CHAPTER III.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
They drenched Kate Erlton also, despite the arcaded trees above hercorner as she sat with her face to the wall in the wide old garden. Atfirst her heart beat at each step on the walk behind her, but she soonrealized that she was hidden by her vow, happed about from thepossibility of intrusion by her penance. But not many steps came byher; they kept chiefly to the other end of the garden where Sri Anundawas to be found. It was a curious experience. There was a yard of twoof thatch, screened by matting and supported by bamboos, leaning notfar off against the wall; and into this she crept at night to find theindulgence of a dry blanket. At first she felt inclined to seek itsshelter when the rain poured loudly on the leaves above her and fellthence in big blobs, making a noise like the little ripe figs when thesquirrels shook them down; but the remembrance that such women as Taraperformed like vows cheerfully kept her steady. And after a day or twoshe often started to find it was already noon or dusk, the day halfgone or done. Time slipped by with incredible swiftness in watchingthe squirrels and the birds, in counting the raindrops fall from apeepul leaf. And what a strange peace and contentment the lifebrought! As she sat after dark in the thatch, eating the rice and milkand fruit which Tara brought her stealthily, she felt, at times, aterrified amaze at herself. If she ever came through the long strugglefor life, this surely would be the strangest part of the dream. Tara,indeed, used to remark with a satisfied smile that though the memcould not of course be suttee, still she did very well as a devotedand repentant wife. Sri Anunda could never have had a better penitent.And then, in reply to Kate's curious questions, she would say that SriAnunda was a Swami. If the mem once saw and spoke to him she wouldknow what that meant. He had lived in the garden for fifteen years.Not as a penance. A Swami needed no penance as men and women did; forhe was not a man. Oh, dear no! not a man at all.
So Kate, going on this hint of inhumanity, and guided by herconventional ideas of Hindoo ascetics, imagined a monstrosity, andfelt rather glad than otherwise that Sri Anunda kept out of her way.
She was eager also to know how long she might have to stay in hisgarden. The vow, Tara said, lasted for fifteen days. Till then no onewould question her right to sit and look at the wall; and by that timeSoma would have returned, and a plan for getting the mem away to theRidge settled. For the master was evidently not going to return to thecity; perhaps he had forgotten the mem? Kate smiled at this, drearily,thinking that indeed he might; for he might be dead. But even thisuncertainty about all things, save that she sat and watched thesquirrels and the birds, had ceased to disturb her peace.
As a matter of fact, however, he was thinking of her more than ever,and with a sense of proprietorship that was new to him. Here, by God'sgrace, was the one woman for him to save; the somebody to kill, shouldhe fail, needing no selection. There were enough enemies and to sparewithin the walls still, even though they had been melting away oflate. But a new one had come to the Ridge itself, which, though itkilled few, sapped steadily at the vigor of the garrison. This was theautumnal fever, bad at Delhi in all years, worse than usual in thiswet season, counterbalancing the benefit of the coolness and sendinghalf a regiment to hospital one day and letting them out of it thenext, sensibly less fit for arduous work. It claimed Jim Douglas,already weakened by it, and made his wound slow of healing.
"You haven't good luck certainly," said Major Erlton, finding him withchattering teeth taking quinine dismally. "I don't know how it is, butthough I'm a lot thinner, this life seems to suit me. I haven't feltso fit for ages."
He had not been so fit, in truth. It was a healthier, simpler lifethan he had led for many a long year; and ever since John Nicholsonhad bidden him go back to his tent and sleep, even the haggardness hadleft his face; the restlessness having been replaced by an eagercertainty of success. He was coming steadily to the front, too, so theRidge said, since Nicholson had taken him up. And he had well deservedthis, since there was not a better soldier; cool, stubborn, certain tocarry out orders. The very man, in short, whom men like the Generalwanted; and if he stayed to the finish he would have a distinguishedcareer before him.
But Herbert Erlton himself never thought of this; he hated thoughtinstinctively, and of late had even given up thinking of the city. Henever sat and watched the rose-red walls now. Perhaps because he wastoo busy. So he left that to Jim Douglas, who had nothing else to do,while he went about joyously preparing to accompany Nicholson in hisnext lesson of law and order.
For in the city it was becoming more and more difficult every day tomake the lies pass muster, even in the Palace; and so, in despair, thefour Commanders-in-Chief for once had laid their heads together andconcocted a plan for intercepting the siege train from Ferozpur. So itwas necessary that they should be taught the futility of suchattempts. Not that even the Palace people really believed thempossible. How could they? when almost every day, now, letters came tothe Ridge from some member or another of the Royal family askingeffusively how he could serve the English cause. Only the old King,revising his lists of precedence, listening still to brocaded bags,taking cooling draughts, making couplets, being cozened by the Queen,and breathed upon by Hussan Askuri, hovered between the policy ofbeing the great Moghul and a poor prisoner in the hands of fate. Butthe delights of the former were too much for him as a rule, and hewould sit and finger the single gold coin which had come as a presentfrom Oude as if he were to have the chance of minting millions with asimilar inscription.
"Bahadur Shah Ghazee has struck upon gold the coin of Victory."
Even in its solitary grandeur it had, in truth, a surpassing dignityof its own in the phrase--"struck upon gold the coin of Victory." So,looking at it, he forgot that it was a mere sample, sent, as theaccompanying brocaded bag said, with a promise to pay more when morevictory brought more gold. But Zeenut Maihl, as she looked at it,thought with a sort of fury of certain gold within reach, hidden inher house. What was to become of these coins with John Company's markon them? For she still lingered in the Palace. Other women had fled,but she was wiser than they. She knew that, come what might, her lifewas safe with the English as victors; so there was nothing but thegold to think of. The gold, and Jewun Bukht, her son. The royal signetwas in her possession altogether now, and sometimes the orders,especially when they were for payment of money, had to go without it,because "the Queen of the World was asleep." But she did not dream.That was over; though in a way she clung fiercely to hope. So GhausKhan with the Neemuch Brigade, and Bukht Khan with the BareillyBrigade, and Khair Sultan with the scrapings and leavings of theregiments, who, owning no leader of their own, did what was right intheir own eyes, set out to intercept the big guns; and Nicholson setout on the dawn of the 25th to intercept them.
The rain poured down in torrents, the guns sank to their axles in mud,the infantry slipped and slithered, the cavalry were blinded by themire from the floundering horses. So from daybreak till sunset thelittle force, two thousand in all--more than one-half of whom werenatives--labored eighteen miles through swamps. At noon, it is true,they called a halt nine miles out at a village where the womenclustered on the housetops in wild alarm, remembering a day--monthsback--when they had clustered round an unleavened cake, and thehead-man's wife had bidden them listen to the master's gun over thefar horizon.
They were to listen to it again that day. For the enemy was ten milesfurther over the marshes; and it was but noon. The force, no doubt,had been afoot since four; but General Nicholson was emphatically notan eight-hour man. So the shovings and slitherings of guns and mortalsbegan again cheerfully.
Still it was nigh on sundown when, across a deep stream flowing fromthe big marshes to the west, these contract-workers came on the jobthey were eager to finish ere nightfall. Six thousand rebels of allarms, holding three villages, a bastioned old serai, and a town. Itwas a strong position, in the right angle formed by the stream and theflooded canal into which it flowed. Water, impassable save
by anunknown ford in the stream, by a bridge held in force over the canal,on two sides of it. On the others dismal swamps. A desperately strongposition to attack at sundown after eighteen miles slithering andshoving in the pouring rain; especially with unknown odds against you.Not less, anyhow, than three to one. But John Nicholson had, a singleeye; that is, an eye which sees one salient point. Here, it was thatbridge to the left, leading back to safe shelter within the walls ofDelhi. A cowardly foe must have no chance of using that bridge duringsilent night watches. So, without a pause, fifteen hundred of the twothousand waded breast-high across the stream to attack the sixthousand, Nicholson himself riding ahead for a hasty reconnoissance,since the growing dusk left scant leisure for anything save action.Yet once more a glance was sufficient; and, ere the men, exposed to aheavy fire of grape in crossing the ford, were ready to advance, theorders were given.
There was a hint of cover in some rising ground before the oldserai--the strongest point of the defense. He would utilize this, rushthe position, change front, and sweep down on the bridge. That mustnot remain as a chance for cowards an instant longer than he couldhelp; for Nicholson in everything he did seems never to havecontemplated defeat.
So flanked by the guns, supported by squadrons of the 9th Lancers andthe Guides cavalry, the three regiments[7] marched steadily toward therising ground, following that colossal figure riding, as ever, ahead.Till suddenly, as his charger's feet touched the highest ground,Nicholson wheeled and held up his hand to those below him.
"Lie down, men!" came his clear strong voice as he rode slowly alongthe line; "lie down and listen to what I've got to say. It's only afew words."
So, sheltered from the fire, they lay and listened. "You of the 61stknow what Sir Colin Campbell said to you at Chillianwallah. He saidthe same thing to others at the Alma. I say it to you all now. 'Holdyour fire till within twenty or thirty yards of that battery, andthen, my boys! we will make short work of it!'"
Men cannot cheer lying on their stomachs, but the unmelodiousgrunt--"We will, sir, by God, we will!"--was as good as one.
Nicholson faced round on the serai again, and gave the order to theartillery. So, in sharp thuds widening into a roar, the flanking gunsbegan work. Half a dozen rounds or so, and then the rider--motionlessas a statue in the center--looked back quickly, waved his sword, andwent on. The men were up, after him, over the hillock, into the morassbeyond, silently.
"Steady, men! steady with it. On with you! Steady!"
They listened to the clear sonorous voice once more, though there wasno shelter now from the grape and canister, and musket balls; orrather only the shelter of that one tall figure ahead riding at afoot's-pace.
"Steady! Hold your fire! I'll give the word, never fear! Come on! Comeon!"
So through a perfect bog they stumbled on doggedly. Here and there aman fell; but men will fall sometimes. "Now then! Let them have it."
They were within the limit. Twenty yards off lay the guns. There wasone furious volley; above it one word answered by a cheer.
So at the point of the bayonet the serai was carried. Then without apause the troops changed front with a swiftness unforeseen and swepton to the left.
"To Delhi, brothers! To Delhi!" The old cry, begun at Meerut, rose nowwith a new meaning as the panic-stricken guns limbered up and made forthe bridge. Too late! Captain Blunt's were after them, chasing them.The wheel of the foremost, driven wildly, jammed; those followingcouldn't pull up. So, helter skelter, they were in a jumble, out ofwhich Englishmen helped the whole thirteen! The day, or rather thenight, was won; for Nature's dark flag of truce hung even between theassailants and the few desperate defenders of the third village, who,with escape cut off, were selling their lives at a cost to theattackers of seventeen out of that total death-roll of twenty-five.But Nicholson knew his position sure, so he left night to finish therout, and, with his men, bivouacked without food or cover among themarshes; for it was too dark to get the baggage over the ford. Yet thetroops were ready to start at daybreak for an eighteen miles trampback to the Ridge again. There was no talk of exhaustion now, as atBudli-ke-serai; so just thirty-six hours after they started, that is,just one hour for every mile of morass and none for the fight, theystartled the Ridge by marching in again and clamoring for food! ButNicholson was in a towering temper. He had found that another brigadehad been lurking behind the canal, and that if he had had decentinformation he might have smashed it also, on his way home.
"He hadn't even a guide that he didn't pick up himself," commentedMajor Erlton angrily. "By George! how those niggers cave in to him!And his political information was all rot. If the General had obeyedinstructions he would have been kicking his heels at Bahadagurhstill."
"We heard you at it about two o'clock," said a new listener. "Isuppose it was a night attack--risky business rather."
Herbert Erlton burst into a laugh; but the elation on his face had apathetic tenderness in it. "That was the bridge, I expect. _He_ blewit up before starting. _He_ sat on it till then. Besides there werethe wagons and tumbrils and things. _He_ told Tombs to blow them up,too, for of course _he_ had to bring the guns back, and _he_ couldn'tshove the lot."
As he passed on some of his listeners smiled.
"It's a case of possession," said one to his neighbor.
"Pardon me," said another, who had known the Major for years. "It's acase of casting out. I wonder----" The speaker paused and shrugged hisshoulders.
"Did you hear his name had gone up for the V. C.?" began hiscompanion.
"Gone up! My dear fellow! It might have gone up fifty times over. Butit isn't his pluck that I wonder at; it is his steadiness. He nevershirks the little things. It is almost as if he had found aconscience."
Perhaps he had. He was cheerful enough to have had the testimony of agood one, as, in passing, he looked in on Jim Douglas and met hiscongratulations.
"Bad shilling!" replied the Major, beautifully unconscious. "So you'veheard--and--hello! what's up?" For Jim Douglas was busy getting intodisguise.
"That old scoundrel Tiddu came into camp with the news an hour ago,"said the latter, whose face was by no means cheerful. "He was outcarrying grain--saw the fugitives, and came in here, hoping forbacksheesh, I believe. But"--Jim Douglas looked round rapidly at theMajor--"I'm awfully afraid, Erlton, that he has not been in Delhi, tospeak of, since I left. And I was relying on him for news----"
"There isn't any--is there?" broke in Major Erlton with a queer hushin his voice.
"None. But there may be. So I'm off at once. I couldn't have a betterchance. The villain says the sepoys are slipping in on the sly inhundreds; for the Palace folk, or at least the King, thinks the troopsare still engaged, and is sending out reinforcements. So I shall haveno trouble in getting through the gates."
Major Erlton, radiant, splashed from head to foot, covered at oncewith mud and glory, looked at the man opposite him with a curiousdeliberation.
"I don't see why you should go at all," he said slowly. "I wouldn't,if I--I mean I would rather you didn't."
"Why?" The question came sharply.
"Do you want the truth?" asked Herbert Erlton with a sudden frown.
"Certainly."
"Then I'll tell it, Mr. Greyman--I mean Douglas--I--I'm grateful,but--d----n me, sir, if--if I want to be more so! I--I gave you mychance once--like a fool; for I might have saved her----"
The hard handsome face was all broken up with passionate regret, andthe pity of it kept Jim Douglas silent for a moment. For he understoodit.
"You might," he said at last. "But I don't interfere with you here.You can't save her--your wife, I mean--and if I fail you canalways----"
"There is no need to tell me what to do then," interrupted MajorErlton grimly. "I'll do it without your help."
He turned on his heel, then paused. "It isn't that I'm ungrateful," herepeated, almost with an appeal in his voice. "And I don't mean to beoffensive; only you and I can't----"
His own mental position seemed beyond him, and
he stood for a momentirresolute. Then he held out his hand.
"Well, good-by. I suppose you mean to stick to it?"
"I mean to stick to it. Good-by."
"And I must be off to my bed. Haven't slept a wink for two nights, andI shall be on duty to-morrow. Well! I believe I've as good a chance ofseeing Kate here as you have of finding her there; but I can't preventyour going, of course."
So he went off to his bed, and Jim Douglas, following Tiddu, who waswaiting for him in the Koodsia Gardens, carried out his intention ofsticking to it; while John Nicholson in his tent, forgetful of hisadvice to both of them, was jotting down notes for his dispatch. Oneof them was: "The enemy was driven from the serai with scarcely anyloss to us, and made little resistance as we advanced." The other was:"Query? How many men in buckram? Most say seven or eight thousand. Ithink between three and four."
He had, indeed, a vile habit of telling the truth, even in dispatches.So ended the day of Nujjufghar.
The next morning, the 27th, broke fine and clear. Kate Erlton wakingwith the birds, found the sky full of light already, clear as a paletopaz beyond the overarching trees.
She stood after leaving her thatch, looking into the garden, lost in asort of still content. It seemed impossible she should be in the heartof a big city. There was no sound but the faint rustling of the wetleaves drying themselves in the soft breeze, and the twitterings ofsquirrels and birds. There was nothing to be seen but the trees, andthe broad paths rising above the flooding water from the canal-cutwhich ran at the further side.
And Sri Anunda had lived here for fifteen years; while she? How longhad she been there? She smiled to herself, for, in truth, she had lostcount of days altogether, almost of Time itself. She was losing holdof life. She told herself this, with that vague amaze at finding itso. Yes she was losing her grip on this world without gaining, withouteven desiring, a hold on the next. She was learning a strange newfellowship with the dream of which she was a part, because it wouldsoon be past; because the trees, the flowers, the birds, the beasts,were mortal as herself. A squirrel, its tail a-fluff, was coming downthe trunk of the next tree in fitful half-defiant jerks, its brighteyes watching her. The corner of her veil was full of the leavings ofher simple morning meal, which she always took with her to scatterunder the trees; and now, in sudden impulse, she sank down to herknees and held a morsel of plantain out tenderly.
Dear little mortal, she thought, with a new tenderness, watching it asit paused uncertain; until the consciousness that she was beingwatched in her turn made her look up; then pause, as she was,astonished, yet not alarmed, at the figure before her. It was neithertall nor short, dark nor fair, and it was wrapped from knee toshoulder in a dazzling white cloth draped like a Greek chiton, whichshowed the thin yet not emaciated curves of the limbs, and left thepoise of the long throat bare. The head was clean shaven, smooth asthe cheek, and the face, destitute even of eyebrows, was softly seamedwith lines and wrinkles which seemed to leave it younger, andbrighter, as if in an eternity of smile-provoking content. But theeyes! Kate felt a strange shock, as they brought back to her theinnocent dignity Raphael gave to his San-Sistine Bambino. For this wasSri Anunda; could be no one else. In his hand he held a bunch ofhenna-blossom, the camphire of Scripture, the cypress of the Greeks;yellowish green, insignificant, incomparably sweet. He held it out toher, smiling, then laid it on her outstretched hand.
"The lesson is learned, sister," he said softly. "Go in peace, andhave no fear."
The voice, musical exceedingly, thrilled her through and through. Sheknelt looking after him regretfully as, without a pause, he passed onhis way. So that was a Swami! She went back to her corner--for alreadyearly visitors were drifting in for Sri Anunda's blessing--and withthe bunch of henna-blossom on the ground before her sat thinking.
What an extraordinary face it was! So young, so old. So wise, sostrangely innocent. Tara was right. It was not a man's face. Yet itcould not be called angelic, for it was the face of a mortal. Yes!that was it, a mortal face immortal through its mortality; through thecircling wheel of life and death. The strong perfume of the flowersreaching her, set her a-thinking of them. Did he always give a bunchwhen the penance was over and say the lesson was learned? It was asignificant choice, these flowers of life and death. For bridal handshad been stained with henna, and corpses embalmed with it for ages,and ages, and ages. Or was that "peace go with you," that "have nofear" meant as an encouragement in something new? Had they been makingplans? had anything happened? She scarcely seemed to care. So, as thecloudless day passed on, she sat looking at the henna-blossom andthinking of Sri Anunda's face.
But something _had_ happened. Jim Douglas had come back to the cityand Tara knew it. She had barely escaped his seeing her, and she feltshe could not escape it long. And then, it seemed to her, the old lifewould begin again; for she would never be able to keep the truth fromhim. The mem might talk of deceit glibly; but if it came to tellinglies to the master she would fail.
There was only one chance. If she could get the mem safely out of thecity at once; then she could tell the truth without fear. Thenecessity for immediate action came upon her by surprise. She hadceased to expect the master's return, she had not cared personally forKate's safety, and so had been content to let the future take care ofitself. But now everything was changed. If Kate were not got rid of,sent out of the city, one of two things must happen: The master mustbe left to get her out as best he could, at the risk of his life; orshe, Tara, must return to the old allegiance; return and sit by, whilethe mem in a language she did not understand, told the Huzoor how shehad been willing to be suttee for him!
So while Kate sat looking at the henna-blossom, Tara sat tellingherself that at all costs, all risks, she must be got out of the citythat night. She, and her jewels. They were at present tied up in abundle in Tara's room, but the Huzoor might think her a thief if themem went without them. And another thing she decided. She would nottell the mem the reason of this sudden action. True, Kate hadprofessed herself determined that the master should not risk his lifefor her again; but women were not--not always--to be trusted. For therest, Soma must help.
She waited till dusk, however, before appealing to him, knowing thather only chance lay in taking him by storm, in leaving him no time forreflection. So, just as the lights were beginning to twinkle in thebazaars, she made her way, full of purpose, to the half ruined sort ofcell in the thickness of the wall not far from the sally-port, inwhich of late--since he had taken morosely to drugs--he was generallyto be found at this time, waking drowsily to his evening meal beforegoing out.
She found him thus, sure enough, and began at once on her task. Hemust help. He could easily pass out the mem. That was all she asked ofhim. But his handsome face settled into sheer obstinacy at once. Hewas not going to help anyone, he said, or harm anyone, till theystruck the first blow, and then they had better defend themselves.That was the end. And so it seemed; for after ten minutes of entreaty,he stood up with something of a lurch ere he found his feet, and bidher go. She only wasted her time and his, since he must eat his foodere he went to relieve the sentry at the sally-port.
She caught him up reproachfully, almost indignantly.
"Then thou art there, on guard! and it needs but the opening of adoor, a thrusting of a woman out--to--_die_, perchance, Soma. Rememberthat!"
She spoke with a feverish eagerness, as if the suggestion had itsweight with her, but he treated it contemptuously.
"Loh!" he said in scorn. "What a woman's word! Thank the Gods I wasnot born one."
The taunt bit deep, and Tara drew herself up angrily. So the brotherand sister stood face to face, strangely alike.
"Wast not?" she retorted bitterly. "The Gods know. Is there not womanin man, and man in woman, among those born at a birth? Soma! for thesake of that--do this for me----" It was her last appeal; she had keptit for the last, and now her somber eyes were ablaze with passionateentreaty. "See, brother! I claim it of you as a right. Thou didst takemy sainthood
from me once. Count this as giving it back again."
"Back again?" echoed Soma thickly. "What fool's talk is this?"
"Let it be fool's talk, brother," she interrupted, with a strangeintensity in her voice. "I care not--thou dost not know; I cannot tellthee. But--but _this_ will be counted to thee in restitution. Soma!think of it as my sainthood! Sure thou dost owe me it! Somal for thesake of the hand which lay in thine."
In her excitement she moved a step forward, and he shrank backinstinctively. True, she was a saint in another way if those scarswere true; but--at the moment, being angry with her, he chose todoubt, to remember. "Stand back!" he cried roughly, unsteadily. "Whatdo I owe thee? What claim hast thou?"
The question, the gesture outraged her utterly. The memory of a wholelife of vain struggling after self-respect surged to her brain,bringing that almost insane light to her eyes. "What?" she echoedfiercely--"this!" Ere he could prevent it, her hand was in his,gripping it like a vice.
"So in the beginning--so in the end!" she gasped, as he struggled withher madly. "Tara and Soma hand in hand. Nay! I am strong as thou."
She spoke truth, for his nerve and muscle were slack with opium; yethe fought wildly, striking at her with his left hand, until in asupreme effort she lost her footing, they both staggered, and he--asshe loosed her hold--fell backward, striking his head against aprojecting brick in the ruined wall.
"Soma!" she whispered to his prostrate figure, "art hurt, brother?Speak to me!"
But he lay still, and, with a cry, she flung herself on her kneesbeside him, feeling his heart, listening to his breathing, searchingfor the injury. It was a big cut on the crown of the head; but it didnot seem a bad one, and she began to take his unconsciousness morecalmly. She had seen folk like that before from a sudden fall, andthey came to themselves, none the worse, after a while. But scarcely,here, in time to relieve guard.
She stood up suddenly and looked round her. Soma's uniform hung on apeg, his musket stood in a corner.
Half an hour after this, Kate, waiting in the thatch for Tara to comeas usual, gave a cry, more of surprise than alarm, as a tall figure,in uniform, stepped into the flickering light of the cresset.
"Soma!" she cried, "what is it?"
A gratified smile came to the curled mustachios. "Soma or Tara, itmatters not," replied a familiar voice. "They were one in thebeginning. Quick, mem-sahib. On with the jewels. I have a dark veiltoo for the gate."
Kate stood up, her heart throbbing. "Am I to go, then? Is that whatSri Anunda meant?"
"Sri Anunda! hath he been here?" Tara paused, sniffed, and once morethose dark eyes met the light ones with a fierce jealousy. "He hathgiven thee henna-blossom. I smell it; and he gives it to none butthose who---- So the Swami's lesson is learned--and the disciple cango in peace----" She broke off with a petulant laugh. "Well! so be it.It ends my part. The mem will sleep among her own to-night; Sri Anundahath said it. Come----"
"But how? I must know how," protested Kate.
The laugh rose again. "Wherefore? The mem is Sri Anunda's disciple.For the rest, I will let the mem out through the little river-gate.There is a boat, and she can go in peace."
There was something so wild, so almost menacing in Tara's face, thatKate felt her only hope was to obey. And, in good sooth, the scent ofthe henna-blossom she carried with her, tucked into her bosom, gaveher, somehow, an irrational hope that all would go well as shefollowed her guide swiftly through the alleys and bazaars.
"The mem must wait here," whispered Tara at last, pausing behind oneof the ungainly mausoleums in what had been the old Christiancemetery. "When she hears me singing Sonny-baba's song, she mustfollow to the Water-gate. It is behind the ruins, there."
Kate crouched down, setting her back, native fashion, against thetomb. And as she waited she wondered idly what mortal lay there; so,being strangely calm, she let her fingers stray to the recess she feltbehind her. There should be a marble tablet there; and even in thedark she might trace the lettering. But the recess was empty, themarble having evidently been picked out. So it was a nameless grave.And the next? She moved over to it stealthily, then to the next.But the tablets had been taken out of all and carried off--forcurry-stones most likely. So the graves were nameless; those beneaththem mortals--nothing more. As she waited under the stars, her mindreverted to Sri Anunda and the Wheel of Life and Death. Theimmortality of mortality! Was that the lesson which was to let her goin peace?
She started from the thought as that native version of the "HappyLand" came, nasally, from behind the ruins. As she passed them, agroup of men were squatted gossiping round a hookah, and more than onefigure passed her. But a woman with her veil drawn, and a clank ofanklets on her feet, did not even invite a curious eye; for it wasstill early enough for such folk to be going home.
Then, as she passed down a flight of steps, a hand stole out from aniche and drew her back into a dark shadow. The next minute, with alow whisper, "There is no fear! Sri Anunda hath said it. Go in peace!"she felt herself thrust through a door into darkness. But a feebleglimmer showed below her, and creeping down another flight of steps,she found herself outside Delhi, looking over the strip of low-lyingland where in the winter the buffaloes had grazed beneath AliceGissing's house, but which was now flooded into a still backwater bythe rising of the river. And out of it the stunted kikar and tamarisksgrew strangely, their feathery branches arching over it. But to theleft, beyond the Water Bastion, rose a mass of darker foliage--theKoodsia Gardens. Once there she would be beyond floods, and Tara hadsaid there was a boat. Kate found it, moored a little further towardthe river--a flat-bottomed punt, with a pole. It proved easier tomanage than she had expected; for the water was shallow, and thetrunks and branches of the trees helped her to get along, so thatafter a time she decided on keeping to that method of progress as longas she could. It enabled her to skirt the river bank, where there werefewer lights telling of watch-fires. Besides, she knew the path by theriver leading to Metcalfe House. It might be under water now; but ifshe crept into the park at the ravine--if she could take the boat sofar--she might manage to reach Metcalfe House. There was an Englishpicket there, she knew. So, as she mapped out her best way, a suddenrecollection came to her of the last time she had seen that riverpath, when her husband and Alice Gissing were walking down it, andCaptain Morecombe----
Ah! was it credible? Was it not all a dream? Could this be real--couldit be the same world?
She asked herself the question with a dull indifference as shestruggled on doggedly.
But not more than two hours afterward the conviction that the worldhad not changed came upon her with a strange pang as she stood oncemore on the terrace of Metcalfe House with English faces around her.
"By Heaven, it's Mrs. Erlton!" she heard a familiar voice say. Itseemed to her hundreds of miles away in some far, far country to whichshe had been journeying for years. "Here! let me get hold of her--andfetch some water--wine--anything. How--how was it, Sergeant?"
"In a boat, sir, coming hand over hand down at the stables. She sangout quite calmly she was an English-woman, and----"
"Then--then they touched their caps to me," said Kate, making aneffort, "and so I knew that I was safe. It was so strange; it--itrather upset me. But I am all right now, Captain Morecombe."
"We had better send up for Erlton," said another officer aside; butKate caught the whisper.
"Please not. I can walk up to cantonments quite well. And--I wouldrather have no fuss--I--I couldn't stand it."
She had stood enough and to spare, agreed the little knot of men witha thrill at their hearts as they watched her set off in the moonlightwith Captain Morecombe and an orderly. They were to go straight to theMajor's tent; and if he was still at mess, which was more than likely,since it was only half-past nine, Captain Morecombe was to leave herthere and go on with the news. There would be no fuss, of that shemight be sure, said the latter, forbearing even to speak to her on theway, save to ask her if she felt all right.
"I feel as if I
had just been born," she said slowly. In truth, shewas wondering if that spinning of the Great Wheel toward Life againbrought with it this forlornness, this familiarity.