the
million. And the supreme appeal is to youth plastic and
impressionable, aflame with fervours of the blood that can be
conjured, by heady words, into fervours infinitely more danger-
ous to themselves and their country.
In an atmosphere dense with spilled kerosene, with over-
breathed air and over-charged emotion, that appeal rang out like
a trumpet blast.
"It is to youth the divine message has come in all ages; the
call to martyrdom, and dedication. 'Suffer little children to
come unto me,' said the inspired Founder of Christianity. So
also I say, in tlu's tune of revival, suffer the young to fling them-
selves into the arms of the Mother. My sons, she cries, go back
to the Vedas. You will find all wisdom there. Reject this alien
gift however finely gilded of a civilisation inferior to your
own. Hindu Rishis were old in wisdom when these were still
unclothed savages coloured with blue paint. Shall the sa-
cred Motherland be inoculated with Western poison? It is for
the young to decide to act. Nerve your arms with valour.
226 FAR TO SEEK
Bring offerings acceptable to the shrine of Mai Kali. Does she
demand a sheep? A buffalo? A cocoanut? Ask yourselves. The
answer is written in your hearts
His emaciated arms shot up and outward in a gesture the more
impressive because it was maintained. For a prolonged moment
the holy one seemed to hover above his audience as it were an
eagle poised on outspread wings . . .
Roy came to himself with a start. His friend the policeman
had plucked his sleeve; and they retreated a step or two through
the open door.
"The sahib heard?" queried Man Singh in cautious under-
tone.
"There's hearing and hearing," said Roy, aware of some
cryptic message given and understood. "I take it they all know
what he's driving at."
"True talk. They know. But he has not said. Therefore he
goes in safety when he should be picking oakum in the jail
Khana. They are cunning as serpents, these holy ones."
"They have the gift of tongues," said Roy. "May one ask
what is Mai Kali's special taste in sacrifices?"
The Sikh gave him an odd look. "The blood of white goats
meaning sahibs, Hazur." Roy's 'click' was Oriental to a
nicety. "'A white goat for Kali' is an old Bengali catchword.
Hark how their tongues wag. But there is still another highly
esteemed by the student-&>g; one who can skilfully flavour a
pillau of learned talk, as the Swami can flavour a pillau of re-
ligion. Where he comes, there will be trouble afterwards, and
arrests. But no Sri Chandranath. He is off making trouble
elsewhere."
" Chandranath here? " Roy's heart gave a jerk, half excite-
ment, half apprehension.
"Your Honour has heard the man?"
"No. I'm glad of the chance."
As they entered, the second speaker stepped on to the plat-
form . . .
True talk, indeed! There stood the boy who had whimpered
under Scab Major's bullying, in the dark coat and turban of the
PISGAH HEIGHTS 227
educated Indian; his back half turned, in confidential talk with
a friend, who had set a carafe and tumbler ready to hand. The
light of a wall lamp shone full on the young man's face clean-
cut, handsome, unmistakeable . . .
Dydnl Dyan- and Chandranath! It was the conjunction
that confounded Roy and tinged elation with dismay. He could
hardly contain himself till Dyan joined the audience; standing a
little apart; not taking a seat. Something in his face reminded
Roy of the strained fervour in his letter to Aruna. Carefully
careless, he edged his way through the outer fringe of the
audience, and volunteered a remark or two in Hindustani.
"A full meeting, brother. Your friend speaks well?"
Dyan turned with a start. "Where are you from, that you
have not heard him?" He scrutinised Roy's appearance. "A
hill man ?"
Roy edged nearer and spoke hi English under his breath.
"Dyan look at me. Don't make a scene. I am Roy from
Jaipur."
In spite of the warning, Dyan drew back sharply. "What are
you here for? Spying? "
"No. Hoping to find you. Because I care; and Aruna
cares "
"Better to care less and understand more," Dy&n muttered
brusquely. "No time for talk now. Listen. You may learn a
few things Oxford could not teach."
The implied sneer enraged Roy; but listen he must, perforce:
and in the space of half an hour he learnt a good deal about
Chandranath and the mentality of his type.
To the outer ear he was propounding the popular modern
doctrine of 'Yoga by action.' To the inner ear he was extolling
passion and rebellion in terms of a creed that enjoins detach-
ment from both; inciting to political murder, under sanction of
the divine dictum, 'Who kills the body kills naught. Thy con-
cern is with action alone, never with results.' And his heady
flights of rhetoric, like those of the Swami, were frankly aimed
at the scores of half-fledged youths who hung upon his utter-
ance.
228 FAR TO SEEK
"What are the first words of the young child? What are the
first words in your own hearts?" he cried, indicating that organ
with a dramatic forefinger. " 7 want! ' It is the passionate cry of
youth. By indomitably uttering it, he can dislodge mountains
into the sea. And in India to-day there exist mountains neces-
sary to be hurled into the sea!" His significant pause was not
lost on his hearers or on Roy. " 'Many-branched and endless
are the thoughts of the irresolute.' But to him who cries ar-
dently, '/ want,' there is no impediment, except paucity of cour-
age to snatch the seductive object. Deaf to the anaemic whisper
of compunction, remembering that sin taints only the weak, he
will be translated to that dizzy eminence where right and wrong,
truth and untruth, become as pigmies, hardly discerned by the
naked eye. There dwells Kali the shameless and pitiless; and
believing our country that deity incarnate her needs must
be our gods. ' Her image make we in temple after temple Bande
Mataram! 3 " The invocation was flung back to him in a ragged
shout. Here and there a student leapt to his feet brandishing a
clenched fist. "Compose your laudable intoxication, brothers.
I do not say, 'Be violent.' There is a necromancy of the spirit
more potent than weapons of the flesh: the delusion of irre-
sistible suggestion that will conquer even truth itself . . ."
Abstraction piled on abstraction; perversion on perversion; and
that deluded crowd plainly swallowing it all as gospel truth !
To Roy the whole exhibition was purely disgustful; as if the man
had emptied a dustbin under his aristocratic nose. Once or twice
he glanced covertly at Dyan, standing beside him; at the strained
intentness of his face, the nervous, clenched hand. Was this the
same Dyan who had ridden and argued and read 'Greats' with
him only four years ago this hypnotised being who seemed
to have forgotten his existence ?
Thank God! At last it was over! But while applause hummed
and fluttered, there sprang on to the platform, unannounced, a
wiry, keen-faced man, with the parted beard of a Sikh.
"Brothers I demand a hearing!" he cried aloud; "I who
was formerly hater of the British, preaching all manner of vio-
lence I have been three years detained in Germany; and I
PISGAH HEIGHTS 229
come back now, with my eyes open, to say all over India
cease your fool's talk about self-government and tossing moun-
tains into the sea! Cease making yourselves drunk with words
and waving your Vedic flags, and stand by the British your
true friends "
At that, cries and counter-cries drowned his voice. Books
were hurled, no other weapon being handy; and Roy noted, with
amused contempt, that Chandranath hastily disappeared from
view.
The Sikh laughed in the face of their opposition. Dexterously
catching a book, he hurled it back; and once more made his
strong voice heard above the clamour. "Fools and sheep!
You may stop your ears now. In the end I will make you
hear"
Shouted down again, he vanished through a side exit; and, hi
the turmoil that followed, Roy's hand closed securely on Dydn's
arm. Throughout the stormy interlude he had stood rigidly
still : a pained, puzzled frown contracting his brows. Yet it was
plain he would have slipped away without a word but for Roy's
detaining grip.
"You don't go running off now I've found you," said he
good-humouredly. "I've things to say. Come along to my place
and hear them."
Dyan jerked his imprisoned arm. "Very sorry. I have im-
portant duties."
"To-morrow night, then? I'm lodging with Krishna Lai. And
look here, don't mention me to your friend the philosopher!
I know more about him than you might suppose. If you still care
a damn for me and the others do what I ask and keep
your mouth shut "
Dyan's frown was hostile; but his voice was low and troubled.
"For God's sake, leave me alone, Roy. Of course Icare. But
that kind of caring is carnal weakness. We who are dedicated
must rise above such weakness, above pity and slave-morality,
giving all to the Mother "
"Dyan have you forgotten my mother?" Roy pressed
his advantage in the same low tone.
230 FAR TO SEEK
"No. Impossible. She was Devi Goddess; loveliest and
kindest"
" Well, in her name, I ask you come to-morrow evening and
have a talk."
Dyan was silent; then, for the first time, he looked Roy straight
in the eyes. "In her name I will come. Now let me go."
Roy let him go. He had achieved little enough. But for a
start it was 'not so bad.'
CHAPTER XI
When we have fallen through storey after storey of our vanity and aspiration, it
is then that we begin to measure the stature of our friends.
R. L. S.
NEXT evening Dyan arrived. He stayed for an hour and did
most of the talking. But his unnatural volubility suggested
disturbance deep down.
Only once Roy had a glimpse of the true Dy&n, when he pre-
sented Aruna's prasad, consecrated by her touch. In silence
Dyan set it on the table; and reverently touched, with his fin-
ger-tips, first the small parcel, then his own forehead.
" Aruna sister," he said on an under breath. But he would
not be drawn into talking of her, of his grandfather, or of home
affairs: and his abrupt departure left Roy with a maddening
sense of frustration.
He lay awake half the night; and reached certain conclusions
that atoned for a violent headache next morning. First and
best Dyan was not a genuine convert. All this ferment and
froth did not spell reasoned conviction. He was simply en-
snared; his finer nature warped by the 'delusion of irresistible
suggestion,' deadlier than any weapon of war. His fanatical
loyalty savoured of obsession. So much the better. An obses-
sion could be pricked like an air-ball with the right weapon at
the right moment. That, as Roy saw it, was his task : in effect,
a ghostly duel between himself and Chandranath for the soul of
Dyan Singh; and the fate of Aruna virtually hung on the issue.
Should he succeed, Chandranath would doubtless guess at his
share in Dyan's defection; and few men care about courting the
enmity of the unscrupulous. That is the secret power behind
the forces of anarchy, above all in India, where social and spir-
itual boycott can virtually slay a man without shedding of
blood. For himself, Roy decided, the game was worth the can-
dle. The question remained how far that natural shrinking
232 FAR TO SEEK
might affect Dyn? And again how much did he know of
Chandranath's designs on Aruna?
Roy decided to spring the truth on him next time and note
the effect. Dyan had said he would come again one evening;
and sooner than Roy expected he came. Again he was
abnormally voluble, as if holding his cousin at arm's length by
italicising his own fanatical fervour, till Roy's impatience sub-
sided into weariness and he palpably stifled a yawn.
Dyan, detecting him, stopped dead, with a pained, puzzled
look that went to Roy's heart. For he loved the real Dyan, even
while he was bored to extinction with the semi-religious verbiage
that poured from him like water from a jug.
"Awfully sorry," he apologised frankly. "But I've been over-
dosed with that sort of stuff lately; and I'm damned if I can
swallow it like you do. Yet I'm dead keen for India to have the
best, all round, that she's capable of digesting yet. So's Grand-
father. You can't deny it."
Dyan frowned irritably. "Grandfather's prejudiced and old-
fashioned."
"He's longer-sighted than most of your voluble friends. He
doesn't rhapsodise. He knows. But I'm not old-fashioned.
Nor is Aruna."
"No, poor child; only England-infatuated. She is unwise not
taking this chance of an educated husband "
"And such a husband!" Roy struck in so sharply that Dy&n
stared open-mouthed.
"How the devil can you know?"
"And how the devil can you not know," countered Roy,
"when it's your precious paragon Chandranath?"
He scored his point clean and true. "Chandranath!" Dyn
echoed blankly, staring into the fire.
Roy said nothing; simply let the fact sink in. Then, having
dealt the blow, he proffered a crumb of consolation. "Perhaps he
prefers to say nothing till he's pulled it off. But I warn you,
if he persists, I shall put every feasible spoke in his wheel."
Dyan faced him squarely. "You seem very intimate with our
/'"airs. Who told you this?"
PISGAH HEIGHTS 233
"Aruna herself."
"You are also very intimate with her."
"As she has lost her brother, her natural protector, I do
what I can to make up."
Cyan winced and stole a look at him. "Why not make up for
still greater lack and marry her yourself? "
It was he who hit the mark this time. Roy's blood tingled; but
voice and eyes were under control. "I've only been there a few
weeks. The question has not arisen."
"Your true meaning is it could not arise. They were glad
enough for her service in England; but whatever her service,
or her loving, she must not marry an Englishman, even with the
blood of India in his veins. That is our reward both "
It was the fierce bitter Dyn of that long-ago afternoon in
New College Lane. But Roy was too angry on his own account
to heed. He rose abruptly.
"I'll trouble you not to talk like that."
Dyan rose also, confronting him. "I must say what is in mind
or go. Better accept the fact it is useless to meet."
"I refuse to accept the fact."
"But there it is. I only make you angry. And you imply
evil of the man I admire."
He so plainly boggled over the words that Roy struck without
hesitation.
"Dyan tell me straight do you admire him? Would you
have Aruna marry him? "
"N-no. Impossible. There is another kind of wife," he
blurted out, averting his eyes; but before Roy could speak, he
had pulled himself together. "However I mustn't stay talk-
ing. Good-night."
Roy's anger fierce but transient, always had faded.
"There are some ties you can't break, Dyn, even with your
Bande Mataram. Come again soon."
Impossible to resist the friendly tone. "But," he asked, "how
long are you hanging about Delhi like this? "
"As long as I choose."
"But why?"
234 FAR TO SEEK
"To see something of you, old chap. It seems the only way
unless I can persuade you to chuck all this poisonous vapouring,
and come back to Jaipur with me. Aruna's waiting breaking
her heart longing to see you "
He knew he was rushing his fences; but the mood was on; the
chance too good to lose.
Dyan's eyes lightened a moment. Then he shook his head.
" I am too much involved."
"You mil come, though, in the end," Roy said quietly. "I
can wait. Sunday, is it? And we'll bar politics as we did
in the good days. Don't you want to hear of them all at
Home?"
"Sometimes yes. But perhaps better not. You are a
fine fellow, Roy even to quarrel with. Good-night." They
shook hands warmly.
On the threshold, Dyan turned, hesitated; then in a hurried
murmur asked: "Where is she what's she doing now
Tara?"
He was obviously unaware of having used her Christian name:
and Roy, though startled, gave no sign.
" She's still in Serbia. She's been simply splendid. Head over
ears in it all from the start." He paused "Shall I tell her
when I write . . . about you?"
Dyan shrugged his shoulders. "Waste of ink and paper. It
would not interest her."
"It would. I know Tara. What you are doing now would hurt
her keenly."
"Tcha!" The sharp sound expressed sheer unbelief. It also
expressed pain. "Good-night," he added, for the third tune; and
went out leaving Roy electrified; atingle with the hope of suc-
cess, at last.
She was not forgotten; though Dyan had been trying tc
pretend she was even to himself. Ten chances to one, she was
still at the core of everything; even his present incongruous
activities . . .
Roy paced the room; his imagination alight; his own recoil
from the conjunction, overborne by immediate concern for
PISGAH HEIGHTS 235
Dyan. Unable to forget her who could? he had thrust the
pain of remembering into the dark background of his mind; and
there it remained a hard knot of soreness and hidden bitter-
ness as Aruna had said. And all that bottled-up bitterness
had been vented against England an unconscious symbol of
Tara, desired yet withheld; while the intensity of his thwarted
passion sought and found an outlet in fervent adoration of his
country visualised as woman. Right or wrong that was how
Roy saw it. And the argument seemed psychologically sound.
Cruel to be kind, he must deliberately touch the point of pain;
draw the hidden thing into the open; and so reawaken the old
Dyan, who could arraign the new one far more effectually than
could Roy himself or another. Seized with his idea, he indulged
in a more hopeful letter to Aruna; and had scarcely patience to
wait for Sunday.
In leisurely course it arrived that last Sunday of the Great
War. The Chandni Chowk was abubble with strange and stirring
rumours; but the day waned and the evening waned and no
Dyan appeared.
On Monday morning still no word: but news, so tremen-
dous, flashed half across the world, that Dyan and his mys-
terious defection flickered like a spent match in the blaze of
midday.
The War was over virtually over. From the Vosges to the
sea, not the crack of a rifle nor the moan of a shell; only an abrupt,
dramatic silence the end! Belief hi the utter cessation of all
that wonderful and terrible activity penetrated slowly. And as it
penetrated, Roy realised, with something like dismay, that the
right and natural sense of elation simply was not. He actually
felt depressed. Shrink as he might from the jar of conflict, the
sure instinct of a soldier race warned him that hell holds no fury
and earth no danger like a ruthless enemy not decisively smitten.
The psychology of it was beyond him shrouded in mystery.
And not till long afterwards did he know how many, in England
and France, had shared his bewildered feeling; how British sol-
diers in Belgium had cried like children, had raged almost to the
236 FAR TO SEEK
point of mutiny. But one thing he knew steeped as he was,
just then, in the substrata of Eastern thought and feeling. India
would never understand. Visible, spectacular ^victory, alone
could impress the East: and such an impression might have coun-
teracted many mistakes that had gone before .
Tuesday brought no Dyan; only a scrawled note: " Sorry -
too much business. Can't come just now." // one could take
that at its face value! But it might mean anything. Had
Chandranath found out and had Dyan not the moral courage
to go his own way ? He knew by now where his cousin lodged;
but had never been there. It was in one of the oldest parts of
the city; alive with political intrigue. If Roy's nationality were
suspected, 'things' might happen, and it was clearly unfair to
his father to run needless risks. But this was different. 'Things'
might be happening to Dyan. So, after nearly a week of mad-
dening suspense, he resolved with all due caution to take
his chance.
A silvery twilight was ebbing from the sky when he plunged
into a maze of narrow streets and by-lanes where the stream
of Eastern life flows along immemorial channels scarcely stirred
by surface eddies of 'advance.' Threading his way through
the crowd, he found the street and the landmark he sought:
a certain doorway, adorned with a faded wreath of marigolds,
indication of some holy presence within; and just beyond ^it,
a low-browed arch, almost a tunnel. It passed under balconied
houses toppling perilously forward; and as Roy entered it a figure
darkened the other end. He could only distinguish the long dark
coat and turbaned head: but there flashed instant conviction -
Chandranath!
Alert, rather than alarmed, he hurried forward, hugging the
opposite wall. At the darkest point they crossed. Roy felt the
other pause, scrutinise him and pass on. The relief of it!
And the ignominy of suddenly feeling the old childish terror,
when you had turned your back on a dark room. It was all he
could do not to break into a run . . .
In the open court, set round with tottering houses, a sacred
PISGAH HEIGHTS 237
neem-tree made a vast patch of shadow. Near it a rickety stair-
case led up to Dyan's roof room. Roy, mounting cautiously,
knocked at the highest door.
"Are you there? It's Roy," he called softly.
A pause: then the door flew open and Dyan stood before
him, in loose white garments; no turban; a farouche look in his
eyes.
"My God Roy! Crazy of you! I never thought "
" Well, I got sick of waiting. I suppose I can come in? " Roy's
impatience was the measure of his relief.
Dyan moved back a pace and, as Roy stepped on to the
roof, he carefully closed the door.
"Think if you had come three minutes earlier! He only
left me just now Chandranath."
"And passed me in the archway," added Roy with his touch
of bravado. "I've as much right to be in Delhi and to vary
my costume as your mysteriously potent friend. It's a free
country."
"It is fast becoming not so free." Dyan lowered his voice,
as if afraid he might be overheard. "And you don't consider the
trouble it might make for me."
"How about the trouble you've been making for me? What's
wrong?"
Dyan passed a nervous hand across his eyes and forehead.
"Come in. It's getting cold out here," he said, in a repressed
voice. Roy followed him across the roof-top, with its low parapet
and vault of darkening sky, up three steps, into a small arcaded
room, where a log fire burned in the open hearth. Shabby, unre-
lated bits of furniture gave the place a comfortless air. On a
corner table strewn with leaflets and pamphlets ("Poisoned ar-
rows, up to date! " thought Roy), a typewriter reared its hooded
head. The sight struck a shaft of pain through him. Aruna's
Dyan son of kings and warriors turning his one skilful
hand to such base uses!
"What's wrong?" he repeated with emphasis. "I want a
straight answer, Dyn. I've risked something to get it."
Dyan sat down near a small table, and covered his eyes with
238 FAR TO SEEK
his hand. " There is so much wrong," he said, looking stead-
ily up at Roy. "I am feeling like a man who wakes too
suddenly after much sleep-walking."
"Since when?" asked Roy, keeping himself in hand. "What's
jerked you awake? D'you know?"
"There have been many jerks. Seeing you; Aruna's offering;
this news of the War; and something . . . you mentioned last
time."
"What was that? Tara?" Roy lunged straight to the
middle of the wound.
Dyan started. "But how ? I never said " he stam-
mered, visibly shaken.
"It didn't need saying. Aruna told me the fact; and my
own wits told me the rest. You're not honestly keen are
you? to shorten the arm of the British Raj and plunge India
into chaos? "
"No no." A very different Dyan, this, to the one who had
poured out stock phrases like water only a week ago.
"Isn't bitterness about Tara at the back of it? Face that
straight, old chap; and if it's true, say so, without false
shame."
Dyan was silent a long while, staring into the fire. "Very
strange I had no idea," he said at last. The words came
slowly, as if he were thinking aloud. "I was angry miserable;
hating you all; even very nearly her. Then came the War;
and I thought now our countries will become like one. I will
win her by some brave action she who is the spirit of courage.
From France, after all that praise of Indians in the papers, I
wrote again. No use. After that, I hoped by some brave action,
I might be killed. Instead, through stupid carelessness, I am
only maimed as you see. I was foolishly angry when Indian
troops were sent away from France : and my heart became hard
like a nut." He had emerged from his dream now and was frankly
addressing Roy "I knew, if I went home, they would insist I
should marry. Quite natural. But for me not thinkable. Yet
I must go back to India; and there, in Bombay, I heard Chan-
dranath speak. He was just back from deportation; and to me his
PISGAH HEIGHTS 239
words were like leaping flames. All the fire of my passion
choked up in me could flow freely in service of the Mother. I
became intoxicated with the creed of my new comrades: there
is neither truth nor untruth, right nor wrong; there is only the
Mother. I was filled with the joy of dedication and unquestion-
ing surrender. It gave me visions like opium dreams. Both
kinds of opium I have taken freely while walking in my sleep.
I was ready for taking life; any desperate deed. Instead Tcha!
I have to take money, like a common dacoit, because police must
be bribed, soldiers tempted, meetings multiplied "
"It takes more than the blood of white goats to oil the wheels
of your chariot," said Roy, very quiet, but rather grim. "And
he's not the man to do his own dirty work eh?"
"No. He is only very clever to dress it up in fine arguments.
All money is the Mother's. Only they are thieves who selfishly
hide it in banks and safes. Those who release it for her use are
deliverers " He broke off with a harsh laugh. "In spite of
education, we Indians are too easily played upon, Roy. If you
had not spoken of her, I might have swallowed even that.
Thieving bah! Killing is man's work. There is sanction in the
Gita "'
"Sanction be damned!" Roy cut in sharply. "You might as
well say Shakespeare sanctioned theft because he wrote, 'Who
steals my purse steals trash ' ! The only sanction worth anything
is inside you. And you didn't seem to find it there. But let's get
at the point. Did you refuse? "
"No. Only for the first time, I demurred; and because the
need is urgent, he became very violent in language. It was
almost a quarrel."
"Clear proof you scored! Did you mention Aruna?"
Dyan shook his head. "If / become violent, it is not only
language "
" No. You're a man. And now you're awake again, I can tell
you things but I can't stay all night."
"No. He is coming back. Only gone to Cantonments on
business."
"What sort of business?"
240 FAR TO SEEK
Dydn chewed his lip and looked uncomfortable.
"Never mind, old chap. 'I can see a church by daylight'!
He's getting at the troops. Spreading lies about the Armistice.
And after that ?"
"He is returning about midnight, hoping to find me in a
more reasonable mind "
"And, by Jove, we won't disappoint him! " cried Roy, who had
seen his God-given chance. Springing up, he gripped Cyan by
the shoulder. "Your reasonable mind will take the form of scoot-
ing back with me, jut put; and we can slip out of Delhi by the
night mail. Time's precious. So hurry up."
But Dyan did not stir. He sat there looking so plainly stag-
gered that Roy burst out laughing.
"You're not half awake yet! You've messed about so long
with men who merely 'agitate' and 'inaugurate,' that you've
forgotten the kind who act first and talk afterwards. I give you
ten minutes to scribble a tender farewell. Then we make
tracks. It's all I came here for if you want to know. And I
take it you're willing?"
Dyan sighed. "I am willing enough. But there are many
complications. You do not know. They are organising big trou-
ble over the Rowlatt Bill and other things. I have not much
secret information, or my life would probably not be worth a pin.
But it is all one skilful network, and there are too easy ways in
India for social and spiritual boycott "
He enlarged a little; quoted cases that filled Roy with surprise
and indignation, but no way shook his resolve.
"We needn't go straight to Jaipur. Quite good fun to knock
round a bit. Throw him off the scent till he's got over the
shock. We can wire our news; Aruna will be too happy to fret
over a little delay. And you won't be ostracised among your
own people. They want you. They want your help. Grand-
father does. The best 7 could do was to run you to earth
open your eyes "
"And, by Indra, you've done it, Roy."
"You'll come, then?"
"Yes, I'll come and damn the consequences!"
PISGAH HEIGHTS 241
The Dyan of Oxford days was visibly emerging now: a ver-
itable awakening; the strained look gone from his face.
It was Roy's 'good minute': and in the breathless rush that
followed, he swept Dyan along with him unresisting, exalted,
amazed . .' .
The farewell letter was written; and Dydn's few belongings
stowed into a basket-box. Then they hurried down, through the
dark courtyard into the darker tunnel; and Roy felt unasham-
edly glad not to be alone. His feet would hurry, in spite of him;
and that kept him a few paces ahead.
Passing a dark alcove, he swerved instinctively and hoped
to goodness Dyan had not seen.
Just before reaching the next one, he tripped over something
taut string or wire stretched across the passage. It should have
sent him headlong, had he been less agile. As it was, he stumbled,
cursed, and kept his feet.
'"Ware man trap!" he called back to Dyan, under his breath.
Next instant, from the alcove, a shot rang out: and it was
Dydn who cursed; for the bullet had grazed his arm.
They both ran now, full speed, and made no bones about it.
Roy's sensations reminded him vividly of the night he and Lance
fled from the Turks.
"We seem to have butted hi and spoilt somebody's little
game!" he remarked, as they turned into a wider street and
slackened speed. "How's your arm?"
"Nothing. A mere scratch." Dydn's tone was graver. "But
that's most unusual. I can't make it out "
"You're well quit of it all, anyhow," said Roy and slipped a
hand through his arm.
Not till they were settling down for a few hours' sleep, hi the
night mail, did it dawn on Roy that the little game might possi-
bly have been connected with himself. Chandranath had seen
him hi that dress before. He had just come very near quarrel 'ir^
with Dyn. If he suspected Roy's identity, he would suspect
his influence . . .
He frankly spoke his thought to Dyan; and found it had
242 FAR TO SEEK
occurred to him already. "Not himself, of course," he added.
" The gentleman is not partial to firearms ! But, suspecting he
might have arranged; hoping to catch you coming back the
swine! Naturally, after this, he will go further than suspecting!"
"He can go to the devil and welcome; now I've collared
you!" said Roy; and slept soundly upon that satisfying
achievement through all the rattle and clatter of the express.
CHAPTER XII
God uses tis to help each other so.
R. BROWNING
IT was distinctly one of Roy's great moments when, at last, they
four stood together in Sir Lakshman's room: the old man, out-
wardly impassive as became a Rajput profoundly moved
in the deep places of his heart; Anina, in Oxford gown and sari,
radiant one moment; the next in spite of stoic resolves cry-
ing softly in Dyan's arms. And Roy understood only too well.
The moment he held her hand and met her eyes he knew. It
was not only joy at Dyan's return that evoked the veiled blush,
the laugh that trembled into tears. Conceit or no conceit, his
intuition was not to be deceived.
And the conviction did not pass. It was confirmed by every
day, every hour he spent in her company. On the rare occasions
when they were alone together, the very thing that must be re-
ligiously stifled and hid emanated from her like fragrance from a
flower; sharply reawakening his own temptation to respond
were it only to ease her pain. And there was more in it than that
or very soon would be, if he hesitated much longer to clinch
matters by telling her the truth; though every nerve shrank
from the ordeal for himself and her. Running away from
oneself was plainly a futile experiment. To have so failed with
her disheartened him badly and dwarfed his proud achievement
to an insignificant thing.
To the rest, unaware, his triumph seemed complete, his risky
adventure justified beyond cavil. They all admitted as much;
even Vincent, who abjured superlatives and had privately taken
failure for granted. Roy, in a fit of modesty, ascribed it all to
'luck.' By the merest chance he had caught Dydn, on his own
confession, just as the first flickers of doubt were invading his
hypnotised soul; just when it began to dawn on him that alien
hands were pulling the strings. He had already begun to feel
244 FAR TO SEEK
trapped; unwilling to go forward; unable to go back; and the fact
that no Liner secrets were confided to him had galled his Rajput
vanity and pride. In the event, he was thankful enough for the
supposed slight; since it made him feel appreciably safer from the
zeal of his discarded friends.
Much of this he had confided to Roy, hi fragments and jerks,
on the night of their amazing exit from Delhi; already sufficiently
himself again to puzzle frankly over that perverted Dyan; to
marvel with a simplicity far removed from mere foolishness
'how one man can make a magic in other men's minds so that he
shall appear to them an eagle when he is only a crow.'
"That particular form of magic," Roy told him, "has made
half the history of the world. We all like' to flatter ourselves
we're safe from it till we get bitten! You've been no more of a
fool than the others, Dyan if that's any consolation."
The offending word rankled a little. The truth of it rankled
more. " By Indra, I am no fool now. Perhaps he has discovered
that already. I fancy my letter will administer a shock. I won-
der what he will do?"
"He won't 'do.' You can bank on that. He may fling vitriol
over you on paper. But you won't have the pleasure of his
company at Jaipur. He left his card on us before the Dewali.
And there's been trouble since; leaflets circulating mysteriously;
an exploded attempt to start a seditious 'rag.' So they're on
the qui vive. He'll count that one up against me: but no doubt
I'll manage to survive."
And Dyan, in the privacy of his heart, had felt distinctly re-
lieved. Not that he lacked the courage of his race; but, having
seen the man for years, as it were, through a magnifying lens, he
could not, all in a moment, see him for the thing he was: dan-
gerous as a snake, yet swift as a snake to wriggle out of harm's
way.
He had not been backward, however, in awakening his grand-
father to purdah manoeuvres. Strictly in private he told his
cousin there had been ungoverned storms of temper, ungov-
erned abuse of Roy, who was suspected by ' the Inside ' of know-
ing too much and having undue influence with the old man.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 245
'The Inside,' he gathered, had from early days been jealous of
the favourite daughter and all her belongings. Naturally, in
Dyan's opinion, his sister ought to marry; and the sooner the
better. Perhaps he had been unwise, after all, insisting on
postponement. By now she would have been settled in her law-
ful niche, instead of making trouble with this craze for hospital
nursing and keeping outside caste. Not surprising if she shrank
from living at home, after all she had been through. Better for
them both, perhaps, to break frankly with orthodox Hinduism
and join the Brahma Samaj.
As Roy knew precisely how much or rather, how little
Aruna liked working in the wards, he suffered a pang at the
pathos of her innocent guile. And if Dyan had his own sus-
picions, he kept them to himself. He also kept to himself the
vitriolic outpouring which he had duly found awaiting him at
Jaipur. It contained too many lurid allusions to 'that con-
ceited, imperialistic half-caste cousin of yours ' ; and Roy mighjt
resent the implied stigma as much as Dyan resented it for
him. So Dyan tore up the effusion, intended for the eye of
Roy, merely remarking that it had enraged him. It was beneath
contempt.
Roy would have liked to see it, all the same; for he knew
himself quicker than Dyn at reading between the lines. The
beggar would not hit back straight. But, given the chance, he
might try it on some other way witness the pistol shot hi
the arcade; a side light or a side flash on the pleasant sort
of devil he was ! Back in the Jaipur Residency, in the garden that
was 'almost England,' back in his good familiar tweed coat and
breeches, the whole Delhi interlude seemed strangely theatrical
and unreal; more like a vivid dream than an experience in the
flesh.
But there was Dyan to prove it no dream; and the perilous
charm of Aruna, that must be resisted to the best of his
power . . .
All this stir and ferment within; yet not a surface ripple dis-
turbed the placid flow of those uneventful weeks between the
246 FAR TO SEEK
return of Roy and the coming of Lance Desmond for Christmas
leave.
It is so that drama most commonly happens in life a light
under a bushel; set in the midst, yet unseen. Vincent, delving in
ethnological depths, saw little or nothing outside his manuscript
and maps. Floss Eden engrossed in her own drawing-room
comedy with Captain Martin saw less than nothing, except
that 'Mr. Sinclair's other native cousin' came too often to the
house. For she turned up her assertive nose at 'native gentle-
men'; and confided to Martin her private opinion that Aunt
Thea went too far in that line. She bothered too much about
other people all round which was true;
She had bothered a good deal more about Floss Eden, in early
days, than that young lady at all realised. And now in the in-
tervals of organising Christmas presents and Christmas guests
she was bothering a good deal over Roy, whose absence had ob-
viously failed to clear the air.
Not that he was silent or aloof. But his gift of speech overlaid
a reticence deeper than that of the merely silent man ; the kind she
had lived with and understood. Once you got past then" defences,
you were unmistakeably inside: Vinx, for instance. But with
Roy she was aware of reserves within reserves, which made him
the more interesting, but also the more distracting, when one felt
entitled to know the lie of the land. For, Aruna apart, wasn't
he becoming too deeply immersed in his Indian relations
losing touch, perhaps, with those at Home? Did it or did it
not matter that, day after day, he was strolling with Aruna,
riding with Dyan, pig-sticking and buck-hunting with the royal
cheetahs and the royal heir to the throne; or plunging neck-deep
in plans and possibilities, always in connection with those two?
His mail letters were few and not bulky, as she knew from hand-
ling the contents of the Residency mail-bag. And he very rarely
spoke of them all: less than ever of late. To her ardent nature
it seemed inexplicable. Perhaps it was just part of his peculiar
'inwardness.' She would have liked to feel sure, however . . .
Vinx would say it was none of her business. But Lance would
be a help. She was counting on him to readjust the scales. Thank
PISGAH HEIGHTS 247
goodness for Lance giving up the Lahore 'week' and the
Polo Tournament to spend Christmas with her and Roy in the
wilds of Rajputana. Just to have him about the place again
his music, his big laugh, his radiant certainty that, in any and
every circumstance, it was a splendid thing to be alive would
banish worries and lift her spirits sky-high. After the still, deep
waters of her beloved Vinx whose strain of remoteness had
not been quite dispelled by marriage and the starlit mysteries
of Aruna and the intriguing complexities of Roy, a breath of
Lance would be tonic as a breeze from the Hills. He was so clear
and sure; not in flashes and spurts, but continuously, like sun-
shine; because the clearness and sureness had his whole personal-
ity behind them. And he could be counted on to deal faithfully
with Roy; perhaps lure him back to the Punjab. It would be sad
losing him; but in the distracting circumstances, a clean cut
seemed the only solution. She would just put in a word to that
effect: a weakness she had rarely been known to resist, however
complete her faith hi the man of the moment. She simply dared
not think of Aruna, who trusted her. It seemed like betrayal
no less. And yet . . . ?
CHAPTER XIII
One made out of the better part of earth,
A man born as at sunrise.
SWINBURNE
IT was all over the strenuous joy of planning and preparing.
Christmas itself was over. From the adjacent borders of British
India five lonely ones had been gathered in. There was Mr.
Mayne, Commissioner of Delhi, Vincent's old friend of Kohat
days, unmarried and alone in camp with a stray Settlement
Officer, whose wife and children were at Home. There was Mr.
Bourne hi the Canals large-boned and cadaverous, with a
sardonic gleam in his eye. Rumour said there had once been a
wife and a friend; now there remained only work and the whiskey
bottle; and he was overdoing both. To him Thea devoted herself
and her fiddle with particular zest. The other two lonelies
a Mr. and Mrs. Naur were medical missionaries, fighting the
influenza scourge in the Delhi area; drastically disinfected
because of the babies; more than thankful for a brief respite
from their daily diet of tragedy, and from labours Hercules' self
would not have disdained. For all that, they had needed a good
deal of pressing. They had 'no clothes.' They were very shy.
But Thea had insisted; so they came clothed chiefly in shyness
and gratitude, which made them shyer than ever.
Roy, still new to Anglo-India, was amazed at the way these
haphazard humans were thawed into a passing intimacy by the
sunshine of Thea's personality. For himself it was the nearest
approach to the real thing that he had known since that dear
and dreamlike Christmas of 1916. It warmed his heart; and
renewed the well-spring of careless happiness that had gone from
him utterly since the blow fell; gone, so he believed, for ever.
Something of this she divined and was glad. Yet her exigent
heart was not altogether at ease. His reaction to Lance, though
unmistakeable, fell short of her confident expectation. He was
PISGAH HEIGHTS 249
still squandering far too much time on the other two. Sometimes
she felt almost angry with him: jealous for Lance. She
knew how deeply he cared underneath; because she too was a
Desmond. And Desmonds could never care by halves.
This morning, for instance, the wretch was out riding with
Dyan; and there was Lance, alone in the drawing-room strum-
ming the accompaniments of things they would play to-night:
just a wandering succession of chords in a minor key; but he had
his father's rare gift of touch, that no training can impart, and
the same trick of playing pensively to himself, almost as if he
were thinking aloud. It was five years since she had seen her
father; and those pensive chords brought sudden tears to her
eyes. What did Lance mean by it mooning about the piano
like that? Had he fallen in love? That was one of the few ques-
tions she did not dare ask him. But here was her chance, at least,
to 'put in a word' about Roy.
So she strolled into the drawing-room and leaned over the
grand piano. His smile acknowledged her presence and his pen-
sive chords went wandering softly away into the bass.
" Idiot what are you doing? " she asked briskly, because the
music was creeping down her spine. "Talking to yourself?"
"More or less."
"Well give over. I'm here. And it's a bad habit."
He shook his head, and went wandering on. " In this form I
find it curiously soothing and companionable."
"Well, you oughtn't to be needing either at Christmas-time
under my roof, with Roy here and all if he'd only behave.
Sometimes I want to shake him "
"Why what's the matter with Roy?" That innocent
query checked her rush of protest in mid-career. Had he not
even noticed? Men were the queerest, dearest things! "He
looks awfully fit. Better all round. He's pulling up. You never
saw him you don't realise "
" But, my dear boy, do you realise that he's getting rather badly
bitten with all this Indian problems and Indian cousins "
Lance nodded. " I've been afraid of that. But one can't say
much."
250 FAR TO SEEK
" 7 can't. I was counting on you as the God-given antidote.
And there he is, still fooling round with Dyan, when you've
come all this way It makes me wild. It isn't fair
Her genuine distress moved Lance to cease strumming and
bestow a friendly pat on her hand. "Don't be giving yourself
headaches and heartaches over Roy and me, darlint. We're
going strong, thanks very much! It would take an earthquake
to throw us out of step. If he chose to chuck his boots at me, I
wouldn't trouble except to return the trees if they were handy!
Strikes me women don't yet begin to understand the noble art
of friendship "
"Which is a libel but let that pass! Besides Hasn't it
struck you? Aruna "
" My God ! " His hands dropped with a crash on the keyboard.
Then, in a low, swift rush: "Thea, you don't mean it you're
pulling my leg!"
"Bible-oath I'm not. It's too safely tucked under the piano."
" My God! " he repeated softly, ignoring her incurable frivol-
ity. "Has he said anything?"
"No. But it's plain they're both smitten more or less."
"Smitten be damned."
"Lance! I won't have Aruna insulted. Let me tell you she's
charming and cultivated; much better company than Floss. And
I love her like a daughter "
" Would you have her marry Roy? " he flung out wrathfully.
"Of course not. But still"
"Me perhaps?" he queried with such fine scorn that she
burst out laughing.
"You priceless gem! You are the unadulterated Anglo-In-
dian!"
" Well what else would I be? What else are you, by the
same token?"
"Not adulterated," she denied stoutly. "Perhaps a wee bit
less 'prejudiced.' The awful result, I suppose, of failing to keep
myself scrupulously detached from my surroundings. Besides,
you couldn't be married twenty years to that Vinx and not widen
out a bit. Of course I'm quite aware that widening out has its
PISGAH HEIGHTS 251
insidious dangers and limitation its heroic virtues Hush!
Don't fly into a rage. Fow're not limited, old boy. You loved
Lady Sinclair."
"I adored her," Lance said, very low; and his fingers strayed
over the keys again. "But she was an accomplished fact.
And she was one hi many thousands. She's gone now,
though. And there's poor Sir Nevil "
He rose abruptly and strode over to the fireplace. "Tell you
what, Thea. If the bee hi Roy's bonnet is buzzing to that tune,
someone's got to stop it "
"That's my point!" She swung round confronting him.
"Why not whisk him back to the Punjab? It does seem the
only way "
Lance nodded gravely. "Now you talk sense. Mind, I don't
believe he'll come. Roy's a tougher customer than he looks to
the naked eye. But I'll have a shot at it to-night. If needs
must, I'll tell him why. I can swallow half a regiment of his
Dyans; but not the other thing. I hope you find us intact hi
the morning!"
She flew to him and kissed him with fervour; and she was still
in his arms when Roy himself strftlled casually into the room.
There were only three guests that night; the State Engineer
and two British officers in the Maharaja's employ. But they sat
down sixteen to dinner; and, very soon after, came three post-
prandial guests in the persons of Dydn and Sir Lakshman, with
his distinguished friend Mahomed Inayat Khan, from Hyder-
bad. Nothing Thea enjoyed better than getting a mixed batch
of men together and hearing them talk especially shop; for
then she knew their hearts were in it. They were happy.
And to-night, her chance assortment was amazingly varied,
even for India: Army, 'Political/ Civil; P.W.D. and Native
States; New India, in the person of Dydn; and not least, the
'medical mish' pair: an element rich hi mute, inglorious hero-
ism, as the villagers and 'depressed classes' of India know.
She took keen delight in the racial interplay of thought and
argument, with Roy, as it were, for bridge-builder between.
252 FAR TO SEEK
How he would relish the idea! He seemed very much in the
vein this evening, especially after his grandfather arrived. He
was clearly making an impression on Mr. Mayne and Inayat
Khan; and a needle-prick of remorse touched her heart. For
Aruna, annexed by Captain Martin's subaltern, was watching
him too, when she fancied no one was looking; and Lance,
attentively silent, was probably laying deep plans for his cap-
ture. A wicked shame but still . . . !
As a matter of fact, Lance too was troubled with faint com-
punction. He had never seen Roy in this kind of company, nor
in this particular vein. And, reluctantly, he admitted that it did
seem rather a waste of his mentally reviving vigour hauling him
back to the common round of tennis and dances and polo yes,
even sacred polo when he was so dead keen on this infernal
agitation business and seemed to know such a deuce of a lot about
it all, one way and another. Lance himself knew far too little;
and was anxious to hear more, for the very intimate, practical
reason that he was not quite happy about his Sikh troop. The
Pathan lot were all right. But the Sikhs his pride and joy
were being 'got at' by those devils in the city. And, if these
men could be believed, 'things' were going to be very much
worse; not only 'down country,' but also in the Punjab,
India's 'sure shield' against the invader. To a Desmond, the
mere suggestion of the Punjab ' turning traitor ' was as if one
impugned the courage of his father or the honour of his mother;
so curiously personal is India's hold upon the hearts of Eng-
lishmen who come under her spell.
So Lance listened intently, if a little anxiously, to all that
Thea's 'mixed biscuits' had to say on that all-absorbing subject.
For to-night 'shop' held the field: if that could be called 'shop'
which vitally concerned the fate of England and India, and of
British dominion in the East. Agitation against the courageous
measures embodied in the Rowlatt Bills was already astir here
and there, like bubbles round the edge of a pot before it boils.
And Inayat Khan had come straight from Bombay, where the
National Congress had just rejected with scorn the latest pallia-
tive from Home; had demanded the release of all revolutionaries,
PISGAH HEIGHTS 253
and the wholesale repeal of laws against sedition. Here was
'shop' sufficiently ominous to overshadow all other topics: and
there was no gene, no constraint. The Englishmen could talk
freely in the presence of cultured Indians who stood for Jaipur
and Hyderabad; since both States were loyal to the core.
Dyan, like Lance, spoke little and pondered much on the talk
of these men whose straight speech and thoughts were refreshing
as their own sea-breezes after the fumes of rhetoric, the fog
of false values that had bemused his brain these three years.
Strange how all the ugliness and pain of hate had shrivelled
away; how he could even shake hands, untroubled, with that
'imperialistic bureaucrat' the Commissioner of Delhi, whom he
might have been told off, any day, to 'remove from this mortal
coil.' Strange to sit there, over against him, while he puffed his
cigar and talked, without fear, of increasing antagonism, in-
creasing danger to himself and his kind.
" There's no sense in disguising the unpalatable truth that New
India hates us," said he in his gruff, deliberate voice. "Present
company excepted, I hope!"
He gravely inclined his head towards Dydn, who responded
mutely with a flutter at his heart. Impossible: the man could
not suspect ?
And the man, looking him frankly in the eyes, added, "The
spirit of the Mutiny's not extinct and we know it, those of us
that count."
Dyn simply sat dumbfounded. It was Sir Lakshman who
said, in his guarded tone: "Nevertheless, sir, the bulk of our
people are loyal and peaceable. Only I fear there are some in
England who do not count that fact to their credit."
" If they ever become anything else, it won't be to our credit,"
put hi Roy. " If we can't stand up to bluster and sedition with
that moral force at our backs, we shall deserve to go under."
" Well spoken, Roy," said his grandfather, still more quietl} .
"Let us hope it is not yet too late. Sadi says, 'The fountain
head of a spring can be blocked with a stick; but, in full flood, it
cannot be crossed, even on an elephant.' "
They exchanged a glance that stirred Roy's pulses and gave
254 FAR TO SEEK
him confidence to go on : " I don't believe it is too late. But what
bothers me is this are we treating our moral force as it de-
serves? Are we giving them loyalty in return for theirs the
sort they can understand? With a dumb executive and voluble
'patriots' persuading or intimidating, the poor beggars haven't
a dog's chance, unless we openly stand by them; openly smite
our enemies and theirs." He boldly addressed himself to
Mayne, the sole symbol of authority present; and the Com-
missioner listened, with a glint of amused approval in his eye.
"You're young, Mr. Sinclair which doesn't mean you're
wrong! Most of us, in our limited fashion, are doing what we can
on those lines. But, after spending half a lifetime in this cli-
mate, doing our utmost to give the peasant and the devil
his due, we're apt to grow cynical "
"Not to mention suicidal!" grunted the slave of work and
whiskey. "We Canal coolies hardly visible to the naked eye
are adding something like an Egypt a year to the Empire. But,
bless you, England takes no notice. Only let some underbred
planter or raw subaltern bundle an Indian out of his carriage, or a
drunken Tommy kick his servant in the spleen, and the whole
British Constitution comes down about our ears!"
"Very true, sir, very true!" Inayat Khan leaned forward.
His teeth gleamed in the dark of his beard. His large, firm-
featured face abounded in good sense and good humour. "How
shall a man see justly if he holds the telescope wrong way r.ound,
as too many do over there? It also remains true, however, that
the manners of certain Anglo-Indians create a lot of bad feeling.
Your so-called reforms do not interest the masses or touch their
imagination. But the boot of the low-class European touches
their backs and their pride and hardens then- hearts. That is
only human nature. In the East a few gold grains of courtesy
touch the heart more than a handsome Khillat 1 of political
hotch-potch. Myself though it is getting dangerous to say
so! I am frankly opposed to this uncontrolled passion for
reform. When all have done their duty in this great struggle,
why such undignified clamour for rewards, which are now being
1 Dress of honour.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 255
flung back in the giver's teeth? It has become a vicious circle. It
was British policy in the first place not so? that stirred up
this superficial ferment; and now it grows alarming, it is doctored
with larger doses of the same medicine. We Indians, who know
how little the bulk of India has really changed, could laugh at
the tamasha of Western fancy-dress, in small matters; but time
for laughing has gone by. Tune has come for saying firmly all
rights and aspirations will be granted, stopping short of actual
government othenvise ! "
He flung up his hands, looked round at the listening faces, and
realised, with a start, how completely he had let himself go. " For-
give me, Colonel. I fear I am talking too much," he said in a
changed tone.
"Indeed, no," Colonel Leigh assured him warmly. "In these
difficult days, loyal and courageous friends like yourself are worth
their weight in gold mohurs!"
Visibly flattered, the Moslem surveyed his own bulky person
with a twinkle of amusement. "If value should go by weight,
Inayat Khan would be worth a king's ransom ! But I assure you,
Colonel, your country has many hundreds of friends like myself
all over India, if only she would seek them out and give them en-
couragement as Mr. Sinclair said instead of wasting it on
volubles who will never cease making trouble till India is in a
blaze."
As the man's patent sincerity had warmed the hearts of his
hearers, so the pointed truth of that last pricked them sharply
and probed deep. For they knew themselves powerless; mere
atoms of the whirling dust-cloud raised, in passing, by the chariot
wheels of Progress or perdition?
The younger men rose briskly, as if to shake off some physical
discomfort. Dyan very much aware of Anina and the sub-
altern approached them with a friendly remark. Roy and
Lance said, "Play up, Thea! Your innings," almost in a breath
and crooked little fingers.
Thea needed no second bidding. While the men talked, a
vague, insidious depression had stolen over her spirit and
brooded there, light and formless as a river mist. Half an hour
256 FAR TO SEEK
with her fiddle, and Lance at his best, completely charmed it
away. But the creepiness of it had been very real: and the
memory remained.
When all the others had dispersed, she lingered over the fire
with Roy, while Lance, at the piano with diplomatic intent
drifted into his friend's favourite Nocturne the Twelfth; that
inimitable rendering of a mood hushed yet exalted, soaring
yet brooding, 'the sky and the nest as well.' The two near the
fire knew every bar by heart, but as the liquid notes stole out
into the room, their fitful talk stopped dead. Lance was playing
superbly, giving every note its true value; the cadence rising and
falling like waves of a still sea; softer and softer till the last note
faded away, ghostlike a sigh rather than a sound.
Roy remained motionless, one elbow on the mantelpiece.
Thea's lashes were wet with the tears of rarefied emotion
tears that neither prick nor burn. The silence itself seemed part
of the music; a silence it were desecration to break. Without a
word to Roy she crossed the room, kissed Lance good-night,
clung a moment to his hands, that had woven the spell, smiling
her thanks, her praise; and slipped away leaving the two together.
Roy subsided into a chair. Lance came over to the fire and
stood there warming his hands. It was a minute or two before
Roy looked up and nodded his acknowledgements.
"You're a magician, old chap. You play that thing a damn
sight too well."
He did not add that his friend's music had called up a vision of
the Home drawing-room, clear in every detail; Lance at the
piano his last week-end from Sandhurst playing the 'thing'
by request; himself lounging on the hearthrug, his head against
his mother's knee; the very feel of her silk skirt against his cheek,
of her fingers on his hair . . . Nor did he add that the vision had
spurred his reluctant spirit to a resolve.
The more practical soul of Lance Desmond had already
dropped back to earth, as a lark drops after pouring out its heart
in the blue. In spite of concern for Roy, he was thinking again
of his Sikhs.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 257
"I suppose one can take it," he remarked thoughtfully, "that
Vinx and Mayne and that good old Moslem johnny know what
they're talking about?"
Roy smiled having jumped at the connection. " I'm afraid,"
he said, "one can."
"You think big trouble is coming organised trouble?"
" I do. That is, unless some ' strong silent man ' has the pluck to
put his foot down in time, and chance the consequences to him-
self. Thank God, we've another John Lawrence in the Punjab."
"And it's the Punjab that matters"
"Especially a certain P.C. Regiment eh?"
Lance was in arms at once: that meant he had touched
the spot. "No flies on the Regiment. Trust Paul. It's only
I get bothered about a Sikh here and there."
Again Roy nodded. "The blighters have taken particular
pains with the Sikhs. Realising that they'll need some fighting
stuff. And Lahore's a bad place. I expect they sneak off to
meetings in the city."
"Devil a doubt of it. Mind you, I trust them implicitly.
But, outside their own line, they're credulous as children you
know."
"Rather. In Delhi, I had a fair sample of it"
Another pause. It suddenly occurred to Lance that his pre-
cious Sikhs were not supposed to be the topic of the evening.
" You're quite fit again, Roy. And those blooming fools chucked
you like a cast horse " He broke out in a spurt of vexation.
" I wish to God you were back with your old Squadron."
And Roy said from his heart, "I wish to God I was."
"Paul misses you, though he never says much. The new lot
from Home are good chaps. Full of brains and theories. But no
knowledge. Can't get at the men. You could still help, unoffi-
cially, in all sorts of ways. Why not come along back with me
on the third? Haven't you been pottering round here long
enough?"
Roy shook his head. "Thanks all the same, for the invite 1
Of course I'd love it. But I've things to do. There's a novel
taking shape and other oddments. I've done precious little
258 FAR TO SEEK
writing here. Too much entangled with human destinies. I must
bury myself somewhere and get a move on. April it is. I won't
fail you."
Lance kicked an unoffending log. " Confound your old novel ! "
A portentous silence. "See here, Roy, I won't badger you.
But well the fact is, if I'm to go back in moderate peace of
mind, I want certain guarantees."
Roy lifted his eyes. Lance frankly encountered them ; and there
ensued one of those intimate pauses in which the unspeakable is
said.
Roy looked away. "Aruna?" He let fall the word barely
above his breath.
"Just that."
"You're frightened both of you? Oh, yes I've seen '
He fell silent, staring into the fire. When he spoke again, it was
in the same low, detached tone. "You two needn't worry. The
guarantee you're after was given ... in July 1914 . . . under the
beeches ... at Home. She foresaw understood. But she
couldn't foresee . . . the harder tug now she's gone. The
. . . association . . . and all that."
"Is it only that?"
"It's mostly that."
To Lance Desmond, very much a man, it seemed the queerest
state of things; and he knew only a fragment of the truth.
"Look here, Roy," he urged again. "Wouldn't the Punjab
really be best? Aren't you plunging a bit too deep ? Does
your father realise? Thea feels
"Yes, Thea feels, bless her! But there's a thing or two she
doesn't know!" He lifted his head and spoke in an easier voice.
"One queer thing it may interest you. Those few weeks of
living as a native among natives amazingly intensified all
the other side of me. I never felt keener on the Sinclair heritage
and all it stands for. I never felt keener on you two than all this
time while I've been concentrating every faculty on the other
two. Sounds odd. But it's a fact."
"Good. And does your cousin know about the guar-
antee?"
PISGAH HEIGHTS 259
"N-no. That's still to come."
"When ?"
Roy frankly encountered his friend's challenging gaze. " Damn
you ! " he said softly. Then, hi a graver tone: " You're right. I've
been shirking it. Seemed a shame to spoil Christmas. Remains
the New Year. I fixed it up while you were playing that
thing, to be exact."
"Did I contribute?"
"You did if that gives you any satisfaction!" He rose,
stretched himself and yawned ostentatiously. "My God, I wish
it was over."
Desmond said nothing. If Roy loved him more for one quality
than another, it was for his admirable gift of silence.
CHAPTER XIV
Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of
the burden of pain this gift of thine.
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
IT was the last day of the year; the last moon of the year almost
at her zenith. Of all the Christmas guests Lance alone remained;
and Thea had promised him, before leaving, a moonlight vision
of Amber, the Sleeping Beauty of Rajasthan. The event had
been delayed till now partly because they waited on the moon;
partly because they did not want it to be a promiscuous affair.
To Thea's lively imagination and to Roy's no less Amber
was more than a mere city of ghosts and marble halls. It was
a symbol of Rajput womanhood strong and beautiful, with-
drawn from the clamour of the market-place, given over to her
dreams and her gods. For though kings have deserted Amber,
the gods remain. There is still life in her temples and the blood
of sacrifice on her altar stones. Therefore she must not be ap-
proached in the spirit of the tourist. And, emphatically, she must
not be approached in a motor car, at least so far as Thea's guests
were concerned. Of course one knew she was approached by
irreverent cars; also by tourists unspeakable ones, who made
contemptible jokes about 'a, slump in house property.' But for
these vandalisms Thea Leigh was not responsible.
Her young ones, including Captain Martin, would ride; but
because of Aruna, she and Vincent must submit to the barouche.
So transparent was the girl's pleasure at being included that
Thea's heart failed her knowing what she knew.
Roy and Lance had ridden on ahead; out through the fortified
gates into the open desert, strewn with tumbled fragments of the
jlory that was Rajasthan. There where courtiers had intrigued
and flattered, crows held conference. On the crumbling arch of a
doorway, that opened into emptiness, a vulture brooded, heavy
with feeding on those who had $ed for lack of food. Knee-deep
PISGAH HEIGHTS 261
in the Man Sagar Lake grey cranes sought their meat from God;
every line and curve of them repeated in the quiet water. And
there, beside a ruined shrine, two dead cactus bushes, with their
stiff, distorted limbs, made Roy think suddenly of two dead Ger-
mans he had come upon once killed so swiftly that they still
retained, in death, the ghastly semblance of life. Why the devil
couldn't a man be rid of them? Dead Germans were not 'in
the bond' . . .
"Buck up, Lance," he said abruptly; for Desmond, who saw
no ghosts, was keenly interested. " Let's quit this place of skulls
and empty eye-sockets. Amber's dead ; but not utterly decayed."
He knew. He had ridden out alone one morning in the light
of paling stars, to watch the dawn steal down through the valley
and greet the sleeping city that would never wake again; half
hoping to recapture the miracle of Chitor. But Amber did not
enshrine the soul of his mother's race. And the dawn had proved
merely a dawn. Moonlight, with its eerie enchantment, would
be even more beautiful and fitting; but the pleasure of anticipa-
tion was shadowed by his resolve. He had spoken of it only to
Thea; asking her, when tea was over, to give him a chance:
and now he was heartily wishing he had chosen any other place
and time than this . . .
The brisk canter to the foothills was a relief. Thence the road
climbed, between low, reddish-grey spurs, to the narrow pass,
barred by a formidable gate that swung open at command, with
a screech of rusty hinges, as if in querulous protest against in-
trusion. Another gateway and yet another: then they were
through the triple wall that guards the dead city from the
invader who will never come, while both races honour the
pact that alone saved desperate, stubborn Rajputana from
extinction.
Up on the heights it was still day; but in the valley it was al-
most evening. And there among deepening shadows and tum-
bled fragments of hills lay Amber: her palace and temples and
broken nouses crowding round their sacred Lake, like Queens
and their handmaids round the shield of a dead King.
Descending at a foot's pace, the chill of emptiness and of on-
262 FAR TO SEEK
coining twilight seemed to close like icy fingers on Roy's heart;
though the death of Amber was as nothing to the death of Chitor.
the warrior-queen ravished and violently slain by Akbars
legions. Amber had, as it were, died peacefully in her sleep. But
there remained the all-pervading silence and emptiness: her
sorrowful houses, cleft from roof to roadway; no longer homes
of men, but of the rock pigeon, the peacock, and the wild boar;
stones of her crumbling arches thrust apart by roots of acacia and
neem; her streets choked with cactus and brushwood; her beauty
- disfigured but not erased reflected in the unchanging mir-
ror of the Lake.
If Roy and Lance had talked little before, they talked less
now. From the Lake-side they rode up, by stone pathways, to
the Palace of stone and marble, set upon a jutting rock and com-
manding the whole valley. There, in the quadrangle, they left
the horses with their grooms, who were skilled in cutting cor-
ners and had trotted most of the way.
Close to the gate stood a temple of fretted marble neither
ruined nor deserted; for within were the priests of Kali, and the
faint, sickly smell of blood. Daybreak after daybreak, for cen-
turies, the severed head of a goat had been set before her, the
warm blood offered in a bronze bowl . . .
"Pah! Beastly!" muttered Lance. "I'd sooner have no re-
ligion at all."
Roy smiled at him, sidelong and said nothing. It was
beastly: but it matched the rest. It was in keeping with the
dusky rooms, all damp-encrusted, the narrow passages and
screens of marble tracery; the cloistered hanging garden, be-
yond the women's rooms, their baths chiselled out of naked
rock. And the beastliness was set off by the beauty' of inlay and
carving and colour; by the splendour of bronze gates and marble
pillars, and slabs of carven granite that served as balustrade to
the terraced roof, where daylight still lingered and azure-necked
peacocks strutted, serenely immune.
Seated on a carven slab, they looked downward into the heart
of desolation; upward, at creeping battlements and a little tem-
ple of Shiva printed sharply on the light-filled sky.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 263
"Can't you feel the ghosts of them all round you?" whispered
Roy.
"No, thank God, I can't," said practical Lance, taking out a
cigarette. But a rustle of falling stones made him start the
merest fraction. "Perhaps smoke'll keep 'em off like mos-
quitoes!" he added hopefully.
But Roy paid no heed. He was looking down into the hollow
shell of that which had been Amber. Not a human sound any-
where; nor any stir of life but the soft, ceaseless kuru-kooing
doves that nested and mated in those dusky inner rooms, where
Queens had mated with Kings.
"Thou hast made of a city an heap; of a defenced city a ruin
. . . Their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall
dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there," he quoted softly; add-
ing, after a pause, "Mother had a great weakness for old Isaiah.
She used to say he and the minor prophets knew all about Rajas-
than. The owls of Amber are blue pigeons. But I hope she's
spared the satyrs."
"Globe-trotters!" suggested Lance.
"Or 'Piffers' devoid of reverence!" retorted Roy. "Hullo!
Here come the others."
Footsteps and voices in the quadrangle waked hollow echoes
as when a stone drops into a well. Presently they sounded on the
stairs near by; Flossie's rather boisterous laugh; Martin chaffing
her in his husky tones.
" Great sport! Let's rent it off H.H. and gather 'em all in from
the highways and hedges for a masked fancy ball!"
Roy stood up and squared his shoulders. "Satyrs' dancing,
with a vengeance!" said he; but the gleam of Aruna's sari smote
him silent. A band seemed to tighten round his heart . . .
Before tea was over, peacocks and pigeons had gbne to roost
among the trees that shadowed the Lake; and the light behind
the hills had passed swiftly from gold to flame colour, from flame
colour to rose. For the sun, that had already departed in effect,
was now setting in fact.
"Hush it's coming," murmured Thea; and it came.
264 FAR TO SEEK
Hollow thuds, quickening to a vibrant roar, swelled up from
the temple in the courtyard below. The Brahmins were beating
the great tom-tom before Kali's Shrine.
It was the signal. It startlingly waked the dead city to shrill,
discordant life. Groanings and howlings and clashings as of To-
phet were echoed and re-echoed from every temple, every shrine;
an orgy of demoniac sounds; blurred in transit through the empty
rooms beneath; pierced at intervals by the undulating wail of
rams' horns; the two reiterate notes wandering, like lost souls,
through a confused blare of cymbals and bagpipes and all kinds
of music.
Flossie, with a bewitching grimace at Martin, clapped both
hands over her ears. Roy standing by the balustrade with
Aruna was aware of an answering echo somewhere in subcon-
scious depths, as the discords rose and fell above the throbbing
undernote of the drum. It was as if the clamant voices of the
East cried out to the blood in his veins: 'You are of us do
what you will; go where you will.' And all the while his eyes
never left Aruna's half-averted face.
Sudden and clear from the heights came a ringing peal of bells
as it were the voices of angels answering the wail of devils in
torment. It was from the little Shrine of Shiva close against the
ramparts etched in outline above the dark of the hills.
Aruna turned and looked up at him. "Too beautiful!" she
whispered.
He nodded, and flung out an arm. "Look there!"
Low and immense pale in the pallor of the eastern sky
the moon hung poised above massed shadows, like a wraith es-
caped from the city of death. Moment by moment, she drew
light from the vanished sun. Moment by moment, under their
watching eyes, she conjured the formless dark into a new heaven,
a new earth . . .
"Would you be afraid to stroll round a little with me?"
he asked.
"Afraid? I would love it if Thea will allow." This time
she did not look up.
Vincent and Thea were sitting a little farther along the balus-
PISGAH HEIGHTS 265
trade; Lance beside them, imbibing tales of Rajasthan. Flossie
and her Captain had already disappeared.
"7'm going to be frankly a Goth and flash my electric torch
into holes and corners," Lance announced as the other two came
up. "I bar being intimidated by ghosts."
"We're not going to be intimidated either," said Roy, ad-
dressing himself to Thea. "And I guarantee not to let Arrina be
spirited away."
Vincent shot a look at his wife. "Don't wander too far," said
he.
"And don't hang about too long," she added. "It'll be cold
going home."
Though he was standing close to her, she could say no more.
But, under cover of the dusk, her hand found his and closed on it
hard.
The characteristic impulse heartened him amazingly, as he
followed Aruna down the ghostly stairway, through marble
cloisters into the hanging garden, misted with moonlight, fra-
grant with orange-trees.
And now there was more than Thea's hand-clasp to uphold
him. Gradually there dawned on him a faint yet sure intima-
tion of his mother's presence, of her tenderly approving love:
dim' to his brain, yet as sensible to his innermost spirit as
light and warmth to his material body. It did not last many
moments; but as in all contact with her the clear after-
certainty remained . . .
Exactly what he intended to say he did not know even now.
To speak the cruel truth, yet by some means to soften the edge of
its cruelty the thing seemed impossible. But nerved by this
vivid exalted sense of her nearness, the right moment, the right
words could be trusted to come of themselves . . .
And Aruna, walking beside him hi a hushed expectancy, was
remembering that other night, so strangely far away, when they
had walked alone under the same moon, and assurance of his love
had so possessed her, that she had very nearly broken her brave
little chir&gh. And to-night how different! Her very love for
him, though the same, was not quite the same. It seemed to de-
266 FAR TO SEEK
pend not at all on nearness or response. Starved of both, it had
grown not less, but more.
From a primitive passion it had become a rarefied emotional
atmosphere in which she lived and moved. And this garden of
eerie lights and shadows was saturated with it; thronged, to her
fancy, with ghosts of dead passions and intrigues, of dead Queens,
in whom the twin flames of love and courage could be quenched
only by flames of the funeral pyre. Their blood ran in her veins
and in his too. That closeness of belonging none could snatch
from her. About the other, she was growing woefully uncertain,
as day followed day, and still no word. Was there trouble after
all? Would he speak to-night . . . ?
They had reached a dark doorway; and he was trying the
handle. It opened inwards.
"I'm keen to go a little way up the hillside," he said, forcing
himself to break a silence that was growing oppressive. "To get
a sight of the Palace with the moon full on it. We'll be cautious
not go too far."
"I am ready to go anywhere," she answered; and the fervour
of that simple statement told him she was not thinking of hill-
sides any more than he was at the back of his mind.
Silence was unkinder than speech; and as they passed out into
the open he scanned the near prospect for a convenient spot.
Not far above them a fragment of ruined wall, overhung by trees,
ended in a broken arch; its lingering keystone threatened by a
bird-borne acacia. A fallen slab of stone, half under it, offered
a not too distant seat. Slab and arch were in full light; the
space beyond engulfed in shadow. Far up the hillside a jackal
laughed. Across the valley another answered it. A monkey
swung from a branch on to the slab, and sat there engaged in his
toilet a very imp of darkness.
"Not be-creeped are you?" Roy asked.
"Just the littlest bit! Nice kind of creeps. I feel quite safe
with you."
The path was rough in parts. Once she stumbled and his hand
closed lightly on her arm under the cloak. She felt safe with him
and he must turn and smite her 1
PISGAH HEIGHTS 267
At their approach the monkey fled with a gibbering squeak:
and Roy loosened his hold. Between them and the Lake loomed
the noble bulk of the Palace; roof terraces and facades bathed
in silver splashed with indigo shadow; but for them mere
man and woman its imperishable strength and beauty had sud-
denly become a very little thing. They scarcely noticed it even.
"There sit," Roy said softly; and she obeyed.
Her smile mutely invited him; but he could not trust himself
yet. He might have known the moonlight would go to his head.
"Aruna my dear " He plunged without preamble. "I
took you away from them all because well we can't pretend
any more you and I. It's fate and there we are. I love you
dearly truly. But "
How could one go on?
"Oh, Roy!"
Her lifted gaze, her low, impassioned cry told all; and before
that too clear revealing his hard-won resolution quailed.
"No not that. I don't deserve it," he broke out, lashing
himself and startling her. "I've been a rank coward letting
things drift. But honestly I hadn't the conceit we were cous-
ins it seemed natural. And now this/ "
A stupid catch in his throat arrested him. She sat motionless;
never a word.
Impulsively he dropped on one knee, to be nearer, yet not too
near. "Aruna I don't know how to say it. The fact is ...
they were afraid, at Home, if I came out here, I might it
might . . . Well, just what's come to us," he blurted out in des-
peration. "And Mother told me frankly it mustn't be, twice
running like that." Her stillness dismayed him. "Dear," he
urged tenderly, "you see their difficulty you understand?"
" I am trying to understand." Her voice was small and con-
tained. The courage and control of it unsteadied him more than
any passionate protest. Yet he hurried on in the same low tone*
"Of course, I ought to have thought. But, as I say, it seemed
natural . . . Only on Dewali-night '
She caught her breath. "Yes Dewdli-night. Mai Lakshmi
knew. Why did you not say it tlien?"
268 FAR TO SEEK
"Well so soon I wasn't sure ... I hoped going away
might give us both a chance. It seemed the best I could do," he
pleaded. " And there was Dyan. I'm not vamping up excuses,
Aruna. If you hate me for hurting you so
"Roy you shall not say it!" she cried, roused at last.
" Could I hate the heart in my own body? "
"Better for us both, perhaps, if you could!" he jerked out,
rising abruptly, not daring to let the full force of her confession
sink in. "But because of my father, I promised. No getting
over that."
She was silent: a silence more moving, more compelling
than speech. Was she wondering had he not promised . . . ?
Was he certain himself? Near enough to swear by; and the im-
pulse to comfort her was overwhelming.
"If if things had been different, Aruna," he added with
grave tenderness, " of course I would be asking you now ... to
be my wife."
At that, the tension of her control seemed to snap; and hiding
her face, she sat there shaken all through with muffled, broken-
hearted sobs.
"Don't oh, don't!" he cried low, his own nerves quivering
with her pain.
"How can I not?" she wailed, battling with fresh sobs. "Be-
cause of your Indian mother I hoped But for me Eng-
land-returned no hope anywhere: no true country now; no
true belief ; no true home; everything divided in two; only my
heart not divided. And that you cannot have, even if you
would "
Tears threatened again. It was all he could do not to take her
in his arms. "If if they would only leave me alone," she went
on, clenching her small hands to steady herself. "But impossible
to change all the laws of our religion for one worthless me. They
will insist I shall marry even Dyan; and I cannot I can-
notI"
Suddenly there sprang an inspiration, born of despair, of the
chance and the hour, and the grave tenderness of his assurance.
No time for shrinking or doubt. Impulse and action were one.
PISGAH HEIGHTS 269
Almost in speaking she was on her feet; her cloak that had
come unlinked dropped from her shoulders, leaving her a slim
strip of pallor, like a ray of light escaped from clouds.
"Roy Dilkusha!" Involuntarily her hands went out to
him. "If it is true . . . you are caring and if I must not be-
long to you, there is a way you can belong to me without trou-
ble for anyone. If if we make pledge of betrothal . . . for this
one night; if you hold me this one hour ... I am safe. For me
that pledge would be sacred as marriage, because I am still
Hindu. Perhaps I am punished for far-away sins not worthy
to be wife and mother; but, by my pledge, I can remain always
Swami Bakht worshipper of my lord ... a widow in my
heart."
And Roy stood before her motionless; stirred all through by
the thrill of her exalted passion, of her strange appeal; the pathos
the nobility of it swept him a little off his feet. It seemed as
if, till to-night, he had scarcely known her. The Eastern in him
said, 'Accept.' The Englishman demurred 'Unfair to her.'
"My dear" he said "I can refuse you nothing. But
is it right? You should marry "
"Don't trouble your mind for me," she murmured; and her
eyes never left his face. "If I keep out of purdah, becoming
Brahmo Samaj . . . perhaps " She drew in her full lower lip to
steady it. "But the marriage of arrangement I cannot. I
have read too many English books, thought too many English
thoughts. And I know in here" one clenched hand smote her
breast "that now I could not give my body and life to any
man, unless heart and mind are given too. And for me Must I
tell all? It is not only these few weeks. It is years and years
Her voice broke.
"Aruna! Dearest one "
He opened his arms to her and she was on his breast. Close
and tenderly he held her, putting a strong constraint on himself
lest her ecstasy of surrender should bear down all his defences.
To fail her like this was a bitter thing: and as her arms stole up
round his neck, he instinctively tightened his hold. So yielding
she was, so unsubstantial . . . '
270 FAR TO SEEK
And suddenly, a rush of memory wafted him from the moon-
lit hillside to the drawing-room at Home. It was his mother
he held against his breast : the silken draperies, the clinging
arms, the yielding softness, the unyielding courage at the core
... So vivid, so poignant was the lightning gleam of illusion,
that when it passed he felt dizzy, as if his body had been swept in
the wake of his spirit, a thousand leagues and back: dizzy,
yet, in some mysterious fashion, re-enforced assured . . .
He knew now that his defences would hold . . .
And Aruna, utterly at rest in his arms, knew it also. He loved
her oh, yes, truly as much as he said and more; but in-
stinct told her there lacked . . . just something, something that
would have set him and her on fire, and perhaps have
made renunciation unthinkable. Her acute, instinctive sense of
it hurt like the edge of a knife pressed on her heart; yet just en-
abled her to bear the unbearable. Had it been . . . that way, to
lose him were utter loss. This way there would be no losing.
What she had now, she would keep whether his bodily pres-
ence were with her or no ...
Next minute, she dropped from the heights. Fire ran in her
veins. His lips were on her forehead.
" The seal of betrothal," he whispered. " My brave Aruna
Without a word she put up her face like a child; but it was very
woman who yielded her lips to his ...
For her, in that supreme moment, the years that were past
and the years that were to come seemed gathered into a burnt
offering laid on his shrine. For her, that long kiss held much
of passion confessed yet transcended; more of sacredness, in-
expressible, because it would never come again with him or
any other man. She vowed it silently to her own heart . . .
Again far up the hillside a jackal laughed; another and an-
other as if hi derision. She shivered; and he loosed his hold,
still keeping an arm round her. To-night they were betrothed.
He owed her all he had the right to give.
"Your cloak. You'll catch your death..." He stopped
short and flung up his head. "What was that? There
again in those trees "
PISGAH HEIGHTS 871
"Some monkey, perhaps," she whispered, startled by his look
and tone.
"Hush Listen!" His grip tightened and they stood rigidly
still, Roy straining every nerve to locate those stealthy sounds.
They were almost under the arch; strong, mellow light on one
side, nethermost darkness on the other. And from all sides the
large, unheeded night seemed to close in on them threaten-
ing, full of hidden danger.
Presently the sounds came again, unmistakeably nearer; faint
rustlings and creakings, then a distinct crumbling, as of loosened
earth and stones. The shadowy plumes of acacia that crowned
the arch stirred perceptibly, though no breeze was abroad: and
not the acacia only. To Aruna's excited fancy it seemed that
the loose upper stones of the arch itself moved ever so slightly.
But was it fancy? No there again !
And before the truth dawned on Roy, she had pushed him with
all her force, so violently that he stumbled backward and let go
of her.
Before he recovered himself, down crashed two large stones
and a shower of small ones on Aruna, not on him. With a
stifled scream she tottered and fell, knocking her head against
the slab of rock.
Instantly he was on his knees beside her; staunching the cut
on her forehead, that was bleeding freely, binding it with his
handkerchief; consumed with rage and concern; rage at himself
and the dastardly intruder: no monkey, that was certain. His
quick ear caught the stealthy rustling again, lower down; and
yes unmistakeably a human sound, like a stifled exclama-
tion of dismay.
"Aruna I must get at that devil," he whispered. "Does
your head feel better? Dare I leave you a moment? "
"Yes oh, yes," she whispered back. "Nothing will harm
me. Only take care please take care."
Hastily he made a pillow of his overcoat and covered her with
the cloak; then, stooping down, he kissed her fervently and
was gone.
CHAPTER XV
Then was I rapt away by the impulse, one
Immeasurable . . . wave of a need
To abolish tfiat detested life.
R. BROWNING
LITHE and noiseless as a cat, Roy crept through the archway
into outer darkness. It was hateful leaving Aruna; but rage at
her hurt and the primitive instinct of pursuit were not to be
denied. And she might have been killed. And she had done it
for him: coals of fire, indeed! Also, the others would be get-
ting anxious. Let him only catch that mysterious skulker, and
he could shout across to the Palace roof. They would hear.
Close under the wall he waited, all the scout in him alert. The
cautious rustlings drew stealthily nearer; ceased, for a few tan-
talising seconds; then, out of the massed shadows, there crept a
moving shadow.
Roy's spring was calculated to a nicety; but the thing swerved
sharply and fled up the rough hillside. There followed a ghostly
chase, unreal as a nightmare, lit up by the moon's deceptive bril-
liance; the earth, an unstable welter of light and darkness, shift-
ing under his feet.
The fleeing shade was agile; and plainly familiar with the
ground. Baulked, and lured steadily farther from Aruna, all
the Rajput flamed in Roy. During those mad moments he
was capable of murdering the unknown with his hands . . .
Suddenly, blessedly, the thing stumbled and dropped to its
knees. With the spring of a panther, he was on it, his fingers at
its throat, pinning it to earth. The choking cry moved him not
at all: and suddenly the moonlight showed him the face oi
Chandranath; mingled hate and terror in the starting eyes . . .
Amazed beyond measure, he unconsciously relaxed his grip.
" You is it? you devil ! "
There was no answer. Chandranath had had the wH to wriggle
PISGAH HEIGHTS 273
almost clear of him almost, not quite. Roy's pounce was
worthy of his Rajput ancestors; and next moment they were
locked in a silent, purposeful embrace . . .
But Roy's brain was cooler now. Sanity had returned. He
could still have choked the life out of the man without com-
punction. But he did not choose to embroil himself, or his peo-
ple, on account of anything so contemptible as the creature
that was writhing and scratching hi his grasp. He simply
wanted to secure him and hand him over to the Jaipur authori-
ties, who had several scores up against him.
But Chandranath, though not skilled, had the ready cunning
of the lesser breeds. With a swift, unexpected move, he tripped
Roy up so that he nearly fell backward; and, hi a supreme
effort to keep his balance, he unconsciously loosened his hold.
This time, Chandranath slipped free of him; and, in the act,
pushed him so violently that he staggered and came down among
sharp broken stones with one foot twisted under him. When he
would have sprung up, a stab of pain in his ankle told him he
was done for ...
The sheer ignominy of it enraged him; and he was still further
enraged by the proceedings of the victor, who sprang nimbly out
of reach on to a fragment of buttressed wall, whence he let fly a
string of abusive epithets nicely calculated to touch up Roy'-
pride and temper and goad him to helpless fury.
But if his ankle was crippled, his brain was not. While Chan-
dranath indulged his pent-up spite, Roy was feeling stealthily,
purposefully, hi the semi-darkness, for the sharpest chunk of
stone he could lay hands on; a chunk warranted to hurt badly,
if nothing more. The strip of shadow against the sky made an
admirable target; and Roy's move, when it came, was swift, his
aim unerring.
Somewhere about the head or shoulders it took effect: a yell of
rage and pain assured him of that, as his target vanished f -r l! ( e
far side of the wall. Had he jumped or fallen? And what did the
damage amount to? Roy would have given a good deal to know;
but he had neither tune nor power to investigate. Nothing for it
but to crawl back and shout to Aruna, when he got within hail.
274 FAR TO SEEK
It was an undignified performance. His twisted ankle stabbed
like a knife, and never failed to claim acquaintance with every
obstacle in its path. Presently, to his immense relief, the dark-
ness ahead was raked by a restless light, zigzagging like a giant
glow-worm.
"Lance ahoy!" he shouted.
" Righto ! " Lance sang out ; and the glow-worm waggled a wel-
come.
Another shout from the Palace roof, answered in concert;
and the mad, bad dream was over. He was back in the world
of realities ; on his feet again one foot, to be exact supported
by Desmond's arm; pouring out his tale.
Lance already knew part of it. He had found Anina and was
hurrying on to find Roy. "Your cousin's got the pluck of a Raj-
put," he concluded. "But she seems a bit damaged. The left
arm's broken, I'm afraid."
Roy cursed freely. "Wish to God I could make sure if I've
sent that skunk to blazes."
" Just as well you can't, perhaps. If your shot took effect, the
skunk won't be off in a hurry. The police can nip out when we
get back."
"Look here keep it dark till I've seen Dyan. ]
nath's nabbed, he'll want to be in it. Only fair!"
Lance chuckled. "What an unholy pair you are!-
way, I fancy Martin's pulled it off with Miss Flossie. I tumbled
across them in the hanging garden. You left that door open.
Gave me the tip you might be out on the loose."
Desmond's surmise proved correct. Aruna's left- arm was
broken above the elbow: a simple fracture, but it hurt a good
deal. Thea, in charge of ' the wounded,' eased them both as best
she could, during the long drive home. But Anina, still in her
exalted mood, counted mere pain a little thing, when Roy, under
cover of the cloak, found her cold right hand and cherished it in
his warm one nearly all the way.
No one paid much heed to Martin and Flossie, who felt pri-
vately annoyed with 'the native cousin' for putting her nose out
PISGAH HEIGHTS 275
of joint. Defrauded of her due importance, she told her com-
placent lover they must 'save up the news till to-morrow.'
Meantime, they rode, very much at leisure, behind the ba-
rouche; and no one troubled about them at all.
Lance and Vincent, having cantered on ahead, called in for
Miss Hammond and left word at Sir Lakshman's house that
Aruna had met with a slight accident; and would he and her
brother come out to the Residency after dinner.
Before the meal was over, they arrived. Miss Hammond was
upstairs attending to Aruna; and Sir Lakshman joined them
without ceremony, leaving Dyan alone with Roy, who was
nursing his ankle in an armchair near the drawing-room fire. In
ten minutes of intimate talk he heard the essential facts, with
reservations; and Roy had never felt more closely akin to him
than on that evening. Rajput chivalry is no mere tradition. It
is vital and active as ever it was. Insult or injury to a woman is
sternly avenged; and the offender is lucky if he escapes the ex-
treme penalty. Roy frankly hoped he had inflicted it himself.
But for Dyan surmise was not enough. He would not eat or
sleep till he had left his own mark on the man who had come
near killing his sister most sacred being to him, who had
neither wife nor mother.
"The delicate attention was meant for me, you know," Roy
reminded him; simply from a British impulse to give the devil
his due.
"Tcha!" Dy&n's thumb and finger snapped like a toy pistol.
"No law-courts talk for me. You were so close together. He
took the risk. By Indra, he won't take any more such risks if I
get at him ! You said we would not see him here. But no doubt
he has been hanging round Amber, making what mischief he can.
He must have heard your party was coming; and got sneaking
round for a chance to score off you. Young Ramanund, priest of
Kdli's Shrine, is one of those he has made his tool, the way he
made me. If he is in Amber, I shall find him. You can take your
oath on that." He stood up, straight and virile, instinct with
purpose as a drawn sword. " I am going now, Roy. But not one
word to any soul. Grandfather and Aruna only need to know I
276 FAR TO SEEK
am trying to find who toppled those stones. I shall not succeed.
That is all : except for you and me. Bijli, Son of Lightning,
will take me full gallop to Amber. First thing in the morning,
I will come and make my report."
"But look here Lance knows "
" Well, your Lance can suppose he got away. We could trust
him, I don't doubt. But what is known to more than two will in
time be known to a hundred. For myself, I don't trouble. Among
Rajputs the penalty would be slight. But this thing must be kept
between you and me because of Aruna."
Roy held out his hand. Dyan's fingers closed on it like taut
strips of steel. Unmistakeably the real Dyan Singh had shed
the husks of scholarship and politics and come into his own again.
"I wouldn't care to have those at my throat!" remarked Roy,
pensively considering the streaks on his own hand.
"Some Germans didn't care for it in France," said Dyan
coolly. " But now " He scowled at his offending left arm. " I
hope very soon never mind. No more talking poison
gas!" And with a flash of white teeth he was gone.
Roy, left staring into the fire, followed him in imagination,
speeding through the silent city out into the region of ' skulls and
eye-sockets ' a flying shadow in the moonlight with murder in
its heart . . .
Within an hour, that flying shadow was outside the gateway
of Amber, startling the doorkeepers from sleep; murder, not only
in its heart, but tucked securely in its belt. No 'law-courts talk'
for one of his breed; no nice adjustment of penalty to offence;
no concern as to possible consequences. The Rajput, with his
blood up, is daring to the point of recklessness; deaf to puerile
promptings of prudence or mercy; a sword, seeking its victim,
insatiate till the thrust has gone home.
And, in justice to Dyan Singh, it should be added that there
was more than Aruna in his mind. There was India increas-
ingly at the mercy of Chandranath and his kind. The very blind-
ness of his earlier obsession had intensified the effect of his awak-
ening. Roy's devoted daring, his grandfather's mellow wisdom,
PISGAH HEIGHTS 277
had worked in his fiery soul more profoundly than they knew:
and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, an act of expiation. At
the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would unhesitatingly
have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi the sane,
strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on
the few occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law
of God or man, then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this
snake under his heel?
One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind.
The son of a jackal should know who struck him. He should
taste fear, before he tasted death. And then the Lake, that
would never give up its secret or its dead. Sri Chandranath
would simply disappear from his world, like a stone flung into a
river; and India would be a cleaner place without him. He knew
himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But tcha! the man
was a coward. Let the gods but deliver his victim into that one
purposeful hand of his and the end was sure.
Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered
him securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted
creature nuzzled against him, as who should say, ' What need of
speech between me and thee? ' Then following Roy's direc-
tions he made his way cautiously up the hillside, where the
arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath had been in-
jured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far.
His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed.
The guardian gods of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For
there, on the fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its
head in its hands. "Must have been stunned," he thought.
Patently the gods were with him. Had he been an Englishman,
the man's hurt would probably have balked him of his purpose.
But Dyan Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the sportsman's
code of morals. He was frankly out to kill. His brain worked
swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed . . .
Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on
its prey: the long knife gripped securely hi his teeth. Before
Chandranath came to his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his
throat, stifling the yell of terror at Roy's supposed return . . .
278 FAR TO SEEK
The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes, Dyan
had his man down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful
knees, that his one available hand might be free to strike. Then,
in a low, fierce rush, he spoke: "Yes it is I Dyan Singh.
You told me often strike, for the Mother. ' Who kills the body
kills naught.' I strike for the Mother now."
Once twice the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing
between his knees was still.
He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the
$hore of the Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp bur-
den slung over his shoulder. But his imagination did not run
riot, like Roy's: and no qualms of conscience perturbed his soul.
He had avenged, tenfold, Aruna's injury. He had expiated, in
drastic fashion, his own aberration from sanity. It was enough.
The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted
with stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur
the Lake would utter no sound . . .
CHAPTER XVI
So let him journey through his earthly day;
'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way;
Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride
He, every moment, still unsatisfied.
FAUST
NEXT morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on
the edge of his bed; cautiously, circumstantially, telling him all.
Roy, as he listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer
impetus of the thing; and again he felt as once or twice in
Delhi what centuries apart they were, though related, and
almost of an age.
"This will be only between you and me, Roy for always,"
Dyan concluded gravely. "Not because I have any shame for
killing that snake; but as I said because of Aruna "
"Trust me," said Roy. "Amber Lake and I don't blab.
There'll be a nine days' mystery over his disappearance. Then
his lot will set up some other tin god and promptly forget all
about him."
"Let us follow their example, in that at least!" Grim humour
flickered in Dydn's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the
proffered case. " You gave me my chance. I have taken it
like a Rajput. Now we have other things to do."
Roy smiled. "That's about the size of it from your sane,
1 barbaric standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do.
As soon as this blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to
get at some of the thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay;
educated Indian men and women who honestly believe that
India is moving towards a national unity that will transcend all
antagonism of race and creed. I can't see it myself; but I've an
open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur 'last, loneliest, loveliest,
apart' to knock my novel into shape before I go North. And
you ? " He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin. "Sure
you're safe not to erupt again?"
2 8o FAR TO SEEK
"Safe as houses thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can
be orthodox Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I
would like to join 'Servants of India' Society; and work for the
Mother among those who accept British connection as India's
God-given destiny. In no other way will I work again to
'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps" he hesitated,
averting his eyes "to take vow of celibacy "
"Dydn!" Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had
almost forgotten that side of things. Right cr wrong a tribute
to Tara indeed! It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed
him.
"Unfair to Grandfather," he said with decision. "For every
reason, you ought to marry an enlightened wife. Think of
Aruna."
"I do think of her. It is she who ought to marry."
The emphasis was not lost on Roy: and it hurt. Last night's
poignant scene was intimately with him still.
" I'm afraid you won't persuade her to," he said in a con-
tained voice.
" I am quite aware of that. And the reason even a blind man
could not fail to see."
They looked straight at one another for a long moment. Roy
did not swerve from the implied accusation.
"Well, it's no fault of mine, Dyan," he said, recalling Aruna's
confession that tacitly freed him from blame. "She understands
there's a bigger thing between us than our mere selves. What-
ever I'm free to do for her, I'll gladly do always. .It was
chiefly to ease her poor heart that I risked the Delhi adventure.
I felt I had lost the link with you."
"Not surprising." Dyan smoked for a few minutes hi silence.
He was clearly moved by the fine frankness of Roy's attitude.
"All the same," he said at last, "it was not quite broken. You
have given me new life; and because you did it for her, I swear
to you, as long as she needs me, I will not fail her." He held out
his hand. Roy's closed on it hard. "Later in the morning I will
come back and see her," Dyan added, in a changed voice
and went out.
PISGAH HEIGHTS c8i
Later in the morning Roy himself was allowed to see her. With
the help of his stick he limped to her verandah balcony, where she
lay in a long chair, with cushions and rugs, the poor arm in a
sling. Thea was with her. She had heard as much of last night's
doings as anyone would ever know. So she felt justified in let-
ting 'the poor dears' have half an hour together.
Her withdrawal was tactfully achieved; but there followed an
awkward silence. For the space of several minutes it seemed that
neither of the ' poor dears ' knew quite what to make of their priv-
ilege, though they were appreciating it from their hearts.
Roy found himself too persistently aware of the arm that had
been broken to save him; of the new bond between them, signed
and sealed by that one unforgettable kiss.
As for Aruna while pain anchored her body to earth, her
unstable heart swayed disconcertingly from heights of rarefied
content to depths of shyness. Things she had said and done, on
that far-away hillside, seemed unbelievable, remembered in her
familiar balcony with a daylight mind: and fear lest he might be
'thinking it that way too' increased shyness tenfold. Yet it was
she who spoke first, after all.
"Oh, it makes me angry ... to see you like that," she said,
indicating his ankle with a faint movement of her hand.
Roy quietly took possession of the hand and pressed it to his
lips.
" How do you suppose 7 feel, seeing you like that? " Words and
act dispelled her foolish fears. "Did you sleep? Does it hurt
much?"
"Only if I forget and try to move. But what matter? Every
time it hurts, I feel proud because that feeble arm was able to
push you out of the way."
"You've every right to feel proud. You nearly knocked me
over!"
A mischievous smile crept into her eyes. " I am afraid I was
very rude!"
" That's one way of putting it ! " His grave tenderness warmed
her like sunshine. He leaned nearer; his hand grasped the arm of
her long chair. "You were a very wonderful Aruna last night.
282 FAR TO SEEK
And you are going to be more wonderful still. Working with
Dyan, you are going to help make my dream come true of
India finding herself again by her own genius, along her own
lines "
Had he struck the right note. Her face lit up as he had hoped
to see it. "Oh, Roy can I really ? Will Dyan help? Will
he let me "
" Of course he will. And I'll be helping too in my own fash-
ion. We'll never lose touch, Aruna; though India's your destiny
and England's mine. Never say again you have no true country.
Like me, you have two countries one very dear; one supreme.
I'm afraid there are terrible days coming out here. And in those
days every one of you who honestly loves England every one
of us who honestly loves India will count in the scale ..."
He paused; and she drew a deep breath. "Oh how you see
things! It is you who are wonderful, Roy. I can think and feel
the big things in my heart. But for doing them I am, after all,
only a woman ..."
"An Indian woman," he emphasised, his eyes on hers. "I
know and you know what that means. You have not yet
bartered away your magical influence for a mess of pottage. Be-
cause of one Indian woman supreme for me; and now. . .
because of another, they all have a special claim on my heart.
If India has not gone too far down the wrong road, it is by the
true Swadeshi spirit of her women she may yet be saved. They,
at any rate, don't reckon progress by counting factory chimneys
or seats on councils. And every seed good or bad is sown
first in the home. Get at the women, Aruna the home ones
and tell them that. It's not only my dream; it was my mo-
ther's. You don't know how she loved and believed in you all.
I think she never quite understood the other kind. The longer
she lived among them, the more she craved for all of you to re-
main true women in the full sense, not the narrow one "
He had never yet spoken so frankly and freely of that dear lost
mother; Aruna knew it for the highest compliment he could pay
her. Truly his generous heart was giving her all that his jealous
household gods would permit . . .
PISGAH HEIGHTS 283
Thea stepping softly through the inner room caught a
sentence or two; caught a glimpse of Roy's finely cut profile; of
Anina's eyes intent on his face; and she smiled very tenderly to
herself. It was so exactly like Roy; and such constancy of devo-
tion went straight to her mother-heart. So too with a sharper
pang did the love hunger in Aruna's eyes. The puzzle of these
increasing race complications . . . ! The tragedy and the pity of
it . . . !
Lance travelled North that night with a mind at ease. Roy
had assured him that the moment his ankle permitted he would
leave Jaipur and 'give the bee in his bonnet an airing' elsewhere.
That assurance proved easier to give than to act upon, when the
moment came. The Jaipur Residency had come to seem almost
like home. And the magnet of home drew all that was Eastern
in Roy. It was the British blood in his veins that drove him afield.
Though India was his objective, England was the impelling
force. His true home seemed hundreds of miles away, in more
senses than one. His union with Rajputana set with the seal
of that sacred and beautiful experience at Chitor seemed, in
his present mood, the more vital of the two.
And there was Lance up in the Punjab a magnet as strong
as any, when the masculine element prevailed. Yet again, some
inner, irresistible impulse obliged him to break away from them
all. It was one of those inevitable moments when the dual forces
within pulled two ways; when he felt envious exceedingly of
Lance Desmond's sane and single-minded attitude towards men
and things. One couldn't picture Lance a prey to the ignomini-
ous sensation that half of him wanted to go one way and half of
him another way. At this juncture half of himself felt a con-
founded fool for not going back to the Punjab and enjoying a
friendly, sociable cold weather among his father's people. The
other half felt impelled to probe deeper into the complexities of
changing India, to confirm and impart his belief that the desti-
nies of England and India were one and indivisible. After all,
India stood where she did to-day by virtue of what England
had done for her. He refused to believe that even the insidious
284 FAR TO SEEK
disintegrating process of democracy could dissolve in a brief
fever of unrest links forged and welded in the course of a
hundred years.
In that case, argued his practical half, why this absurd inner
sense of responsibility for great issues over which he could have
no shadow of control? What was the earthly use of it this
large window in his soul, opening on to world's complexities and
conflicts; not allowing him to say comfortably, 'They are not'?
His opal-tinted dreams of interpreting East to West had suffered
a change of complexion since Oxford days. His large, vague aspi-
rations of service had narrowed down, inevitably, to a few definite
personal issues. Action involves limitation as the picture in-
volves the frame. Dreams must descend to earth or remain
unfruitful. It might be a little, or a great matter, that he had
managed to set two human fragments of changing India on the
right path so far as he could discern it. The fruits of that
modest beginning only the years could reveal . . .
Then there was this precious novel simmering at the back of
things; his increasing desire to get away alone with the ghostly
company that haunted his brain. As the mother-to-be feels the
new life mysteriously moving within her, so he began to feel
within him the first stirrings of his own creative power. Already
his poems and essays had raised expectations and secured atten-
tion for other things he wanted to say. And there seemed no end
to them. He had hardly yet begun his mental adventures. Press-
ing forward, through sense, to the limitless regions of mind and
spirit, new vistas would open, new paths lure him on ...
That first bewildering, intoxicating sense of power is good
while it lasts; none the less, because, in the nature of things, it is
foredoomed to disillusion, greater or less, according to the authen-
ticity of the god within.
Whatever the outcome for Roy, that passing exaltation eased
appreciably the pang of parting from them all. And it was re-
sponsible for a happy inspiration. Rummaging among his papers,
on the eve of departure, he came upon the sketch of India that
he had written in Delhi and refrained from sending to Aruna.
Intrinsically it was hers; inspired by her. Also intrinsically
j PISGAH HEIGHTS 285
it was good: and straightway he decided she should have it for
a parting gift.
Beautifully copied out, and tied up with carnation-coloured
ribbons, he reserved it for their last few moments together. She
was still such a child in some ways. The small surprise of his gift
might ease the pang of parting. It was a woman's thought. But
the woman-strain of tenderness was strong in Roy as in all true
artists.
She was standing near the fire in her own sitting-room, wear-
ing the pink dress and sari, her arm still hi a sling. Last words,
those desperate inanities buffers between the heart and its own
emotion are difficult things to bring off in any case; peculiarly
difficult for these two, with that unreal, yet intensely actual, bond
between them; and Roy felt more than grateful to the inspiration
that gave him something definite to say.
Instantly her eyes were on it wondering . . . guessing . . .
"It's a little thing I wrote in Delhi," he said simply. "I
couldn't send it to Jeffers. It seemed to belong to you. So I
thought " He proffered it, feeling absurdly shy of it and of
her.
"Oh but it is too much!" Holding it with her sling hand,
she opened it with the other and devoured it eagerly under his
watching eyes. By the changes that flitted across her face, by the
tremor of her lips and her hands, as she pressed it to her heart, he
knew he could have given her no dearer treasure than that frag-
ment of himself. And because he knew it, he felt tongue-tied;
tempted beyond measure to kiss her once again.
If she divined his thought, she kept her lashes lowered and gave
no sign.
He hoped she knew . . .
But before either could break the spell of silence that held
them, Thea returned; and their moment their idyll was
over. . . .
END OF PHASE III
PHASE IV
DUST OF THE ACTUAL
PHASE IV
DUST OF THE ACTUAL
CHAPTER I
It's no use trying to keep mit of things. The moment they want to
Put you in you're in. The moment you're born, you're done for.
HUGH WALPOLE
THE middle of March found Roy back in the Punjab, sharing a
ramshackle bungalow with Lance and two of his brother officers;
good fellows, both, in their diametrically opposite fashions; but
superfluous from Roy's point of view. When he wanted a
quiet 'confab' with Lance, one or both were sure to come stroll-
ing hi and hang around, jerking out aimless remarks. When he
wanted a still quieter 'confab' with his novel, their voices and
footsteps echoed too clearly in the verandahs and the scantily
furnished rooms. But, did he venture to grumble at these minor
drawbacks Lance would declare he was demoralised by floating
loose in an Earthly Paradise and becoming simply an appendage
to a pencil.
There was a measure of truth in the last. As a matter of fact,
after two months of uninterrupted work at Udaipur, Roy had
unwarily hinted at a risk of becoming embedded in his too con-
genial surroundings: and that careless admission had sealed
his fate.
Lance Desmond, with his pointed phrase, had virtually dug
him out of his chosen retreat; had written temptingly of the
'last of the polo,' of prime pig-sticking at Kapurthala, of the
big Gymkhana that was to wind up the season, a rare chance
for Roy to exhibit his horsemanship. And again, in more serious
mood, he had written of increasing anxiety over his Sikhs, with
that 'infernal agitation business' on the increase, and an un-
bridled native press shouting sedition from the house-tops. A
nice state of chaos India was coming to! He hoped to goodness
290 FAR TO SEEK
they wouldn't be swindled out of their leave; but Roy had better
turn up soon, so as to be on the spot in case of a dust-up, not
packed away in cotton wool down there.
One or two letters in this vein had effectually rent the veil of
illusion that shielded Roy from aggressive actualities. In Udai-
pur there had been no hysterical press; no sedition flaunting on
the house-tops. One hadn't arrived at the twentieth century,
even. Except for a flourishing hospital, a few hideous modern
interiors, and a Resident who was very good friends with Vinx
one just stepped straight back into the leisurely, colourful,
frankly brutal life of the Middle Ages. And Roy had fallen a
willing victim to the spell of Udaipur her white palaces, white
temples, and white landing-stages, flanked with marble elephants,
embosomed in wooded hills, and reflected in the blue, untroubled
depths of the Pichola Lake. Immersed in his novel, he had not
known a dull or lonely hour in that enchanted backwater of
Rajasthan.
His large, vague plans for getting in touch with the thoughtful
elements of Calcutta and Bombay had yielded to the stronger
magnetism of beauty and art. Like his father, he hated politics;
and Westernised India is nothing if not political. It was a true
instinct that warned him to keep clear of that muddy stream,
and render his mite of service to India in the exercise of his
individual gift. That would be in accord with one of his mother's
wise and tender sayings: his memory was jewelled with them.
"Look always first at your own gifts. They are sign-posts,
pointing the road to your true line of service." Could he but
immortalise the measure of her spirit that was in him, that were
true service, indeed, to India and more than India. There
are men created for action. There are men created to inspire
action. And the world has equal need of both.
He had things to say on paper that would take him all his
time; and Udaipur had metaphorically opened her arms to him.
The Resident and his wife had been more than kind. He had
his books; his cool, lofty rooms in the Guest House; his own
private boat on the Lake; and freedom to go his own unfettered
way at all hours of the day or night. There the simmering novel
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 291
had begun to move with a life of its own; and while that state
of being endured, nothing else mattered much in earth or heaven.
For seven weeks he had worked at it without interruption;
and for seven weeks he had been happy, companioned by the
vivid creatures of his brain, and, better still, by a quickened
undersense of his mother's vital share in the 'blossom and fruit
of his life.' The danger of becoming embedded had been no
myth: and at the back of his brain there had lurked a supersti-
tious reluctance to break the spell.
But Lance was Lance: no one like him. Moreover he had
known well enough that anticipation of breakers ahead was no
fanciful nightmare, but a sane corrective to the ostrich policy
of those who had sown the evil seed and were trying to say of
the fruit, 'It is not.' Letters from Dyan, and spasmodic devour-
ing of newspapers, kept him alive to the sinister activities of the
larger world outside. News from Bombay grew steadily more
disquieting: strikes and riots, fomented by agitators, who lied
shamelessly about the nature of the new Bills; hostile crowds
and insults to English women. Dyan more than hinted that if
the threatened outbreak were not ruthlessly crushed at the start,
it might prove a far-reaching affair; and Roy had not the slight-
est desire to find himself 'packed away in cotton wool,' miles
from the scene or action. Clearly Lance wanted him. He might
be useful on the spot. And that settled the matter.
Impossible to leave so much loveliness, such large draughts
of peace and leisure, without a pang; but the wrench over
he was well content to find himself established in this ram-
shackle bachelor bungalow, back again with Lance and his music
very much hi evidence just now and the two superfluous
good fellows, whom he liked well enough in homoeopathic doses.
Especially he liked Jack Meredith, cousin of the Desmonds
a large and simple soul, gravely absorbed in pursuing balls and
tent-pegs and 'pig'; impervious to feminine lures; equa^y
impervious to the caustic wit of his diametrical opposite, Captain
James Barnard, who eased his private envy by christening him
'Don Juan.' For Meredith fatally attracted women; and Barn-
ard cultured, cynical, Cambridge was as fatally susceptible
293 FAR TO SEEK
to them as a trout to a May-fly; but, for some unfathomable
reason, they would not; and in Anglo-India a man could not
hide his failures under a bushel. Lance classified him compre-
hensively as 'one of the War lot'; liked him, and was sorry for
him, although perhaps because he was 'no soldier.'
Roy also liked him, when the mood was on. Still, he would
have preferred, beyond measure, the Kohat arrangement, with
the Colonel for an unobtrusive third.
But the Colonel, these days, had a bungalow to himself; a
bungalow in process of being furnished by no means on bachelor
lines. For the unbelievable had come to pass ! And the whole
affair had been carried through in his own inimitable fashion,
without so much as a telltale ripple on the surface of things.
Quite unobtrusively, at Kohat, he had made friends with the
General's daughter a dark-haired slip of a girl, with the blood
of distinguished Frontier soldiers in her veins. Quite unob-
trusively during Christmas week he had laid his heart and
the Regiment at her feet. Quite] unobtrusively, he proposed to
marry her in April, and carry her; off to Kashmir.
"Thai's the way it goes with some people," said Lance, the
first time he spoke of it; and Roy detected a wistful note hi his
voice.
"That's the way it'll go with you, old man," he had retorted.
"I'm the one that will have to look out for squalls!"
Lance had merely smiled and said nothing the reception
he usually accorded to personal remarks. And, at the moment,
Roy thought no more of the matter.
Their first good week of polo and riding and fooling round
together had quickened his old allegiance to Lance, iiis newer
allegiance to the brotherhood of action. He possessed no more
enviable talent than his many-sided zest for life.
Lance himself seemed in a more social mood than usual. So
of course Roy must submit to being bowled round hi the new
dog-cart, and introduced to a select circle of friends, in canton-
ments and Lahore, including the Deputy Commissioner's wife
and good-looking eldest daughter; the best dancer in the station
and rather an extra special friend, he gathered from Lance's
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 293
best offhand manner. She was quite distinctively good-looking;
beautiful, almost, with her twofold grace of carriage and feature;
and her low- toned harmony of colouring: ivory-white skin,
ash-blond hair, and hazel eyes, clear as a Highland river; the
pupils abnormally large, the short, thick lashes very black, like
a smudge round her lids. She was tall, in fine, and carried her
beauty deliberately, like a brimming chalice; very completely
mistress of herself; and very completely detached from her,,
florid, effusive, worldly wise mother. Unquestionably, a young
woman to be reckoned with.
But Roy did not feel disposed, just then, to reckon seriously!
with any young woman, however alluring. The memory of
Aruna the exquisite remoteness from every-day life of their
whole relation did not easily fade. And the creatures of his
brain were still clamant, in spite of rudely broken threads and
drastic change of surroundings. Lance had presented him with
a spacious writing-table; and most days he would stick to it for
hours, sooner than drive out in pursuit of tennis or afternoon
dancing in Lahore.
He was sitting at it now; flinging down a dramatic episode,
roughly, rapidly, as it came. The polished surface was strewn
with an untidy array of papers; the only ornaments a bit of old
brass-work and two ivory elephants, a photograph of his father,
and a large one of his mother taken from the portrait at Jaipur.
The table was set almost at right angles to his open door, and
the chick rolled up. He had a weakness for being able to ' see
out,' if it was only the corner of a barren 'compound' and a few
dusty oleanders. He had forgotten the others; forgotten the
time. All he asked, while the spate lasted, was to be left alone. . .
He almost jumped when the latch clicked behind him and
Lance strolled in, faultlessly attired; in the latest suit from
Home, a golden brown tie, and a silk handkerchief, the same
shade, emerging from his breast pocket. By nature, Lance \\.:.:
no dandy; but Roy had not failed to note that he was apt to be
scrupulously well turned out on certain occasions. And, at sight
of him, he promptly 'remembered he had forgotten' the very
particular nature of to-day's occasion: the marriage of Miss
294 FAR TO SEEK
Gladys Elton step-sister of Rose Arden to a rising civilian
some eighteen years older than his bride. It was an open secret,
in the station, that the wedding was Mrs. Elton's private and
personal triumph; that she, not her unassuming daughter, was
the acknowledged heroine of the day.
"Not ready yet, you unmitigated slacker?" Lance arraigned
him, with an impatient frown. "Buck up. Time we were
moving."
"Awfully sorry. I clean forgot." Roy's tone was not conspicu-
ously penitent.
"Tell us another! The whole Mess was talking of it at tiffin."
"I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about tiffin."
It was so patently the truth that Lance looked mollified. " You
and your confounded novel! Now there double. I don't
want to be glaringly late."
Roy looked pathetic. "But I'm simply up to the eyes. The
truth is I can't be bothered. I'll turn up for the dancing at the
Hall."
"And I'm to make your giddy excuses?"
"If any one happens to notice my absence, you can say some-
thing pretty "
He was interrupted by the appearance of Barnard at the
verandah door. " Dog-cart's ready and waiting, Major. What'fc
the hitch?"
"Sinclair's discovered he's too busy to come!"
"What the favoured one? The fair Rose won't relish that
touching mark of attention. On whom she smiles, from him she
expects gold, frankincense, and myrrh "
"Drop it, Barnard," Desmond cut in imperatively; and Roy
remarked almost in the same breath, "Thanks for the tip. I'll
write to Bombay for the best brand of all three against another
occasion."
"But this is the occasion! Copy my dear chap, copy I
Anglo-India, in excelsis, and 'Oh, 'Ell' in all her glory!"
It may be mentioned that Mrs. Elton's name was Olive;
that she saw soldiers as trees walking, and subalterns retaliated
-^.strictly behind her back.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 295
But Roy remained unmoved. "If you two are in such a fluster
over your precious wedding, I vote you to get out and let me
get on."
Barnard asked nothing better. Miss Arden was his May-fly
of the moment. "Come along, Major," he cried and vanished
forthwith.
As Lance moved away, Roy remarked casually: "Be a good
chap and ask Miss Arden, with my best salaams, to save me a
dance or two, in case I'm late turning up! "
Lance gave him a straight look. "Not I. My pockets will be
bulging with your apologies. You can get someone else to do your
commissions in the other line."
Sheer astonishment silenced Roy; and Desmond, from the
threshold, added more seriously, "Don't let the women here
give you a swelled head, Roy. They'll do their damnedest be-
tween them."
When he had gone, Roy sat staring idly at the patch of sun-
light outside his door. What the devil did Lance mean by it?
Moods were not in his line. To make half-joking request, and
find Lance taking it seriously wasn't in thenatural order of things.
And the way he jumped on Barnard, too. Could there possibly
have been a rebuff in that quarter? He couldn't picture any girl
in her senses refusing Lance. Besides, they seemed on quite
friendly terms. Nothing beyond that so far as Roy could see.
He would very much like to feel sure. But, for all their intimacy,
he knew precisely how far one could go with Lance: and one
couldn't go as far as that.
As for the remark about a swelled head, it must have been
sheer rotting. He wasn't troubling about women or girls ex-
cept for tennis and dancing; and Miss Arden was a superlative
performer; in fact, rather superlative all round. As a new expe-
rience, she seemed distinctly worth cultivating, so long as that
process did not seriously hamper the novel; that was unasham-
edly his first consideration, at the moment always excepting
Lance. He loved every phase of the work, from the initial thrill
of inception to the nice balance of a phrase and the very look of
his favourite words. His childish love of them for their own sake
296 FAR TO SEEK
still prevailed. For him, they were still live things, possessing a
character and charm all their own . . .
And now, the house being blessedly empty, his pencil sped off
again on its wild career. The men and women he had loved into
life were thronging his brain. Everything else was forgotten
Lance and Miss Arden and the wedding and the afternoon danc-
ing at the Hall . .
CHAPTER n
Which is the more perilous, to meet the
tempting! of Eve, or to pique her?
GEORGE MEREDITH
OF course he reached the Lawrence Hall egregiously late, to find
the afternoon dancing that Lahore prescribes three times a week
in full swing.
The lofty pillared Hall an aristocrat among Station Clubs
was more crowded than usual. More than half the polished
floor was uncovered; the rest carpeted and furnished for lookers-
on. Here Mrs. Elton still diffused her exuberant air of patronage;
sailing majestically from group to group of her recent guests,
and looking more than life-size in lavender satin besprinkled
with old lace.
Roy hurried past, lest she discover him; and, from the security
of an arched alcove, scanned the more interesting half of the
Hall. There went little Mrs. Hunter-Ranyard, a fluffy, pussy-
cat person, with soft eyes and soft manners and claws. She
was one of those disconnected wives whom he was beginning to
recognize as a feature of the country: unobtrusively owned by a
dyspeptic-looking Divisional Judge; hospitable and lively, and
an infallible authority on other people's private affairs. Like
too many modern Anglo-Indians, she prided herself on keeping
airily apart from the country of her exile. Natives gave her ' the
creeps.' Useless to argue. Her retort was unvarying and un-
answerable. "East is East and I'm not. It's a country of
horrors, under a thin layer of tinsel. Don't talk to me 1"
Lance Desmond had achieved fame among the subalterns by
christening her 'Mrs. Banter-Wrangle ';,but he liked her well
enough, on the whole, to hope she would never find him out.
She whirled past, now, on the arm of Talbot Hayes, senior
Assistant Commissioner;, an exceedingly superior person who
shared her views about 'the country.' Catching Roy's eye, she
feigned exaggerated surprise and fluttered a friendly hand.
298 FAR TO SEEK
His response was automatic. He had just discovered Miss
Arden with Lance, of course, excelling herself, in a moon-
coloured gown with a dull-gold sash carelessly knotted on one
side. Her graceful hat was of gold tissue, unadorned. Near the
edge of the brim lay one yellow rose; and a rope of amber beads
hung well below her waist. Roy son of Lilamani had an
artist's eye for details of dress, for harmony of tone and line,
which this girl probably achieved by mere feminine instinct.
The fool he was, to have come so late! When they stopped, he
would catch her and plead for an extra, at least.
Meantime a pity to waste this one; and there was poor little
Miss Delawney sitting out, as usual, in her skimpy pink frock
and black hat; trying so hard not to look forlorn that he felt
sorry for her. She was tacitly barred by most of the men because
she was 'cafe au lait'j a delicate allusion to the precise amount
of Indian blood in her veins.
He had not, so far, come across many specimens of these
pathetic half-and-halfs, who seemed to inhabit a racial No-
Man's-Land. But Lahore was full of them; minor officials in
the Railway and the Post-Office; living, more or less, in a sub-
stratum of their own kind. He gathered that they were regarded
as a 'problem' by the thoughtful few, and simply turned down
by the rest. He felt an acute sympathy for them: also in
hidden depths a vague distaste. Most of those he had encoun-
tered were so obviously of no particular caste, in either country's
estimate of the word, that he had never associated them with
himself. He saw himself, rather, as of double caste; a fusion of
the best in both races. The writer of that wonderful letter had
said he was different; and presumably she knew. Whether the
average Anglo-Indian would see any difference, he had not the
remotest idea; and, so far, he had scarcely given the matter a
thought.
Here, however, it was thrust upon his attention; nor had he
failed to notice that Lance never mentioned the Jaipur cousins
except when they were alone: whether by chance or design,
he did not choose to ask. And if either of the other fellows had
noticed his mother's photograph, or felt a glimmer of curiosity,
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 299
no word had been said. After all, what concern was it of all
these chance-met folk? He was nothing to them; and to him
they were mainly a pleasant change from the absorbing business
of his novel and the problems of India in transition.
And the poor little girl in the skimpy frock was an unconscious
fragment of that problem. Too pathetic to see how she tried not
to look round hopefully whenever masculine footsteps came her
way! Why shouldn't he give her a pleasant surprise?
She succeeded, this time, in not looking round; so the surprise
came off to his satisfaction. She was nervous and unpractised,
and he constantly found her feet where they had no business to
be. But sooner than hurt her feelings, he piloted her twice round
the room before stopping; and found himself next to Mrs.
Hunter-Ranyard, who 'snuggled up' to him (the phrase was
Barnard's) and proffered consolation after her kind.
"Bad boy! You missed the cream of the afternoon, but
you're not quite too late. I'm free for the next."
Roy, fairly cornered, could only bow and smile his acceptance.
And after his arduous prelude, Mrs. Ranyard's dancing was an
effortless delight if only she would not spoil it by her unceasing
ripple of talk. His lack of response troubled her no whit. She
was bubbling over with caustic comment on Mrs. Elton's latest
adventure in matrimony.
"She's a mighty hunter before the Lord! She marked down
poor Hilton last cold weather," cooed the silken voice in Roy's
inattentive ear. "Of course you know he's one of our coming
men! And I've a shrewd idea he was intended for Rose. But in
Miss Rose the matchmaker has met her match! She's clever
that girl; and she's reduced the tactics of non-resistance to a
fine art. I don't believe she ever stands up to her mother. She
smiles and smiles and goes her own way. She likes playing
with soldiers; partly because they're good company; partly, I'll
swear, because she knows it keeps her mother on tenterhooks.
But when it comes to business, I'm convinced she'll choose as
shrewdly "
Roy stopped dancing in despair, and confronted her, half
laughing, half irate. "If you're keen on talking let's talk. I
300 FAR TO SEEK
can't do both." He stated the fact politely, but with decision.
"And frankly, I hate hearing a girl pulled to pieces, just be-
cause she's charming and good-looking and "
"Oh, my dear boy," she interrupted unfailingly sweet
solicitude in her lifted gaze. "Did I trample on your chivalrous
toes? Or is it ?"
"No, it isn't," he contradicted, resenting the bare-faced im-
plication. "Naturally I admire her "
"Oh, naturally! You can't help yourselves, any of you!
She's 'sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs
presently mad.' No use looking daggers. It's a fact. I don't
say she flirts outrageously like I do. She simply expects
homage and gets it. She expects men to fall in love with her
and they topple over like ninepins. Sometimes when I'm
feeling magnanimous I catch a ninepin as it falls! Look at her
now, with that R.E. boy plainly in the toils!"
Roy declined to look. If she was trying to put him off Miss
Arden, she was on the wrong tack. Besides he wanted to dance.
"One more turn?" he suggested, nipping a fresh outbreak in
the bud. "But please no talking."
She laughed and shook her fan at him. "Epicure! " But after
all, it was an indirect compliment to her dancing: and for the
space of two minutes she held her peace.
Throughout the brief pause she rippled on, with negligible
interludes; but not till they re-entered the Hall did she revert
to the theme that had so exasperated Roy. There she espied
Desmond, standing under an archway, staring straight before
him; apparently lost hi thought.
She indicated him, discreetly, with her fan. "The Happy
Warrior (that's my private name for him) seems to have some-
thing on his mind -, Can he have proposed at last? I confess
I'm. curious. But oi course you know all about it, Mr. Sinclair.
Don't tell we/"
"I won'tl " said Roy gravely. " You probably know more than
I do."
" But I thought you were such intimate friends? How superbly
masculine!"
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 301
"Well he is."
"Oh, he is! He's so firmly planted on his feet that he tacitly
invites one to tilt at him! I confess I've already tried my hand
and failed signally. So it soothes my vanity to observe that even
the Rose of Sharon isn't visibly upsetting his balance. Frankly,
I'm more than a little intrigued over that affair. It seems to
have reached a certain point and stuck there. At one time I
thought "
Her thought remained unuttered. Roy was patently not at-
tending. Rose Arden and the 'R.E. boy' had just entered the
Hall.
"Don't let me keep you," she added sweetly. "It's evident
she's the next!"
Roy collected himself with a jerk. "You're wiser than I am!
I've not asked her yet."
"Then you can save yourself the trouble and go on dancing
with me. She's always booked up ahead "
Her blue eyes challenged him laughingly; but he caught the
undernote of rivalry. For half a second the scales hung even
between courtesy and inclination; then, from the tail of his eye,
he saw Hayes bearing down upon the other pair. That decided
him. He had conceived an unreasoning dislike of Talbot Hayes.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said politely. "But I sent word I
was coming in for the dancing; and "
"Oh, go along, then, and get your fingers burnt, as you
deserve. But never say 7 didn't try and save them!"
Roy laughed. "They aren't in any danger, thanks very
much!"
Just as he reached Miss Arden, the R.E. boy left her; and
Lance, forsaking his pillar, strolled casually to ler side.
She greeted Roy with a faint lift of her brows.
"Was I unspeakable ? I apologise," he said impulsively;
and her smile absolved him.
"You were wiser than you knew. You escaped an infliction.
It was insufferably dull. We all smiled and smiled till there were
'miles and miles of smiles' and we were all bored to extinctipnl
Ask Major Desmond!"
302 FAR TO SEEK
She acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance. He
returned it with a quick look that told Roy he had been touched
on the raw.
"As I spent most of the time talking to you and as you've
frankly recorded your sensations, I'd rather be excused," he said
with a touch of stiffness. "Your innings, I suppose, old man?"
he added with a friendly nod as he moved away.
Roy. watching him go, felt almost angry with the girl; and
impetuously spoke his thought: ''Poor old Desmond! What
did you give him a knock for? He couldn't be dull, if he tried."
"N-no," she agreed, without removing her eyes from his re-
treating figure. "But sometimes he can be aggressive."
"I've never noticed it."
"How long have you known him?"
"A trifle of fifteen years."
Her brows went up. ' Quite a romantic friendship? "
Roy nodded. He did not choose to discuss his feeling for
Lance with this cool, compelling young woman. Yet her very
coolness goaded him to add: 'I suppose men see more clearly
than women that he's one in a thousand."
"I'm not so sure "
"Yet you snub him as if he was a tin-pot 'sub.'"
His resentment would out; but the smile in her eyes dis-
armed him. "Was it as bad as that? What a pair you are!
Don't worry. He and I know each other's little ways by now."
It was not quite convincing; but Lance would not thank him
for interfering; and the band had struck up. No sign of a part-
ner. It seemed the luck was 'in.'
"Did Desmond give you my message?" he asked.
"No what?"
"Only that I hoped you'd be magnanimous.... Is
there a chance ? "
Her eyes rested deliberately on his; and the last spark of
resentment flickered out. "More than you deserve! But this
one does happen to be free . . . '
"Well, we won't waste any of it," said he: and they danced
without a break, without a word, till the perfect accord of their
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 303
rhythmical circling and swaying ceased with the last notes of
the valse.
That was the real thing, thought Roy, but felt too shy for
compliments; and they merely exchanged a smile. He had felt
the pleasure was mutual. Now he knew it.
Out through the tall portico they passed into the cool green
gardens, freshly watered, exhaling a smell of moist earth and
the fragrance of unnumbered roses a very whiff of Home:
bushes, standards, ramblers; and everywhere flaunting its
supremacy the Marechal Niel, sprawling over hedges,
scrambling up evergreens, and falling again in cascades of moon-
yellow blossoms and glossy leaves.
Roy, keenly alive to the exquisite mingling of scent and colour
and evening lights, was still more alive to the silent girl at his
side, who seemed to radiate both the lure and the subtle antago-
nism of sex in itself an inverted form of fascination.
They had strolled half round the empty bandstand before she
remarked, in her cool, low-pitched voice: "You really are a
flagrantly casual person, Mr. Sinclair. I sometimes wonder is
it quite spontaneous? Or do you find it effective? "
Roy frankly turned and stared at her "Effective? What
a question!"
Her smile puzzled and disconcerted him.
"Well, you've answered it with your usual pristine frankness!
I see it was not intentional."
"Why should it be?"
"Oh, if you don't know I don't! I merely wondered
You see, you did say definitely you would come to the reception.
So of course I expected you. Then you never turned up.
And naturally ! "
A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence.
"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't flatter myself you'd notice "
Roy said simply. There were moments when she made him feel
vexatiously young. "You see it was my novel got me by
the hair. And when that happens, I'm rather apt to let things
slide. Anyway, you got the better man of the two. And if you
found him dull, I'd have been nowhere."
304 FAR TO SEEK
She was silent a moment. Then: "I think if you don't
mind we'll leave Major Desmond out of it," she said; adding,
with a distinct change of tone: "What's the hidden charm in that
common little Miss Delawney? I saw you dancing with her again
to-day."
The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect
had it not followed on her perplexing remark about Lance. As
it was, he resented it.
"Why not? She's quite a nice little person."
"I dare say. But we've plenty of nice girls in our own set."
"Oh, plenty. But I rather bar set mania. I've a catholic
taste in human beings!"
"And I've an ultra-fastidious one!" Look and tone gave her
statement a delicately personal flavour. "Besides, out here . . .
there are limits ..."
"And I must respect them, on penalty of your displeasure?"
His tone was airily defiant. "Well make me out a list of irre-
proachables; and I'll work them off in rotation between whiles' "
The implication of that last subtly made amends: and she
had a taste for the minor subtleties of intercourse.
"I shall do nothing of the kind! You're perfectly graceless
this evening! I suspect all that scribbling goes to your head
sometimes. Sitting on Olympian heights, controlling destinies!
I suppose we earthworms down below all look pretty much alike?
To discriminate between mere partners is human. To em-
brace them indiscriminately divine!"
Roy laughed. "Oh, if it came to embracing "
"Even an Olympian might be a shade less catholic?" she
queried with one of her looks that stirred in Roy sensations far
removed from Olympian. Random talk did not flourish in Miss
Arden's company: delicately, insistently, she steered it back to
the focal point of interest herself and the man of the moment.
From the circular drive they wandered on, unheeding; and
when they re-entered the Hall a fresh dance had begun. Under
the arch they paused. Miss Arden's glance scanned the room and
reverted to Roy. The last ten minutes had appreciably advanced
their intimacy.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 305
"Shall we?" he asked, returning her look with interest. "Is
the luck in again? "
Her eyes assented. He slipped an arm round her and once
more they danced . . .
Roy had been Olympian indeed, had he not perceived the
delicate flattery implied in his apparent luck. Lance had not
even given his message. Yet those two dances were available.
The inference was not without its insidious effect upon a man
temperamentally incapable of conceit. The valse was nearly
half over when the least little drag on his arm so surprised him
that he stopped almost opposite the main archway : and caught
sight of Lance, evidently looking for someone.
"Oh there he is!" Miss Arden's low tone was almost
flurried for her.
"D 'you want him?"
> "Well I suppose he wants me. This was his dance."
"Good Lord! What a mean shame!" Roy flashed out. "Why
on earth didn't you tell me? I'd have found him."
Her colour rose under his heated protest. "I never hang about
for unpunctual partners. If they don't turn up in time it's
their loss."
Roy, intent on Lance, was scarcely listening. "He's seen us
now. Come along. Let's explain."
It was Miss Arden who did the explaining in a manner all her
own.
" Well what became of you? " she asked, smiling in response
to Desmond's look of interrogation. "As you didn't appear, I
concluded you'd either forgotten or been caught in a rub-
ber."
"Bad shots both," Desmond retorted with a direct look.
"I'm awfully sorry I hadn't a notion - " Roy began
and checked himself, perceiving that he could not say ruui-h with-
out implicating his partner.
This time Desmond's smile had quite another quality. "You
're very welcome. Carry on. Don't mind me. It's half over."
"A model of generosity!" Miss Arden applauded him.
"I'm free for the next if you'd care to have it instead."
306 FAR TO SEEK
"Thanks very much; but I'm not," Desmond answered
serenely.
"The great little Banter- Wrangle is it? You could plead
a misunderstanding and bribe Mr. Sinclair to save the situa-
tion!"
"Hard luck on Sinclair. But it's not Mrs. Ranyard. I'm
sorry "
"Don't apologise. If you're satisfied, I am."
For all her careless tone, Roy had never seen her so nearly
put out of countenance. Desmond said nothing; and for a mo-
ment the briefest there fell an awkward silence. Then with
an air of marked graciousness she turned to Roy.
"We are generously permitted to go on with a clear
conscience!"
But for Roy the charm was broken. Her cavalier treatment of
Lance annoyed him; and beneath the surface play of looks and
words he had detected the flash of steel. It was some satisfaction
to feel that Lance had given as good as he received. But he felt
troubled and curious. And he was likely to remain so. Lance,
he very well knew, would say precisely nothing. And the girl
as if divining his thoughts, combated them with the delicately,
appointed weapons of her kind and prevailed.
Again they wandered in the darkening garden and returned
to find the Boston in full swing. Again Miss Arden's glance
traveled casually round the room. And Roy saw her start;
just enough to swear by ...
Desmond was dancing with Miss Delawney I
The frivolous comment on Roy's lips was checked by the look
in his partner's eyes. Impossible not to wonder if Lance had ac-
tually been engaged; or if ? In any case a knock for Miss
Arden's vanity. A shade too severe, perhaps; yet sympathy for
her was tinged with exultation that Lance had held his own.
Mrs. Ranyard was right. Here was a man set firmly on his
feet ...
Miss Arden's voice drew his wandering attention back to her-
self. "We may as well finish this. Or are you also engaged?"
Her light stress on the word held a significance he did not miss.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 307
" To you if you will ! " he answered gallantly, hand on heart.
"It's more than I deserve as you said; but still "
"It's just possible for a woman to be magnanimous!" she
capped him, smiling. "And it's just possible for a man to be
the other thing! Remember that when you get back to your
eternal scribbling!"
An hour later he rode homeward with a fine confusion of sen-
sations and impressions, doubts and desires, seething in his
brain. Miss Arden was delightful, but a trifle unsettling. She
must not be allowed to distract him from the work he loved.
CHAPTER III
Beauty, when you are sensitive to it, is the devil.
JOHN GALSWORTHY
BUT neither the work he loved nor his budding intimacy with
Miss Arden deterred him from accepting a week-end invitation
from the Rajah of Kapurthala the friendly, hospitable ruler
of a neighbouring Sikh State. The Colonel was going, and Lance,
and half a dozen other good sportsmen. They set out on Thurs-
day, the military holiday, in a state of high good-humour with
themselves and their host; to return on Sunday evening, re-
newed in body and mind by the pursuit of pig and the spirit of
Shikar, that keeps a man sane and virile, and tempers the
insidious effect, on the white races, of life and work in the climate
of India. It draws men away from the rather cramping Station
atmosphere. It sets their feet in a large room. And in this case
it did not fail to dispel the light cloud that had hovered between
Lance and Roy since the day of the wedding.
In the friendly rivalries of sport it was possible to forget woman
complications; even to feel it a trifle derogatory that one should
be so ignominiously at the mercy of the thing. Thus Roy,
indulging in a spasmodic declaration of independence, glorying
in the virile excitement of pig-sticking and the triumph of get-
ting first spear.
But returning on Saturday, from a day after snipe and teal,
he found himself instinctively allotting the pick of his 'bag' to
Miss Arden; just a complimentary attention; the sort of thing
she would appreciate. Having refused a ride with her because of
this outing, it seemed the least he could do.
Apparently the same strikingly original idea had occurred
to Lance; and by the merest fluke they found one another out.
To Roy's relief Lance greeted the embarrassing discovery with
a gust of laughter.
"I say this won't do. You give over. It's too much of a
joke. Besides cheek on your part."
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 309
'Though he spoke lightly, the hint of command in his tone
promptly put Roy on the defensive.
"Rot! Why shouldn't I? But the two of them. . . ! A
bit overwhelming!" And suddenly he remembered his declara-
tion of independence. "After all why should either of us?
Can't we let be, just for four days? Look here, Lance. You
give over too. Don't send your dali. 1 And I won't send mine."
Lance having considered that inspired proposal turned
a speculative eye on Roy.
"Lord, what a kid you are, still!"
"Well, I mean it. Out here, we're clear of all that. Over
there, the women call the tune we dance. Sport's the God-
given antidote! Though it won't be so much longer the way
things are going. We shall have 'em after pig and on the polo
ground "
"God forbid!" It came out with such fervour that Roy
laughed.
"He doesn't that's the trouble! He gives us all the rope we
want. And the women may be trusted to take every available
inch. I'm not sure there isn't a grain of wisdom in the Eastern
plan; keeping them, so to speak, in a separate compartment.
Once you open a chink, they flow in and swamp everything."
Up went Lance's eyebrows. "That from you?"
And Roy made haste to add: "I wasn't thinking of mothers
and sisters; but the kind you play round with before you
marry. They've a big pull out here. Very good fun, of course.
And if a man's keen on marrying "
"Aren't you keen?" Lance cut in with a quick look.
"N-no. Not just yet, anyway. It's a plunge. And I'm too
full up with other things. But what about the birds?"
"Oh, we'll let be as you sagely suggest!"
And they did.
More pig-sticking next morning, with two tuskers for trophies;
and thereafter they travelled reluctantly back to harness, by an
afternoon train, feeling without exception healthier, hap-
pier men.
1 Offering.
310 FAR TO SEEK
None ot inem, perhaps, was more conscious of that inner re-
newal than Lance and Roy. The incident of the dalis seemed in
some way to have cleared the air between them; and throughout
the return journey, both were in the maddest spirits; keeping
the whole carriage in an uproar. Afterwards, driving homeward,
Roy registered a resolve to spend more of his time on masculine
society and the novel; less of it dancing and fooling about in
Lahore. . . .
A vision of his table, with its inviting disarray, and the pic-
ture of his mother for presiding genius, gave his heart a lift. He
promised himself a week of uninterrupted evenings, alone with
Terry and his thronging thoughts; when the whole house was
still and the reading-lamp made a magic circle of light in the sur-
rounding gloom . . .
Meantime there were letters: one from his father, one from
Jeffers; and beneath them a yellow envelope delicately fragrant.
At sight of it he felt a faint tug inside him; as it were a whis-
pered reminder that, away at Kapurthala, he had been about as
free as a bird with a string round its leg. He resented the aptness
of that degrading simile. It was a new sensation; and he did
not relish it. The few women he intimately loved had counted
for so much in his life that he scarcely realised his abysmal ig-
norance of the power that is in woman the mere opposite of
man; the implicit challenge, the potent lure. Partly from tem-
perament, partly from principle, he had kept more or less clear
of ' all that.' Now, weaponless, he had rashly entered the lists.
He opened Miss Arden's note feeling vaguely antagonistic.
But its friendly tone disarmed him. She hoped they had enjoyed
themselves mightily and slain enough creatures to satisfy their
primitive instincts. And her mother hoped Mr. Sinclair would
dine with them on Wednesday evening: quite a small affair.
His first impulse was to refuse; but her allusion to the slain
creatures touched up his conscience. To cap the omission by re-
fusing her invitation might annoy her. No sense in that. So he
decided to accept; and sat down to enjoy his Home letters at
leisure.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 31 1
Lance, it transpired, had not been asked. He and Barnard
were the favoured ones and, on the appointed evening, they
drove in together. Roy had been writing nearly all day. He had
reached a point in his chapter at which a break was simply
distracting. Yet here he was, driving Barnard to Lahore, curs-
ing his luck, and yes trying to ignore a flutter of anticipa-
tion in the region of his heart. . . .
As far as mere lust of the eye went and it went a good way
with Roy he had his reward the moment he entered Mrs.
Elton's overloaded drawing-room. Rose Arden excelled herself
in evening dress. The carriage of her head, the curve of her
throat, and the admirable line from ear to shoulder made a pic-
ture supremely satisfying to his artist's eye. Her negligible bod-
ice was a filmy affair ivory white with glints of gold. Her
gauzy gold wedding sash, swathed round her hips, fell in a
fringed knot below her knee. Filmy sleeves floated from her
shoulders, leaving the arms bare and unadorned, except for one
gold bangle, high up the latest note from Home. For the rest
her rope of ripe amber beads and long earrings only a few
tones lighter than her astonishing hazel eyes.
Face to face with her beauty, and her discreetly veiled pleasure
at sight of him, he could not be ungracious enough to curse his
luck. But his satisfaction cooled at sight of Talbot Hayes by the
mantelpiece, inclining his polished angularity to catch some con-
fidential tit-bit from little Mrs. Hunter-Ranyard. Of course that
fellow would take her in. He, Roy, had no official position now;
and without it one was negligible in Anglo-India. Besides, Mrs.
Elton openly favoured Talbot Hayes. Failing Rose, there were
two more prospective brides at Home twins; and Hayes was
fatally endowed with all the surface symptoms of the 'coming
man': the supple alertness and self-assurance; the instinct for
the right thing; and supreme asset in these days a
studious detachment from the people and the country. In con-
sequence, needless to say, he remained obstinately sceptical as
regards the rising storm.
Very early Roy had put- out feelers to discover how much he
312 FAR TO SEEK
understood or cared; and Hayes had blandly assured him:
"Bengal may bluster and the D.C. may pessimise, but you can
take it from me, there will be no serious upheaval in the North.
If ever these people are fools enough to manoeuvre us out of India,
so much the worse for them; so much the better for us. It's a
beastly country."
Nevertheless Roy observed that he appeared to extract out of
the beastly country every available ounce of enjoyment. In
affable moments he could even manage to forget his career
and unbend. He was unbending now.
A few paces off, the dyspeptic Judge was discussing 'the situa-
tion' with his host a large, unwieldy man, so nervous of his
own bulk and unready wit, that only the discerning few discov-
ered the sensitive, friendly spirit very completely hidden under
a bushel. Roy, who had liked him at sight, felt vaguely sorry
for him. He seemed a fish out of water in his own home; over-
whelmed by the florid, assured personality of his wife.
They were the last, of course; nearly five minutes late. Trust
Roy. Only four other guests: Dr. Ethel Wemyss, M.B., lively
and clever and new to the country; Major and Mrs. Garten, of
the Sikhs, with a stolid, good-humoured daughter, who unfail-
ingly wore the same frock and the same disarming smile.
The Deputy Commissioner's wife permitted herself few milk
tary intimates. But she had come in touch with Mrs. Garten
over a dhobi's l chit and a recipe for pumelo gin. Both women
were consumedly Anglo-Indian. All their values were social:
pay, promotion, prestige. All their lamentations pitched in the
same key: everything dearer, servants 'impossible,' hospital-
ity extinct with every one saving and scraping to get Home.
Both were deeply versed in bazaar prices and the sins of native
servants. Hence, in due course, a friendship (according to Mrs.
Ranyard) 'broad-based onjharrons and charcoal and kerosene '1
The two were lifting up their voices in unison over the myste-
rious shortage of kerosene (that arch sinner Mool Chand said
none was coming into the country) when dinner was announced;
and Talbot Hayes inevitably offered his arm to Miss
1 Washerman.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 313
Arden. Roy, consigned to Dr. Wemyss, could only pray Heaven
for the next best thing Miss Arden on his left. Instead, amaz-
edly, he found himself promoted to a seat beside her mother,
who still further amazed him by treating him to a much larger
share of her attention than the law of the dinner table pre-
scribed. Her talk, in the main, was local and personal; and
Roy simply let it flow; his eyes flagrantly straying down the
table towards Miss Arden and Hayes, who seemed very intimate
this evening.
Suddenly he found himself talking about Home. It began with
gardens. Mrs. Elton had a passion for them, as her malis 1 knew
to their cost; and the other day a friend had told her that some-
body said Mr. Sinclair had a lovely place at Home, with a
wonderful old garden ?
Mr. Sinclair admitted as much, with masculine brevity.
Undeterred, she drew out the sentimental stop: the charm
of a real old English garden! Out here, one only used the word
by courtesy. Lahorites, of course, were specially favoured;
but do what one would, it was never quite the same thing was
it.. .?
Not quite, Roy agreed amicably and wondered what the
joke was down there. He supposed Miss Arden must have had
some say in the geography of the table . . .
Her mother, meantime, had tacked sail and was probing him,
indirectly, about his reasons for remaining in India. Was he
going in for 'politics, or the life of country gentleman in his
beautiful home? Her remarks implied that she took him for the
eldest son. And Roy, who had not been attending, realised with
a jar that, in vulgar parlance, he was being discreetly pumped.
Whereat, politely, but decisively, he sheered off and stuck to his
partner till the meal was over.
The men seemed to linger interminably over their wine uid
cigars. But he managed to engage the D.C. on the one subject
that put shyness to flight the problems of changing India.
With more than twenty years of work and observation behind
him, he saw the widening gulf between rulers and ruled as an
1 Gardeners.
314 FAR TO SEEK
almost equal disaster for both. He knew, none better, all that
had been achieved in his own Province alone, for the peasant
and the loyal landowner. He had made many friends among the
Indians of his district, and from these he had received repeated
warnings of widespread, organised rebellion. Yet he was help-
less; tied hand and foot in yards of red tape . . .
It was not the first time that Roy had enjoyed a talk with him,
a sense of doors opening on to larger spaces; but this evening
restlessness nagged at him like an importunate third person;
and at the first hint of a move he was on his feet, determined to
forestall Hayes.
He succeeded; and Miss Arden welcomed him with the lift
of her brows that he was growing to watch for when they met.
It seemed to imply a certain intimacy.
"Very brown and vigorous you're looking! Was it great
fun?"
"It was topping," he answered with simple fervour. "Rare
sport. Everything in style."
"And no leisure to miss partners left lamenting? I hope our
stars shone the brighter, glorified by distance?"
Her eyes challenged him with smiling deliberation. His own
met them full; and a little tingling shock ran through him, as
at the touch of an electric needle.
"Some stars are dazzling enough at close quarters," he said
boldly.
"But surely 'distance lends enchantment' ?"
"It depends a good deal on the view!"
At that moment up came Hayes, with his ineffable air of giv-
ing a cachet to anyone he honoured with his favour. And Miss
Arden hailed him, as if they had not met for a week. Thus
encouraged, of course he clung like a limpet; and reverted to
some subject they had been discussing tacitly isolating Roy.
For a few exasperating moments he stood his ground, counting
on bridge to remove the limpet. But when Hayes refused a press-
ing invitation to join Mrs. Ranyard's table, Roy gave it up, and
deliberately walked away.
Only Mr Elton remained sitting near the fireplace. His look
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 315
of undisguised pleasure at Roy's approach atoned for a good
deal; and they renewed their talk where it had broken off. Roy
almost forgot he was talking to a senior official; freely expressed
his own thoughts; and even ventured to comment on the strange
detachment of Anglo-Indians, in general, from a land full of
such vast and varied interests, lying at their very doors.
"Perhaps I misjudge them," he added, with the unfailing
touch of modesty that was not least among his charms. "But
to me it sometimes seems as if a curtain hung between their eyes
and India. And it's catching. In some subtle way this little
concentrated world within a world seems to draw one's recep-
tiveness away from it all. Is that very sweeping, sir? "
A smile dawned in Mr. Elton's rather mournful eyes. "In
a sense it's painfully true. But the fact is Anglo-Indian
life can't be fairly judged from the outside. It has to be lived
before its insidiousness can be suspected." He moistened his
lips and caressed his chin with a large, sensitive hand. "Happily
there are a good many exceptions."
"If I wasn't talking to one of them, sir I wouldn't have ven-
tured!" said Roy; and the friendly smile deepened.
"All the same," Elton went on, "there are those who assert
that it is half the secret of our success; that India conquered
the conquerors who lived with her and so lost their virility. Yet
in our earlier days, when the personal touch was a reality, we
did achieve a better relation all round. Of course the present
state of affairs is the inevitable fruit of our whole system. By
the Anglicising process we have spread all over India a vast layer
of minor officials some six million persons deep I Consider, my
dear young man, the significance of those figures. We reduce the
European staff. We increase the drudgery of their office work
and we wonder why the Sahib and the peasant are no longer
personal friends 1 "
Stirred by his subject, and wanned by Roy's intelligent in-
terest, the man's nervous tricks disappeared. He spoke eagerlv,
earnestly, as to an equal in experience; a compliment Roy
would have been quicker to appreciate had not half his atten-
tion been centred on that exasperating pair, who had retired
3i6 , FAR TO SEEK
to a cushioned alcove and looked like remaining there for
good.
What the devil had the girl invited him for? If she wished
to disillusion him, she was succeeding to admiration. If she fan-
cied he was one of her infernal ninepins, she was very much
mistaken. And all the while he found himself growing steadily
more distracted, more insistently conscious of her . . .
Voices and laughter heralded an influx of bridge-players;
Mrs. Ranyard with Barnard, Miss Garten, and Dr. Wemyss.
A table of three women and one man did not suit the little lady's
taste.
"We're a very scratch lot. And we want fresh blood!" she
announced carnivorously, as the pair in the alcove rose and
came forward.
The two men rose also, but went on with their talk. They
knew it was not then- blood Mrs. Ranyard was seeking. Roy kept
his back turned and studiously refrained from hoping . . .
" If you two have quite finished breaking up the Empire . . . ? "
said Miss Arden's voice at his elbow. She had approached so
quietly that he started. Worse still, he knew she had seen. "I 4
was terrified of being caught" she turned affectionately to
her stepfather "so I flung Mr. Hayes to the wolves and
fled. You're sanctuary!"
Her fingers caressed his sleeve. Words and touch waked a
smile in his mournful eyes. They seemed to understand one an-
other, these two. To Roy she had never seemed more charming;
and his own abrupt volte-face was unsteadying, to say the least
of it
"Hayes would prove a tough mouthful even for wolves,"
Elton remarked pensively.
" He would! He's so securely lacquered over with well
we won't be unkind. But strictly between ourselves, dear
wouldn't you love to swop him for Mr. Sinclair, these
days?"
"My dear!" Elton reproached her, nervously shifting his
large hands. "Hayes is a model of efficiency! But well,
well if Mr. Sinclair will forgive flattery to his face I should
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 317
say he has many fine qualities for an Indian career, should he
be inclined that way "
"Thank you, sir. I'd no notion " Roy murmured, over-
whelmed; as Elton seeing Miss Garten stranded moved
dutifully to her rescue.
Miss Arden glanced again at Roy. "Are you inclining that
way?"
The question took him aback.
"Me? No. Of course I'd love it for some things."
"You're well out of it, in my opinion. It'll soon be no country
for a white man. He's already little more than a futile super-
fluity '
" On the contrary " Roy struck in, warmly " the English-
man, of the Tightest sort, is more than ever needed in India to-
day."
Her slight shrug conceded the point. "I never argue! And if
you start on that subject I'm nowhere! You can save it all up
for the Pater. He's rather a dear don't you think ?"
"He's splendid."
Her smile had its caressing quality. "That's the last adjec-
tive anyone else would apply to him! But it's true. There's a
fine streak in him very carefully hidden away. People don't
see it, because he's shy and clumsy and hasn't an ounce of push.
But he understands the natives. Loves them. Goodness knows
why. And he's got the right touch. I could tell you a tale "
"Do!" he urged. "Tales are my pet weakness."
She subsided into the empty chair and looked up invitingly.
"Sit," she commanded and he obeyed.
He was neither saying nor doing the things he had meant to
say or do. But the mere beauty of her enthralled him; the allur-
ing grace of her pose, leaning forward a little, bare arms resting
on her knees. No vivid colour anywhere except her lips. Those
lips, thought Roy, were responsible for a good deal. Their flex-
ible softness discounted more than a little the deliberation of her
eyes; and to-night her charming attitude to Elton appreciably
quickened his interest hi her and her tale.
' "It happened out in the district. I heard it from a friend."
318 FAR TO SEEK
She leaned nearer and spoke in a confidential undertone. "He
got news that some neighbouring town was in a ferment. Only a
handful of Europeans there; an American mission; and no
troops. So the ' mish ' people begged him to come in and politely
wave his official wand. You must be very polite to badmashes 1
these days, if you're a mere Sahib; or you hear of it from some
little Tin God sitting safe in his office hundreds of miles away.
Well, off he went a twenty-mile drive; found the mission in a
flutter I don't blame them armed with rifles and revolvers;
expecting-every-moment- to-be- their-next sort of thing; and the
city in an uproar. Some religious tamasha. He talked like a
father to the headmen; and assured the 'mish' people it would
be all right.
"They begged him to stay and see them through. So he said
he would sleep at the dak bungalow. 'All alone?' they asked.
'No one to guard you?' 'Quite unnecessary,' he said and
they were simply amazed!
"It was rather hot; so he had his bed put in the garden.
Then he sent for the leading men and said. 'I hear there's a
disturbance going on. I don't intimate you have anything to
do with it. But you are responsible; and I expect you to keep
the people hi hand. I'm sleeping here to-night. If there is further
trouble, you can report to me. But it is for -you to keep order in
your own town.'
"They salaamed and departed. No one came near him. And
he drove off next morning leaving those Americans, with their
rifles and revolvers, more amazed than ever! I was told it made a
great impression on the natives, his sleeping alone in the garden,
without so much as a sentry. And the cream of it is," she added
her eyes on Elton's unheroic figure " the man who could do
that is terrified of walking across a ballroom or saying polite
things to a woman!"
Distinctly, to-night, she was in a new vein, more attractive
to Roy than all her feminine crafts and lures. Sitting, friendly
an at ease, over the fire, they discussed human idiosyncrasies
a pel subject with him.
1 Bad characters.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 319
Then, suddenly, she looked him in the eyes and he was aware
of her again, hi the old disturbing way. Yet she was merely
remarking, with a small sigh, "You can't think how refreshing
it is to get a little real talk sometimes with a cultivated man who
is neither a soldier nor a civilian. Even in a big station we're so
boxed in with 'shop' and personalities! The men are luckier.
They can escape now and then; shake off the women as one
shakes off burrs ! "
Another glance here; half sceptical, wholly captivating.
" It's easier said than done," admitted Roy, recalling his own
partial failure. i
" Charming of you to confess it ! Dare I confess that I've found
the Hall and the tennis rather flat these few days without im-
perilling your phenomenal modesty? "
"I think you dare." It was he who looked full at her now.
"My modesty badly needs bucking up this evening."
Her feigned surprise was delicately done. ''What a shame I
Who's been snubbing you? Our clever M.B.?"
"Not at all. You've got the initials wrong."
"Did it hurt your feelings as much as all that?" She
dropped the flimsy pretence and her eyes proffered apology.
"Well, you invited me."
"And Mother invited Mr. Hayes! The fact is he's been
rather in evidence these few days. And one can't flick him off
like an ordinary mortal. He's a 'coming man'!" She folded
hands and lips and looked deliciously demure. "All the same
it was unkind. You were so unhappy at dinner. I could feel it
all that way off. Be magnanimous and come for a ride to-
morrow do."
And Roy, the detached, the disillusioned, accepted with alac-
rity.
CHAPTER IV
For every power, a man pays toll in a corresponding weakness;
and probably the artist pays heaviest of all.
M. P. WILLCOCKS
IT was the morning of the great Gymkhana, to be followed by
the Bachelors' Ball. For Lahore's unfailing social energy was
not yet spent; though Depot troops had gone to the Hills, and
the leave season was open, releasing a fortunate few, and leaving
the rest to fretful or stoical endurance of the stealthy, stoking-
up process of a Punjab hot-weather. And the true inwardness
of those three words must be burned into body and brain,
season after season, to be even remotely understood. Already
earth and air were full of whispered warnings. Roses and sweet
peas were fading. Social life was virtually suspended between
twelve and two, the 'calling hours' of the cold weather; and at
sunset the tree-crickets shrilled louder than ever careless
heralds of doom. Human tempers were shorter; and even the
night did not now bring unfailing relief.
Roy had been sleeping badly again; partly the heat, partly
the clash of sensations within him. This morning, after hours of
tossing and dozing and dreaming not the right kind of dreams
at all he was up and out before sunrise, forsaking the bed
that betrayed him for the saddle that never failed to bring a
measure of respite from the fever of body and mind that was
stultifying, insidiously, his reason and his will.
Still immersed in his novel, he had come up to Lahore heart-
free, purpose-free; vaguely aware that virtue had gone out of
him ; looking forward to a few weeks of careless enjoyment, be-
tween spells of work; and above all to the 'high old time' he
and Lance would have together beyond Kashmir. Women and
marriage were simply not in the picture. His attitude to that
inevitable event was, on his own confession, not yet.' Possibly,
when he got Home, he might discover it was Tara, after all. It
would need some courage to propose again. For the memory
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 321
of that juvenile fiasco still pricked his sensitive pride. A touch
of the Rajput came out there. Letters from Serbia seemed to
dawdle unconscionably by the way. But, in leisurely course,
he had received an answer to his screed about Dyan and the
quest; a letter alive with all he loved best in her enthusiasm,
humour, vivid sympathy, deepened and enlarged by experiences
that could not yet be told. But Tara was far and Miss Arden
was near; and, in the mysterious workings of sex magnetism,
mere propinquity too often prevails.
And all the others seemed farther still. They wrote regularly,
affectionately. Yet their letters especially his father's
seemed to tell precious little of the things he really wanted to
know. Perhaps his own had been more reserved than he realised.
There had been so much at Jaipur and Delhi that he could not
very well enlarge upon. No use worrying the dear old man; and
she who had linked them, unfailingly, was now seldom men-
tioned between them. So there grew up in Roy a disconsolate
feeling that none of them cared very much whether he came
Home or not. Jerry after three years in a German prison
was a nervous wreck; still undergoing treatment; humanly lost,
for the time being. Tiny was absorbed hi her husband and an
even Tinier baby, called Nevil Le Roy, after himself. Tara was
not yet home; but coming before long, because of Aunt Helen
who had broken down between war work and the shock of
Atholl's death.
A queer thing, separation, mused Roy, as Suraj slowed down
to a walk and the glare of morning flamed along the sky. There
were they and here was he: close relations, in effect; almost
strangers in fact. There was more between him and them than
several hundred miles of sea. There was the bottomless gulf of
the War; the gulf of his bitter grief and the slow climb up from
the depths to Pisgah heights of revelation. Impossible to com-
municate even had he willed those inner vital experiences
at Chitor and Jaipur. And he had certainly neither will nor power
to enlarge on his present turmoil of heart and mind.
Since his ride with Rose Arden, after the dinner party, things
seemed to have taken a new turn. Their relation was no longer
322 FAR TO SEEK
tentative. She seemed tacitly to regard him as her chosen
cavalier; and he, as tacitly, fell in with the arrangement. No
denying he felt flattered a little; subjugated increasingly by a
spell he could neither analyse nor resist, because he had known
nothing quite like it before. He was, hi truth, paying the pen-
alty for those rare and beautiful years of early manhood inspired
by worship of his mother. For every virtue, every gift, the gods
exact a price. And he was paying it now. Deep down within him
something tugged against that potent spell. Yet increasingly it
prevailed and lured him from his work. The vivid beings of his
brain were fading into bloodless unrealities; in which state he
could do nothing with them. Yet Browne's encouragement and
his father's critical appreciation of fragments lately sent Home,
had fired him to fulfil more than fulfil their expectations.
And now here he was tripped up again by his all-too-human
capacity for emotion as at Jaipur.
The comparison jerked him. The two experiences, like the
two women, had almost nothing in common. The charm of
Aruna with its Eastern mingling of the sensuous and spiritual
was a charm he intimately understood. It combined a touch
of the earth with a rarefied touch of the stars. In Rose Arden, so
far, he had discovered no touch of the stars. She suggested,
rather, a day of early summer; a day when warmth and
fragrance and colour permeate soul and body; keeping them
spellbound by the beauty of earth; wooing the brain from
irksome queries why, whence, whither?
By now, the sheer fascination of her had entered in and satu-
rated his being to a degree that he vaguely resented. Always
one face, one voice, intruding on him unsought. -No respite
from thought of her, from desire of her; the exquisite, intolerable
ache, at times, when she was present with him; the still more
intolerable ache when she was not. The fluidity of his own dual
nature, and recoil from the Aruna temptation, inclined him
peculiarly to idealise the clear-eyed, self -poised Western qualities
so diversely personified in Lance and this compelling girl.
Yet emphatically he did not love her. He knew the great
reality too well to delude himself on that score. Were these the
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 323
authentic signs of falling in love? If so in spite of raptur-
ous moments it was a confoundedly uncomfortable state of
being . . .
Where was she leading him? this beautiful distracting girl,
who said so little, yet whose smiles and silences implied so much.
There was no forwardness or free-and-easiness about her; yet
instinctively he recognized her as the active agent in the whole
affair. Twice, lately, he had resolved not to go near her again;
and both times he had failed ignominiouslv he who prided
himself on control of unruly emotions . . . !
Had Lance, he wondered, made the same resolve and managed
to keep it being Lance? Or was the Gymkhana momentarily
the stronger magnet of the two? He and Paul, with a Major in
the Monmouths, were chief organisers; and much practice was
afoot at tent-pegging, bareback horsemanship, and the like.
For a week Lance had scarcely been into Lahore. When Roy
pressed him, he said it was getting too hot for afternoon dancing.
But as he still affected far more violent forms of exercise, that
excuse was not particularly convincing. By way of retort, he
had rallied Roy on overdoing the tame-cat touch and neglecting
the all-important novel: and Roy wincing at the truth of
that friendly flick had replied no less truthfully: "Well, if
it hangs fire, old chap, you're the sinner. You dug me out of
Paradise by twitting me with becoming an appendage to a
pencil! Another month at Udaipur would have nearly pulled
me through it in the rough, at least."
It was lightly spoken; but Lance had set his lips in a fashion
Roy knew well; and said no more.
Altogether, he seemed to have retired into a shell out of which
he refused to be drawn. They were friendly as ever, but distinctly
less intimate; and Roy felt vaguely responsible, yet powerless
to put things straight. For intimacy in its essence a mutual
impulse cannot be induced to order. If one spoke of Miss
Arden, or doings in Lahore, Lance would respond without en-
thusiasm, and unobtrusively change the subject. Roy could
only infer that his interest in the girl had never gone very deep
and had now fizzled out altogether. But he would have given
324 FAR TO SEEK
a good deal to feel sure that the fizzling out had no connection
with his own appearance on the scene. It bothered him to re-
member that, at first, in an odd, repressed fashion, Lance had
seemed unmistakeably keen. But if he would persist in playing
the Trappist monk, what the devil was a fellow to do?
Even over the Gymkhana programme there had been an un-
dercurrent of friction. Lance in his new vein had wanted
to keep the women out of it; while Roy in his new vein
couldn't keep at least one of them out, if he tried. In particular
both were keen about the Cockade Tournament: a glorified
version of fencing on horseback; the wire masks adorned with
a small coloured feather for plume. He was victor whose fencing-
stick detached his opponent's feather. The prize a Bachelor's
Purse had been well subscribed for and supplemented by
Gymkhana funds. So, on all accounts, it was a popular event.
There were twenty-two names down; and Roy, in a romantic
impulse, had proposed making a real joust of it; each knight
to wear a lady's favour; a Queen of Beauty and Love to be
chosen for the prize-giving, as in the days of chivalry.
Lance had rather hotly objected; and a few inveterate bache-
lors had backed him up. But the bulk of men are sentimental
at heart; none more than the soldier. So Roy's idea had caught
on, and the matter was settled. There was little doubt who
would be chosen for prize-giver; and scarcely less doubt whose
favour Roy would wear.
Desmond's flash of annoyance had been brief; but he had stip-
ulated that favours should not be compulsory. If they were, he
for one would 'scratch.' This time he had a larger backing; and,
amid a good deal of chaff and laughter, had carried his point.
That open clash between them slight though it was
had jarred Roy a good deal. Lance, characteristically, had ig-
nored the whole thing. But not even that inner jar could blunt
Roy's keen anticipation of the whole affair.
Miss Arden was his partner in one of the few mixed events.
He was to wear her favour for the Tournament a Marechal
Niel rose; and, infatuated as he was, he saw it for a guarantee
of victory. . . .
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 525
In view of that intoxicating possibility, nothing else mattered
inordinately, at the moment: though there reposed in his
pocket a letter from Dyan with a Delhi postmark giving
a detailed account of serious trouble caused by the recent
hartal: 1 all shops closed; tramcars and gharris held up by
threatening crowds; helpless passengers forced to proceed on
foot in the blazing heat and dust; troops and police violently
assaulted; till a few rounds of buckshot cooled the ardour of
ignorant masses, doubtless worked up to concert pitch by wander-
ing agitators of the Chandranath persuasion.
"There were certain Swamis," he concluded, "trying to keep
things peaceful. But they ought to know resistance cannot be
passive or peaceful; and excitement without understanding is a
fire difficult to quench. I believe this explosion was premature;
but there is lots more gunpowder lying about, only waiting for
the match. I am taking Aruna into the Hills for a pilgrimage.
It is possible Grandfather may come too; we are hoping to start
soon after the fifteenth, if things keep quiet. Write to me, Roy,
telling all you know. Lahore is a hot-bed for trouble; Amritsar,
worse; but I hope your authorities are keeping well on their
guard."
From all Roy heard, there seemed good reason to believe they
were in so far as a Home policy of government by concession
would permit. But well he knew that in the East if the
ruling power discards action for argument, and uses the sceptre
for a walking-stick, things happen to men and women and chil-
dren on the spot. He also knew that, to England's great good
fortune, there were usually men on the spot who could be relied
on, in an emergency, to think and act and dare in accordance
with the high tradition of their race.
He hoped devoutly it might not come to that; but at the core
of hope lurked a flicker of fear . . .
1 Abstention as sign of mourning.
CHAPTER V
Her best is bettered with a more delight.
SHAKSPERE
THE great Gymkhana was almost over. The last event bare-
back feats of horsemanship had been an exciting affair; a
close contest between Lance and Roy and an Indian cavalry
officer. But it was Roy who had carried the day, by his daring
and dexterity in the test of swooping down and snatching a
handkerchief from the ground at full gallop. The ovation he
received went to his head like champagne. But praise from
Lance went to his heart; for Lance, like himself, had been
'dead keen' on this particular event. He had carried off a tent-
pegging cup, however; and appropriately won the V.C. race.
So Roy considered he had a right to his triumph; especially as
the handkerchief in question had been proffered by Miss Arden.
It was reposing in his breast-pocket now; and he had a good
mind not to part with it. He was feeling in the mood to dare,
simply for the excitement of the thing. He and she had won
the Gretna Green race hands down. He further intended
for her honour and his own glory to come off victor in the
Cockade Tournament, in spite of the fact that fencing on horse-
back was one of Lance's specialties. He himself had taught Roy
in Mesopotamia, during those barren, plague-ridden stretches
of time when the War seemed hung up indefinitely and it took
every ounce of surplus optimism to keep going at all. Roy's
hope was that some other man might knock Lance out; or as
teams would be decided by lot that luck might cast them to-
gether. For the ache of compunction was rather pronounced this
afternoon; perhaps because the good fellow's aloofness from the
grand shamianah l was also rather pronounced, considering . . .
He seemed always to be either out in the open, directing events,
or very much engaged in the refreshment tent an earthly
1 Marquee tent.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 327
Paradise, on this blazing day of early April, to scores of dusty,
thirsty, indefatigable men.
Between events, as now, the place was thronged. Every
moment fresh arrivals shouting for 'drinks.' Every moment
the swish of a syphon, the popping of corks; ginger beer and
lemonade for Indian officers, seated just outside, and permitted
by caste rules to refresh themselves, 'English-fashion,' provided
they drank from the pure source of the bottle. Not a Sikh or
Rajput of them all would have sullied his caste purity by drink-
ing from the tumbler used by some admired Sahib, for whom on
service he would cheerfully lay down his life. Within the tent
were a few very few more advanced beings who had dis-
carded all irksome restrictions and would sooner be shot than
address a white man as 'Sahib.' Such is India in transition; a
welter of incongruities, of shifting, perilous uncertainties, of
subterranean ferment beneath a surface that still appeared very
much as it has always been.
Roy observant and interested as usual saw, in the bril-
liant gathering, all the outward and visible signs of security,
stability, power. Let those signs be shaken never so little, thought
he and the heavens would fall. But in spite of grave news
from Delhi that might prove a prelude to eruption not
a ripple stirred on the face of the waters. The grand shamianah
was thronged with lively groups of women and men in the
lightest of light attire. A British band was enlivening the inter-
lude with musical comedy airs. Stewards were striding about
looking important, issuing orders for the next event. And
around them all as close as boundary flags and police would
allow thronged the solid mass of onlookers: soldiers, sepoys,
and sowars from every regiment in Cantonments; minor officials
with their families; ponies and saises and dogs without number;
all wedged in by a sea of brown faces and bobbing turbans,
thousands of them twenty or thirty deep.
Roy's eyes, travelling from that vast outer ring to the crowded
tent, suddenly saw the whole scene as typical of Anglo-Indian
life: the little concentrated world of British men and women,
pursuing their own ends; magnificently unmindful of alien eyes
328 FAR TO SEEK
watching, speculating, misunderstanding at every turn; the
whole heterogeneous mass drawn and held together by the uni-
versal love of hazard and sport, the spirit of competition without
strife that is the corner-stone of British character and the Brit-
ish Empire.
He had just been talking to a C.I.D. 1 man, who had things
to say about subterranean rumblings that might have startled
those laughing, chaffing groups of men and women. Too vividly
his imagination pictured those scenes at Delhi, while his eyes
scanned the formidable depths of alien humanity hemming them
in, outnumbering them by thousands to one. What if all those
friendly faces became suddenly hostile if the laughter and
high-pitched talk changed to the roar of an angry crowd . . . ?
He shook off the nightmare feeling; rating himself for a cow-
ard. Yet he knew it was not fantastica; not even improbable;
though most of the people around him, till they saw with their
own eyes, and heard with their own ears, would not believe . . .
But thoughts so unsettling were out of place in the midst of
a Gymkhana with the grand climax imminent. So having
washed the dust out of his throat he sauntered across to the
other tent to snatch a few words with Miss Arden and secure his
rose. It had been given to one of the 'kits,' who would put it in
water and produce it on demand. For the affair of the favours
was to be a private affair. Miss Arden, however, in choosing a
Mar6chal Niel, tacitly avowed him her knight. Lance would
know. All their set would know. He supposed she realised that.
She was not an accidental kind of person. And she had a natural
gift for flattery of the delicate, indirect order.
No easy matter to get near her again, once you left her side.
As usual she was surrounded by men; easily the Queen of Beauty
and of Love. In honour of that high compliment, she wore her
loveliest race gown; soft shades of blue and green skilfully
blended; and a close-fitting hat bewitchingly framed her face.
Nearing the tent, Roy felt a sudden twinge of apprehension.
Where were they drifting to he and she? Was he prepared to
bid her good-bye, in a week or ten days, and possibly not set
1 Criminal Investigation Department.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 529
eyes on her again? Would she let him go, without a pang, and
start afresh with some chance-met fellow in Simla? The idea
was detestable; and yet . . , ?
Half irritably he dismissed the intrusive thought. The glam-
our of her so dazzled him that he could see nothing else clearly
Perhaps that was why he failed to escape Mrs. Hunter-Ran-
yard, who skilfully annexed him in passing and rained compli-
ments on his embarrassed head. Fine horsemanship was com-
mon enough in India, but anything more superb ! Wide blue
eves and extravagant gesture expressively filled the blank.
"My heart was in my mouth! That handkerchief trick is so
thrilling. You all looked as if you must have your brains knocked
out the next moment "
"And if we had, I suppose the thrill would have gone one
better!" Roy wickedly suggested. He was annoyed at .being
delayed.
u You deserve 'yes' to that! But if I said what I' really
thought, your head would be turned. And it's quite sufficiently
turned already!" She beamed on him with arch significance;
enjoying his impatience, without a tinge of malice. There was
little of it in her; and the little there was, she reserved for her
own sex.
"I suppose it's a dead secret . . . whose favour you are
going to wear?"
"That's the ruling," said Roy, but he felt his blood tingling
and hoped to goodness it didn't show through.
"Well, I've got big bets on about guessing right; and the big-
gest bet's on yours! Major Desmond's a good second."
"Oh, he bars the whole idea."
"I'm relieved to hear it. I was angelic enough to offer him
mine thinking he might be feeling out in the cold!" (another
arch look) "and he refused. My 'Happy Warrior '.doesn't
seem quite so happy as he used to be "
The light thrust struck home, but Roy ignored it. If Lance
barred wearing favours, he barred discussing Lance with women.
Driven into a corner, he managed somehow to escape, and
hurried away in search of his rose.
330 FAR TO SEEK
Mrs. Ranyard, looking after him, with frankly affectionate
concern, found herself wondering was he really quite so trans-
parent as he seemed? That queer, visionary look in his eyes, now
and then, suggested spiritual depths, or heights, that might
baffle even the all-appropriating Rose. Did she seriously intend
to appropriate him? There were vague rumours of a title. But
no one knew anything about him, really, except the two Des-
monds; and she would be a brave woman who tried to squeeze
family details out of them. The boy was too good for her; but
still . . .
Roy, reappearing, felt idiotically convinced that every eye
was on the little spot of yellow in his buttonhole that -inked him
publicly with the girl who wore a cluster of its fellows at her belt.
Time was nearly up. She had moved to the front now and
was free of men; standing very still, gazing intently . . .
Roy> following her gaze, saw Lance actually in the tent
discussing some detail with the Colonel.
"What makes her look at him like that?" he wondered:
and it was as if the tip of a red-hot needle touched his heart.
Next moment she saw him, and beckoned him with her eyes.
He came instinctively obedient; and her welcoming glance
included the rosebud. " You found it? " she said, very low, mind-
ful of feminine ears. 'And you deserve it, after that marvel-
lous exhibition. You went such a pace. It frightened me."
It frightened him, a little, the exceeding softness of her look
and tone; and she added, more softly still: "My handkerchief,
please."
"My handkerchief!" he retorted. "I won it fairly. You've
admitted as much."
"But it wasn't meant for a prize."
" I risked something to win it, anyway," said he, "and now "
The blare of the megaphone a poor substitute for heralds'
trumpets called the knights of the wire mask and fencing-
stick into the lists.
"Go in and win the rosebud too!" said she, when the shout-
ing ceased. "Keep cool. Don't lose your head or your
feather!"
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 331
He had lost his head already. She had seen to that. And
turning to leave her, he found Lance almost at his elbow.
" Come along, Roy," he said, an imperative note in his voice;
and if his glance included the rosebud, it gave no sign.
As they neared the gathering group of combatants, he turned
with one of his quick looks.
"You're in luck, old man. Every inducement to come out
top ! " he remarked, only half in joke. "I've none, except my own
credit. But you'll have a tough job if you knock up against
me."
"Right you are," Roy answered, jarred by the look and tone
more than the words. "If you're so dead keen, I'll take you on."
After that, Roy hoped exceedingly that the luck might cast
them in the same team.
But it fell out otherwise. Lance drew red; Roy, blue. Lance
and Major Devines, of the Monmouths, were chosen as leaders.
They were the only two on the ground who wore no favours:
and they fronted each other with smiles of approval; their re-
spective teams ten a side drawn up in two long lines;
heads caged in wire masks, tufted with curly feathers, red and
blue; ponies champing and pawing the air. Not precisely a
picturesque array; but if the plumes and trappings of chivalry
were lacking, the spirit of it still flickered within ; and will
continue to flicker just so long as modern woman will permit.
At the crack of a pistol they were off full tilt; but there was
no shock of lance on shield, no crash and clang of armour that
'could be heard at a mile's distance,' as in the days of Ivanhoe.
There was only the sharp rattle of fencing-sticks against each
other and the masks, the clatter of eighty-eight hooves on hard
ground; a lively confusion of horses and men, advancing,
backing, 'turning on a sixpence' to meet a sudden attack;
voices, Indian and English, shouting or cheering; and the inter-
mittent call of the umpire declaring a player knocked out as his
feather fluttered into the dust. Clouds of dust enveloped thc.n
in a shifting haze. They breathed dust. It gritted between their
teeth. What matter? They were having at each other in furious
yet friendly combat, and, being Englishmen, they were perfectly
332 FAR TO SEEK
happy; keen to win, ready to lose with a good grace and cheer
the better man.
In none of them, perhaps, did the desire to win burn quite so
fiercely as in Lance and Roy. But more than ever, now, Roy
shrank from a final tussle between them. Surely there was one
man of them all good enough to put Lance out of court.
For a time Major Devines kept him occupied. While Roy
accounted for two red feathers, the well-matched pair were mak-
ing a fine fight of it up and down the field to the tune of cheers
and counter-cheers. But it was the blue feather that fell: and
Lance, swinging round, charged into the melee: seven reds now,
to six blue.
Twice, in the scrimmage, Roy came up against him; but
managed to shift ground, leaving another man to tackle him.
Both times it was the blue feather that fell. Steadily the num-
bers thinned. Roy's wrist and arm were tiring, a trifle; but re-
solve burned fiercely as ever. By now it was clear to all who were
the two best men in the field; and excitement rose as the num-
bers dwindled . . .
r Four to three; blues leading. Two all. And at last an
empty, dusty arena, and they two alone in the midst; ringed in
by thousands of faces, thousands of eyes . . .
Till that moment, the spectators had simply not existed for
Roy. Now, of a sudden, they . crowded hi on him a tightly
wedged wall of humanity expectant, terrifying.
The two had drawn rein, facing each other; and for that mere
moment Roy felt as if his nerve was gone. A glance at the crowded
tent, the gleam of a blue-green figure leaning forward . . .
Then Lance's voice, low and peremptory, 'Come on.'
In the same breath he himself came on, with formidable ilan.
Their sticks rattled sharply. Roy parried a high slicing stroke
only just in time. Thank God, he was himself again: so much
himself that he was beset by a sneaking desire to let Lance win.
It was his weakness in games, just when the goal seemed in sight.
Tara used to scold him fiercely . . .
But there Miss Arden, the rosebud . . .
And suddenly, startlingly, Roy became aware that for Lance
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 333
this was no game. He was fencing like a man inspired. There
was more than mere skill in his feints and shrewd blows; more
in it than a feather.
Two cuts over the arm and shoulder, a good deal sharper than
need be, fairly roused Roy. Next moment they were literally
fighting, at closest range, for all they were worth, to the accom-
paniment of yell on yell, cheer on cheer ...
As the issue hung doubtful and excitement intensified, it be-
came clear that Lance was losing his temper. Roy, hurt and an-
gry, tried to keep cool. Against an antagonist, so skilled and res-
olute, it was his only chance. Their names were shouted.
"Shahbash Sinkiv Sahib" l from the men of Roy's old squadron:
and from Lance's men, "Desmin Sahib Kijait"*
Twice Roy's slicing stroke almost came off; almost, not
quite. The maddening little feather still held its own: and
Lance, by way of rejoinder, caught him a blow on his mask
that made his head ache for an hour after.
Up went his arm to return the blow with interest. Lance,
instead of parrying, lunged and the head of a yellow bud
dropped in the dust.
At that Roy saw red. His lifted hand shook visibly; and with
the moment's loss of control went his last hope of victory . . .
Next instant his feather had joined the rosebud: the crowd
were roaring themselves hoarse; and Roy was riding off the
ground, shorn of plume and favour, furiously disappointed, and
feeling a good deal more bruised about the arms and shoulders
than anything on earth would have induced him to admit.
Of course he ought to go up and congratulate Lance; but just
then it seemed a physical impossibility. Mercifully Lance was sur-
rounded and borne off to the refreshment tent; sped on his way
by a rousing ovation as he passed the shamianah.
Roy, following after, had his full share of praise, and a stirring
salvo of applause from the main tent.
Saluting and looking round, he dared not meet Miss Ardea's
eye. Had he won, she might have owned him. As it was, he had
better keep his distance. But the glimpse he got of her face
1 Well done, Sinclair Sahib. * Victory to Desmond Sahib. ,
334 FAR TO SEEK
startled him. It looked curiously white and strained. His own
imagination, perhaps. It was only a flash. But it haunted him.
He felt responsible. She had been so radiantly sure ... i
Arrived in the other tent feeling stupidly giddy and in
pain he sank down on the first available chair. Friendly spir-
its ordered drinks and soothed him with compliments: a thunder-
ing good fight; to be so narrowly beaten by Desmond was an
achievement in itself; and so forth.
Lance and Paul, still surrounded, were at) the other end of the
long table; and a very fair wedge of thirsty, perspiring manhood
filled the intervening space. Roy did not feel like stirring. He
felt more like drinking half a dozen 'pegs' in succession. But
soon he was aware of a move going on. The prizes, of course;
and he had two to collect. By a special decree the Tournament
prize would be given first. So he need not hurry himself. The
tent was emptying swiftly. He must screw himself up to congrat-
ulations . . .
The screwing was still in process when Lance himself crossed
the tent nearly empty now and stood before him.
"See here, Roy I apologise," he said hurriedly, in a low
tone. "I lost my temper. Not fair play "
Instantly Roy was on his feet; shoulders squared, the last
spark of antagonism extinct.
"If it comes to that, I lost mine too," he admitted, and Lance
smiled.
"You did! But I began it." There was an instant of painful
hesitation: then: "It it was an accident the favour "
"Oh, that's all right," Roy muttered, embarrassed and over-
come.
"It's not all right. It put you off." Another pause. "Will
you take half the purse?"
"Not I." Glory apart, he knew very well how badly Lance
needed the money. "It's yours. You deserve it."
They both spoke low and rapidly, as if on a matter of business:
for there were still some men at the other end of the tent. But
at that, to Roy's amazement, Lance held out his hand.
"Thanks, old man. Shake hands here, where the women
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 335
can see us. You bet they twigged And they chatter so
infernally . . . Unfair on Miss Arden "
Roy felt himself reddening. It was Lance all over that
chivalrous impulse. So they shook hands publicly, to the aston-
ishment of interested kitmutgars, who had been betting freely
and were marvelling afresh at the strange ways of Sahibs.
"I'll doctor your bruises to-night!" said Lance. "And I
accept, gratefully, your share of the purse. She won't relish
giving it to the wrong 'un." The last, barely audible, came
out in a rush, with a jerk of the head that Roy knew well.
"Come along and see how prettily she does it."
To Roy's infatuated eyes she did it inimitably. Standing there,
tall and serene, in her pale-coloured gown and bewitching hat,
instinct with the mysterious authority of beauty, she handed the
prize to Desmond with a little gracious speech of congratulation, I,
adding: "It was a close fight; but you won it fairly."
Roy started. Did Lance notice the lightest imaginable stress
on the word?
"Thanks very much," he said; and saluted, looking her
straight in the eyes.
Roy, watching intently, fancied he saw a ghost of a blush stir
under the even pallor of her skin. She had told him once, hi
joke, that she never blushed; it was not one of her accomplish-
ments. But for half a second she came perilously near it; and
although it enhanced her beauty tenfold, it troubled Roy. }
Then as the cheering died down he saw her turn to the
Colonel, who was supporting her, and heard her clear, deliber-
ate tones, that carried with so little effort: "I think, Colonel
Desmond, everyone must agree that the honours are almost
equally divided "
More applause; and Roy scarcely able to believe his ears or
eyes saw her pick a rose from her cluster. The moment speech
was possible, she leaned forward, smiling frankly at him before
them all.
" Mr. Sinclair will you accept a mere token by way of con-
solation prize? We are all agreed you put up a splendid fight;
and it was no dishonour to be defeated by such an adversary."
336 FAR TO SEEK
Fresh clapping and shouting; while Roy elated and over-
whelmed went forward like a man walking in a dream.
It was a dream woman who pinned the rosebud in his empty
buttonhole, patting it into shape with the lightest touch of her
finger-tips, saying, "Well done, indeed," and smiling at him
again . . .
Without a word he saluted and walked away.
Lance had been a truer prophet than he knew. She had done
it prettily, past question; and in a fashion all her own.
CHAPTER VI
Blood and brain and spirit, three
Join for true felicity.
Are they parted, then expect
Someone sailing mil be wrecked.
GEORGE MEREDITH
ON the night after the Gymkhana the great little world of Lahore
was again disporting itself with unabated vigour in the pil-
lared ballroom of the Lawrence Hall. They could tell tales worth
inditing, those pillars and galleries that have witnessed all the
major festivities of Punjab Anglo-India its loves and jealous-
ies and high-hearted courage from the day of crinolines and
whiskers to this day of the toothbrush moustache, the retiring
skirts and still more retiring bodices of after-war economy.
And there are those who believe they will witness the reveky
of Anglo-Indian generations yet to be.
Had Lance Desmond shared Roy's gift for visions, he might
have seen, in spirit, the ghosts of his mother and father in the
pride of their youth, and that first legendary girl- wife, of whom
Thea had once told him all she knew, and whose grave he had
seen in Kohat cemetery with a queer mingling of pity and resent-
ment in his heart. There should have been no one except his
own splendid mother first, last, and all the time.
But Lance, though no scoffer, had small intimacy with ghosts;
and Roy's frequented other regions; nor was he himself in the
frame of mind to induce spiritual visitations. Soul and body
were enmeshed, as in a network of sunbeams, holding him close
to earth. For weeks part of him had been fighting, subconsciously,
against the compelling power that is woman; now, consciously,
he was alive to it, swept along* by it, as by a tidal wave. Since
that amazing moment at the prize-giving, all his repressed fer-
ment had welled up and overflowed; and when an imaginat
emotional nature loses grip on the reins, the pace is apt to be
headlong, the course perilous . . .
He had dined at the Eltons' a lively party; chaff and laugh-
338 FAR TO SEEK
ter and champagne; and Miss Arden after yesterday's gra-
ciousness in a tantalising, elusive mood. But he had his dances
secure: six out of twenty; not to mention the cotillion after
supper, which they were to lead. And she was wearing, at his
request, what he called her 'Undine frock' a clinging affair
fringed profusely with silver and palest green, that suggested to
his fancy Undine emerging from the stream in a dripping gar-
ment of water weeds. Her arms and shoulders emerged from it a
little too noticeably for his taste; but to-night his critical brain
was in abeyance. Look where he would, talk to whom he
would, he was persistently, distractingly aware of her: and she
could not elude him the whole evening long . . .
Supper was over. The cotillion itself was almost over; the
Maypole figure adding a flutter of bright ribbons to the array
of flags and bunting, evening dresses and uniforms. Twice, in
the earlier figures, she had chosen him; but this time the chance
issue of pairing by colours gave her to Desmond. Roy saw a
curious look pass between them. Then Lance put his arm
round her; and they danced without a break.
When it was over, Roy went in search of iced coffee. In a few
seconds those two appeared on the same errand and merged
themselves in a lively group. Roy, irresistibly, followed suit;
and when the music struck up, Lance handed her over with a
formal bow.
"Your partner, I think, old man. Thanks for the loan," he
said; and his smile was for Roy as he turned and walked lei-
surely away.
Roy looked after him, feeling pained and puzzled; the more so
because Lance clearly had the whip hand. It was she who
seemed the less assured of the two, and he caught himself wishing
he possessed the power so to upset her equanimity. Was it even
remotely possible thai she cared seriously and Lance would
not . . . ?
"Brown studies aren't permitted in ballrooms, Mr. Sinclair!"
she rallied him in her gentlest voice and Lance was forgotten.
"Come and tie an extra big choc on to my fishing-rod."
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 339
Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to
masculine dignity. Six brief -skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood
on chairs each dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of
bamboo and coloured ribbon. Before them, on six cushions,
knelt six men; heads tilted back, bobbing this way and that, at
the caprice of the angler; occasionally losing balance, and half
toppling over amid shouts and cheers.
How did that kind of fooling strike the 'kits' and the Indian
bandsmen up aloft, wondered Roy. A pity they never give a
thought to that side of the picture. He determined not to be
drawn in. Lance, he noticed, studiously refrained. Miss Arden
having tantalised three aspirants was looking round for a
fourth victim. Their eyes met and he was done for ...
The moment his knee touched the cushion, he would have
given the world for courage to back out. And as if aware of
his reluctance she played him mercilessly, smiling down on
him with her astonishing hazel eyes. Roy's patience gave out.
Tingling with mortification, he rose and walked away, to be
greeted with a volley of good-natured chaff.
He was followed by Lister, 'the R.E. boy* who at once
secured the elusive bait, clearly by favour rather than skill.
The rest had already paired. The band struck up: and Roy,
partnerless, stood looking on the film of the East over his still
face masking the clash of forces within. The fool he was to have
given way! And this before them all after yesterday. . .1
His essential masculinity stood confounded; blind to the instinct
of the essential coquette allurement by flight. He resolved to
take no part in the final figure the mirror and handkerchief;
would not even look at her, lest she catch his eye.
Her choice fell on Hayes; and Roy elaborately indifferent
carried Lance off to the buffet for champagne cup. It was a
thirsty evening: a relief to be quit of the ballroom and' get a
breath of masculine fresh air. The fencing bout and its after-
math had consciously quickened his feeling for Lance. In the
fury of that fight they seemed to have worked off all the hidden
friction of the past few weeks that had dimmed the steady radi-
ance of their friendship. It was as if a storm-cloud had burst
340 FAR TO SEEK
and the sun shone out again. They said nothing intimate; noth-
ing worthy of note. They were simply content.
Yet, when music struck up, content evaporated for Roy,
at least. He was in a fever to be with her again.
Her welcoming smile revived his reckless mood. "Ours
this time, anyway," he said, in an odd, repressed voice.
"Yes ours."
Her answering look vanquished him utterly. As his arm en-
circled her he fancied she leaned ever so little towards him, as if
admitting that she too felt the thrill of coming together again.
Fancy or no, it was like a lighted match dropped in a powder
magazine . . .
For Roy, that single valse, out of scores they had danced to-
gether, was an experience by itself. While the music plays, a
man encircles one woman and another, from sheer habit, without
a flicker of emotion. But to-night volcanic forces in Roy were
rising like champagne when the cork begins to move. Never
before had he been so disturbingly aware that he was holding
her in his arms; that he wanted tremendously to go on holding
her when the music stopped. To this danger point he had been
brought, by the unconscious effect of delicate approaches and stra-
tegic retreats. And the man who has most firmly kept the cork
on his emotions is often the most unaccountable when it flies
off . . .
The music ceased. They were simply partners again. He led
her out into starry darkness, velvet soft; very quiet and con-
tained to the outer eye; inwardly, of ,a sudden, afraid of himself;
still more afraid of the serenely beautiful girl at his side. The
crux of the trouble was that he knew perfectly well what he
wanted to do; but not at all what he wanted to say. For him,
as his mother's son, marriage had a sacredness, an apartness
from random emotions, however overwhelming; and it went
against the grain to approach that supreme subject in his present
fine confusion of heart and body and brain.
They wandered on a little. Like himself, she seemed smitten
dumb; and with every moment of silence he became more
acutely aware of her. He had discovered that this was one_of her
DUST OF THE ACTUAL ! 341
most potent spells. Never for long could a man be unaware of
her, of the fact that she was before everything a woman.
In a sense how different! it had been the same with Aruna.
But with Aruna, it was primitive, instinctive. This exotic flower
of Western girlhood wielded her power with conscious, consum-
mate skill . . .
Near a seat well away from the Hall, she stopped. "We
don't want any more exercise, do we? " she said softly.
"I've had enough, for the present," he answered. And they
sat down.
Silence again. He didn't know what to say to her. He only
craved overwhelmingly to take her in his arms. Had she a
glimmering idea sitting there, so close ... so alluring . . . ?
And suddenly to his immense relief, she spoke.
"It was splendid. A pity it's over. That's the litany of
Anglo-India: it's over. Change the scene. Shuffle the pup-
pets and begin again I've been doing it for six years "
"And it doesn't pall?" His voice sounded quite natural,
quite composed, which was also a relief.
"Pall? You try it!" For the first time he detected a faint
note of bitterness. "But still a cotillion's a cotillion!"
She seemed to pull herself together. "There's an exciting
element in it that keeps its freshness. And I flatter myself we
carried it through brilliantly you and I." The pause before
the linked pronouns gave him an odd little thrill. "But what
put you off at the end? "
Her amazing directness dumbfounded him. "I oh, well I
thought . . . one way and another, you'd been having enough
of me."
"That's not true!" She glanced at him sidelong. "You were
vexed because I chose the Lister boy. And he was all over him-
self, poor dear! As a matter of fact I meant to have you. If
you'd only looked at me ... 1 But you stared fiercely the
other way. However perhaps we've been flagrant enough for
to-night '
" Flagrant have we? "
Daring, passionate words thronged his brain; and through his
342 FAR TO SEEK
inner turmoil he heard her answer lightly: "Don't ask me! Ask
the Banter- Wrangle. She knows to an inch the degrees of fla-
grance officially permitted to the attached and the unattached!
You see, hi India, we're allowed ... a certain latitude."
"Yes I've noticed. It's a pity. ..." Words simply would
not come, on this theme of all others. Was she . . . indirectly
. . . telling him . . . ?
"And you disapprove tooth and nail?" she queried gently.
"I hoped you were different. You don't know liow tired we are
of eternal disapproval from people who simply know nothing
nothing "
"But I don't disapprove," he blurted out vehemently. "It
always strikes me as a rather middle-class, puritanical attitude.
I only think it's a thousand pities to take the bloom off . . .
the big thing the real thing by playing at it (you can see they
do) like lawn tennis, just to pass the time "
"Well, Heaven knows, we've got to pass the time out here
somehow!" she retorted, with a sudden warmth that startled him:
it was so unlike her. "All very fine for people at Home to turn
up superior noses at us; ' to say we 'live in blinkers; that we've
no intellectual pursuits, no interest in 'this wonderful country.'
I confess, to some of us, India and its people are holy terrors.
As for art and music and theatres where are they, except what
we make for ourselves, in our indefatigable, amateurish way?
Can't you see you with your imaginative insight that we
have virtually nothing but each other? If we spent our days
bowing and scraping and dining and dancing with due decorum,
there'd be a boom in suicides and the people in clover at Home
would placidly wonder why ? "
"But do listen I'm not blaming any of you," he ex-
claimed, distracted by her complete misreading of his mood.
" Well, you're criticising in your heart. And your opinion's
worth something to some of us. Even if we do occasionally
play at being in love, there's always the off chance it may turn
out to be ... the real thing." She drew an audible breath
and added, in her lighter vein: "You know, you're a very fair
hand at it, yourself in your restrained, fakirish fashion "
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 343
"But I don't I'm not " he stammered desperately.
"And why d'you call me a fakir? It's not the first time. And it's
not true. I believe in life and the fulness of life."
"I'm glad. I'm not keen on fakirs. But I only meant one
can't picture you playing round, the way heaps of men do with
girls . . . who allow them ..."
"No. That's true. I never "
"What never? Or is it 'hardly ever'?"
She leaned a shade nearer; her beautiful pale face etherealised
by starshine. And that infinitesimal movement, her low tone,
the sheer magnetism of her swept him clean from his moorings.
Words, low and passionate, came all in a rush.
"What are you doing with me? Why d'you tantalise me?
Whether you're there or not there, your face haunts me your
voice It may be play for you it isn't for me "
"I've never said I've never implied it was play. . .
for me " This time perceptibly she leaned nearer: mute con-
fession in her look, her tone; and delicate fire ran in his veins . . .
Next moment his arms were round her; trembling, yet vehe-
ment; crushing her against him almost roughly. No mistaking
the response of her lips; yet she never stirred; only the fingers
of her right hand closed sharply on his arm. Having hold of her
at last, after all that inner tumult and resistance, he could hardly
let her go. Yet strangely even in the white heat of fervour,
some detached fragment at the core of him seemed to be hating
the whole thing, hating himself and her
Instantly he released her . . . looked at her . . . realised
... In those few tempestuous moments he had burnt his boats,
in very deed . . .
She met his eyes now; found them too eloquent; and veiled
her own.
"No. You are not altogether a fakir," she said softty.
"I'd no business. I'm sorry ..." he began, answering his
own swift compunction, not her remark.
"7'm not unless you really mean you are?" Faint rail-
lery gleamed in her eyes. "You did rather overwhelmingly
take things for granted. But still ... after that ..."
344 FAR TO SEEK
"Yes after that ... if you really mean it?"
"Well . . . what do you think?"
"I simply can't think," he confessed with transparent honesty.
"I hardly know if I'm on my head or my heels. I only know
you've bewitched me. I'm infatuated intoxicated with you
But ... if you do care enough ... to marry me "
"My dear Roy can you doubt it?"
He had never heard her voice so charged with emotion. For
all answer he held her close with less assurance now and
kissed her again . . .
In course of time they remembered that a pause only lasts five
minutes; that there were other partners.
"If we're not to be too flagrant, even for India," she said, rising
with her unperturbed deliberation, "I suggest we go in. Good-
ness knows where they've got to!"
He stood up also. "It matters a good deal more . . . where
we've .got to. I'll come over to-morrow and see ... your
people ..."
"No. You'll come over and see me! We'll descend from
the dream ... to the business; and have everything clear to
our own satisfaction, before we ... let in all the others.
Besides I always vowed I wouldn't accept a proposal after
supper! If you're. . .intoxicated, you might wake sober
disillusioned!"
"But I I've kissed you," he stammered, suddenly overcome
with shyness.
" So you have a few times ! I'm afraid we didn't keep count !
I'm not really doubting either of us Roy. But still . . .
Shall we say tea and a ride? "
He hesitated. "Sorry I'm booked. I promised Lance
"Very well dinner? Mother has some bridge people. Only
one table. We can escape into the garden. Now come along."
He drew a deep breath. More and more the detached part of
him was realising . . .
They walked back rather briskly; not speaking; nor did he
touch her again.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 345
They found Lahore still dancing, sublimely unconcerned.
Instinctively Roy looked round for Lance. No sign of him in the
ballroom or the cardroom. And the crowded place seemed empty
without him. It was queer. Later on he ran up against Barnard,
who told him that Lance had gone home.
CHAPTER VII
Of the unspoken word, thou art master.
The spoken word is master of thee.
Arab Proverb
ROY drove home with Barnard in the small hours; still too over-
wrought for clear thinking; and too exhausted all through to
lie awake five minutes after his head touched the pillow. For the
inner stress and combat had been sharper than he knew . . .
He woke late to find Terry curled up against his legs and the
bungalow empty of human sounds. The other three were up
long since, and gone to early parade. His head was throbbing.
He felt limp, as if all the vigour had been drained out of him.
And suddenly . . he remembered . . .
Not in a lover's rush of exaltation, but with a sharp reaction,
almost amounting to fear, the truth dawned on him that he was
no longer his own man. In a passionate impulse he had virtually
surrendered himself and his future into the hands of a girl whom
he scarcely knew. He still saw the whole thing as mainly her
doing and it frightened him. Looking backward, reviewing
the steps by which he had arrived at last night's impromptu
culmination, he felt more frightened than ever.
And yet there sprang a vision of her, pale and slender in
the starshine, when she leaned to him at parting . . .
She was wonderful and beautiful and she was his. Any man
worth his salt would feel proud. And he did feel proud in the
intervals of feeling horribly afraid of himself and her: especially
her. Girls were amazing things. You seized hold of one and spoke
mad words and nearly crushed the life out of her; and she took
it almost as calmly as if you had asked for an extra dance. Was
it a protective layer of insensibility or supernormal self-
control? Would she, Rose, have despised him had she guessed
that even at the height of his exaltation he had felt ashamed of
having let himself go so completely; and that, before there had
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 347
been any word of marriage any clear desire of it even, in the
deep of his heart?
That was really the root of his trouble. The passing recoil
from an ardent avowal is no uncommon experience with the
finer types of men. But to Roy it seemed peculiarly unfitting
that the son of his mother should stumble into marriage in a
headlong impulse of passion, on a superficial six weeks' acquaint-
ance; and the shy, spiritual side of him haunted by last
night's vivid memory felt alarmed, restive, even a little re-
pelled. In a measure Rose was right when she dubbed him fakir.
Artist though he was, and ail-too human, there lurked in him a
nascent streak of the ascetic, accentuated by his mother's bid-
ding and his own strong desire to keep in touch with her and with
things not seen.
And there, on his writing-table, stood her picture mutely
reproaching him. With a pang he realised how completely she
had been crowded out of his thoughts during these weeks of
ferment. What would she think of it all? The question what
would Rose think of her? simply did not arise. She was still
supreme: she who had once said to him, "So long as you are
thinking first of me, you may be sure That Other has not yet
arrived."
Was Rose Arden for all her beauty and witchery gen-
uinely that other? Beguiled by her visible perfections, he had
taken her spiritually for granted. And, inexperienced though he
was, he knew well enough that it is not first through the senses
a man approaches love if he is capable of that high and com-
plex emotion; it is rather through imagination and admiration,
through sympathy and humour. As it was, he had not a glim-
mering idea how she would consort with his very individual inner
self. Yet matters were virtually settled . . .
And suddenly, like a javelin, one word pierced his brain
Lance! Whatever was or had been between them, he felt certain
his news would not please Lance to say the least of it. And
as for their great Kashmir plan . . . ? Why the devil was .life
such a confoundedly complex affair? By rights he ought to be
'all over himself,' having won such a wife. Was it something
348 FAR TO SEEK
wrong with him? Or did all accepted lovers feel like this the
morning after? A greater number, perhaps, than poets or novel-
ists or lovers themselves are ever likely to admit. Very cer-
tainly he would not admit his present sensations to any living soul.
Springing out of bed, he shouted f or chota hazri * and shaving-
water: drank thirstily; ate hungrily; and had just cleared his
face of lather when Lance came in, booted and spurred bring-
ing with him, as always, his magnetic atmosphere of vitality
and vigour.
Standing behind Roy he ran his left hand lightly up the back
of his hair, clenched it on the extra thickness at the top, and gave
it a distinct tug; friendly, but sharp enough to make Roy wince.
"Slacker! Master! You ought to have been out, riding off the
effects! You were jolly well going it last night. And you jolly
well look it, this morning. Good thing I'm free on the fifteenth
to haul you away from all this."
Perhaps because they had first met at an age when eighteen
months seemed an immense gap between them, Lance had never
quite dropped the elder-brotherly attitude of St. Rupert days.
"Yes a rare good thing " Roy echoed and stopped
with a visible jerk.
"Well what's the hitch? Hit out, man. Don't mind me."
There was a flash of impatience, an under-note of fore-
knowledge, in his tone, that made confession at once easier and
harder for Roy.
"I suppose it was pretty glaring," he admitted, twitching
his head away from those strong friendly fingers. "The fact is
we're ... as good as engaged "
Again he broke off, arrested by the masklike stillness of Des-
mond's face.
"Congrats, old man," he said at last, in a level tone. "I got
the impression ... a few weeks ago, you were not ready for
the plunge. But you've done it hi record time." A pause.
Roy sat there tongue-tied; unreasonably angry with himself
and Rose. "Why 'as good as. . . '? Is it to be. . .not
official?"
1 Early tea.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 349
"Only till to-morrow. You see, it all came. . .rather in
a rush. She thought ... we thought . . . better talk things over
first between ourselves. After all ..."
"Yes after all," Lance took him up. "You do know a pre-
cious lot about each other 1 How much. . .does she know
. . . about you? "
"Oh, my dancing and riding, my temperament and the colour
of my eyes; four very important items!" said Roy, affecting a
lightness he was far from feeling.
Lance ignored his untimely flippancy. "Have you ever . . .
happened to mention . . . your mother? "
"Not yet. Why ?" The question startled him.
"It occurred to me. I merely wondered "
"Well, of course I shah 1 to-night."
Lance nodded; pensively fingered his riding-crop; and re-
marked: "D'you imagine, now... she's going to let you
bury yourself up Gilgit way with me? Besides you'll
hardly care . . . shall we call it 'off'?"
"Well, you are 1 Of course I'll care! I'm damned if we call
it 'off.' "
At that the mask vanished from Desmond's face. His hand
closed vigorously on Roy's shoulder. "Good man," he said in
his normal voice. "I'll count on you. That's a bargain." Their
eyes met in the glass and a look of understanding passed between
them. "Feeling a bit above yourself are you?"
Roy drew a great breath. "It's amazing. I don't yet seem to
take it in."
"Oh you will." The hand closed again on his shoulder.
"Now I'll clear out. Time you were clothed and in your right
mind!"
And they had not so much as mentioned her name!
But even when clothed, Roy did not feel altogether, in his
right mind. He was downright thankful to be helping Lance
with some sports for the men, designed to counteract the infec-
tious state of ferment prevailing in the city on account of to-
morrow's deferred hartal. For the voice of Mahatma Ghandi
saint, fanatic, revolutionary, which you will had gone forth,
350 FAR TO SEEK
proclaiming the sixth of April a day of universal mourning and
non-co-operation, by way of protest against the Rowlatt Act.
For that sane measure framed to safeguard India from her
wilder elements had been twisted by skilled weavers of words
into a plot against the liberty of the individual. And Ghandi
must be obeyed. Flamboyant posters in the city bewailed ' the
mountain of calamity about to fall on the Motherland' and
consigned their souls to hell who failed, that day, to close their
business and keep a fast. To spiritual threats were added terror-
ism and coercion, that paralysis might be complete.
It was understood that so long as there was no disorder the
authorities would make no move. But by Saturday all emergency
plans were complete: the Fort garrison strengthened; cavalry
and armoured cars told off to be ready at hand.
Roy had no notion of being a mere onlooker if things happened:
and he felt convinced they would. The moment he was dressed,
he waited on the Colonel and had the honour to volunteer his
services in case of need; further unofficially to beg that
he might be attached as an extra officer to Lance's squadron.
The Colonel also unofficially expressed his keen apprecia-
tion; and Roy might rest assured the matter would be arranged.
So he went off in high feather, to report himself to Lance and dis-
cuss the afternoon's programme.
Lance was full of a thorough good fellow lie had stumbled on;
a Sikh and a sometime revolutionary whose eyes had been
opened by three years' polite detention in Germany. The man
had been speaking all over the place, showing up the Home Rule
crowd with a courage none too common in these days of intimi-
dation. After the sports he would address the men; talk to them,
encourage them to ask questions. It occurred to Roy that he had
heard something of the sort in a former life: and behold ar-
rived on the ground he recognised the very same man who had
been howled down at Delhi.
He greeted him warmly; spoke of the meeting; listened with
unmoved countenance to lurid speculations about the disappear-
ance of Chandranath; spoke, himself, to the men, who gave him
an ovation; and by the time it was over had almost forgotten
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 351
the astounding fact that he was virtually engaged to be mar-
ried . . .
Driving out five miles to Lahore he had leisure to remember;
to realise how acutely he shrank from speaking to Rose of his
mother. Though in effect his promised wife, she was still almost
a stranger; and the sacredness of the subject the uncertainty
of her attitude intensified his shrinking to a painful degree.
She had asked him to come early, that they might have a few
minutes to themselves; and for once he was not unpunctual.
He found her alone; and at first sight painful shyness over-
whelmed him. She was wearing by chance or design the
cream-and-gold frock of the uneventful evening that had turned
the scale; and she came forward eagerly, holding out her hands.
"Wonderful! It's not a dream!"
He took her hands and kissed her, almost awkwardly. "It
still feels rather like a dream," was all he could find to say; and
fancied he caught a flicker of amusement in her eyes. Was she
thinking him an odd kind of lover? Even last night he had not
achieved a single term of endearment or spoken her name.
With a gracious gesture she indicated the sofa; and they sat
down.
"Well what have you been doing with yourself Roy? "
she asked, palpably to put him at ease. "It's a delightful name.
Royal?"
"No Le Roy. Some Norman ancestor."
"The King!" She saluted, sitting upright; laughter and ten-
derness in her eyes.
At that he slipped an arm round her and held her close against
him. Then, releasing her, he plunged into fluent talk about the
afternoon's events and his accepted offer of service, if need arose
- till Mrs. Elton, resplendent in flame-coloured brocade,- surged
into the room.
It was a purely civil dinner; not Hayes, to Roy's relief. I
rectly it was over, the bridge-players disappeared; Mr. Elton
was called away an Indian gentleman to see him on urgent
business; and they two, left alone again, wandered out .into
352 FAR TO SEEK
the verandah. By this time her beauty and his masculine pos-
sessive instinct had more or less righted things; and now, her
nearness in the rose-scented dark rekindled his fervour of last
night.
Without a word he turned and took her in his arms; kissing
her again and again.
" ' Rose of all roses ! Rose of all the world ! ' "he said in her ear.
Whereat she kissed him of her own accord; at the same time
gently holding him away.
"Have mercy a little! If you crush roses too hard, their
petals drop off!"
"Darling I'm sorry!" The great word was out at last;
and he felt quaintly relieved.
"You needn't be! It's only . . . you're such a vehement
lover. And vehemence is said not to last! "
The words startled him. "You try me."
"How? An extra long engagement?"
"N-no. I wasn't thinking of that."
"Well we've got to think haven't we? to talk prac-
tical politics!"
"Rather not. I bar politics practical or Utopian!"
She laughed. There was happiness in her laugh, and tender-
ness and an under-note of triumph. "You're delicious! So
ardent, yet so absurdly detached from the dull, plodding things
that make up common life. Come let's stroll. The verandah
breathes heat like a benevolent dragon!"
They strolled in the cool darkness under drooping boughs,
through which a star flickered here and there. He refrained from
putting an arm round her; and was rewarded by her slipping a
hand under his elbow.
"Shall it be a Simla wedding?" she asked in her caressing
voice. "About the middle of the season? June?"
"June? Yes. When I get back from Gilgit?"
"But my dear! You're not going to disappear for two
whole months? "
"I'm afraid so. I'm awfully sorry. But I can't go back on
Lance."
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 353
"Oh Lance!"
He heard her teeth dick on the word. Perhaps she had merely
echoed it.
"Yes: a very old engagement. And frankly I'm keen."
"Oh very well." Her hand slipped from his arm. "And
when you've fulfilled your prior engagement, you can perhaps
find time to marry me? "
"Darling don't take it that way," he pleaded.
"Well, I did suppose I was going to be a shade more important
than your Lance. But we won't spoil things by squabbling."
Impulsively he drew her forward and kissed her: and this time
he kept an arm around her as they moved on. He must speak
soon. But he wanted a natural opening: not to drag it in by the
hair.
"And after the honeymoon Home?" she asked, following
up her absorbing train of thought.
"Yes I think so. It's about time."
She let out a sigh of satisfaction. "I'm glad it's not India.
And yet the life out here gets a hold, like dram-drinking. One
feels as if perpetual, unadulterated England might be just a
trifle dull. But of course, I know nothing about your home,
Roy, except a vague rumour that your father is a Baronet with
a lovely place in Sussex." .
"No: Surrey," said Roy and his throat contracted.
Clearly the moment had come. "My father's not only a Baroaet
He's a rather famous artist Sir Nevil Sinclair. Perhaps
you've heard the name? "
She wrinkled her brows. "N-no. You see we do live in
blinkers! What's his line? "
"Mostly Indian subjects "
"Oh the Ramayana man? I remember I did see a lovely
thing of his before I came out here. But then ? " She stood
still and drew away from him. "One heard he had married ..."
"Yes. He married a beautiful high-caste Indian girl," Mid
Roy, low and steadily. "My mother "
"Your mother ?"
He could scarcely see her face; but he felt all through him the
354 FAR TO SEEK
shock of the disclosure; realised, with a sudden furious resent-
ment, that she was seeing his adored mother simply as a stum-
bling-block . . .
It was as if a chasm had opened between them a chasm as
wide as the East is from the West. Those few seconds of elo-
quent silence seemed interminable. It was she who spoke.
" Didn't it strike you that I had the right to know this . . .
before. . .?"
The implied reproach smote him sharply; but how could he
confess to her standing there in her queenly assurance the
impromptu nature of last night's proceedings?
"Well, I I'm telling you now," he stammered. "Last night
I simply didn't think. And before . . . the fact is ... I
can't talk of her, except to those who knew her . . . who un-
derstand ..."
"You mean is she not alive?"
"No. The War killed her instead of killing me."
Her hand closed on his with a mute assurance of sympathy.
If they could only leave it so! But her people . . . ?
"You must try and talk of her to me, Roy," she urged,
gently but inexorably. "Was it out here?"
"No. In France. They came out for a visit when I was six.
I've known nothing of India till now except through her."
"But since you came out, hasn't it struck you that . ..
Anglo-Indians feel rather strongly . . . ?"
"I don't know and I didn't care a rap what they felt!"
he flung out with sudden warmth. "Now, of course I do care.
But ... to suppose she could . . . stand in my way seems
an insult to her. If you're one of the people who feel strongly . . .
of course . . . there's an end of it. You're free."
"Free? Roy don't you realise. . . I care? You've made
me care."
"I made you?"
"Yes; simply by being what you are: so gifted, so detached
... so different from the others . . . the Service pattern ..."
"Oh, yes in a way. . . I'm different."- Strange how
little it moved him, jusc then, her frank avowal, her praise.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 355
"And now you know why. I'm sorry if it upsets you. But
I can't have . . . that side of me accepted ... on suffer-
ance "
To his greater amazement she leaned forward and kissed him
gently deliberately, on the mouth.
"Will that stop you saying such things?" There was re-
pressed passion in her low tone. "I'm not accepting . . . any
of you on sufferance. And, really, you're not a bit like . . .
not the same ..."
" No! " She smiled at the fierce monosyllable. " All that lot
the poor devils you despise are mostly made from the wrong
sort of both races in point of breeding, I mean. And that's a
supreme point, in spite of the twaddle that's talked about equal-
ity. Women of good family, East or West, don't intermarry
much. And quite right too. I'm proud of my share of India.
But I think, on principle, it's a great mistake ..."
"Yes yes. That's how I feel. I'm not rabid. It's not my
way. But ... I suppose you know, Roy, that ... on this
subject, many Anglo-Indians are ..."
" You mean your people? "
"Well I don't know about the Pater. He's built on large
lines, outside and in. But Mother's only large to the naked eye; ,
and she's Anglo-Indian to the bone."
"You think . . . she'll raise objections?"
" She won't get the chance. It's my affair not hers. There'd
be arguments, at the very least. She tramples tactlessly. And
it's plain you're abnormally sensitive; and rather fierce under
your gentleness ! "
"But, Rose I must speak. I refuse to treat my mother
as if she was a family skeleton "
N - no t that," she soothed him with voice and gesture.
"Of course they shall know later on. It's only... I
couldn't bear any jar at the start. You might, Roy out of
consideration for me. It would be quite simple. You need only
say, just now, that your father is a widower. It isn't as if-
she was alive "
The words staggered him like a blow. With an incoherent
356 FAR TO SEEK
exclamation he swung round and walked quickly away from her
towards the house, his blood tingling in a manner altogether
different from last night. Had she not been a woman, he could
have knocked her down.
Dismayed and startled, she hurried after him. "Roy, my
dear dearest," she called softly. But he did not heed. She
overtook him, however, and caught his arm with both hands
forcing him to stop.
"Darling forgive me," she murmured, her face appealingly
close to his. "I didn't mean I was only trying to ease things
for you, a little, you quiverful of sensibilities."
He had been a fakir, past saving, could he have withstood
her in that vein. Her nearness, her tenderness revived the mood
of sheer bewitchment, when he could think of nothing, desire
nothing but her. She had a genius for inducing that mood in
men; and Roy's virginal passion, once aroused, was stronger
than he knew. With his arms round her, his heart against hers,
it was humanly impossible to wish her other than she was
other than his own. Words failed. He simply clung to her, in a
kind of dumb desperation to which she had not the key.
"To-morrow," he said at last, "I'll tell you more show you
her picture."
And, unlike Aruna, she had no inkling of all that those few
words implied.
CHAPTER VIII
The patience of the British is as long as a summer's day;
but the arm of the British is as long as a winter's night.
Pathan Saying
THEY parted on the understanding that Roy would come in on
Sunday and take the official plunge. Instead, to his shameless
relief, he found the squadron detailed to bivouac all day in the
Gol Bagh, and available at short notice. It gave him a curious
thrill to open his camphor-drenched uniform case left behind
with Lance and unearth the familiar khaki of Kohdt and Mes-
pot days; to ride out with his men, in the cool of early morning,
to the gardens at the far end of Lahore. The familiar words of
command, the rhythmic clatter of hoofs, were music in his ears.
A thousand pities he was not free to join the Indian Army.
But, in any case, there was Rose. There would always be Rose
now. And he had an inkling that their angle of vision was by
no means identical . . .
The voice of Lance shouting an order dispelled his brown
study; and Rose beautiful, desirable, but profoundly dis-
turbing did not intrude again.
Arrived in the gardens, they picketed the horses and disposed
themselves under the trees to await events. The heat increased,
and the flies, and the eternal clamour of crows; and it was near-
ing noon before their ears caught a far-off sound an unmis-
taieable hum rising to a roar.
"Thought so," said Lance: and flung a word of command to
his men.
A clatter of hoofs heralded arrivals: Elton and the Superin-
tendent of Police with orders for an immediate advance. A huge
mob, headed by students, was pouring along the Circular Road.
The police were powerless to hold or turn them; and at all costs
they must be prevented from debouching on to the Mall.
It was brisk work; but the squadron reached the critical cor-
ner just in time.
358 FAR TO SEEK
A sight to catch the breath and quicken the pulses that surg-
ing sea of black heads uncovered in token of mourning;
that forest of arms, beating the air to a deafening chorus of ortho-
dox lamentation; while a portrait of Ghandi, on a black banner,
swayed uncertainly in the midst.
A handful of police shouting and struggling with the foremost
ranks were being swept resistlessly back towards the Mall, the
main artery of Lahore; and a British police officer on horse-
back was sharing the same fate. Clearly nothing would check
them save that formidable barrier of cavalry and armoured
cars.
At sight of it they halted; but disperse and return they would
not. They haggled; they imposed impossible conditions; they
drowned official parleyings in shouts and yells.
For close on two hours in the blazing sun Lance Desmond and
his men sat patiently in their saddles machine guns in posi-
tion behind them while the Civil Arm, derided and defied,
peacefully persuaded those passively resisting thousands that
the Mall was not deemed a suitable promenade for Lahore citi-
zens in a highly processional mood. For two hours the human
tide swayed this way and that; the clamour rose and fell; till
a local leader, after much vain speaking, begged the loan of a
horse and succeeded in heading them off to a mass meeting at
the Bradlaugh Hall. And the cavalry, dismissed, trotted back
to the gardens, to remain at hand till sundown in case of
need.
What the Indian officers and men thought of it all, who shall
guess? What Lance Desmond thought, he frankly imparted to
Roy.
"A fine exhibition of the masterly inactivity touch-!" said he
with a twitch of his humorous lips. "But not exactly an edifying
show for our men. Wonder what my old Dad would think of it
all? You bet there'll be a holy rumpus in the city to-night."
"And then ?" mused Roy, his imagination leaping ahead.
"This isn't the last of it."
"The last of it will be bullets, not buckshot," said Lance in
his soldierly wisdom. "It's the only argument for crowds. The
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 359
soft-sawder lot may howl 'militarism.' But they're jolly grateful
for a dash of it when their skins are touched. It takes a soldier
of the right sort to know just when a dash of cruelty is kindness
and the reverse in dealing with backward peoples; and
crowds, of any colour, are the backwardest peoples going! It
would be just as well to get the women safely off the scene."
He looked straight at Roy, whose sensitive soul winced at the
impact of his thought. Since their brief talk the fact of the en-
gagement had been tacitly accepted tacitly ignored. Lance
had a positive genius for that sort of thing; and in this case it
was a Godsend to Roy.
"Quite so," he agreed, returning the look.
"Well you're in a position to suggest it."
"I'm not sure if it would be exactly appreciated. But I'll
have a shot at it to-morrow."
The city, that night, duly enjoyed its 'holy rumpus.' But on
Monday morning shops were open again; everything as nor-
mal as you please; and the cheerful prophets congratulated
themselves that the explosion had proved a damp squib after
all.
Foremost among these was Mr. Talbot Hayes, whose ineffable
air of being in the confidence of the Almighty not to mention
the whole Hindu Pantheon was balm to Mrs. Elton at this
terrifying juncture. For her mountain of flesh hid a mouse of a
soul; and her childhood had been shadowed by tales of Mutiny
horrors! With her it was almost an obsession. The least unusual
uproar at a railway station or holiday excitement in the bazaar
sufficed to convince her that the hour had struck, for which sub-
consciously she had been waiting all her life.
So throughout Sunday morning she had been a quivering jelly
of fear; positively annoyed with Rose for her serene assurance
that 'the Pater would pull it off all right.' She had never quite
fathomed her daughter's faith in the shy, undistinguished man for
whom she cherished an affection secretly tinged with contempt.
In this case it was justified. He had returned to tiffin quite
unruffled; had vouchsafed no details, expressed no opinions;
360 FAR TO SEEK
simply assured her she need not worry. They had a strong L.G.
That was all.
But Authority, in the person of Talbot Hayes, was more com-
municative in a flatteringly confidential undertone. A long
talk with him had cheered her considerably: and on Monday she
was still further cheered by a piece of news her daughter casually
let fall at breakfast, between the poached eggs and the marma-
lade.
Rose at last! And even Gladys's achievement thrown into
the shade! Here was compensation for all she had suffered from
the girl's distracting habit of going just so far with the wrong
man as to give her palpitations. She had felt downright nervous
about Major Desmond. For Rose never gave one her confidence.
And she had suffered qualms about this new, unknown young
man. But what matter now? To your right-minded mother, all's
well that ends in the Wedding March and Debrett! Most
satisfactory to find that the father was a Baronet; and Mr.
Sinclair was the eldest son! Could anything be more gratifying
to her maternal pride in this beautiful, difficult daughter of hers?
Consequently when the eldest son came in to report himself,
all that inner complacency welled up and flowed over him in a
volume of maternal effusion, trying enough in any case; and to
Roy intolerable, almost, in view of that enforced reservation
that might altogether change her tone.
After nearly an hour of it, he felt so battered internally, that
he reached the haven of his own room feeling thoroughly out of
tune with the whole affair. Yet there it was. And no man
in his senses could break with a girl of that quality. Besides, his
genuine feeling for her infatuation apart had received a
distinct stimulus from their talk about his mother and the im-
pression made on her by the photograph he had brought with
him, as promised. And if Mrs. Elton was a Brobdingnagian
thorn on the stem of his Rose, the D.C.'s patent pleasure and
affectionate allusions to the girl atoned for a good deal.
So, instead of executing a 'wobble' of the first magnitude, he
proceeded to clinch matters by writing first to his father, then
to a Calcutta firm of jewellers for a selection of rings.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 361
But he wavered badly over facing the ordeal of wholesale
congratulations: the chaff of the men; the reiterate inanities
of the women.
On Tuesday Rose warned him that her mother was dying to
give a dinner, to invite certain rival mothers and announce her
news with due eclat,
"Hand us round, in fact," she added serenely, "with the chocs
and Elvas plums! No! Don't flare up! " Her fingers caressed
the back of his hand. "In mercy to you, I diplomatically sat
down upon the idea, and remained seated till it was extinct.
So you're saved by your affianced wife, whom you don't seem
in a frantic hurry to acknowledge ..."
He caught her to him and kissed her passionately. "You
know it's not that "
" Yes, / know . . . you're just terror-struck of all those women.
But if you will do these things, you must stand up to the
consequences like a man."
He jerked up his head. "No fear. We'll say to-morrow, or
Thursday."
"I'll be merciful and say Thursday. It's to be announced
this afternoon. Have you mentioned it to anyone?"
"Only to Lance."
A small sound between her teeth made him turn quickly.
"Anything hurt you?"
"You've quick ears! Only a pin-prick." She explored her
blouse for the offending pin. "Do you tell each other everything
you two? "
"Pretty well as men go."
"You're a wonderful pair."
She sighed and was silent a moment. Then : " Shall it be a ride
on Thursday? " she asked, giving his arm a small squeeze.
"Rather. There are Brigade Sports; but I could cry off.
We'll take our tea out to Shadera; have a peaceful time there;
and finish up at the Hall."
So it was arranged: and so it befell, though not exactly ac-
cording to design.
362 FAR TO SEEK
On Thursday they rode leisurely out through the heat and
dusty haze; away from bungalows and the watered Mall,
through a village alive with shrill women, naked babies, and
officious pariahs, who kept Terry furiously occupied; on past
the city, over the bridge of boats that spans the Ravi, till they
came to the green, secluded garden where the Emperor Jehan-
gir sleeps, heedless of infidels who, generation after generation,
have picnicked and made love in the sacred precincts of his tomb.
Arrived at the gardens, they tethered the horses; drank ther-
mos tea and ate sugared cakes, sitting on the wide wall that
looked across the river and the plain to the dim, huddled city
beyond: and Roy talked of Bramleigh Beeches in April, till
he felt homesick for primroses and the cuckoo and the smell
of mown grass; while before his actual eyes the terrible sun of
India hung suspended in the haze like a platter of molten
brass, till the turning earth, settling to sleep, shouldered it al-
most out of sight.
That brought them back to realities.
"We must scoot," said Roy. "It'll be dark; and there's only
a slip of a moon."
"It's been delicious!" she sighed; and they kissed mutually;
a lingering kiss.
Then they were off, racing the swift-footed dusk . . .
Skirting the city, they noticed scurrying groups of figures
shoutmg to each other as they ran; and the next instant Roy's
ear caught the ominous hum of Sunday morning.
"Good God! They're out again! Hi you! What's the
tamasha? " he called to the nearest group.
They responded with wild gestures and fled on. But one lagged
a little, being fat and scant of breath; and Roy shouted again.
This time the note of command took effect.
"Where are you all running? Is there trouble?" he asked.
"Big trouble, Sahib Amritsar," answered the fleshly one,
wiping the dusty sweat from his forehead and shaking it uncere-
moniously from his finger-tips. "Word comes that our leaders
are taken. Mahatma Ghandi also. The people are burning and
looting; Bank-g/wr, Town Hall ghar; killing many Sahibs and
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 363
one Memsahib. Hai! Hai! Now there will be hartal again.
Committeekiraj. No food; no work. Hai! Hai! Ghandi kijai!"
" Confound the man! " muttered Roy, not referring to the woe-
begone laggard. "Look here, Rose, if they're wedged up near
Anarkalli, we must change our route. I expect the squadron's
out and I ought to be with it "
"Thank God you're not. It's quite bad enough " She set
her teeth sharply. "Oh, come on!"
Back they sped, at a hand gallop, past the Fort and the Bad-
shahi Mosque; then, neck and neck down the long, straight road,
that vibrant roar growing louder with every stride. Near the
church they slackened speed. The noise had become terrific,
like a hundred electric engines at full pressure; and there was
more than excitement in it there was fury.
"Sunday was a treat to this," remarked Roy. "We shan't
get on to the Mall."
"We can go through Mozung," said Rose coolly. "But I
want to see as far as one can. The Pater's bound to be there. ' '
Roy, while admiring her coolness, detected beneath it a re-
pressed intensity, very unlike her; but his own urgent sensations
left no room for curiosity; and round the next swerve they drew
rein in full view of a sight that neither would forget while they
lived. ;
The wide road, stretching away to the Lahore gate, was densely
packed with a shouting, gesticulating human barrier; bobbing
heads and lifted arms, hurling any missile that came to hand
stones, bricks, lumps of refuse at the courageous few who held
them in check.
Cavalry and police, as on Sunday, blocked the turning into
the Mall ; and Roy instantly recognized the silhouette of Lance,
sitting erect and rigid, doubtless thinking unutterable things.
Low roofs of buildings near the road were thronged with shad-
owy figures, running, yelling, hurling bricks and mud from a
half-demolished shop near by. Two mounted police officers
made abortive attempts to get a hearing: and a solitary Indian,
perched on an electric standard well above the congested mass,
vainly harangued and fluttered a white scarf as signal of pacific
364 FAR TO SEEK
intentions. Doubtless one of their 'leaders' again making fran-
tic, belated efforts to stem the torrent that he and his kind had
let loose.
And the nightmare effect of the scene was intensified by the
oncoming dusk; by the flare of a single torch hoisted on a pole.
It waved purposefully; and its objective was clear to Roy
the electric supply wires.
"That brute there's trying to cut off the light!" he exclaimed,
turning sharply in the saddle, only to find that she had not even
heard him.
She sat stone still, her face set and strained, as he had seen it
after the Tournament. " There he is," she murmured: the words
a mere movement of her lips.
He hated to see her look like that: and putting out a hand, he
touched her arm.
"I don't see him," he said, answering her murmur. "He'll be
coming, though. Not nervous are you?"
She started at his touch shrank from it, almost: or so he
fancied. "Nervous? No furious!" Her low tone was as tense
as her whole attitude. "Mud and stones! Good Heavens 1
Why don't they shoot? "
"They will at a pinch," Roy assured her, feeling oddly
rebuffed and as if he were addressing a stranger. "Stay here.
Don't stir. I'll glean a few details from one of our outlying
sowars."
The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan. Recog-
nising Roy he saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes. "Wah,
wahl Sahib! This is not man's work, to sit staring while these
throw words tc a pack of mad jackals. On the Border we say,
p&ili Idth; pechi bdat. 1 That would soon make an end of this
devil's noise."
"True talk," said Roy, secretly approving the man's rough
wisdom. "How long has it been going on? "
"We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have
been nearly one hour. Once the police-log gave buckshot to those
on the roofs. How much use the Sahib can see. Now they have
1 First a blow, then a word.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 365
sent a sowar for the Dep'ty Sahib. But these would not hear the
Lat Sahib himself. One match will light such a bonfire; but a
hundred buckets will not put it out."
Roy assented, ruefully enough. "It is true there has been big
trouble at Amritsar burning and killing? "
"Wah/ Wahl Shurrum kiebhdt. 1 Because he who made all
the trouble may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no
concern are killed "
An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob.
It was swaying ominously forward with yellings and pranc-
ings, with renewed showers of bricks and stones.
"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher
Khan with grim irony.
It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback,
alone in the forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make him-
self heard. Still he pressed forward, urging, commanding;
missiles hurtling round him. Luckily the aim was poor and
only one took effect.
A voice shouted: "You had better come back, sir."
He halted. There was a fierce forward rush. Large groups of
people sat down in flat defiance; and again Rose broke out with
her repressed intensity: "It's madness! Why on earth don't
they shoot?"
"The notion is to give the beggars every chance," urged
Roy. "After all, they've been artificially worked up. Its the
men behind pulling the strings who are to blame "
"I don't care who's to blame. They're as dangerous as wild
beasts." She did not even look at him. Her eyes, her mind were
centred on that weird, unforgettable scene. "And our people
simply sitting there being pelted with bricks and stones . . .
The Pater . . . Lance ..."
She caught her breath and drew in her lip. Roy gave her a
quick look. That was the second time; and she did not even
seem aware of it.
"Yes. It's a detestable position, but it's not of their making,"
he agreed, adding briskly: "Come along, now, Rose. It's get-
1 Shameful talk.
366 FAR TO SEEK
ting dark; and I ought to be in cantonments. There'll be pick-
ets all over the place after this. I'll see you safe to the Hall;
then gallop off."
Her lips twitched in a half smile. "Shirking congrats again?"
"Oh, drop it! I'd clean forgotten. I'll conduct you right in
and chance congrats. But they'll be too full of other things to-
night. Scared to death, some of them."
"Mother, for one. I never thought of her. Come along."
For new-made lovers their tone and bearing were oddly de-
tached, almost brusque. They had gone some distance before
they heard shots behind them.
"Thank goodness! Atlast! I hope it hurt some of them badly,"
Rose broke out with unusual warmth. She was rather un-
usual altogether this evening. "Really, it would serve them
right as Mr. Hayes says if we did clear out, lock, stock,
and barrel, and leave their precious country to be scrambled
for by others of a very different jdt from the stupid, splendid
British. I'm glad 7'm going, anyway. I've never felt in sympa-
thy. And now, after all this . . . and Amritsar ... I simply
couldn't ..."
She broke off in mid-career; flicked her pony's flanks and set
off at a brisk canter.
Pause and action could have but one meaning. "She's realis-
ing " thought Roy, cantering after, pain and anger mingled
in his heart. At such a moment, he admitted, her outburst was
not unnatural. But to him it was, none the less, intolerable.
The trouble was, he could say nothing, lest he say too much.
At the Lawrence Hall they found half a company of British
soldiers on guard; producing, by their mere presence, that sense
of security which radiates from the policeman and the soldier
when the solid ground fails underfoot.
Within doors the atmosphere was electrical with excitement
and uncertainty. Orders had been received that, in case of mat-
ters taking a serious turn, the hundred or so of English women
and children gathered at the Hall would be removed under es-
cort to Government House. No one was dancing. Everyone was
talking. The wildest rumours were current. At a crisis the cur-
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 367
tains of convention are rent and the inner self peers through,
sometimes revealing' the face of a stranger. While the imposing
Mrs. Elton quivered inwardly, Mrs. Ranyard for all h.
'creeps' and her fluffiness knew no flicker of fear. In any case
there were few who would confess to it, though it gnawed at
their vitals; and Roy's quick eye noted that, among the women,
as a whole, the light-hearted courage of Anglo-India prevailed.
It gave him a sharp inner tweak to look at them all and remem-
ber that nightmare of seething, yelling rebels at Anarkalli. He
wished to God Rose had not seen it too. It was the kind of thing
that would stick in the memory.
On their appearance in the Hall, Mrs. Elton deserted a voluble
group and bore down upon them, flustered and perspiring.
"My darling girl! Thank God! I've been in a fever!" she cried,
and would have engulfed her stately daughter, before them all,
but that Rose put out a deterring hand.
"I was afraid you'd be upset so we hurried," she said se-
renely; not the Rose of Anarkalli, by any means. "But we were
all right along the Mozung road."
That ' we ' and a possessive glance the merest at her lover
brought down upon the pair a small shower of congratulations.
Everyone had foreseen it, of course, but it was so delightful to
know . . .
After the sixth infliction, Roy whispered in her ear, "I say, I
can't stand any more. And it's high tune I was off."
"Poor dear! 'When duty calls. . .'?" Her cool tone was
not unsympathetic. "I'll let you off the rest."
She came out with him, and they stood together a moment in
the darkness under the portico.
"I shall dream to-night, Roy," she said gravely. "And we
may not even see the Pater. He's taken up his abode in the Tele-
graph Office. Mother will want to bolt. I can see it in her eye!"
"Well, she's right. You ought all to be cleared out of this,
instanter."
"Are you so keen?"
"Of course not." His tone was more impatient than lov-
erly. "I'm only keen to feel you're safe."
368 FAR TO SEEK
"Oh safe! " she sighed. "Is one anywhere ever? "
"No," he countered with unexpected vigour. "Or life would-
n't be worth living. There are degrees of unsafeness; that's all.
It's natural isn't it, darling? I should want to feel you're
out of reach of that crowd. If it had pushed on here, and to
Government House, Amritsar doings would have been thrown
into the shade."
She shivered. "It's horrible incredible! I suppose one has
to be a lifelong Anglo-Indian to realise quite how incredible it
feels to us."
He put his arms round her, as if to shield her from the memory
of it all.
"I'll see you to-morrow?" she asked.
"Of course. If I can square it. But we shall be snowed under
with emergency orders. I'll send a note in any case."
"Take care of yourself on my account," she commanded
softly: and they kissed.
But whether fancy or fact? Roy had an under-sense of
mutual constraint. It was not the same thing at all as that last
kiss at Shadera. There they had come closer, in spirit, than ever
yet. Now not two hours later the thin end of an unseen
wedge seemed to be stealthily pressing them apart.
CHAPTER IX
// has long been a grave question whether any Government, not too strong
for the liberties of the people, can be strong enough to maintain its
existence in great emergencies.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
BACK in cantonments Roy found emergency measures in full
swing: strong detachments being rushed to all vital points,
and Brigade Headquarters moving into Lahore. It was late
before Lance returned, tired and monosyllabic. He admitted
they had mopped things up a bit outside; and left a detach-
ment in support of the police guarding the Mall. But the city
was in open rebellion. No white man could safely show his face
there. The anti-British poison, instilled without let or hindrance,
was taking violent effect. He'd seen enough of it for one day.
He wanted things to eat and drink especially drink. 'Things'
were produced: and afterwards alone with Roy in their bun-
galow he talked more freely in no optimistic vein, sworn foe
of pessimism though he was.
"Sporadic trouble? Not a bit of it! Look at the way they're
going for lines of communication. And look at these choice frag-
ments from one of their posters I pinched off a police inspector:
' The English are the worst lot and are like monkeys, whose de-
ceit and cunning are obvious to high a'nd low . . . Do not lose
courage, but try your utmost to turn these men away from your
holy country.' Pretty sentiments eh? Fact is, we're up against
organised rebellion."
Roy nodded. "I had that from Dy&n, long ago. Paralysis
of movement and Government is their game. We may have a
job to regain control of the city."
"Not if we declare martial law," said the son of Theo Des-
mond with a kindling eye. "Of course I'm only a soldier and
proud of it! But I've more than a nodding acquaintance with
the Punjabi. He's no word-monger; handier with his Idthi
than his tongue. If you stk him up, he hits out. And I don't
370 FAR TO SEEK
blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't realise
the inflammable stuff they're playing with "
"Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy.
" 'M yes perhaps. But the one on the electric standard
thitf evening didn't exactly achieve a star turn! You saw him,
eh?" He looked very straight at Roy. "I noticed you hang-
ing round on the edge of things. You ought to have gone straight
on."
Roy winced. "We'd heard wild rumours. She was anxious
about the D.C."
Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe. "When does
Mrs. Elton make a move?"
"The first possible instant, I should say, from the look of her."
"Good. She's on the right tack, for once! The D.C. deserves
a first-class Birthday Honour and may possibly wangle an
O.B.E.! I'm told that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of
police, pretty well saved the station before we came on the scene.
It's been a nearer shave than one cares to think about. And
it's not over."
They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation
that looked blacker every hour. And till long after midnight
an uproarious mob raged through the city and Anarkalli; only
kept from breaking all bounds by the tact and good-humour of
a handful of cavalry and police; men of their own race; unshaken
by open or covert attempts to suborn their loyalty: a minor
detail worth putting on record.
Friday was a day of rumours. While the city continued
furiously to rage, reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides:
further terrible details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army
and the police were being tampered with and expected to join
the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad and Lyallpur, where
seventy British women and children were herded, in one bunga-
low, till they could safely be removed. Everywhere the same
tale; stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut: fresh stories
constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger
in the blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women,
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 371
longing to get away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with
natives, manned by natives, who might be perfectly harmless;
but, on the other hand, might not . . .
It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these
things, one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other
India, in the good days when peaceful, loyal masses had not been
galvanised into disaffection; when an English woman, of average
nerve, thought nothing of travelling alone up and down the
country, or spending a week alone in camp if needs must
secure in the knowledge that even in a disturbed Frontier
district no woman would ever be touched or treated with other
than unfailing respect. Yet a good many were preparing to flit
besides Mrs. Elton and Rose: and to the men their departure
would spell relief; not least, to Roy the new-made lover.
Parting would be a wrench; but at this critical moment,
for England and India the tug two ways was distinctly a
strain; and the less she saw of it all, the better for their future
chance of happiness. He felt by no means sure it had not been
imperilled already.
But the exigencies of the hour left no room for vague forebod-
ings. Emergency orders, that morning, detailed Lance with a
detachment for the railway workshops, where passive resisters
were actively on the warpath. Roy, after early stables, was
despatched with another party to strengthen a cavalry picket
near the Badshahi Mosque, on the outskirts of the city, where
things might be lively hi the course of the day.
Passing through Lahore, he sent his sais with a note to Rose;
and, on reaching the Mosque, he found things lively enough al-
ready. The iron railings, round the main gate of the Fort, were
besieged by a hooting, roaring mob, belabouring the air with
Idthis and axes on bamboo poles; rending it with shouts of abuse,
and one reiterate cry: "Kill the white pigs, brothers! Kill!
Kill!" Again and again they stormed the railings; frantically
trying to pull them down or bear them down by sheer weight of
numbers yelling ceaselessly the while.
"How the devil can they keep it up?" thought Roy; and
sickened to think how few of his own kind there were to stand
372 FAR TO SEEK
between the English women and children in Lahore and those
hostile thousands. Thank God there remained loyal Indians,
hundreds of them as in Mutiny days; but surely a few rounds
from the Fort, just then, would have heartened them and been
distinctly comforting into the bargain.
The walls were manned with rifles and Lewis guns; and at
times things looked distinctly alarming; but not a shot was
fired. The mob was left to exhaust itself with its own fury; till
part melted away, and part was drawn away by the attraction
of a mass meeting in the Mosque, where thirty-five thousand citi-
zens were gathered to hear Hindu agitators preaching open
rebellion from Mahommedan pulpits; and a handful of British
police officers present on duty were being hissed and hooted
amid shouts of " Hindu-Mussalman ki jail"
From the city all police pickets had been withdrawn, since
their presence would only provoke disturbance and bloodshed.
And all the bazaar people were parading the streets headed by
an impromptu army of young hot-heads, carrying Idthis, crying
their eternal "Hai!" and "Jai!"; with extra special 'Jai's' for
the "King of Germany "and the Afghan Amir. Portraits of
their Majesties were battered down and trampled in the mud;
and over the fragments the crowd swept on shouting, "Hail
Jarge Margya!". 1 And the air was full of the craziest rumours,
passed on, with embellishments, from mouth to mouth . . .
Roy, on returning to cantonments, was relieved to find that
the decision had already been taken to regain control of the city
by a military demonstration in force eight hundred troops
and police, under the officer commanding Lahore civil area.
Desmond's squadron was included: and Roy, sitting down
straightway, dashed off a note to Rose.
My darling,
I'm sorry, but it looks like 'no go* to-morrow. You'll hear all
from the Pater. I might look in for tiffin, if things go smoothly,
and if you']! put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the fray!
From what I saw and heard to-day, we're not likely to be greeted
with marigold wreaths and benedictions! Of course hundreds will
1 "Hai! George is dead!"
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 373
be thankful to see us. But I doubt if they'll dare betray the fact.
I needn't tell you to keep cool. You're simply splendid.
Your loving and admiring
ROY
It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when
that mixed force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes
acting in concert with them, halted outside the Delhi gate of
Lahore City, while an order was read to the assembled leaders,
that, if shots were fired or bombs flung, those aeroplanes would
make things unpleasant. Then at last they were on the move;
through the gate, inside the city: aeroplanes flying low, cavalry
bringing up the rear.
Here normal life and activity were completely suspended:
hence more than half the trouble. Groups of idlers, sauntering
about, stared, spat, or shook clenched fists, shouting, " Give us
Ghandi, and we will open!" "Repeal Rowlatt Bill, and we will
open!"
And at every turn posters exhorted true patriots in terms
often as ludicrous as they were hostile to leave off all dealings
with the "English monkeys," to "kill and be killed."
And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points,
pausing, that Mr. Elton might exhort the people to resume work,
mere groups swelled to crowds, increasing in number and viru-
lence; then: cries and contortions more savage than anything
Roy had yet seen.
But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable
market, fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began.
Here were large, excited crowds streaming to and fro between the
Mosque and the Mundi material inflammable as gunpowder.
Here, too, were the hot-heads armed with leaded sticks, hostile
and defiant, shouting their eternal cries.
And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly
the centre of trouble. Exhortations to disperse peacefully were
unheeded or unheard. All over the open space they swarmed
like locusts. Their wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment.
And the Mosque acted as a stronghold. Crowds packed away
in there could neither be dealt with nor dispersed. So an order
374 FAR TO SEEK
was given that it should be cleared and the doors guarded.
Meantime, to loosen the congested mass it was cavalry to the
front thankful for movement at last. There was a rush and a
scuffle. Scattered groups sped into the city. Others broke away
and streamed down from the high ground into the open plain,
sowars in pursuit; rounding them up; shepherding them back
to their by-lanes and rabbit warrens.
"How does it feel to be a sheep dog?" Lance asked Roy, as
he cantered up, dusty and perspiring. "A word from the aero-
planes would do the trick. Good God! Look at them !"
Roy looked and swore under his breath. For the half-dis-
persed thousands were flowing together again like quicksilver.
The whole Hira Mundi region was packed with a seething, dan-
gerous mob, completely out of hand, amenable to nothing but
force.
And now, from the doors of the Mosque fresh thousands, in-
flamed by fanatical speeches, were flocking across the open plain
to join them, flourishing their Idthis with threatening gestures
and cries.
It was a sight to shake the stoutest heart. Armed, they were
not; but the Idthi is a deadly weapon at close quarters; and
their mere numbers were overwhelming. Roy, by this time, was
sick of their everlasting yells; their distorted faces full of hate
and fury; their senseless abuse of " tyrants," who were exercising
a patience almost superhuman.
An order was shouted for the troops to turn and hold them.
Carnegie, of the police, dashed off to the head of the column
that was nearing the gate of exit, and the cavalry lined up in
support of Mr. Elton, who still exhorted, still tried to make him-
self heard by those who were determined not to hear. The
moment they moved forward, there was a fierce, concerted rush;
Idthis in the forefront, bricks and stones hurtling, as at Anarkalli,
but with fiercer intent.
A large stone whizzed past the ear of an impassive Sikh Res-
saldar; half a brick caught Roy on the shoulder, another struck
Suraj on the flank and slightly disturbed his equanimity.
While Roy was soothing him came a renewed rush; the crowd
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 375
pushing boldly in on all sides with evident intent to cut them off
from the rest.
The line broke. There was a moment of sickening confusion.
A howling man brandishing a Idthi made a dash at Roy; a grab
at his charger's rein . . .
One instant his heart stood still; the next, Lance dashed
in between, riding-crop lifted, unceremoniously hustling Roy,
and nearly oversetting his assailant but not quite
Down came the leaded stick on the back of his bridle hand,
cutting it open, grazing and bruising the flesh. With an oath
he dropped the reins and seized them hi his right hand.
"Rather neatly done? " he remarked, smiling at the dismay in
Roy's eyes. " Ought to have floored him. The murdering
brute!"
"Lance, you'd no business "
"Oh, drop it. This isn't polo. It's a game of Aunt Sally. No
charge for a shy !" As he spoke, a sharp fragment of brick
struck his cheek and drew blood. "Damn them! Getting above
themselves. If it rested with me I'd charge. We can hold 'em,
though. Straighten the line."
" But your hand "
"My hand can wait. I've got another." And he rode on, leav-
ing Roy with a burning, inner sense as of actual coals of fire
heaped on his unworthy self.
But urgent demand for action left no leisure for thought.
Somehow, the line was straightened; somehow, they extricated
themselves from the embarrassing attentions of the mob.
Carnegie returned with armed police; and four files were lined
up in front of the troops; the warning clearly given; the re-
sponse fresh uproar, fresh showers of stones . . .
Then eight shots rang out: and it sufficed. At the voice of
the rifle, the sting of buckshot, valour and fury evaporated like
smoke. And directly the crowd broke, firing ceased. A few were
wounded; one was killed and carried away with loud lamen-
tations. An ordered advance with fixed bayonets completed
the effect that no other power on earth could have produced:
and the Grand Processional was over.
376 FAR TO SEEK
It emerged from the Bathi gate a shadow of itself, having
left more than half its numbers on guard at vital points along
the route.
"Scotched not killed," was Lance's pithy verdict on the
proceedings. "As a bit of mere police work excellent. A.S to
the result we shall see. But the C.O. must have been thankful
his force wasn't a shade weaker."
This unofficially, to Roy, who had secured leave off for tiffin
at the Eltons', and had ridden forward to report his departure
and enquire after the damaged hand, that concerned him more
than anything else just then not even excepting Rose.
It had been roughly wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and
Lance pooh-poohed concern. "Hurts a bit, of course. But it's
no harm. I'll have it scientifically cleaned up by Collins when I
get in. Don't look pathetic about nothing, old man. My own
silly fault for failing to ride the beggar down as he deserved.
Just as well it isn't your hand, you know. Unpleasant for
the women."
"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in
that vein had him at a disadvantage, always.
"Don't be too late," he added as Roy turned to go. "We may
be needed. Those operatic performers hi the city aren't going to
sit twiddling their thumbs, by the look of them. When's . . .
the departure? "
"To-morrow or next day, I think ..."
"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't
make a tale over my hand."
"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll
be back about six."
He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love
to Rose damped by the faet that he had not been able to look
Lance in the eyes. Things couldn't go on like this. And yet see
. . . ? Impossible to ask Rose outright whether there had been
anything definite between them. If she said "No," he would
not believe her: detestable, but true. If she well ... if in
any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find
it hard to control himself or forgive her: equally detestable
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 377
and equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still . . .
He found the household ready for immediate flitting; and Mrs.
Elton in a fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news
from Kasur.
"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up.
Two of our officers wounded and two warrant officers beaten to
death with those horrible Idthis!" She poured it all out in a
breathless rush, before Roy could even get near Rose. "It's
official. Mr. Hayes has just been telling us. An English woman
and three tiny children miraculously saved by two N.C.O.'s and
a friendly native inspector. Did you ever ! And I hear they
poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt and the bodies of
those poor men at Amritsar. So now we know why the price
ran up and why none was coming into the country! Yet they
say this isn't another Mutiny don't tell me. I was so thankful
to be getting away; and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it
happened to us to-morrow!"
"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's
cool tones had a tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the
trains. And Fazl AH wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on us."
Mrs. Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well,
7 don't believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats
cut or worse," she declared with settled conviction.
"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!" Rose quizzed her
cruelly, but sweetly. "And now perhaps I may get at Roy, who's
probably tired and thirsty after all those hours in the sun."
The jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but
directly it was over, Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir her
own corner; its atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl her-
self, after the strife and heat and noise in the city.
They spent a peaceful two hours together. Roy detected no
shadow of constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday
had passed off. For himself, all inner perturbation was charmed
away by her tender concern for the bruised shoulder a big
bruise; she could feel it under his coat and the look in her
eyes while he told the story of Lance; not colouring it up, be-
cause of what he had said, yet not concealing its effect on himself.
378 FAR TO SEEK
"He's quite a splendid sort of person," she said, with a little
tug at the string of her circular fan. "But you know all about
that."
"Rather."
She drew in her lip and was silent. If he could speak now. In
this mood, he might believe her might even forgive her . . .
But it was she who spoke.
"What about the Kashmir plan?"
"God knows. It's all in abeyance. The Colonel's wedding
too."
"Will you be allowed, I wonder to pay me a little visit
first? " Her smile and the manner of her request were irresistible.
"It's just possible! "he returned, in the same vein. "I fancy
Lance would understand."
"Oh he would. And to-morrow the night train? Can
you be there? "
He looked doubtful. "It depends how things go. And
I rather bar station partings."
"So do I. 1 But still . . . Mother's been clamouring for you
to come up with us and guard the hairs of our heads! But I
deftly squashed the idea."
"Bless you, darling!" He drew her close, and she leaned her
cheek against him with a sigh, in which present content and
prospective sadness were strangely mingled. It was in these
gentle, pensive moods that Roy came near to loving her as he
had dreamed of loving the girl he would make his wife.
"I'm still jealous of the Gilgit plan," she murmured. "And of
course I wish you were coming up to-morrow even more than
Mother does! But at least I've the grace to be glad you're not
which is rather an advance for me!"
Their parting, if less passionate, was more tender than usual;
and Roy rode away with a distinct ache in his heart at thought
of losing her; a nascent reluctance to make mountains out of
molehills in respect of her and Lance . . .
Riding back along the Mall, he noticed absently an approach-
ing horsewoman; and recognised too late for escape Mrs.
Hunter-Ranyard. By timely flight, on Thursday, he had evaded
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 379
her congratulations. Intuition told him she would say things
that jarred. Now, he flicked Suraj with the base intent of merely
greeting her as he passed.
But she was a woman of experience and resource. She beck-
oned him airily with her riding-crop.
"Mr. Sinclair? What luck! I'm dying to hear how the 'March
Past' went off. Did you get thunders of applause?"
"Oh, thunders! the monsoon variety!"
"I saw you all in the distance, coming in from my early ride.
You looked very imposing with your attendant aeroplanes!
May I?" She turned her pony's head without awaiting permis-
sion and rode alongside of him at a foot's pace, clamouring for
details.
He supplied them, fluently, in the hope of heading her off per-
sonalities. A vain hope: for personalities were her daily bread.
She took advantage of the first pause to ask, with an ineffable
look: "Are you still feeling very shy of being engaged? You
bolted on Thursday. I hadn't a chance. And I'm rather specially
interested." The look became almost caressing. "Did it ever
occur to your exquisite modesty that I wanted you for my
cavalier? You seemed so young in experience; I thought a
little innocuous education might be an advantage before you
plunged. But she snatched! Oh, she did! Without seeming
to lift an eyebrow, in her inimitable way. Very clever! In fact,
she's been very clever all round. She's eluded her 'coming man'
on one side, and ructions over her soldier man on the other "
"Look here I'm engaged to her," Roy protested, trying not
to be aware of a sick sensation inside. "And you know I hate
that sort of talk "
"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic
eyes at him. "But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry,
Sir Galahad! You've won the Kohinoor; and although you seem
to live in the clouds, you've had the sense to make things pukka
straightaway. 'Understandings' and private engagements are
the root of all evil!"
"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out,
his temper rising.
380 FAR TO SEEK
But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-
whip at him.
" Souvent femme varie! Have you ever heard that, you blessed
innocent? And the general impression is there's already been
one private engagement if not more. I was trying to tell you
that afternoon to save your poor fingers "
"It's all rot spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing convic-
tion made Roy careless of his manners. "The women are jeal-
ous of her beauty, so they invent any tale that's likely to be
swallowed "
"Possibly, my dear boy. But 7 can't tell my neighbours to
their faces that they lie! And, after all, if you win a beautiful
girl of six-and-twenty you've got to swallow the fact, with a good
grace, that there must have been others; and thank God you're
IT if not the only IT that ever was on land or sea! After
that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate you. I've al-
ready congratulated her, de mon plein cceur!"
"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only
half mollified. "But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond
asked me not to be late."
"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he
rode away.
Mrs. Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his
peaceful two hours with Rose. After that clash or no clash
he must have the thing out with Lance, at the first available
moment.
CHAPTER X
In you 1 most discern, in your brave spirit^
Erect and certain, flashing deeds of light,
A clear jet from the fountain of all Being;
A scripture clearer than all else to read.
J. C. SQUIHE
ROY returned to an empty bungalow.
On enquiry he learnt that the Major Sahib had gone over to
see the Colonel Sahib; and Wazir Khan, Desmond's bearer,
abused in lurid terms the bastard son of a pig who had dared to
assault the first Sahib in creation. Roy, sitting down at his table,
pushed aside a half-written page of his novel, and his pen raced
over the paper in a headlong letter to Jeffers a vivid chronicle
of recent events. It was an outlet, merely, for his pent-up sensa-
tions, and a salve to his conscience. He had neglected Jeffers
lately, as well as his novel. He had been demoralised, utterly,
these last few weeks; and to-day, by way of crowning demorali-
sation, he felt by no means certain what the end would be for
himself; still less, for India.
The damaged Major Sahib untroubled by animosity
appeared only just in time to change for Mess; his cheek un-
becomingly plastered; his hand in a sling.
"Beastly nuisance. Hukm hai," 1 he explained in response to
Roy's glance of enquiry. "Collins says it's a bit inflamed.
I've been confabbing with Paul over the deferred wedding. But
of course there's no chance of things settling down, unless we
declare martial law. The police are played out; and as for the
impression we made this morning the D.C.'s just telephoned
in for a hundred British troops and armoured cars to picket and
patrol bungalows in Lahore. Seems he's received an authentic ,
report that the city people are planning to rush civil lines, loot '
the bungalows, and assault our women damn them. So, by
1 It is an order.
382 FAR TO SEEK
way of precaution, he has very wisely asked for troops. Are
they off those two? "
"To-morrow night," said Roy, feeling so horribly constrained
that the influx of Barnard and Meredith was, for once, almost a
relief.
Then there was Mess; fresh speculations, fresh tales, and a
certain amount of chaff over Desmond having ' stopped a brick';
Barnard, in satirical vein, regretting to report bloody encounter:
one casualty, enemy sprinkled with buckshot, retired according
to plan.
Before the meal was over, Roy fancied he detected a change in
Lance; his talk and laughter seemed a trifle strained; his lips
set, now and then, as if he were in pain.
Later on, he came up and remarked casually: "I'm not feeling
very bright. I think I'll turn in. Perhaps the sun touched me
up a bit." Clearly Roy's face betrayed him; for Lance added
in an imperative undertone: "Don't look at me like that. I'm
going to slip off quietly; not to worry Paul."
"Well, I'm going to slip off, too," Roy retorted with decision.
"I feel used up; and my beast of a bruise hurts like blazes."
"Drive me home, then," said Lance; and his changed tone,
no less than the surprising request, told Roy he would be glad
of his company.
They said little during the drive; Roy, because he felt vaguely
anxious; and knew it would annoy Lance if he betrayed concern
or enquired after symptoms. It seemed a shamt to worry the
poor fellow in this state; but silence had now become impossible.
"Are you for bed, old man?" he asked when they got in.
" Rather not. I just felt a bit queer. Wanted to get away from
them ah 1 and be quiet."
His normal manner eased Roy's anxiety a little; and without
more ado they settled into long verandah chairs and called for
'pegs.' The night was utterly still. A red, distorted moon hung
just above the tree-tops. Yelling and spitting crowds seemed to
belong to another world.
Lance leaned back in the shadow, the tip of his cigar glowing
like a fierce planet. Roy sat forward, tense and purposeful;
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 383'
hating what he had to say; yet goaded by the knowledge that
he could have no peace of mind till it was said.
He was silent a few moments, pulling at his cigar; then:
"Look here, Lance," he said, "I've got a question to ask.
You won't like it I don't either. But the truth is ... I'm
bothered to know what is ... or has been . . . between you
and ..."
" Drop it, Roy." There was pain and impatience in Desmond's
tone. "I'm not going to talk about that."
Flat opposition gave Roy precisely the spur he needed.
"I'm afraid I've got to, though." The statement was plac-
able but decisive. " I can't go on this way. It's getting on my
nerves "
"Devil take your nerves," said Lance politely. Then with
an obvious effort "Has she said anything?"
"No."
"Then why the hell can't you let be?"
"I shall let be altogether, if this goes on; this infernal
awkwardness between us; and the things she says the way
she looks . . . almost as if she cares."
"Well, I give you my oath she doesn't. I suppose 7 ought
to know?"
"That depends how things were before I came up. She's
twice let your name slip out, unawares. And at Anarkalli she was
extraordinarily upset. And to-day about your hand. Then,
riding home, I met Mrs. Ranyard. And she started talking . . .
hinting at a private engagement "
"Mrs. Ranyard deserves to have her tongue removed. She'd
tell any lie about another woman."
"Quite so. But wit a lie? That's my point. It fits in too neatly
with the other things "
Lance gave him a sidelong look. Their faces were just visible
in the moonlight.
"Jealous are you?" His tone was almost tender.
"You damned lucky devil you've no cause to be."
That natural inference startlingly revealed to Roy that jeal-
ousy had little or nothing to do with his trouble; and so great
384 FAR TO SEEK
was the relief of open speech between them that instinctively he
told the truth.
"N-no. I'm bothered about you"
"Good God!" Desmond's abrupt laugh had no mirth in it.
"Me?"
"Yes naturally. If it amounted to... an engagement,
and I charged in and upset everything. . .1 can't forgive
myself ... or her "
At that, Desmond sat forward; obstructive no longer. "If
you're going so badly off the rails, you must have it straight.
And . . confound you! ... it hurts "
" I can see that. And it's more or less my doing "
"On the contrary it was primarily my doing as you
justly pointed out to me a week or two ago."
Roy groaned. The irony of the situation stung like a whip-
lash. "Did it amount to an engagement?" he persisted.
"There or thereabouts." Lance paused and took a long pull
at his cigar. "But it was quite between ourselves in fact,
conditional on ... the headway I could manage to make.
She cared, in a way. Not as I do. That was one hitch.
The other was Oh 'Ell's antipathy to soldiers as husbands
for her precious family. She Rose knew there would be
ructions a downright tussle, in fact. Well she'll go almost
any length to avoid ructions; 'specially with her mother. I
don't blame her. The woman's a caution. So she shirked
facing the music ... till she felt quite sure of herself ..."
"Till she felt sure of herself, there should have been no en-
gagement," Roy decreed, amazed at his own rising anger.
"Unfair on you."
Desmond's smile was the ghost of its normal self. "You al-
ways were a bit of a purist, Roy! Besides it was my doing
again. I pressed the point. And I think . . . she liked me
. . . loving her. She really seemed to be coming my way
till you turned up " He clenched his hand and leaned back
again, drawing a deep breath. "I'm forcing myself to tell you
all this since you've asked for it because I won't have you
blaming her "
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 385
Roy said nothing. Remembering how throughout the initia-
tive had been hers, how hard he had striven against being en-
snared, he did blame her, a goad deal more than he could very
well admit to this friend, whose single-hearted devotion made
his own mere mingling of infatuation and passion seem artificial
as gaslight in the blaze of dawn.
But knowing so much he must know all.
"How long was it on?"
"Oh, about three weeks before you came. / was on a long
while. Before Christmas."
"Since when has it been off?"
Lance hesitated. "Well things became shaky after Kapur-
thala. That day the wedding, you remember? I spoke
rather straight . . . about you. I saw you were getting keen.
And I didn't want you to come a cropper "
"Why the devil didn't you tell me the truth?"
Lance set his lips. "Of course I wanted to. But it was
difficult. She said not anyone. Made a point of it. Not even
Paul. And I was keen for her to feel quite free; no slur on her
if things fell through. So as I couldn't warn you, I spoke
to her. Perhaps I was a fool. Women are queer. You can never
be sure . . . and it seemed to have quite the wrong effect.
Then I saw she was really losing her head over you natural
enough. So I simply stood by. If she really wanted you not
me, that was another affair. And it's plain ... she did."
"But when did she make it plain?" Roy insisted, feeling
more and more as if the ground were giving way under his
feet.
"Just before the Gym. That . . . was why ..." He looked
full at Roy now. His eyes darkened with pain. "I felt like
murdering you that day, Roy. Afterwards . . . well one
managed to carry on somehow. One always can at a
pinch . . . you know."
"My God! It's the bitterest, ironical tangle!" Roy burst out
with a smothered vehemence that told its own tale. "You
ought to have insisted about me, Lance. I wouldn't for fifty
worlds . . "
386 FAR TO SEEK '
"Of course you wouldn't. Don't fret, old man. And don't
blame her"
"Blame or no, I can't pretend it doesn't alter things. . .
spoil things, badly ..."
He broke off, startled by the change in Desmond. His face
was drawn. He was shivering violently.
"Lance what is it? Fever? Have you been feeling bad?"
Desmond set his lips to steady them. "On and off at Mess.
Touch of the sun, perhaps. I'll get to bed and souse myself with
quinine."
But he was so obviously ill that Roy paid no heed. "Well,
I'm going to send for Collins instanter."
"Don't make an ass of yourself, Roy," Lance flashed out:
but his hands were shaking: his lips were shaking. He was no
longer in command of affairs . . .
While the message sped on its way, Roy got him to bed some-
how; eased things a little with hot bottles and brandy; nameless
terrors knocking at his heart . . .
In less than no time Collins appeared, with the Colonel; and
their faces told Roy that his terror was only too well founded . . .
Within an hour he knew the worst: acute blood-poisoning
from the lathi wound.
"Any hope ?" he asked the genial doctor, while Paul Des-
mond knelt by the bed speaking to his brother in low tones.
"Too early to give an opinion," was the cautious answer.
But the caution and the man's whole manner told Roy the in-
credible, unbearable truth. Something inside him seemed to
snap. In that moment of bewildered agony, he felt like a mur-
derer . . .
Looking back afterwards, Roy marvelled how he had lived
through the waking nightmare of those awful two days while
the doctor did all that was humanly possible and Lance pitted
all the clean strength of his manhood against the swift, deadly
progress of the poison in his veins. It was simply a question of
hours; of righting the devil to the last on principle, rather than
from any likelihood of victory. With heart and hope broken,
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 387
superhumanly they struggled on. For Roy, the world outside
that dim, whitewashed bedroom ceased to exist. The loss of his
mother had been anguish unalloyed; but he had not seen her
go. . .
Now, he saw and heard, which was worse than all.
For Lance, towards the end, was constantly delirious; and,
in delirium, he raved of Rose always of Rose. He, the soul
of reserve, poured out incontinently his passion, his worship,
his fury of jealousy till Roy grew almost to hate the sound of
her name. Worse he was constrained to tell the Colonel the
meaning of it all: to see anger flash through the haunting pain
in his eyes.
Only twice, during the final struggle, the real Lance emerged;
and on the second occasion they happened to be alone. Their
eyes met in the old, intimate understanding. Lance flung out
his undamaged hand and grasped Roy's with all the force still
left him.
"Don't fret your heart out, Roy if I can't pull through,"
he said in his normal voice. "Carry on. And don't blame
Rose. It'll hurt her a bit. Don't hurt her more because of
me. And look here, stand by Paul for a time. He'll need you."
Roy's "Trust me, dear old man," applied, mentally, to the
last. Even at that supreme moment he was dimly thankful it
came last.
Then the Colonel returned; and they could say no more;
nor could Roy find it in his heart to grudge him a moment of
that brief, blessed interlude of real contact with the man they
loved . . .
There could be no question of going to Lahore station on
Sunday evening. He was ill himself, though he did not know it;
and his soul was centred on Lance the gallant spirit inwoven
with almost every act and thought and inspiration of his life.
By comparison, Rose was nothing to him; less than nothing;
a mushroom growth sudden and violent with no deep roots;
only fibres.
So he sent her, by an orderly, a few hurried lines of explana-
tion and farewell.
388 FAR TO SEEK
My Dear,
I'm sorry, but I can't come to-night. We are all in dreadful grief.
Lance down with acute blood-poisoning. Collins evidently fears the
worst. I can't write of it. I do trust you get up safely. I'll write
again, when it's possible. Yours
ROY
Yes, he was still hers so far. More than that he could not
honestly add. Beyond this awful hour he could not look. It was
as if one stood on the edge of a precipice and the next step would
be a drop into black daikness . . .
By Monday night it was over. After forty-eight hours of
fever and struggle and pain, Lance Desmond lay at rest serene
and noble in death, as he had been in life. And Roy having
achieved one long, slow climb out of the depths was flung
back again, deeper than ever . . ,
It was near midnight when the end came. Utterly weary and
broken, he had sunk into Lance's chair, leaning forward, his face
hidden, his frame shaken all through with hard, dry sobs that
would not be stilled.
Through the fog of his misery he felt the Colonel's hand on
his shoulder; heard the familiar voice, deep and kindly: "My
dear Roy, get to bed. We can't have you on the sick-list. There's
work to do; a great gap to be filled somehow. I'll stay
with hun."
At that, he pulled himself together and stood up. "I'll do
my best, Colonel," was all he could say. The face he had so
rarely seen perturbed was haggard with grief. They looked
straight at one another; and the thought flashed on Roy, 'I
must tell him.' Not easy; but it had to be done.
"There's something, sir," he began, "I feel you ought to
know. By rights, it it should have been me. That brute with
the Idlhi was right on me; and he Lance dashed in between
. . . rode him off and got the knock intended for me.
It it haunts me."
Paul Desmond was silent a moment. Pain and exaltation
contended strangely in his tired, eyes. Then: "I don't won-
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 389
der," he said slowly. "It was like him. Thank you for tell-
ing me. It will be some small comfort ... to all of them.
Now try and get a little sleep."
Roy shook his head. "Impossible. Good-night, Colonel.
It's a relief to feel you know. For God's sake, let me do any
mortal thing I can for any of you."
There was another moment of silence; of palpable hesita-
tion; then once again Paul Desmond put his hand on Roy's
shoulder.
"Look here, Roy," he said. "Drop calling me Colonel. You
two were like brothers. And as Thea's included, why
should I be out of it? Let me be 'Paul.' "
It was hard to do. It was inimitably done. It gave Roy the
very lif t he needed in that hour when he felt as if they must al-
most hate him, and never wish to set eyes on him again.
"I I shall be proud," he said; and, turning away to hide
his emotion, went back to the bed that drew him like a magnet.
There he knelt a long while, sense and spirit fused in a torment
of mute, passionate protest against the power of so trivial an
injury to rob the world of so much gallantry and charm. Resig-
nation was far from him. With all the vehemence that was hi
him, he raged against his loss . . .
Next morning they awoke, as from a prolonged and terrible
dream, to find Lahore practically cut off from Simla and Delhi;
all wires down but one; the hartal continuing in defiance
of orders and exhortations; more stations demolished; more
trains derailed and looted , all available British troops recalled
from the Hills. But for five sets of wireless plants, urgently asked
for, isolation would have been complete.
By the fourteenth the position was desperate. Civil author-
ity flatly defied: the police lacking reserves fairly played
out: the temperature chart of rebellion at its highest point.
The inference was plain.
Organised revolt is amenable only to the ultimate argument
of force. Nothing, now, would serve but strong action, and the
compelling power of martial law.
390 I FAR TO SEEK
Happily for India, the men who had striven their utmost
to avoid both did not falter in that critical hour.
At Amritsar strong action had already been taken; and the
sobering effect of it spread in widening circles, bringing relief to
thousands of both races; not least to men whose nerve and re-
source had been strained almost to the limit of endurance.
In Lahore notices of martial law were issued. The suspended
life of the city tentatively revived. Law-abiding men of all ranks
breathed more freely: and for the moment it seemed the worst
was over . . .
Roy having slept off a measure of his utter fatigue took
up the dead weight of life again, with the old sick sensation of
three years ago, that nothing mattered in earth or heaven. But
then there had been Lance to uphold and cheer him. Now there
was only the hard, unfailing mercy of work to be pulled through
somehow.
There was also Rose and the problem of letting her know
that he knew. And their marriage? All that seemed to have
suffered shipwreck with the rest of him. He was still too dazed
and blinded with grief to see an inch ahead. He only knew he
could not bear to see her, who had made Lance suffer so, till
the first anguish had been dulled a little on the surface, at
least.
CHAPTER XI
Why didst thou promise suck a beauteous day,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smokef
SHAKSPEEE
AND away up in Simla, Rose Arden was enduring her own minor
form of purgatory. The news of Lance Desmond's sudden death
had startled and saddened her; had pierced through her surface
serenity to the deep places of a nature that was not altogether
shallow under its veneer of egotism and coquetry.
On a morning, near the end of April, she sat alone in the gar-
den under deodar boughs tasselled with tips of young green.
In a border beyond the lawn, spring flowers were awake; the
bank was starred with white violets and wild strawberry blos-
soms: and, through a gap hi the ilex trees beyond, she had a
vision of far hills and flashing snow-peaks, blue-white in the sun,
cobalt in shadow. Overhead, among the higher branches a bird
was trilling out an ecstatic love-song.
But the year's renewal, the familiar flutter of Simla's awaken-
ing, sharpened, rather, that new ache at her heart; the haunting,
incredible thought that down there, in the stifling, dusty plains,
Lance Desmond lay dead, hi the springtime of his splendid
manhood; dead of his own generous impulse to save Roy from
hurt.
Since the news came she had avoided sociabilities and, unob-
trusively, worn no colours. Foolish and fatuous, was it? She
only knew that Lance being gone she could not make no
difference hi her daily round, whatever others might think or say.
And the mere fact of his being gone seemed strangely to revive
the memory of his love for her, of her own genuine, if inadequate,
response. For she had been more nearly in love with him than
with any of his predecessors (and there had been several of them)
who had been admitted to the privileged intimacies of the half-
accepted lover. More: he had commanded her admiration;
392 FAR TO SEEK
and she had not been woman could she have held out indefinitely
against his passionate, whole-hearted devotion.
After months of patient wooing and he by nature impatient
he had insisted that matters be settled, one way or the other,
before he went on leave; and she had almost reached the point of
decision when Roy, with his careless charm and challenging
detachment, appeared on the scene . . .
And now Lance was gone; Roy was hers; Bramleigli
Beeches and a prospective title were hers; but still . . .
The shock of Roy's revelation had upset her a good deal more
than she dared let him guess. And the effect did not pass in
spite of determined efforts to be unaware of it. She knew, now,
that her vaunted tolerance sprang chiefly from having ignored
the whole subject. Half-castes she instinctively despised. For
India and the Indians she had little real sympathy; and the ris-
ing tide of unrest, the increasing antagonism, had sharpened her
negative attitude to a positive dislike and distrust, acutely in-
tensified since that evening at Anarkalli, when the sight of
Lance and her step-father, sitting there at the mercy of any
chance-flung missile, had stirred the slumbering passion in her to
fury. For one bewildering moment, she had scarcely been able
to endure Roy's touch or look, because he was even remotely
linked with those creatures who mouthed and yelled and would
have murdered them all without compunction.
The impression of those few nerve-racking days had struck
deep. Yet, in spite of all, Roy's hold on her was strong; the
stronger, perhaps, because she had been aware of his inner resist-
ance and had never felt quite sure of him. She did not feel
fundamentally sure of him even now. His letters had been few
and brief; heart-broken naturally; yet scarcely the letters
of an ardent lover. The longest of the four had given her a poig-
nant picture of Lance's funeral; almost as if he knew and had
written with intent to hurt her. In addition to half the British
officers of the Station, the cemetery had been thronged with the
men of his squadron, Sikhs and Pathans a form of homage
very rare in India. Many of them had cried like children; and
for himself, Roy confessed, it had broken him all to bits. He
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 393
hardly knew how to write of it; but he felt she would care to
know.
She cared so intensely that, for the moment, she had almost
hated him for stamping on her memory a picture that would not
fade.
His next letter had been no more than hah* a sheet. That was
three days ago. Another was overdue: and the post was overdue
also. . .
Ah at last! A flash of scarlet in the verandah and Fazl
Ali presenting an envelope on a salver, as though she were a
goddess and the letter an offering at her shrine.
It was a shade thicker than usual. "Well, it ought to be. She
had been very patient with his brevity. This time, it seemed, he
had something to say.
Her heart stirred perceptibly as she opened it, and read:
Dearest Girl,
I'm afraid my letters have been very poor things. Part of the
reason you know and understand as far as anyone can. I'm still
dazed. Everything's out of perspective. I suppose I shall take it in
some day.
But there's another reason connected with him. Perhaps you
can guess. I've been puzzled all along about you two. And now I
know. I wonder does that hurt you? It hurts me horribly. I
need hardly say he didn't give you away. It was things you said
and Mrs. Ranyard. Anyhow, that last evening I insisted on having
the truth. But I couldn't write about it sooner for fear of saying
things I'd regret afterwards.
Rose what possessed you? A man worth fifty of me! Of course
I know loving doesn't go by merit. But to keep him on tenterhooks,
eating his heart out with jealousy, while you frankly encouraged
me you know you did. And I never dreaming; only puzzled
at the way he sheered off after the first. Between us, we made his
last month of life a torment; though he never let me guess it I
don't know how to forgive myself. And, to be honest, it's no easy
job forgiving you. If that makes you angry, if you think me a prig,
I can't help it. If you'd, heard him all those hours of delirium
you might understand.
When he wasn't raving, he had only one thought I mustn't
blame you, or hurt you on account of him. I'm trying not to. But
394 FAR TO SEEK
if I know you at all, that will hurt more than anything / could say.
And it's only right I should tell it you.
My dearest girl, you can't think how difficult how strange it
feels writing to you like this. I meant to wait till I came up. But I
couldn't write naturally; and I was afraid you mightn't under-
stand. I'm coming, after all, sooner than I thought for. My fool of
a body has given out and Collins won't let me hang on, though /
feel the work just keeps me going. It must be Kohat first, because of
Paul. Now things are calming down, he is getting away to be mar-
ried. The quietest possible affair, of course; but he's keen I should
be best man in place of Lance. And I needn't say how I value the
compliment.
No more trouble here, or Amritsar, thank God and a few cou-
rageous men. Martial law arrangements are being carried through to
admiration. The Lahore C.O. seems to get the right side of every-
one. He has a gift for the personal touch that is everything out here;
and in no time the poor deluded beggars in the city were shouting
" Martial law ki jai " as fervently as ever they shouted for Ghandi
and Co. One of my fellows said to me: "Our people don't under-
stand this new talk of Committee ki raj and Dyarchy raj. Too many
orders make confusion. But they understand Hukm ki raj" 1 In
fact, it's the general opinion that prompt action in the Punjab has
fairly well steadied India for the present at least.
Well, I won't write more. We'll meet soon; and I don't doubt
you'll explain a good deal that still puzzles and hurts me. If I seem
changed, you must make allowances. I can't yet see my way in a
world empty of Lance. But we must help each other, Rose not
pull two ways. Don't bother to write long explanations. Things will
be easier face to face. Yours ever
Rov
*Yours ever' . . . Did he mean that? He certainly meant the
rest. Her hands dropped in her lap; and she sat there, staring
before her startled, angry, more profoundly disturbed and
unsure of herself than she had felt in all her days. Though Roy
had tried to write with moderation, there were sentences that
struck at her vanity, her conscience, her heart. Her first, over-
whelming impulse was to write back at once telling him he need
not trouble to come up, as the engagement was off. Accus-
1 Government by order.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 395
tomed to unquestioning homage, she took criticism badly; also
undeniably she was jealous of his absorption in Lance. The
impulse to dismiss him was mere hurt vanity. And the queer
thing was that, deep down under the vanity and the jealousy, her
old feeling for Lance seemed again to be stirring in its sleep.
The love of such a man leaves no light impress on any woman;
and Lance had unwittingly achieved two master-strokes calcu-
lated to deepen that impress on one of her nature. In the first
place, he had fronted squarely the shock of her defection
patently on account of Roy. She could see him now standing
near her mantelpiece, his eyes sombre with passion and pain;
no word of reproach or of pleading, though there smouldered
beneath his silence the fire of his formidable temper. And just
because he had neither pleaded nor stormed, she had come peril-
ously near to an ignominious volte face, from which she had been
saved only by something in him, not in herself. If she did not
know it then, she knew it now. In the second place, he had died
gallantly again on account of Roy. Snatched utterly out of
reach, out of sight, his value was enhanced tenfold: and now to
crown all, came Roy's revelation of his amazing magnanimity. . .
Strange, what a complicated affair it was, for some people,
this simple, natural business of getting married! Was it part of
the price one had to pay for being beautiful? Half the girls one
knew slipped into it with much the same sort of thrill as they
slipped into a new frock. But those were mostly the nice plain
little things who subsided gratefully into the first pair of arms
held out to them. And probably they had their reward. In
chastened moods Rose did not quite care to remember how many
times she had succumbed, experimen tally, to that supreme temp-
tation. Good Heavens! What would her precious pair think of
her if they knew! At least, she had the grace to feel proud
| that the tale of her conquests included two such men.
But Lance was gone on account of Roy where no spell
of hers could touch him any more; and Roy was he going
too ... on account of Lance . . . ? Not if she could prevent
him: and yet ... goodness knew! The sigh that shivered through
her sprang from a deeper source than mere self-pity.
396 FAR TO SEEK
Rattle of rickshaw wheels, puffing and grunting oljhampannies
heralded the return of her mother, who had been out paying a
round of preliminary calls. It took eight stalwart men and a
rickshaw of special dimensions to convey her formidable bulk
up and down Sunk roads; and affectionate friends hinted that
the men demanded extra pay for extra weight!
A glance at her florid face warned Rose there was trouble in
the air.
"Oh, Rose there you are. I've had the shock of my life!"
Waving away her jhampannies, she sank into an adjacent cane
chair that creaked and swayed ominously under the assault.
"It was at Mrs. Tait's My dear would you believe it?
That fine fiance of yours after worming himself into our good
graces turns out to be practically a half-caste. A superior one,
it seems. But still the deceitfulness of the man! Going about
looking like everybody else, tool And grey-blue eyes into the
bargain!"
At that, Rose fatally smiled, in spite of genuine dismay.
"I can't see any thing funny in it!" snapped her mother. "I
thought you'd be furious. Did you ever notice ? Had you the
least suspicion? "
"Not the least," Rose answered, with unruffled calm. "I
knew. "
"You knew ? Yet you were fool enough to accept him
and wilfully deceive your own mother! I suppose he insisted,
and you "
"No. I insisted. I knew my own mind. And I wasn't going
to have him upset "
"But if /'m upset it doesn't matter a brass farthing?"
"It does, Mother. I'm very sorry you've had such a jar."
Rose had some ado to maintain her coolness; but she knew it for
her one unfailing weapon. "Of course I meant to tell you later:
in fact, as soon as he came up to settle things finally
"Most considerate of you! And when he does come up, / pro-
pose to settle things finally " She choked, gulped, and glared.
She was realising . . . "The position you've put me in! It's
detestable!"
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 397
Rose sighed. It struck her that her own position was not
exactly enviable. "I've said I'm sorry. And really it didn't
seem the least likely Who was the officious instrument of
Fate?"
"Young Joe Bradley, of the Forests. We were talking of the
riots and poor Major Desmond, and Mrs. Tait happened to
mention Roy Sinclair. Mr Bradley asked, was he the artist's
son; and told how he once went to tea there when his mother
was staying with Lady Despard and had a stand-up fight with
Roy. He said Roy's mother was rather a swell native woman,
a pukka native; and Roy went for him like a wild thing because
he called her an ayah "
Again Rose smiled faintly, in spite of herself. "He would!"
"Would he, indeed! That's all you think of! though you
know I've got a weak heart. And I nearly fainted if that's
any interest to you! The Bradley boy knew nothing about us.
But Mrs. Tait's a perfect little sieve. It'll be all over Simla
to-morrow. And 1 was so pleased and proud " Her voice
shook. Tears threatened. "And it's so awkward so undigni-
fied . . . backing out "
" My dear Mother, I've no intention whatever of backing out."
"And I've no intention whatever of putting up with a half-
caste for a son-in-law.
Rose winced at that and drew in a steadying breath. For now,
at last, the cards were on the table. She was committed to flat
opposition or retreat an impasse she had skilfully avoided
hitherto. But for Roy's sake she stood her ground.
"It was rather a jar when he told me," she admitted, by way
of concession "But truly, he is different if you'll only listen,
without fuming! His mother's a Rajput of the highest caste.
Her father educated her almost like an English girl. She was
only seventeen when she married Sir Nevil; and she lived alto-
gether in England after that. In everything, but being her
son, Roy is practically an Englishman. You can't class him
with the kind of people we associate with the other word out
here "
Very patiently and tactfully she put forward every redeeming
398 FAR TO SEEK
argument in his favour without avail. Mrs. Elton, broadly,
had right on her side; and she did her best to listen coolly.
But the gods had denied her the gift of discrimination. She saw
India as a vast, confused jumble of Rajahs and binnias and
servants and coolies all steeped in varying depths of dirt and
dishonesty, greed and shameless ingratitude. It simply did not
occur to her that sharp distinctions of character, tradition, and
culture underlay the more or less uniform tint of skin. And be-
neath her instinctive antipathy burned furious anger with Roy
for placing her, by his deceitfulness (it must have been his),
in the ironic position of having to repudiate the engagement
she had announced with such eclat only three weeks ago. The
moment she had recovered her breath, she returned unshaken
to the charge.
"That's very fine talk, my dear, for two people in love. Roy's
a half-caste: that's flat. You can't wriggle away from the damn-
ing fact by splitting hairs about education and breeding. Be-
sides you only think of the man. But are you prepared for
your precious first baby to be as dark as a native? It's more
than likely. I know it for a fact "
"Really, Mother! You're a trifle previous." Rose was cool
no longer; a slow, unwilling blush flooded her face. Her mother
had struck at her more shrewdly than she knew.
"Well, if you will be obstinate, it's my duty to open your eyes;
or of course I wouldn't talk so to an unmarried girl. There's
another thing any doctor will tell you a particular form
of consumption carries off half the wretched children of these
mixed marriages. A mercy, perhaps; but think of it ! Your
own! And you know perfectly well the moral deterioration
"There's none of that about Roy." Rose grew warmer still.
"And you know perfectly well most of it comes from the circum-
stances, the stigma, the type of parent. But you can say what
you please. I'm of age. I love him. I intend to marry him."
"Well, you won't do it from my house. I wash my hands of
the whole affair." She rose, upon her ultimatum; aquiver with
righteous anger, even to the realistic cherries in her hat. The
girl rose, also, outwardly composed, inwardly dismayed.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 399
"Thank you. Now I know where I stand. And you won't
say a word to Roy. You mustn't really " She almost
pleaded. "He worships his mother in quite the old-fashioned
way. He simply couldn't see the other point of view. Be-
sides he's ill unhappy. Whatever your attitude forces one
to say, can only be said by me."
"I don't take orders from my own daughter," Mrs. Elton
retorted ungraciously. She was in no humour for bargaining or
dictation. "But I'm sure 7've no wish to talk to him. I'll give
you a week or ten days to make your plans. But whenever you
have him here, I shall be out. And if you come to your senses
you can let me know."
On that, she departed, leaving Rose feeling battered and
shaken and horribly uncertain what in the face of that bomb-
shell she intended to do; she, who had made Lance suffer
cruelly and evoked a tragic situation between him and Roy,
largely in order to avoid a clash that would have been as nothing
compared with this . . . !
Her sensations were in a whirl. But somehow she must pull
through. Home life was becoming intolerable. And for several
cogent reasons she wanted Roy. If need be, she would tell
him, diplomatically; dissociating herself completely from her
mother's attitude. And yet she had said things that would
stick; hateful things, that might be true . . .
Decidedly, she could not write him a long letter; only enough
to bring him back to her in a relenting mood. Sitting down again,
she unearthed from her black and silver bag a fountain pen and
half a sheet of paper.
M y darting Roy (she wrote) :
Your letter did hurt badly. Perhaps I deserved it. All I can
say, till we meet, is forgive me, if you can because of Lance.
It's rather odd though you are my lover, and I suppose you do care
still I can think of no stronger appeal than that. He cared so. for
us both, in his big, splendid way. Can't we stand by each other?
You ask me to make allowances. Will you be generous, and do the
same on a larger scale for your sincerely loving (and not altogether
worthless) ROSE
CHAPTER XII
She had a step that walked unheard,
It made the stones like grass;
But that light step had crushed a heart
As light as that step was.
W. H. DAVOS
AT last, Roy was actually coming. The critical moment was upon
them: and Rose sat alone in the drawing-room awaiting him.
Her mother was out; had arranged to be out for the evening
also. The strain between them still continued; and it told most
on Rose. The cat-like element in her loved comfort; and an
undercurrent of clash was peculiarly irritating in her present
sore, uncertain state of heart. Weeks of it, she knew, would
scarcely leave a dent on her mother's leathern temperament.
When it came to a tug the tougher nature scored, which was
one reason why she had so skilfully avoided tugs hitherto.
True, she was of age: and her father's small legacy gave her a
measure of independence. But how could one set about getting
married in the face of open opposition? And how keep the
truth from Roy? Or tone it down, so that he would not go off
at a tangent straightaway? Assuredly the Fates had conspired
to strip her headlong romance of all its gilded trappings. But
unquestionably, her moment for marriage had come. She was
sick to death of the Anglo-Indian round from the unattached
standpoint, at least. Roy fascinated her as few men had done;
and she had been deliberately trying to ignore the effect of her
mother's brutal frankness. Their coming together again, in
these changed conditions, would be the ultimate test. Such a
chasm of distance seemed to yawn between that tender parting
in her boudoir and this critical reunion in another world . . .
Sounds of arrival brought her to her feet; but she checked the
natural impulse to welcome him in the verandah. Her innate
sense of drama shrank from possible awkwardness a false step,
at the start.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 401
And now he appeared in the doorway very straight and slim
in his grey suit with the sorrowful black band on his arm.
"Rose!" he cried and stood gazing at her, pulses hammer-
ing, brain dizzy. The mere sight of her brought back too vividly
the memory of those April days that he had been resolutely
shutting out of his mind.
His pause the shock of his changed aspect held her mo-
tionless also. He looked older, more sallow; his sensitive mouth
compressed; no lurking gleam in his eyes. He seemed actually
less good-looking than she remembered; for anguish is no
beautifier.
So standing, they mutely confronted the change in themselves
hi each other; then Rose swept forward, both hands held
out.
"Roy my darling what you must have been through I
Can you will you in spite of all ?"
Next moment, in his silent, vehement fashion, he was straining
her to him; kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips; not in simple
lover's ecstasy, but in a fervour of repressed passion, touched
with tragedy, with pain . . .
Then he held her from him, a little, to refresh his tired eyes
with the sheer beauty of her; and was struck at once by the
absence of colour; the wide black sash, the black velvet round
her throat and hair.
He touched the velvet, looking his question. She nodded,
drawing in her lip to steady it.
"I felt I must. You don't mind?"
"Mind ? Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever really mind
things any more."
His face worked. That queer dizziness took him again. With
an incoherent apology he sat down rather abruptly, and leaned
forward, his head between his hands, hiding the emotion he
could not altogether control.
Rose stood beside him, feeling helpless and vaguely aggrieved.
He had just got back to her, after a two weeks' parting; and he
sat there lost in an access of grief that left her quite out of
account. Inadvertently there flashed the thought, 'Whatever
402 FAR TO SEEK
Lance might have suffered, he would not succumb.' It startled
her. She had never so compared them before . . .
Then, looking down at his bowed head, compunction seized
her, and tenderness, that rarely entered into her feeling for men.
She could think of nothing to say that would not sound idiot-
ically commonplace. So she laid her hand on his hair, and moved
it caressingly now and then.
She felt a tremor go through him. He half withdrew his head,
checked himself, and capturing her hand pressed it to his lips,
that were hot and feverish.
"Roy what is it? What went wrong?" she asked softly.
He looked up now with a fair imitation of a smile. "Just
an old memory. It was dear of you. Ungracious of me." Pain
and perplexity went from her. She slipped to her knees beside
him and his arm enclosed her. "Sorry to behave like this. But
I'm not very fit. And seeing you brought it all back so sharply !
It's been a bit of a strain this last week. A letter from Thea
brave, of course; but broken, utterly. The wedding too: and
that beast of a journey fairly finished me."
She leaned closer, comforting him by the feel of her nearness.
Then her practical brain suggested needs more pedestrian, none
the less essential.
"Dearest you're simply exhausted. How about tea or
a peg?"
He pleaded for a peg, it permissible. She fetched it herself;
made tea; plied him with sandwiches and sugared cakes, for
which he still retained his boyish weakness.
But talking proved difficult. There were uncomfortable gaps.
In their first uplifted moment all had seemed well. Love-making
was simple, elemental, satisfying. Beyond the initial glamour
and passion of courtship they had scarcely adventured, when
the fabric of their world was shattered by the startling events
of those four days. Both were realising as they stepped cau-
tiously among the fragments that, for all then- surface inti-
macy, they were still strangers underneath.
Roy took refuge in talk about Lahore; the high tribute paid
to the conduct of all troops British and Indian and police,
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 403
under peculiarly exasperating circumstances; the C.O.'s con-
viction that unless sterner measures were taken and adhered
to there would be more outbreaks, at shorter intervals, better
organised . . .
He hoped her charming air of interest was genuine, but felt
by no means sure. And all the while he was craving to know
what she had to say for herself; yet doubting whether he could
stand the lightest touch on his open wound. Lance had begged
him not to hurt her. Had it ever occurred to that devout lover
how sharply she might hurt him?
Tea and a restful hour in an armchair eased the strain a little.
Then Rose suggested the garden, knowing him susceptible to
the large healing influences of earth and sky; also with diplo-
matic intent to draw him away from the house before her mother's
meteoric visitation.
And she was only just in time. The rattle of rickshaw wheels
came up the main path two minutes after they had turned out
of it towards a favourite nook, which she had strangely grown
to love in the last two weeks.
"Poor darling! You've just missed Mother!" She condoled
with him smiling sidelong under her lashes; and she almost
blessed her maternal enemy for bringing back the familiar gleam
into his eyes.
"Bad luck! Ought we to go in again?"
" Gracious, no! She's only tearing home to change for an early
dinner at Penshurst and the theatre. Anyway, please note,
you're immune from the formalities. We're going to have a
peaceful time, quite independent of Simla rushings. Just our-
selves to ourselves."
"Good."
It was an asset with men second only to her beauty
this gift for creating a restful atmosphere.
Her nook, in an angle above the narrow path, was a grassy
bank looking across crumpled ranges, velvet-soft in the level
light, to the still purity of the snows.
"Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning
out of doors; but I've spent several evenings here lately."
404 FAR TO SEEK
"It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was tinged with
apprehension. Flinging off his hat he reclined full length on the
gentle slope, hands under his head, and let the healing rays flow
into the deeps of his troubled being.
Rose sat upright beside him, her fingers locked loosely round
one raised knee. She was troubled too; and quite at a loss how
to begin.
" So you've not been going out much? " he asked, after a pro-
longed pause.
"No how could I with you, so unhappy, down there
and . . . ?" She deliberately met his eyes; and the look hi them
impelled her to ask: " What is it, Roy lurking in your mind? "
"Ami to be frank?"
She shivered. "It sounds rather chilly. But I suppose
we'd better take our cold plunge and get it over!"
"Well," he hesitated palpably "It was only a natural
wonder if you care . , all that . . . now he's gone, how could
you deliberately hurt him so while he lived? "
She drew in her lip. It was going to be more unsteadying than
she had foreseen.
"How can a woman explain to a man the simple fact that she
is incurably perhaps unforgivably a woman? "
"I don't know. I hoped you could up to a point," said
Roy, looking away to the snows and remembering, suddenly,
that was where he ought to be now with Lance: always Lance:
no other thought or presence seemed vital to him, these days.
Yet Rose remained beautiful and desirable; and clearly she loved
him.
"It doesn't make things easier, you know," she was say-
ing, in her cool, low voice, " to feel you are patently regretting
events that, unhappily, did hurt him; but also gave me
to you ..."
Her beauty, her evident pain, penetrated the settled misery
that enveloped him like an atmosphere.
"Darling forgive me!" He reached out, pulling her hands
apart and his fingers closed hard on hers. "I'm only trying
clumsily to understand ..."
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 405
"And goodness knows I'm willing to help you," she sighed,
returning his pressure. "But I'm afraid the little I can say
for myself won't do much to regild my halo if there's any of it
leftl I gather you aren't very well up in women, or girls, Roy?"
"No I'm not. Perhaps it makes me seem to you a bit of a
fool?"
" Quite the reverse. It's all along been a part of your charm."
"My charm?"
There was more of tenderness than amusement in her low
laugh. "Precisely! If you didn't possess some magnetic qual-
ity, could I have been drawn away from a man like Lance,
when I'd nearly made up my mind to face the music?"
For answer, he kissed her captured hand.
Then "Roy, if it doesn't hurt too much," she urged, "will
you tell me first just what Lance said? "
It would hurt, horridly But it was as well she should know;
and not a word need he withhold. Could there be a finer tribute
to his friend? It was his own share in their last unforgettable
talk that could not be reproduced.
"Yes I'll tell you," he said. And, his half-closed eyes rest-
ing on the sunlit hills, he told her, in a voice from which all feel-
ing was carefully expunged. Only so could he achieve the telling:
and she listened without interruption, for which he felt grateful,
exceedingly
When it was over, he merely moved his head and looked up at
her; and she returned his look, her eyes heavy with tears.
Mutually their fingers tightened.
"Thank you," she said. "It makes me ashamed; but it makes
me proud."
"It made me angry and bewildered," said Roy. "If you
really were . . . coming his way, what the devil did / do to
upset it all? Of course I admired you; and I was interested
on his account. But I had no thought I was absorbed in
other things "
She nodded slowly, not looking at him. "Quite so. And I
suppose being me I didn't choose that a man should dance
with me, ride with me, obviously admire me, and yet remain
4 o6 FAR TO SEEK
absorbed in other things. And being you of course it
never struck you that, for my kind of girl, your provocatively
casual attitude almost amounted to a challenge. Besides as
I said you were charming; you were different. Perhaps if
I'd felt a shade less sure of Lance, if he'd had the wit even to
seem keen on someone else ... he might have saved himself.
As it was you were irresistible."
She heard him grit his teeth; and turned with swift compunc-
tion. "My poor Roy! Am I jarring you badly? I suppose, if I
talked till midnight, I'd never succeed in making a man like
you understand how purely instinctive it all is the lust of
admiration, the impulse to test one's power. Analysed, like this,
it sounds cold-blooded. But, it's just second nature. He
Lance understood up to a point. That's why he was aggres-
sive that day: oh furiously angry; all because of you. The
pair you are! He said, if I fooled you, and didn't play fair,
he'd back out, or insist on a pukka engagement. And yes
it did have the wrong effect. It made me wonder if I could
marry a man, however splendid, who owned such exacting stand-
ards and such a hot temper. And there were you an unknown
quantity, with the Banter- Wrangle discreetly in pursuit. A
supreme inducement in itself! Yes, distinctly, that afternoon was
a turning-point. Just Lance losing his temper and you coolly
forgetting an arrangement with me "
She paused, looking back over it all; felt Roy's hold slacken
and unobtrusively withdrew her hand.
" Soon after Kapurthala, he was angry again. And that time,
I'm afraid I reminded him that our engagement was only ' on,'
conditionally; that if he started worrying at me,, it would soon
be unconditionally off "
"So it should have been!" Roy jerked up on to his elbow and
confronted her with challenging directness. "Once you could
speak like that, feel like that, you'd no right to keep him hanging
on hoping, when there was practically no hope. It wasn't
playing the game "
This tune she kept her eyes averted; and a slow colour in-
vaded her face. There was a point beyond which f eminine frank-
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 407
ness could not go. She could not would not tell this un-
flatteringly critical lover of hers that it was not in her nature to
let the one man go till she felt morally secure of the other.
Roy had only a profile view of her warm cheek, her sensitive
nostril aquiver, her lip drawn in. And when she spoke, it was in
the tense, passionate tone of that evening at Anarkalli.
"Oh, yes it's easy work sitting hi judgment on other people.
I told you I hadn't much of a case I asked you to make allow-
ances. You clearly can't. He asked you not to hurt me. You
clearly feel you must. Yet in justice to you both I'm doing
what I can. I've never before condescended to explain myself
almost excuse myself to any man; and I certainly never shall
again. It strikes me you'd better apply your own indictment
to your own case. If you can think and feel as you seem to do
better face the fact and be done with it "
But Roy, startled and penitent, was sitting upright by now:
and, when she would have risen, he seized her, crushing her to
him, would she or no. In her pain and anger she more than ever
drew him. In his utter heart-loneliness he more than ever needed
her. And the reminder of Lance crowned all
"My darling don't go off at a tangent, that way," he im-
plored her, his lips against her hair. " For me it's a sacred
bond. It can't be snapped in a fit of temper like a bit of
knotted thread. I'll accept what T can't see clear. We'll
stand by each other, as you said. Learn one another Rose 1
My dearest girl don't 1 "
He strained her closer, in mingled bewilderment and distress.
For Rose who trod lightly on the hearts of men Rose, the
serene and self-assured, was sobbing brokenly in his arms . . .
Before the end of the evening they were more or less themselves
again; the threatened storm averted; the trouble patched up
and summarily dismissed, as only lovers can dismiss a cloud that
intrudes upon their heaven of blue.
CHAPTER XIII
Le pire dotdeur est de ne pouvoir pleurer ce qu'on a perdu.
DE COULEVAIN
BUT, as days passed, both grew increasingly aware of the patch;
and both very carefully concealed the fact. They spent a week
of peaceful seclusion from Simla and her restless activities. Roy
scarcely set eyes on Mrs. Elton; but Rose having skilfully
prepared the ground he merely gave her credit for her moth-
er's unusual display of tact.
Neither was in the vein for dances or tennis parties. They
rode out to Mashobra and Fagu. They spent long days, pic-
nicking in the Glen. Roy discovered, with satisfaction, that Rose
had a weakness for being read to and a fair taste in literature, so
long as it was not poetry. He also discovered with a twinge of
dismay that if they were many hours together, he found read-
ing easier than talking.
On the whole, they spent a week that should have been ideal
for new-made lovers; yet, at heart, both felt vaguely troubled
and disillusioned.
Pain and parting and harsh realities seemed to have rubbed
the bloom off their exotic romance. And for Rose the trouble
struck deep. She had deliberately willed to put aside her own
innate shrinking from the Indian strain in Roy. But she reck-
oned without the haunting effect of her mother's plain speaking.
At first she had flatly ignored it; then she fortified herself by
devising a practical plan for getting away to a friend' in Kashmir.
There was a sister in Simla going to join her. They could travel
together. Roy could follow on. And there they two could be
quietly married without fuss or audible comment from their
talkative little world.
It was not precisely her idea of the manner in which she
Rose Arden should be given in marriage. But the main point
was that if she could help it her mother should not score
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 409
in the matter of Roy. Could she help it? That was the question
persistently knocking at her heart.
And she was only a degree less troubled by the perverse re-
vival of her feeling for Lance. Vanished his hold on her deeper
nature seemed mysteriously to strengthen. Memories crowded
in, unbidden, of their golden time together just before Roy ap-
peared on the scene; till she almost arrived at blaming her delib-
erately chosen lover for having come between them and landed
her in her present distracting position. For now it was the ghost
of Lance that threatened to come between her and Roy; and
the irony of it cut her to the quick. If she had dealt unfairly
by these two men, whose standards were leagues above her own,
she was not, it seemed, to escape her share of suffering . . .
For Roy's heart also knew the chill of secret disillusion. The
ardour and thrill of his courtship seemed fatally to have suffered
eclipse. When they were together, the lure of her was potent
still. It was in the gaps between that he felt irked, more and more
by incipient criticism. In the course of that first talk she had
unwittingly stripped herself of the glamour that was more than
half her charm; and at bottom his Eastern subconsciousness
was jarred by her casual attitude to the sanctities of the man and
woman relation as instilled into him by his mother. When he
quarrelled with her treatment of Lance, she saw it merely as a
rather exaggerated concern for his friend. There was that in
it, of course; but there was more. Yet undeniably Desmond's
urgent plea influenced his own honest effort to ignore the still,
small voice within him, that protested against the whole affair.
At another time he would have taken it for a dear intimation
from his mother: but she seemed utterly to have lost him, or
deserted him, these days. All he could firmly hold on to at pres-
ent was his loyalty to Lance, his duty to Rose; and both seemed
to point in the same direction.
It struck him as strange that she did not mention the wedding;
and she had been so full of it that very first evening. Once,
when he casually asked if any fixtures were decided on yet, she
had smiled and answered: "No; not yet." And some other
topic had intervened.
410 FAR TO SEEK
It was only a degree less strange that she spoke so often of
Lance, without attempting to disguise her admiration. And in
himself strangest of all this new and surprising manifesta-
tion stirred no flicker of jealousy. It seemed a link, rather, draw-
ing them nearer together. She frankly encouraged talk of their
school-days that involved fresh revealings of Lance at every turn:
talk that was anodyne or anguish according to his mood.
She also encouraged him to unearth his deserted novel and
read her the opening chapters. In Lahore, he had longed for
that moment; now he feared lest it too sharply emphasise;
their inner apartness. For the Indian atmosphere was strong in
the book: and the Indian atmosphere jarred. The effect of the
riots had merely been repressed. It still simmered underneath.
Only once she had broken out on the subject; and had been dis-
tinctly restive when he demurred at the injustice of sweeping
indictments against the whole country because a handful of
extremists were trying to wreck the ship. Personally he blamed
England for virtually assisting in the process. It had come near
to an altercation a very rare event with Rose: and it had left
Roy feeling more unsettled than ever.
A few readings of his novel made him feel more uncomfortable
still. Like all true artists, he listened, as he read, with the mind
of his audience; and intuitively, he felt her antagonism to the
Indian element hi his characters, his writing, his theme.
For three mornings he persisted. Then he gave it up.
They were sitting in their nook; Rose leaning back, her eyes
half closed, gazing across the valley. In the middle of a fla-
grantly Indian chapter, he broke off: determined to take it
lightly; not to make a grievance of it: equally determined she
should hear no more.
For a few seconds she did not realise . . . Then she turned
and looked up at him. "Well ? Is that all?"
"Yes. That's all so far as you're concerned!"
Her brows went up in the old beguiling way. He felt her
trying to hide her thought, and held up a warning finger.
"Now don't put it on! Frankly isn't she relieved? Hasn't
she borne the infliction like a saint? "
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 411
The blood stirred visibly under her pallor. "It was not an
infliction. Your writing's wonderful. Quite uncanny the way
you get inside people and things. If there's more go on."
"There's a lot more. But I'm not going on even at Her
Majesty's express command! Look here, Rose let be."
He suddenly changed his tone. "I can feel how it bothers you.
So why pretend . . . ? "
She looked down; twisting her opal ring, making the delicate
colours flash and change.
" It's a pity isn't it? " she seemed to muse aloud " that
more than half of life is made up of pretending. It becomes
rather a delicate problem fixing boundary lines. I do admire
your gift, Roy. And you're so intensely human. But I confess,
I I am jerked by parts of your theme. Doesn't all this ani-
mosity and open vilification not affect your own feeling about
things, the least bit?"
"Yes. It does. Only not in your way. It makes me un-
happy, because the real India snowed under with specious
talk and bitter invective has less chance now than ever of
being understood by those who can't see below the surface."
"Me for instance?"
He sighed. "Oh, scores and scores of you, here and at Home.
And scores of others, who have far less excuse. That's why one
feels bound to do what one can ..."
His thoughts on that score went too deep for utterance.
But Rose was engaged in her own purely personal deliber-
ations.
" You might want to come out again . . . afterwards? "
"Yes I should hope to. Besides ... there are my
cousins ..."
"Indian ones ?"
"Yes. Very clever. Very charming. Rose you've been six
years in India. Have you ever met, in a friendly way, a culti-
vated, well-born Indian man or woman? "
"N-no. Not worth mentioning."
"And . . . you haven't wanted to?"
He felt her shrink from the direct question.
412 FAR TO SEEK
"Why press the point, Roy? It needn't make any real differ-
ence need it between you and me?"
Her counter-question was still more direct, more searching.
"Perhaps not now," he said. "It might... make a
lot ... afterwards "
At that critical juncture their talk was interrupted by a peon
with a note that required immediate attention: and Roy, left
alone, felt increasingly disillusioned and dismayed.
Later on, to his relief, Rose suggested a ride. She seemed sud-
denly in a more elusive mood than he had experienced since
their engagement. She did not refer again to his novel, or to
the thorny topic of India; and their parting embrace was chilled
by a shadow of constraint.
"How would it be afterwards?" he wondered, riding back
to the Club, at a foot's pace, feeling tired and feverish and gravely
puzzled as to whether it might not on all counts be the
greater wrong to make a fetish of a bond so rashly forged.
To-day, very distinctly, he was aware of the inner tug he had
been trying to ignore. And to-day it was more imperative;
less easily stilled. Could it be ... veritably, his mother, try-
ing to reach him and failing, for the first time?
That thought prompted the test question if she were alive,
how would he feel about bringing Rose home to her as daughter-
in-law, as mother of her grandson the gift of gifts? If she
were alive, could Rose herself have faced the conjunction? And
to him she was still verily alive or had been till his infatuate
passion had bunded him to everything but one face, one form,
one desire.
That night there came to him on the verge of sleep the
old thrilling sensation that she was there yearning to him
across an impassable barrier. And this time he knew with
a bitter certainty that the barrier was within himself. Every
nerve in him craved as he had not craved this long while
the unmistakable sense of her that seemed gone past recall.
Desperately he strained every faculty to penetrate the resistant
medium that withheld her from him in vain.
Wearied out with disappointment and futile effort, he fell
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 413
asleep praying for a dream visitation to revive his shaken
faith. None came: and conviction seized Mm that none would
come, until . . .
One could not, simultaneously, live on intimate terms with
earth and heaven. And Rose was earth in its most alluring guise.
More: she had awakened in him sensations and needs that, at
the moment, she alone could satisfy. But if it amounted to a
choice, for him, there could be no question . . .
Next day and the day after a sharp return of fever kept
him in bed: and a touch of his father in him tempted him to
write, sooner than face the strain of a final scene. But moral
cowardice was not among his failings; also unquestionably
if irrationally he wanted to see her, to hold her in his arms
once again . . .
On the third morning he sent her a note saying he was better;
he would be round for tea: and received a verbal answer. Miss
Sahib sent her salaam. She would be at home.
So about half-past three he rode out to the house on Elysium
Hill, wondering how and, at moments, whether he was
going to pull it through . . .
Her smile of welcome almost unmanned him. And he simply
did not feel fit for the strain. It would be much easier and more
restful to yield to her spell.
"I'm so sorry. Idiotic of me," was all he said; and went for-
ward to take her in his arms.
But she, without a word, laid both hands on him, gently hold-
ing him back
"Rose! What's the matter?" he cried, genuinely upset.
Nothing undermines a resolve like finding it forestalled.
" Simply it's all over. We're beaten, Roy," she said, in a
queer, repressed voice. "We can't go on with this. And you
know it."
"But darling!" He took her by the arms.
"No no!" The passionate protest was addressed to herself
as much as to him. "Listen, Roy. I've never hated saying any-
thing more but it's true. You said, last time 'Why pre-
4H FAR TO SEEK
tend?' And that struck home. I knew I had been pretend-
ing hard because I wanted to for more than a week.
You made me realise . . . one couldn't go on at it all one's
married life. But, my dear, what a wretch I am! You're not
fit ..."
"Oh, I'm just wobbly . . . stupid," he muttered, half
dazed, as she pressed him down into a corner of the Chester-
field.
"Poor old Roy. When you've had some tea, you'll be
able to face things."
He said nothing; merely leaned back against the cushion
and closed his eyes; part of him rebelling furiously against her
quiet yet summary proceedings, while she attended to the
sputtering kettle.
How prosaic, after all, are even the great moments of life!
They had been ardent lovers. They had come to the parting
of the ways. But a kettle on the boil would wait for no man;
and, till the body was served, the troubles of the heart must wait.
She drew the table nearer to him; carefully poured out tea;
carefully avoided his eyes. And in the intervals between her
mechanical occupations she told him as much of the truth as
she felt he could bear to hear, or she to speak. Among other
things, unavoidably, she explained how and through whom
her mother had come to know about their reservation
"That young sweep!" Roy muttered, so suddenly alert and
fierce that half-amused tenderness tripped up her studied
composure.
"You'd go for him now, just the same, I believe!"
"I would and a bit extra. Because of you."
She sighed. "Oh, yes, it was a mauvais quart d'heure of the first
order. And coming on the top of your crushing letter "
He captured her hand. Their eyes met and softened.
"No, Roy," she said, gently but inexorably releasing her
fingers. "We've got to keep our heads to-day, somehow."
"Has yours so completely taken command of affairs?"
"I'm afraid it has."
"Yet you stood up to your mother?"
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 415
"Oh, I did as I've never done yet. But afterwards I
realised it was only skin deep. She said . . . things I can't
repeat, but equally ... I can't forget; things about . . . pos-
sible children ..."
The blood flamed in Roy's sallow face. "Confound her!
What does she know about possible children? "
"More than I do, I suppose," Rose admitted, with a pathetic
half smile. "Anyway, after that she refused to countenance
the engagement the wedding "
Roy sat suddenly forward, scorn and anger hi his eyes.
"Refused ! After the infernal fuss she made over me, be-
cause my father happened to have a title and a garden! And
now " His hand closed on the edge of the table. "I'm con-
sidered a pariah am I? simply on account of my lovely
little mother the guardian angel of us all!"
His blaze of wrath, his low, passionate tone, startled her to
silence. He had spoken so seldom of his mother since the first
occasion, that although she knew she had far from plumbed
the height and depth of his worship. And instinctively she
thought, "I should have been jealous into the bargain."
But Roy had room just then for one consideration only.
"Here have I been coming to her house on sufferance . . .
polluting her precious drawing-room, while she's been avoiding
me as if I was a leper, all because I'm the son of a sainted woman
whose shoe she wouldn't have been worthy oh, I beg your
pardon " He checked himself sharply. "After all she's
your mother."
Rose felt her cheeks growing uncomfortably warm. "I did
warn you, in Lahore, some people felt . . . that way."
"Well, I never dreamed they would behave that way. It's not
as if I'd been born and reared in India and might claim relations
^in her compound !"
"My dear one can't make her see the difference," Rose
urged desperately
"Well, I won't stay any longer in her house. I won't eat her
food "
He pushed aside his plate so impatiently that Rose felt almost
416 FAR TO SEEK
angry. But she saw his hand tremble; and covered it with her own.
"My dear my dear! You're ill; and you're being rather
exaggerated over things "
"Well, you put me in such a false position! You ought to
have told me!"
She winced at that and let fall her hand. "That's all one's
reward for trying to save you from jars when you were knocked
up and unhappy. And I told you ... I defied her ... I ...
I would have married you ..."
He looked at her, and his heart contracted sharply.
"Poor Rose poor darling!" He was his normal self again.
"What a beast"' of a time you must have had! But how did
you propose to accomplish it ?"
She told him, haltingly, of the Kashmir plan; and he listened,
half incredulous, leaning back again; thinking: "She's plucky,
but still, all she troubled about really was to save her face."
And she, noting his impatient frown, was thinking: "He's like
a sensitive plant charged with gunpowder. Is it the touchiness
of?"
'I'm afraid I'd have kicked at that." His voice broke in upon
her thought. "Such a hole-and-corner business. Hardly fair to
my^father ..."
"Well, there's no question of it now," she reminded him, with
a touch of asperity. "I've told you the whole thing's defunct.
Later we'll be glad, perhaps, that I discovered in time that
part of me could not be coerced by the other part, which still
wants you as much as ever. We should have been landed in dis-
aster soon or late. Better soon before the roots have struck
too deep. But you're so furiously angry with the reason that
you seem almost to forget . . . the fact."
His eyes brooded on her, full of pain and the old, half -unwilling
infatuation. He could not so gratuitously hurt her pride as to
confess that their discovery had been mutual. Let her glean
what satisfaction she could from having taken the lead first
and last. Part of him, also, still wanted her;;though in the ut-
most depths he felt a glimmer of relief that the thing was done
and done by her.
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 417
"No," he said. "I don't forget the fact. But the reason
cuts deep. I want to know" He hesitated "Is all this
. . . antipathy you can't get over you and your mother the
ordinary average attitude? Or is it . . . exceptionally acute?"
She drew in her lip. Why would he force her to hurt him more?
For they had got beyond polite evasion. Clearly he wanted the
truth.
"Mother's is acute," she said, not looking at him. "Mine
I'm afraid is ... the ordinary average feeling against it. The
exception would be to find a girl especially out here who
could honestly . . . get over it "
" Unless she cared in the real big way," R*oy interposed,
his own pain goading him to an unfair hit at her. "To be blunt,
I suppose it's the case of Lance over again. You've found
. . . you don't love me enough ?"
"And you ?" she struck back, turning on him the cool,
deliberate look of early days. "Do you love me enough? Do
you care as he did? "
"No not as he did. I've cared blindly, passionately
somehow we didn't seem to meet on any other plane. In fact, it
... it was realising how magnificently Lance cared and how
little you seemed able to appreciate the fact that made me
feel as 'I did, down there. In a sense, he's been barring the
way . . . ever since . . . "
"Roy/ How strange!" She faced him now, the mask of re-
pression flung aside. "It's been the same with mel"
"Yes. Ever since I heard . . . he was gone, he has haunted me
to distraction. I've seemed to see him and feel him in quite a
different way."
"Good Lord!" Roy murmured, incredulous, amazed. "Hu-
man beings are the queerest things I If only . . . you'd felt like
that . . . sooner ? "
"Yes if only I had !" she lamented frankly, looking
straight before her.
"I'm glad you told me," said her unaccountable lover.
"I nearly didn't. But when you said that, I felt it might
418 FAR TO SEEK
ease things. And that was his great wish wasn't it? to
ease things . . . for us both. Oh was there ever any one . . .
quite like him?"
Tears stood in her eyes, and Roy contemplating her seeing,
for the first time, something beyond her beauty felt drawn to
her in an altogether new way: and sitting there they talked of
him quietly, like friends, rather than lovers on the verge of part-
ing for good.
As real to them, almost, as themselves, was the spirit of the
man who had loved both more greatly than they were capable
of loving one another; who, in life, had refused to stand between
them; yet, in death, had subtly thrust them apart . . .
Then there came a pause. They remembered . . .
"We're rather a strange pair of lovers," she murmured
shakily. "I feel, now, as if I can't bear letting you go. And yet
... it wouldn't last. Dearest, will you be sensible . . . and
finish your tea?"
"No. It would choke me," he said with smothered passion.
"If I've got to go I'm going."
He stood up, bracing his shoulders. She stood up also, con-
fronting him. Neither could see the other's face quite clear.
Then: "Only six weeks!" she said, very low. "Roy we
ought to be ashamed of ourselves."
"I am heartily," he confessed. "I was never more so."
She was looking down now; twisting her ring. "I'm afraid
. . . I'm not talented in that line. Somehow . . . except for
Lance, I can't regret it." She slid the ring over her knuckle.
" Oh, keep the beastly thing! " he flung out :n an access of pain.
"Or throw it down the Khud! I said it would bring bad luck."
She sighed. "All the same poor thing! It's too lovely "
"Well, then, don't wear it: but keep it" his tone changed
"as a reminder. We have been something to one another if
it couldn't be everything."
Her eyes were still lowered; her lips not quite steady.
"You've been . . . very near it to me. Yet it seemed, the
more ... I cared, the less I could get over . . . that. And I
felt as if you wouldn't get over Lance."
DUST OF THE ACTUAL 419
"My God! It's been a bitter, contrary business all round 1 I
can't bear hurting you. And the talk and all that "
She nodded. For her that was not the least bitter part of it all.
"And you ? Oh, Lord will it be Hayes to the fore again?"
" No!" Reproach underlay her vehemence. "Mother may
rage. I shall go with Dolly Smyth to Kashmir. And you ?"
"Oh, I'll go out to Narkhanda."
"Alone? But you're ill. You want looking after."
" Can't be helped. Azim Khan's a treasure. And really I don't
care a damn what comes to me."
"Oh, but /do!"
It was a cry from her heart. The strain of repression snapped.
She swayed, just perceptibly,
In a moment his arms were round her; and they clung together
a long while, in the only complete form of nearness they had
known . . .
For Roy, that last passionate kiss was dead-sea fruit. For
Rose it was her moment of completest surrender to an ele-
mental force she had deliberately played with only to find herself
the sport of it at last . . .
When it was over all was over. Words were impertinent.
He held her hands close, a moment, looking into her tear-filled
eyes. Then he took jup hat and stick and stumbled blindly down
tie verandah
Back in his bachelor room at the Club, he realised that fever
was on him again: his eyeballs burning; little hammers beating
all over his head. Mechanically, he picked up two letters that
lay awaiting him: one from his father, one from Jeffers, congratu-
lating him, in rather guarded phrases, on his engagement to Miss
Arden.
It was the last straw.
END OF PHASE IV
PHASE V
A STAR IN DARKNESS
PHASE V
A STAR IN DARKNESS
CHAPTER I
Thou art with life
Too closely woven, nerve with nerve entwined;
Service still craving service; love for love;
Not yet the human task is done.
R. L. S.
IN the verandah of Narkhanda dak bungalow Roy lay alone,
languidly at ease, assisted by rugs and pillows and a Madeira
cane lounge at an invalid angle; walls and arches splashed with
sunshine; and a table beside him littered with convalescent ac-
cessories. There were Home papers; there were books; there
was fruit and a syphon, cut lemons and crushed ice: every-
thing thoughtfulness could suggest set within easy reach. But
the nameless depression of convalescence hung heavy on his
spirit and his limbs.
He was thirsty; he was lonely; he was mentally hungry in a
negative kind of way. Yet it simply did not seem worth the
trivial effort of will to decide whether he wanted to pick up a
book or an orange or to press the syphon handle. So he lay there,
inert, impassive, staring across the valley at the snows peak
beyond soaring peak, ethereal in the level light.
The beauty of them, the pellucid clearness and stillness of
early evening, stirred no answering echo within him. His brain
was travelling back over a timeless interval; wandering uncer-
tainly among sensations, apparitions, and dreams presumably
of semi-delirium : for Lance was in them and his mother and Rose
and Dyan; saying and doing impossible things . . .
And in clearer intervals there hovered the bearded face of
Azim Khan, pressing upon his refractory Sahib this infallible
medicine, that 'chikken brdth' or jelly. Occasionally there was
424 FAR TO SEEK '
another bearded face; vaguely familiar, though he could not put
a name to it.
Between them, the two had brought out a doctor from Simla.
He remembered a sharp altercation over that. He wanted no
confounded doctor messing round. But Azim Khan, for love of
his master, had flatly defied orders: and the forbidden doctor had
appeared involving further exhausting argument. For on no
account would Roy be moved back to Simla. Azim Khan under-
stood his ways and his needs. He was damned if he would have
anyone else near him.
And this time he had prevailed. For the doctor, who happened
to be a wise man, knew when acquiescence was medically sounder
than insistence. There had, however, been a brief intrusion
of a strange woman, in cap and apron, who had made a nui-
sance of herself over food and washing and was infernally in
the way. When the fever abated, she melted into the land-
scape; and Roy had just enough of his old spirit left in him to
murmur, 'Shah bash! 1 in a husky voice: and Azim Khan, inflated
with pride, became more autocratic than ever.
The other bearded face had resolved itself into the Delhi Sikh,
Jiwan Singh. He had been on a tramp among the Hills, combat-
ing insidious Home-Rule fairy-tales among the villagers: and
finding the Sahib very ill, had stayed on to help.
This morning they had told him it was the third of June
barely three weeks since that strange, poignant parting with
Rose. Not seven weeks since the infinitely more poignant and
terrible parting with Lance. Yet, as his mind stirred unwillingly,
picking up threads, he seemed to be looking back across a meas-
ureless gulf into another life . . .
"The Sahib has slept? His countenance has been more favour-
able since these few days? "
It was the voice of Jiwan Singh ; and the man himself followed
it taut and wiry, instinct with a degree of energy and purpose
almost irritating to one who was feeling emptied of both; aimless
as a jellyfish stranded by the tide.
"Not smoking, Hazur? Has that scoundrel Azim Khan for-
gotten the cigarettes? "
A STAR IN DARKNESS 425
Roy unearthed his case and held it up smiling.
"The scoundrel forgets nothing," said he, knowing very well
how the two of them had vied with one another in forestalling
his needs. " Sit down, my friend and tell me news. I am too
lazy to read." He touched an unopened "Civil and Military
Gazette." "Too lazy even to cast out the devil of laziness. But
very ready to listen. Are things all quiet now? Any more tama-
skas?"
"Only a very little one across the frontier," said the Sikh with
his grim smile: and proceeded to explain that the Indian Govern-
ment had lately become entangled in a sort of a war with Afghan-
istan; a rather 'kutcha bundobast, 1 in Jiwan Singh's estimation;
and not quite up to time; but a war, for all that.
" You mean " asked Roy, his numbed interest faintly astir
" that it was to have been part of the same game as the trouble
down there?"
" God has given me ears and wits, Hazur," was the cautious
answer. " That would be pukka bundobast? for war and trouble
to come at one stroke in the hot season, when so many of the
white soldier-/<Jg are in the Hills. Does your Honour suppose
that merely by chance the Amir read in his paper of riots in
India, and said in his heart, 'Wan! Now is the time for lighting
little fires along the Border?"
"N-no I don't suppose "
"Does your Honour suppose Hindus and Moslems outside
a highly educated few are truly falling on each other's necks
v-'thout one thought of political motive?"
"No, my friend I do not suppose."
"Yet these things are said openly among our people: and too
few, now, have courage to speak their thought. For it is the loyal
who suffer shurrum ki bhal! 3 Is it surprising, Hazur, if we,
who distrust this new madness, begin to ask ourselves, 'Has the
British Raj lost the will or the power of former days, to
protect friends and smite enemies? ' If the noisy few clamouring
for Sivarfij make India once more a battlefield, your people can
go. We Sikhs must remain, with Pathans and Afghans as of
old hammering at our doors "
1 Crude arrangement. * Sound arrangement. * Shameful talk.
426 FAR TO SEEK
At sight of the young Englishman's pained frown, he checked
his expansive mood. ' ' To the Sahib I can freely speak the thoughts
of my heart, but this is not talk to make a sick man well. God
is merciful. Before all is lost the British Raj may yet arise
with power as in the great days ..."
But his talk, if unpalatable, was more tonic than he knew;
because Roy's love for India went deeper than he knew. The
justice of Jiwan Singh's reproach; the hint at tragic severance
of the two countries mingled within him, waked him effectually
from semi-torpor; and the process was as painful as the tingling
renewal of life in a frozen limb. By timely courage, on the spot,
the threat to India had been staved off: but it was there still
sinister, unsleeping, virtually unchecked.
'Scotched not killed.' The voice of Lance sounded too
clearly in Roy's brain; and the more intimate pain, deadened
a little by illness, struck at his heart like a sword . . .
Within a week, care and feeding and inimitable air, straight
from the snowfields, had made him, physically, a new man.
Mentally, it had brought him face to face with actualities, and
the staggering question, 'What next?'
At the back of his mind he had been dreading it, evading it,
because it would force him to look deep into his own heart;
and to make decisions, when the effort of making them was anath-
ema, beclouded as he was by the nameless depression that
still brooded over him like a fog. The doctor had prescribed a
tonic and a whiff of Simla frivolity; but Roy paid no heed.
He knew his malady was mainly of the heart and the spirit.
The true curative touch could only come from some,arrowy shaft
that would pierce to the core of one or the other.
This morning, by way of reasserting his normal self, he had
risen very early, with intent to walk out and spend the day at
Baghi dak bungalow, ten miles on. Taking things easily, it
could be done. He would look through his manuscript; try and
pick up threads. Suraj could follow later; and he would ride
home over the pass in the cool of the evening.
He set out under a clear heaven, misted with the promise of
A STAR IN DARKNESS 427
heat: the air rather ominously still. But the thread of a path
winding through the dimness and vastness of Narkhanda Forest
was ice-cool with the breath of night. Pines, ilex, and deodars
clung miraculously to a hillside of massive rock that jutted above
him at intervals threatening, immense; and often, on the
khud side, dropped abruptly into nothingness. When the road
curved outward, splashes of sunlight patterned it; and intermit-
tent gaps revealed the flash of snowpeaks incredibly serene and
far.
Normally the scene the desolate grandeur of it would
have intoxicated Roy. But the stranger he was carrying about
with him, and calling by his own name, reacted in quite another
fashion to the shadowed majesty of looming rocks and forest
aisles. The immensity of it dwarfed one mere suffering man to
the dimensions of a pebble on the path. And the pebble had the
advantage of insensibility. The stillness and chillness made him
feel overwhelmingly alone. A sudden craving for Lance grew
almost intolerable . . .
But Lance was gone. Paul, with his bride, had vanished from
human ken; Rose a shattered illusion gone too. Better so
of course; though, intermittently, the man she had roused in
him still ached for the sight and feel of her. She gave a distinct
thrill to life; and if he could not forgive her, neither could he
instantly forget her. Still less could he forget the significance of
the shock she had dealt him on their day of parting. Patently she
loved him, in her passionate, egotistical fashion as he had
never loved her; patently she had combated her shrinking in
defiance of her mother: and yet . . . !
Rage as he might, his Rajput pride, and pride in his Rajput
heritage, were wounded to the quick. If all English girls felt
that way, he would see them further before he would propose
to another one, or 'confess' to his adored mother, as if she were
a family skeleton or a secret vice. Instantly there sprang^ the
thought of Aruna her adoration, her exalted passion; Arikia,
whom he might have loved, yet was constrained to put aside
because of his English heritage; only to find himself put aside
by an English girl on account of his Indian blood. A pleasant
428 FAR TO SEEK
predicament for a man who must needs marry, In common duty
1 to his father and himself. '
And what of Tara? Was it possible . . . ? Did even she feel
like Rose, in a lesser degree? Could that be the meaning of her
final desperate, 'I can't do it, Roy even for you'? Was it con-
ceivable she who loved his mother to the point of worship?
Still smarting from his recent rebuff, he simply could not tell.
Thea and Lance loved her too; yet, in Lance especially, he had
been aware of a tacit tendency to ignore the Indian connection.
The whole complication touched him too nearly, hurt and be-
wildered him too bitterly, for cool consideration. He saw only
that which had been his pride converted into a reproach, a two-
edged sword barring the way to marriage: and in the bitterness
of his heart he found it hard to forgive his parents mainly
his father for putting him in so cruel a position, with no word
of warning to soften the blow.
Perhaps people felt differently in England. If so, India was
no place for him. How blatantly juvenile to his clouded,
tormented brain seemed his arrogant dreams of Oxford days!
What could such as he do for her in this time of tragic upheaval?
And how could all the Indias he had seen not to mention the
many he had not seen be jumbled together under that one
misleading name? That was the root fallacy of dreamers and
'reformers.' They spoke of her as one, when in truth she was
many bewilderingly many. Her semblance of unity sprang
mainly from England's unparalleled achievement her Pax
Britannica, that held the scales even between rival chiefs and
races and creeds; that had wrought, in miniature, the very inter-
racial stability which Europe had vainly fought and striven to
achieve. Yet now some malign power seemed constraining her in
the name of progress to undo the work of her own hands . . .
All his thronging thoughts were tinged with the gloom of his
unhopeful mood; and his body flagged with his flagging spirit.
Before he had walked four miles, his legs refused to carry him
any farther.
He had emerged into the open, into full view of the vastness
beyond. Naked rock and stone, jewelled with moss and young
A STAR IN DARKNESS 429
green, fell straight from the path's edge; and one ragged pine,
springing from a group of boulders, was roughly stencilled on
blue distances empurpled with shadows of thunderous cloud.
A flattened boulder proved irresistible; and Roy sat down,
leaning his head against the trunk, sniffing luxuriously whiffs
of resin and sun-warmed pine-needles. Oh, to be at home, in his
own beechwood! But the journey in this weather would be
purgatorial. Meantime there was his walk; and he decided, pro-
saically, to fortify himself with a slab of chocolate. Instead
still more prosaically he fell sound asleep . . .
But sleep, in an unnatural position, begets dreams. And Roy
dreamed of Lance; of that last awful day when he raved inces-
santly of Rose. But in the dream he was conscious; and before
his distracted gaze Roy held Rose in his arms; craving her, yet
hating her; because she clung to him, heedless of entreaties
from Lance, and would not be shaken off.
In a frantic effort to free himself , he woke with the anguish
of his loss fresh upon him to find the sky heavily overcast,
the breathlessness of imminent storm in the air. Away to the
north there were blue spaces, sun-splashed leagues of snow. But
from the south and west rolled up the big battalions heralds
of the monsoon. He concluded, apathetically, that Bdghi was
'off.' He was in for a drenching. Lucky he had brought his bur-
berry . . .
Yet he did not stir. A ton weight seemed to hang on his limbs,
his spirit, his heart. He simply sat there, hi a carven stillness,
staring down, down, into abysmal depths . . .
And startlingly, sharply, the temptation assailed him. The tug
of it was almost physical . . . How simple to yield, and to cut
his many tangles at one stroke!
In that jaundiced moment, he saw himself a failure fore-
ordained; debarred from marriage by evils supposed to spring
from the dual strain in him; his cherished hopes of closer union
between the two countries he loved threatened with shipwreck
by an England complacently experimental, an India at war with
the British connection and with her many selves. He seemed
fated to bring unhappiness on those he cared for Aruna, Lance, ^
430 FAR TO SEEK
even Rose. And what of his father if he failed to marry? He
hadn't even the grit to finish his wretched novel . . .
He rose at last, mechanically, and moved forward to the un-
railed edge of all things. The magnetism of the depths drew him.
The fatalistic strain in his blood drew him . . .
He stood though he did not know it as his mother had
once stood, hovering on the verge; his own life that she bore
within her hanging in the balance. From the fatal tilt she
had been saved by the voice of her husband the voice of the
West. And now, at Roy's critical moment, it was the voice of
the West of Lance that sounded in his brain: "Don't fret
your heart out, Roy. Carry on."
Having carried on, somehow, through four years of war,
he knew precisely how much of casual, dogged pluck was en-
shrined in that soldierly phrase. It struck the note of courage
and command. It was Lance incarnate. It steadied him auto-
matically at a crisis when his shaken nerves might not have
responded to any abstract ethical appeal. He closed his eyes a
moment to collect himself; swayed, the merest fraction; then
deliberately stepped back a pace . . .
The danger had passed.
Through his lids he felt the glare of lightning: the first flash of
the storm.
And as the heel of his retreating boot came firmly down on
the path behind, there rose an injured yelp that jerked him very
completely out of the clouds.
"Poor Terry poor old man!" he murmured, caressing the
faithful creature; always too close by, always getting trodden
on the common guerdon of the faithful. And the whimsical
thought intruded, "If I'd gone over, the good little beggar would
have jumped after me. Not fair play." The fact that Terry had
been saved from involuntary suicide seemed somehow the more
important consideration of the two.
A rumbling growl overhead reminded him that there were other
considerations urgent ones. " You're not hurt, you little hypo-
crite. Come on. We must leg it." And they legged it to some
purpose; Terry idiotically vociferous leaping on before . . .
CHAPTER II
I seek what I cannot get;
I get what I do not seek.
RABINDEANATH TAGORB
THEN the storm broke in earnest . . .
Crash on flash, crash on flash at ever-lessening intervals
the tearless heavens raged and clattered round his unprotected
head. Thunder toppled about him like falling timber stacks.
Fiery serpents darted all ways at once among black boughs that
swayed and moaned funereally. The gloom of the forest en-
hanced the weird magnificence of it all: and Roy who had just
been within an ace of flinging away his life felt irrationally
anxious on account of thronging trees and the absence of rain.
He was recovered enough, already, to chuckle at the ignomin-
ious anti-climax. But, as usual, it was the creepsomeness rather
than the danger that got on his nerves and forced his legs to
hurry of their own accord . . .
In the deep of a gloomy indent the thought assailed him
"Why do I know it all so well? Where . . . ? When . . . ?"
An inner flash lit the dim recesses of memory. Of course it
was that other day of summer, in the far beginning of things;
the day of the Golden Tusks and the gloom and the growling
thunder; his legs, as now, in a fearful hurry of their own accord;
and Tara waiting for him his High-Tower Princess. With a
pang he recalled how she seemed the point of safety because
she was never afraid.
No Tara waiting now. No point of safety, except a very pro-
saic dak bungalow and good old Azim, who would fuss like the
devil if rain came on and he got a wetting.
Ah here it was, at last! Buckets of it! lashing his face, run-
ning down his neck, saturating him below the rim of his flapping
burberry. Buffeted mercilessly, he broke into a steady trot.
Thunder and lightning were less virulent now; and he found
himself actually enjoying the whole thing. Tired ? Not a bit.
432 FAR TO SEEK
The miasma of depression seemed blown clean away by the horse-
play of the elements. He had been within an ace of taking un-
warranted liberties with Nature. Now she retaliated by taking
liberties with him; and her buffeting proved a finer restorative
than all the drugs in creation. Electricity, her 'fierce angel of
the air,' set every nerve tingling. A queer sensation: but it was
life. And he had been feeling more than half dead . . .
Azim Khan, however, being innocent of 'nerves,' took another
view of the matter. Arrived at the point of safety, Roy found a
log fire burning; and a brazier alight under a contrivance like
a huge cane hen-coop, for drying his clothes. Vainly protesting,
he was made to change every garment; was installed by the fire,
with steaming brandy-and-water at his elbow, and lemons and
sugar and letters . . . quite a little pile of them.
"Belaiti dak, 1 Hazur," Azim Khan superfluously informed him,
with an air of personal pride in the whole bundobast including
the timely arrival of the English mail.
There were parcels also: a biggish one, from his father; another
from Jeff ers, obviously a book. And suddenly it dawned on him
this must be the tenth of June. Yesterday was his twenty-
sixth birthday; and he had never thought of it; never realised
the date! But they had thought of it weeks ahead: while he
graceless and ungrateful had deemed himself half forgotten.
He ran the envelopes through his fingers: Tiny, Tara (his
heart jerked was it congratulations? he had never felt he
could write of it to her); Aruna; a black-edged one from Thea;
and his heart jerked in quite another fashion Rose!
Amazing! What did it mean? She wasn't going back on
tilings . . . ?
Curiosity sharpened by a prick of fear impelled him to
open her letter first. And the moment he had read the opening
line, compunction smote him.
Roy my dear, I couldn't help remembering the ninth. So I feel
I must write and wish you 'many happy returns' of it happier
than this one with all my heart. I have worried over you a good
deal. For I'm sure you must have been ill. Do go Home soon aud
1 English mail.
A STAR IN DARKNESS 433
be properly taken care of, for a while, by your own people. I'm
going in the autumn with my friend, Mrs. Hilton. Some day you
will surely find a wife worthier of you than I would have been. When
your good day comes, let me know and I'll do the same by you.
Good luck to you always
ROSE
Roy slipped the note into his pocket and sat staring into the
fire, deeply moved. A vision of her too alluring for comfort
was flashed upon his brain. She was confoundedly attractive.
She had no end of good points: but . . . with a very big B . . .
His gaze rested absently on the parcel from his father. What
the deuce could it be? To the imaginative an unopened parcel
never quite loses its intriguing air of mystery. The shape sug-
gested a picture. His mother . . . ?
With a luxury of deliberation he cut the strings ; removed
wrapper after wrapper to the last layer of tissue . . .
Then he drew a great breath and sat spellbound; gazing
endlessly gazing at Tara's face: the wild roses in her cheeks
faded a little; the glory of her hah" undimmed; the familiar way
it rippled back from her low wide brow; a hint of hidden pain
about the sensitive lips and in the hyacinth blue of her eyes.
Only his father could have wrought a vision so appealingly alive.
And the effect on Roy was instantaneous . . . overwhelming . . .
Tara dearest and loveliest! Of course it was her always
had been, down in the uttermost depths. The treasure he had
been far to seek had blossomed beside him since the beginning of
things: and he, with his eyes always on the horizon, had missed
the one incomparable flower at his feet . . .
Had he missed it? Had there ever been a chance? What,
precisely, had she meant by her young, vehement refusal of him?
And if it were not the dreaded reason, was there still hope?
Would she ever understand . . . ever forgive ... the inglorious
episode of Rose? If, at heart, he could plead the excuse of Adam,
he could not plead it to her.
Reverently he took that miracle of a picture between his hands
and set it on the broad mantelpiece, that distance might quicken
the illusion of life.
434 FAR TO SEEK
Then the spell was on him again. Her sweetness and light
seemed to illumine the unbeautiful room. Of a truth he knew,
now, what it meant to love and be in love with every faculty of
soul and body; knew it for a miracle of renewal, the very elixir of
life. And the radiance of that knowledge revealed how second-
ary a part of it was the craving with which he had craved pos-
session of Rose. Steeped in poetry as he was, there stole into
his mind a fragment of Tagore ' She who had ever remained
in the depths of my being, in the twilight of gleams and glimpses
... I have roamed from country to country, keeping her in
the core of my heart.'
All the jangle of jarred nerves and shaken faith; all the con-
fusion of shattered hopes and ideals would resolve itself into co-
herence at last if only ... if only . . . !
And dropping suddenly from the clouds, he remembered his
letters . . . her letter.
A sealed envelope had fallen unheeded from his father's parcel:
but it was hers he seized and half hesitated to open. What
if she were announcing her own engagement to some infernal
fellow at home? There must be scores and scores of them . . .
His hand was not quite steady as he unfolded the two sheets
that bore his father's crest and the home stamp 'Bramleigh
Beeches.'
My dear Roy (he read) :
Many happy returns of June the Ninth. It was one of our great
days wasn't it? once upon a time. All your best and dearest
wishes we are wishing for you over here. And of course I've heard
your tremendous news, though you never wrote and told me
why? You say she is beautiful. I hope she is a lot 'more besides.
You would need a lot more, Roy, unless you've changed very much
from the boy I used to know.
It is cruel having to write in the same breath about Lance.
From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became.
To me it seems almost like half of you gone. And I'm sure it must
seem so to you my poor Roy. I don't wonder you felt bad about
the way of it; but it was the essence of him that kind of thing.
A verse of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head since I heard it.
A STAR IN DARKNESS 435
'Surely we knew it long before;
Knew all along that he was made
For a swift radiant morning; for
A sacrificing swift night shade.'
I can't write all I feel about it. Besides, I'm hoping your pain may
be eased a little now; and I don't want to wake it up again.
But not even these two big things not even your Birthday
are my reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my Brace-
let-Bound Brother. Do you remember? Have you kept it, Roy?
Does it still mean anything to you? It does to me though I've
never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. But I'm
going to, now. Not for myself. Don't be afraid! It's for Uncle Nevil
and I ask it in Aunt Lilamani's name.
Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable.
He's never really got over losing her. And you've been sort of lost
too for the time being. I can see how he's wearing his heart out
with wanting you: though I don't suppose he has ever said so. And
you out there probably thinking he doesn't miss you a mite.
I know you and your ways. Also I know him which is my
ragged shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would prob-
ably think better of it!
He has been an angel to me since I got back; and it seems to cheer
him up when I run round here. So I do pretty often. But I'm
not Roy! And perhaps you'll forgive my bold demand, when I tell
you Aunt Jane's looming positively looming! She's becoming a
perfect ogre of sisterly solicitude. As he won't go to London, she's
threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her head-
quarters after the season. And he poor darling with not enough
spirit in him to kick against the pricks. If you were coming, he would
have an excuse. Alone he's helpless in her conscientious talons I
If that won't bring you, nothing will not even my bracelet
command.
I know the journey in June will be a nightmare. And you won't
like leaving Indian friends or Miss Arden. But think here he is
alone, wanting what only you can give him. And the bangle I sent
you That Day if you've kept it gives me the right to say,
'Come quickly.' It may be a wrench. But I promise you won't
regret it. Wire, if you can.
Always your loving
TARA
436 FAR TO SEEK
By the time he had finished reading that so characteristic
and endearing letter, his plans were cut and dried. Her irresist-
ible appeal and the no less irresistible urge within him left
no room for the deliberations of his sensitive, complex nature.
It flung open all the floodgates of memory; set every nerve
aching for Home and Tara, late discovered; but not too late,
he passionately prayed . . .
The nightmare journey had no terrors for him now. In every
sense he was 'hers to command.'
He drew out his old, old letter- case her gift and opened
it. There lay the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish
note; the 'ribbin* from her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands
of her hair. The sight of it brought tears of which he felt not the
least ashamed. It also brought a vision of himself standing before
his mother, demurring at possible obligations involved in their
'game of play.' And acioss the years came back to him her very
words, her very look and tone : ' Remember, Roy, it is for always.
If she shall ask from you any service, you must not refuse
ever. . . By keeping the bracelet you are bound '. . .
Wire? Of course he would!
Before the day was out his message was speeding to her:
Engagement off. Coming first possible boat.
Yours to command
ROY
CHAPTER III
Did you not know that people hide their love,
Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?
Wu-Ti
SANCTUARY at last! The garden of his dreams of the world
before the deluge in the quiet-coloured end of a July evening;
the garden vitally inwoven with his fate since it was respon-
sible for the coming of Joe Bradley and his 'beaky mother.'
Such gardens bear more than trees and fruit and flowers.
Human lives and characters, from generation to generation,
are growth of their soil. With the wholesale demolishing of bound-
aries and hedges, their magic influence may wane: and it is an
influence like the unobtrusive influence of the gentleman
that human nature, especially English nature, cannot afford to
flin^ away.
Roy poet and fighter, with the lure of the desert and the hori-
zon in his blood, knew himself, also, for a spiritual product of
this particular garden of the vast lawn (not quite so vast as
he remembered), the rose-beds and the beeches in the full glory
of their incomparable leafage; all steeped in the delicate clarity of
rain-washed air the very aura of England, as dust was the
aura of Jaipur.
Dinner was over. They were sitting out on the lawn, he and
his father; a small table beside them with glass coffee machine,
and chocolates in a silver dish; the smoke of their cigars hovering,
drifting, unstirred by any breeze. No Terry at his feet. The faith-
ful creature a vision of abject misery had been carried off
to eat his heart out in quarantine. Tangled among the tree-tops
hung the ghost of a moon, almost full. Somewhere, in the far
quiet of the shrubberies, a nightingale was communing with its
own heart in liquid undertones; and in Roy's heart there dwelt
an iridescence of peace and pain and longing shot through with
hope ...
That very morning, at an unearthly hour, he had landed in
438 FAR TO SEEK
England after an absence of three and a half years: and precisely
what that means in the way of complex emotions, only they know
who have been there. The purgatorial journey had eclipsed
expectation. Between recurrent fever and seasickness there had
been days when it seemed doubtful if he would ever reach Home
at all. But a wiry constitution and the will to live had triumphed:
and, in spite of the early hour, his father had not failed to be on
the quay.
The first sight of him had given Roy a shock for which
in spite of Tara's letter he was unprepared. This was not
the father he remembered humorous, unruffled, perennially
young: but a man so changed and tired-looking that he seemed
almost a stranger, with his empty coat sleeve and hair touched
with silver at the temples. The actual moment of meeting had
been difficult; the joy of it so deeply tinged with pain that they
had clung desperately to surface commonplaces, because they
were Englishmen and could not relieve the inner stress by falling
on one another's necks.
And there had been a secret pang (for which Roy sharply
reproached himself) that Tara was not there too. Idiotic to ex-
pect it, when he knew Sir James had gone to Scotland for early
fishing. But to be idiotic is the lover's privilege; and his not phe-
nomenal gift of patience had been unduly strained by the letter
awaiting him at Port Said. They were coming back; but not
arriving till to-night. He would not see her till to-morrow . . .
In his pocket reposed a brief, Tara-like note bidding her 'faith-
ful Knight of the Bracelet' welcome Home. Vainly he delved
between the lines of her sisterly affection. Nothing could still
the doubt that consumed him but contact with her hands, her
eyes . . .
For that and other reasons the difficult meeting had
been followed by a difficult day. They had wandered through
the house and garden, very carefully veiling their emotions.
They had lounged and smoked in the studio, looking through his
father's latest pictures. They had talked of the family. Jeffers
would be down to-morrow night for the week-end: Tiny on Tues-
day with the precious Baby: Jerry, distinctly coming round, and
A STAR IN DARKNESS 439
eager to see Roy. Even Aunt Jane sounded a shade keen. And
he, undeserving, had scarcely expected them to 'turn a hair.'
Then they discussed the Indian situation; and Roy forgetting
to be shy raged at finding how little those at Home had been
allowed to realise, to understand. Not a question, so far, about
his rapid on-and-off engagement; for which mercy he was duly
grateful. And of her who dwelt in the foreground and back-
ground of their thoughts not a word.
It would take a little tune, Roy supposed, to build their bridge
across the chasm of three and a half eventful years. You
couldn't hustle a lapsed intimacy. To-morrow things would go
better; especially if . . . ?
Yet, throughout, he had been touched inexpressibly by his
father's unobtrusive tokens of pleasure and affection: and now
sitting together with their cigars, in the last of the daylight
things felt easier.
"Dad," he said suddenly, turning his eyes from the garden
to the man beside him, who was also its spiritual product, "if
I seem a bit stupefied, it's because I'm still walking and talking
in a dream; terrified I may wake up and find it's not true! I
can't, in a twinkling, adjust the beautiful, incredible sameness
of all this, with the staggering changes inside me."
His father's smile had its friendly understanding quality.
"No hurry, Roy. All your deep roots are here. Change as
much as you please, you still remain her son."
Yes that's it. The place is full of her," Roy said, very
low and at present they could not trust themselves to say more.
It had not escaped Sir Nevil's notice that the boy had avoided
the drawing-room, and had not once been under the twin beeches,
his favourite summer retreat. No hammock was slung there now.
After a considerable gap Roy remarked carelessly: "I suppose
they must have got home by now?"
"About an hour ago, to be exact," said Sir Nevil; and Roy's
involuntary start moved him to add: "You're not running round
there to-night, old man. They'll be tired. So are you. And it's
only fair I should have first innings. I've waited a long time for
it, Roy."
440 FAR TO SEEK
"Dads!" Roy looked at once penitent and reproachful an
engaging trick of schoolroom days, when he felt a scolding in the
air. "You never said you never gave me an idea ..."
" You never sounded as if the idea would be acceptable."
"Didn't I? Letters are the devil," murmured Roy all
penitence now. "And if it hadn't been for Tara ..." He
stopped awkwardly. Their eyes met and they smiled. "Did
you know . , . she wrote? And that's why I'm here? "
"Well done, Tara! I didn't know. I had dun suspicions. I
also had a dim hope that my picture might tempt you
"Oh, it would have letter or no. It's an inspired thing."
He had already written at length on that score. "You were
mightily clever the two of you!"
His father twinkled. "That as may be. We had the trifling
advantage of knowing oui Roy ! '"
They sat on till all the light had ebbed from the sky and the
moon had come into her own. It was still early; but time is the
least ingredient of such a day; and Sir Nevil rose on the stroke
of ten.
"You look fagged out, old boy. And the sooner you're asleep
the sooner it will be to-morrow! A pet axiom of yours. D'you
remember?"
Did he not remember?
They went upstairs together; the great house seemed oppres-
sively empty and silent. On the threshold of Roy's room they
said good-night. There was an instant of palpable awkwardness;
then Roy overcoming it leaned forward and kissed the
patch of white hair on his father's temple.
"God bless you," Sir Nevil said rather huskily. "You ought
to sleep sound in there. Don't dream."
"But I love to dream," said Roy. and his father laughed.
"You're not so staggeringly changed inside! As sure as a gun
you'll be late for breakfast!"
And he did dream. The moment his lids fell she was there
with him, under the beeches, their sanctuary: she who all day
had hovered on the confines of his spirit, like a light, felt, not
seen. There were no words between them, nor any need of
A STAR IN DARKNESS 441
words; only the ineffable peace of understanding, of reunion . . .
Dream or visitation who could say? To him it seemed
that only afterwards sleep came the dreamless sleep of
renewal . . .
He woke egregiously early: such an awakening as he had not
known for months on end. And out there in the garden it was a
miracle of a morning; divinely clear, with the mellow clearness of
England; massed trees, brooding darkly; the lawn silver grey
with dew; everywhere blurred outlines and tender shadows;
pure balm to eye and spirit after the hard brilliance and sharp
contrasts of the East.
Madness to get up; yet impossible to lie there waiting. He
tried it for what seemed an endless age; then succumbed to the
inevitable.
While he was dressing, clouds drifted across the blue. A spurt
of rain whipped his open casement; threatening him in playful
mood. But before he had crept down and let himself out through
one of the drawing-room windows, the sky was clear again, with
the tremulous radiance of happiness struck sharp on months of
sorrow and stress.
Striding, hatless, across the drenched lawn, and resisting
the pull of his beech wood, he pressed on and up to the open
moor; craving its sweeps of space and colour unbosomed to the
friendly sky that seemed so much nearer earth than the passion-
ate blue vault of India . . .
It was five years since he had seen heather in bloom or was
it five decades? The sight of it recalled that other July day,
when he had tramped the length of the ridge with his head full
of dreams and the ache of parting in his heart.
To Him that far-off being seemed almost another Roy in an-
other life. Only as his father had feelingly reminded him
the first Roy and the last were alike informed by the spirit of
one woman; visible then, invisible now, yet sensibly present in
every haunt she had made her own. The house was full of her;
the wood was full of her. But the pangs of reminder he had so
dreaded, resolved themselves, rather, into a sense of indescrib-
442 FAR TO SEEK
able, ethereal reunion. He asked nothing better than that his
life and work should be fulfilled with her always: her and Tara
if she so decreed . . .
Thought of her revived impatience and drew his steps home-
ward again.
Strolling back through the wood, he came suddenly upon the
open space where he had found the Golden Tusks, and lingered
there a little remembering the storm and the terror and the
fight; Tara and her bracelet; and the deep, unrealised significance
of tha,t childish impulse, inspired by her, whose was the source of
all then: inspirations. And now seventeen years afterwards
the bracelet had drawn him back to them both; saved him,
perhaps, from the unforgivable sin of throwing up the game.
On he walked along the same mossy path, almost in a dream.
He had found the Tusks. His High-Tower Princess was waiting
his ' Star far-seen.' Again, as on that day, he came unexpect-
edly in view of their tree: and behold wonder of wonders (or
was it the most natural thing on earth?) there was Tara, herself,
approaching it by another path that linked the wood with the
grounds of the black-and-white house, which was part of the
estate.
Instantly he stepped back a pace and stood still, that he might
realise her before she became aware of him: her remembered
loveliness, her new dearness. Loveliness that was the quin-
tessence of her, all through. With his innate feeling for words,
he had never even accidentally applied it to Rose. Had
she, too, felt impatient? Was she coming over to breakfast for
a ' surprise '? At this distance she looked not a day older than on
that critical occasion when he had realised her for the first tune;
only more fragile a shade too fragile. It hurt him. He felt
responsible. And again to-day very clever of her she was
wearing a delphinium blue frock; a shady hat that drooped half
over her face. No pink rose, however, and he was thankful.
Roses had still a too baleful association. He doubted if he could
ever tolerate a Marechal Niel again as much on account of
Lance as on account of the other.
Tara was wearing his flower sweet peas, palest pink and
A STAR IN DARKNESS 443
lavender. And, at sight of her, every shred of doubt seemed
burnt up in the clear flame of his love for her; no heady con-
fusion of heart and senses, but a rarefied intensity of both,
touched with a coal from the altar of creative lif e. The knowledge
was like a light hand reining in his impatience. Poet, no less than
lover, he wanted to go slowly through the golden mist . . .
But the moment he stirred, she heard him; saw him . . .
No imperious gesture as before; but a lightning gleam of recog-
nition, of welcome, and something more ?
He hurried now . . .
Next instant, they were together, hands locked, eyes deep in
eyes. The surface sense of strangeness between them, the under-
sense of intimate nearness thrilling as it was made speech
astonishingly difficult.
, "Tara," he said, just above his breath.
Her sensitive lips parted, trembled and closed again.
"Tara!" he repeated, dizzily incredulous, where a moment
earlier he had been arrogantly certain. "Is it true . . . what
your eyes are telling me? Can you forgive . . . my madness out
there? Half across the world you called to me; and I've come
home to you, because . . . with every atom of me ... I love
you; and I'm still . . . Bracelet-Bound ..."
This time her lips trembled into a smile. "And it's not one of
the Prayer-Book affinities!" she reminded him, a gleam of that
other Tara in her eyes.
"No, thank God it's not! But you haven't answered me,
you know ..."
"Roy, what a story! When you know I really said it first!"
Her eyes were saying it again now: and he, bereft of words,
mutely held out his arms.
If she paused an instant, it was because she felt even dizzier
than he. But the power of his longing drew her like a physical
force and, as his lips claimed hers, the terror of love and its
truth caught her and swept her from known shores into un-
charted seas . . .
This was a Roy she scarcely knew. But her heart knew; every
pulse of her awakened womanhood knew . . .
444 FAR TO SEEK
Presently it became possible to think. Very gently she pushed
him back a little.
"O-oh I never knew . . . you were . . . like that! And
you've crushed my poor sweet peas to smithereens! Now
behave! Let me look at you . . . properly, and see what India's
done to you. Give me a chance!"
He gave her a chance, still keeping hold of her to make sure
she was real.
"High-Tower Princess, are we truly US? Or is it a 'bewitch-
ery'?" he asked, only half in joke. "Will you go turning into a
butterfly presently ? "
"Promise I won't!" Her low laugh was not quite steady.
"We're US truly. And we've got to Farthest-End, where
your dreams come true. D'you remember? I always said
they couldn't. They were too crazy. So I don't deserve
"It's 7 that don't deserve," he broke out with sudden passion.
"And to find you under our very own tree! Have you forgotten
that day? Of course you went to the 'tipmost top'; and I
wouldn't. It's queer isn't it? how bits of life get printed so
sharply on your brain; and great spaces, on either side, utterly
blotted out. That day's one of my bits Is it so clear to
you?"
"Tome ?" She could scarcely believe he did not know . . .
Unashamedly, she wanted him to know. But part of him was
strange to her thrillingly strange: which made things not quite
so simple.
"Roy," she went on, after a luminous pause, twisting the top
button of his coat, "I'm going to tell you a secret. A big one.
For me that Day was . . . the beginning of everything. Hush
listen!" Her fingers just touched his lips. "I'm feeling
rather shy. And if you don't keep quiet, I can't tell. Of course
I always . . loved you, next to Atholl. But after that . . .
after the fight, I simply . . . adored you. And . . . and . . .
it's never left off since ..."
"Tara! My loveliest!" he cried, between ecstasy and dismay;
and gathering her close again, he kissed her soitly, repeatedly,
murmuring broken endearments. *' And there was I . . . 1"
A STAR IN DARKNESS "445
"Yes. There were you . . . with your poems and Aunt Lila
and your dreams about India always with your head among
the stars ..."
"In plain English, a spoilt boy as you once told me
wrapped up in myself ..."
"No, you weren't! I won't have it!" she contradicted in her
old, imperious way. "You were wrapped up hi all kinds of
wonderful things. So you just . . . didn't see me. You looked
clean over my head. Of course it often made me unhappy. But it
made me love you more. That's the way we women are. It's
not the men who run after us; it's the other kind ... I I
expect you looked clean over poor Aruna's head. And if I asked
her, privately, she'd confess that was partly why . . . And
the other girl, if ..."
"Darling don't!" he pleaded. "I'mashamed, beyond words.
I'll tell you every atom of it truthfully . . . my Tara. But this
is our moment. I want more about you. Sit. It's full early.
Then we'll go in (of course you're coming to breakfast) and give
Dad the surprise of his life . . . Bother your old hat! It gets hi
the way. And I want to see your hair."
With a shyness new to him and to Tara, poignantly dear
he drew out her pins; discarded the offending hat and took her
head between his hands, lightly caressing the thick coils that
shaded from true gold to warm, delicate tones of brown.
Then he set her on the mossy seat near the trunk, and flung
himself down before her in the old way, propped on his elbows
rapt, lost hi love; divinely without self-consciousness.
"I'm not looking over your head now," he said, his eyes deep
in hers deep and deeper, till the wild-rose flush invaded the
delicate hollows of her temples; and leaning forward she laid a
hand across those too eloquent eyes.
"Don't bh'nd me altogether darling. When people have
been shut away from the sun a long tune ..."
"But, Tara why were you . . . ?" He removed the hand
and kept hold of it. "I begged you to come. I wanted you.
Why did you ... ?"
She shook her head smiling, half wistfully. " That's a bit of my
446 FAR TO SEEK
old Roy! But you're man enough to know now without
telling. And I was woman enough to know then. At least,
by instinct, I knew ..."
"Then it wasn't because. . .because I'm hah* . . .Rajput?"
" Roy!" But for all her surprise and reproach, intuition told
him the idea was not altogether new to her. "What made you
think of thatf"
"Well because it partly . . . broke things off out there.
That startled me. And when Dad's miracle of a picture woke me
up with a vengeance ... it terrified me. I began wondering . .
Beloved, are you quite sure about Aunt Helen ... Sir
James . . . ?"
She paused a mere breathing space; her free hand caressed
his hair. (This time, he did not shift his head.)
"I'm feeling simply beyond myself with happiness and pride.
I'm utterly sure about Mother. You see ... she knows . . .
we've talked about it. We're like sisters, almost. As for Father
. . . well, we're less intimate. I did fancy he seemed the wee-est
bit relieved when . . . your news came ..." The pain in his
eyes checked her. "My blessed one, I won't have you daring to
worry about it. I'm lifted to the tipmost top of things with
happiness and pride. Mother will be overjoyed. She realises
... a little . . . what I've been through. Of course in our
talks she has told me frankly what tragedies often come from
mixing such 'mighty opposites.' But she said all of you were
quite exceptional. And she knows about such things. And she's
the point. She can always square Father if there's any need.
So just be quiet inside!"
"But that day," he persisted, Roy-like, "you didn't think
of it ?"
"Faithfully, I didn't. I felt only your heart was too full up
with Aunt Lila and India to have room enough for me. And I
wanted all the room or nothing. Vaguely, I Knew it was her
dream. But my wicked pride insisted it should be your dream.
It wasn't till long after that Mother told me how from the
very first Aunt Lila had planned and prayed, because she
knew marriage might be your one big difficulty; and she could
A STAR IN DARKNESS 447
speak of it only to Mummy. It was their great link; the idea
behind everything the lessons and all. So, you see, all the
tune, she was sort of creating me ... for you. And the bitter
disappointment it must have been to her! If I'd had a glimmer-
ing . . . of all that, I don't believe I could have held out against
you "
"Then I wish to Heaven you'd had a glimmering because
of her and because of us. Look at all the good years we've
wasted "
"We've not we've not!" she protested vehemently. "If
it had happened then, it wouldn't have come within miles of
this. You simply hadn't it in you, Roy, to give me ... all I
can feel you giving me now. As for me well, that's for you to
find out! Of course, the minute I'd done it, I was miserable:
furious with myself. For I couldn't stop . . . loving you. My
heart had no shame, in spite of my important pride. Only . . .
after she went and Mother told me all something in me
seemed to know her free spirit would be near you and bring you
back to me . . . somehow: till your news came. And look!
The Bracelet! I hesitated a long time. If you hadn't been en-
gaged, I'm not sure if I would have ventured. But I did and
you're here. It's all been her doing, Roy, first and last. Don't
let 's spoil any of it with regrets."
He could only bow his head upon her hand in mute adoration.
The courage, the crystal-clear wisdom of her his eager Tara,
who could never wait five minutes for the particular sweet or the
particular tale she craved. Yet she had waited five years for
him and counted it a little thing. Of a truth his mother had
builded better than she knew.
"You see," Tara added softly, "there wouldn't have been
... the deeps And it takes the deeps to make you realise
the heights."
Lost in one another in the wonder of mutual self-revealing
they were lost, no less, to impertinent trivialities of place and
time; till the trivial pang of hunger reminded Roy that he had
been wandering for hours without food.
448 FAR TO SEEK
"Tara it's a come-down but I'm fairly starving!" he
cried suddenly and consulted his watch. "Nine o'clock I
the wretch I am! Dad's final remark was, 'Sure as a gun, you'll
>e late for breakfast.' And it seemed impossible. But sure as
,uns we will be! Put on the precious hat. We must jolly well
un for it."
And taking hands, like a pair of children, they ran . . .
CHAPTER THE LAST
Who shall attot the praise, and guess
What part is yours and what is ours?
ALICE MEYNEIX
Perhaps a dreamer's day Witt come . . . when
judgment will be passed on all the wise men, who
always prophesied evil and were always right.
JOHAN BOJEK
Two hours later Roy and his father sat together in the cushioned
window-seat of the studio, smoking industriously; not troubling
to say much though there was much to be said because the
mist of constraint that brooded between them yesterday had
been blown clean away by Roy's wonderful news.
If it had not given Sir Nevil 'the surprise of his life,' it had
given him the deepest, most abiding gratification he had known
since his inner light had gone out with the passing of her who had
been his inspiration and his all. Dear though his children were
to him, they had remained secondary, always. Roy came near-
est, as his heir, and as the one in whom her spirit most clearly
lived again. Since she went, he Jiad longed for the ,boy; but re-
membering her plea on that summer day .of decision her moun-
tain-top of philosophy, 'to take by leaving^to hold by letting go'
he had studiously refrained from pressing his return. Now,
at a word from Tara, he had sped home jn the hot season; and
hard on the heels of a mysteriously broken engagement had
claimed her at sight.
Yesterday their sense of strangeness had made silence feel
uncomfortable, lest it seem unfriendly. Now that they had
slipped back into the old intimacy, it felt companionable Ya
neither was thinking directly of the other. Each was thinking
of the woman he loved.
By chance their eyes encountered in a friendly smile; and
Roy spoke.
450 FAR TO SEEK
"Daddums you've come alive! I believe you're almost as
happy over it as I am? "
"You're not far out. You see" his eyes grew graver
"I'm feeling . . . Mother's share, too. Did you ever realise . . .?
"Partly. Not all till just now. Tara told me."
There was a pause. Then Sir Nevil looked full at his son.
"Roy I've got something to tell you to show you . . .
if you can detach your mind for an hour ? "
" Why, of course. What is it where? "
He looked round the room. Instinctively, he knew it concerned
his mother.
"Not here. Upstairs in her House of Gods." He saw Roy
flinch. "If / can bear it, old boy, you can. And there's a reason
you'll understand."
The little room 'above the studio Bad been sacred to Lilamani
ever since her homecoming as a bride of eighteen; sacred to her
prayers and meditations to the sandalwood casket that held her
'private god'; for the Indian wife has always one god chosen for
special worship not to be named to anyone, even her husband.
And although a Christian Lilamani had discontinued that form
of devotion, the tiny blue image of the Baby-God, Krishna, had
been a sacred treasure always; shown, on rare occasions only, to
Roy. To enter that room was to enter her soul. And Roy,
shrinking apart, felt himself unworthy because of Rose.
On the threshold there met him the faint scent that pervaded
her. For! there, in an alcove, stood Krishna's sandalwood casket.
In larger boxes, lined with sandalwood, her many-tinted silks
and saris lay lovingly folded. Another casket held her jewels:
and arranged on a row of shelves stood her dainty array of shoes
gold and silver and pale brocades: an intimate touch that
pierced his heart. Near the Krishna alcove hung a portrait he
had not seen: a thing of fragile, almost unearthly beauty, painted
when her husband came home discarded, and realised . . .
An aching lump in Roy's throat cut like a knife; but his
father's remark put him on his mettle. And, the next instant,
he saw . . .
"Dad!" he breathed, in awed amazement.
A STAR IN DARKNESS 451
For there, on the small round table, stood a model in dull red
clay: unmistakeably, unbelievably the rock fortress of Chi tor:
the walls scarped and bastioned; Khumba Rana's tower; and
the city itself no ruin, but a miniature presentment of Chitor,
as she might have been in her day of ancient glory, as Roy had
been dimly aware of her in the course of his own amazing ride.
Temples, palaces, huddled houses not detailed, but skilfully
suggested stirred the old thrill in his veins, the old certainty
that he knew . . .
"Well ?" asked Sir Nevil, whose eyes had not left his face.
"Well!" echoed Roy, emerging from his trance of wonder.
"I'm dumbfounded. A few mistakes, here and there: but as a
whole . . . Dad how in the world . . . could you know? "
"I don't know. I hoped you would. I ... saw it clearly,
just like that "
"How? In a dream?"
"I suppose so. I couldn't swear, in a court of law, that I was
awake. It happened one evening, as I lay there, on her couch
remembering . . . going back over things. And suddenly,
out of the darkness, blossomed that. Asleep or awake, my
mind was alert enough to seize and hold the impression, without
a glimmer of surprise . . . till I came to, or woke up which
you will. Then my normal, sceptical self didn't know what to
make of it. I've always dismissed that sort of thing as mere
brain-trickery. But a vivid, personal experience makes it ...
not so easy. Of course, from reading and a few old photographs,
I knew it was Chitor: and my first concern was to record the
vision in its first freshness. For three days I worked at it:
only emerging now and then to snatch a meal. I began with
those and that "
He indicated a set of rough sketches and an impression in
oils; a ghost of a city, full of suggested beauty and mystery.
"No joke, trying to model with one hand; but you wouldn'f
believe . . . the swiftness . . . thesureness . . . as if my fingers
knew ..."
Roy could believe. Occasionally his own fingers behaved so.
"When it was done, I put it in here," his father went on,
452 FAR TO SEEK
masking, with studied quietness, his elation at the effect on Roy.
"I've shown it to no one not even Aunt Helen. I couldn't
write of it. I felt it would sound crazy "
"Not to me," said Roy.
"Well, I couldn't tell that. And I've been waiting for you"
"Since when?"
" Since the third of March, this year."
Roy drew an audible breath. It was the anniversary of her
passing.
"All that time! How could you ? Why didn't you ?"
"Well you know. You were obviously submerged your
novel, Udaipur, Lance . . . You wouldn't have foregone all
that ... if I know you, for a mere father. But you're here, at
last, thank God. And I want to know. You've seen Chitor
as it is to-day ..."
"I've seen more than that," said Roy. "I can tell you, now.
I couldn't before. Let's sit."
And sitting there, on her couch, in her House of Gods, he told
the story of his moonlit ride and its culmination; told it in low
tones, in swift, vivid phrases that came of themselves . . .
Throughout the telling and for many minutes afterwards
his father sat motionless; his head on his hand, half shielding
his face from view . . .
"I've spoken of it only to Grandfather," Roy said at last.
"And with all my heart I wish he could see ... that."
Sir Nevil looked up now; and the subdued exaltation in his
eyes was wholly new to Roy.
"I've gone a good way beyond wishing," he said. "But again
I was waiting for you. I want to go out there, Roy, with you
two, when you're married and see it all for myself. With care,
one could take the thing along, to verify and improve it on the
spot. Then what do you say? You and I might achieve
a larger reproduction for Grandfather: a gift to Rajputana
my source^ of inspiration; a tribute ... to her memory who
still lights our lives . . . with the inextinguishable lamp of her
spirit ..."
The last words almost inaudible were a revelation to
A STAR IN DARKNESS 453
Roy; an illumining glimpse of the inner self that a man hides
very carefully from his fellows; and shows at supreme mo-
ments only to 'a woman when he loves her.'
Shy of their mutual emotion he laid a hand on his father's
arm.
"You can count on me, Dad," he said in the same low tone.
"Who knows? one day it might inspire the Rajputs to rebuild
their Queen of Cities, in white marble, that she may rise again,
immortal through the ages ..."
When they stood up to leave the shrine, their eyes met in a
steadfast look; and there was the same thought behind it. She
had given them to each other in a new way, in a fashion all her
own.
For that brief space Roy had almost forgotten Tara. Now the
wonder of her flashed back on him like a dazzle of sunlight after
the dim sanctity of cathedral aisles.
And down in the studio it was possible to discuss practical
issues of his father's inspiration or rather his mother's; for
they both felt it as such.
Roy would marry Tara in September; and in November they
three would go out together. There were bad days coming out
there; but, as Roy had once said, every man and woman of
good-will British or Indian would count in the scale, were
it only a grain here, a grain there. The insignificance of the
human unit a mere fragment of star-dust on sidereal shores
is offset by the incalculable significance of the individual in the
history of man's efforts to be more than man. In that faith these
two could not be found wanting; debtors as they were to the
genius, devotion, and high courage of one fragile woman, who
had lived little more than half her allotted span.
They, at least, would not give up hope of the lasting unity vital
to both races, because political errors and poisonous influences
and tragic events had roused a mutual spirit of bitterness diffi-
cult to quell . . .
Conceivably, it might touch the imagination of their India -
Rajputana (Roy was chary, now, of the all-embracing word)
454 FAR TO SEEK
that an Englishman should so love an Indian woman as to
immortalise her memory in a form peculiar to the East. For a
Christian Lilamani, neither temple nor tomb, but the vision of a
waste city rebuilded the city whose name was written on her
heart. In their uplifted moment, it seemed not quite unthinkable.
"And it's India's imagination we have most of us signally
failed to touch if not done a good deal to quench," said Roy,
his eyes brooding on a bank of purple-grey cloud, his own imagi-
nation astir . . .
It was his turn now to catch a flitting inspiration on the
wing.
Would it be utterly impossible ? Could they spend a wan-
der-year in Rajputana the cities, the desert, the Aravallis:
his father painting, he writing? The result a combined book,
dedicated to her memory; an attempt to achieve something in
the nature of interpretation his arrogant dream of Oxford
days; a vindication of his young faith in the arts as the true
medium of mutual understanding? In any case, it would be a
unique achievement. And they would feel they had contributed
their mite of good- will, had followed 'the gleam' . . .
"Besides out there other chances might crop up. Thea,
Grandfather, Dyan . . . And Tara would be in it all, heart and
soul," he concluded remembering, with a twinge, a certain
talk with Rose. "And it would do you all the good on earth
which isn't the least of its virtues, in my eyes!"
The look on his father's face was reward enough for the
moment.
"Well done, Roy," said Sir Nevil very quietly. "That year in
Rajputana shall be my wedding present to you two
Later on, the 'inspired plan' was expounded to Tara with
amplifications. She had merely run home escorted, of course,
through the perils of the wood to impart her great news and
bring her mother back to lunch, which Roy persistently called
'tiffin.' Food disposed of, they stepped straight out of the house
into a world of their own the world of their ' Game-without-an-
End'; the rose garden, the wood, the regal splendours of the moor,
A STAR IN DARKNESS 455
gleaming and glooming under shadows of drifting cloud: on and
on, in a golden haze of content, talking, endlessly talking . . .
The reserve and infrequency of their letters had left whole
tracts, outer and inner, unexplored. Here, thought Roy in his
mother's beautiful phrase was ' the comrade of body and spirit'
that his subconsciousness had been seeking all along; while he
looked over the heads of one and another, lured by the far, yet
emotionally susceptible to the near. Once unbidden the
thought intruded: "How different! How unutterably different!"
Reading aloud to Tara would seem pure waste of her; except
when it came to the novel, of which he had told her next to noth-
ing, so far ...
And Tara carried her happiness proudly, like a banner. The
deliciousness of being loved; the intoxication of it, after the last
spark of hope had been quenched by that excruciating engage-
ment! Her volcanic heart held a capacity for happiness as tre-
mendous as her capacity for daring and suffering. But the first
had so long eluded her that now she dared scarcely let herself
go. She listened, half incredulous, wholly entranced, while Roy
drew rapid word pictures of the cities they would see together
Udaipur, Chitor, Ajmir; and, not least, Koraulmir, the hill
fortress crowned with the 'cloud-palace' of PritLvi Raj and that
distant Tara, her namesake. Together, they would seek out the
little shrine Roy knew all about it near the Temple of the
Mother of the Gods, that held the mingled ashes of those great
lovers who were pleasant in their lives and in death were not
divided . . .
It was much later on, in the evening, when they sat alone near
the twin beeches, under a new-lighted moon, that Roy at last
managed to speak of Rose. In the dimness it was easier, though
difficult at best. But all day he had been aware of Tara longing
to hear; unable to ask; too sensitive on his account, too proud on
her own.
Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event:
and if Sir James had needed 'squaring,' no one heard of it.
Jeffers had arrived, large and genial ; his thatch of hair thinned
456 FAR TO SEEK
a little and white as driven snow. Healths had been drunk. It
was long since the Beeches had known so hilarious a meal.
Yet the graceless pair had made haste to escape and blessed
Lady Despard for remaining with the men.
Tara was leaning back in a low chair; Roy on a floor cushion
very close; a hand slipped behind her, his cheek against her arm;
yet, in a deeper sense, she wanted him closer still. Surely he
knew . . .
He did know.
" Tara my loveliest shall I tell you? " he asked suddenly.
"Are you badly wanting to hear?"
"Craving to," she confessed. "It's like a bit of blank space
inside me. And I don't want blank spaces about you. It's
the house swept and garnished that attracts the seven devils.
And one of my devils is jealousy! I've hated her so, poor thing.
I can't hate her more, whatever you tell "
"Try hating her less," suggested Roy.
"Try and make me!" she challenged him. "Are you half
afraid? Were you . . . fearfully smitten? "
" Wonderful Tara ! ' Smitten ' is the very word." He looked up
at her moonlit face, its appealing charm, its mingling of delicacy
and strength. "I would never dream of saying I was ' smitten'
with you"
For reward, her lips caressed his hair. "What a Roy you are
with your words! Tell me tell from the beginning."
And from the beginning, he told her: first in broken, spasmodic
sentences, with breaks and jars; then more fluently, more un-
reservedly, as he felt her leaning closer more and more
understanding; more and more forgiving, where understanding
faltered, where gaps came on account of Lance, and of pain
that went too deep for words. She had endured her share of that.
She knew . . .
When all had been said, it was she who could not speak; and
iie gathered her to him, kissing with a passion of tenderness her
wet lashes, her trembling lips
At last: "Beloved has the blank space gone?" he asked.
"Are you content now?"
A STAR IN DARKNESS 457
"Content! I'm lifted to the skies."
"To the tipmost top of them?" he queried in her ear: and
mutely she clung to him, returning his kisses, with the confidence
of a child, with the intensity of a woman . . .
All too soon it was over then* 'one mere day': the walk
back through the wood never more enchanted than on a
night of full moon: Tara, dropped from the skies, lost to every-
thing but the sound of Roy's voice in the darkness, deep and soft,
like the voice of her own heart in a dream. It seemed incredible
that there would be to-morrow and to-morrow and to-
morrow, world without end . . .
Back in the garden Jeffers, a miracle of tact, wandered
away to commune with a budding idea, leaving father and son
alone together.
Sir Nevil offered Roy a cigarette, and they sat down in two
of the six empty chairs near the beeches and smoked steadily
without exchanging a remark.
But this tune they were thinking of one woman. For at part-
ing Tara had said again, "It's all been her doing first and
last." And Roy with every faculty sensitised to catch ethereal
vibrations above and below the human octave divined that
identical thought in his father's silence. Her doing indeed!
None of them not even his father knew it better than
himself.
And now, while he sat there, utterly still in the midst of still-
ness no stir in the tree-tops, no movement anywhere but the
restless glow of Broome's cigar the inexpressible sense of her
stole in upon him, flooding his spirit like a distillation from the
summer night. Moment by moment the impression deepened
and glowed within him. Never, since that morning at Chitor,
had it so uplifted and fulfilled him . . .
Surely, now, his father could feel it, too? Deliberately he set
himself to transmit, if might be, the thrill of her nearness the
intimacy, the intensity of it ...
Then, craving certainty, he put out a hand and touched his
father's knee.
458 FAR TO SEEK
" Dad " the word was a mere breath " can you feel . . . ?
She is here."
His father's hand closed sharply on his own.
For one measureless moment they sat so. Then the sense of
her presence faded as a light dies out. The garden was empty.
The restless red planet was moving towards them.
On a mutual impulse they rose. Once again, as in her shrine,
they exchanged a steadfast look. And Roy had his answer.
He slipped a possessive hand through his father's arm; and
without a word, they walked back into the house. . . .
THE END
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