The Lamp in the Desert

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE FORBIDDEN PARADISE

  Looking back later upon that fateful night, it seemed to Stella that shemust indeed have slept the sleep of the lotus-eater, for no misgivingspierced the numb unconsciousness that held her through the still hours.She lay as one in a trance, wholly insensible of the fact that she wasalone, aware only of the perpetual rush and fall of the torrent below,which seemed to act like a narcotic upon her brain.

  When she awoke at length broad daylight was all about her, and above theroar of the stream there was rising a hubbub of voices like the buzzingof a swarm of bees. She lay for awhile listening to it, lazily wonderingwhy the coolies should bring their breakfast so much nearer to the tentthan usually, and then, suddenly and terribly, there came a cry thatseemed to transfix her, stabbing her heavy senses to full consciousness.

  For a second or two she lay as if petrified, every limb struckpowerless, every nerve strained to listen. Who had uttered that dreadfulwail? What did it portend? Then, her strength returning, she startedup, and knew that she was alone. The camp-bed by her side was empty. Ithad not been touched. Fear, nameless and chill, swept through her. Shefelt her very heart turn cold.

  Shivering, she seized a wrap, and crept to the tent-entrance. The flapwas unfastened, just as it had been left by her husband the nightbefore. With shaking fingers she drew it aside and looked forth.

  The hubbub of voices had died down to awed whisperings. A group ofcoolies huddled in the open space before her like an assembly of monkeysholding an important discussion.

  Further away, with distorted limbs and grim, impassive countenance,crouched the black-bearded beggar whose importunity had lured Ralph fromher side the previous evening. His red-rimmed, sunken eyes gazed likethe eyes of a dead man straight into the sunrise. So motionless werethey, so utterly void of expression, that she thought they must beblind. There was something fateful, something terrible in the aloofnessof him. It was as if an invisible circle surrounded him within whichnone might intrude.

  And close at hand--so close that she could have touched his turbanedhead as she stood--the great Sikh bearer, Peter, sat huddled in a heapon the soft green earth and rocked himself to and fro like a child introuble. She knew at the first glance that it was he who had utteredthat anguished wail.

  To him she turned, as to the only being she could trust in that strangescene.

  "Peter," she said, "what has happened? What is wrong? Where--where isthe captain _sahib_?"

  He gave a great start at the sound of her voice above him, andinstantly, with a rapid noiseless movement, arose and bent himselfbefore her.

  "The _mem-sahib_ will pardon her servant," he said, and she saw that hisdark face was twisted with emotion. "But there is bad news for herto-day. The captain _sahib_ has gone."

  "Gone!" Stella echoed the word uncomprehendingly, as one who speaks anunknown language.

  Peter's look fell before the wide questioning of hers. He replied almostunder his breath: "_Mem-sahib_, it was in the still hour of the night.The captain _sahib_ slept on the mountain, and in his sleep he fell--andwas taken away by the stream."

  "Taken away!" Again, numbly, Stella repeated his words. She feltsuddenly very weak and sick.

  Peter stretched a hand towards the inscrutable stranger. "This man,_mem-sahib_," he said with reverence, "he is a holy man, and whilepraying upon the mountain top, he saw the _sahib_, sunk in a deep sleep,fall forward over the rock as if a hand had touched him. He came downand searched for him, _mem-sahib_; but he was gone. The snows aremelting, and the water runs swift and deep."

  "Ah!" It was a gasp rather than an exclamation. Stella was blindlytottering against the tent-rope, clutching vaguely for support.

  The great Sikh caught her ere she fell, his own distress subdued in aflash before the urgency of her need. "Lean on me, _mem-sahib!_" hesaid, deference and devotion mingling in his voice.

  She accepted his help instinctively, scarcely knowing what she did, andvery gently, with a woman's tenderness, he led her back into the tent.

  "My _mem-sahib_ must rest," he said. "And I will find a woman to serveher."

  She opened her eyes with a dizzy sense of wonder. Peter had never failedbefore to procure anything that she wanted, but even in her extremityshe had a curiously irrelevant moment of conjecture as to where he wouldturn in the wilderness for the commodity he so confidently mentioned.

  Then, the anguish returning, she checked his motion to depart. "No, no,Peter," she said, commanding her voice with difficulty. "There is noneed for that. I am quite all right. But--but--tell me more! How didthis happen? Why did he sleep on the mountain?"

  "How should the _mem-sahib's_ servant know?" questioned Peter, gentlyand deferentially, as one who reasoned with a child. "It may be that theopium of his cigar was stronger than usual. But how can I tell?"

  "Opium! He never smoked opium!" Stella gazed upon him in freshbewilderment. "Surely--surely not!" she said, as though seeking toconvince herself.

  "_Mem-sahib_, how should I know?" the Indian murmured soothingly.

  She became suddenly aware that further inaction was unendurable. Shemust see for herself. She must know the whole, dreadful truth. Thoughtrembling from head to foot, she spoke with decision. "Peter, go outsideand wait for me! Keep that old beggar too! Don't let him go! As soon asI am dressed, we will go to--the place--and--look for him."

  She stumbled over the last words, but she spoke them bravely. Peterstraightened himself, recognizing the voice of authority. With a deepsalaam, he turned and passed out, drawing the tent-flap decorously intoplace behind him.

  And then with fevered energy, Stella dressed. Her hands moved withlightning speed though her body felt curiously weighted and unnatural.The fantastic thought crossed her brain that it was as though sheprepared herself for her own funeral.

  No sound reached her from without, save only the monotonous and endlessdashing of the torrent among its boulders. She was beginning to feelthat the sound in some fashion expressed a curse.

  When she was ready at length, she stood for a second or two to gatherher strength. She still felt ill and dizzy, as though the world she knewhad suddenly fallen away from her and left her struggling inunimaginable space, like a swimmer in deep waters. But she conquered herweakness, and, drawing aside the tent-flap once more, she stepped forth.

  The morning sun struck full upon her. It was as if the whole earthrushed to meet her in a riot of rejoicing; but she was in some fashionoutside and beyond it all. The glow could not reach her.

  With a sharp sense of revulsion, she saw the deformed man squattingclose to her, his _chuddah_-draped head lodged upon his knees. He didnot stir at her coming though she felt convinced that he was aware ofher, aware probably of everything that passed within a considerableradius of his disreputable person. His dark face, lined and dirty,half-covered with ragged black hair that ended in a long thin wisp likea goat's beard on his shrunken chest, was still turned to the east asthough challenging the sun that was smiting a swift course through theheavens as if with a flaming sword. The simile rushed through her mindunbidden. Where would she be--what would have happened to her--by thetime that sword was sheathed?

  She conquered her repulsion and approached the man. As she did so, Peterglided silently up like a faithful watch-dog and took his place at herright hand. It was typical of the position he was to occupy in the daysthat were coming.

  Within a pace or two of the huddled figure, Stella stopped. He had notmoved. It was evident that he was so rapt in meditation that herpresence at that moment was no more to him than that of an insectcrawling across his path. His eyes, red-rimmed, startlingly bright,still challenged the coming day. His whole expression was so grimlyaloof, so sternly unsympathetic, that she hesitated to disturb him.

  Humbly Peter came to her assistance. "May I be allowed to speak to him,_mem-sahib?_" he asked.

  She turned to him thankfully. "Yes, tell him what I want!"

  Peter placed himself in front of the strange
r. "The noble lady desiresyour service," he said. "Her gracious excellency is waiting."

  A quiver went through the crouching form. He seemed to awake, his mindreturning as it were from a far distance. He turned his head, and Stellasaw that he was not blind. For his eyes took her in, for the momentappraised her. Then with ungainly, tortoiselike movements, he arose.

  "I am her excellency's servant," he said, in hollow, quavering accents."I live or die at her most gracious command."

  It was abjectly spoken, yet she shuddered at the sound of his voice. Herwhole being revolted against holding any converse with the man. But sheforced herself to persist. Only this monstrous, half-bestial creaturecould give her any detail of the awful thing that had happened in thenight. If Ralph were indeed dead, this man was the last who had seenhim in life.

  With a strong effort she subdued her repugnance and addressed him. "Iwant," she said, "to be guided to the place from which you say he fell.I must see for myself."

  He bent himself almost to the earth before her. "Let the gracious ladyfollow her servant!" he said, and forthwith straightened himself andhobbled away.

  She followed him in utter silence, Peter walking at her right hand. Upthe steep goat-path which Dacre had so arrogantly ascended in the wakeof his halting guide they made their slow progress in dumb procession.Stella moved as one rapt in some terrible dream. Again that druggedfeeling was upon her, that sense of being bound by a spell, and now sheknew that the spell was evil. Once or twice her brain stirred a littlewhen Peter offered his silent help, and she thanked him and accepted itwhile scarcely realizing what she did. But for the most part sheremained in that state of awful quiescence, the inertia of one aboutwhom the toils of a pitiless Fate were closely woven. There was noescape for her. She knew that there could be no escape. She had beencaught trespassing in a forbidden paradise, and she was about to bethrust forth without mercy.

  High up on a shelf of naked rock their guide stood and waited--a ragged,incongruous figure against the purity of the new day. The early sun hadbarely topped the highest mountains, but a great gap between two mightypeaks revealed it. As Stella pressed forward, she came suddenly into thesplendour of the morning.

  It affected her strangely. She felt as Moses must have felt when theGlory of God was revealed to him. The brightness was intolerable. Itseemed to pierce her through and through. She was not able to look uponit.

  "Excellency," the stranger said, "it was here."

  She moved forward and stood beside him. Quiveringly, in a voice shehardly recognized as her own, she spoke. "You were with him. You broughthim here."

  He made a gesture as of one who repudiates responsibility. "I,excellency, I am the servant of the Holy Ones," he said. "I had amessage for him. I knew that the Holy Ones were angry. It was writtenthat the white _sahib_ should not tread the sacred ground. I warned him,excellency, and then I left him. And now the Holy Ones have worked theirwill upon him, and lo, he is gone."

  Stella gazed at the man with fascinated eyes. The confidence with whichhe spoke somehow left no room for question.

  "He is mad," she murmured, half to herself and half to Peter. "Of coursehe is mad."

  And then, as if a hand had touched her also, she moved forward to theedge of the precipice and looked down.

  The rush of the torrent rose up like the tumult of many voices callingto her, calling to her. The depth beneath her feet widened to an abyssthat yawned to engulf her. With a sick sense of horror she realized thatghastly, headlong fall--from warm, throbbing life on the enchantedheight to instant and terrible destruction upon the green, slimyboulders over which the water dashed and roared continuously far below.Here he had sat, that arrogant lover of hers, and slipped from somnolentenjoyment into that dreadful gulf. At her feet--proof indisputable ofthe truth of the story she had been told--lay a charred fragment of thecigar that had doubtless been between his lips when he had sunk intothat fatal sleep. The memory of Peter's words flashed through her brain.He had smoked opium. She wondered if Peter really knew. But of whatavail now to conjecture? He was gone, and only this mad native vagabondhad witnessed his going.

  And at that, another thought pierced her keen as a dagger, rending itsway through living tissues. The manner of the man's appearing, thehorror with which he had inspired her, the mystery of him, all combinedto drive it home to her heart. What if a hand had indeed touched him?What if a treacherous blow had hurled him over that terrible edge?

  She turned to look again upon the stranger, but he had withdrawnhimself. She saw only the Indian servant, standing close beside her, hisdark eyes following her every action with wistful vigilance.

  Meeting her desperate gaze, he pressed a little nearer, like a faithfuldog, protective and devoted. "Come away, my _mem-sahib!_" he entreatedvery earnestly. "It is the Gate of Death."

  That pierced her anew. Her desolation came upon her in an overwhelmingwave. She turned with a great cry, and threw her arms wide to the risensun, tottering blindly towards the emptiness that stretched beneath herfeet. And as she went, she heard the roar of the torrent dashing downover its grim boulders to the great river up which they two had glidedin their dream of enchantment aeons and aeons before....

  She knew nothing of the sinewy arms that held her back from death thoughshe fought them fiercely, desperately. She did not hear the piteousentreaties of poor harassed Peter as he forced her back, back, back,from those awful depths. She only knew a great turmoil that seemed toher unending--a fearful striving against ever-increasing odds--and atthe last a swirling, unfathomable darkness descending like a wind-blownblanket upon her--enveloping her, annihilating her....

  And British eyes, keen and grey and stern, looked on from afar, watchingsilently, as the Indian bore his senseless _mem-sahib_ away.