CHAPTER XV
A QUESTION ANSWERED
Thereafter both sat silent for a little while. The stream of peopleacross the courtyard had diminished. High up on the great platform by thelighted arches the throng still pressed and shifted. But here there wasquietude. The clatter of voices had died down. A band playing somewherenear at hand could be heard. Violet Oliver for the first time in her lifehad been brought face to face with a real tragedy. She was conscious ofit as something irremediable and terribly sad. And for her own share inbringing it about she was full of remorse. She looked at Shere Ali as hesat beside her, his eyes gazing into the courtyard, his face tired andhopeless. There was nothing to be done. Her thoughts told her so no lessclearly than his face. Here was a life spoilt at the beginning. But thatwas all that she saw. That the spoilt life might become an instrument ofevil--she was blind to that possibility: she thought merely of the youthwho suffered and still must suffer; who was crippled by the very meanswhich were meant to strengthen him: and pity inclined her towards himwith an ever-increasing strength.
"I couldn't do it," she repeated silently to herself. "I couldn't do it.It would be madness."
Shere Ali raised his head and said with a smile, "I am glad they are notplaying the tune which I once heard on the Lake of Geneva, and again inLondon when I said good-bye to you."
And then Violet sought to comfort him, her mind still working on what hehad told her of his life in Chiltistan.
"But it will become easier," she said, beginning in that general way. "Intime you will rule in Chiltistan. That is certain." But he checked herwith a shake of the head.
"Certain? There is the son of Abdulla Mohammed, who fought against myfather when Linforth's father was killed. It is likely enough that thoseold days will be revived. And I should have the priests against me."
"The Mullahs!" she exclaimed, remembering in what terms he was wont tospeak of them to her.
"Yes," he answered, "I have set them against me already. They laid theirtraps for me while I was on the sea, and I would not fall into them. Theywould have liked to raise the country against my father and the English,just as they raised it twenty-five years ago. And they would have likedme to join in with them."
He related to Violet the story of his meeting with Safdar Khan at theGate of Lahore, and he repeated the words which he had used in SafdarKhan's hearing.
"It did not take long for my threats to be repeated in the bazaar ofKohara, and from the bazaar they were quickly carried to the ears of theMullahs. I had proof of it," he said with a laugh.
Violet asked him anxiously for the proof.
"I can tell to a day when the words were repeated in Kohara. For afortnight after my coming the Mullahs still had hopes. They had heardnothing, and they met me always with salutations and greetings. Thencame the day when I rode up the valley and a Mullah who had smiled theday before passed me as though he had not noticed me at all. The newshad come. I was sure of it at the time. I reined in my horse and calledsharply to one of the servants riding behind me, 'Who is that?' TheMullah heard the question, and he turned and up went the palm of hishand to his forehead in a flash. But I was not inclined to let him offso easily."
"What did you do?" Violet asked uneasily.
"I said to him, 'My friend, I will take care that you know me the nexttime we meet upon the road. Show me your hands!' He held them out, andthey were soft as a woman's. I was close to a bridge which some workmenwere repairing. So I had my friend brought along to the bridge. Then Isaid to one of the workmen, 'Would you like to earn your day's wage andyet do no work?' He laughed, thinking that I was joking. But I was not. Isaid to him, 'Very well, then, see that this soft-handed creature doesyour day's work. You will bring him to me at the Palace this evening, andif I find that he has not done the work, or that you have helped him, youwill forfeit your wages and I will whip you both into the bargain.' TheMullah was brought to me in the evening," said Shere Ali, smiling grimly."He was so stiff he could hardly walk. I made him show me his handsagain, and this time they were blistered. So I told him to remember hismanners in the future, and I let him go. But he was a man of prominencein the country, and when the story got known he became ratherridiculous." He turned with a smile to Violet Oliver.
"My people don't like being made ridiculous--least of all Mullahs."
But there was no answering smile on Violet's face. Rather she wastroubled and alarmed.
"But surely that was unwise?"
Shere Ali shrugged his shoulders.
"What does it matter?" he said. He did not tell her all of that story.There was an episode which had occurred two days later when Shere Ali wasstalking an ibex on the hillside. A bullet had whistled close by his ear,and it had been fired from behind him. He was never quite sure whetherhis father or the Mullah was responsible for that bullet, but he inclinedto attribute it to the Mullah.
"Yes, I have the priests against me," he said. "They call me theEnglishman." Then he laughed. "A curious piece of irony, isn't it?"
He stood up suddenly and said: "When I left England I was in doubt. Icould not be sure whether my home, my true home, was there or inChiltistan."
"Yes, I remember," said Violet.
"I am no longer in doubt. It is neither in England nor in Chiltistan. Iam a citizen of no country. I have no place anywhere at all."
Violet Oliver stood up and faced him.
"I must be going. I must find my friends," she said, and as he took herhand, she added, "I am so very sorry."
The words, she felt, were utterly inadequate, but no others would come toher lips, and so with a trembling smile she repeated them. She drew herhand from his clasp and moved a step or two away. But he followed her,and she stopped and shook her head.
"This is really good-bye," she said simply and very gravely.
"I want to ask you a question," he explained. "Will you answer it?"
"How can I tell you until you ask it?"
He looked at her for a moment as though in doubt whether he should speakor not. Then he said, "Are you going to marry--Linforth?"
The blood slowly mounted into her face and flushed her foreheadand cheeks.
"He has not even asked me to marry him," she said, and moved down intothe courtyard.
Shere Ali watched her as she went. That was the last time he should seeher, he told himself. The last time in all his life. His eyes followedher, noting the grace of her movements, the whiteness of her skin, allher daintiness of dress and person. A madness kindled in his blood. Hehad a wild thought of springing down, of capturing her. She mounted thesteps and disappeared among the throng.
And they wanted him to marry--to marry one of his own people. Shere Alisuddenly saw the face of the Deputy Commissioner at Lahore calmlysuggesting the arrangement, almost ordering it. He sat down again uponthe couch and once more began to laugh. But the laughter ceased veryquickly, and folding his arms upon the high end of the couch, he bowedhis head upon them and was still.