CHAPTER XXX.
SHE SHALL UNDERSTAND.
"The light of every soul burns upward; but we are all candles in a wind; and due allowance must be made for atmospheric disturbances." --GEO. MEREDITH.
Certain souls, like certain bodies, cannot breathe for long at astretch the rarefied atmosphere of the heights; and towards the end ofthe second week Evelyn's zeal began to wear thin. Dr Mackay had atlast spoken hopefully as to the fate of Desmond's eyes. Night-nursingwas no longer a necessity; and with the relief from anxiety, from theeffort to meet the demands upon her small stock of strength, came theinevitable drop to the comfortable commonplaces of everyday life.
Nor was she alone in her sensations. In varying degrees they affectedevery inmate of the blue bungalow during that last week of Desmond'simprisonment; and it is probable that Honor unconsciously relaxed hermental concentration upon Evelyn which had been responsible for morethan either knew. Her midnight talk with Desmond, and the knowledgethat a second contest lay before her, gave her food for much troubledreflection; while the comparative lightness of sick-room duties lefther free to grapple with arrears of letters, work, and householdaccounts. Thus, being only human, and very much absorbed in matterspractical, she made the fatal mistake of relaxing her vigilance at thevery moment when Evelyn needed it most. But it is written that "no manmay redeem his brother"; and, soon or late the relapse must have come.Honor could not hope to lay permanent hold upon the volatile spirit ofher friend.
Desmond himself, whose patience under the burden of illness and of anerve-shattering fear had amazed even those who knew him best, wasapproaching the irritable stage of convalescence,--the strong man'srebellion against Nature's unhurried methods; against enforcedrestriction and imprisonment, when renewed life is pulsing throughevery artery, renewed vigour stirring the reawakened brain.
Nor were matters enlivened by Mackay's decree that, if risk were to beavoided, the detested shade must be worn for three full weeks or amonth. Thus to imprisonment was added the gall and wormwood of totaldependence upon others; the unthinkable prospect of parting with Paul,with the Border itself--with everything that had hitherto made lifeworth living; and, worse than all, the undercurrent of striving toignore that veiled danger, which he refused to name, even in histhoughts, and which lay like a millstone upon his heart.
Thus there were inevitable moments when his spirit kicked against thepricks; when his return to life and health seemed a parody of ablessing, a husk emptied of the life-giving grain. In these moodsEvelyn found herself powerless to cope with him; and was not a littleaggrieved when she discovered that his unvarying need, on black days,was the companionship of Paul Wyndham, whose insight detected somehidden trouble, and who, as a matter of course, devoted every sparemoment to his friend.
One thing Desmond missed beyond all else--the sound of music in thehouse. Since the terrible evening of his home-coming, the piano hadnot been opened; and his recent experience of the effect Honor's musiccould produce on him made him chary of asking her to play.
He saw very little of her in these days. Now and then she would comeand read to him; but their former open-hearted intercourse seemedirrevocably a thing of the past. With the return of the troops,however, interests multiplied. Desmond's hold on the hearts of all whoknew him had seldom been so practically proven; and the man was movedbeyond measure at that which he could not fail to perceive. His smallstudy was rarely empty, and often overcrowded with men--Sikhs,Gunners, Sappers, and, above all, his own brother officers, whofilled the place with tobacco-smoke, the cheerful clink of ice againstlong tumblers, and frequent explosions of deep-chested laughter; whileDesmond threw himself whole-heartedly into the good minute and enjoyedit to the full.
To Evelyn this new state of things was a little disconcerting. DuringTheo's illness she, as his wife, had enjoyed special attention andconsideration; and since her incomprehensible refusal of his offer tothrow up the Frontier, had even regarded herself as something of aheroine, if an unwilling one. Now, all of a sudden, she felt deserted,unimportant, and more or less "out of it all." The past fortnightseemed an uplifted dream, from which she had awakened to find herselfsitting among the dust and stones of prose and hard facts. Yet shecould not complain definitely of anything or any one. Honor and Theowere kind and tender, as always; but the one was temporarily busy, andthe other very naturally enjoying a reversion to masculine society.Nobody seemed to want her. There seemed no particular use for her anymore.
To make matters worse, the whole station wore a subdued air. The Clubcompound was practically deserted; and Evelyn's first outing in thatdirection left her with no desire to repeat the experiment for thepresent. The Sikhs had lost a popular captain; while a Gunnersubaltern, who had returned seriously wounded, was being nursed by MrsConolly and the only woman in the battery.
This sort of thing was, as Theo had said, "part and parcel" of life onthe Frontier; it was to this that she had condemned herself for thenext twenty years at least; by which time she supposed she would befar too old to care for the frivolities of life at all! If only Theowould be generous and give her a second chance, she would not let itslip this time--she would not indeed!
Altogether the aspect of things in general was sufficientlydepressing. Then one afternoon she met Owen Kresney; and all at oncelife seemed to take on a new complexion. Here, at least, was some onewho wanted her, when every one else seemed only to want Theo; some onewho was really glad to see her--rather too emphatically glad,perhaps; but the eagerness of his greeting flattered her, and she hadoverlooked the rest. She had been returning in her jhampan from hermelancholy outing to the Club, when he had caught sight of her in thedistance, and cantering up to her side, had dismounted, and shakenhands as though they had not met for a year.
"How awfully white and pulled down you look!" he had said withlow-toned sympathy. "They must have been working you too hard. Theyforget that you are not a strapping woman like Miss Meredith."
"No one has worked me too hard," she answered, flushing at the veiledimplication against her husband. "I wanted to do as much as theothers."
"Of course you did. But you are too delicate to work like that, and itisn't fair to take advantage of your unselfishness. I hope you'regoing off to the Hills very soon, now that Desmond is better?"
"Yes, I hope so too."
Her voice had an unconscious weariness, and he bent a little closer,scanning her face with a concern that bordered on tenderness. "We havethought of you a great deal these two weeks, Mrs Desmond," he said."We hardly cared to go out to tennis, or anything, while you were insuch trouble. But now it has all come out right, you must bedreadfully in want of cheering up. Won't you come home with me andhave a talk, like old times? Linda would be awfully pleased to see youagain."
The temptation was irresistible. It emphasised her vague sense ofloneliness, of being left out in the cold. The longing to be comfortedand made much of was strong upon her.
"It is very nice of you to want me," she had said, as simply as achild. To which he had replied with prompt, if somewhat cheap,gallantry that no one could possibly help wanting her; and his rewardhad been a flush, as delicate in tint as the inner surface of a shell.This man had one strong point in his favour--he invariably talked toher about herself; a trick Desmond had never learnt, nor ever would.
She had spent more than an hour in Miss Kresney's stuffy, dustydrawing-room, and had left it with a pleasantly revived sense of herown importance; had left Kresney himself in a state of carefullyrepressed triumph; for she had promised him an early morning ride intwo days' time.
It was all harmless enough so far as she was concerned--merely a caseof flattered vanity and idle hands. But the strong nature, the largepurpose, lies eternally at the mercy of life's little things.
She said nothing to Honor or Theo of her meeting with Kresney, or ofthe coming ride. A fortnight of submission to the former had evoked apassing gleam of independence. They would probabl
y make a fuss; andsince they neither of them needed her, she was surely at liberty toamuse herself as she pleased.
On her return a buzz of deep voices greeted her from the study, and ittranspired that Honor had gone over to Mrs Conolly's. Thus she hadleisure before dinner to argue the matter out in her mind to her owncomplete justification. If Mr Kresney chose to be polite to her, whyshould she rebuff him and hurt his feelings, just because Theo hadsome stupid prejudice against him? On the other hand, where was theuse of vexing Theo, when every one was doing their best to shield himfrom needless irritation? As soon as his eyes were right they would goto the Hills together. She would have him all to herself; and Kresneysank into immediate insignificance at the thought.
Meanwhile the man's assiduity and thinly veiled admiration formed awelcome relief in a desert of dulness. Besides, one was bound to bepleasant to a man when one practically owed him two hundred rupees.
Unwittingly she shelved the fact that Kresney was beginning toexercise a disturbing fascination over her; that the insistenceunderlying his humility alternately pleased and frightened her; thelurking fear of what he might say next gave a distinct flavour ofexcitement to their every meeting.
The slippery path that lies between truth and direct falsehood hadalways been fatally easy for her to follow; and she followed it nowmore from natural instinct, and from the child's dread of makingpeople "cross," than from any deliberate intent to deceive. It was somuch easier to say nothing. Therefore she said nothing; and left thefuture to look after itself.
On returning from her first ride with Kresney, she found Honor in theverandah giving orders to a sais. The girl lifted her out of thesaddle, and kissed her on both cheeks.
"Such a very early Ladybird!" she said, laughing. "You might have letme come too."
Accordingly they went out together the next morning, but on futureoccasions Evelyn returned more cautiously, and changed her habitbefore appearing at the breakfast-table. She went out once or twice inthe afternoons also, and Honor's thoughts flew to the Kresneys as amatter of course; but remembering a certain incident at Murree, sheheld her peace. She was disheartened, and very far from satisfied,nevertheless.
* * * * *
In this fashion ten days slipped uneventfully past. Then, on a certainafternoon, Kresney again met Evelyn by chance,--and begged her to comeback with him to tea before going home. Her consent was a foregoneconclusion; and as they neared Kresney's whitewashed gate-posts,Captain Olliver trotted past. He had already met Miss Kresney joggingout to tea on a long-tailed pony of uncertain age; and glancingcasually back over his shoulder, he saw Mrs Desmond's jhampan enteringthe gateway. Whereat he swore vigorously under his breath, and urgedhis pony to a brisker pace.
But of these facts Evelyn was blissfully unaware. Her uppermostthought was a happy consciousness of looking her best. From theforget-me-nots in her hat to the last frill of her India muslin gownall was blue--the fragile blue of the far horizon at dawn. And Kresneyhad an eye for such things.
She started slightly on discovering that the drawing-room was empty.
"Where's Miss Kresney?" she asked, stopping dead upon the threshold.
"Why, what a fool I am!" the man exclaimed with a creditable air offrankness. "I clean forgot she had gone out to tea. But you're notgoing to desert me on that account! You wouldn't be so unkind!"
Evelyn felt herself trapped. It would seem foolish and pointed to go;yet she had sense enough to know that it would be very unwise to stay.She compromised matters by saying sweetly that she would come in justfor ten minutes, to have a cup of tea before going back in the sun.
Kresney looked his gratification--looked it so eloquently that shelowered her eyes, and went forwards hurriedly, as if fearing thatsomething more definite might follow the look.
But the man, though inwardly exultant, was well on his guard. If hestartled her this first time, he could not hope to repeat theexperiment. He chose the most comfortable chair for her; insisted onan elaborate arrangement of cushions at her back; poured out her tea;and plied her assiduously with stale sponge-cake and mixed biscuits.Then drawing up his own chair very close, he settled himself to thecongenial task of amusing and flattering her, with such success thather ten minutes had stretched to an hour before she even thought ofrising to go.
Captain Olliver, meanwhile, had ridden on to the blue bungalow, whichchanced to be his destination; and had spent half an hour in desultorytalk with Desmond, Wyndham, and the Colonel, who had fallen into ahabit of dropping in almost daily.
As he rose to take his leave, a glance at Wyndham brought the latterout into the hall with him.
"What is it?" he asked. "Want to speak to me about something?"
"Yes. Can we have a few words alone anywhere? It concerns Desmond, andI can't speak to him myself."
Paul frowned.
"Nothing serious, I hope. Come in here a minute." And he led the wayinto his own Spartan-looking room.
"Now let me hear it," he said quietly.
But Olliver balanced himself on the edge of the table, tapped his pipeagainst it, and loosened the contents scientifically with his penknifebefore complying with the request.
"The truth is," he began at length, "that it's about Mrs Desmond andthat confounded cad Kresney."
"Ah!" The note of pain in Wyndham's voice made the other look at himquestioningly.
"You've noticed it, then?"
"Well,--it was rather marked while Desmond was away. Nothing totrouble about, though, if it had been any other man than Kresney."
Olliver brought his fist down on the table.
"That's precisely what my wife says. You know what a lot she thinks ofDesmond; and I believe she's capable of tackling the little womanherself, which I couldn't stand at any price. That's why I promised tospeak to you to-day. Hope it doesn't seem infernal cheek on my part."
"Not at all. Go on."
Each instinctively avoided the other's eyes; while Olliver, in a fewcurt sentences, spoke his mind on the subject in hand.
The bond that links the inhabitants of small isolated Indian stationsis a thing that only the Anglo-Indian can quite understand. Desmond'sillness, and the possible tragedy overhanging him, had roused suchstrong feeling in Kohat, that his wife's conduct--which at anothertime would merely have supplied material for a little mild gossip--hadawakened the general sense of indignation, more especially among themen. But men are not free of speech on these matters, and it wascertain pungent remarks made by little Mrs Riley of the Sikhs whichhad set Frank Olliver's Irish temper in a blaze. The recollection ofwhat she had seen during Desmond's absence still rankled in her mind;and her husband, with a masculine dread of an open quarrel between theonly two ladies in the Regiment, had accepted the lesser evil ofspeaking to Wyndham himself.
"Mind, I give Mrs Desmond credit for being more passive than active inthe whole affair," he concluded, since Paul seemed disinclined tovolunteer a remark. "But the deuce of it is, that I feel sure Desmondknows less about the thing than any one else. Can you see him puttingup with it under any circumstances?"
Wyndham shook his head; and for a while they smoked in silencethinking their own thoughts.
"You want me," Paul asked at length, "to pass all this on to Desmond?Is that it?"
"Yes; that's it. Unless you think he knows it already."
"No,--frankly, I don't. But is it our business to enlighten him?"
"That's a ticklish question. But I'm inclined to think it is. We can'tbe expected to stand a bounder like Kresney hanging round one of ourladies. Why, I met him as I came here, taking her into his bungalow;and I had only just passed the sister on that old patriarch she rides.I call that going a bit too far; and I fancy Desmond would agree withme."
Wyndham looked up decisively.
"I wouldn't repeat _that_ to him, if my life depended on it."
"No, no. Of course not. You can make things clear without saying toomuch. Beastly unpleasant job, and I'm sorry to be forcing it on you.But y
ou must know that you're the only chap in the Regiment who coulddream of speaking two words to Desmond on such a delicate subject."
Paul acknowledged the statement with a wry smile under his moustache.
"I doubt if he will stand it, even from me; and I'd a deal soonerwring Kresney's neck. But I'll do the best I can, and take my chanceof the consequences to myself."
Thus reassured, Olliver departed, and Wyndham, watching him go,wondered what he intended to say.
There are few things more distasteful to a well-bred man than thenecessity of speaking to a friend, however intimate, on the subject ofhis wife's conduct or character; because there are few things a manrespects more intimately than his fellow-man's reserve. Wyndham knew,moreover, that the real sting of his communication would lie less inthe facts themselves than in Mrs Desmond's probable concealment ofthem; and his natural kindliness prompted him to a passing pity forEvelyn, who, in all likelihood, had not yet penetrated beyond theouter shell of her husband's strongly marked character.
The only means of tempering the wind to the shorn lamb lay in speakingfirst to Honor; and on that idea Wyndham unconditionally turned hisback. Mrs Desmond had brought this thing upon herself. She must facethe consequences as best she might.
But on entering the study, the words he had come to say were checkedupon his lips.
Desmond stood beside the writing-table, where the green shade laydiscarded; and a noticeable scar on his right cheek was all that nowremained of the wound which had threatened such serious results. Hiswhole attention was centred upon Rob, who pranced at his feet withungainly caperings, flinging dignity to the winds, and testifying,with heart and voice and eloquent tail, to the joy that was in him.
Paul's sensitive soul revolted from the necessity of imparting illnews at such a moment; and it was Desmond who spoke first.
"Mackay's been here this minute making a final examination of my eyes.Gave me leave, thank God, to discard _that_ abomination; and Robhasn't left off congratulating me since I flung it on the table. Thelittle beggar seems to understand what's happened just as well as Ido." He turned on Wyndham with a short satisfied laugh. "By Jove,Paul, it's thundering good to look _you_ squarely in the face again!But why,--what's the trouble, old man? Have you heard bad news?"
"Not very bad, but certainly--unpleasant."
"And you came to tell me?"
"Yes, I came to tell you."
Desmond motioned him to a chair; and, as he seated himself withunhurried deliberation, laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"What is it?" he asked. "The Regiment or yourself?"
"Neither."
"Well, then----?"
"It concerns _you_, my dear Theo," Paul answered slowly. "And it isabout--your wife."
Desmond frowned sharply, and Wyndham saw the defensive look springinto his eyes.
"Do you mean----? Has there been an accident?"
"No--no; nothing of that sort. I'm sorry to have been so clumsy."
"She is quite safe? Nothing wrong with her?"
"Nothing whatever."
Desmond's mouth took an expression Wyndham knew well. An enemy mighthave called it pig-headed.
"At that rate, there can be no more to say about her."
And he went leisurely over to the mantelpiece, where he remained,leaning on one elbow, his back towards his companion. Paul saw plainlythat he was ill at ease, and cursed the contingency which compelledhim to further speech.
"Forgive me if I seem intrusive, Theo," he began, "but I am afraidthere is more to be said. This afternoon Olliver spoke to me----"
Desmond swung round again, with blazing eyes.
"What the hell has Olliver got to do with _my wife_? I have neverinterfered with his."
Paul Wyndham looked very steadily into the disturbed face of hisfriend. Then he brought his hand down on the green baize of the tablebefore him.
"Theo--my dear fellow," he said, "it is hard enough for me, in anycase, to say what I must. Is it quite generous of you to make itharder?"
The fire died slowly out of Desmond's eyes, giving place to a look ofstubborn resignation.
"Forgive me, Paul. Sorry I lost my temper. Let me have the bare facts,please. Though I probably know them already."
And he returned to his former attitude, the fingers of his left handcaressing mechanically the stem of a tall vase.
His last remark made Paul watch him anxiously. He was wonderingwhether Theo's determination to shield his wife would possibly goadhim into a direct lie; and he devoutly hoped not.
"Well," he began at length, "Olliver spoke to me because there seemsto be rather a strong feeling in the Regiment about Mrs Desmondand--Kresney being so constantly together again just now----"
The vase Desmond was handling fell with a crash on the concretehearth, and the blood spurted from a surface cut on his finger. Butbeyond thrusting the scarred hand into his coat pocket, he made nomovement.
"Go on," he said doggedly; and Paul obediently went on, addressing hisunresponsive back and shoulders.
"You see, it was rather--noticeable while you were away. Perhaps thefact that we all dislike Kresney made it more so; and it naturallystrikes one as very bad taste on his part to be forcing himself onyour wife at a time like this. It seems there was some slight talk atthe Club too--not worth noticing, of course. But you know Mrs Ollivertakes fire easily, where any of us are concerned; and Olliver seemedafraid she might speak to Mrs Desmond, unless I came to you. He metthem again this afternoon; and he felt you ought at least to knowexactly how matters stand----"
"He might have taken it for granted that I should do that without_his_ interference."
Desmond's temper was flaring up again; and his words brought theanxious look back to Paul's eyes. Theo was sailing very near the wind.
"We all know you too well to believe that you would--tolerate such astate of things--_if_ you were aware of them," he answered slowly,choosing his words with care. "Please understand, Theo, that it isKresney who is criticised; and that Olliver put the whole thing beforeme as nicely as possible. I feel I have been clumsy enough myself. Butit goes against the grain to say anything at all, you understand?"
Desmond's sole answer was a decisive nod of the head. Then silencefell--a strained silence, difficult to break. Yet it was he himselfwho broke it.
"I can do no less than thank you," he said stiffly. "It was a hatefulthing to have thrust upon you; but Frank's intrusion would have beenunendurable. The truth is--" he paused, for the words were hard tobring out--"I have known--all along that my wife was more friendlywith--these Kresneys than I quite cared about. One could make no validobjections without seeming uncharitable, and she is still too new hereto understand our point of view. But I must see to it now that she_shall_ understand, once and for all. It is intolerable to have one'sbrother officers--making remarks, even with the best intentions. Willyou ask Honor to tell my wife, when she comes in, that I want to seeher?"
Silence again; and Paul rose to his feet. It hurt him to leave hisfriend without a word. But the attitude Desmond had adopted precludedthe lightest touch of sympathy, and Wyndham could not choose butadmire him the more.
"By the way"--Desmond turned upon him as he went with startlingabruptness--"_Honor_ isn't in any way mixed up with all this, is she?"
Something in his look and tone made Wyndham glance at him intentlybefore replying. "Of course she saw how things were while you wereaway. But she has been out very little lately; and as far as I canjudge, she knows nothing about the talk that is going on now."
"Thank Heaven!" Desmond muttered into his moustache; but Paul's earfailed to catch the words.
"Won't you have a 'peg' or a cup of tea, Theo?" he asked gently.
"No, thanks."
"I think you ought to have one or the other."
"Very well, whichever you please. Only, bring it yourself, there's agood chap."
Paul's eyes rested thoughtfully upon his friend, who, absorbed in hisown reflections, seemed to have forgotten hi
s presence. Then he wentslowly away, revolving the matter in his mind.
While avoiding the least shadow of false statement, Desmond hadsucceeded in shielding his wife from the one serious implicationsuggested by her conduct, or at least would have so succeeded, but forthe tell-tale crash of glass upon the hearth-stone. Yet the most vividimpression left on Paul by their short interview was the look inTheo's eyes when he had asked that one abrupt question about HonorMeredith.
Was it possible----? Was it even remotely possible----?
Wyndham reined in the involuntary thought, as a man reins in his horseon the brink of a precipice. Common loyalty to the friend he loved,with the unspoken love of half a lifetime, forbade him to look thatshrouded possibility frankly in the face.