Banked Fires

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE DELUGE

  One day, at the close of April, when the thermometer was unusually high,Ray Meredith fell a victim to a stroke of the sun, and had to be carriedin from camp like a dead man. His friends were thrown intoconsternation, telegrams were flashed to headquarters, and even thebazaar discussed his danger with bated breath. Captain Dalton, always athis best in critical moments, rose all at once to great heights in theestimation of the District. It was told of him how he was not onlyphysician but nurse to the Collector, and no woman could have been moredeft or capable in the sick-room than he was. But no one knew that asense of obligation to his conscience as well as to the sick man wasdriving him hard, so that, for the time being, all personalconsiderations were swept aside,--even his cherished plans which werenearing completion,--in order that he might save a useful life to whichhe owed some reparation.

  Mrs. Bright was filled with admiration, and Honor with adoration. Bothheld themselves in readiness to be of use as necessity might demand, andwere full of concern for Joyce so far away. Yet no cable was sent totell her of her husband's state.

  "From a rational point of view, it would be folly," said Mrs. Bright."If he should die, we can send a cable to prepare her, and follow it upwith another soon afterwards. Should he recover, we will have given hera nasty fright for nothing. By the time mail day comes round, we shallhave something definite to say, and a letter will do quite well." Tothis Honor was obliged to agree, but it seemed terrible to her lovingheart that a wife should be in ignorance of her husband's peril, andthus be deprived of importuning the Almighty with prayers for hisrecovery. So much of good in life depended on prayer, that she felt itnecessary to pray on behalf of Joyce for the life of the husband soprecious to her. According to her convictions, God works through theagency of his creatures, and as no stone was being left unturned by thedoctor whose whole heart was in his profession, Ray Meredith stood agood chance if God were merciful to the reckless man who had scorned thedeadly rays of an Indian sun.

  "I am so thankful he has you to take care of him," she once said duringa private interlude, when Dalton held her in his arms under the greattrees of the avenue and kissed her good-night. "Poor, poor Joyce! Shewould break her heart if she were to lose him--and she away! She wouldnever forgive herself for going."

  "If, in spite of all our efforts, he should not recover, you may take itthat he is fated to die of this stroke. One can't kick against Fate."

  "There is no such thing as Fate! If you do your best, God helping, hewill recover, I am sure of it. I am praying so hard for his wife's sake.If we keep in touch with God and do our best unremittingly, it is allthat is wanted of us."

  "If any one's prayers ever reach heaven, I am sure yours do!... Do youever pray for me?"

  "Always!"

  "What for, specially?"

  Honor hesitated for a moment, then murmured, "That we may never beparted in life, and that I may succeed in making you happy."

  Dalton kissed her reverently. "Any more than that? Do you never say,'Make him a good boy'? I need that more than anything. It is whatmothers teach their kiddies to say, but it's forgotten when they growup."

  "I'll say that, too, if you wish it."

  "Say it every night of your life; and also that my sins may be forgivenme. They are many!"

  The evening the nurse arrived from Calcutta to take charge of the case,Meredith was improving in spite of the insupportable heat. _Punkhas_waved unceasingly in the bungalows, and quantities of ice were consumed.People moved about without energy, mopping their faces and yearning forthe relief of a nor'wester, while a "brain-fever" bird cried itsmelancholy cadences with aggravating monotony, from a tree in theCollector's garden, where every leaf and twig had a thick coating ofdust. A grey pall in the north-west tantalised with its suggestion of apossible thunderstorm, which, if it burst, would instantly cool theovercharged atmosphere; and anxious eyes glanced at it with longing.

  Honor drove to the railway station in the Daimler to fetch the expectednurse, and was in time to meet the express as it steamed in with itslong train of coaches, in which every window gaped, revealing in thethird-class compartments the spectacle of semi-nude humanity packed likesheep in pens, perspiring, and anxious for the moment of release.

  When the crowd on the platform had thinned, she saw a lady in a nurse'scloak and bonnet, waiting by her trunks, the belabelled condition ofwhich advertised the fact that the owner was a much travelled person.

  She was strikingly handsome in a bold and arresting way, with dark eyescapable of expressing much, and full, red lips parted upon slightlyprominent teeth. She looked as if she could be extremely fascinating,but there was something about her that did not inspire Honor withconfidence,--though she freely admired her grace and aplomb,--and shethought she looked more like an actress than a nurse. Surely the stagewould have better suited one of her type! She wondered.

  "I have been sent to fetch you. My name is Honor Bright."

  "Oh, how d'you do! How kind you are! You see, I have 'some' luggage,"was the reply.

  "It will all fit on the car," and signing to a couple of coolie porters,Honor gave them directions and led the way through the booking office tothe entrance porch. After they had taken their seats and the car hadstarted, the nurse learned all about the case, in which she showed onlya passing interest. "A married man, did you say?" she asked carelessly.

  Honor had not said so, but answered in the affirmative.

  "Wife at home?"

  "In England; yes."

  "And what's your doctor like? I always like to know for one has so muchto do with the doctor, and it's just as well to understand somethingabout him beforehand," she said, with ill-concealed eagerness.

  "I should not describe Captain Dalton better than to say he is verydirect and never wastes words," said Honor, smiling at her firstimpressions of Brian Dalton. Her secret knowledge of him thrilled herhappily.

  "And what of his looks? Is he as handsome as"--she bit her lips,stumbled in her sentence, and concluded, "as his pictures? I have seenhis portrait in a photo group of surgeons at the Presidency GeneralHospital, in Calcutta."

  "I have never thought about his being handsome," said Honor. "He has astrong face, and an expressive one--on occasions."

  "I am told he is a hard man. How does he impress you?"

  "I dare say he could be as hard as flint; but I have not experiencedthat side of his nature."

  "It's a funny little place, this," said the nurse who had not troubledto give Honor her name. "I rather fancy it. I suppose you manage to havequite good times since everyone must know everyone else quiteintimately. Like a large family!"

  "I am quite fond of it, for I have many good friends."

  "I could imagine putting up with it for a change; but to live here yearin and year out, so far away from town and the bustle of life, wouldbore me stiff. However, _chacun a son gout_!"

  At the house, the nurse was shown her room and left to unpack andarrange her things, and change into nursing attire. Tea was served toher in the morning-room though it was nearing the dinner hour, and Honorremained to entertain her till the doctor returned from another case;Mrs. Bright having temporary charge of the patient.

  Soon afterwards, Captain Dalton arrived and Honor saw him step brisklyinto the room. She retired to a distant corner, herself, leaving him toconfer with the nurse and acquaint her with the nature of the case,utterly unprepared for the scene that followed.

  For a moment, she was paralysed at the sight of the doctor's ghastlypallor and startled eyes as they lighted upon the stranger's face.

  "You?" he breathed through stiffened lips.

  "Yes, Brian. I was given the chance as Nurse Grey was ill. I had to seeyou again!" her voice was fiercely agitated. "Won't you hear me?"

  "Good God! Don't you understand that you are nothing to me?--less thannothing!" His eyes blazed.

  "Yet you never divorced me! That gave me hope. Have you no forgiveness?No pity?"

  A s
tony silence.

  "Oh, you are hard!--_hard_! It is not fair to punish any one forever forone mistake----"

  "Mistake, do you call it?"

  "Sin, if you will have it. Are _you_ sinless? After all, we are buthuman, and we forgive as we hope to be forgiven." She made a movement asif to fall at his feet, and Honor rushed blindly from the room. Her oneinstinct was to get away somewhere and hide--hide from the knowledge soruthlessly thrust upon her. It was too horrible to contemplate. Sheshuddered from head to foot, and shivered as with ague. Out into theopen she ran, among the dust-laden crotons and azaleas, and the floridshrubberies of the Indian garden, now bathed in soft moonlight. Scarcelyheeding her footsteps, she stumbled to a bench beneath a laburnum. If itharboured reptiles, she was indifferent. Let her be bitten and die! Shewas crushed and bowed to the earth with a burden of grief too great toendure,--too hopeless to think upon.

  What was it that he had offered her? Had he meant to insult her?

  Never! He loved her too well. He would have killed himself rather thanhave treated her lightly.

  What was it then?

  Her mind refused to act. It acknowledged only one thought, and that was,severance--immediate, final--from the being she loved most on earth.That was inevitable.

  Brian Dalton was married. He had been married all the time. Joyce hadmisunderstood; or he had lied to her.

  No. She would not allow to herself that he had lied. His was not a pettynature given to lying, or to the faults of the weak and timid. He was adaring and defiant sinner, "risking damnation," as he had once said, forthe desire of his heart. She could now understand his bitterness, hisrecurring moods of sadness and almost of remorse; for he was plottingall the while against the honour of the girl he respected as well asloved.

  Consecutive thought was impossible; she was bewildered and numbed by thesuddenness of the blow. Through it all she moaned as though in physicalpain, "Brian!--oh, Brian!" Not for a minute did she doubt that he lovedher. He had given abundant evidence of his sincerity; but unable to gether by fair means, he had determined to try foul. He had fought thefight of his life, and had failed.

  "Yes--I had to see you again," the nurse had said. And then,--"You neverdivorced me!"

  The words, "never divorced me," kept repeating in her brain. The nursehad spoken, forgetful of Honor's presence or imagining that she had leftthe room. He, too, had seemingly forgotten her presence or failed tonotice that she was still in the room.

  She was handsome, this woman who had been--_was_--his wife! Honorrecalled the flashing eyes, the sensuous mouth, and quailed. Having onceloved her, might he not be won to love her again? She was his. He had noright to think of another.

  No other had any right to think of him!

  Honor writhed in misery.

  "Are you sinless?" his wife had asked him.

  From his own showing, he was a most deliberate sinner, ready tosacrifice an innocent soul for his own gratification. Only a miracle hadstopped him.

  Words he had spoken returned to her mind--

  "Your God to whom you pray every night of your life will see fit to saveyou from such as I!"

  The pathos of his dread, the wistful appeal in his voice, had touchedher deeply. She could hear it still, and her heart went out to him insympathy. Her poor, unhappy darling! But,--had God really interfered tosave her from the pit he was digging for her feet?

  If he were free, she would have no wish to be saved from him, sinnerthough he were. She would take him gladly, and, God helping, slay thedemon in him forever.

  But he was not free. The task was not for her.

  The Church would not marry them if it were known that he was not free.

  It did not enter into her consciousness that she could go to him inspite of God or the law. Defiance of laws, human and divine, wasimpossible to Honor who had been reared to respect both from her cradle.

  Therefore, all was at an end; and yet, she had no anger in her hearttowards Brian Dalton; only love and pity, and grief for the partingwhich was inevitable--a blasting, desolating grief.

  Presently, footsteps sounded on the gravel. Someone was wandering in thegarden in search of her. It was a man's tread. It was Dalton's; sherecognised the impatience, the determination in it, inseparable from theman. Yet she made no sign. She dared not, though she wanted him with allher heart. Sobs threatened to strangle her and were fiercely suppressed.What right had she to his love now that she knew all? What use had shefor his explanations and apologies? She was choked, dry-eyed,frightened.

  She was afraid of herself, for, at the first sound of his footsteps, thebeating of her heart had deafened her. She wanted him as much as hewanted her, and she trembled, feeling powerless to deny her love itshuman expression. It was compelling. What could be the end of it?

  She bowed her face upon her quivering arms whispering, "God helpme!--God help me," yet straining her ears to catch every sound without.And she made no resistance when Dalton at last found her, and, seatinghimself at her side, drew her tenderly to his breast.

  It was long before either spoke. Honor felt it was for the last time. Hefeared it might be for the last time.

  "You know?" he asked in a voice hoarse and strange.

  "Yes," she whispered trembling as she clung to him.

  "Yet you do not spurn me?"

  "How could I, when I love you so!"

  "Such a scoundrel as Brian Dalton?"

  "I only know how much I love you!"

  An inarticulate sound resembling a stifled sob came from him. After awhile----

  "What are you going to do with me, Sweet?"

  What answer could she give him but one? "What I must!" Yet she clung allthe closer.

  "Though you love me?"

  "I shall love you till I die. But we have to--we must--part!"

  His arms about her were like bands of iron. He was scarcely aware of theforce with which he crushed her to him.

  "It cannot be done," he said almost to himself.

  "Why did you not divorce her?" Honor asked resentfully.

  "To punish her. Ah!--my God!--Punishments come home to roost. Some day Iwill tell you the whole sordid story. There is no time now--I have to goback to Meredith."

  "We must say good-bye here," she returned with a desperate attempt to becalm.

  "Never 'good-bye'!" Yet he had no hope. Honor's conscience haddecided--the conscience he had once feared would sit in judgment on hissin against herself; and yet it had uttered no word of reproach.

  For a full minute he held her away from himself, trying by the light ofthe moon to see the look in her eyes. He wanted to plead with her to flywith him to another land where none should know their history; but hiswords died in his throat as he gazed upon her white and stricken face."Honey, be merciful to me in your thoughts!" he cried, instead, kissingher forehead, her eyes, and denying himself her lips.

  "Just let me go right away. Give me courage--help me!"

  "And what of me?"

  "I leave you the gift of my heart. I can never take it back."

  "Do you forgive me?"

  "Love always forgives."

  "God bless you! I think I must have been insane. I would have earnedyour hatred in time. How shall I face life without you?"

  Honor gave him her lips sadly. "In our different ways--we shall face it.Just at first it will be very hard, but not impossible if we havecourage to do what is right. To stay on here after this, is more than Ican bear; so I must go away--just for a bit, to learn how to be brave.When I come back--if you are still here, we might both bear it better."

  "My poor Honey! What a beast I have been! As for me--you will find mehere right enough. I shall not go to Australia _now_!--but I shall neverbear it better."

  They parted a little later in heavy sorrow. Honor left him bowed andbroken on the garden bench, and stumbled home unseeingly.

  Afterwards, she learned in one of Dalton's letters--for he would not bedenied that medium of communion with her--the full story of his pasthumiliation.


  He had married a nurse at Guy's when he had been a medical student, andshe had left him six months later for his best friend. She had beenproved as faithless as she was handsome, with a baleful influence overmen. Not long afterwards, the man she had led astray was killed in arailway accident, and since then, she had, on various occasions, tried,without success, to persuade Dalton to take her back. Apparently, shehad not resigned hope with the years, for she had followed him to India,believing that time was her greatest ally, since it dims the memory ofwrongs.

  When he had discovered her presence in Calcutta, and learned that shehad joined a nursing home in a fashionable quarter, he had applied for atransfer to quiet Muktiarbad, giving as his reason, his need of restfrom his too strenuous labours in the capital. His desire was to gaintime and to keep out of the way of any possibility of coming intoprofessional contact with his wife.

  At Muktiarbad he was able to forget his troubles, and, to his relief,seemed to have been forgotten by the Government and left to enjoy hispeace undisturbed. However, through her connection with a nurses'association, his wife had accidentally learned of Nurse Grey's summonsto Muktiarbad and had cleverly contrived to work things so as to goherself, instead.

  "If I had only done the right thing in the beginning, and severed thetie, legally, things might have been very different today," was theburden of his cry. Instead, in the recklessness of despair, he had cutthe ground from under his own feet, and by his desire for revenge,destroyed any possibility of future happiness for himself. Passion forthe woman was dead. Her beauty revolted him; her character he loathedand despised. "It is amazing to me," he wrote in deep contrition andhumility, "that such an egotistical, conscienceless blackguard as I,should have been given the inestimable boon of your wonderful love!--tobe allowed to retain in my keeping such a pure and faithful heart! It ismy most treasured possession. My feeling for Honor Bright is myreligion. To the memory of her, Brian Dalton, one-time scoundrel, kneelsin worship."

  * * * * *

  When Mrs. Bright returned home from Meredith's bedside and found Honornerveless and prostrated with white cheeks and dark rings round hereyes, she was convinced that it was high time her daughter was sent tothe hills.

  "I told you so in March when the weather grew unbearable; and now, you,too, have got a touch of the sun!" But Honor's cheek was cool andsymptoms of sun or heat stroke were lacking. "How do you feel?" theanxious lady questioned. Being in ignorance of the nurse's identity andhaving no clue to Honor's state, she was worried and at a loss.

  "I am only feeling rather exhausted, Mother darling," said Honorwearily. Since she had not taken her mother into her confidence whileshe was happy, she felt she had no right to burden her with her sorrow.

  "Shall I ask Captain Dalton to come and see you?"

  "Not on any account!" Honor hastened to say.

  "I know it is rather embarrassing when a doctor is an intimatefriend--and an unmarried man! Still, considering--" Mrs. Bright wasthinking of the "understanding" and wondering when it was going tobecome something definite. However, Honor was not the girl to hector orquestion on matters that concerned herself alone. The question of herindisposition was more pressing than any. "Have you a headache?" sheasked anxiously.

  Honor could truthfully say that her head ached. "When I have slept, itwill, I dare say, wear off."

  "I hope so, for I should not like to think that you are going to beill."

  "I am not ill; but, perhaps, dear, if you can spare me, I had better getaway tomorrow before the heat becomes worse. May is always such anappalling month in the plains."

  "I shall speak to your father immediately about it," Mrs. Bright said,relieved to find something she could do to avert a break-down of herdaughter's usually excellent health. "The Mackenzies at Mussoorie willbe delighted to have you for a month or two as a paying guest. We haveonly to wire. And if they have no room, they can secure one for you nearby."

  "That will be all right," said Honor listlessly. "I'll start tomorrownight, if possible."

  "It shall be possible. Such a sudden collapse!" commented Mrs. Bright."I do hope you will feel more fit in the morning."

  "I'll be quite fit, never fear," said Honor. "Tonight I am only a bit'off colour,' as Tommy says," and she tried to smile.

  "I'll send a message down to the _dhobi_ to get your wash ready by noontomorrow. At these times one realises how infinitely more convenient isa _dhobi_ than an English Laundry Company," and Mrs. Bright bustled awaythat she might lose no time in letting the washerman know what wasexpected of him. Though the laundry had been taken away that verymorning, she had not the slightest doubt that the task would becompleted to perfection before noon, for she knew the laundryman ofIndia to be as remarkable in his line as the Indian cook is in his.

  The following evening, Honor left Muktiarbad station, with the faithfulTommy to see her off in the train; and her mother was there to give hera last hug and sundry forgotten injunctions at the eleventh hour. "Mindyou telegraph on your arrival--and don't forget to wear a woollen vestnext to your skin. It is so necessary to ward off colds. Give AliceMackenzie my love and say that I shall try to come up in the rains.Good-bye, darling, and take care of yourself! If you want more money,don't fail to let me know. Have you got your umbrella? Thank goodness! Ithought it was forgotten. Write soon; I hope you'll pick up and lookbetter when I see you next."

  The train moved off and Mrs. Bright remarked to Tommy that she was quitealarmed to see such a sudden change in her beloved child. Really, sheshould have insisted upon her going away, the latest, a month ago.

  "What is the matter? I, too, have been aghast at the change. Honey lookspositively ill," said Tommy.

  "Nothing is the matter but the heat, it seems. I wonder why CaptainDalton never came to see her off. I told him, when I was at the BaraKoti this morning, that she was leaving by the 7:20. And they are suchgood friends. I feel quite hurt."

  "He is out somewhere in the District this evening. I saw him take themain road in his car a little while ago, and travelling at break-neckspeed," said Tommy.

  "Someone else taken ill somewhere, I suppose."

  "Very likely."

  "Still, I think he might have made a point of saying 'good-bye.'"

  Tommy wondered, but said nothing. He had long made up his mind, as hadothers in the Station, that Captain Dalton and Honor Bright wereengaged. He had also heard of lovers' quarrels and was ready, by thelook on Honor's face, to believe that a very serious misunderstandinghad taken place. Her abstraction, her ghastly pallor and haunted eyeshad given him positive suffering and a feeling of blind sympathy, whichhad only found vent in loading the compartment with newspapers andmagazines snatched from Wheeler's bookstall.

  To Honor's surprise, Captain Dalton appeared at a wayside station, andleant his arms on the open window. The sight of him, his set face andbrooding eyes, made her heart stand still, while a sudden faintnessseized her. Behind him the Station hawkers were shouting their wares,native travellers were bustling to and fro, and the air was alive withsound, so that in the midst of all that confusion they were absolutelyalone.

  "I am glad you have no one in with you," he said quietly. "I so wanted afew words with you."

  "How is Mr. Meredith?" Honor asked, trying to speak naturally.

  He took both her hands and held them close, deaf to the question.Meredith was out of danger and the nurse had become interested in hercharge. What were they and all else to the lovers so parted!

  "Have you nothing to say to me?"

  "I have said all that there is to say," she replied tremulously.

  "I am going to write to you, and you must write to me. Do you understandthat this is imperative?"

  "Is it?" she asked with beating heart. Oh, that they might at least hugto themselves that innocent joy!

  "If I do not write to you or hear from you, I shall be doing somethingdesperate. I cannot be responsible for myself. It will be the only thingto keep me sane. You cannot dream how I am b
eing punished. Don't add tomy punishment if you have any pity." His anguished eyes and quiveringlips were convincing. "You will have no fault to find with my letters,"he added while she hesitated.

  Honor promised.

  A bell clanged noisily and the engine whistled.

  "Oh, Honey!--how can you leave me like this?" he whispered holding hereyes with his.

  Honor moved impulsively towards him and their lips met in a passionateand lingering kiss. The strength to resist his unspoken appeal wasmelted by that silent demand. After all, they were parting!

  "Good-bye," she said, the tears falling.

  He stepped back as the train began to move, his gaze riveted on herface, and jaws set with stern self-repression.