Title: The Flag of the Adventurer
Author: Grier, Sydney C.
Language: English
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The
Flag of the Adventurer

BY
SYDNEY C. GRIER
AUTHOR OF
‘THE WARDEN OF THE MARCHES,’ ‘THE STRONG HAND,’
ETC., ETC.


_WITH FRONTISPIECE BY A. PEARSE_


(_First in the Modern East series_)


“When glimmers down the riotous wind
The flag of the Adventurer”


William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1921
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_



 CONTENTS.

 I. MAJOR AND MRS AMBROSE
 II. THE RIFT IN THE LUTE
 III. COLONEL BAYARD’S BURDEN
 IV. A LUCKLESS DAY
 V. THE SEAL OF SOLOMON
 VI. ENTER THE ADVENTURER
 VII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGES
 VIII. TOO CLEVER BY HALF
 IX. DINNER AT THE GENERAL’S
 X. A CONTEST OF WITS
 XI. DEEDS, NOT WORDS
 XII. AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT
 XIII. A LAST EFFORT
 XIV. OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN--
 XV. --INTO THE FIRE
 XVI. THE MORROW OF VICTORY
 XVII. SUPPORTED ON BAYONETS
 XVIII. PLUCK AND LUCK
 XIX. THE SECOND ROUND
 XX. IF SHE WILL, SHE WILL
 XXI. WELL AND TRULY LAID
 XXII. THE BELLE AND THE BAUBLE
 XXIII. BRIAN TO THE RESCUE
 XXIV. A SORE STRAIT
 XXV. USE AND WONT



 The Flag of the Adventurer.

 CHAPTER I.
 MAJOR AND MRS AMBROSE.

“/At/ last!” murmured Eveleen Ambrose with heartfelt relief, gaining
the unsteady deck by dint of a frantic clutch at her husband’s arm,
and cannoning helplessly against an unfortunate man who happened to be
standing near the head of the ladder. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” as he
staggered wildly and recovered himself, with a look of mortal offence
on his face; “I am so sorry--I----”

“Steady!” said her husband sharply, retrieving her from an
unintentional rush across the deck, and setting her up in a corner.
“What’s the matter with you--eh?”

“The matter?” Eveleen’s Irish mind was so unhappily constituted that
it saw humour where none was visible to others. She began to laugh
weakly. “The matter? Oh, nothing at all, of course!”

“Hysterics now, I suppose.” Richard Ambrose’s voice was rough.

“I am _never_ hysterical!” indignantly. “But after four days and
nights of being tossed about like a cork in that cabin down there,
till I know the feel of every inch of the floor and ceiling of it--and
hard enough they are, I can tell you!--mayn’t I have your gracious
leave to be just a little weeshy bit shaky?”

“Exaggeration is not wit,” he growled. “You have my free leave to feel
as you like, provided it don’t make you go about knocking people
down.”

Tears--never very far from laughter in Irish eyes--rose rebelliously,
and Eveleen turned quickly to gaze at the shore whose first appearance
she had hailed with so much joy. There was nothing particularly
attractive about the long line of mud-coloured coast backed by low
mud-coloured hills, beyond a wide--still horribly wide--waste of
tumbling waters; but it was land, blessed solid land! The man against
whom she had cannoned spoke suddenly--she had the instant idea that he
had been trying to make up his mind whether the circumstances
warranted his addressing her without an introduction.

“The fact is, ma’am, ladies have no business in these steamboats. The
cabin may have seemed uncommon incommodious to you, but in order that
you and your companions might enjoy it, four of the gentlemen on board
had no cabin at all.”

“Oh!” in dismay. “But ’twas not for you to tell me that!” she flashed
out at him.

“I had a reason, ma’am--to convince you that you should not be here.”

“And pray, sir, what other way would we poor females get to
Khemistan?”

“My point precisely, ma’am.” He spoke under difficulties, swaying to
and fro and holding fast to the rail. “Khemistan is no place for
European females--nor will be for years to come. But when charming
ladies take it into their pretty heads to go there, what is poor Hubby
to do? ‘My dear, believe me, I can’t take you with me.’ ‘Oh, but you
will, won’t you?’ ‘Quite impossible, my dear.’ ‘Ah, but you can do it
if you like, I know. And you must.’ And he does--naturally.”

Richard Ambrose chuckled disagreeably, and the colour rose in his
wife’s cheeks. “It’s a bachelor y’are, sir, by your own confession,”
she said sweetly to the stranger. “No married man would dare to draw
such a picture. The best I can wish you is that you may find how true
it is!” She meant to end with a little contemptuous curtsey, but the
moment she loosed her hold of the shawl over her head, the wind caught
it and hurled it full in the stranger’s face. This time he did lose
his footing, and went slipping and sliding across the deck till he was
brought up by the bulwarks.

“One for you, Crosse!” cried Richard Ambrose loudly, and holding his
wife with one hand, secured the loose end of shawl and tucked it in
with the other. “Can’t you look after your own fallals?” he demanded.
“It ain’t enough to make out that you wanted to come and I couldn’t do
without you--eh?”

“I did want to come,” persisted Eveleen stoutly. “And pray would you
have me tell people y’are bringing me here for a punishment because
you can’t find a keeper in Bombay to look after me?”

“Pray remember you are not a child,” he said--so coldly that she grew
red again, and moved as far from him as the necessity of submitting to
his protecting arm would allow. But it was difficult to maintain an
attitude of dignified displeasure in the circumstances.

“Why, we are anchoring already!” she cried in dismay a moment later.
Her husband smiled superior.

“Precisely, my dear. Now you will have an opportunity of experiencing
the full pleasure of landing at Bab-us-Sahel. It might be worse,
however, for the tide is fairly high.”

Privately Eveleen wondered how low water could possibly make the
landing worse, when the passengers and their luggage had been
transferred from the rolling steamer to an equally unsteady tug, and
thence into large open boats, in which the water seemed terribly
near--and actually was, as she discovered on finding the wet mounting
higher and higher up her skirts. They were to land at a pier, she
knew, which was comforting, but alas! there was another transhipment
before reaching it, this time into light canoes, since the boats drew
too much water to enter the creek in which it stood. Dazed, shaken,
and sea-sick, Eveleen had no pride left. With closed eyes, she leaned
her swimming head against her husband’s shoulder as they came into
smoother water, and told herself that this misery had lasted so long
she would not be surprised if the tide had gone out. What would they
do then? she speculated in a detached kind of way--change into some
other kind of craft, or paddle up and down and dodge the rollers until
the flow?

“There’s Bayard waiting to meet us!” said her husband sharply. She
opened one eye weakly, and discerned figures on the pier.

“‘The celebrated Colonel Bayard!’” she quoted in a dreamy whisper, and
shut it again.

“But not Mrs Bayard!” Richard was evidently injured.

“Perhaps--the sight of--this sea--makes her--ill. I would
not--wonder,” murmured Eveleen.

“Nonsense, my dear! Considering my friendship with Bayard, and the
kindness she professed towards you when she heard----”

“Her husband maybe teased her--to come--so she wouldn’t,” and even in
her misery Eveleen was conscious of triumph. It was something to have
reduced Richard to speechless indignation, were it but for a moment.

“Halloo, Ambrose! Glad to see you, my dear fellow!” The words sounded
startlingly near, and looking up quickly, she saw a small stoutish
dark-moustached officer hanging perilously on what looked like a
ladder just above them. As the canoe rocked this way and that with the
motion of the waves, he seemed to be performing the wildest acrobatic
feats, as though it were the pier and not the boat that rose and fell.
She closed her eyes again hopelessly.

“Your poor wife overcome by all this landing business? I don’t wonder.
Lift her up, man. Now, ma’am, give me your hand, and we’ll have you on
firm ground in no time.”

The deep commanding voice mastered even her helpless lassitude, and
she looked up into the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Her hand was
seized in a strong clasp, and somehow--between Richard and Colonel
Bayard--she was hoisted up the ladder before she had time to notice
with horror how very rickety it was.

“‘Firm ground!’” she said reproachfully when she reached the top, for
the pier seemed to be swaying every way at once, and between its
sun-warped timbers the water was disconcertingly visible.

“In a moment, in a moment!” said Colonel Bayard soothingly, as though
speaking to a child. “I brought my wife’s palanquin for you, but I had
not realised how bad the landing would be. Would you prefer to wait
here while I have it fetched?”

“Indeed I would not--not here!” said Eveleen with a shudder, and
supported by the two men, she stumbled uncertainly along the pier.

“I trust Mrs Bayard ain’t ill?” said Richard.

“You could answer that better than I, my good fellow, for you must
have passed her on your way up from Bombay. I had to send her down by
the next steamer after you had started. So end my hopes of making a
home up here. Heigh-ho!”

He gave a great sigh, and Eveleen looked up at him sympathetically.
Not noticing that they had come to the end of the pier, she stumbled
wildly in the loose sand, and fell. The Resident had her up again in a
moment.

“My dear lady, forgive me!” he cried, in deep contrition. “I fear
Khemistan is giving you a sorry welcome.”

“Ah, but think how I’ll be adoring the place when I fall on my knees
at the first sight of it!” she said, laughing feebly, while her
husband--in awful silence--did his best to brush the wet sand from her
gown.

“That’s the spirit!” said Colonel Bayard approvingly. “Mrs Ambrose is
cut out for the frontier, Richard. Now, ma’am!”

He was handing her into the waiting _palki_, while she looked
longingly at the ponies waiting for the two men. If only there were
one for her! But Colonel Bayard would probably be scandalised, and
Richard certainly would, if she proposed to ride through the town on a
man’s saddle, with a stirrup thrown over to serve as pommel.

“The many times I’ve done it at home!” she lamented to herself. “And
sure this place might be in Ireland, only that it’s brown instead of
green.”

But she settled herself meekly on the cushions, and closed her eyes,
that the swaying of the _palki_ might not recall too vividly the
motion of the steamer. She was not losing much, she told herself, for
the inhabitants of Bab-us-Sahel appeared to live either in mud-heaps
or within high mud walls, both windowless, and there was not a tree to
be seen. She must have gone to sleep before very long, for she woke
with a start when the reed blind was drawn aside, and Colonel Bayard’s
face appeared in the doorway--a sepoy guard standing to attention
behind him.

“Welcome to Government House, Mrs Ambrose! Let me say as the Spaniards
do, ‘This house is yours, ma’am.’ Turn it upside down if you like, and
do me the favour of chivying the servants as much as you please. My
wife always declares I spoil ’em when she ain’t with me.”

“Ah, but tell me now--will you let me ride your horses?” demanded
Eveleen, pausing as he helped her out. The mud-built town was below
them now, for they were at the top of a long slope. An immensely wide
road with ostentatiously white houses on either side, so rigidly
spaced that they looked like tents in a camp, led down to a muddy
swamp, and by a causeway across it to the mud-heap which was
Bab-us-Sahel. Some attempt had been made by most of the householders
to enclose their domains with a hedge, but the only available plant
seemed to be a weak and straggly kind of cactus, which left more gaps
than it filled. Government House was mud-built and white-washed like
the rest, long and narrow and surrounded by verandahs, and boasted an
imposing flagstaff in front, together with a circular enclosure,
intended as a flower-bed, in which grew a few debilitated shrubs.
Glaring sunshine and shadeless sand were the salient features of the
scene from which Eveleen withdrew her eyes as she looked up at her
host.

“With all my heart, if I had any,” he responded genially. “But I’ll
confess I am a precious lazy fellow when there’s no hunting in
question. Bring me _khubber_ of a tiger, and I’ll ride all day and all
night to get at him, but here----! My dear ma’am, this respectable
elderly gentleman”--he indicated the pony from which he had just
dismounted--“represents my whole stable, and you can see by his figure
that he don’t get much to do.”

“And such a galloping country!” Deep commiseration was in Eveleen’s
tone as she looked down the other side of the rise to the bare rolling
sandy plain. “I’ll have to wait till my own horses are landed, then,
before challenging you to a race.”

“Mrs Ambrose is going to wake us all up, I see, Richard!” Colonel
Bayard beamed as he handed her into the house. He had to perfection
the gift of doing little things greatly, and Queen Victoria herself
could not have been ushered in with more _empressement_. “Now if
anything is not as you like it, ma’am, command me and all I have, I
beg of you. You won’t feel bound to show yourself at table if you
ain’t equal to it? Ambrose and I will devour our grub in solitude,
like a pair of uncivilised bachelors again.”

“As if I’d allow that! Sure I’ll be there!” and Eveleen nodded
brightly as she disappeared under the curtain that hung before the
doorway of her room. Her mercurial spirits were recovering fast from
the gloom of the voyage. Everything was interesting, and therefore
cheerful--the new country, the unfamiliar house, this dear chivalrous
Colonel Bayard. What a shame it was that his wife had let herself be
sent away! “Sure I’d have stuck to him with teeth and claws!” she said
to herself, and broke into her ready laughter at the thought of the
inconvenience of such a devotion to its object.

Several hours of healthy slumber left Eveleen almost restored to her
usual self, though still a little languid and pale. Her luggage had
arrived while she slept, and also her ayah, who was much less welcome.
Ketty was an elderly Goanese woman of vast experience and monumental
propriety, and Eveleen suspected that Richard Ambrose had chosen her
out to keep his erratic wife in order. Her last mistress had been the
lady of a Member of Council, and what Ketty did not know of the
manners and customs proper to ladies in high places was not worth
knowing. Mutely, but firmly, she indicated on all occasions what ought
to be worn, and also the appropriate style of hair-dressing, quite
regardless of the wishes of her Madam Sahib--the very word showed in
what high society she had moved, for in all but very lofty households
the English lady was still alluded to as the Beebee. But to-day
Eveleen’s reviving spirits led her to trample ruthlessly on Ketty. The
ayah had laid out a white gown, and it was summarily rejected. Eveleen
had all the Irishwoman’s love of easy old clothes, and in the open
trunk she caught sight of a beloved garment that had once been a
rather bright blue, but was now faded to a soft dull shade, the
proximity of which only a milky skin and Irish blue eyes could endure
with impunity. That dress she would wear and no other.

“A stiff starchy thing like that white brilliant!” she was talking to
herself again, as she often did, since Ketty’s lack of response tried
her sorely after the companionable garrulity of Irish servants. “No,
I’ll be comfortable to-night--haven’t I earned it? Sure I’d be a
regular ghost in white, and why would I want to haunt poor Colonel
Bayard’s house before I’m dead?” Then severely, “Ayah, I said the
blue. So that’s done!” triumphantly. “And now what to wear with it? I
know what I’d like,” turning over the trinkets which Ketty, with an
aloof and reserved air--as of one who refused all responsibility for
such doings--laid before her, “and that’s you, you beauty. Isn’t it a
real match for my eyes y’are, as Uncle Tom said when he gave you to
me?” She took up a disc of flawed turquoise, some two inches across,
set in silver and hanging from a steel chain, and looked at it
affectionately, but put it down again. “No, Ambrose would have too
much to say about my childish taste for ‘something large and smooth
and round,’ and why would I provoke him when I needn’t? So we’ll be
quite proper and suitable, and wear his bracelet with his hair and his
portrait in it. Ah, my dear, what has happened you that you’d be so
changed since you gave me that?” This was added in a painful whisper,
but in a moment Eveleen had brushed the tears hastily from her eyes
and turned to the door, accepting impatiently the handkerchief with
which Ketty hurried after her.

Colonel Bayard was the prince of hosts. He told Eveleen that were he
only a younger man, he would have a dozen duels on his hands the next
morning for depriving the rest of the European community, if only for
one day, of the honour of meeting her at supper--and all owing to his
thinking she might be fatigued, which he saw now was quite
unnecessary. Perhaps the voyage had been better than he feared. It
could have been worse, she assured him, and described its horrors
dramatically for his amusement and sympathy.

“And there was a cross officer--oh, and his name _was_ Crosse!” she
laughed delightedly--“said that ladies had no business on board ship.
There’s a nasty wretch for you!”

“Poor Crosse was uncommonly riled--had no cabin all the voyage,”
explained her husband. “But he got precious little compassion from Mrs
Ambrose.”

“And he deserved none--did he, ma’am?” said Colonel Bayard heartily.
“Now I know why Crosse chose to go on at once and catch the steamer
starting for Qadirabad to-morrow evening. He was afraid he’d be hooted
out of decent society if it was known he had said such an atrocious
thing. But talking of steamers, Mrs Ambrose, don’t use up all your
adjectives too soon, or you’ll have none left for the river craft, and
the Bombay boats are palaces to ’em!” Precise people still talked
about “steamboats” in the early ’forties, but the word steamer had
established itself in familiar use, and Eveleen took it up promptly.

“But what I want to know is, why wouldn’t you have better steamers, if
that’s your only way of getting about?” she demanded. “And tell me,
why wouldn’t you have a better landing-place here?”

“Why should we?” Colonel Bayard bristled up unaccountably. “The place
ain’t ours.”

“But sure it’s as good as ours!”

“Not a bit of it. It’s entirely our own fault that we are here, and if
we set to work to improve the place, the people to whom it belongs
would suspect us of wanting to land more troops and take possession of
it--most naturally, in my opinion. Therefore I won’t have it touched.
It’s the same with the steamers. The people here don’t want ’em--don’t
share our craze for getting about quickly--and the landowners swear
the wash damages the river banks.”

“That old codger Gul Ali Khan making bobbery about his _shikargah_
again?” asked Richard Ambrose sympathetically, and thereafter the talk
became local and technical in the extreme, while Eveleen listened
fascinated. This was what she loved--and her husband would never talk
to her about his work, and was chary of affording information even
when she asked for it. Now he forgot her intrusive presence, and
talked simply and naturally, while she sat with her head a little on
one side and drank in admiringly what he said.

Presently they were speaking of public affairs, and of the
Governor-General’s tardy permission to the punitive expedition against
Ethiopia to take--at its commander’s pleasure and on his
responsibility--a return route which might serve to bring home the
abiding nature of British power to a people hugging delicious memories
of a disaster which had shaken the white man’s prestige throughout
Asia.

“They were saying at Bombay that Lord Maryport consulted old Lennox
before he consented--or at any rate that Lennox had given him the
advice,” said Richard.

“Much more likely!” said Colonel Bayard quickly. “Well, he will always
have that to his credit, at any rate--that we were not left to be the
laughing-stock of the East. Oh, I have nothing against the old fellow,
provided he stays down where he is, and don’t come meddling up here.”

“But don’t you like Sir Harry Lennox, Colonel Bayard?” asked
Eveleen--her tone suggesting that she did.

“Don’t I say I have nothing against him, my dear lady? But there’s no
earthly reason for the Bombay C.-in-C. to come poking about in
Khemistan. It ain’t his to poke about in, for one thing.”

“That little difficulty wouldn’t stop him,” said Ambrose drily. “You
should hear the Bombay people talk. He’s fluttering their dovecots for
’em, and no mistake.”

“Oh, well, we all know there are plenty of dark corners that want
sweeping out, and he’s welcome to do it. Did you get a sight of him
when you were down there?”

“He happened to be in the town, so I went to pay my respects. The
queerest old ruffian you ever saw--black as a nigger, with a beak like
any old Jew in the bazar, and whiskers streaming every way at once.”

“It’s to hide the scar he got at Busaco he wears them long,” broke in
Eveleen indignantly. “He has been severely wounded seven times--it’s
covered with scars he is entirely.”

“And would feel himself amply repaid if he knew Mrs Ambrose kept count
of ’em, I’ll be bound,” said Colonel Bayard gallantly. “Is the old
General a friend of yours, ma’am?”

“He is, indeed. At least, I met him when I was at Mahabuleshwar, and
he was very kind. He might have been an Irishman.”

“Really? Well, they say that, thanks to being born in Ireland, he has
all the Irish vices without a drop of Irish blood in his veins.”

“Mrs Ambrose is Irish--you may not be aware----” broke in Major
Ambrose hastily.

“My dear lady, forgive me!” Colonel Bayard’s gesture of contrition
would have disarmed a heart of stone. “What have I said--anything to
wound----?”

“Not a bit of it!” Eveleen flashed back at him. “We are not wild
Irish, don’t you know--the tame kind. We were always taught to behave
nicely and try to be English.”

“Mrs Ambrose would jest on her deathbed, I believe,” said her husband,
rather uncomfortably.

“_Absit omen!_” Colonel Bayard looked quickly at Eveleen to see
whether the words had hurt her, but she smiled back with twinkling
eyes.

“Now you see what Ambrose is in private life--always talking about
deathbeds and the poorhouse and cheerful things of that sort. There!
I’ve forgotten again. The poorhouse is a solemn subject, and not to be
mentioned in the same breath with a joke.”

She glanced with mock apology at her husband, but there was a touch of
defiance in the tone, and Colonel Bayard hastened to smooth matters
over. “Well, ma’am, I have forgot what it was I said--though I’m sure
you remember it--but you’ll oblige me by considering it unsaid. I’ll
swear Sir Harry Lennox is the greatest hero since Achilles if that
will please you--provided he keeps away from Khemistan.”

“Ah, but why?” with poignant reproach. “If he comes, he’ll be bringing
Brian with him--my brother.”

“My dear, what nonsense are you talking?” interjected her husband. She
drew back a little.

“It was nonsense, of course. Why would he come at all? But if he did
come--why, Sir Harry loves his Irishmen, as everybody knows.”

“Still I hope he won’t bring ’em here. We want no more British troops
in Khemistan, Mrs Ambrose. When we came here three years ago it was
doing one injustice in order to do another. We wanted to use Khemistan
as a stepping-stone to get at Ethiopia, and when we had done it we
refused to go away. We forced a treaty upon the Khans, and we kept
this place. Do you wonder that the sight of more redcoats would
convince ’em that we meant to take the whole country?”

“I’m crushed! I’m crushed!” she held up her hands suppliantly. “But
please, _I_ don’t want to take the whole country--nor any of it,
except perhaps a paddock big enough to put up some jumps in.”

“How can you be so childish, my dear?” demanded her husband
impatiently, but Colonel Bayard bent his head with a deferential
gesture.

“No, my dear Ambrose, I am justly rebuked. As Mrs Ambrose sees, I am
liable to grow improperly warm on this subject. But she will pardon me
when she learns the nature of my charge here. I stand as guardian,
ma’am, to the entire ruling family, and I swear I love ’em as if they
were my own children.”

“The whole lot of ’em--from frowsy old Gul Ali down to little fat
Hafiz-Ullah,” assented Richard.

“Your husband may laugh at me, ma’am, but I swear he values the
friendship of my dear Khans as much as I do.”

“Do I? Well, you know my opinion,” said Ambrose dispassionately. “Good
sportsmen, most of ’em, but precious tough customers.”

“Only where they have been wrongly handled----” and off the two men
went again into a discussion of the character, public and private, of
the Khans of Khemistan. The house seemed to present a bewildering
complexity of uncles and brothers and nephews, but Eveleen gathered
that Gul Ali Khan, the eldest brother--or uncle?--was the acknowledged
head of a confederacy of rulers, though the position would not
necessarily descend to his children, but to the eldest male member of
the family who happened to be alive at his death. The arrangement
seemed to have its temptations for enterprising young Khans not
overburdened with scruples, and Colonel Bayard was persuaded that on
Gul Ali’s death there would be a tussle for the chiefship between his
brother, Shahbaz Khan, and his son, Karimdâd. But when he had reached
this interesting point, he suddenly awoke again to Eveleen’s presence.
“My dear Mrs Ambrose, you must be bored to death! Pardon me.”

“I love listening to it,” she assured him truthfully, but she rose and
collected handkerchief and fan. If only he would disregard her
presence as completely as he did that of the silent statuesque
servants behind the chairs, how much she might learn of this new life
to which she had come! There was a touch of reproach in her manner as
she passed him, and he saw it. Mrs Ambrose interested him. What could
be the reason of the evident coolness between her and her husband? he
asked himself, as he looked after the graceful figure with its pale
draperies, and the crown of dark hair, insecurely fastened, as it
appeared, with a high Spanish comb.

“What can it be?” he wondered as he returned slowly to his place,
remembering the obvious wrath and disquiet with which Richard Ambrose
had asked for leave to Bombay on urgent private affairs, and the
embarrassment with which he had requested permission to bring his wife
back with him if necessary. “Quite a suitable age for Ambrose--I was
afraid he might have got caught by a schoolgirl; and must have been
uncommonly pretty a few years ago--is so now, indeed. Most elegant
woman, and very agreeable--really charming manners--and fond of
him----”

It had all passed through his mind while he turned from the door and
the servants were withdrawing noiselessly, and in his impulsive way he
stopped and laid his hand on Ambrose’s shoulder.

“You and I are old friends, my boy--let me say one word. I don’t know
what tales you may have heard when you rushed off to Bombay, but
believe me, they were lies. Your wife is a good woman--if ever I have
met one--and she adores you.”

Ambrose laughed, not very pleasantly. “You are agitating yourself
unnecessarily,” with some stiffness. “I am quite aware my wife adores
me--worse luck! I mean she makes me a laughing-stock in company,” he
added hastily.

“Many a man would give a good deal to be made a laughing-stock in that
way,” a little sternly. “But why, then----?”

“Money, my good sir--nothing but money! She was ruining me. I swear to
you, I should have been broke in another year of it.”

“The ladies must always be buying pretty clothes, bless ’em! And a
fine creature like that----! But if you explained----”

“It was not clothes,” resentfully. “The difficulty with Mrs Ambrose is
to induce her to wear clothes suited to her position. But what do you
say to her paying the debts of the young scamp of a brother she
mentioned, who is playing the fool with the best in an Irish
regiment?”

“That I should have a word to say to the brother before visiting his
sins on the sister.”

“I should like you to try it, and see how much Mrs Ambrose would allow
you to say! And what do you think of her rebuilding the stables of the
bungalow--a hired bungalow, mind you--I took for her? and saying that
in Ireland they kept the horses warm and dry, however poorly they
themselves were lodged?”

“An amiable weakness, surely?”

“Mere childishness, believe me. She has no more idea of the value of
money than an infant in arms! When it’s there she spends it, and when
it ain’t she writes chits! She would buy anything--a mangy starved
pony, and vow it was an Arab, if you please!”

“And it was a common bazar tat?”

“Well,” reluctantly, “now that the beast’s bones ain’t coming through
its skin, there’s a look of blood about it, I admit. But----”

“Trust an Irishwoman’s eye for a horse! But seriously, my dear fellow,
to what better use can you put your money than allow your goodwife to
make herself happy by spending it? I know if mine would do me the
honour----”

“Ah, it’s the other way with you, I know. But for Mrs Bayard’s
prudence, you would leave Khemistan a poorer man than you entered it.”

“She would tell you it will be so in any case,” said Colonel Bayard
ruefully.



 CHAPTER II.
 THE RIFT IN THE LUTE.

/But/ if a difference about money was the immediate cause of the
strained relations between Major Ambrose and his wife, no one would
have denied more vehemently than Eveleen herself that it was the
beginning of their estrangement. That had happened long ago--even, so
she sometimes thought, before their marriage. This might seem an Irish
way of putting it, but at times she would tell herself that she must
have been blind not to see there was something wrong with Richard
then, though again the idea would look absolutely absurd. For why
should he have married her unless he wanted her as she did him? She
would never have lifted a finger to hold him had he wished to be free!
She raged against him a little now as she stood solitary in the middle
of the absent Mrs Bayard’s drawing-room, seeing nothing of her
surroundings. If he must be sarcastic and cross, why try to humiliate
her in the presence of a stranger, instead of keeping his horrid
remarks till they were alone together, and she could answer them as
they deserved? There was little of the patient Griselda about Eveleen
Ambrose.

“Such an English room!” Her wrath was suddenly diverted--though rather
to the general atmosphere of bleak tidiness than to poor Mrs Bayard’s
treasured “Europe” furniture--and she shuddered. “Sure I’ll choke
here!” She fled to the verandah. “Ah, now!” and she stood spellbound
by the wonderful moonlight shining on a limitless sea that washed the
very hill-top on which the house stood. A moment’s reflection assured
her that the sea was a thick mist enshrouding the town and the
low-lying land about it, and hiding the mud and dust and crudeness
which had been so painfully evident by day, and she dropped into a
chair to watch it, for there were little eddies which looked exactly
like moving water. She had not meant to stay in the drawing-room; her
intention had been to slip away to bed, leaving an excuse with the
servants for her host’s benefit, but it was so peaceful here, and she
needed a little mental refreshment before coping once more with Ketty.
But her meditations hardly brought her the peace she desired, for
almost at once she was involved again in the perpetual quest of When?
and How? and Why?

It was twenty years since Richard Ambrose and Eveleen Delany had first
met in the hunting-field--and parted almost as soon. She was a pretty
girl riding as daringly as the conventions of the time and a fierce
old uncle would allow her, he one of the junior officers of the
regiment quartered in the neighbourhood. Two or three days’ hunting, a
scrambled meal or two taken in common, sandwiches shared in the
shelter of a deep lane--Richard’s fingers had actually trembled so
that he could scarcely untie the string, she remembered,--such a brief
and broken acquaintance to change the whole course of one life, if not
two! He had nothing but his pay and his debts, she was an orphan
adopted into an already overflowing and impoverished household in a
spirit of mingled improvidence and charity. To do him justice, Richard
had no hope of being allowed to marry her then, but he would pay his
debts with the sale of his commission, and transfer to the Indian
Service, and come or send for her as soon as he could see his way
clear. Had he been an Irishman the engagement might have been allowed,
but old General Delany discerned a calculating and parsimonious spirit
in his anxious planning, and sent him about his business with slight
sympathy. To this day Eveleen could not think calmly of their parting.
Something of the old agony shook her again as she heard her own
voice--hoarse with the strain of trying to speak bravely for her
lover’s sake--assuring him again and again that she would wait any
length of time, five years, a hundred years, for ever, for him to
return and claim her. He had sworn to come back, sworn that her image
would be ever before his eyes until that blessed moment arrived; had
sobbed--Richard Ambrose sobbing!--as he tore him self away when they
kissed for the last time. Thus they parted--the boy setting his face
resolutely eastwards, with the safeguard of a high purpose in his
soul, the girl taking up the harder task of doing nothing in
particular.

Those many, many years of waiting! Eveleen could not look back on them
dispassionately even now. She was again the girl who watched
feverishly for the ramshackle “ass’s cart” which conveyed the rural
post-woman on her rounds, who manœuvred for the privilege of asking
for letters at the post-office when the family drove into town. And
there never were any letters. Deeply in love as he was, Richard
Ambrose had been cut to the quick by General Delany’s contemptuous
dismissal, and registered a vow that he would never return until he
could confront the old man with abundant proof that he could keep
Eveleen in proper comfort. That time did not come. Things were
bitterly hard for the Company’s Army in time of peace. Its officers
were the unfailing victims of the constant demands from home for
economy and retrenchment, until no man remained with his regiment who
had influence to obtain civil employ. Richard Ambrose was uniformly
unfortunate. He had no influence, and a malign fate seemed to shut him
out of the little wars of the period--often lucrative enough. Once he
had been mauled out tiger shooting, and was in hospital; once, after
several unusually obstinate bouts of fever, he was an invalid in
Australia. But his was not one of the crack regiments, and the greater
part of his time was spent in one dull station or another, doing the
work of two or three seconded men as well as his own. Faithful alike
to his self-imposed vow and to General Delany’s commands, he never
wrote to Eveleen.

Eveleen gave no sign of resenting his silence. When she refused one or
two good matches, her relatives were loud in scorn of her folly, but
by-and-by they arrived at the comfortable conviction that all was for
the best. Her cousins were marrying off or setting up homes of their
own, and the General was becoming increasingly difficult to live with.
It was really providential that the niece who owed him so much should
be available to ride with him, to keep house for him in the scrambling
style from which neither of them dreamed of departing, and in the long
evenings to take a hand at whist if other players were available, join
him in chess or backgammon if they were not, and at all times turn
away his wrath with cheerful--if not invariably soft--answers. If her
recompense seemed inadequate, there was Brian to be thought of--the
young brother for whose sake Eveleen would sometimes even attempt that
hardest of all tasks, saving money. “I would rob the mail for Brian!”
she declared once defiantly to her uncle, and thanks to her unceasing
efforts, Brian was given--and, urged tearfully by her, submitted to
receive--some sort of education, sufficient at any rate to enable him
to take advantage of the offer of an old comrade of the General’s to
attach him to his staff as a Volunteer, until he could obtain a
commission. It was a difficult business to supply the young
gentleman’s needs while he was expected to live as an officer on the
pay of a private, and the habits he picked up on the staff were not
exactly such as would conduce to his efficiency in a marching
regiment, but the day she first saw her boy in the uniform of the
990th Foot, Eveleen felt she could die happy.

Perhaps the attainment of this ardent desire made her feel more like
Brian’s mother or aunt than his sister, but it was about this time
that Eveleen became aware she was growing old. Not in mind--she was
one of those who, far from growing old, never even really grow up--nor
in body, for she could last out a long day with the hounds as well as
most men, and skin and hair and eyes showed slight trace of the
process of time, but in the estimation of her little world. Nowadays
she would have been considered a girl still, but in her day to pass
the thirtieth birthday unmarried was to be stamped irrevocably as an
old maid, and she had done this five years ago. Other girls were
coming forward--real girls--and she found herself confronted with the
choice of ceding her place to them or holding it by mingled assurance
and main force, becoming in course of time “Old Miss Evie”--one of
those determined middle aged sportswomen whom English people regarded
as an eccentric and scandalous feature of Irish hunts. Eveleen laughed
and withdrew. Her choice was made easier by the complication of
diseases and old wounds which incapacitated the General, for ladies
did not hunt without male escort, and she would not tack herself to
any of his friends; but it was a bitter moment. Nor was it made easier
by the discovery that she was becoming an object of suspicion--or at
least mistrust--to her cousins and her cousins’ wives. To them, as to
all their class, money as money was nothing, but family possessions
were something to be clutched and held by fair means or foul. The idea
that Eveleen might be providing for herself--or her uncle providing
for her--at their future expense worked like poison in their brains,
leading them to lay ingenious conversational traps in the hope of
surprising the admission that the General had added a codicil to his
will, and to conduct furtive searches for household treasures which
they imagined to have disappeared. It was inevitable that when Eveleen
realised what was in their minds, she should resent it violently, and
for a whole day such a battle-royal raged as was spoken of with
respect among the servants ever after. Alone against the cousinhood,
she held her ground victoriously, swearing to leave the house there
and then unless all imputations were withdrawn and an ample apology
offered. Where she could have gone she knew no more than her cousins,
but she would have done it; and they realised the fact, and having no
desire to take up her burden, listened to the moderating counsels of
brothers and husbands, hovering in the background with insistent
murmurs of “Ah, well, then----” and “Sure, the creature----” But her
future was still a cause for anxiety, if not for suspicion. “Sure I
see ‘What’ll we do with poor Evie?’ in every eye that looks at me!”
she said once.

And then Richard Ambrose came back. He had found his opportunity at
last. The Ethiopian adventure, which was the grave of so many
reputations, made his. He went into it an undistinguished captain, and
he came out a major and a C.B., whose resolute defence early in the
war of an all-important post on the line of communications had even
been heard of at home. He was wounded--but the present generation
would have hailed his wound as a “Blighty one”; it was just
sufficiently severe to induce the surgeons to advise a voyage home and
back before he took up the new post of Assistant Resident in Khemistan
which Colonel Bayard promised to keep open for him. Eveleen could
never quite decide whether she had been expecting him to return or
not. So many years had passed, and he had never sent her word or sign.
But one morning, as she sat in her saddle at the covert-side, a little
removed from the throng of cheery riders, watching the meet in which
she no longer took part, one figure detached itself from the rest. A
gentleman dismounted, and throwing the bridle to his servant,
approached her--a tall bronzed man, wearing the frogged blue coat
which was the recognised dress of officers in mufti, or as they called
it, “coloured clothes.” He raised his hat, and the years fell from
Eveleen. She was the girl of seventeen again, glowing with youth.

“You have waited for me, Eveleen?” he asked, without any conventional
greeting, and she dropped the reins on her horse’s neck and held out
both hands to him.

“All these years. Ah, but I knew you’d come!” she answered. For that
moment, at least, she had no doubt. Richard had justified himself, had
come back, famous and successful, to the woman whose welcome would
have been no less warm had he been broken and penniless, and to that
woman earth was heaven from henceforth. That the Richard who had come
back would not be the Richard who had gone forth was unlikely to occur
to her at that moment, or to commend itself to her belief when it did
occur. She had not changed; why should he?

Everything was so natural, so simple. Richard never even asked her
again to marry him. Why should he? he had come back for nothing else.
It was necessary to ask the General for her, of course, and the
General resented the request so vehemently that all his children and
their respective husbands and wives had to be summoned to bear down
his opposition by sheer weight of eloquence. Such ingenuity was
displayed in devising schemes for his future, such amazement lavished
on his selfishness in wishing to retain poor Evie, who had given
herself up to him for so long, that he was dinned at last into
acquiescence. He gave his consent with tolerable grace, and presented
his niece with the turquoise disc, which had come into his possession
after the fall of Seringapatam. It was too large even for Early
Victorian taste, which liked its jewellery to be of substantial size,
but the daughters and daughters-in-law agreed that it was a very
handsome present, and most appropriate, as Evie was going to India.
Unfortunately, the first time she wished to wear it at Bombay she
learned that to wear Indian ornaments in India was to incur
irretrievably the stigma of being “country-born,” but the cousins did
not know this. Some sort of outfit was got together for her, the
cousinhood eking out an impossibly small sum of money with great
goodwill and much contrivance, that she not disgrace the family; but
the bride herself would have sailed for India cheerfully with what one
plain-spoken “in-law” called cruelly her usual ragbag of clothes.

Had the shadow fallen even then? Eveleen asked herself the question
this evening, as often before. One night--it was at a dance--she had
surprised on Richard’s face, as he met her in a blaze of wax-lights, a
look in which she read cold criticism, even dislike. It struck her to
the heart, stripping her in one moment of her new found youth and joy.
They thought she was going to faint, and it was Richard himself, all
compunction and anxiety, who took her out and fussed about her with
water and borrowed smelling-salts and a glass of wine; and when she
sobbed out something of her sudden terror, admitted that his wound had
been paining him horribly all day, and cursed himself for spoiling her
evening by letting her see that he was suffering. He refused angrily
to let her sit out the dances with him, and happy and satisfied, she
entered the ballroom again on his arm, never dreaming of doubting his
assurance. But now the doubts had crept in once more, and refused to
be silenced.

If the shadow had not been there before, it had certainly made itself
felt on the voyage. Eveleen was not shy--she did not know what shyness
was,--and in the intervals of sea-sickness she enjoyed herself like a
schoolgirl. She bobbed up and down like a cork; nothing could keep her
under the weather long--such was the admiring dictum of one of the
youths drawn to her by her delight in new experiences, and the
unfailing gusto with which she found interest and excitement in things
which other people considered deadly dull. The rest of the ladies on
board eyed her askance. There was something not quite ladylike about
“that Mrs Ambrose”; one did not wish to be uncharitable, but really
one was almost afraid she might be called just a little bit fast. No
one was more surprised both by her popularity and her unpopularity
than her husband, and he resented both--or rather, the personality
which was their common root. That, without any effort on her part, his
wife could keep every one within sound of her voice amused and
interested, gave him no pleasure--it was as though a modest violet had
turned into a flaunting poppy on his hands. He had had little to do
with women in his hard life, but the few ladies with whom he had come
in contact did not trouble themselves to amuse the men around; they
left it to the men to amuse them. Richard Ambrose had never been
particularly successful in this respect, but he felt the attitude was
the right one. As Eveleen told herself bitterly one day on catching
sight of his disapproving face on the outskirts of the circle which
her hunting stories had set in a roar, it really seemed that the only
person who didn’t like Mrs Ambrose was Mrs Ambrose’s husband!

Far worse was the trouble that arose at Bombay. Eveleen had naturally
taken it for granted that she would accompany her husband to the scene
of his duties, but he told her curtly that Khemistan was not a place
to which one could take ladies, and not knowing that Mrs Bayard was
heroically attempting to defy the dangers of the climate, she accepted
his dictum perforce. With Richard’s old butler to guide her
inexperienced feet, she found herself established in a small hired
bungalow--its ramshackle condition and shabby furniture made it feel
really homelike,--mistress of what seemed to her huge sums of money,
and pledged to keep accounts strictly. The result was what might have
been expected. It was all very well for Ambrose to impress upon her
that, apart from his political appointment, which might come to an end
at any moment, he was still a poor man; her conception of poverty
differed radically from his. He had inured himself to living on rice
and _chapatis_ in his comfortless bungalow--dinner at mess the one
good meal of the day--that he might pay the subscriptions expected of
him, and maintain a creditable appearance in public. The people of
Eveleen’s world had cared nothing whatever about appearances, but had
lived in a rude plenty, supported by contributions in kind from
tenants whose rents were paid or not as the fancy took them--generally
not. To Richard money was a regular institution, to be doled out with
punctual care according to a plan carefully considered and rigidly
fixed beforehand; to her it was a surprising windfall, affording
delicious opportunities for the almost unknown joy of spending, and to
be used accordingly. Her efforts at keeping accounts shared the fate
of poor Dora Copperfield’s. The entries began by being rigorously
minute, but they ceased with startling suddenness, unless the butler’s
demands sent Eveleen flying to the book in horror, to put down what
she could remember spending--which was very little in comparison with
what she had spent. The extraordinary thing was that in these spasms
of economy--which occurred periodically--she could find so dreadfully
little to show for the vanished money. She might declare proudly that
she had not bought a single thing for herself, and it was true, but
the money was gone--how, she could not say. She was popular and
hospitable, her possessions were all at the service of her friends and
her friends’ servants, and her modest stable was a constant source of
expense--even before she lit upon the half-starved, under-sized little
Arab which she rescued from cruel treatment and named Bajazet because
it sounded Eastern and imposing, and reconstructed her outbuildings to
accommodate him properly. Then there was Brian, who was quartered at
Poonah, and being a youth of keen affections, seized every opportunity
of taking a little jaunt to Bombay to see his sister, who welcomed him
on each occasion as if he were the Prodigal Son. Brian must be fed on
the fat of the land--Eveleen had a wholly unjustified conviction that
“sure the poor boys must be starved, without a woman to see after
them,”--and his ever-recurring money troubles assuaged as far as
possible. To do her justice--perhaps love made her clear-sighted, or
in this one case she was able to see through Richard’s eyes--Eveleen
did realise the danger of Brian’s living regularly beyond his income,
and lecture him on the absolute need of pulling up. Brian listened
meekly, promised to comply, accepted with almost tearful gratitude
whatever his sister could scrape together to placate his most pressing
creditors--and returned to duty, as often as not, to spend the money
on something else.

Richard Ambrose was not left wholly ignorant of the Rake’s Progress on
which his wife was embarked. Laborious epistles from the old butler
betrayed anxiety lest Master’s interests should suffer, and friends
coming up from Bombay brought amusing tales--amusing to them, that
is--of Mrs Ambrose’s open-handedness. An opportune cholera scare
enabled Ambrose to issue an edict of temporary banishment from the
scene of temptation. Eveleen was to go up to Mahabuleshwar with the
wife of one of her husband’s friends, to whom she was to pay a fixed
sum monthly, and rusticate for awhile away from shops and
entertainments. But temptation followed her even to the hills, though
in a different guise. The place was the recognised summer headquarters
of the Bombay Government, and the wife and daughters of the
newly-arrived Commander-in-Chief were already in residence. To them
came on flying visits Sir Henry Lennox himself, best loved and best
hated of all the survivors of the Peninsula. Lady Lennox was what
Eveleen characteristically called “aggressively motionless,” and her
step-daughters were being painfully trained to follow in her decorous
footsteps; but the veteran himself had a most appreciative eye for a
pretty woman, and a ready enthusiasm for one who dared to ride
wherever he did. Brian had wheedled a gullible commanding officer out
of a week’s leave to see Eveleen comfortably settled, and the brother
and sister and the scarred old soldier forgathered by some mysterious
affinity, without any conventional presentation or introduction. The
scandalised Military Secretary reported to the distressed Lady Lennox
that it was all the fault of the Irish lady and her brother; but Lady
Lennox--hearing hourly of break-neck gallops and impossible
leaps--confessed in her heart of hearts that her susceptible warrior
was in all probability just as much to blame. Her alarm extended
merely to what Sir Harry was wont to call his “battered old carcass,”
for he was too chivalrous an admirer of women in general to offer
compromising attentions to one in particular. Imprudent he might be,
but his imprudence confined itself to regaling Eveleen with scraps of
autobiography of a startling character and moral deductions drawn from
them, together with lurid denunciations of such of his many enemies as
suggested themselves to his mind at the moment.

They became so friendly that Eveleen was emboldened at last to confess
her anxiety about Brian, and ask the Commander-in-Chief’s advice.
Brian was with his regiment again, and his last letter from Poonah had
shown his sister that he was still taking his usual light-hearted way,
undeterred by her exhortations. She did more than ask Sir Harry’s
advice; in all innocence she did a thing of which she failed
altogether to realise the heinousness. Remembering Brian’s past Staff
experience, she asked the Commander-in-Chief to make him one of his
aides-de-camp. Since that day she had heard such things talked of, and
the recollection made her cheeks burn in her solitude to-night, but at
the moment it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. It was obvious
that Brian could not or would not live within his means in the
regiment, and that neither public opinion there nor the influence of
his commanding officer tended to urge him to do so; therefore what
could be better for him than to pass his days under the eye of the
stern economist whose worn blue uniform did not put to shame even
Eveleen’s ancient habit? Sir Harry seemed a little taken aback at
first--unaccountably, she thought, but she realised now that he had
probably never been asked for a highly desirable appointment so simply
and directly before. But he respected Eveleen, and he liked the
careless, good-natured young fellow about whom she was so anxious--and
with good reason, as a few short sharp questions assured him. Then he
gave his answer. If Brian could liquidate his debts and present
himself before him as a free man three months hence, when it was
possible an additional aide-de-camp might be required, he should have
the post.

Probably the last thought in Sir Harry’s mind was the first that
occurred to Eveleen. Brian must realise his assets, and she would
supply any deficiency. If Brian had never gone into his affairs
thoroughly before, he did it the next time he saw his sister, when the
details of what he could sell and which of his possessions could be
returned to the vendors in lieu of paying for them were remorselessly
threshed out. Eveleen declared that if it turned both their hairs grey
they would do it, and rewarded him at the end with the sum which was
to set him free--and incidentally to bring Richard Ambrose rushing
down from Khemistan as fast as the primitive Bab-us-Sahel steamer
could bring him, drawn by the alarming report of his Bombay agent. It
was too late to reclaim the money--save at the cost of exposing Brian
to the Commander-in-Chief, which Eveleen’s tears and entreaties
withheld her husband from doing,--but Brian received by letter a few
home truths, which he took, until he had time to think them over, in
very bad part, though Richard felt he had been criminally lenient. It
was Eveleen on whom the chief punishment fell--at least, her husband
regarded it as a punishment. She had to face the ordeal she had
imposed upon Brian, when all the unpaid bills, the empty pages of the
account book, the chits so easily signed and forgotten, were brought
to light. It had never occurred to her that there was anything wrong
in being in debt--she had grown up in an atmosphere of it,--and she
was half alarmed and half resentful when she saw the effect of his
discoveries upon Richard. But the breaking-up of the Bombay household,
and her removal to Khemistan, where she would have no opportunity for
extravagance, did not strike her as a punishment at all, and it made
her indignant that her husband should so regard it. The one thing she
feared was that he should learn the secret of Brian’s sudden
elevation--which he ascribed carelessly to an idle whim on the part of
a man too old for his high post,--and while that remained unknown she
was happy.

“Brian’s in good hands now, at any rate, and safe,” she said to
herself as she took a last look at the sea of mist, knowing nothing of
a distracted letter which was already on its way to her from Poonah;
“and what’s more, I’m here with Ambrose.” The two men in the
dining-room were moving, but it was so late they would not expect to
find her still up, and she slipped noiselessly along the verandah to
her own room.



 CHAPTER III.
 COLONEL BAYARD’S BURDEN.

/The/ famous city of Qadirabad, the seat of such government as
Khemistan possessed, was not reached from Bab-us-Sahel without
difficulty. There was a ride across the desert first, which was so
much to Eveleen’s taste that she begged they might go the whole way by
land. But there was no camping equipment available, and Khemistan was
destitute of rest-houses, and there at the Bunder lay the steamer,
booked to make the journey in four days--what more could reasonable
woman desire? But Colonel Bayard had been right in saying that if the
steamers plying between Bombay and Bab-us-Sahel were small and
uncomfortable, those on the river were worse. Owing to her light
draught, the passenger accommodation of the _Asteroid_ was limited to
a single cabin, the berths in which--so a friendly subaltern confided
to Mrs Ambrose--were constructed of a wood specially selected for its
hardness. Had not Colonel Bayard come to the rescue by having a tent
pitched for her on deck, Eveleen must have turned every one else out,
and as it was, she felt guilty of grievously restricting the space
available for exercise. The salient characteristic of the scenes
through which they passed--as of all else that she had yet encountered
in Khemistan--was mud. Sometimes they were steaming through a country
so absolutely level that there seemed no reason why the river should
remain where it was instead of overflowing on either side--and
derelict channels and stretches of marsh showed that the river itself
was of the same mind. More often they found themselves passing between
banks of mud which formed a kind of natural aqueduct, confining the
river in a course high above the general level of the country, and the
wash of the steamer caused portions of these banks to dissolve and
slide gently into the water. Sometimes one bank was high and the other
low--looking for all the world as though the river were being softly
tilted sideways to allow the water to run off, and in this case the
higher bank was generally wooded, with tall spindly trees above and a
mass of dense undergrowth below. These woods were the famous
_shikargahs_ of the Khans--their hunting paradises, formed
artificially like the New Forest, and by similar methods, as the many
remains of ruined and deserted villages showed. They were strictly
preserved, and such villages as still existed were at a discreet
distance from them--dismal collections of mud-heaps surrounded by a
network of irrigation canals. The canals were shockingly kept up, but
the crops were wonderful, and Colonel Bayard pointed out to Eveleen
the obvious fertility of the soil, giving so much in return for so
little. He sighed as he remarked that under a civilised government the
whole land might be a garden, and then changed the subject by telling
her droll anecdotes of his friends the Khans.

Despite the waste of a good deal of powder and shot on various
crocodiles and aquatic birds--which invariably escaped unscathed--the
four days passed in such hot and confined quarters were long and
wearisome, and the passengers beheld joyfully the palms and greenery
which marked the approach to Qadirabad. The place was surrounded by a
belt of gardens, above which, as the steamer rounded a bend of the
river, rose in the distance a vast battlemented wall and great round
tower, bearing an absurd resemblance to Windsor Castle. This was the
Fort--or rather, fortress--palace of the Khans, dominating the city
proper, but the British Agency was closer at hand, in a garden
overhanging the river. It was a settlement rather than a house, for
besides the large block of buildings erected by Colonel Bayard--in
which the humorous detected a resemblance to a champagne-case set on
end, its divisions represented by the arches of the several tiers of
verandahs--some of his subordinates had built bungalows for
themselves, and the native servants and hangers-on had a village of
their own. There were quarters for the guards, a bazar, gardens and
orchards, and the whole was surrounded by a wall some five feet high,
of the usual mud-brick. Eveleen was astonished by the size of the
community, for the work of the Agency required the services of a large
number of resident Europeans, while there were fifty or sixty more,
employed at Sahar or other places higher up the river, who made it
their headquarters on occasion. Some of the local white men were
married, but mostly to country-born women, so that Eveleen was
unquestionably the Burree Beebee. Had her claims needed support, it
would have been supplied by the chivalry of Colonel Bayard, who
insisted that the Ambroses should take up their quarters in his own
house, and consider him as their guest while he was there. For the
next few months, he said, he would be little in Qadirabad, as duty
called him up the river, to look after the supply arrangements for the
British forces returning--or more literally retreating--from Ethiopia,
and he was sure his wife would like to think the rooms he had prepared
for her were in the occupation of his friends. As Richard Ambrose
acted as Resident in his chief’s absence, the arrangement seemed
natural, but Eveleen had qualms when she saw the elaborate and
expensive furniture--not lest she should spoil it, but lest Mrs Bayard
should think it had not been treated with proper respect. One trial
was spared her. Almost with tears in his eyes, her husband implored
Colonel Bayard not to impose upon her the task of housekeeping on so
large a scale, and she was saved from the certainty of disgracing
herself by reducing the Resident to bankruptcy. It is true that she
considered the arrangements of the responsible secretary to be at
least as lavish as her own had been, but at any rate he was in the
habit of keeping accounts.

It had not occurred to her that in the absence of all household duties
time might hang a little heavy on her hands. There were plenty of
people to ride with her morning and evening, but in office hours she
was the only idle person in a hive of industry. That, at least, was
her husband’s view, of which she was irreverently scornful. The native
clerks might be hard worked, but she declined to believe it of the
Europeans, who did nothing, so she declared, but sit and smoke, and
now and then sign their names to the documents that were put before
them. How much better for them to spend the pleasant hours of
mid-morning and late afternoon--which would so soon become too hot for
outdoor exercise--in healthful cross-country gallops! But the Indian
official day was far too firmly established to be overthrown by one
mutinous Irishwoman, and Eveleen had to make her own occupations. She
was training the little horse Bajazet--to the mingled amazement and
scandal of her neighbours, who pointed out unsparingly defects of form
and action which betrayed his mixed blood. He had a horror of
natives--probably due to ill-treatment in his youth--and his mistress
went through stormy scenes with half a dozen syces, dismissing one
after another before she found one who would do as he was told. This
was a meek patriarch who was content to sit by, shrouded in the
horse-blanket, while Bajazet was put through his paces and learned to
follow Eveleen about like a dog. Once he came up the verandah steps
after her, but he was ruthlessly ejected by the orders of her husband,
who vowed he would _not_ have the place turned into an Irish cabin,
and she was obliged to content herself thereafter with teaching him to
ask for dainties without coming in search of them.

The unwritten law which restricted her unescorted rides within the
limits of the Agency was naturally a challenge to the Irish mind, and
Eveleen never rested until it was abrogated in her favour. It was not
as if she wanted to go into the town, she said--who would? And indeed,
Qadirabad--for all its imposing appearance and historic renown--was a
sadly uninteresting place. Very soon after her arrival, Eveleen was
taken up to the Fort gate, to look thence down the long line of the
Grand Bazar, and obtain a general view of the city. A wilderness of
mud hovels, broken in places by the dome of a mosque or the blunted
pyramidal tower of a Hindu temple, with a two-storied house within
high walls here and there, but never a tree to relieve the monotony
until the eye hailed the grateful greenery of the encircling gardens
on the horizon--all was squalid, mean, miserable. The Bazars--famous
throughout Asia for their manufactures--seemed to have fallen upon
evil days, for such pottery and lacquered ware as was to be seen was
of the poorest, and the gold and silver work and precious stuffs of
old were hardly to be found nowadays. A reason might be discovered for
this in the bands of armed men constantly to be seen in the narrow
streets, eyeing the peaceable craftsmen as inferior beings permitted
to exist in order to minister to the needs of their superiors, but by
no means to lay up wealth for themselves. The Khans were not Khemis by
race. A century ago they had come from Arabitistan, across the
mountains to the north-west, swooping down resistlessly upon a people
“quiet and secure” and practically defenceless. They had parcelled out
the country among their rude retainers, who remained as feudal chiefs,
and Khans and Sardars alike drew upon the inexhaustible reservoir of
Arabitistan for warriors of their own race to maintain and extend
their dominion. Without this continual reinforcement, the soft life of
the plains and inter-marriage with the conquered people might have
enfeebled the ruling caste, but with fresh hordes of wild Arabit
horsemen to be summoned at need, they remained a power to be
respected--if not particularly respectable. With tulwar and shield and
lance, the wild men swaggered where they would, responsible only to
the Khans--and not always very amenable to them--and caring nothing
for anybody else. Eveleen admired their showy little active horses,
the ease and grace of the riders, and the bright silks and embroidered
shawls of their apparel, but she had sense enough to realise that they
were not people it would be desirable to meet if she were riding
alone.

But if the town was barred, the garden-belt outside it was surely a
very different thing. The Arabit horsemen were seldom to be found in
the neighbourhood of the Agency--unless one of the Khans should happen
to be paying a state visit to Colonel Bayard--and the country was
fairly open. What danger could there be for Eveleen if she did not go
too far away, respected _shikargahs_, and avoided growing crops? Yes,
she would take a mounted orderly--it would only be like a groom--but
not--oh, please not!--an escort of the irregular force known as the
Khemistan Horse, which had been enrolled as the Resident’s guard. How
could she ride at her ease if she had always to tag about with an army
behind her? Playing the part of the Importunate Widow, she succeeded
at last in imposing her will on Colonel Bayard, and that unfortunate
man, most unfairly cast for the part of the Unjust Judge, found that
he had carefully cultivated a thorn for his own side.

He was in his office one day, discussing weightily with Richard
Ambrose the various matters of importance which might arise during his
absence, when sounds of dispute outside interrupted their
deliberations. Some one was demanding to be allowed to enter, and was
being respectfully but firmly repulsed by the scandalised
attendants--and the voice left no doubt who the intruder was.

“Mrs Ambrose, as I live!” exclaimed Mrs Ambrose’s husband in
unflattering disgust. “What bee has she got in her bonnet now? Excuse
me one moment.”

“Mrs Ambrose appears to wish to see me,” said Colonel Bayard, with his
unfailing kindness. “We can’t let an English lady be turned away by
the _chobdars_. Come! Good morning, ma’am; is there something you want
me to do for you? Good heavens! what has happened? Has any one
dared----?” for Eveleen’s face was flushed and tearful, and her lips
trembled too much to speak. She wrung her hands together wildly.

“Murder--a woman!” it was a kind of hoarse scream.

“You have been attacked? No?” as his eye ran quickly over her
speckless habit. “What is it, then? Sit down and tell us about it.” He
led her to a chair, and waved the attendants away. “You have had a
shock? A glass of wine!” he signed to a waiting servant. “Now let us
hear what it is.”

“Compose yourself, for Heaven’s sake!” growled Richard Ambrose--not
encouragingly, but the harsh tone proved more effectual than the
Resident’s kindness in enabling Eveleen to pull herself together. With
her fingers tightly pressed against one another she sat upright and
spoke jerkily.

“’Twas a poor woman--just a bit of a girl. Her father and her husband
had quarrelled. The horrid wretch--the husband, I mean--went straight
home--and called her out. The creature came--and stood before him
trembling. He took hold of her hair--her beautiful long hair--and
twisted it--into a rope--and _strangled_ her with it--her own
hair----” Her voice rose into a scream again.

“Yes, yes--very distressing,” Colonel Bayard patted her hand kindly.
“These things will happen here, we know, but you are new to them. And
you were passing, and saw it done?”

“_Saw_ it?” she cried furiously. “D’ye think I would not have broke my
whip over the brute’s head, and poked his eyes out with the bits
after? No, I was passing, and heard the old women keening--her mother
and her mother-in-law--and I went in there and saw--her poor face--and
her hair---- And I made the syce ask them about it, and they told me,
and I came straight back to you at once, that you might get the wretch
found out and punished!”

“But, my dear lady, where do you think he is?”

“Why, in hiding, of course!” in surprise.

“Not a bit of it! A man don’t go into hiding in Khemistan for little
accidents like that. I dare be bound the fellow is now boasting to his
friends of the revenge he has taken on his father-in-law, and every
one of ’em is sympathising with him. That’s all.”

“But d’ye mean nothing will be done?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“You mean you will do nothing?”

“My dear Mrs Ambrose, what could I do? Killing is no murder here,
where a woman is concerned.”

“But it ought to be. You could go to the chief Khan----”

“He would merely laugh at me. ‘Murder, you say, sahib? Who was killed?
A _woman_? and the man’s _wife_? and he was angry with her father?
Why, of course he killed her. It was the natural thing to do.’ And
that’s precisely what it is--in Khemistan.”

“And you let them go on like this? You say nothing----”

“What could I say? And what good would it do? It ain’t as though the
poor creature were alive, and I could save her by intervening. It’s
too late--unfortunately.”

He added the last word in deference to the stormy look in Eveleen’s
eyes as she rose from her chair, knocking down the untasted glass of
wine at her elbow.

“You needn’t say any more. I see how it is--perfectly. If Ambrose
killed me, ’twould merely be, ‘Only a woman--only his wife--and he was
angry with _her_--and it served her right!’” defiantly.

“If Ambrose killed you, I would hang him with my own hands, and you
know it very well!” said Colonel Bayard, between jest and earnest.
Then his tone changed. “But you have no right even to associate such a
thought with your husband, Mrs Ambrose. It is abominably unfair to
him, and only to be excused because you are a little unstrung at this
moment.”

“Just look at his face, then!” cried Eveleen recklessly. “Is there
black murder in it, or is there not, I ask you?” and she
departed--leaving two discomfited men behind her--to cry her eyes out
in her own room, until her husband, really alarmed, insisted on a
visit from the doctor, and--so near is bathos to tragedy!--the
administration of a composing draught.

That incident was closed. Eveleen made numberless irrevocable
resolutions that never, no, never! in any circumstances whatever would
she attempt to appeal again to the compassion, or even the sense of
justice, of those two stony-hearted men--but evidently she was one of
the people to whom things are bound to happen. Colonel Bayard had gone
to pay his farewell visit to the Khans, attended by Richard Ambrose
and other subordinates, and preceded by _chobdars_ bearing silver
sticks and similar insignia of dignity, when the remaining occupants
of the Residency became aware that Mrs Ambrose had another row on
hand. They guessed it when she returned from her ride at a tearing
gallop--the syce left behind somewhere on the horizon--and dashed up
to the office verandah, demanding eagerly to see the Resident Sahib.
It was clear she had forgotten all about his absence, for those who
were peering at her through the tatties reported that she made a
gesture of despair, and mounting again, rode round to her own quarters
with a slow hopelessness very different from the ardour with which she
had ridden in. She sent her horse away, but stayed walking up and down
the verandah without going to change her habit, her sun hat thrown
aside. The two men whose rooms were on the opposite side of the
courtyard could see the white figure passing and repassing across the
dark space left by the updrawn blind. Sometimes she came to the steps
to call a servant, and sent him on some errand--evidently to see
whether the Resident had returned without her hearing him, but in
vain.

“If that woman tramps up and down much more, she’ll drive me
distracted. What’s the matter with her?” demanded one of the watchers
irritably at last.

“Couldn’t say,” was the laconic reply of his companion.

“Well, you might risk a guess, anyhow. Tell you what, I’m going to
see. Are you game to come too?”

The other reflected. “I suppose Ambrose ain’t likely to consider it an
intrusion?”

Captain Crosse characterised Scottish caution in unsuitable language.
“I always knew Ambrose would make trouble by bringing his wife up
here, but since he has brought her, one can’t in common humanity leave
the unfortunate creature to walk her feet off for want of some one to
help her. I’m going, and you have got to come too. Here goes!”

They went across to the Ambroses’ verandah, and Eveleen turned a
despairing face upon them at the sound of Captain Crosse’s hesitating
greeting, “Can we do anything, Mrs Ambrose? We were afraid something
must be wrong.”

“Sure I don’t know what to do!” she burst forth. “I’m in the most
frightful trouble. Do come in, the two of you, and tell me is there
anything you can do. But I don’t believe anybody but the Resident will
be any good, and it seems as if he’d never be back!”

“Sit down and tell us about it, ma’am,” urged Captain Crosse, while
the young Scotchman pulled a chair forward. “To fret yourself into a
fever will do nobody any good, and be precious uncomfortable for you.”

Eveleen hesitated, pushed back the damp hair from her temples, and
dropped into the chair. “It’s because there’s no time,” she said
despairingly. “Colonel Bayard said it was too late before, because the
poor creature was dead, but this time she could be saved, only there’s
no one to do it---- I suppose,” with reviving energy, “you wouldn’t
come with me and rescue her?”

A glance had passed between the two men over her head, and now, as she
sat up eagerly and grasped the arms of the chair preparatory to
rising, Lieutenant Haigh said, with discouraging slowness, “But who is
it you want to rescue, Mrs Ambrose--and what from?”

“The poor girl--child, rather. They carried her off--I saw the dust of
their horses in the distance----”

“But who carried her off?” patiently.

“Sure how would I know? A band of Arabit horsemen--they brought a
_palki_, and forced her in----”

“But who was she? and where did they take her? Try and tell us exactly
what has happened.”

Eveleen glanced upwards, as though in search of patience, and still
holding the chair, as if to anchor herself to it, spoke with
exaggerated deliberation. “She was a pretty little young girl--I have
often seen her; she would peep out in a shy sort of way and smile at
me. To-day she was not there, but the old father--he’s a poor sort of
fellow, that--was crying fit to break his heart and throwing dust in
the air, and the mother--that’s worth two of him--was all bleeding
where the wretches had knocked her about when she tried to hold her
daughter back, and the neighbours would all be sympathising with
them--but they ran away like mice, every one of them, when they saw
me.”

“But who had carried her off, and whither?” repeated Sir Dugald Haigh.
He was a poverty-stricken soldier burdened with an inherited
baronetcy.

“Sure I told you”--with some irritation. “A band of Arabit horsemen,
and they would be taking her to the Fort. The parents were
inconsolable--they said she was to have been married next week.”

“They would be--they’ll have to return the gifts,” said Sir Dugald
drily. Then his tone changed. “Well, ma’am, that puts an end to the
business. When a girl--or a woman either, for it would have made no
difference if the marriage was a week ago instead of a week hence--is
taken to the Fort, there she stays.”

Eveleen gazed at him, horror-stricken. “_Any_ girl--and against her
will--and no one minds?”

“That’s the way here,” curtly.

“You see, Mrs Ambrose”--Captain Crosse took up the parable--“it ain’t
the same with these people as it is with us. The Arabits take a girl
when they want her just as they take anything that pleases ’em from a
shop in the Bazar. These women don’t mind that sort of thing--rather
like it, in fact--think it a bit of an honour, as you might say.”

“If you had seen that poor old father and mother, you would never
believe that!” indignantly.

“That’s just for to-day. It’ll be all right when they have got over it
a bit. A ruler always exercises this power in the East--why, just as
it was in the Bible, you know.” He spoke with increased confidence,
feeling that the thing had been set on a proper footing. “I assure you
there are thousands of these women in the Fort--place is swarming with
’em. So you see, it’s quite the right thing here.”

“But how can it be right just because it’s always done? And I am sure
it’s not done in India.”

“Not in our districts, of course; but believe me, in some of the
native states within our borders, not only would the girl have been
taken, but the parents would have been killed for offering resistance,
and the house set on fire--for a warning to others, you see.”

“I don’t see that makes it any better--horrid though it be. What is
Colonel Bayard here for if it ain’t to stop things of this sort from
happening?”

“’Pon my word, ma’am----!” began Captain Crosse, quite taken aback,
but Lieutenant Haigh spoke slowly.

“You are making a mistake, ma’am. The Resident is here to seek to
persuade the Khans to keep their treaties with us, so that we may be
able to leave them in the enjoyment of their authority.”

“Authority to murder women and carry off girls? And he calls himself
an Englishman and a Christian!”

This was high treason, but though Captain Crosse showed signs of
flight, Sir Dugald argued patiently on. “You must know yourself, Mrs
Ambrose, that there’s no better-hearted person in the world than the
Resident. But he has enough to do with his proper business, and the
Khans have no mind to make it easy for him. They choose to go on
destroying villages to extend their _shikargahs_, and plundering
traders, and intercepting the river traffic by demanding tolls, and
they do it, never caring a pin about the difficulties they are making
for him.”

“Then he ought just wash his hands of them!” declared Eveleen
defiantly. “If I were in his place----”

“My dear Mrs Ambrose, what is the matter?” Colonel Bayard and Richard
came up the verandah steps, to find her confronting the two men. She
looked at him stormily.

“It’s a fool I am to expect anything----!” she began, and stopped,
unable to speak.

“Mrs Ambrose was unfortunately a witness--or nearly so--of the
carrying-off of a girl to the Fort, sir,” said Sir Dugald; “and the
lamentations of the parents have affected her sadly.”

“Positively, my dear Richard,” said Colonel Bayard, “you must not
allow Mrs Ambrose to distress herself in this way. She will make
herself ill, and our little society here will lack its brightest
ornament.”

Eveleen looked at him with absolute abhorrence. “And that’s all you
have to say about it?” she demanded.

“My dear lady, what can I say? The custom of the country permits the
rulers to recruit their zenanas in this way, and how is a stranger to
prevent it?”

“Go to the Khans and get her back! Tell me now, what’s the use of
their calling you their father and their mother if they’ll not do what
you tell them?”

“I fear their confidence stops short on the threshold of the zenana,”
said Colonel Bayard gravely. “But suppose, to gratify me, they
consented to the release of this girl--do you think she would choose
to be released? Nay, she would hug her chains, as you consider them,
and entreat to remain in the Fort.”

“The worse for her, then, the wretched creature! But sure you’d have
brought the Khans to book, and shown them the law was stronger than
they are.”

“What law? They would have been constrained by friendship, nothing
more. The English law don’t run here. The will of the ruler is the
law--at least, it comes to that.”

“And Colonel Bayard can reconcile it with his conscience to use all
his endeavours to prop up a system under which such things can
happen!” she cried. Her husband glanced round aghast to see the effect
of this blasphemy, but the other two men had discreetly faded away,
Colonel Bayard looked at her sadly.

“What can I say? I do my best for these people, but they will do
nothing to help me--to justify me. Yet to use force--to compel them to
virtue--would be an outrage, an iniquity. Ain’t it better for them to
govern themselves, even badly, than to be governed, however well, by
us?”

“Ah!” cried Eveleen suddenly, “that’s it, that’s it! You think of them
and of us--and not for one moment of the creatures they misgovern, the
women and the poor.”

“As Heaven is my witness, I do think of them--and constantly,” he
replied, with deep solemnity. “It is my earnest hope to ameliorate
their condition by influencing the Khans--in time. But never will I be
a party to seizing more territory under the pretext of seeing justice
done.”

“In time!” echoed Eveleen scornfully, but her husband interposed with
crushing effect.

“That will do, my dear. The Resident will think you are an advocate of
Women’s Rights, if you don’t take care. You will find it advisable to
rest a little after all this excitement, and it would not be amiss to
change your gown.”

When Richard spoke in that tone, he could have shifted an iceberg, so
Eveleen was wont to complain, with some confusion of thought. On the
present occasion, he certainly shifted her. She found herself sitting
on the couch in her bedroom, all the fight gone out of her, while he
stood before her, his face wearing what she called its hatefullest
expression.

“Now look here, my dear,” he said coldly, “there has been enough of
these heroics. Twice over you have badgered Bayard in a way that would
have made any other man on earth _jawab_ [dismiss] me on the spot, and
it is not to happen again. Why he don’t forbid you to set foot outside
the compound I don’t know.”

Defiance revived. “I do,” said Eveleen. “Because he knows ’twould be
no good.”

“Believe me, you would not find it easy to pass the gates in the teeth
of the guard.”

“As if I’d dream of trying it! I’d jump the wall, of course.”

He recognised the futility of argument. “At any rate, if he chooses to
leave you full liberty, I am going to restrict it. You won’t be able
to ride much longer in office hours, happily--the sun is getting too
hot--but as long as you do, you will be good enough to avoid the
villages. If you can’t ride past these people without interfering in
their concerns, why--take another direction, if you please.”

“I don’t mind,” listlessly. “Sure it’s no pleasure to me to see such
shocking things happening, and nobody with the heart to lift a finger
to prevent them!”

“Do you mean to say that after what Bayard told you, you still
expect----”

“Expect? I don’t expect anything of him at all. But will you tell me
that if Sir Harry Lennox was here, there would nothing be done?”

“That old ruffian? Oh, I dare say he’d be capable----”

“You may call him all the names you like, but I tell you he would have
hanged that murderer the other day, if it had been a Khan upon his
throne. And to-day he’d have ridden up to the Fort and broken the
gates down, and let all the women out.”

“And a nice thing that would be! Try to borrow a little common-sense,
my dear, even if you don’t possess any. The Fort is full of women, and
you talk calmly of turning ’em all out of doors--penniless, homeless,
accustomed to a luxurious existence! Take my word for it, they
wouldn’t thank you! A few might be silly enough to accept the offer of
freedom, but they would precious soon come begging to be let in again.
They have everything women can want--at any rate, these women--good
food, fine clothes----”

“Food and clothes!” scornfully. “Why, I have food and clothes!”

“And ain’t you happy, pray?”

“I am the most miserable woman alive!” with tremendous emphasis and
absolute--if transitory--conviction. For once Richard Ambrose was
staggered. Astonishment, remorse, resentment, incredulity--she read
them all in his face for one moment. Then he recovered himself.

“Pooh, pooh, my dear! you exaggerate,” he said sharply.



 CHAPTER IV.
 A LUCKLESS DAY.

/Morning/ brought--if not counsel--a considerable measure of
cheerfulness to Eveleen. To her buoyant temperament protracted gloom
was impossible, and her husband smiled to remember his momentary
alarm. In her full enjoyment of the happiness she had for ever
disclaimed, she was as shallow as any of the native women whose cause
she had championed. Unfortunately he could not know what was the root
of her pleasurable excitement this morning. His command to avoid the
villages had reminded her of a plan for continuing Bajazet’s education
that had occurred to her when riding with Sir Dugald Haigh one
evening--but had been carefully concealed from that prudent young man.
So far she had never ridden what she delighted to call “my Arab” when
in company with others. She meant the accomplishments of her little
steed to burst proudly on the men who had laughed at him and slandered
his ancestry. Colonel Bayard had had some jumps put up for her in the
compound, and encouraged her in many unsuccessful attempts to take
Bajazet over them with the assurance that your true Arab was never a
good jumper. Much practice had at length enabled her to get him over
them after a fashion, and now she wished to try him over water. The
Resident himself was her companion on the early morning ride--a
parting compliment, since he was leaving by the up-river steamer later
in the day; and as he was a sound, rather than an adventurous
horseman, she found it decidedly dull, its decorum redeemed only by
the romantic wildness of the escort of Khemistan Horse. Her time came
when he and Richard were safely at work in the office, and she could
start out again on Bajazet, attended by the meek syce and an orderly
of satisfactorily brigandish appearance called Shab-ud-din. They rode
out beyond the belt of gardens surrounding the city, so far that
Shab-ud-din began to be anxious, and tried to warn her of something.
He knew no English, the syce very little, and Eveleen about as little
Persian, but their efforts towards mutual comprehension were assisted
by the sound and vibration of heavy guns not far off, and she
understood that the Khans’ artillery was practising somewhere in this
direction. Her attendants were satisfied when she turned aside towards
the river again, though they did not seem quite happy when she reached
her goal. The country out here was a kind of chessboard, cut up in all
directions by irrigation canals, and she had marked one which seemed
exactly suited to her purpose. Deep and wide where it left the river,
it parted with so much water to smaller canals on either side that at
the point she had chosen it was a mere trickle between quite
manageable banks. Bajazet did not appear to like it at first--perhaps
to his desert-descended mind water was something to be respected
rather than leapt over--but after she had dismounted and led him
across once or twice, he began to enter into the idea, and his
mistress flattered him with the assurance that he was a great little
horse indeed.

There was only one drawback to her satisfaction, and that was
Shab-ud-din’s inability to comprehend that he need not follow her
backwards and forwards across the canal. He was very loyal and very
dense, and evidently felt that wherever the Beebee went it was his
duty to go too. His youth had not been spent in the hunting-field, and
his horse was much heavier than Bajazet, so that when Eveleen
increased the length of the jumps by moving farther down the canal,
the results became rather alarming. Two or three falls in the soft
sandy mud happily inflicted no serious injury, but the banks suffered
a good deal, and so did the channel.

Engrossed in her sport, Eveleen did not realise how time was passing
until the increasing heat of the sun began to make itself unpleasantly
evident. It really would soon be too hot to go out in the daytime, she
said to herself regretfully, finding the prospect of the long ride
back to the Residency the reverse of attractive. She must be getting
near a village, too--at least, there were people running across the
fields; so droll for them to be coming out to work at this time of
day! Well, just one more jump, to take her to the right side of the
canal for home, and this would be really a good wide one. Turning to
Shab-ud-din, she did her best, by word and gesture, to explain to him
that he had better ride a little higher up, and not attempt to cross
here, but as she rode towards the bank she heard him pounding after
her. It was his own fault, the foolish fellow! she could not pull up
now, but she hoped he would fall soft--the fragmentary thoughts passed
through her mind as Bajazet rose to the leap. But this time he was not
to sail lightly over the obstacle--“like a bird,” as she delighted to
say,--for a man who must have been crouching unseen in the
water-channel started up, waving his arms and shouting. Had Eveleen
not been taken by surprise the good little horse might have cleared
the interrupter, but involuntarily she deflected him ever so slightly
from his course. He faltered, jumped short, and as he staggered among
the stiff clods of the opposite bank Shab-ud-din and his big horse
came thundering down upon the two. Shab-ud-din would probably have
come off in any case, but in his horror at the scene in front of him
he must have tried to pull up, and forthwith executed a complicated
somersault sideways which left him groaning in the mud.

With an instinct born of long experience, Eveleen had freed her foot
from the stirrup when she saw disaster imminent, but it was not
necessary for her to roll from the saddle, nor was she thrown from it.
What happened--to her exceeding wrath--was that the man whose
interference had caused all the trouble seized the skirt of her long
habit and deliberately dragged her to the ground while Bajazet was
struggling for a foothold. The shock pulled the reins from her hands,
and she saw her steed, freed from her weight, reach the top of the
bank safely and dash off in one direction, while Shab-ud-din’s,
struggling up with an energy which sent the clods flying every way at
once, laboured heavily up the side and disappeared in the other. The
syce was nowhere to be seen, and Eveleen found herself sitting in the
damp mud of the channel, helplessly entangled in her habit, with
Shab-ud-din lying motionless close at hand in an attitude that spoke
to her experienced eye of broken bones, and an angry crowd, who seemed
to have arrived on the scene by magic, yelling and dancing with rage
all about her. She was absolutely defenceless, for she had even lost
her whip in the fall, and every word of Persian she had ever known was
gone completely out of her head--even if these Khemi cultivators could
have understood it. The only thing she could do was to adjust her
hat--which was half-way down her back--for the sun was blazing down
upon her, and then to look as much as possible as if she was not in
the least frightened, which was wholly untrue. If she could even have
risen to her feet, she felt that she might have overawed the mob, but
what could she do when it was impossible to free herself and stand up
without assistance? The men were all armed--some with rusty but
murderous-looking swords, all with heavy iron-shod sticks--and to
judge by their attitude, they had every intention of using them on
her. She found herself speculating which of them would strike the
first blow--the signal for all the rest to fall on her--and decided in
favour of a truculent person who was prancing about and swinging a
huge tulwar in most unpleasant proximity to her head. Would Richard be
sorry? the question presented itself irresistibly, and brought its own
answer---- Undoubtedly, but it would be because his wife hadn’t had
the sense to die decently in her bed!

It would not have been Eveleen not to laugh at the picture thus called
up, and the sight of her amusement gave pause to her assailants. They
did not shout quite so loud, and the tulwar came down a little farther
off instead of actually upon her. In this moment of comparative relief
she saw the stranger. He was riding along the bank towards them--as
fast as the insecure footing would allow, dashing the clods this way
and that--and he was leading Bajazet. He was richly dressed, with a
gorgeous _pagri_ striped with gold, but his complexion was not
dark--rather the brick-red of a European burnt by tropical suns. He
shouted angrily as he came near, and the mob gave one glance of terror
and dissolved helter-skelter. He turned and shouted to some one out of
sight, and the rush of horses’ feet and clank of accoutrements seemed
to show that he was attended by a military escort, which he was
directing to pursue the fugitives. He dismounted as he came
near--Eveleen’s syce appeared out of space to take the horses’
bridles--and stumbled down the rough bank towards her.

“I trust you ain’t hurt, ma’am? Bless my soul, if it ain’t Miss
Evie--Miss Delany, I should say!”

The voice, with its Cockney accent, brought back vague memories of
misty mornings, of purpling copses and vivid turf, of battered stone
walls and untrimmed hedges masking sunken lanes--all the
accompaniments of a day’s hunting in the old life. But why not an
Irish voice? With a sudden effort Eveleen found the clue--recalled a
young man, not a gentleman, who had come into the neighbourhood on
some legal business, and having been bitten by the prevailing mania,
had afforded a rich feast of amusement to the members of the hunt.

“It’s not you, Mr Carthew?” she said incredulously.

“’Sh, miss! They call me Tamas Sahib here, and it’s safer. To think of
comin’ across you!”

“And they call me Mrs Ambrose,” she laughed, as he helped her up. “But
why would you be going about dressed up like this?”

“I ain’t one of your lot,” he avoided her eye. “Master-General of
Ordnance to their Highnesses--that’s what I am. The Resident he don’t
know nothin’ about me, and I’ll thank you, ma’am, not to tell him
nothin’.”

“As you please,” she said, rather perplexed. “But you’ll not mind my
telling Major Ambrose--in confidence----” as she surprised a look of
something like alarm. “Sure you must see he’ll wish to thank you for
coming to my help,” with a touch of _hauteur_. What was the man so
mysterious about?

“As you please, ma’am. But you’ll remember I ain’t an Englishman
here--just one of these people.” He had wrung most of the water out of
her skirt by this time, and brushed off some of the mud--clumsily, but
with evident goodwill. “You did better for me once,” as he looked
disparagingly at his handiwork.

“The time I cot your horse for you when you were in the boghole? Ah
no, nonsense! I didn’t even try to brush the mud off you, because you
were all mud, every bit of you, were you not? But would you look at
us, talking over old times like this, and leaving poor Shab-ud-din to
lie and groan!”

“Let me see to him, ma’am. It’s no job for you.”

“That it is, when he came by his fall trying to help me. What d’ye
think now? his collar-bone. I’d say it was, and maybe an arm as
well--and how in the wide world will we get him home?”

“If you’ll be good enough to leave it to me, ma’am--believe me, you
must. It’s for my own sake----” shamefacedly. “It won’t do for my men
to catch me talking privately with you. If you’ll mount and follow me,
they shall bring the poor chap in.”

“Follow you?” her eyebrows went up slightly.

“If you don’t mind, ma’am. That’s the way here, you know, and as I was
saying, I’m one of ’em now.”

With what she felt was exemplary meekness, Eveleen allowed the syce to
mount her, and waited while her old acquaintance rode to meet the wild
horsemen who formed his escort. They were returning in triumph,
bringing with them several of the fugitive assailants, who bore every
appearance of having been roughly handled. It occurred to her suddenly
that to deliver over Khemi villagers to a band of Arabits was probably
equivalent to sentencing them to death, and she called after Carthew--

“What was it made the villagers so angry? What were they after?”

“You were breakin’ down their canal, and they thought you meant
destroyin’ it, ma’am. I’ll teach ’em to make a fuss about what their
betters do in future.”

“Now, now, ’twas my fault,” said Eveleen. “They have got a good
beating, by the look of them, so let them go, and please give them ten
rupees from me, to pay for the damage.”

“It’s encouragin’ ’em to do it again----” he began.

“They won’t get the chance, or I’m much mistaken--knowing Major
Ambrose as I do,” with a sigh. “No, ’twas just to show them I wasn’t
meaning to do any harm.” She watched Carthew as he met his followers,
had the prisoners ranged in front of him and harangued them
impressively, then received money from an attendant who produced it
from some mysterious hiding-place in his girdle, and distributed it
among them. It made her smile to see that he shepherded his troopers
carefully back, evidently suspecting that otherwise they might follow
the pardoned criminals and force them to disgorge. Leaving two men to
look after Shab-ud-din, he led the way again towards Qadirabad,
Eveleen following him, with the syce at her stirrup, and the escort
bringing up the rear. The sun was very hot by this time, Bajazet was
tired and stumbled more than once, and Eveleen drooped in her saddle,
trying to nerve herself in advance for the ordeal of meeting a justly
incensed Richard. She met him sooner than she expected, in a cloud of
dust, with an escort of Khemistan Horse. Carthew drew aside, with an
admirable air of contempt alike for the service he had rendered and
for its object. Richard was angry.

“What have you been doing with yourself now?” he demanded of his muddy
and dishevelled wife.

“I got a fall, and this--this gentleman--something in the Khans’
Artillery he is--helped me up.”

“Sardar Sahib”--Richard rode a little nearer the disdainful figure of
the rescuer--“I am deeply indebted to you. Accept my acknowledgments.”

“It is nothing, sahib. I happened by chance upon the spot.”

“Don’t let him go!” Eveleen whispered anxiously. “There were some
villagers--I spoiled their canal or something--he paid ten rupees for
me--we must give it him back.”

“I don’t carry piles of coin about with me, my dear, but I imagine he
will trust me. Or have you already given him your whip in pledge?”

Horror-stricken, Eveleen realised that she had not recovered her
gold-mounted whip--the gift of the hunt on her marriage. “It’s
gone--lost!” she said despairingly. “I must go back--or another day,
perhaps--and look for it.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. I understand, Sardar Sahib, there’s a
small matter of money between us. It shall be sent to your quarters in
an hour without fail. But I am still infinitely your debtor.”

“The obligation is on my side, sahib. May you be fortunate!” and with
due interchange of compliments the two parties separated.

“This is the last time you’ll ride out without an escort, my dear!”
said Richard pleasantly. “It’s clear you ain’t able to take care of
yourself. That’s the Yankee chap who commands the Khans’ Artillery, I
presume? How did he contrive to be on the spot so pat?”

“How would I know?” listlessly. “But it’s English he is--not American.
I know him.”

“You have the most extraordinary set of acquaintances of any female I
have ever met! He gives himself out as American--that’s all I know.
Where have you seen him before?”

“He used to follow the hounds one season, a few years ago. ’Twas just
when _Pickwick_ was coming out, and everybody called him Mr Winkle,
for he’d turn up on the most hopeless crocks you ever saw, and as
often on the ground as in the saddle. Some sort of attorney’s clerk he
was--hunting up evidence or something, but it wasn’t much he got,
unless he found it in the mud.”

“His riding has improved since then, evidently--or he rides better
horses,” drily. “What became of him?”

“My dear Ambrose, how would I know? I did hear a rumour that he had
got into some trouble and enlisted, but ’twas likely nothing but
scandal.”

“And then got into some more trouble and deserted--eh?”

“Sure y’are very ready to belittle the poor fellow!” Eveleen turned
upon her husband. “I suppose that’s the measure of the value you set
upon your wife--the way you treat the man who’s just saved her life?”

“You had not told me the extent of the obligation, my dear. But the
greater it is, the more careful you had better be to maintain the
distance he has fixed between himself and us. The fellow is
undoubtedly a deserter from our artillery--whether from the Bengal
side or this I don’t know; the native princes are always ready to
entertain ’em to instruct their troops. I have told you he passes
himself off as a Yankee--that’s to prevent our making enquiries, of
course, and perhaps also to evade the suspicions of his present
employers. They would smell a rat at once did he show any desire for
intercourse with the Agency. There’s no manner of doubt he’s a
deserter.”

“Ambrose, you wouldn’t contemplate laying information against him?”
anxiously.

“What do you take me for, my dear? No doubt it’s my duty, but as you
have reminded me, the fellow has placed me under a profound
obligation. If you’ll remember the fact yourself, and be content to
pass him without acknowledgment should you meet, so much the better
for him.”

Eveleen did not agree with this at all. The tone in which Richard
spoke of the “profound obligation” was disagreeable, and the thought
of cutting her rescuer dead was more so. But she was too much subdued
and dispirited to embark on further wordy warfare just now, though she
made her own resolutions privately. Richard, observing her unwonted
meekness, drew flattering deductions from it, and improved the
occasion by intimating that she would do well to relieve the
Resident’s mind by promising to confine her rides within orthodox
limits in future. But this was too much to ask, and when Colonel
Bayard came out anxiously to meet the rescue expedition and enquire
how it had sped, his solicitude did not meet with the gratitude it
deserved, since he incautiously expressed the same hope. What was to
happen if she felt she _must_ go out for a gallop when she was bound
by a promise not to? Eveleen demanded indignantly; and thus faced by
the old problem of the immovable object and the irresistible force,
Colonel Bayard wisely confined himself to laying it down, in the
hearing of his staff, that in no case was she to leave the compound in
future without either an escort or European attendance. This was
galling, and she sought her own rooms in much depression of spirit.
But the misfortunes of this unfortunate day were not yet at an end.
Richard, who had accompanied her in a considerate silence which she
would certainly not have maintained had their cases been reversed,
suddenly found his tongue.

“There was a letter for you in the _dâk_--here it is. That brother of
yours is honouring you, I presume. Why don’t the fellow learn to
write? Such a fist I never saw--nor anybody else neither. Here this
letter has been up to Sahar and down to Bab-us-Sahel again--and all
his fault.”

“The Delanys think more of fighting than of writing,” said Eveleen
succinctly. It sounded so neat that she felt quite cheered.

“No doubt. I’ll wager anything the fellow wants more money, or he
wouldn’t have written now. If he does, you had better leave it to me
to answer him.”

“I’ll not do anything of the sort. He don’t want money, I’m certain,
and if he did, he wouldn’t take yours.”

“H’m!” said Richard Ambrose infuriatingly.

“I tell you he wouldn’t look at it--not if you offered him millions,
and brought it to him on your bended knees!”

“That”--with the strict moderation she found so trying--“is hardly
likely. Well, my dear, I’ll leave you to enjoy your letter.”

But Ketty had something to say first, and she said it at length, as
she removed her mistress’s mud-stained garments and disclosed an
extensive system of bruises. In vain did Eveleen assure her that she
had been worse bruised many a time after a day’s hunting, the handmaid
remained of opinion that “Madam-sahibs no done ride that way.” As a
Parthian shot, even as she with drew by command, she expressed the
hope that Master would stop these rides, but by this time Eveleen was
established on her couch in a deliciously cool muslin wrapper, sipping
a cup of tea, and preparing to break the seals of her letter.

Alas, alas! Brian was in trouble still. By the most unfortunate chance
in the world, at this very last moment the brother officer on whom he
had relied to relieve him--at a price--of an elaborate fowling-piece
had been invalided home, and was selling his own guns, and no other
purchaser could be found. The sum at issue was a paltry one--three
hundred rupees would cover it, but without those three hundred rupees
Brian could not appear before Sir Harry Lennox and proudly declare
himself free of debt. Simply and naturally he applied to the helper
who had never yet failed him. Surely Evie’s husband could not refuse
to advance so small a sum if she asked it? He might cut up a bit
rusty, but it would only be for a minute or two. Alas! Richard’s wont
was not merely to let the sun go down upon his wrath, but to cover
that wrath up carefully to keep it warm for the night--so Eveleen had
once declared aghast, in her astonishment at a method so unlike the
quickly passing tempests to which she was accustomed. And moreover,
even if she could have appealed to him two hours ago, it was
absolutely impossible after the last words that had passed between
them. Even for Brian’s sake--rather, perhaps, especially for Brian’s
sake--she could not expose herself and him to the certainty of a
refusal couched as Richard Ambrose would couch it. But something must
be done, for at the end of his letter Brian supplied an additional
reason:--

 “So do your best for me, my dear girl, for I am _bruk entirely_, as
 old Tim the huntsman used to say. If you don’t, you will lose more
 than you bargain for--this is a dead secret. I hear old Sir Harry is
 bound for Kaymistaun before long, so stump up the tin somehow if you
 have any fancy for seeing

                                       “Your despairing brother,
                                               “/Brian Delany/.”


But how? Eveleen’s first thought was to apply to Colonel Bayard, but
the thought was relinquished as soon as formed. He would press upon
her three thousand rupees instead of three hundred if he had it, but
he would certainly make Richard a party to the transaction--and then
it would be at an end. She became as despairing as Brian himself as
she ran over the names of the various men with whom she came in
contact. Some of them would be unable to raise the money, having
solved the problem of existing on chits eked out by a judicious
distribution of their pay as it came in; some would be so proper that
they would tell Richard at once; others would hold over her the threat
of telling him, and do so at last. Clearly there was nothing to be
done in that way. She must sell something--or, at any rate, get an
advance on something, and that not from the Soucars who acted as
bankers to the Agency, but from some firm without official
connections. The idea sounded hopeful. Her own simple rural life had
known nothing of pawnbrokers, but she had relatives in Dublin who, in
common with the rest of their circle, were wont to “deposit” their
ancestral jewellery--at the bank, it was politely understood--save
during the brief Castle season, while the family plate was “stored” in
like manner except when required for a rare dinner-party. She must
certainly pawn something, since the few odd coins in her own
possession, if hunted up from all the nooks and corners where they
somehow found hiding-places, might possibly amount to five rupees, but
more probably would not.

But what could she pawn? She had so little jewellery that Richard
would be sure to notice it if any particular ornament was not worn for
some time, and none of it was very costly. She knew little about
values, but she feared it might need all her trinkets to serve as
security for three hundred rupees. All save one, that is. Impulsively
she rose, and going to her jewel-case, took out the turquoise disc. To
the Western eye it was not particularly attractive, but the Oriental
mind attached to it a sentimental worth. She recalled the day when she
had worn it at Bombay to show Brian, who was staying with her, and the
awe and reverence with which his bearer, a Northern man, had viewed
it. His eyes were glued to it from the moment he first distinguished
it amid the laces on her breast, and when she took it off and handed
it to Brian to examine, the servant retreated a little, as though
either afraid or consciously unworthy to approach. When his master
demanded what was the matter, the man explained that the stone was
undoubtedly the Seal of Solomon, bearing the Name at which all the
demons trembled, and endowing its owner with power to compel their
services. Nothing more was needed to make the brother and sister waste
the whole evening, and all the sealing-wax in the house, in trying to
produce a satisfactory impression, entirely without success. The
bearer, appealed to with ribaldry by his master, pointed out that the
markings on the stone might by the eye of faith be interpreted as
forming the required letters. It was the seal itself, not the
impression, that signified, he said, and to cut it, as the sahib
suggested, would be impious in the extreme, since it already bore all
that was necessary. He ended by adjuring Eveleen to keep it safely,
and pointed out the value which must have been attached to it by the
former possessor who had suspended it from its strong steel chain.

“Well, it’s not much use to me!” said Eveleen. “Not being Solomon, I
can’t wear a ring the size of a soup-plate, and Ambrose don’t like to
see it round my neck. It may be very nice and magical, as your man
says, but what good’s that when I don’t know how it works?”

“Ah, sure the thing will come in some time,” said Brian vaguely. “Let
me have a try with it. Rubbing, now--that’s what it wants, ain’t it?
I’ll give it a rubbing it won’t forget in a hurry!”

But no amount of rubbing produced any effective manifestation, and now
the stone was to be made useful in another way. Any pawnbroker would
surely be willing to advance three hundred rupees on such a treasure.
But the difficulty was to find him. Eveleen could not quite imagine
herself scouring the Qadirabad Bazar for a pawnbroker--especially with
a mounted escort at her heels--and she did not like the idea of
trusting any of the servants. Then came a happy thought.

“Tom Carthew, of course! A disreputable acquaintance, Ambrose may call
him if he likes, but who better can there be to help me do a
disreputable thing? Tom Carthew’s the man!”



 CHAPTER V.
 THE SEAL OF SOLOMON.

/The/ escort must have formed a high idea of the courage of European
ladies when Eveleen led the way the next morning in the direction of
the very canal where, as they had learnt from the syce, she had barely
escaped with her life from the hands of infuriated villagers. But this
time she had no intention of continuing Bajazet’s education--so
alarmingly interrupted. What she wanted was to come across Carthew
again, on his way back from his artillery practice. She took great
credit to herself for refraining from sending to him directly, since
Richard had said that would injure him, but it is to be feared that at
the back of her mind was the determination to do so if necessary. Time
was pressing, and Brian must have his money. Happily, however, it was
not necessary, for Tamas Sahib came in sight with his escort while she
was still well on the Qadirabad side of the canal. Both parties
stopped short, and while Eveleen was hesitating whether to ride on
towards Carthew or send a messenger to summon him to speak to her, one
of his men detached himself from the rest and rode towards her party.
But he made no attempt to speak to her, addressing himself instead to
the Daffadar in command of the escort, who went forward a pace or two
to meet him. The messenger delivered over something long and thin,
wrapped in a silk handkerchief, and when it was handed to Eveleen with
the Topkhana Daroga’s salams, she found it was the lost whip. But
there was no time to waste in rejoicing, and she turned boldly to the
Daffadar.

“Let the messenger bear my salams to the Daroga Sahib, and say that I
beg him to approach and receive my thanks.”

The man looked surprised and doubtful, but her tone and bearing were
so carelessly assured that there was no room for misunderstanding. He
repeated her words to the messenger, and when he had ridden back and
reported them, Carthew came forward in his turn, with evident
reluctance.

“Glad to have got you your whip, ma’am,” he said, with the bluffness
that covers embarrassment. “The villagers had it hidden, but I made
’em give it up. And now, if you’ll excuse me goin’ back----”

“But I want you to do something for me first,” Eveleen broke in,
anticipating a hasty withdrawal at the close of the sentence. “Can you
tell me of a pawnbroker?”

“A pawnbroker, ma’am?” Measureless astonishment was in his tone.

“Yes, a pawnbroker--or a moneylender, at any rate. I want to raise
some money--at once.”

“But--the Major----” he stammered.

“I don’t want Major Ambrose to know anything about it. It’s for my
brother--you’ll have seen him at home?”

“And a fine young gentleman he was,” mechanically. “But you don’t
understand, ma’am--it ain’t the thing----”

“I tell you I must have it. If you won’t help me I must ask the
servants. But”--with the air of one making a huge concession--“I don’t
mind handing the jewellery over to you, so that you can get the money
as if for yourself.”

“But the look of it, ma’am! How could I put the money in your hands?
The Major must become aware----”

“Very well, then--tell me where the man lives, or show me the way
there, and I’ll do it myself.”

“You can’t, ma’am, believe me. You don’t seem to see----”

“I see what must be done, and that I’ll have to do it if you won’t.
That’s plain, ain’t it?”

The unhappy Carthew pondered the matter. “There _is_ a fellow,” he
said reluctantly at last, “that has a garden somewhere this way. If he
should so happen to be there to-day, it would be better than goin’ to
his house in the Bazar. Have you the--the goods with you, ma’am?”

“That I have!” She handed him the little parcel from her
saddle-pocket. “And it must be three hundred rupees, you’ll
remember--no less, and I want to send it to Poonah.”

“A letter of credit,” he murmured vaguely. “And these--this is your
own, ma’am?”

“Every bit my own--given me by the General. Major Ambrose has nothing
to do with it. Then I’ll be riding about here, if you’ll bring me the
money or the letter or whatever it is?”

“If I might send it to the Residency----?” feebly, but he was wax in
her hands. The old tradition of the hunting-field was too strong. She
scorned the suggestion.

“Didn’t you tell me yourself it wouldn’t do? No, just give it me here,
and we’ll be done with it.”

What the Daffadar and his men thought when they saw the Daroga ride
back to his escort, and found themselves following at a discreet
distance, did not appear. Eveleen was determined to keep her emissary
in sight, lest he should make use of the narrow lanes between the
garden walls to take to his heels, and afterwards return the jewel
with regrets. She had no particular confidence in him--merely a lordly
feeling that since he was here, he must do what was required of him,
and be well looked after while he did it. He had always been inclined
to shirk his fences, and her kindness to him after the boghole
disaster was a debt of honour, since it was purely at her incitement
he had dared the leap. She saw him halt at a gateway and demand
admittance, then ride in, and she began to walk Bajazet up and down,
keeping a wary eye on the gate meanwhile, the escort following her
movements faithfully. Sooner than she expected she saw Carthew
emerging again, and rode forward to meet him.

“You won’t tell me you have not made him do it? You must think of
somebody else, then.”

“It ain’t that. The old chap seems uncommon pleased, that’s a fact.
But he wants to know how you got hold of the thing--afraid he might be
accused of stealin’ it, I suppose”--as wrath flashed from Eveleen’s
eyes--“and if it’s brought you good luck since you had it?”

“What in the world would that matter to him?”

“I don’t know, ma’am--unless he’s afraid of keepin’ it in his house if
it’s been unlucky with you.”

“That it hasn’t, then. Why, didn’t I get married since it was given
me?” If there was irony in her tone, it did not reach Carthew, who
grasped eagerly at the idea.

“The very thing, and no mistake! And how did the General get the
thing, do you know, ma’am?”

“’Twas at Seringapatam--that’s all I know. He may have killed the man
that had it, or he may have bought it from some one that did.”

“That ought to be all right. You’ll get the money, ma’am, never fear!
The letter to be in favour of Lieutenant Delany, I presume?” She
nodded. “Oh, and I was forgettin’. The old fellow seems half inclined
to make you an offer for the thing outright--so much money down. Would
you choose to accept of it?”

“That I won’t! I wouldn’t part with it on any account. Tell him I’ll
redeem it the first chance I get. Ah, and listen now. If it’s luck
he’s thinking of, tell him the luck’s mine, because the seal belongs
to me, and if he loses it--better say ‘loses,’ not ‘sells’--I’ll keep
the luck, and he’ll have the thing without it. That’ll frighten him.”

“As you please, ma’am,” and off he went again, to return after a time
with a document which was naturally quite unintelligible to Eveleen,
but which he assured her was a letter of credit, drawn up in due form,
on a Poonah firm with which her brother was sure to be well
acquainted. “And I was to tell you, ma’am, that if you should wish to
sell the trinket at any time, he made no doubt of being able to find
you a purchaser at a very handsome price, but he would advise you not
to let the chance go by, as the offer might not remain open long.”

“What does he mean? That sounds like a threat,” said Eveleen quickly.
“Well, I’m not going to sell it, and I won’t be threatened by any old
pawnbroker in Qadirabad. You told him that, I hope?”

“I warned him--that I did,” but there was something uneasy and yet
helpless in Carthew’s voice which made her look at him. She waited a
moment to see if he would say anything more, but in vain.

“Well, I am greatly obliged to you, Mr Carthew. I don’t know how I’d
have ever managed by myself. I’ll tell my brother how much he’s
indebted to you. Good morning!”

It was not an age when ladies shook hands with all and sundry, and
Carthew did not expect it. He accepted his dismissal with
something--it might almost seem--of relief, and the two parties
separated.

As she made her way home with the precious document in the
saddle-pocket, Eveleen realised the need of getting it to Brian as
soon as possible. His letter to her had consumed so much time in its
wanderings up and down the river that in any case he must run things
very fine. If all her trouble was not to be in vain, she must send the
letter of credit off by the steamer which left for Bab-us-Sahel that
evening, and she groaned, for she was little more of a penman than
Brian himself. But it was consoling to feel that he would make no
complaint of brevity on her part so long as the enclosure was
satisfactory, and the letter was duly despatched, with the assurance
that not even for him could she ask Ambrose for more money, but her
dear boy might be sure that for his sake she would sell, if necessary,
anything but her wedding-ring. The letter once gone, she was quite
happy, knowing nothing of the whirlwind of talk her proceedings had
let loose in the servants’ quarters. As so often happens, Richard, the
other person most concerned, knew nothing of it either, and being much
engrossed in the duties of his new position as head of the Agency in
Colonel Bayard’s absence, did not even notice the excitement that
prevailed.

It was not until some weeks later that Eveleen heard of her pendant
again. The hot weather was coming on, and her daylight rides had
ceased perforce. Only in the early morning hours was exertion
possible, and even then it cost her an effort that astonished her. The
year before she had been at Mahabuleshwar, so that this was her first
hot weather in the plains, and the blazing sun and relentless heat
filled her with a kind of terror, enhanced by the suddenness of the
transition from comparative coolness and night frosts. She was lying
listlessly on a bamboo couch one day, unable to do anything--for the
least exertion made her pant painfully--intent only on getting through
the dreadful hours somehow until evening brought some relief, when
Richard came in. It was an unusual hour for him to appear, for he
stuck to the office as rigorously as his chief had done, and he took
her by surprise. For once he beheld her without the innocent
make-believe of wellbeing and energy--quite unconscious on her
part--which had served hitherto to hide from him how much the heat was
trying her, and she saw his face harden suddenly into decision. But he
spoke of something quite different, with an assumption of bluff humour
which did not suit him at all. Richard Ambrose was not a humorous
person. Like the legendary Scotchman, he joked “wi’ deeficculty.”

“I fancy you won’t feel inclined to raise money on your jewellery
again in a hurry, my dear!” Her eyes, accustomed to the dim light,
could see him distinctly as he groped across the bare shaded room,
whereas he was only able to distinguish the tell-tale inertness of the
white figure on the couch. As always, his voice and presence acted as
a tonic, and Eveleen sat up.

“Y’are greatly pleased with yourself about something, Ambrose! Will
you tell me what it is?”

“Oh, you shall hear it, I promise you!” He dropped into a chair, but
found it impossible to go on wearing the mask. “What possessed you to
go and borrow money from one of these people here?” he demanded
wrathfully, “And through that fellow the Daroga, too! Have you no
sense of what is suitable in your position?”

A challenge to fight would never find Eveleen wanting. “My position?”
she repeated slowly. “My position was that I wanted the money, and had
to get it somehow.”

“Since you were ashamed to ask your husband for it. Oh, don’t be
afraid; I can guess what it was for. That brother of yours again, of
course! If he ain’t ruined, it won’t be his loving sister’s fault.”

“As it happens,” with great dignity, “’twas to save him from ruin, and
I’m proud to have done it.”

“Of course! It don’t occur to you, I presume, that what the fellow
wants is a regular hard time, under a commander who’ll keep his nose
to the grindstone, instead of peacocking on the Staff? With you
eternally helping him out of every scrape he may choose to get into,
he hasn’t a chance. Well, don’t say I haven’t warned you!”

“But sure that’s the very thing I’m doing--helping him go where he’ll
be well looked after. Helping him with the money, I mean,” she added
in a panic, fearing she had betrayed herself. But Richard, to do him
justice, was not suspicious.

“Have it your own way, my dear. You have your own way of doing things,
and I suppose you’ll stick to it. Of course it was too much to expect
you to consider me in your anxiety to serve your brother?”

“I did consider you,” bluntly. “Sure I’d have asked you for the money
if I hadn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have got it, I assure you.”

“Well, didn’t I save you the unpleasantness of refusing?”

“I wonder you didn’t take that as a reason for robbing my desk! It
don’t matter, of course, that every tongue in the Agency and in the
Fort is buzzing over my wife and myself, and inventing new scandals
every day?”

“Oh, people will talk!” with superb detachment. “If there’s nothing
handy to talk about, they’ll make it up. The Agency people know
there’s no harm about us, anyhow, and as for the Fort, I’d like to
know what business it is of theirs?”

“That’s it, precisely. You have poked your nose into Khemistan
politics, my dear. You may have discovered by this time that there are
two parties among the Khans--old Gul Ali’s, which wants peace with the
English, and the one headed by young Kamal-ud-din, which would like to
turn us out neck and crop. It has worried me no end lately to find
Kamal-ud-din and his set all so uncommonly cock-a-hoop, and I can tell
by Bayard’s letters that he’s worried too. Well, to-day the reason
came out, when I saw Kamal-ud-din in durbar wearing that blue
dinner-plate of yours. I thought I couldn’t be mistaken, but I made up
my mind to come home and ask you before saying anything, in case it
was merely the fellow to it. I fancy they were rather disappointed
that I didn’t kick up a dust, but afterwards they invited me into the
garden to see a new pavilion they are building. All the young Khans
and their hangers-on were there, and I saw they were egging on little
Hafiz-Ullah to say something. Presently he burst out, with a nasty
little giggle, ‘The Istunt Sahib has not congratulated my cousin on
recovering the talisman of his house.’ Kamal-ud-din was smirking so
vilely that I couldn’t doubt any longer the thing was yours, and that
you had let me in for something unpleasant----”

“I don’t see why. They might have stolen it,” broke in Eveleen.

“And then directed my attention to it, while you had said nothing of
losing it? No, my dear, pardon me; I am beginning to know your ways by
this time. I took a good look at the object, and said in a bored sort
of voice, ‘Curious! I could almost believe it had a look of a jewel
that belonged to my wife, and that I bade her get rid of, because
English people don’t wear such things.’ They were a good bit taken
aback at that, but one of the hangers-on put in, ‘Yes, it came from
the Istunt Sahib’s house.’ I looked him down and said--precious
sternly, I promise you,--‘You mean his Highness has bought it from the
goldsmith Mrs Ambrose sold it to. I hope he didn’t let him make too
much on the transaction.’ They saw there was no change to be had out
of me--the Munshi told me afterwards they had their story all pat of
your having sent the thing to Kamal-ud-din with your salams, and if I
had shown any sign of anger or surprise, out it would have come--and
began to offer explanations in a hurry. The talisman had been carried
off fifty years ago by a captain of the guard who quarrelled with the
Khans of that day, and contrived to escape with his life. He was heard
of afterwards as a soldier of fortune in South India, but no one knew
what became of him and the stone at last. I was able to supply the
rest of the story, of course, and they were grateful, having a lurking
doubt whether they had got the right thing after all. It seems the
stone brings good luck to its possessor, which is the reason of all
the secret jubilation that has been worrying me. When they had said
all they had to say, I smiled superior, and remarked what a
satisfaction it was to Mrs Ambrose and myself to have been the means
of restoring such an interesting relic to his Highness’s family, and
so came away.”

“But we have not restored it to them, and we won’t! I never sold
it--only pawned it.”

“Precisely what I thought, my dear. That’s what I meant by saying that
you wouldn’t pawn your jewellery again in a hurry.”

“But he’s not going to keep it?”

“Pardon me, he is--very much so.”

“You gave away my pendant to this creature?”

“Must I remind you, my dear, that what is yours is mine?” This was
literally true in those days, but it was a sore point with almost
every woman, and tactful husbands did not insist upon it overmuch.
Richard Ambrose realised this immediately. “Not that I would press
that for a moment--you know me better. But you would not wish to
detain another person’s property?”

“It’s not his property--it’s mine. I came by it honestly, and if you
think the General didn’t, you’d better say so! I won’t have my things
given away without so much as ‘by your leave’!”

“Now pray don’t work yourself up about nothing at all. You shall have
another brooch--or whatever you like to call it--that you can wear, as
you couldn’t this, and with better stones. No doubt the General came
by it honestly, but it’s certain it was stolen property to start with.
Now the rightful owner has got it back, that’s all.”

“Well, he’s not got the luck that goes with it!” triumphantly. “I
warned the old thief of a pawnbroker that if he parted with the stone
I’d keep that. And so I will!”

“Be quiet!” said Richard sternly, for her voice had risen. “Do you
want to be murdered? That’s what will happen if you talk like this.”
She looked at him aghast, and he proceeded to improve the occasion,
pleased with the effect he had produced. “Now listen to me, my dear.
It’s about time you left off behaving in this childish way, and
settled down like a reasonable being. Since I brought you here you
have given more trouble than all the other women in the place put
together. If the Resident wasn’t soft to the point of folly where a
lady is concerned, you would have been sent down the river again--or
even back to Bombay--in double quick time. But because he’s a fool on
this point, there’s no need I should be. I tell you plainly, I have no
fancy for being stabbed or poisoned purely for the sake of breaking
your luck, but that’s what will happen----”

He stopped perforce, for Eveleen had flung herself upon him with a
shriek. “Ambrose! you don’t mean it? They wouldn’t hurt you because of
my silliness? I’ll write--I’ll go and tell them----”

“My dear! Pray”--he freed himself with some difficulty--“do try to
exercise self-control. Nothing will happen to either of us if you will
only behave with ordinary prudence. The matter is happily ended now,
and needs no intervention on your part. But if I had not belittled the
talisman--had I shown any desire to regain it--we should all probably
have had to fight for our lives to-night. I have instilled into
Kamal-ud-din’s mind a doubt of its value which it will take some time
to repair. The stone is where it belongs; be content with that. And if
I may venture to suggest it, think before you act in future.”

“Oh, I will, I will! I’ll think for _hours_. But why would you say
we’d be fighting for our lives? Who with?”

“The Khans and their Arabits, of course. Who else?”

“Ambrose! d’ye mean we might be besieged here--actually a siege--and
have adventures, like the ladies who were carried off into Ethiopia?
Why, you talked as if ’twas a punishment bringing me up here, and sure
I’d rather be here than any other place in the world!”

He looked at her hopelessly. “Sometimes I really despair of you, my
dear. But most of those ladies’ husbands had been killed, if I
remember rightly, so perhaps that’s the reason---- No, pray! it is too
hot for demonstrations of such fervour. I beg your pardon---- There!”

Thus rudely checked in throwing herself upon him again, Eveleen
dropped back upon the couch. “It’s no use!” she said in a small
miserable voice. “Whatever I do--nothing will please you. And you say
these cruel things, breaking my heart entirely. What will I do? what
can I do?” she faced him fiercely. “And I’d lie down and let you walk
over me if ’twould give you a moment’s pleasure! Will you tell me what
I’ll do? Don’t sit there like a graven image with the toothache and
look at me as if I was off my head!”

“Sometimes I think you are!” the words were on Richard’s lips, but
some feeling of compunction made him choke them back. He had the
advantage over his wife that he did not always say what he thought.
But he looked physically and mentally exhausted as he lifted his hand
slowly. “Pray, my dear! But the fault is mine. I should not have kept
you up here so long. You are overstrained; I fear an attack of fever.”
She gazed at him in astonishment, almost suspicion. “If you really
wish to please me----”

“Oh, I do, I do!” she assured him fervently.

“Then you will go down the river by the next steamer. I asked Gibbons
t’other day whether his wife would receive you in her bungalow at
Bab-us-Sahel, and he assures me she’ll welcome you heartily. There in
the sea-breezes you will recover your calmness of mind--I trust.”

“But sure I don’t know Mrs Gibbons!” with dilated eyes.

“What does that matter? She is an excellent woman, most kind and
motherly--everybody’s friend.”

“But what will I do there?”

“My dear, how can I say? What do other ladies do? Engage in useful and
elegant feminine occupations, I presume. You will be able to show me
the results----”

“But d’ye mean you won’t be there?”

“How could I? My work keeps me here. But I shall--er--hope to pay you
a visit--perhaps more than one----”

“Major Ambrose,” tragically, “will you never under stand that I didn’t
marry you and come to India to be poked away in other people’s
bungalows like a bit of old furniture? Why, if ’twas only to torment
you----”

“It don’t occur to you, my dear, that I might desire a little respite?
That’s a joke!” he added hurriedly.

“You may well say so! Are y’ not ashamed of yourself?”

“I admit I ought to be. Here I suggest going to considerable trouble,
and some expense, to establish you in comfort away from this place,
where no European female could exist when the hot weather is at its
height, and you receive it as an insult. What more can I say?” He
rose.

Eveleen was after him in a moment, twisting him round to face her.
“Ah, now, don’t you know that when you speak to me like that you can
turn my heart in your fingers? Sure I’m the most reasonable being in
the world if you’ll only remember to consult me before making these
grand arrangements of yours instead of after!”

“Indeed!” drily. “And is there any likelihood that you would fall in
with ’em?”

“Not the slightest! But I’m doing it now.”



 CHAPTER VI.
 ENTER THE ADVENTURER.

/Bab-us-Sahel/ had the advantage over Qadirabad that its natural
torridity was tempered by the sea breeze in the daytime and the land
breeze at night, but that was all. After the shady gardens which had
at least looked cool, though they were not so, the staring bareness of
the coast town was the more horrible. No trees, no vegetation
even--save the unsightly milk-bush and the grey-brown thorn which was
supposed to provide the camel with adequate nourishment--neutral tints
everywhere, from glaring white to every possible dull hue that sand or
dust or rock could assume. It was like Egypt without the Nile--the
Egypt of those days, with half-starved donkeys, ragged children,
diseased beggars, and mud-heap houses complete. That was in and around
the native town, which at least had patches of shade here and there,
where the mud hovels nestled up close to the side of a mosque or
sought the shelter of the city wall. But the European houses, strung
out along their sun-baked road, received no shelter either from one
another or from anything else. Each grilled alone in its own compound,
like a mud-built oven subjected to furnace heat from above and on all
sides. Merely to look out from the hot shade of the verandah made the
eyes ache as though they had been exposed to burning flame. The very
wind was hot, and it lifted the all-surrounding dust and whirled it
about in maddeningly confusing shapes--“playing at waterspouts,”
Eveleen once said bitterly--so that you didn’t know whether you were
standing on your head or your heels till you found a thick coating of
grit on your hair. Nor was the place even healthy. The stagnant marsh
remained a marsh when it seemed as though any water in it must
evaporate by boiling--since it was fed by sea-water percolating
through the sand, and the wells apparently drew their supplies from
it, to judge by the taste of the liquid. Experts had reported that
there ought to be an abundant supply of good water in the hills to the
west of the town, but Colonel Bayard felt a delicacy in undertaking
large engineering works. It would look as though the British
occupation of Bab-us-Sahel on the coast, as of Sahar high up the
river, was intended to be permanent, and his aim in life was to prove
that it was not. There were few of the Bab-us-Sahel Europeans who did
not adore Colonel Bayard, but in the hot weather the adoration was
tinged with resentment.

Eveleen lived through the dreadful weeks by dint of her consuming
interest in her neighbours’ affairs. All unconsciously her husband had
hit upon the very place for her. It would never have occurred to him
that the impulse to have a finger in every pie, which he called
meddling, could be turned to uses of friendly helpfulness such as
suggested the old neighbourly life at home, where everyone knew and
discussed every one else’s business, and furthered it as opportunity
offered. Mrs Gibbons, as the Agency surgeon’s wife, might be supposed
to have acquired by contiguity a certain amount of professional
knowledge, but if so, it was the merest surface polish, for the good
lady would in any circumstances have physicked and nursed any
community in which she found herself. “Gumption” was the word most
frequently on her lips, and the quality most evident in her actions.
When Colonel Bayard declined again to give an appearance of permanence
to the occupation by establishing an experimental garden--such as all
new stations were equipped with--for determining what the soil would
produce, it was Mrs Gibbons who stepped into the breach in default of
the public authorities, and under inconceivable difficulties, grew
successive crops of vegetables which did much to preserve the health
of her fellow-exiles. She kept fowls which actually produced eggs, a
flock of sheep--a small one, of course, but they were really sheep,
not goats,--and several cows, and woe be to the cowherd who sought to
increase the apparent output of milk by surreptitiously introducing
into the pail some of the water in which a portion of his scanty
attire had been previously soaked. The products of her farm were
eagerly bought up--when there were any to sell, for regardless of such
base details as heavy expense and rightful profit, Mrs Gibbons
rejoiced with her whole heart in giving things away. Eveleen accused
her of standing in rapt contemplation of an unconscious sheep, and
cold bloodedly apportioning its joints in her mind to the various
people in whose needs she was most interested at the moment, but her
whole manner of life was after Eveleen’s own heart.

Theoretically, that is, for if there was one quality of the possession
of which Mrs Ambrose’s worst enemy could not accuse her, it was the
all-important “gumption.” She delighted in distributing gifts of milk
or eggs, but of the minute care and watchfulness required for their
production she was wholly incapable. Mrs Gibbons shook her wise head
over her a dozen times a day, and wondered how a married woman could
possibly be so heedless. The normal Early Victorian married woman,
however young, was staid with a staidness that would be improbable in
a grandmother at the present day. She laid down the law to other women
with the assurance naturally conferred by her position on a dazzling
eminence attained by sheer merit, and she made--or professed to
make--her husband’s comfort and satisfaction her one object in life.
Mrs Ambrose fell lamentably below this standard. Like Richard, Mrs
Gibbons was compelled sorrowfully to believe that she had never really
grown up. She coaxed when she should have commanded, received with
ingenuous pleasure attentions she ought to have demanded as a right,
and would forsake at any time the lofty society of her sister-matrons
to advise a subaltern as to the proper treatment of a sick pony. But,
as her hostess once said indignantly to a detractor, she would give
the gown from her back to any one that needed it, and run herself off
her legs to help a sick person; and if this did not necessarily show
gumption, it showed something better. There were no professional
nurses in India, not even Mrs Gamp and Mrs Prig, and a woman’s
character was soon gauged by her readiness to nurse her friends in
time of need--and not her friends only, but the veriest stranger, who
had, as Europe would have said, no sort of claim upon her. Naturally
Mrs Gibbons’s services were in constant, demand when the inevitable
“low fever” made its appearance towards the end of the hot weather,
but could she have multiplied herself by twenty, they would not have
gone round, so that she was glad to be able to turn over some of the
slighter cases to her guest. She did so not without misgiving, and
with an impressive warning as to the size of doses, and the
distinction to be observed between internal and external application;
but no tragedies occurred. As a matter of fact, the medicine was
generally forgotten, unless the patient or a servant remembered it,
while the nurse brightened the sick-room with anecdote and comment,
until the victims declared reproachfully that they would die of
laughing, if of nothing else. She herself found the torments of
prickly heat easier to bear when her mind was thus occupied, and was
beginning to pride herself on having got through the hot weather
remarkably well, when, just as all properly constituted people were
counting the days to the breaking of the monsoon, she also went down
with the fever. It was not a very severe attack, but it was
characteristic of Eveleen to be convinced she would not recover, and
with bitter tears to entreat Mrs Gibbons to let her see Ambrose just
once more. Mrs Gibbons had been surprised, and a little scandalised,
by the apparent brevity of the communications passing between the
pair, and the obviously appalling difficulty Eveleen found in writing
to her husband, and it is possible that she heightened the colours a
little in her own letter. At any rate, when Eveleen awoke one day from
a refreshing sleep, to the welcome sound of rain pouring down outside,
she found Richard sitting looking at her. She smiled at him happily.

“That’s nice, now!” she said in her soft crooning voice. “It’s a
pleasure to see you there, Ambrose. If you knew how good y’are to look
at, you’d maybe be too proud.”

Richard Ambrose--buttoned up and strapped down as all official Britons
were in those days, even in the tropics--smiled with some
embarrassment. “I fear you are joking, my dear. Ought I to return the
compliment?”

“Y’ought, then!” with energy. “I may be a washed-out doll, but my hair
is smooth. You see that?”

She held out in a feeble hand a limp tress, which he scrutinised
doubtfully. Eveleen’s hair was as ill regulated as her character. It
would not curl, but neither would it lie flat, since it was possessed
of a rebellious crispness which defied brushing and all known pomades.
Hence the sportive ringlet and the sleek band--the two styles alone
possible to the normal woman of the day--were both out of the
question. But Richard did not look pleased.

“I--I think I liked it better as it used to be,” he said hesitatingly.
Eveleen sighed loudly.

“Some people are never satisfied!” she lamented, then her tone
changed. “And y’are come to take me back with y’at last? Oh, don’t
tell me y’are not!”

“I--I really can’t say, my dear. We ain’t our own masters in Khemistan
nowadays--I suppose you know?”

“That Sir Harry Lennox is coming up? I know that, of course. Brian’s
safely on the Staff now--you have heard?”

“I saw it gazetted--yes.” The tone firmly declined to congratulate
either superior or subordinate. “Well, then, you must see that things
are altered. It don’t lie with me to give you leave to come up the
river--nor even with Bayard now.”

“Sure it’s all the same thing, if it lies with Sir Harry. But why do
you talk as if he would change things?”

“His appointment must supersede Bayard--may supersede all of us.
Surely you perceive that? Bayard and Bayard’s men ain’t likely to be
here long.”

“I don’t see why. I believe Colonel Bayard and Sir Harry will like one
another greatly.”

“Fall on each other’s necks and swear eternal friendship, in fact?
Well, my dear, I hope so, but I doubt it. Old Lennox is Maryport’s
man, and if he comes here, it’s to further Maryport’s policy, and we
all know what that is.”

“But Sir Harry don’t see eye to eye with Lord Maryport by any means.
Brian says he can’t speak with patience of the way his plan for the
Ethiopian Expedition was bungled at the end--leaving the ladies
prisoners and all. If they hadn’t been rescued, ’twas all the talk in
Poonah that he’d have called out the Governor-General.”

“Well, there you are, you see. He would have had us remain in
Ethiopia, no doubt.”

“Not a bit of it! He wouldn’t allow native states inside our
boundaries, but he would never advance a step beyond them unless he
was forced. The times I’ve heard him say that! If he comes, ’twill be
to make the Khans keep their treaties, that’s all.”

“Pray, my dear, don’t agitate yourself so excessively. Ain’t Bayard
here to make the Khans keep their treaties, and will they do it? And
if they won’t do it for him, whom they call their father and mother,
will they do it for the first arrogant old party that comes
_behaudering_ [swaggering] along? And when they won’t--what then?”

“Why, Sir Harry will make ’em, or know the reason why.”

“Precisely; he’ll break ’em, and say that was his orders.”

“But if ’twas his orders, sure he must do it?”

“D’ye think any orders would induce Bayard to do it? He’d be broke
first himself, and that’s what will happen, you mark my words. The
G.-G. wants Khemistan, and means to get it.”

He spoke so warmly that Eveleen’s voice was quite timid--she could not
bear to hint at disagreement when Richard was for once talking to her
as a reasonable being--as she suggested meekly, “But if the Khans made
the treaties, oughtn’t they keep them?”

“Well, ain’t Bayard trying to make ’em? As he says, if the fools would
only consult their own interests, they would be on his side. The
treaties leave ’em quite free to govern the country according to their
own ideas--though that don’t commend itself to you, eh? But there they
are, and if they would behave themselves in their external relations,
Maryport himself couldn’t lay a finger on ’em. But they won’t--very
far from it.”

“Sure they ought be punished, then.”

“All very well theoretically, my dear, but you wait till it has to be
done. That’s where the trouble will begin, and we shall all be in two
camps. Bayard on one side--one of ourselves, a great _shikari_, a
_pukka_ sportsman--and on the other a foul-mouthed old blackguard who
boasts that he knows nothing of India, and goes about abusing high and
low the Directors, who are our masters and his, and the Services, who
are supposed to be his comrades, and making the troops discontented.
Whose part d’ye think most people will take--all old Indians
especially?”

“But you wouldn’t mean they’d----”

“I ain’t suggesting there’ll be bloodshed among ourselves. But Bayard
will resign, or be kicked out, and old Harry will rush to destruction
with no one to stop him. The G.-G. may think he has set him an easy
task, but he don’t know Khemistan. It’ll mean war to a certainty.
Without Bayard to smooth ’em down, the Khans won’t stand the old
chap’s _gali_, [insults] and their Arabits will face any army we can
bring against ’em. Kamal-ud-din especially is full of fight.” He
stopped suddenly, then laughed a little. “I don’t know what you’ll say
to Kamal-ud-din’s latest, by the bye. Whether the performances of the
talisman haven’t quite come up to expectation, or whether he heard of
your threat to keep the luck, and resents it, I can’t say, but he
seems to think the Seal ain’t quite complete. At any rate, a friend of
his called upon me to enquire in the most discreet manner whether I
was disposed to part with you, as there was a good home waiting for
you where the jewel and you would be reunited.”

“The shameful wretch!” Eveleen’s blue eyes had dilated till they
looked all black. “To dare to suggest such a thing----! And what did
you say?”

“That his flattering proposals could not be entertained till my wife
was a widow---- Eh? what did you say?”

“Nothing more? You let him think----?”

“Oh, I kicked him out. But they saw nothing shocking in the idea, of
course--meant everything to be quite open and above-board, arranged in
the most friendly way----”

“Well, if you call that friendly!” Tears and fury strove in Eveleen’s
voice.

“They would regard it as quite friendly to invite a man to divorce his
wife that she might marry some one else. The unfriendly way would be
to take her without asking. Now really, my dear! I thought you would
look upon it as a good joke, or I wouldn’t have told you.”

“And I suppose he said your wife was a crosspatch, and as ugly as sin,
and altogether you’d do well to be rid of her and get another?”

“You must think me a very patient fellow, my dear! And ’pon my
honour,” slowly, “I begin to believe I must be.”

“Ambrose, you have made a joke! D’ye hear, that was a joke! What’s
come to you?” She was laughing hysterically. “And to do it when you
must be cursing yourself for not taking the chance to get rid of me
and start afresh! A new wife who would be English and proper and
suitable and all the things I couldn’t be to save my life!”

“And wouldn’t be if you could? No, steady! no more of this, please.
Quiet!”

His firm hand on her shoulder helped Eveleen to choke back the screams
which threatened to burst forth, but she grasped the hand convulsively
and held fast to it. “No, I’ll be good, I’ll be good! I didn’t
mean---- But tell me now--Ambrose, tell me--what have I done? How have
I disappointed you? How will I ever put things right if I don’t know
what’s wrong?”

Panting painfully, she leaned half out of the bed, still gripping his
hand with both hers, her eyes searching his face. Richard Ambrose,
hating a scene at least as much as most Englishmen, wriggled
uncomfortably. “Really, my dear, I don’t know---- Why”--with a sudden
bright idea--“I thought it was you who were disappointed. Give you my
word I did.”

“Then you had no business to. But what is it was wrong with me? It
ain’t as though you didn’t know what I was like. We had known one
another so long----”

“True.” He carried the war boldly into the enemy’s country. “But it
was so long ago that I had forgot the changes time must bring. I had
lived too much alone: I was an old man before I was a young one. But
looking back, I thought--I hoped--I might succeed in making you happy.
I was mistaken, and by involving you in my mistake I wrought you an
irreparable injury.”

“Ambrose!” Eveleen was as easily diverted as a child. Her eyes filled
with tears, her lip trembled. “What are you saying--a mistake, injury?
That you have injured me, would you say?”

“Don’t I know from your own lips that you are the most miserable woman
in the world?” he asked bitterly, but it must be confessed, with a
feeling of shame.

“I didn’t say it! I did _not_! How can you----?”

“Pardon me, you did--at Qadirabad, five months ago.”

“But if I did, I never meant it--y’ought to know that! You must
know--you couldn’t have believed it! Swear to me you did not, or I’ll
crawl out of bed and hold to your feet so you can’t get away!”

“Pray don’t. It ain’t necessary. I’ll swear anything you choose. What
will old Mother Gibbons say to me for letting you agitate yourself
like this?”

“Mrs Gibbons is a dear sweet soul, and the heart of Dr Gibbons doth
safely trust in her, because she never runs up bills. Indeed, then,
she scolds him when he spends too much on cheroots. Would you have me
turn like her?”

“Certainly not--in that respect, at any rate.”

“Then I’ll tell you this--I’d rather be myself, and be scolded by you,
in your most shockingly cold style, than be like Mrs Gibbons--there!
Now, will you let me come back with you to Qadirabad?”

“Good heavens!” he said helplessly. “Were the hysterics nothing but a
sham, then?” But he saw the perplexity in her eyes changing again into
poignant reproach, and hastened to make amends.

“No, I’m a fool, forgive me. But you will allow it’s a bit difficult
for a man to follow you into a fresh mood every second minute--eh?”

“But why would I be in the same mood all the time?” in genuine
perplexity. He laughed shortly.

“Don’t know, I’m sure, my dear. Blame me as much as you like, but
judge me leniently when you find me slow. I was born like it, and have
very likely got worse.”

He cut short her assurances that on no account would she have him the
least bit different by departing, on the plea that he feared a
scolding from Mrs Gibbons, and left to herself, Eveleen realised that
she was baffled still. The enigma was not solved, the barrier was
still between them. Compared with the good-comradely relations
existing between Dr and Mrs Gibbons, she and Richard were like
strangers feverishly struggling to behave as near friends. Perhaps,
after all, Richard was right, and nothing else was possible to him. It
was hardly likely he could change much at his age, and the more she
dashed herself against his defences the more uncomfortable and
embarrassed he would be. She must be calm, reasonable, _English_, if
they were to be happy together. “And how will I manage that?” she
asked herself dolefully. “I’ll try--if it’s only to please him, but
it’s a poor chance!”

Whether from his own feelings alone, or assisted by Mrs Gibbons,
Richard had learnt his lesson. No more hysterics for him! He had taken
up his quarters at Government House--since Colonel Bayard had deputed
him to act as his representative in receiving Sir Henry Lennox when he
landed--and he paid his wife a visit punctiliously morning and
evening, but departed instantly if she showed the least sign of
becoming excited. Under this bracing treatment Eveleen improved
rapidly in health, and was promoted first to a couch on the verandah
and then to taking drives, and was even well enough to be allowed to
accompany her hostess to the shore to welcome the new ruler when he
arrived from Bombay. Everything seemed to conspire to spoil Sir
Henry’s first impression of Bab-us-Sahel. It was bad enough that his
steamer should have been compelled to anchor off the port the night
before, in imminent danger of running upon a reef in the darkness, and
it was undignified for the person invested with supreme military and
political power in Khemistan to be dragged in his boat through the
surf and up the beach by yelling coolies because the tide would not
allow of his landing at the pier. But the ladies watching from their
carriages opined that something more serious must be wrong as the
small bent figure, with dark glasses and long straggling beard,
hobbled up the shore. Sir Henry had brushed aside brusquely the
greetings of the officers awaiting him, and was giving sharp orders,
pointing now to the vessel pitching on the horizon, now to the
headlands on either side of the town. Something had to be done
instantly, that was clear, for not until two or three men had detached
themselves from the group, and mounted and ridden off in hot haste,
did he appear to remember his manners.

“Sickness on board!” said Mrs Gibbons the experienced, noting that the
port surgeon was one of those who had ridden away. “Now I wonder what
it is--not cholera, I trust! I must see what beds----”

“Ah, but just wait till Sir Harry has passed!” urged Eveleen, in deep
disappointment. “We don’t _know_ that it’s sickness. And you wouldn’t
make me cut my own brother? There he is--that’s Brian!” indicating a
youth whose tall form towered above that of the General, naturally
short and now bowed with rheumatism. Brian had a large mouth--expanded
further by a cheerful smile--and blue eyes like his sister’s, one of
them closed at the moment in a palpable wink. Eveleen was so much
taken up with responding to this greeting that she was surprised to
find her husband--portentously stiff and correct, as who should say,
“This is none of my doing!” bringing Sir Henry up to the carriage. The
General’s faded blue tunic might have been a relic of the Peninsula,
and he wore a curious helmet of his own invention instead of the
ordinary cap or shako with a linen cover and curtain. But the keen
eyes twinkling through the dark spectacles, and the enormous nose,
would have made him noticeable anywhere, quaint little figure though
he was. He saluted and bowed low as he approached the two ladies in
their best white gowns and flower-trimmed lace caps--Mrs Gibbons
solid, jolly, and dependable; Eveleen all on wires, quivering with
interest and excitement.

“My chief pleasure in coming to Khemistan,” he said courteously, “was
the prospect of meeting Mrs Ambrose again, but I did not expect to
have the honour so soon.”

“Ah, but that’s because I have been here for the hot weather,” said
Eveleen eagerly. “But I may go up the river again with Ambrose, may I
not?”

“So far as the matter rests with me, I shall be only too delighted,”
was the courtly reply, and it took all Eveleen’s self-control not to
cast a glance of triumph at her husband.

“And how is Black Prince?” she enquired, seeking hastily for safer
themes.

“A bit seedy just now--we have had a terrible voyage----” his face was
shadowed. “But he’ll soon shake that off.” Then the twinkle
reappeared. “But would not a well-conducted lady have enquired first
after my wife and the girls?”

“Ah, I never was that!” lamented Eveleen. “But I’ll do it, I’ll do it!
Pray, Sir Harry, has Lady Lennox forgiven me yet for teaching Sally to
jump?”

“I think I may say she has--particularly since she believes Sally has
forgot the accomplishment.”

“While all the time Sally’s naughty papa has been keeping it alive in
secret--eh, Sir Harry? Ah then, I know you, you see--and you and Sally
and I will have many a fine gallop yet. I’ve set up a little Arab I’d
like you to see----”

“With all my heart--but not at present, I fear. Now I must reluctantly
bid----”

“Ah, but I must make known to you my kind friend Mrs Gibbons here, who
would be Chief Medical Officer if ladies could be doctors. She read in
your face that you had sickness on board while you were still far down
the strand.”

“Ah, my dear lady!” there was no badinage now in the General’s
voice--“we don’t alarm our gentle friends with these sad matters, but
we have lost fifty-four men from cholera since leaving Bombay. That
was what detained me just now--giving orders for pitching a camp of
isolation immediately on the point yonder. I can do nothing till my
poor fellows are transferred there.”

“Then Mrs Gibbons is the person you want!” triumphantly. “She has
already reckoned up in her mind how many beds she can put her finger
on in an hour.”

The General shot a keen look at Mrs Gibbons’s composed face. “By Jove,
ma’am, you’re the woman for me! With your permission, I’ll send over
my own surgeon to consult with you immediately. Ladies, your servant!”

“Oh, Sir Harry!” cried Eveleen desperately as he turned away, “you’ll
be letting Brian--my brother--come to tiffin, or dinner, at any rate?”

“Lieutenant Delany shall certainly pay his respects to Mrs Ambrose and
her hostess this evening”--again Brian’s eye sought his sister’s and
closed in a wink--“if his duties will allow. During the day he will be
continuously occupied.”

“If I might suggest, sir----” they heard Richard’s voice as Sir Henry
stumbled off resolutely through the sand to the waiting horses. They
heard also the General’s answer.

“No, sir, you may not suggest. There is far too much ‘suggesting’
here. I take no suggestions from my subordinates.”



 CHAPTER VII.
 THE OLD ORDER CHANGES.

/It/ was late when Brian Delany found his way to Mrs Gibbons’s
bungalow, so late that the good lady herself--pardonably weary after a
long hot afternoon spent in looking up or improvising hospital
equipment in the company of surgeons ignorant of the limited resources
of the place--had begun to hint that invalids did well to go to bed
early. But when he was heard dismounting at the verandah steps, she
gave up her efforts in despair, contenting herself, as she took her
departure, with the threat that if Brian stayed more than half an
hour, she would get up again and come and turn him out. Eveleen hardly
heard her, so much engrossed was she in greeting her brother.

“Well, Brian?” sitting up eagerly as he came in.

“Well, old Evie!” he stooped and kissed her. “Been more than a little
bit seedy--eh?”

“Ah, what do I signify? Let me look at you, Brian. D’ye know, I
believe you’re--grown!”

“Will you listen to the woman! Grown, am I? Grown _thin_, my dear,
till you could count the bones of me!”

“Nonsense, then! You look far too well for that. But I do see,
indeed--yes, there’s a look of hardness----”

“Hardness about me, would you say? No, indeed, but plenty about the
little old horror you went and handed me over to! Little I thought
’twas a slave I was to be, when you blarneyed me into trying to get
into the General’s family.”

“Sure it’s all for your good. You look twice the boy you did--twice
the man, I’d say.”

“Do you tell me that, now? And how many yards of aide-de-camp is the
General to entertain if we all stretch out this way? It’s not an
increase of length, I tell you, but a decrease of girth--a shocking
decrease!”

“My poor fellow! You look starved, indeed!”

“Starved, is it? That’s just what I am. How would you help it with a
chief that drinks water as soon as whisky, and can live happy on
country prog? No wine--no beer, even--on active service, and precious
little other times. And hates the smell of a weed----”

“Ah, nonsense, nonsense! You mayn’t smoke?”

“Not on service. At Poonah Stewart and I would get away by ourselves
when we couldn’t stand it any longer, and one keep ‘Cave!’ while
t’other indulged. But as often as not the old lad would be after us
before we were done.”

“Ah, Brian, it’s a reformed character you’ll be, and no thanks to
yourself! And the poverty-stricken look that seems to hang about
you--what of that, now?”

“That comes of wearing uniform always and all day long, my dear
creature. And when your coat gets shabby, why--‘Hang it, sir! have it
mended. An honest patch won’t shame either you or me, let me tell
you.’”

“Well, you’re not quite come to that yet.”

“Am I not, indeed? This is my best coat, ma’am, put on to impress the
ladies on landing. And even in having two, I’m breaking my General’s
rules. What d’ye think is his allowance for a fellow on active
service? Why, just what he stands up in, and nothing else but a pair
of shoes, a second shirt and inexpressibles, a flannel waistcoat for
chilly weather, a towel, and a piece of soap!”

“But what about coloured clothes?”

“They’re snakes, I tell you, and he St Patrick! Whether you may wear
’em on leave, I don’t know, for I’ve had no leave since I’ve been with
him, but certainly not within a hundred miles of headquarters. A
shooting-jacket is ‘a deformity of dress,’ and as for a blouse”--this
was a kind of Norfolk coat made in thin materials--“if one met his
eye, believe me, he’d tear it off you and kick it out of the house.
Oh, he’s a holy terror, and no mistake!”

“The very person you needed to take you in hand, my dear fellow! And
tell me, does he work you hard?”

“Don’t he, just!” with a hollow groan. “From morning to night--day in,
day out--your nose is on the grindstone. ‘If I thought there was the
remotest chance of your studying,’ says he, ‘I’d allow you time for
it, the same as I do myself, but ’tis no use. So I’ll find you work
instead, just to keep you out of mischief.’”

“Sure he’s the wise man! And what would he be studying?”

“Marlborough, Frederick, the Duke--all those old codgers full of plans
of battles like starfishes, with a compass in the corner to show
they’re upside-down! Much good they’d do me or anybody! I’d want to
get them up-sided first, and then they’d be all wrong. And some great
little old Latin book that he hammers bits out of at meals and all
sorts of times, with Alexander’s campaigns in it--for an example and
an incitement, says he.”

“You’ll be a wonder by the time he’s done with you! And the
work--what’s that like?”

“Like galloping hell-for-leather through the heat to surprise some
wretched barracks where they ain’t prepared for inspection. And
turning everything topsy-turvy, and hauling everybody over the coals,
and putting up the private soldiers to make complaints, and swearing
till all is blue that there ain’t an officer in the place fit to hold
his commission, and the C.O. and the surgeon ought to be drummed out
of the Army with ignominy! Oh, I tell you they love him down there!”
Brian waved a hand in a direction supposed to be that of Bombay.

“You have great times indeed! Don’t you enjoy it all?”

“I believe you! To see a poor wretch of a private trying hard to think
of some grievances, with one eye on the General, who’s so anxious for
’em, and t’other on his own officer, who’s safe to pass on to him the
wigging he gets--it’s rich! But it ain’t what you may call fair play.
Why, the very first thing I was taught when I got into the regiment
was that an officer must never permit a private soldier an interview
without he was full dressed and accompanied by a sergeant. But the
General swears an officer must be accessible to his men day and
night--in their shirt-sleeves if they choose--and no sergeant within a
mile of ’em. D’ye wonder no one knows how he stands?”

“’Twas like that when they fought in Spain, I suppose.”

“Oh, no doubt; but this is India, and peace time. Not that I’d quarrel
with anything that made people more friendly, but when you have to
unlearn all you were ever taught----! It’s mad about the men the old
lad is. The officers may go hang, but every private is his good
comrade. The letters they send him! you’d laugh, I tell you--where you
didn’t cry! Well, there y’are now; what d’ye expect these old colonels
and brigadiers, who have spent all their lives in India, to think of
it?”

“You mean they would not be pleased?”

“Pleased? Sure they hate the General as heartily as he hates them. And
he hates the Civilians worse. And if there is anything he hates worse
than a Civilian, it’s a Political. So now you see why it’s Old Harry
and the rank and file against the Services and all the old Indians
everywhere.”

“Ah, if he hates the Politicals--I heard him catch up Ambrose in the
horridest way---- But how can he----”

“Oh, he don’t mean it a bit. If you sit mum and let him rage over your
head, he’ll be smiling sweetly on you in another five minutes. But if
you give it him back--my word, won’t he kick up a dust! And if you
bear malice, so can he--for ever and ever. He’s the drollest old
chap--like a child in some ways. You tip Ambrose the wink not to
answer him back, and not to use Persian words in speaking or writing
to him--he boasts he don’t understand a syllable of anything but plain
English--and they’ll get on like a house afire.”

“But, Brian, he ain’t accustomed----”

“My dear creature, he’s got to get accustomed--or be broke. I do hope
he and Bayard and all the fellows here ain’t going to get their noses
in the air. If they do, the General will rub ’em tidily in the dust
for ’em, and enjoy doing it. But if they’ll just take a little pains
to keep on his soft side--and no man has a softer--we’ll all be the
happiest family in the world.”

“You will have found the soft side, then?”

“With intervals, my dear creature--with intervals. Explosions, let us
say, which take you by surprise all the more because you have been
getting on so uncommon well the moment before. But I’m the lucky chap;
only once have I been regularly blown sky-high--and that was your
fault.”

“It’s trying to tease me y’are, you rude boy.”

“Not a bit of it. I was riding with him one day--up hill, so for once
we couldn’t gallop, and the old fellow began to do the paternal--bad
luck to him!--enquire into my private affairs, and so on. I was
shaking in my shoes for fear what he might be asking next, when he
suddenly comes out with the question how I got the money to pay my
debts. ‘Oh, glory!’ says I, ‘safe this time, at any rate!’ and told
him ’twas from my sister. And then there was a sort of earthquake and
eruption of Vesuvius all in one, and me lying in little bits at the
bottom. ‘Will you tell me,’ says he at the end, precious stern, ‘how
y’ever dared face me after sponging on a female to get the means to
enter my family?’ ‘And where would I get it,’ says I, plucking up
courage for very desperation, ‘only from the woman from whom I’ve had
everything since she first took care of me as an infant?’”

“That’s my dear boy!” Eveleen beamed on him. “I wouldn’t ask you to
say better than that.”

“He saw it--I’ll grant him that--but he was uncommon stiff with me
still. ‘And how much have you paid her back by now?’ he lets out at me
all of a sudden. ‘Why, nothing, General!’ says I, astonished. ‘That,
at least, we can put right,’ says he. ‘Fifty rupees a month, my fine
fellow--and the first month you’re behindhand is your last away from
your regiment.’ I swear to you I thought it cheap at the moment!
Permit me, ma’am, to tender you payment of the first three months’
instalments.” With a low bow he presented a slip of paper.

“As if I’d touch it, then! But I’ll always be proud----”

“You must touch it, and take it and keep it, if you don’t want me
kicked out. Sure I’d lose more than you think----”

“Ah, well, Ambrose will be pleased. ’Twas his money, after all,”
languidly. “And will you tell me, Mr Brian Delany”--with sudden
animation--“what it is you’d lose if you went back to your regiment?
You have not been falling in love, now? Brian!” with tremendous
certainty, “you have dared to make love to Lucy Lennox? Oh dear, oh
dear! these boys! What will they be doing next?”

“Not guilty, ma’am! Listen to me now. Stewart it is that’s sweet on
Miss Lucy, and I playing gooseberry for them time and time again. So
there!”

“Well, go on with you. What about yourself?”

“You’ll break my heart laughing at me.” But Eveleen read in the tone
that Brian was at least as eager to confess as she was to hear.

“You know I won’t. Tell me, now. It can’t be Sally?”

“Sally it is. Sally’s the girl for my money.”

“But she’s nothing but a little bit of a child yet. Is it thirteen she
is--or fourteen?”

“How’d I know--or care? That child is as old--as ancient. ‘My wise
little Sally,’ her papa calls her, and she turns the stubborn old
ruffian round her finger as easy as winkin’. And to hear her lecture
your brother, my dear creature you’d think she was her own
grandmother! Give her a year or two, and I’ll marry her without so
much as a ‘by your leave!’ even if General is G.-G. by that time!”

“Perhaps she won’t have you, my dear fellow.”

“Then it’s a bachelor I’ll be all my born days. Do you take me, ma’am?
It’s a case! What in the world’s that?”

“That” was a nightcapped head--the body presumably attached thereto
remaining discreetly out of sight--which appeared at a doorway.
“Three-quarters of an hour!” said a sepulchral voice. “And Mrs Ambrose
still an invalid. Mr Delany, will you be so good as to return to your
quarters, and let your sister go to bed?”

“I will, ma’am, I will!” Brian winked largely at Eveleen. “I’m a sad
fellow to have brought you here to turn me out, but ask my sister if
all I’ve told her ain’t worth it.”

“Begone, graceless wretch!” Eveleen was quoting from the
melodrama--miscalled historical--recently staged by the Bab-us-Sahel
Dramatic Club, and Brian, recognising the style common to melodrama,
answered in the same vein.

“Cruel but virtuous dame, at thy command I go!” and went.



The few days which covered Sir Henry Lennox’s sojourn at Bab-us-Sahel
were well filled. He saw the outbreak of cholera stamped out, he
reviewed the troops, he set on foot plans for improving the landing
conditions, providing a water-supply, and laying out large vegetable
gardens, with a view to preventing the scurvy from which the garrison
suffered. For the present a ration of lime-juice was to be served out,
but it was clear, from the arrangements made for the future, that the
town was to remain in British hands, and knowing people opined once
more that Sir Harry’s visit was to end in the annexation of Khemistan.
This did not appear to be his own opinion, however. He was come, he
said quite frankly, to make the Khans keep their treaties--with such
modification as might seem called for. He had not come to fight, and
he did not for a moment believe that the Khans would provoke a
rupture, but he was quite certain he was going to put an end to the
anomalous condition of things that had obtained hitherto. It was in
his mind, also, that the large British force at Sahar--far up the
river--must be badly in need of inspection by a competent authority,
and this need it was his purpose to supply. The requirements of
Bab-us-Sahel having therefore been observed, noted and pigeon-holed at
lightning speed, the General set out on his way up the river. To the
relief of Richard Ambrose, who had been rather inclined to fear, from
the tone of his references to the Khans, that his mode of dealing with
them would be to knock their heads together and bid them listen to
reason, Sir Harry consented to pay a visit of ceremony to Qadirabad in
the course of his journey. Thus it was only natural that he should
offer the Ambroses a passage in his steamer, since the Khans might
well feel alarmed if he was not accompanied by any representative of
their friend Colonel Bayard, and Eveleen and her husband returned up
the river in state.

Unfortunately, the added grandeur did nothing to mitigate the
inconveniences of the voyage, but the General himself was so
absolutely unconscious of these that no one else durst refer to them.
Eveleen had her tent on deck as before, and having once made certain
that such comfort as was possible was secured to her, Sir Harry
dismissed the subject from his mind. If they had only been privates,
the officers on board confided ruefully to one another, the General
would have thought no pains too much to make them comfortable, but the
higher ranks were expected to be content with the meagre accommodation
that sufficed for himself. To the honour of his staff be it said that
they loved him too much to grumble at hardships shared with him, and
it must be confessed that no one who did not love him could have
remained in his family for a week.

Eveleen studied him appreciatively day by day, but from a point of
view other than that of the quaint companionship of Mahabuleshwar.
Half unconsciously, she had acquired something of the Anglo-Indian
attitude of mind in her sojourn up the country, and it helped her to
understand the alarm and dislike with which he was viewed by old
Indians generally. It was perfectly true that he knew nothing of
India, and prided himself on the fact, which in some curious way he
had brought himself to regard as a merit. In fact, ignorance of India
seemed to him an essential qualification for dealing successfully with
Indian affairs--a conviction shared with him by many less
simple-hearted egoists both before and since. Curiously enough, he was
always on the watch to pick up information about things
Indian--historical, geological, agricultural, linguistic,--but the
information must be surprised and as it were snatched from the people
who knew, at moments when they were off their guard. Not only did he
keep his eyes open, but he was not too proud to confess he had been
mistaken. The little book on the Campaigns of Alexander, to which
Brian had alluded, was his constant companion, and he had succeeded to
his own complete satisfaction in reconstructing the itinerary of the
Greek forces, and identifying the various places mentioned with
existing towns. But the whole scheme collapsed under the shock of the
discovery that the river was wont to change its course from year to
year--sometimes from month to month--and that it would be unreasonable
to expect to find a town where it had stood a century ago, much more
two thousand years. This was a severe blow, and for a day or two the
little book was less in evidence. Brian and Eveleen asked one another
wickedly whether the report on the condition of Khemistan--which Sir
Harry was compiling at alarming length--would likewise prove to be
founded on imagination rather than knowledge of the country, but by
degrees they began to perceive a method in the little man’s madness,
and to watch for the lightning questions by means of which he would
inform himself.

The fame of the General had reached Qadirabad before him, and the
anxiety of the Khans to produce a good impression was shown by their
assiduity in offering him a welcome. A high official was deputed to
meet the steamer before it came in sight of the city, and the river
bank was studded with bearers of enormous trays of sweetmeats, so many
from each Khan. At the Residency other officials were waiting, with
more sweetmeats and a polite offering of ten fat sheep, and it was
clear to Richard and his colleagues of the Agency that the rulers were
both puzzled and nervous. Here was an abrupt little man of terrible
aspect, reputed to be the most ferocious fighter Europe could produce,
and a disciple--if not a relative--of the world-famous Wellington. He
was armed with vague powers--all that was known was that they were
greater than those of any General who had hitherto visited the
country,--but how he meant to use them no one could say. It was not
even known whether he and the Resident Sahib were friends or
enemies--bitterly did the Khans regret that the two men had not met,
that sharp eyes unseen might have observed and reported their
demeanour--nor whether the Resident was still in authority or not. The
one obvious thing seemed to be to make sure of the favour of the
alarming Unknown, and the obvious way of doing it was to show him
every possible honour. A scarlet palanquin of state, with green velvet
cushions, was sent to convey him to the Fort, his staff and that of
the Agency following on richly-caparisoned camels. Besides his own
escort of fifty Khemistan Horse, he had a guard of honour of Arabit
Sardars and their retainers, and at the city gate the younger
Khans--each in his palanquin--met him and escorted him in. Curious
crowds fought for a sight of him and acclaimed him enthusiastically,
and as he mounted the rise to the gateway of the Fort every one
salamed to the ground. Khemistan was doing its best to conciliate the
intruder.

“And how did he get on with them at all?” asked Eveleen eagerly of her
husband, when the procession had returned, and he was thankfully
divesting himself of the trappings of full dress.

“So-so. He meant to be all that was charming, but he hasn’t a notion
how to take ’em, and they don’t know what to make of him. He looks
upon ’em as a set of children, because they would have his spectacles
passed round for ’em all to try on, and that’s how he talks to ’em. Of
course the Munshi put all he said into proper form, but they judge by
the tone much more than the words. That dry hard way he has of barking
things out was what impressed ’em, I could see, though he was trying
his utmost to put them at their ease. They don’t like him, and they’re
precious frightened of him--that’s about it, I should say.”

“If only the Colonel had been here, now!” sighed Eveleen. Richard
looked at her queerly.

“What good would that have done? He couldn’t have shortened this man’s
huge beak, or got him to go about without spectacles--which frighten
them because they think his eyes are so savage that he wears ’em to
deaden the expression,--or made him speak soft and slow. It ain’t in
the old chap, and he don’t know enough about India to try and
cultivate it if he hasn’t got it. And they know well enough that he’s
been sent here over Bayard’s head--the only thing they can’t make out
yet is whether they’re in it together or not.”

If Sir Harry were aware of the alarming impression he had produced, he
showed no sign of it, but continued his journey up the river the next
day, leaving with Richard the letter which was to call the Khans’
attention to the breaches of treaty of which they had been guilty, and
the advisability of mending their ways forthwith. At Sahar he was to
be met by Colonel Bayard, who had been enjoying himself vastly--free
from the responsibility and respectability of the Agency--in his
mission to the wild country on the Ethiopian border. He had made long
journeys on camel-back in disguise, provided for the safety and
sustenance of the British force retiring from Iskandarbagh, settled
various outstanding matters in connection with the small state of
Nalapur--and incidentally embroiled himself with the Governor-General,
who was a bad person to quarrel with. The occasion was the affairs of
Nalapur. Not only did Lord Maryport consider Colonel Bayard had
exceeded his powers in reorganising the government--that was merely
presumption,--but he accused him of deluding the durbar deliberately
by laying claim to powers he knew he did not possess, and then indeed
Colonel Bayard was touched in his tenderest point. An acrimonious
correspondence was in progress, of which he assured himself happily
that he had so far carried off all the honours; but the drawback in
quarrelling with authority is that authority is always in a position
to have the last word--and that word had not yet been spoken. Both
Colonel Bayard and his friends--to whom he read or repeated what he
considered the most telling portions of his letters--forgot this, and
when the news came that Sir Harry Lennox and he had taken a fancy to
one another at first sight, and were working together in the most
amicable way, the Political Establishment in Khemistan forgot its
fears, and settled down contentedly in the conviction that, after all,
things were going on much in the old way.

The Khans also were hugging this amiable delusion to their souls.
Richard was kept busy with visiting them and receiving their Vakils,
now delivering the papers sent to him from Sahar for the purpose, and
then transmitting the answers. Knowing Colonel Bayard to be their
friend--though without feeling it necessary to requite his friendship
otherwise than in word,--they were quite happy since he still remained
in the country, and bent all their energies, which were small, and
their ingenuity, which was infinite, to the task of enabling him on
their behalf to hoodwink the intruder. With the aid of a judicious
rattling together of shields and tulwars--to give the hint of
unpleasant possibilities in the background if things were pressed to
extremities--they looked forward to tiding over this crisis as they
had done others. Richard was a good deal worried by their attitude. He
could not bring them to realise that they had a second person--and a
very different one--to deal with now, and whenever he tried it they
replied with the warlike demonstrations intended especially for the
General’s benefit. It was quite certain that there was an unusual
amount of coming and going about the Fort. Fresh bands of Arabit
horsemen seemed to be arriving continually, and while some of them
departed again, others remained. Moreover, Richard doubted very much
whether those who went away returned to Arabitistan. From the reports
brought him by his spies, he believed that they were reinforcements
for the garrisons of the desert fortresses of which the Khans boasted
as unreachable and impregnable, and from which Sahar itself might be
assailed in case of need. He could only pass on his observations to
Sir Harry, and try to convince the Khans of the seriousness of the
situation, while doing his utmost to bring them to reason by peaceful
means.

Eveleen had returned from Bab-us-Sahel full of good resolutions,
determined to take Mrs Gibbons as her model from henceforth. She would
never want to ride at unorthodox hours--virtue was assisted in this
respect by the heat,--and she would benefit society by starting a
farmyard and kitchen-garden. Unfortunately for her good intentions,
Qadirabad was a very different place from Bab-us-Sahel, since mutton,
poultry, and vegetables were all easy to get. She relinquished with a
sigh the idea of a sheep-farm and chicken-run, but a garden she would
have, and achieved--with the aid of the Residency _mali_ and his
underlings--success of a sort. The _mali_ had an unfair advantage in
the perpetual contests waged between them, since he knew his own mind
and did not change it from day to day, while Eveleen’s continual
visions of newer and better arrangements led to weird apparitions of
onions in the flower-beds and violets among the lettuces. Happily the
_mali_ was able, with conscious rectitude, to show that he had a
proper supply of vegetables coming on in regions to which the Beebee
had not penetrated, and instead of starving the Agency staff, Eveleen
escaped with a good deal of teasing on her peculiar horticultural
tastes. But those who had planted the garden were not destined to eat
its fruits.

“Sure there’s a steamer coming down the river!” Running out on the
verandah dressed for the evening ride, Eveleen stood still to listen.
“Ambrose, d’ye hear?”

“A steamer to-day? Nonsense!” cried Richard, joining her hastily. “No,
by Jove, it is!”

“What will it be, I wonder?” in much excitement. “Oh, send the horses
back, and let us go down to the strand.”

Other people joined them as they neared the path down the low cliff on
which the Residency stood, and waited on the landing-stage. The
_Asteroid_ came round the bend with the light of the setting sun full
on her.

“Well, now; if it’s not the Resident!” cried Eveleen, as a figure on
the paddle-box took off his hat and waved it to the group in the
shadows. “He must be invalided. See how ill he looks!”

“As if you could tell at this distance!” said Richard, in his superior
way; but as the steamer drew round to the landing-stage, he had to
acknowledge that Colonel Bayard did look very ill.

“That attack of fever we heard of will likely have been worse than we
knew. He must go to bed at once.” Eveleen spoke with all the
determination of Mrs Gibbons herself, and Colonel Bayard, hurrying to
shake hands with them as soon as he set foot on shore, heard her.

“What have I done, Mrs Ambrose, that I am to be sent to bed like a
naughty child? I know there are plenty of people who have the worst
possible opinion of me, but I didn’t expect to find them here.”

“Sure it’s for your own sake,” she said seriously. “You don’t look fit
to be up.”

“Morally I may not be, but physically I assure you I am. But I have
had a heavy time this hot weather, and no doubt it’s told upon me. And
I have had a bit of a blow just lately.”

“Ah!” said Richard quickly.

“Yes--to make a long story short, I am remanded to my regiment.”

They stopped in climbing the path, and looked at him incredulously.
Colonel Bayard, the prince of Politicals, deprived of his acting rank
and sent back to do duty with native infantry! The man who had ruled
kingdoms and dispensed lakhs was to return to a despised calling and
its scanty pay. He read their horrified amazement in their eyes, and
raised his hand brusquely.

“No, don’t pity me too much; keep a little for yourselves. I wish I
were the only person affected, but the fact is--the Political
Establishment is dissolved.”

“Dissolved?” echoed Richard hoarsely.

“Destroyed, broken up, cast aside, kicked out. By the fiat of my Lord
Maryport, without the ghost of a reason given.”

“Lennox!” the word sounded like a curse. Colonel Bayard saw Eveleen’s
mute gesture of protest, and smiled at her.

“No, Mrs Ambrose, you are right. Old Harry had nothing to do with
it--was as much taken aback as I was. He told me frankly he had been
on the point of writing to recommend the reduction of the Agency, but
certainly not its abolition. Like all those bustling energetic people
just out from home, he thinks we do nothing for our money. Let him
wait till he has had two or three hot weathers in Khemistan! At any
rate, his view of it is that we spend our time drinking beer and
smoking cheroots”--with a rather conscious laugh, for his friends
would hardly have recognised him without a fat cigar in his
mouth,--“and occasionally signing the papers our black clerks bring
us, and he is going to work without any clerks at all. You will be the
victim of his economy, Richard. Even he acknowledges that he must have
some sort of political officer to consult when he’s quite out of his
depth, so I put in a word for you.”

“As though I would stay here a day without you!”

“My dear fellow, you must. You are married, you have your wife
here----” he smiled again at Eveleen as she looked back at him from
the verandah steps with brimming eyes. “You can’t take her back to
your regiment. The life would kill her. It ain’t as if she were a
young girl,” he added in a whisper before he followed.

“True; she ain’t a young girl.” The tone was savage, but Richard knew
his friend was right. A girl who knew India, brought up by a managing
mother accustomed to Indian ways, might have faced the life which had
been his for so many painful years; but Eveleen, knowing as little of
the country as she did of method and contrivance--what would there be
before her but a miserable struggle ending in ruined health and
spirits for both? He was not free to cut loose from Khemistan.

“So you must swallow the bitter pill, you see,” Colonel Bayard was
saying as they mounted the steps, “and do what you can for my poor
Khans from a distance. By the bye, I didn’t tell you that--this place
is to be closed for the present; you are to go up to Sahar. I shall
have to break it all to them to-morrow. I couldn’t go down the river
without bidding ’em farewell, but it will be one of the hardest things
I have ever done.”



 CHAPTER VIII.
 TOO CLEVER BY HALF.

“/For/ the last time!” said Colonel Bayard, with a comical glance of
self-pity at Richard, as they rode out the next morning preceded by
the chobdars with their silver sticks and followed by the barbaric
escort.

“Not a bit of it! You’ll never be left mud-crawling with a black
regiment. The G.-G. will find out his mistake in no time, and send for
you back.”

“It would take a good deal to make him do that. I was promised the
Agency for the down-river states when he sent Lennox here, but there’s
no word of it now. Don’t look so shockingly cut up, Richard. I tell
you it’s a release from bondage for me, after the _lacquey_ way I have
been treated this summer by his lordship--bandied about like a
racquet-ball! Old Lennox would have kept me on as his personal
assistant--doing the deed first and getting permission afterwards--if
I would have stayed; but I asked for furlough instead, and he put the
_Asteroid_ at my disposal to take me down the river in the handsomest
way. A singular character, that old chap, but a thorough good fellow.”

“I hear he spoke very properly of you at the dinner they gave you
before starting.”

“Properly? Nay, I assure you I didn’t know where to look. I might have
been Scipio Africanus and Sir Philip Sidney rolled into one, instead
of a failed Political going back to his regiment a poorer man than
when he left it twenty years ago. By the bye, I don’t know whether I
am in order in taking the _sowari_ [retinue] with me to-day. Merely a
private individual now, I suppose.”

“Not till you have left Khemistan, surely! If Sir Henry’s attitude is
as generous as you say, he couldn’t grudge you the ordinary marks of
respect.”

“Ay, but to him they ain’t ordinary, and he means to put an end to
’em. He has no chobdars himself, and he’s going to abolish these. An
escort he can tolerate--but only on state occasions, of
course--because it can follow him at a gallop, but fellows walking in
front of him and making him ride slow--never!”

“How does he ever expect to impress these people?” said Richard
bitterly. “They won’t have an atom of respect for him.”

“Oh, you should hear him on the subject. He thinks we can’t compete
with the Indians in matters of show and state, so he won’t try. They
will be more impressed by seeing we can do without every single thing
they care about, so he says. And I’m bound to say he lives up to his
theories. I thought so when I dined with him--privately, I mean; not
the _burra khana_--and found everything camp-fashion. The plates and
dishes and so on came out of his canteens--he takes a couple about
with him so as to be able to give dinner-parties, he told me--and what
d’ye think was the principal thing on the table? Why, pork chops and
common bazar stuff at that--and the old chap tucking into them with
real gusto and pressing ’em on me!”

“Well, if he can survive that sort of thing, he ought certainly to
impress the Khans,” said Richard drily. “But it’s a pity he don’t stay
here under their eye, for they ain’t impressed a bit at present.”

But in this he was wrong, as appeared speedily. Due notice had been
sent to the Fort of Colonel Bayard’s desire to pay a farewell visit to
their Highnesses, and the proper message of welcome received in
return. But the message was couched in terms more flowery and formal
than quite suited the intimate relations which had prevailed between
the Resident and his charges, and there was no sign on the road of the
messengers who should have met the procession at stated points and
implored the visitor to hasten, since he alone could pour the
snow-cooled sherbet of delight into the parched mouth of expectation.
The reason for this lapse from good manners appeared on the visitors’
arrival at the Fort, for it seemed that a sudden illness had
prostrated the ruling family at one blow. One Khan after another for
whom Colonel Bayard enquired was declared to be sick, the attendants
adding intimate and distressing details on a scale that did credit to
their memories--or possibly their imaginations.

“Oh, let them alone!” said Richard, in a hasty whisper. “They funk
meeting you.”

“But why should they funk meeting me? Nay”--to the embarrassed
attendants,--“if their Highnesses are indeed so ill, I must postpone
my journey, for I could not dream of leaving Khemistan while those who
have been to me as sons are lying between life and death. I will send
my own physician to visit them, and I myself will spend each day at
the Palace, that I may be at hand the moment they call for me.”

Hurried consultations ensued, messengers came and went, and at last
the chief spokesman advanced again. “Let the Resident Sahib be pleased
to enter. Rather than force him to delay his departure, and incur the
wrath of his lord the General Sahib”--Colonel Bayard stiffened
perceptibly,--“their Highnesses will bedew the blossoms of affection
with the tears of regret even at the risk of their health.”

He paused for a moment to see whether the visitor would take the hint,
then sighed and led the way in. Apparently the Khans thought it safer
to receive their fallen friend in a body, for the official disregarded
Colonel Bayard’s request to be allowed to pay his respects to them
separately, which would have seemed more natural. If they did not
appear to be sick, at any rate they all looked very sorry for
themselves when he and his assistant faced at last the row of seated
figures on their cushions. Long wadded coats concealed their pleated
muslin tunics and wide silk trousers, and the only touch of brightness
was given by the gay kincob which covered their flowerpot-shaped caps.
As politeness demanded, one and all declared that the mere sight of
the fortunate face of the Resident Sahib had instantly banished all
traces of illness, and then hurried on to enquire whether he also was
well and prosperous. The formalities of salutation, perfunctory though
they might be, took some time when each Khan had to be addressed and
to reply separately, and it was beginning to look as though the whole
interview would be occupied with such matters, when Sir Henry Lennox’s
health and prosperity came under discussion as well. The example was
set by Gul Ali Khan, the venerable white-bearded head of the family,
whose memory went back to the days of conquest, when the wild band of
Arabit chieftains had swooped down from their fastnesses upon
Khemistan, and dispossessing the native rulers, reigned in their
stead. He was the last survivor of the conquerors, and wore with
dignity the turban which proclaimed him Chief of his house--the
coveted emblem which would not descend to the son for whom he would
fain have secured it, but to an interloper, the son of his father’s
old age. This interloper, Shahbaz Khan, a handsome dapper
man--absurdly young-looking to be the brother of the aged Gul Ali--sat
beside him, and took up the strain of affectionate enquiry. For the
Khans positively overflowed with anxiety for the General’s health, and
their enquiries were couched in such terms of affection that even
Colonel Bayard--loath as he was to believe it--could not mistake their
drift. His day was over and done with; Sir Henry Lennox was the rising
sun.

It was a bitter pill, but Colonel Bayard would not have been himself
had he not done his best to take advantage of this new loyalty to
influence his faithless charges for their good. When all the questions
all the Khans could think of on Sir Henry’s affairs had been asked and
answered, and before they could start on those of the
Governor-General, he interposed a courteous hope that their admiration
for the General’s character would make it easy for them to satisfy him
on the subject of the breaches of treaty. Instantly a change that
might be felt passed over them, as though each face had withdrawn
itself behind a veil. Gul Ali answered with dignity--

“The Resident Sahib need not fear. The treaties we have made we shall
keep, provided the English keep theirs.”

This did not sound very hopeful to the man who had been trying in vain
for so long to get them to keep those very treaties, but Colonel
Bayard answered politely--

“Of that your Highnesses need have no fear while matters are in the
hands of the General. I rejoice to be able to leave Khemistan with all
difficulties so happily arranged.”

Gul Ali’s expression was a little fatuous, as he said like an
automaton, “The treaties we have made we shall keep, but we will sign
no new treaty.”

Since it was known to Colonel Bayard that Lord Maryport intended to
impose new and stricter obligations on the Khans, owing to their
persistent breaches of former treaties, he did not feel able to say
more than--“It is not for me to anticipate what the General may have
to say to your Highnesses, but if the old treaties are kept there will
certainly be no need for a new one.”

Khair Husain Khan, a clever-looking man with rather Jewish features,
interposed. “The English pledged themselves not to interfere in any
way with our rights over our own subjects. To that we hold!”
triumphantly.

“Yet is it well for your Highnesses so to treat your subjects that
they flee to the protection of the English?”

“If they do, we will have them back!” put in young Kamal-ud-din
arrogantly. “Yes, even if they have to be torn from the hem of the
General Sahib’s skirts!”

This, or something like it, was the Khans’ latest exploit, since their
officials had invaded the boundaries of the Sahar Cantonment, and
dragged away a number of unfortunates who had sought refuge there from
their oppressors. But it seemed to be recognised that this was going
rather far, for Khair Husain said hastily, with a soothing wave of the
hand--

“The wretches had failed to pay their taxes, as the Resident Sahib
knows. If they were allowed to escape, all Khemistan would seek an
asylum with the British.”

“But why did they fail to pay?” asked Colonel Bayard boldly. “Was it
not because it was known they had amassed riches, and their taxes were
so much increased as to strip them of all?”

Gul Ali laughed complacently. “True--quite true. It is not well for
subjects to grow rich, for they become troublesome. If they heap up
wealth, it must be for their masters.”

“Since this is the last time I shall see the face of your Highnesses,
let me beg once more that you will look at this matter differently. It
is all of a piece with your imposing tolls designed to kill the
traffic on the river. A wealthy people is an honour and a strong
support to princes, and the making of money by honest means should be
encouraged, not hindered.” The black looks bent on Colonel Bayard made
him pause, and he added, with some emotion, “Your Highnesses will not
hear me, I see. But let me entreat you to listen to the General,
though his tongue be strange, and he neglect the forms of ceremony I
have always been careful to use. Should he propose an interview, speak
to him plainly of what is in your hearts. He will do this in any case,
for it is not his custom to disguise his meaning.”

Gul Ali rode off hastily upon a side-issue. “It is not well to meet
the envoys of the Farangis in consultation nowadays,” he said. “There
was a certain Ethiopian Sardar who did so.”

The taunt was a bitter one--and worse, deserved,--for at the outset of
the Ethiopian disasters the British Envoy, struggling desperately in
the toils cast about him, had stooped to invite the foremost of his
assailants to a conference, with the intention of making him a
prisoner. In the remotest corners of Asia stray Englishmen were to rue
the attempt for many a day, though the Envoy had paid with his life
for trying to use the weapons of men better acquainted with them than
he. But it had been cast in Colonel Bayard’s teeth before, and he met
it with a bold counter-attack.

“True, Khan Sahib, and it was not the Sardar who suffered. Had the
treachery been his, would it have surprised you?”

“Nay, but it was the Elchi Sahib’s!” came in chorus.

“And he paid the penalty. But has such treachery never been known in
Khemistan?”

“Never on the part of a Farangi!” promptly.

“I thank your Highnesses in the name of my country. Has it ever been
known of any Farangi anywhere?”

“Never until now. But what one Farangi has done, another may do.”

“I think not. The Elchi’s deed has been condemned by every Farangi who
heard of it. I know of none who would imitate it--least of all the
General.”

“He had better not!” cried Kamal-ud-din rudely. “He comes to Khemistan
with a few hundred white soldiers, who are even now dying fast of
sicknesses great and small, while our armies are numbered by
thousands, and they are growing every day. Should he seek to defy or
betray us, death such as the Elchi met with will be the least thing he
has to fear.”

Astonished and displeased, Colonel Bayard made as if to rise from his
chair. “I must ask leave of your Highnesses to retire----” he was
beginning, but Shahbaz Khan interposed hastily.

“Nay, this is shameful talk! O my brother, is it to go forth to the
world that the Khans of Khemistan permitted such things to be said in
their hearing concerning their father and protector, the Bahadar
Jang?”

“Nay, nay!” said Gul Ali timorously. “Youth speaks with the tongue of
youth, which is headstrong and foolish. The General Sahib will know
how to regard the folly.”

The mildness of the rebuke gave Kamal-ud-din fresh courage. “The
General Sahib has nothing to fear if he comes to us in peace and
openness of mind,” he said sullenly, “But who is he that we must guard
our tongues when speaking of his greatness? He may call himself
Bahadar Jang” [_valiant in fight_]--this was one of the polite
epithets employed by the Khans in his interview with them which Sir
Harry, who was not a conspicuously modest man, save in the presence of
the fair sex or the Duke of Wellington, had accepted with some
complacency as merely appropriate,--“but in all his years of warfare
he has not taken spoil enough to put a single diamond in his
sword-hilt!”

“Farangi Generals don’t go to war for the sake of loot,” said Colonel
Bayard. “Any spoil the General Sahib might take he would present to
his and my august mistress, the Queen of England.” He turned slightly
to bow towards the large engraving of the young Queen which hung
crookedly on the wall--suggesting that it had been put there hurriedly
when the interview was found inevitable--very sleek of hair, very
lofty of brow, sweetly simpering as to expression, and obviously
overburdened with a headgear recalling the mural crown of antiquity.
Richard followed his example, and the Khans salamed perfunctorily. The
words seemed to have given them a new idea.

“Then the rulers of Farangistan also do not like their subjects to be
too rich,” chuckled Gul Ali.

“To strip a conqueror of his booty is poor policy,” said Kamal-ud-din
with a fine air of detachment. “My Sardars will always be allowed to
keep what they win.”

“Lest, being robbed of their due by their own master, they should seek
it at the hands of his enemies,” said his cousin Karimdâd, going a
step further. The prudent Khair Husain pulled them up hastily.

“Nay, nay; what foolish talk is this? Did not the General Sahib refuse
at our hands the great gift we offered him, though the Lât Sahibs who
visited us before accepted a lesser one?”

This was another of Colonel Bayard’s troubles--the simplicity with
which two Generals fresh from home had accepted the large sums of
money ceremonially offered them on their way up the river towards
Ethiopia. Apparently no one who knew the interpretation that would be
placed upon their action had liked to warn them of it, with the result
that the two wholly innocent soldiers were regarded by the Khans as
their pensioners for the future. He took refuge in sententious
generalities.

“It was taught me in my youth that the richest man is he who has
fewest wants. May we not then say that the enemy most to be dreaded is
the man who needs nothing for himself?”

For once the Khans appeared impressed, and before the effect could
wear off he asked permission to depart, leaving them to digest his
words. Each and all overwhelmed him with demands that he would assure
the General of their affectionate interest in his welfare, and thus
reminded afresh of his own eclipse, he escaped at last. It was in one
way a relief to be offered no more substantial parting gifts than the
wreaths of strongly-scented yellow flowers with which he and Richard
were invested with due ceremony, but there was a sting in the
omission. A robe of honour and a jewelled sword would not have cost
the Khans much--even if he had kept them, like the Generals, instead
of refusing them.

“Queer set of chaps those,” growled Richard, as they rode away
decorated with their floral boas. “Every time I see ’em I feel it more
strongly.”

“I fear they are hopeless,” responded Colonel Bayard, with unusual
depression. “If they won’t take Lennox seriously, they’re done for. He
ain’t going to stand any nonsense.”

“Is the country to be annexed, then?”

“I believe not. But he is very strong on getting rid of the family’s
collective authority, and setting up a single Khan with full
responsibility. And that will mean the end of all things to the rest.”

“But very good for Khemistan, and our relations with it.”

“True. You look at the matter in a common-sense light, but it’s a
positive pain to me to think of the extinction of this benevolent
patriarchal rule.”

Richard wondered a little at his leader’s idea of benevolence, but
still sought to comfort him. “Perhaps they’ll all refuse to accept the
change.”

“You say that, knowing how sadly ready they always are to intrigue
against one another? D’ye know that Khair Husain sent to the General
secretly the one night he was here, to try to curry favour with him?”

“No, indeed. Khair Husain? But he ain’t in the running for the
succession, even.”

“He meant to be. He offered to declare for us if we would make him
Chief Khan and back him up against the rest. The spies should have
told you. Not that there’s anything to complain of in old Harry’s
action in the matter. He told the Vakil that he couldn’t deal with
Khair Husain unless he spoke in the name of the rest--which of course
he couldn’t. Then the fellow was idiot enough to say that if he
appeared to take part against us, we were kindly to understand his
heart was in the right place nevertheless, to which the General simply
replied that he wasn’t going to help him to deceive the other Khans.
If he wanted to take our side, he must come out and do it openly. Exit
the Vakil highly disgusted.”

“Serve the rascal right! But we shall have plenty of that sort of
thing if Sir Harry presses ’em hard.”

“I believe you--particularly if it occurs to Gul Ali to try to square
him in the matter of the succession. Has the old man been trying any
fresh tricks to get the turban for Karimdâd, d’ye know?”

“Oh, he’s always at it--trying to make a party in his favour among the
other Khans, and he has been uncommonly busy lately.”

“I thought so--from the extra special affection in Shahbaz Khan’s
manner to him. That chap is a deep one.”

“Shahbaz Khan? I suppose so. But after all, he is the rightful heir,
and he has to sit by and look on while his brother tries to steal his
inheritance away. Gul Ali has a good deal to offer, and poor Shahbaz
can only give promises at present. You haven’t turned against him,
have you?”

“I? No, certainly not. But I have always a weak spot for Gul Ali, and
to see Shahbaz fawning upon him----”

“But what can the fellow do? There’s no open war. He can only keep the
peace--and keep his eyes open. They’re a nice set--all the lot of ’em.
I dare be bound Kamal-ud-din’s the only one that wouldn’t sell the
rest to the General for the promise of the turban, and that’s because
he don’t care about it. So long as he has Umarganj to retire to, and a
caravan to plunder now and then, he’s happy.”

“He seemed precious full of fight, I noticed. What’s that new
decoration he sports so conspicuously? They can hardly have got back
that Luck--what was it called?--which was stolen years ago.”

“I’m afraid they have--and I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Richard told the
story of the Seal of Solomon, and Colonel Bayard laughed.

“Well, I don’t suppose it will make much difference, though they may
think it will. Mrs Ambrose is the only sufferer so far, it seems to
me.”

“I was going to ask you if you would get me something in the way of
jewellery in Bombay--to give her. Fact is, I’m in a precious awkward
position. I think I told you she had spent a lot of money in paying
the debts of that brother of hers--the General’s A.D.C.? Well, if
you’ll believe me, the fellow’s begun to pay it back!”

“You couldn’t well sound more disgusted if he had begun borrowing
afresh! But I see your difficulty. You feel bound to lay it out on
something for her personal use? By all means--I quite agree with you.
Give me some idea what you want, and I shall be honoured with the
commission.” He glanced across approvingly at the younger man. He had
not looked for such delicacy of feeling from Richard Ambrose, who
might have been expected to welcome the return of the money too
eagerly to think of the circumstances, and he stretched out a hand and
laid it kindly on his shoulder. “You feel you ought not to have
brought your wife to Khemistan? But cheer up, my dear fellow! Her
health and spirits have stood it amazingly so far. If only my own dear
wife---- But I shall soon be with her at home now, so I must not
repine. You ain’t afraid of Sahar for Mrs Ambrose? Don’t let them
frighten her by calling it ‘the Graveyard.’ It’s not that it’s
unhealthy, simply that the desert round is packed with graves--a
burial-place for thousands of years, I dare say.”

“She ain’t frightened--not she! Haven’t you observed that ladies never
are frightened or miserable about the things they ought to be--that
you expect them to be? They go through ’em as cool as a cucumber. And
then some ridiculous little thing, that no man in his senses would
ever think of again, they go and break their hearts about!”

“Indeed I had not noticed. I fear I have always taken it for granted
Mrs Bayard would be alarmed, and she has indulged me by letting me
think so. Very kind of her, ’pon my word! But I trust the other half
of your observation ain’t true. I should be sorry to think I had made
my wife unhappy--however innocently.”

His tone was so anxious and grieved that Richard administered comfort
hastily. “Oh, don’t be afraid. If you ever did such a thing, Mrs
Bayard would know it was unintentional, trust her! I wish Mrs Ambrose
enjoyed that consolation.”

“Tell her so--and she will,” suggested Colonel Bayard.

“But I’m hanged if it would be true. Tell you what--a cross-grained
fellow who has lived all his life alone has no business to marry. It’s
no happiness for either of ’em.”

“Ask Mrs Ambrose,” said Colonel Bayard again.

Mrs Ambrose’s husband smiled reluctantly. “You know as well as I do
that whether the answer I received was that she was happy or
miserable, it would be liable to be reversed the next moment, for no
reason that anybody could perceive!”

“The very wife for you, Richard, my good fellow!” Colonel Bayard shook
his head wisely. “You ain’t allowed to presume on your happiness, nor
yet to persist in your misery, for if you ain’t in a new mood a
quarter of an hour later, Mrs Ambrose will be! Be thankful for your
good fortune, I tell you. Most men would give their ears for such a
wife as yours--and a brother-in-law a friend at court to boot!”

“I never thought I should have to be grateful for being related to
that young rip Brian!” growled Richard.

“Well, if you ain’t grateful, I am for you. The General may pride
himself on never taking a suggestion, but he can’t be altogether
uninfluenced by the members of his own family. And if you can make use
of that influence in favour of my poor foolish Khans, they and I will
bless you yet.”

Not even the chilliness of that last interview could lessen Colonel
Bayard’s sense of responsibility for the wayward charges he had
watched over so long. Despite all his admiration for him, Richard
waxed a little impatient when he thought of it. It would be uncommonly
good for the Khans to come in contact with some one who did not mind
letting them know that he saw through their foolish stratagems, and
would brush away their subterfuges--however roughly. Colonel Bayard,
with the kindest intentions, had left them in a fool’s paradise too
long; they thought the length of their tether was infinite. But unless
he was much mistaken, the old warrior now at Sahar would bring them up
resolutely with a round turn before very long. Even now, from certain
enquiries which had been addressed to him, Richard judged he was
preparing to do this.

There was nothing shilly-shally about Sir Henry Lennox’s methods. He
had been ordered to disband the Political Establishment, and that
unlucky body faded like the baseless fabric of a vision. The
_Asteroid_, in bringing Colonel Bayard, brought also orders, addressed
to Richard, dealing with the Qadirabad Agency and its staff. The place
was to be closed and left in charge of a reduced guard with one
European officer, to prevent plundering, and a few servants. Though
there was to be no Resident in future, it would no doubt be necessary
to send frequent envoys to the Khans, and a European-built house in
healthy surroundings was a prize not lightly to be let go. The rest of
the inmates went various ways. Some were summoned to Sahar--the
Ambroses, that part of the Khemistan Horse which was not already with
the General, Captain Crosse, Sir Dugald Haigh, and a few other
officers whose units were in the country. But most followed Colonel
Bayard by the next steamer down the river--first to Bab-us-Sahel and
thence to Bombay, where the outraged Services, already on bad terms
with Sir Harry, swore that even if Lord Maryport’s inspiration had not
come from him, the brutal haste with which the order had been carried
out was all his own, and vowed vengeance accordingly.



 CHAPTER IX.
 DINNER AT THE GENERAL’S.

/As/ usual after the cool weather had begun, the river was beginning
to go down, and it was no easy matter for the _Nebula_ to pick her way
up-stream. As her captain said pathetically, “If the sandbanks would
only stay where they were, you’d know where _you_ were. But when a
great beast of a shoal was in one place when you went down the river,
and on the return voyage you found it somewhere else quite different,
where _were_ you?” A further handicap was imposed by the necessity of
towing two or three large flat-bottomed boats--carrying the fortunes
of the Eurasian and native clerks, peons and other underlings, whom
Sir Harry had selected for Sahar from the derelict staff of the
Qadirabad Agency,--since these displayed a positive genius in fouling
the bank, the shoals, the frequent islands, floating tree-trunks, one
another, the ship herself, and everything else possible and
impossible. But despite all obstacles, progress was made somehow, and
Brian, who had come down by sailing-boat to meet the steamer a few
miles below its destination, was able to assure his relatives that
they would get in comfortably in time for dinner.

“Y’are to dine with us, by the way,” he said. “The General will take
no denial. We tried to put it to him that you’d rather be getting
comfortable in your own quarters the first night, but the old lad said
that was just it--the servants would be settling your things for you
while you were being properly fed. So we saw him safely established
with dear Munshi--he always calls the chap that, as if ’twas his
name--and Stewart started out to borrow crockery fit for a lady to eat
off, while I came down to meet you.”

“Who will he be borrowing from?” asked Eveleen curiously.

“How’d I know? The Mess, I suppose, or some of the civilians--they’re
the boys for style. Don’t be afraid--Stewart will do things for you as
they ought be done, or die.”

“Has the General picked up the country talk yet?”

“Has he not, indeed!--in spite of all his sarcastic remarks! He came
out t’other day with _bundibus_--meaning _bandobast_, I suppose as pat
as you please, and Stewart and I winked the other eye behind his back
till we nearly burst. But listen now, how he’ll be leaving his mark on
the map. There’s some forsaken place up beyond Pagipur, where the
Khemistan Horse are to have a post to keep the tribes in order. Just a
heap of ruins--old fort and so on, but I suppose it had some sort of
name once. Anyhow, the General says it shall have a new one now, and
he’ll compliment Gul Ali Khan by naming it after him. Quite so--Gul
Aliabad; everybody agreeable--most neat and appropriate. ‘Not a bit of
it!’ says the old lad; ‘far too long; call it Alibad and be done with
it.’ Munshi and your humble servant venture to point out that ain’t
grammar--or whatever you call it. Quick as lightning the old fellow
barks out, ‘The Lennoxes make their own grammar. Alibad’s the name,
and be hanged to it and you!’ So there you are, _hukm hai_, [it is an
order] unless future ages dare to correct old Harry’s grammar--which
the present one won’t while he’s alive.”

“D’ye expect us to believe that yarn, Brian?” asked Richard, shifting
his cheroot lazily for an instant.

“Just as you please. Sure it won’t hurt me if you don’t--only
yourself. Now, Evie, be on the watch for the first sight of your new
home. Between this island and the next you’ll get the full view of it
in all its sandiness.”

Undoubtedly the prospect was a sandy one--particularly so after the
rich black soil of the Qadirabad district, with its countless villages
embowered in the vivid green of the _nîm_ groves. Immediately ahead
was a long low island--fortified within an inch of its life, as Brian
pointed out; the great battlemented walls and bastions rising from the
very edge of the water--to the right a shapeless collection of mud
hovels straggling out into the desert, and to the left an assemblage
of similar buildings, not quite so aimless-looking, since it centred
round a more or less ruinous fort on a low hill. This was Sahar, the
fortified island was Bahar, and the native town on the farther bank
Bori--a name which naturally lent itself to innumerable puns on the
lips of the young gentlemen quartered at Sahar. If military exigencies
left any room on Bahar for vegetation, it did not venture to show
itself over the battlements, but the plumes of scattered date-palms
mitigated a little the prevailing sand-colour of the buildings on
either bank.

“I wonder why would it all look so dead and ruined?” said Eveleen, in
some dismay, as they drew in to the shore. “Like some place in Egypt
that nobody has lived in for two thousand years.”

“Pray, my dear, say something original,” said her husband impatiently.
“It’s impossible for anybody to mention Khemistan without comparing it
with Egypt.”

“But if it’s not like anything but Egypt, how would I say it was?” she
demanded triumphantly. “Tell me now, Brian--this place which I mustn’t
say is like Egypt, whereabouts in it do we live?”

“Ah, not here, I tell you! Sure the new town is a mile out. The
General was to send horses for you, that you mightn’t be delayed while
they landed your own. He wanted to _puckerow_ [commandeer] a
side-saddle from one of the ladies in Cantonments, but I told him
you’d be just as happy with a stirrup thrown over a man’s saddle, and
he listened to me for once.”

Eveleen was quite satisfied, but her husband was not, unless his
expression belied him. The horses were duly waiting, and she flew into
the saddle with all the ease of past disgraceful experience--so Brian
declared,--to the great interest of her fellow-passengers. It would
have been too much to expect Richard to be pleased at this
unconventional method of travelling, but she did think he need not
have muttered something that sounded like “Circus tricks!” as he
gathered up the reins and put them into her hand. When Brian had
directed the servants where to go, they rode out of the town--which
looked more than ever like one of those deserted cities one reads of
in the Nearer East, uninhabited, but as habitable as it ever was. As
the sun neared the horizon, however, the inhabitants began to show
themselves lazily at their doorways, and children came scrambling over
the rubbish-heaps, on which everything seemed to be built, to stare at
the riders. Beyond stretched a sea of sand dotted with tombstones,
which seemed to extend as far as eye could reach, and then they came
suddenly upon a great cantonment, with solid houses covered with
shining _chunam_, and gay with rows of bright-coloured _chiks_, and
long ranges of “lines,” large enough to accommodate several regiments.

“Somebody’s folly!” remarked Brian sententiously, pointing with his
whip. “They’ll have sunk a pretty penny in building this big place,
and it’s said the neighbourhood ain’t healthy, though we haven’t found
anything wrong with it as yet. This way, Evie!”

Passing two sentries, they rode into a compound which was a miniature
of the desert without--so wide was it and so sand-swept,--with an
enormous house at the far end, like a small town in itself. The
_chiks_ were being drawn up now that the heat of the day was over, and
on the verandah stood a small spare figure with grey beard blowing
about in the breeze.

“Why, there’s my old lad--loose!” said Brian, much perturbed. “I hope
he’ll not have been getting into mischief. Stewart will be certain to
say ’twas my fault. But I ask you, could I have locked him into the
office, and told Munshi to sit on him? That’s the only thing would
really keep him quiet. Happily there’ll be three of us to look after
him next week, if his nephew who’s on sick leave turns up all right.
Now what _has_ he been after, I wonder?”

“Welcome, a thousand times welcome, Mrs Ambrose!” cried Sir Harry,
hobbling with perilous haste down the steps. “These young fellows call
this place a desert, but it blossoms like the rose to-night. Allow
me!” he lifted her paternally from the saddle. “Oh, fie, fie! what an
uneasy journey you must have had on that contrivance! Ambrose, I am
very glad to see you. Plenty to do, believe me--start to-night. But
first we’ll have dinner--at once.”

“I beg your pardon, General, but ’twas not to be for an hour yet,” put
in Brian.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that, my lad. I have put it forward an
hour--bustled the cook a bit.” The General’s voice was happy and
triumphant. “Knew your sister would be starving. It’s coming in now.”

“Ah, Sir Harry, but you’ll let us have a second to make ourselves
respectable and get the sand off?” urged Eveleen.

“Sand, ma’am? I’ve been out in it a good part of the day, and look at
me! No, no; come to dinner.”

“Ah, but you were born tidy!” she sighed, giving her clothes furtive
shakes and pulls, and hoping fervently it was not to be a
dinner-party. In this she was reassured when Sir Harry led her into a
vast dining-hall, with one absurdly small table spread in the midst.
The servants hovering about looked unhappy, and Brian said something
under his breath.

“Will I go and look for Stewart, General? Sure he mayn’t know of the
change of hour.”

“No, no, lazy fellow! he must put up with a cold dinner. These
youngsters are apt to grow negligent where there are no ladies--eh,
ma’am?”

Gathering from Brian’s silence that she must not attempt to defend the
maligned Stewart, Eveleen found herself gallantly placed at the head
of the table, and heard her husband and brother warned they would be
put under arrest forthwith if they let her so much as touch a
carving-knife. While they wrestled with the dishes placed before her,
in silence save for the enquiries necessary to the polite carver of
the day, Eveleen looked down the table at the General, beaming through
his glasses opposite her.

“It’s a big house you have here, Sir Harry! Sure it must feel like
living in a church.” Her eyes wandered round the huge room.

“Glad it inspires you with such creditable sentiments, ma’am. There’s
another about the same size waiting for you. These Khemistan
Politicals knew how to make the money fly. No reflection on you,
Ambrose--it was before your day. Besides, they needed a big place to
house the establishment. A hundred and fifty souls in this house
alone, besides the servants--until Lord Maryport’s order came. Now
there won’t be forty, when we have you all at work.”

“But how will you get the work done by such a few, with so much fever
about?” asked Eveleen in dismay.

“Fever, ma’am? there’s no fever! What put that into your head?”

“Why, all the talk at Qadirabad was that you had half the army in
hospital!” she cried. Her husband came to her help, for the General
was looking wrathful.

“That was undoubtedly the impression when we left, General. I believe
the Khans shared it.”

“They did, did they? And that’s why they have been so impudent, I
haven’t a doubt! Well, the next Vakils they send shall have a nice
little bone-shaking ride over the hills, and see two or three thousand
men trotted about--just to show ’em. My beautiful camel battery will
open their eyes a bit, I promise them. D’ye ever see a camel battery,
ma’am?--the dear solemn beasts looking so philosophical with their
noses up in the air, and dragging the nine-pounders as if they were
feathers!”

“Have you ever been with camels on the march, General?” asked Richard,
bitter reminiscence in his voice.

“Never, but I shall try ’em on my little trip to Pagipur. Why, ain’t
they satisfactory?”

“Sure you’ll find you can’t get _fond_ of a camel, Sir Harry,” said
Eveleen. “You couldn’t have one tied up outside your tent, as you
would Black Prince and Dick Turpin, the way they’d put their noses in
and ask for a bit of biscuit. A camel would take a bit of you
instead--without asking.”

“One for me!” chuckled Sir Harry. “What nice beasts horses are, ain’t
they? But this husband of yours is looking mighty superior over my
follies, ma’am. It’s high treason--or ought to be--to hold up a
commanding officer to the contempt of his subordinates. Don’t you do
it again!”

“Never--till the next time!” Eveleen assured him. “And did you get the
third horse you were thinking of?”

“I did--worse luck! The uneasiest beast in creation, I believe. Selima
is her name officially, but that ribald brother of yours dubbed her
Tippetywink--how he spells it _I_ don’t know--and now she answers to
nothing else.”

“Because you’d not dare even wink when you’re riding her, General. She
takes it as an invitation to dance--you’ll see, Evie.”

“Not with me on the lady’s back she won’t,” grumbled Sir Harry. “Any
little frivolity of that sort Miss Selima and I will have out by
ourselves in private. She’s as undependable as--the Khans. D’ye ever
hear of the dodge, Ambrose”--turning suddenly on Richard--“of having
two seals, one for ordinary use, and t’other just a little different,
so that if you want to deny it you can point out that it can’t be
yours? That’s what it seems to me our friends have been up to just
lately.”

“Yes, General; I have heard of the trick.” Richard spoke with notable
lack of enthusiasm. How was he to fulfil his pledge to Colonel Bayard
to do his best for the Khans if the fools were up to these dodges
already? Sir Harry caught him up eagerly.

“Well, you shall see after dinner. I am practically convinced, but I
won’t act unless I’m positively certain. The Governor-General is very
strong on that, too, and I’m glad of it, for I was afraid he was
unjust about poor Bayard, and whatever happens to these chaps ought to
be absolutely clear and above-board.”

Talking, as he did, continuously and at railroad speed, it might have
seemed difficult for the General to satisfy his hunger, but he ate as
fast as he talked, with a kind of mechanical action. Presumably some
one had instructed him in the deadly nature of bazar pork, for that
delicacy did not appear on the menu. Though the table service came
obviously from one or more canteens, the dinner had evidently been
carefully chosen, and a lady’s probable tastes consulted in the
selection of sweet dishes; but it was naturally not improved by being
put forward--the only wonder was that it was not worse. Bad or good,
however, there was little time to savour it, for Sir Harry set the
pace, and allowed no pauses. It did not strike Eveleen at first that
he was mischievously determined to get the meal over before the absent
Stewart could return, but she realised it when, just as the dessert
was put on the table, a worried face appeared for an instant in the
doorway, with two laden coolies dimly visible behind. The one word
“Jungly!” floated bitterly to the ears of the diners, and the General
exploded in such a paroxysm of mirth as might have betrayed into
unfair suspicions those who had not seen that he drank nothing but
water.

“And now he’s cursing me in blackfellows’ talk!” were the first
coherent words to obtain utterance. “Why don’t he use the Queen’s
English like a gentleman? Captain Stewart, come and apologise to Mrs
Ambrose for being absent all dinner-time. Make no mistake; I am very
seriously displeased with you.”

But the unhappy Stewart had betaken himself out of hearing, probably
to dismiss his useless coolies, and the General chuckled himself
silent again. When Eveleen rose, he sent Brian to join her on the
verandah, and carried off Richard to his office, there to set to work
with compasses and spaced rulers to investigate various impressions
and drawings of seals, each with its more or less legible inscription
in beautiful but intricate Persian characters. Richard’s expression
made Brian exclaim discontentedly as soon as he had his sister to
himself--

“I hope to goodness Ambrose ain’t going about for ever with that glum
phiz! What’s the matter with the fellow?”

“Sure he’ll be sorry to lose his friend Bayard, and afraid things are
going to be different,” said Eveleen wisely.

“But why wouldn’t they be different? Can’t go on always in the same
old rut. It ain’t as if his place was going begging. The General has a
step-grandson or something that he would have liked greatly to put
into it.”

“D’ye tell me that, now? But of course I knew he only appointed
Ambrose because he felt he would be unfairly treated otherwise, and to
please Bayard.”

“Well, then, if Ambrose knows ’twas not for his sweet face nor his
charming manners he got it, will you tell me why he wouldn’t try to
make himself agreeable at all? Sure it reflects on me--the way he
looks and talks.”

“Reflects on you?” said Eveleen, in amazement.

“Well, and why wouldn’t it? Wasn’t it a compliment to me his getting
the post? You don’t think the old lad would have picked out Ambrose
out of all the unjustly treated men in Khemistan if you were not my
sister? Then don’t my fine Major owe it to me to look a bit
grateful--whether he is or not?”

Amazement had kept Eveleen silent for the moment, but now she
descended on him crushingly. “I never heard anything like it!” she
declared indignantly. “A little weeshy bit of a boy like you to _dare_
to criticise Major Ambrose! A compliment to you, indeed! I’d have you
know, my bold fellow, that Ambrose stands on his own feet, and needs
no help from you or anybody. Why would he look grateful to you, pray,
when he owes you nothing, nothing in the wide world? I’d advise you be
ashamed of yourself to be talking such nonsense.”

“Oh, all serene,” growled Brian, considerably taken aback. “Don’t
think _I_ want to put you under an obligation, I beg of you. And if
you prefer Ambrose to go about with the face he has, sure I’d be the
last to wish it altered! Some people would say his manner to you would
be the better of a little change too, but----”

“You _dare_! Brian, you _dare_!” Eveleen’s eyes flashed fire, and once
more her brother withdrew discreetly.

“Ah, then, don’t destroy me entirely! As I say, if you like it, it’s
your business it is, not mine.”

“And for once in your life y’are right! Take this from me, Brian
Delany: if ever you dare speak against Major Ambrose again, I declare
to you I’ll make you sorry y’ever were born! Is that clear to you?”

“It is, it is! ’Pon my word, old Evie, I never meant to rile you like
this. ’Twas just that I felt----”

“Take care!” warningly.

“I will, indeed. Sure I ought remember that only a fool would go
interfering between a man and his wife. ’Twas none of my business, and
I ask your pardon.”

“Well, be careful, then.” But Eveleen’s wrath, never very long-lived,
was melting like snow at the sight of her boy’s penitence. “Listen,
then, Brian”--in a burst of confidence,--“Ambrose is English. That’s
what gives him the manner you think I’d dislike. But I don’t, because
it’s his. I’ll tell you this now--it did take me by surprise at first,
but now I’m accustomed to it I wouldn’t know him without it.
Indeed--and this is more I wouldn’t have him different, because it
wouldn’t be _him_, d’ye see?”

“So long as you can stand it---- I mean,” hastily, “as you like
it--it’s no business of mine. I suppose I ought be thankful you take
it this way, for what would I do if you didn’t? Call him out--eh? and
you running in between to try and reconcile us at the last moment.”

“No, too late, and receiving the fire of both parties, and with my
last breath joining your two hands, and vowing you to eternal
friendship in memory of the hapless Eveleen! There’s tragedy for you!
But talking of tragedy, what’s happened that poor Captain Stewart of
yours? I declare he looked so crushed when he put his head in at the
door I was afraid of something terrible.”

“Will I go and see? He takes these things to heart greatly. He had
made up his mind to have a dinner worthy of you, and now he’s touched
in his tenderest point.”

“Yes, do go. Bring him here to have a talk, and we’ll make him laugh
till he forgets all about it.”

But when Brian returned he shook his head.

“No go, Evie! He’s holding his head and groaning, and vowing he’ll
resign and go back to his regiment if Freddy Lennox don’t keep the
General in better order than we can. His heart is broken entirely, I
tell you.”

“The poor fellow! Will we go and dig him out, Brian?”

“I believe you’d do it! ’Twould shock him horribly--do him all the
good in the world! We will. Come along--no, hist, we are observed!
Here’s my old lad and your good man.”

“You are sure of the writing?” Sir Harry was demanding eagerly of
Richard as they came towards the others.

“Absolutely certain, General. I’ve seen enough of it!”

“You have specimens you can produce?”

“Dozens, sir--the moment I can get my papers unpacked.”

“Good. That settles _his_ hash, I think. Now, Mrs Ambrose, I’m not
going to keep your husband longer to-night. Your brother will take you
round to your quarters, and if you find anything wrong with ’em, let
me know at once, d’ye see?”

“Indeed I will, Sir Harry, but it’s too good and kind y’are to us.
Sure we’ll be spoilt!”

“There ain’t many people to call me good and kind--outside my own
family and the private soldiers,” chuckled Sir Harry. “But listen a
moment, ma’am.” Richard and Brian had gone down the steps to the
horses, and he held her back. “I have asked Lord Maryport for Bayard
as my Commissioner in settling the new treaty, so if all goes well he
will be coming back here almost as soon as he sets foot in Bombay.
What d’ye think of that?”

“Ah, now, how pleased Ambrose will be! You have told him?”

“Nay, I leave that for you to do, when you can speak to him quietly. I
can see he finds it difficult to work under any one but his ill-used
friend, and I honour him for it.”

“Sure y’are too good to us entirely, Sir Harry!” and the General was
well pleased with voice and look. But it is probable he did not intend
the news to be reserved, as Eveleen did reserve it, until she and her
husband, having been duly inducted by Brian into the palatial quarters
reserved for them, were in bed on opposite sides of a room which
looked about half a mile across. Richard was just dropping asleep when
he heard his wife’s voice.

“Ambrose! _Ambrose_! Are y’asleep already? Listen to me now.”

“What is it? A snake? a lizard?” he asked drowsily.

“Neither--nothing of that sort. Why will y’always be thinking of such
horrid things? No, the General bid me tell you he has asked to have
Bayard sent back to help him with the treaty, and he expects him here
in no time.”

The news was so unexpected that it woke Richard effectually. “I wonder
whether he is wise,” he said, without any of the enthusiasm Eveleen
had looked for.

“And is that all you have to say? I thought you’d be jumping out of
bed and dancing on your head for joy!”

“Really, my dear! Have you ever known me do----”

“No, never! never anything of the sort!” Eveleen was sitting up in
bed, and her voice floated over to him in a bitter wail. “Always and
always y’are the most disappointing creature ever I saw in my life!”

“I am sorry. If you had let me know beforehand----”

“And then where would be the surprise--the delightful surprise?--and
y’are not a bit delighted, or surprised either. And I saving it up
since the moment he told me----”

“Perhaps you had better have told me at once, my dear. You are rather
like the General----”

“Like the General!” burst forth Eveleen. “If you think it polite to
tell your poor unfortunate wife she’s like an ancient old man with a
nose as big as the Hill of Howth and a beard like a billy-goat! You
told me before I was as ugly as sin, but I thought you maybe didn’t
mean it--but now you’ve said it again----” a sob.

“Mrs Ambrose, will you be good enough to tell me when I said anything
so preposterous?”

“When I was ill at Bab-us-Sahel. At least, I said ’twas what you
thought about me, and you didn’t say no, so I had to think you did!
And now you say I’m like the General!”

“If you will be quiet a moment and listen to me---- Now; do you
seriously expect me to contradict all the absurd things you say every
day? If you do, I will make a point of it, but it will add a good deal
to my work--and shorten my life by some years, I imagine. But perhaps
that----”

“I don’t--you know I don’t! Y’oughtn’t be so cruel, Ambrose! You know
if you were ill I’d be nursing you day and night, and neither eat nor
sleep till you were well again.”

“I am sure you would,” with a slight shudder. “Let us hope it won’t be
necessary. At any rate, there seems no present likelihood of my
inflicting such a task on you. As to my saying you were like the
General, I apologise if it was the wrong thing. You are so fond of
him, I thought it would rather please you than otherwise. Not like him
in face, of course--you know very well I meant nothing of that
kind,--but in saying or doing what you have in your mind without
thinking a moment how it will affect other people.”

Eveleen sat silent a moment, somewhat dismayed. “Will I really be like
the General in that way?” she asked at last in a subdued voice.

“Don’t be afraid I shall say you are. I have learnt my lesson.”

“But I see what you mean. That trick on poor Stewart to-night--I’d
have done just the same. And----”

“Pray don’t task your memory.” Richard smothered a colossal yawn. “I
haven’t said I mean that, you know.”

“But I know you did. Oh dear, how will I ever make you think
differently? I don’t mean to be ill-natured, but when a thing comes to
me---- If only there was something I could do to show you--something
you wanted very much----”

“There is something I want very much,” in a ghostly voice.

“Ah, tell me now! tell me! Can I do it?”

“You could, but you won’t.”

“Ah, how can you say so? You know I’d do anything----”

“It ain’t great or grand enough--nothing heroic or romantic about it.”

“Just tell me--just let me hear.”

“Merely to let us both have a night’s rest--that’s all.”

“Oh!” in dismay. “Oh, you shocking tease!” in indignation. “But I’ll
do it; I won’t say another word.” A pause, during which Eveleen lay
down vigorously, and remained silent a moment. “Ambrose!”

“All present and correct, sir,” sleepily. “No--I mean, Yes.”

“What about those seals? Just tell me that.”

“Gul Ali’s without a doubt. One of the papers in the writing--of his
Munshi--Chanda Ram--know his fist as well--as I do my own.” A snore.

“Oh!” said Eveleen again.



 CHAPTER X.
 A CONTEST OF WITS.

/Public/ opinion at Sahar was divided on the subject of Sir Henry
Lennox. To the elegant he was a disreputable old figure of fun,
certain to bring irreparable disgrace upon British arms if he was so
foolish as to provoke a conflict with the Khans. Kinder-hearted people
referred hopefully to his Peninsular record, while admitting
mournfully that the Peninsula was a very long time back. Civilians
declared him a bloodthirsty soldier, out for loot; soldiers lamented
audibly that a fellow who had not the faintest notion of military
discipline or etiquette should have been shoved into a position where
the absence of these might, and almost certainly would, do untold
harm. The sepoys regarded him with distant respect, not unmixed with
dread, since the tempests of wrath they heard clattering on the heads
of their superiors might at any moment fall on their own. The British
private developed an unaccountable taste for turning out when the
General went by--because he had never seen a General looking like a
scarecrow before, said his officers bitterly--and greeting him with
broad smiles which impaired distressingly the martial woodenness of
the regulation salute. And the General pandered to this unmilitary
behaviour, stopping to talk to individual privates in a human--not to
say friendly--fashion, and actually invading the barrack-rooms when
these were not prepared for inspection. He might say that in this way
he found out that things were not as they should be: of course he did,
the officers retorted indignantly; what did he expect? He would have
found nothing wrong if he would only come at proper times.

But little by little an uneasy feeling was gripping the hearts of the
placid oligarchy which had ruled the Sahar Cantonments hitherto. The
old joker meant business; it was not all fuss and bluster when he
called together the officers of a regiment and addressed them in
language that lacked nothing in strength, if much in polish.
Responsibility was his text; he was mad on responsibility:
responsibility towards the men--that, at any rate, was universally
admitted in theory; towards other branches of the Service--even, if it
could be believed, towards the native regiments; and most incredible
of all, responsibility towards the “black” population. And it was not
possible to listen politely to his views and ignore them as an amiable
eccentricity, for he went so far as to promulgate them in General
Orders, and enforce them by penalty. Moreover, the orders were drawn
up so clearly that any one could understand them, and in such
improperly sarcastic language that it was plain the grinning privates
who heard and read them regarded them as an entertainment freely
provided for their delectation. The Army was certainly going to the
dogs, and that part of it which was quartered at Sahar would arrive
first, thanks to the Governor-General for sending this doddering old
lunatic to vex it. It was not Sir Harry’s age that was the chief count
against him--for in those days the nearer a man was to seventy, the
greater seemed his chances of high command--but his eccentricity. He
had somehow managed to pass through the Army mould without taking its
impression, and as a result, he spoke a language strange to Army men.

It was some consolation to the few Politicals left at Sahar that the
General was evidently as great a puzzle to the native rulers as to his
own subordinates. All his movements were watched and reported by a
horde of spies, and his utterances, which were numerous, often
lengthy, and frequently quite inconsistent with one another, noted
down with care and pains by hearers who only understood half of what
they heard, and by them translated into Persian for transmission to
the Khans. Of more value, perhaps, was the ocular demonstration of the
condition of his troops, whom he was training hard. The “trotting
about over the hills,” which he had promised himself to give the
Khans’ messengers in company with two or three thousand men of his
force, impressed them deeply, though the impression wore off a little
when it came out that the General had remarked artlessly that this and
the many similar field-days that followed it were intended to train
himself as much as his men.

These field-days were a continual delight to Eveleen. The Great Duke
had set the example of allowing ladies to ride with the staff on such
occasions, and take station at the saluting-point--judiciously to the
rear, of course--and Sir Harry would have regarded it as blasphemy to
seek to improve upon his master’s methods. He was careful to detail an
aide-de-camp to keep Mrs Ambrose from getting into danger or
obstructing the manœuvres, but those two conditions satisfied, she
might gallop where she liked. Sometimes, of course, she would arrive
at an awkward moment, when Sir Harry was on the point of telling a
unit candidly what he really thought of it, and then he would turn
upon her an awful glare. “Madam, be good enough to retire!” was the
formula barked at her from lips so clearly struggling to restrain a
pent-up flood of vitriolic language that even Eveleen never dared to
defy the mandate. From a safe distance she would hear the General’s
voice rising and falling in alternate denunciation and irony--the
words being happily undistinguishable--and discern through the
sand-clouds the wilting of the officers beneath the storm; and then
Sir Harry would ride after her refreshed and genial, the
gayest-mannered martinet that ever killed a regiment with his mouth.
He had a great fancy for her little horse Bajazet, but having learnt
his history, insisted on renaming him the Street Arab--the expression
was just coming into use,--since Bajazet was no name for an Arab, he
said, but mere romantic female foolishness.

Richard did not take part in these field-days. They afforded him a
much-needed opportunity for getting on with the work of the office,
unhindered by the incursions of his chief. The Khemistan Political
Establishment might have been excessive hitherto, but there was no
denying that its sudden reduction imposed an enormous quantity of work
on the few men who remained. Sir Harry himself was tireless, and
seemed to find no difficulty in working all night after riding all
day; but his inexperience added not a little to the labours of his
subordinates. He had a rooted distaste for the elaborate forms of
courtesy without which no Persian communication would be complete, and
lest he should be set down as a barbarian absolutely destitute of
breeding, Richard and the Munshi found it necessary to prepare two
copies of every letter and order that was to be sent out in his name.
One was in the plain blunt terms he himself favoured--he was very
proud of these, and often copied the English rendering into his diary,
presumably as a model of official correspondence for future
generations,--the other embellished with the polite circumlocutions
without which the recipient would have regarded it as a calculated
insult. In like manner all the letters he received had to be most
carefully scanned before being submitted to him, for in his impatience
of the involved compliments set forth at extreme length, he would
brush aside the whole document as of no importance, and thus fail to
reach the weighty meaning concealed amid the flowery verbiage. And
when, to accent these little peculiarities, Sir Harry was in the state
of mind known to all his subordinates as “kicking up a dust”--as
happened not infrequently,--the office heaved bitter sighs of longing
for the days of Colonel Bayard, now gone by for ever.

Eveleen rode round one evening when office hours were over to pick up
her husband, that they might take their ride by daylight. Here, with
the desert and its wild tribes so close at hand, it was not safe to
ride in the dark, so that during the sunset hour the roads in and
about the Cantonments were a scene of tumultuous activity, which
ceased, in Cinderella-fashion, the instant after gunfire. Eveleen
expected Richard to meet her, but his horse was still waiting in
charge of its syce, who said he had not seen his master, and she rode
on up to the verandah steps. Then he came out, looking worried, his
hands full of papers.

“Sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid you must excuse me this evening. It
has been impossible to get anything done, and these letters must be
put into shape before I leave. Your brother will escort you if he can
get away, and if”--with some bitterness--“you can induce the General
to go too, pray do. I shall be thankful not to hear his voice.”

“Ah, but can’t I help you?” she asked quickly. “It’s a headache you
have; I see that.”

“No, my dear, thank you. Go and enjoy your ride.”

Eveleen rode away, feeling rather desolate. Round the next corner she
just escaped running into Brian.

“Won’t you come and play with me? I have nobody to play with!” she was
quoting from the spelling-book in common use, from which she had
taught Brian to read, but he did not respond to the familiar tag.

“Have you not, indeed? The General sends his compliments, and may he
have the honour of attending you this evening? Take him along with
you, pray, and smooth him down a bit. We have had one earthquake after
another the whole long day.”

“How very interesting! What about?” she asked curiously.

“What about? _Everything_--every sole, single, individual thing that
has happened or not happened since the early morning. And don’t you
tell him things are ‘interesting,’ if you value your life. I believe
that was what helped to set him off--my telling him some order or
other had been ‘carried out’ instead of ‘executed.’ He’s been going on
about cant words, and the correct thing, and the cheese, at intervals
ever since. I tell y’ I don’t dare open my mouth!”

“New for you, Brian! But what if he’d snap at me? Are you going to
leave me to be eaten up entirely?”

“Oh, I’ll be there--but in my proper subordinate place behind. It’s
you will get the fireworks--riding with him.”

They were walking their horses into the main courtyard, and as he
spoke they came in sight of a very explosive-looking Sir Harry,
standing on the steps and criticising with freedom the appearance and
equipment of the escort. It was for once fortunate that he could not
speak Persian, for the precise nature of his remarks was lost on the
troopers, though his tone and gestures, and the face of the officer
who bore the brunt of his words, made the whole drift clear enough. As
was natural when he was already ruffled, some evil genius had allotted
him the fidgety Selima that evening, and when he saw Eveleen, and
politely determined not to keep a lady waiting, hastened to mount, the
mare kept him hopping on one leg for some minutes of greater energy
than dignity. It took all the little self-control Eveleen possessed
not to offer advice or assistance, but she knew that would be a crime
beyond forgiveness, and succeeded in keeping silence and a straight
face. At last he was in the saddle, and gathering up the reins in
stillness more eloquent than speech. With what she felt was supreme
tact, Eveleen ignored it all.

“And where will we go?” she asked, as they rode out of the gate.

“We will go,” returned Sir Harry, with concentrated venom, “straight
to the sandhills, and let this uneasy jade have her fill of dancing
and prancing.”

“Ah, that will be splendid!” cried Eveleen, forgetting tact, and
instantly reminded of it by the malevolent glance bent upon her.

“Yes, we shall have a _splendid_ ride, and my _lovely_ companion and
my _interesting_ aide will congratulate themselves on _carrying out_
their purpose of seeing the old man look a fool. That is _correct_
behaviour nowadays, I understand.”

So vehemently did he hiss out the fashionable catchwords which he
hated, that Eveleen was more taken aback than she had ever been in her
life. But she was not the woman to suffer meekly at Sir Harry’s hands
any more than at Richard’s. Withdrawing her gaze primly to her horse’s
ears, she remained stonily silent, taking no notice of her companion.
In this wise they rode through the part of the Cantonments which lay
between Government House and the desert, and the ladies they
met--after observing with disapproval that there was that Mrs Ambrose
riding with the General again--remarked with unction that it looked as
though Sir Henry was finding out at last what sort of temper Mrs
Ambrose possessed. As for Eveleen, she suspected irony in Richard’s
parting injunction--in which she probably did him injustice.

Possibly the air and exercise mollified Sir Harry’s chafed spirit, or
perhaps he realised that he had been rude, for instead of calling for
a gallop as soon as they were on the sand, he drew rein and said, in a
voice half surly, half apologetic--

“Not very much to say for yourself to-night--eh, ma’am?”

Eveleen turned innocent eyes upon him. “Sure I’m afraid to talk, Sir
Harry. I’m in a shocking bad temper this evening, and I’d maybe say
something I oughtn’t.”

“Meaning that I’m in a shocking bad temper, I suppose? My apologies,
ma’am--my most humble apologies. Not that I ever do lose my
temper--you’re wrong there.” Eveleen wished she had eyes in the back
of her head, to see Brian’s face when he heard this. “I’m apt to be
betrayed into using strong language occasionally--very wrong, I know,
and I try to break myself of the habit,--but I assure you I have the
sweetest temper in the world. All we Lennoxes have; we got it from our
parents before us.”

“But oughtn’t a person lose their temper sometimes?” enquired Eveleen
meekly. “When there’s good cause for it, I mean?”

The General’s face cleared wonderfully. “Why, so they ought! There are
times when no man who is a man ought to keep his temper. And I am
proud to say that on occasions like that I have never failed--yes, I
think I may say I have never failed--to lose mine.”

Eveleen fought with a wild desire to laugh. “True for you, I’m sure,
Sir Harry--most thoroughly. W-will we gallop now?” she welcomed almost
hysterically a broad stretch of smooth sand in front, for the General
had glanced round suspiciously, and she was afraid of disgracing
herself for ever. But when Bajazet broke into a canter, Selima was
naturally not disposed to be left behind, and they swept forward
grandly, with the escort clinking and clanking after. When they slowed
down a little, to mount the steep rise of a sandhill, which stretched
right and left, as far as eye could see, like the face of a breaking
wave, Eveleen glanced at Sir Harry. He was certainly more cheerful,
but not yet his benign self, and without allowing him a moment’s
breathing-space she urged another canter the instant they reached the
crest of the sand-wave, and never stopped till the ground began to
rise for the next. Then Sir Harry checked Selima and laughed.

“There, that will do! The seven devils are gone,” he chuckled, and
Eveleen, a little breathless, laughed back at him. Her eyes were
shining blue, her hair, crisped by the desert wind, stood out like
wires under the heavy gauze veil thrown back over her straw hat. She
looked about seventeen, and Sir Harry felt older than ever in
comparison with her. He spoke abruptly.

“And now, if you please, we’ll take things easy for a bit. What with
you young people egging the old fellow on, we seem to have got the
escort strung out over a mile or so of desert.”

“I wonder might I suggest we go back and pick ’em up, General?”
suggested Brian, rather anxiously. “If there were any of the Khans’
Arabits about here--or the wild tribes either--you would be something
like a prize for them--and with a lady in charge----”

“Quite so. Though I think you and I could put up a fairly good fight
while Mrs Ambrose got away. My little friend the Street Arab has a
pretty turn of speed. But it would be an ignominious ending to a fit
of--no, ma’am, _not_ temper--a fit of righteous indignation such as I
hope will ever seize me, or any of our family, at the sight of cruelty
or injustice.”

“And why wouldn’t it, Sir Harry?” asked Eveleen boldly. “I’m sure that
same righteous indignation has got me into trouble often enough. Would
it be the way the people here treat the women made you angry?”

“No, ma’am. It was the way our own people treat their wounded. I rode
out this morning to meet the force coming--we mustn’t say
retreating--from Ethiopia. A part of the rearguard came into camp
while I was there, and I saw the poor fellows taken from their camels
and pitched down on the sand like dogs. I promise you the officers
concerned got a bit of my mind. Queen’s or Company’s, they are all the
same--shamefully negligent of their men. A bad set they are, a bad
set--and see if I don’t treat ’em badly in their turn!”

“Ah, but not all bad?” entreated Eveleen, as he laughed ferociously.
“And sure they’ll improve, now you have the teaching of them, Sir
Harry.”

“Will they, indeed? Then what d’ye say to what I found when I got
back? In spite of all my orders against reckless riding in the bazar,
a wretched half-caste clerk goes careering along, won’t pull up for
anybody, knocks down one of our own sepoys, a fine young fellow as
ever I saw--regularly rides over him. Poor chap goes to hospital, and
his murderer gets my sentiments--and something more.”

“The poor sepoy was really killed?” in horror.

“Not quite, but no thanks to the _cranny_. [_Krani_=writer.] And he
shall pay for it--needn’t think he’s going to get off. But this ain’t
ladies’ conversation, is it?” pulling himself up suddenly. “Fact is,
ma’am, this cantonment has to be got into order, and it don’t like it.
It ain’t altogether the officers’ fault--there are some magnificent
youngsters among ’em--but they have had no one to command ’em, simply
a lot of _suggestors_ suggesting that they should do this or that, and
it’s gone far to ruin ’em. There they go muddling themselves with beer
all day long, but when the private soldiers get drunk on country
spirits, it’s ‘Nasty drunken wretches! why can’t they keep sober?’ As
if there was a chance of their keeping sober in barrack-rooms not fit
for swine! How is a soldier to have confidence in his officer in war
if he has shown no concern for his welfare in peace? It’s the same all
round. There are the black artillery drivers with eight rupees a month
of pay, no lodging-money, and no warm clothing. Of course in Ethiopia
they deserted wholesale, and took their horses with ’em. But while I
command here we ain’t going to risk having our batteries crippled at
the critical moment just to save the Directors the price of a suit of
clothes. That matter’s set right, at any rate.”

“Sure you talk as though you expected war, Sir Harry.”

“Then I don’t, ma’am, but I mean to be prepared for it.”

“I wonder don’t you rather look forward to it really?”

“Look forward to it? Well, a man who has never commanded a brigade in
action may be excused for feeling some desire to know how he would
acquit himself at the head of an army. Not that I confess to much
doubt on the matter. One who has served under Wellington--you might
almost say under Napoleon, so closely have I studied him, though we
were on opposite sides, worse luck!--has little to do but put in
practice his master’s lessons. Yet I admit there’s an attraction in
the thought of handling in earnest a magnificent force such as I have
here, massing it against the foe, flinging it hither and thither,
leading it to victory---- Ah, but then! Heaven forgive me! do I desire
to appear before my Maker--as must happen before long--with my hands
imbrued in the blood of my kind, of those very troops whose proud
bearing and lofty confidence fills me with elation? No, a thousand
times no!”

He spoke aloud, but as though to himself, with eyes fixed on the
distant horizon, and Eveleen was awed. “But there won’t likely be war
at all?” she asked, almost timidly.

“How can I say? Is there any knowing what might suffice to stir to a
murderous resolution these poor foolish princes, who are drunk with
_bhang_ every day after three o’clock, and peevish all the morning
till they can get drunk again? They are at the mercy of a moment’s
impulse, if the heads of their army had the strength of mind to take a
decisive step when ordered, without waiting for the inevitable
reversal.”

“The younger Khans might do so, Ambrose thinks,” she
suggested--“especially Kamal-ud-din.”

“True, but would he find a sufficient following when old Gul Ali says
in open audience that if the British will only take money to go away
he’ll sell all his wives’ jewels to satisfy ’em? Then the next thing
one hears he and the rest have sent their women away into the desert,
and swear they will cut all their throats to prove to us they are in a
desperate determination to resist. Well, do it, my good princes, do
it! and I swear by all that’s holy I’ll cut yours, to the last man of
you! When it comes to throat-cutting, you’ll find me a good deal apter
than in chopping words with your Vakils.”

“Ambrose believes they intend fighting,” said Eveleen.

“I know he does, but the other Politicals assure me with one voice
that all this assemblage of troops is under taken solely with the
design to intimidate me--which design, by the way, is uncommonly
mistaken! Poor Bayard himself could hardly depart for assuring me that
his dear Khans hadn’t an ounce of vice in ’em--that it was their
nature to bluster and talk big, but if I took ’em at their word I
should be guilty of murder at the very least. So be it, says I to him,
if murder starts it won’t be because I begin it. If the princes will
keep the peace, peace they shall have; but if they fire a shot,
Khemistan shall be annexed to the British Empire, and good for
Khemistan it will be.”

“Bayard don’t think that,” said Eveleen slowly. “’Twould break his
heart, I believe.”

“Then he must get his friends to keep their treaties--and mind you,
the new one I am to make is a long way stiffer than the last. The
Khans are to pay in territory for all their dirty tricks--give back to
the Nawab of Habshiabad the districts they stole from him, and cede
Sahar and Bab-us-Sahel to us permanently.”

“They won’t like that either, will they?”

“That they won’t, and very naturally. In their place I should object
strongly myself. In fact, I object now, for what right have we here,
taking possession of towns that don’t belong to us? But the Khans
entered into the treaties, and they must keep ’em--or if they want to
break ’em, they must fight fair. Those letters now, with the doubtful
seals--you have heard of them?”

“I heard you speaking to Ambrose about them, but I don’t know what
they would be. He don’t tell me things.”

“Wise man! Well, ma’am, they were merely written at the time of our
Ethiopian disasters to incite Maharajah Ajit Singh of Ranjitgarh to
form a league against us, and to the chiefs of the wild tribes to get
’em to fall upon our retreating troops. They were sealed with a seal
closely resembling Gul Ali’s, but with some slight differences that
made me think a forgery had possibly been attempted. But then Munshi
puts me up to a nice little trick these fellows have of keeping two
seals--one just sufficiently different from the other to justify
doubts if there’s any wish to disavow a document,--and your good
husband not only identifies the seal as genuine, but swears to the
handwriting of the letters as being that of Gul Ali’s chief scribe. So
he at least--and his brother Khans are all tarred with the same
brush--stands convicted of a diabolical attempt to take advantage of
our calamities. He’ll deny it, of course, as he will the latest
evidence of his perfidy--a bond written in his own copy of the Koran,
and sealed by all the Khans but Shahbaz, pledging ’em to unite in
driving us from the country,--but I’ll bring him to book. What can you
do with a man whose word can’t be trusted and who’ll forge his own
seal? Nothing but bind him down so tight as to put it out of his power
to do mischief, says I. My friend Gul Ali is taking a little trip in
this direction, I hear, and when he and I meet to exchange
compliments, there will be something more than compliments in store
for him. I’ll wager he’ll be uncommonly taken aback when he finds I am
acquainted with the engagement he carries in his Koran.”

“But if he denies it? Why, he might even produce another Koran to show
you there was nothing in it at all.”

“To be sure he might--and most certainly will. And therefore my only
course is to make it impossible for the suggested combination to take
place. Believe me, ma’am, I have a rod in pickle for old Gul Ali. My
sole fear is that he mayn’t care to face me.”

“But sure that would be to admit his guilt?”

“True, but a tacit admission of guilt don’t do you much good when the
guilty person remains so discreetly at a distance that you can’t lay
hands on him.”

“The sun is getting precious low, General,” ventured the watchful
Brian, riding up level with Sir Harry.

“That’s true, and we seem to have collected the escort without the
loss of a man. Ma’am, I owe you an apology for trespassing on your
patience with these public affairs, thinking less of your
entertainment than of relieving my own mind. My comfort is that you’ll
forget ’em speedily.”

“True, Sir Harry. I’ll not remember anything but that you complimented
me by talking about them.”

“Delany,” said Sir Harry solemnly to Brian, “were there any fragments
of the Blarney Stone left behind when your sister quitted Ireland, or
was the whole of it concealed in her baggage?”

“Blarney Stone, indeed!” said Brian enthusiastically, when he looked
in on the Ambroses late that evening. “’Tis a harp y’ought be having,
Evie--like David with Saul,--and I’ll not say but the staff will be
getting up a subscription to present you with one. Think of the
convenience of being able to call you in to lay the dust as soon as
the old lad begins to kick it up!”

“Is it a harp, indeed! Much good that would be!” said Eveleen
scornfully. “Why, I’d never be able to resist trying it on Ambrose,
whom nothing on earth will move, and the General would soon find out
what a useless sort of thing it was.” She stopped suddenly, catching
on her husband’s face the uneasy look which showed that he could not
decide whether she was in earnest or not, and a disagreeable thought
struck her. Richard had said she was like the General. She had felt
embarrassed this evening when the General put into words his deepest
thoughts. Could it be that Richard also was embarrassed when she spoke
out her thoughts without considering whether they were likely to be
acceptable or not? She brushed the question aside quickly. “But I
assure you Sir Harry considers it right and proper to lose his temper
when the occasion calls for it,” she said.

“I believe you!” agreed Brian dolefully. “Ain’t it a pity, though,
that we can’t pull a string and make him lose it when _we_ think the
occasion calls for it? With the Khans, now! If they once saw him in
one of his rages, sure they’d be tumbling over one another to try and
appease him.”

“Ah, then, old Gul Ali will never dare to stand out against him when
he has once heard him talk seriously,” said Eveleen. “You don’t really
think they’ll fight, Ambrose?”

“They would not fight if they knew him as we know him,” said Richard
slowly. “But with these fellows, his violence and severity defeats its
own object. They are incapable of believing any one could take such a
tone seriously with persons of their importance. He must be
endeavouring to hide his weakness, they imagine.”

“Well, now!” said Brian. “And what can you do with people like that at
all?”

“Pray don’t ask me. If they can’t see the difference between him and
Bayard, how is it to be got into their heads? Bayard might employ
threats, but I can’t believe the utmost exigency would have driven him
actually to demand the annexation of the country. But this chap will
do it if they don’t behave themselves.”

“Well, our own people are learning to know him,” laughed Brian.
“Munshi was telling me to-day that they say he ain’t merely a
commander, but the Governor-General himself in a military disguise.
Some of ’em say he’s the Duke come back, but the old sepoys, who knew
the Duke forty years ago, won’t have that. But they all agreed he
might be an uncle or cousin of Her Majesty’s, sent out to cope with
the posture of things here.”

“Aye, they are beginning to call him the Padishah,” said Richard.
“Well, if the tales get to Gul Ali’s ears, so much the better, if they
make him disposed to submit. But he can’t sign a treaty by himself,
unfortunately, and by the time the rest are assembled, he will have
been in as many different minds as there are Khans.”

“I’d dearly like to see Sir Harry talk to him for his good,” said
Eveleen eagerly. “Where is it they’ll meet? Will we--ladies, I
mean--be allowed to be there?”

“Certainly not,” said Richard crushingly. “It will be across the
river--in that garden with the palm-trees just on the other side.”

“Sure you needn’t be so horrid about it! I dare say there won’t be
much to see after all--maybe nothing.”

As it happened, that was exactly what there was. Sir Harry and his
staff, all in full uniform, set out by boat, reached the meeting-place
in good time, and waited there--in vain, returning after an hour or so
in high dudgeon. Nor was their wrath mollified by a message from Gul
Ali, conveying a perfunctory apology for his non-appearance, and
appointing a meeting the next day in another garden, six miles down
the river. This time it was Sir Harry who did not keep the
appointment, returning the curt answer that he was not going to be
insulted. Colonel Bayard’s partisans went about with long faces all
day. Were the Khans to be defied on their own soil by this ignorant
stranger? But by the evening, when reports began to filter in, they
saw reason to change their tune. The messengers had found Gul Ali’s
son Karimdâd waiting half-way, nominally to receive the General with
honour, but actually--every one was sure of it--to note what troops he
brought with him, and send word to his father, who had six thousand
Arabits concealed in and about the garden, and reinforcements within
call. Sir Harry was too much gratified by this proof of his foresight
to exult unduly.

“I should have looked foolish--going into the middle of a body of
Arabits with only a few officers at my back,” he said. “Whether there
were six thousand or six hundred, they could have done for us pretty
thoroughly. Nice old chap, Gul Ali!”

“The messengers say he had heard a rumour that you intended seizing
him, General,” said Richard.

“That’s the Ethiopian affair rising up again to plague us! But I am
not going to have it perpetually thrown in my teeth. Write to the
fellow, Ambrose, that I am no traitor, as he evidently is, and that if
I wanted to seize him, I could and would come and pull him out of
Qadirabad itself. Send it at once.”

The effect of the message was instantaneous. Apparently Gul Ali felt
the garden where he was encamped less secure even than Qadirabad. He,
his son and his army, evacuated their camp during the night, and the
next day were out of reach in the desert.



 CHAPTER XI.
 DEEDS, NOT WORDS.

/It/ seemed that Gul Ali’s ignominious flight had served to stimulate
in his brother Shahbaz Khan the amiable instinct to profit by his
disgrace, for very shortly afterwards he also arrived on the bank of
the river, and sent to request the honour of beholding the General’s
face. Sir Harry appointed as meeting-place the garden where Gul Ali
had failed to present himself, and crossed the river attended only by
two aides-de-camp and Richard Ambrose as interpreter. To the
remonstrances of those who urged that Shahbaz was as likely as his
brother to attempt treachery, he replied calmly that he liked
Shahbaz--he was a sportsman, by far the best of the Khans--and
declined precautions. Yet he left Brian behind, lest Mrs Ambrose
should be robbed of husband and brother in one day; and Brian, panting
to show his mettle, spent the time in trying to make Eveleen nervous
by devising plans for a rescue. Nervous Eveleen declined to be--it was
not in her where any daylight danger was concerned; but she was quite
as ready to be excited as Brian himself, and firmly determined to make
part of any expedition that might set out. But the day passed quietly.
No boat struggled across with a piteous demand for succour, and
nothing in the nature of commotion on the opposite bank rewarded the
watchers who had posted themselves with glasses on the highest towers
of the old fort, resolved to be the first to report calamity, even if
they could not avert it. Precisely at the appointed time, the
General’s boat was seen returning, and a sigh of relief went
up--possibly tinged slightly with regret on the part of the prophets
of evil.

“Shahbaz Khan is a precious fine fellow!” declared Sir Harry in high
good humour, to those who had ridden to the landing-stage to meet
him--Eveleen and Brian among them; “and he shall have the Turban, or
Hal Lennox will know the reason why.”

“Did he give you a good reception, Sir Harry?” asked Eveleen, rather
unnecessarily, as it occurred to her the moment after.

“Tiptop. Troops drawn up to receive us--everything most correct.
Double pavilion pitched--into the inner room of which Shahbaz and I
retire after the formal compliments, with Ambrose to interpret.
Shahbaz declared honour of receiving me as his guest is quite enough,
but if I have no objection he _would_ be glad to know where he stands.
He has cut himself off from the other Khans by declaring himself our
friend, and they are encouraging Gul Ali to oust him from the
succession. Would he have to suffer for his loyalty to us? Of course
there was only one answer to that. ‘I care nothing for this Turban
nonsense, but you are the rightful heir, and so long as you remain
loyal, the Governor-General will protect you in your rights.’ He was
uncommonly pleased at that, and said to Ambrose that he could have
vindicated his rights by himself, but our backing would make his task
much easier. A fine chap, a fine chap! worth ten of that old sot Gul
Ali. It’s a pleasure to find a fellow of his kind to support.”

“Then will you be dethroning Gul Ali?”

“Not as long as he behaves himself. But there’s talk again of his
resigning in favour of his son, who has no right to succeed until
Shahbaz has had his turn.”

“Then you won’t alter that queer plan of theirs?”

“How can I? It’s nothing but folly, of course, but as long as the
present state of things lasts it must go on. If I had let Shahbaz
broach the question, I don’t doubt he’d have tried to get me to
promise his son should succeed him, but that don’t come into my
province. If this nonsense of Brotherhood rule is done away with, and
Shahbaz becomes sole Khan, it may be settled his way, but that’s for
Lord Maryport to decide--not me.”

“I wonder how can they go on with such a silly way of governing--all
reigning at once,” said Eveleen.

“Why not, ma’am? Precious convenient way for them--you can never pin
’em down to anything. Ask your good husband what all the letters are
about which are turning his hair as grey as mine. Oh, I forgot! he
don’t tell you things--eh? Well, then, when I write to demand why the
Khans have stopped the boats going down the river and demanded toll,
contrary to treaty, the first thing is to deny it absolutely. With
shocking bad manners I contradict ’em flatly--it has been done, and
why? In a great hurry half the Khans reply that they had no hand in
it; it was the doing of some of the other Khans’ servants. Then why
have not the servants been punished? I demand. ‘Oh, they were not
their servants, but the other chaps’.’ ‘Very well, then, if you don’t
punish ’em, I shall,’ says I. ‘Oh,’ say the Khans, ‘the poor fellows
were ignorant; we have admonished ’em, and bid ’em not do it again.’
It happens again the next week. ‘Precious lot of good your admonitions
are!’ says I. ‘Be so good as to send the poor ignorant chaps to me,
and _I_’ll admonish ’em.’ ‘Alas!’ says they, ‘the servants, being
unaware of the honour destined for ’em, have fled.’ ‘Oh, very well,’
says I; ‘princes who give their seals and their authority to their
servants to use must expect to be held responsible for their misdeeds.
The fines due will be deducted from the sum which was to have been
paid to their Highnesses as rent for our cantonments.’ Silence for a
bit, while they think hard to find some way of getting round me.
Bright idea! they’ll put an utter stop to the steamer traffic by
forbidding woodcutting on either bank of the river on pain of
death--making out that every patch of brushwood is part of their
private preserves. ‘Sorry!’ says I, ‘but the traffic must be
maintained somehow. If the wood ain’t to be taken from the
_shikargahs_, why, I must destroy Qadirabad bit by bit, and burn the
wood from the houses.’ Then they lament together in durbar over the
wicked stiff-neckedness of that old rapscallion the Bahadar Jang, and
talk big about the steps they are on the point of taking to teach him
a lesson. ‘We will handle the English so vilely,’ say they, ‘that
they’ll call out in despair, “Great Heaven, what have we done that
Thou shouldst let loose such devils upon us?”’ Which is a very proper
sentiment for patriotic princes defending their country against the
invader, but things of that sort should be done first, and talked
about afterwards.”

“D’ye tell me then they won’t be meaning it at all, Sir Harry?”

“Mean it? They mean to slip out of all their engagements, and all
punishment for breaking ’em, by dint of shifting the blame on one
another and on their servants, and if they could frighten me off, it
would suit them nicely. But that they ain’t going to do. When the new
treaty is presented to ’em, they’ll sign it or they’ll refuse it, and
we shall know where we are, and if they sign it and break it, then
also I shall know what to do--and I’ll do it!”

“You’ll just be waiting now for Bayard to come back, and then the
treaty will be presented?” suggested Eveleen. Sir Harry turned a
ferocious glance upon her.

“Waiting for Colonel Bayard? Certainly not. I don’t need Colonel
Bayard to help me make treaties, ma’am--much obliged to you for
thinking of it!” with deadly irony. “All he’s wanted for is to help
with the arrangements about lands and so on, which will have to be
made under the treaty--and which he ought to know something about,
after his years here. The treaty will go to Qadirabad by Stewart as
soon as it’s finished translating into Persian, and the moment he’s
well away I begin to move my troops across the river--where they’ll be
equally ready to occupy the stolen Habshiabad districts and hand ’em
back to the Nawab, or to move on Qadirabad if the Khans turn nasty.
Wait for Bayard, indeed!”

He went on growling to himself for some time, until Eveleen turned the
conversation tactfully to horses. It was inadvisable to mention
Colonel Bayard’s name to him again, but to her husband she said when
they were alone--

“D’ye think Bayard will understand, Ambrose, that he comes back merely
as assistant to the General?”

“I’m afraid not.” Richard spoke gravely. “I doubt if he would return
to find himself nothing but an underling.”

“You think they’ll not work well together?”

“I think the best chance of it would be for the treaty to be
signed--if signed it is to be--before Bayard gets back. Then he’ll
find plenty to do in alleviating the feelings of the Khans, knowing
that the thing is done and can’t be undone, and their best hope is to
submit gracefully. Something must have happened to detain him in
Bombay, or we should have had him back before this. Whatever it be, I
trust it may detain him a little longer.”

It was not often that Richard spoke so openly and so seriously, and
Eveleen was duly impressed. For the moment, that is--for the life
going on around her was so interesting and engrossing that it was hard
to realise Colonel Bayard as a possible disturbing influence. Sir
Harry might expect to carry through the treaty peacefully, but his
troops were longing for the Khans to refuse to sign. A new spirit had
been breathed into the disintegrated force when the Peninsular veteran
took it in hand. The bonds of discipline were tightened, something
like _esprit de corps_ was growing up between Queen’s and Company’s
men, which were traditionally at daggers drawn, and the native
regiments--in looking down upon which they had been wont to find their
sole point of agreement; life might be harder, but it was incomparably
more thrilling. The two or three thousand men at Sahar would have
charged cheering upon the great hosts of Granthistan next door, and
gone through them with the bayonet, so said Sir Harry, who
realised--no one better--the change he had brought about in the spirit
of his command. He said it to Eveleen and her husband, when they came
upon him by the river, watching the tents and heavy baggage of a
native regiment, which was due to cross on the morrow, being ferried
over in haste before darkness fell to the camp which was in process of
formation outside Bori.

“Almost a pity to see ’em so full of fight, with no enemy handy!” he
added, a little gloomily. “But what a bloodthirsty wretch I am--almost
as bad as the Bombay chaps make me out--to be regretting the strife I
have strained every nerve to avert! If the poor fellows themselves
know no better than to desire war, their commander at least should be
superior to such a passion.” He was talking as though to himself, and
Richard broke in rather hastily--

“Do I understand you, General, that the Khans have decided to submit?
Is there news from Stewart?”

“Yes, a _cossid_ [messenger] came in after you left. The Khans are
sending Vakils to sign the treaty--under protest, naturally enough,
but still to sign.”

“Then the rumours were nothing at all but talk?” said Eveleen.

“Nothing whatever. If there had been even some attempt at resistance I
should have felt--foolishly enough--less unjust, but these poor Khans
are so meek, so submissive, that one has the impression of behaving in
the most shockingly arbitrary fashion. Had there been any truth in
last week’s story of Gul Ali’s actual resignation of the Turban to
that violent youth, his son, I could almost have welcomed the chance
of an honest tussle, but it’s like raining blows on a feather bed. You
don’t feel this?” he turned sharply on Richard. “You still believe
they mean to fight?”

“I can’t believe they have assembled sixty thousand men for nothing,
General--nor yet that the younger Khans have invited those armed bands
we hear about into the desert solely to enjoy a picnic in their
company.”

“Very true. We shall soon see. Those bands must disperse--or be
dispersed--before the treaty is signed. We have ample force to meet
any resistance they can offer. But sixty thousand! No, my dear
Ambrose, I can’t credit such a figure as that. I know you have
gathered it precious carefully from the reports of our spies--but
after all, what trust can you put in the word of a spy? Oh, I know I
make use of ’em, but I discount their reports pretty shrewdly. So
don’t be frightened, ma’am”--with a benevolent smile at Eveleen--“by
your good man’s dark forebodings. I’ll tell you this, Lord Maryport
offered me additional troops either from the Upper Provinces or
Bombay, or both, and I refused ’em. So you see what I think about
it--eh?”

“Frightened!” said Eveleen, in high scorn. “And pray why would I be
frightened, Sir Harry?”

“Why, indeed? But don’t think I blame your prudence, Ambrose,” noting
the younger man’s silence. “From my soul I believe I have men enough
to cope with any force the Khans can bring against us. To have asked
for more would have meant delay--two months, three months, four,
perhaps,--and there we are landed in the middle of the hot weather.
You yourself have told me what that means for military operations
here--not a soldier, European or native, able to show his nose on the
parade-ground by daylight, men struck down by the dozen in a march of
a few miles. No, if we have to fight, we’ll fight at once--the sooner
the better, so long as Stewart has got back. I’m sure they have given
me pretexts enough, if there’s any humbug about signing the treaty,
and they know what I think about ’em--eh?”

“They must be uncommonly stupid if they don’t, General.”

“But that’s what they are--sodden with drink and drugs. If my letters
don’t wake ’em up a bit---- See here, ma’am, if this don’t strike you
as rayther neat. Twice in this last day or so poor Ambrose has had to
write to Gul Ali for me. The young bloods have been talking big about
burning our camp over at Bori there, and I knew their besotted elders
might well be induced to give such an order over-night, and in the
morning forget all about the matter and deny giving it. So I told Gul
Ali that if I heard any more of night attacks on my camp he and the
rest would be made to look precious silly, for not only would every
one that tried it get killed, but I should march on Qadirabad and
destroy it, leaving only the Fort standing, to show my respect for
their Highnesses, for all they couldn’t keep their people in order. So
they know what to look forward to now.”

“But sure they’ll not see the joke,” said Eveleen sorrowfully. “They
will be too stupid, the creatures!”

“Well, this will touch ’em, I imagine. Gul Ali has had his emissaries
in Bori since the first detachment crossed there, bribing our men to
try and get ’em to desert. They have not been able to do it so far,
but it don’t answer to let that sort of thing go on. So I gave the old
fellow a friendly tip. He was paying his men to corrupt mine,
believing he was getting good value for his money, says I. Well, he
was being choused right and left. When any money did pass from his
chaps to mine, they brought it straight to me, but he might take my
word for it that most of it went in high living and never came near
the troops at all. That ought to make a little unpleasantness between
the old villain and his precious tools--eh?”

“He ought be feeling terribly small,” agreed Eveleen. “But he will not
be any fonder of you for that, Sir Harry.”

“That, ma’am, is a consideration which I can safely assert never held
back any Lennox that ever lived from saying a neat thing when he had
it to say,” returned the General, with perfect truth.

The next day the station enjoyed a mild excitement, for Stewart came
in by land, attended only by his orderly and personal servants,
whereas he had gone down to Qadirabad by steamer, with an escort of
thirty of the Khemistan Horse. At first people thought there had been
another Ethiopian disaster, resulting in another sole survivor, but it
soon became known that the escort were returning safe and sound by
water, while Stewart had taken the quicker land route that the General
might be aware as soon as possible of the true state of affairs. Yet
the situation was not made much clearer by his report. It was true
that the Khans had not rejected the treaty, though the Vakils they
were sending to Sahar were empowered rather to complain of their
wrongs than to sign on their behalf. But Stewart had had great
difficulty in getting away, after being insulted in the streets and
coldly received in durbar, and on his return journey he had only
avoided having to fight his way by exercising extreme self-restraint
masked by ferocious bluff. He found an enemy in every Arabit he met,
and his life was in danger more than once, but the Khemis crowded to
him in secret to express their longing that the British would take
over the country, though in the presence of their masters they
appeared indifferent or hostile. To him it seemed impossible to doubt
that the Khans meant to fight, and that the Vakils, if they ever
arrived, were intended merely to stretch out matters and gain time for
their employers; but Sir Harry was not to be hurried. He would go on
massing his troops at Bori, but nothing should induce him to take the
first hostile step. His moderation seemed to be justified when, two
days after Stewart, the Vakils arrived, though there was little
satisfaction to be obtained from them. Possibly the Khans had come to
an end of their excuses, for their sole answer to Sir Harry’s charges
was to deny them all--adding that guiltless and oppressed as they
were, they had no resource but to sign the treaty forced upon them.
Perhaps they knew that this was their best way of dealing with the
General, who was thrown into a perfect frenzy by finding himself
accused of injustice, and laboured for hours to convince the
messengers--and through them their masters--that they were being dealt
with leniently rather than oppressively. He might even have consented
to refer the treaty back to Lord Maryport, with the modifications the
Vakils proceeded humbly to suggest, had the Khans possessed sufficient
common-sense to maintain their pose of injured innocents. But
stimulated perhaps by his apparent gullibility, they struck out a new
line of annoyance, holding up the _dâks_ and robbing the mails, with
the result that every trace of meekness and compassion vanished, and
Sir Harry sent off a sledge-hammer letter to Gul Ali, ordering him
instantly to disband his troops, with the alternative of immediate
war. It might have been supposed that this time the Khans were
confronted with a straight issue that could not be evaded, but that
they were not yet destitute of wiles was clear one morning when
Richard was summoned before daylight to attend his chief. Brian,
coming to the edge of the office verandah to bid him hurry, added a
whispered word of warning.

“Look out! the old boy is dancing mad!”

If Sir Harry was not exactly dancing, he was doing something very like
it--rushing about the office in a series of short dashes, as he was
brought up by the walls or the furniture. He could not speak
coherently.

“Sit down--write!” he jerked out. “That old fool--that old
villain----!” a string of expletives in various Southern European
tongues followed. “Thinks he’s diddled me, does he? _I_’ll diddle
him!”

So far there seemed nothing to write, and Richard made a show of
elaborate preparation, selecting a large sheet of paper, choosing a
quill with care, and trying it on his thumb-nail. Then he looked up
with respectful attention.

“Well, why don’t you write? Begin. ‘Khan!’ None of your flummery of
polite phrases--I won’t have it. Let the fellow get it hot and
strong.”

“‘Khan!’” repeated Richard obediently, secure in the knowledge that an
English letter, however violent in expression, could do no harm.

“Well, go on! You know what I want said--pitch it him hot, I tell you.
Can’t be too strong.”

“Perhaps if I knew which of the Khans it was, General, and what he has
done----?”

“Done? Which of ’em? Why, old Gul Ali, of course. Is there ever
anything wholly preposterous that the old idiot hasn’t got a hand in?
As to what he’s done--why, he’s trying to embarrass me, sir! made up
his mind to tie my hands! Says he’s helpless in the power of his
family, who are keeping him prisoner, but he’ll escape and come to me
and be my suppliant--lay his turban at my feet! Escape? yes--escape
the punishment due to him, so he thinks--get me on his side, come out
top dog after all! But I won’t have it. He shan’t come here and
slobber over my boots! If I have to fight, I’ll fight with my hands
free. Tell him I won’t receive him here--won’t see his dirty old face.
He’s to go to his brother Shahbaz, if he goes anywhere, and stay with
him till I send him orders to the contrary.”

“As you please, General.” Richard was writing busily.

Sir Harry came to a threatening stop just behind him. “Well, sir,
what’s wrong? What d’ye mean, sir?”

“In this country it ain’t considered particularly healthy for an aged
relative to entrust his safety to his next heir, General.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” Sir Harry laughed loudly. “If he chooses to
resign the Turban to Shahbaz, so much the better. If Shahbaz thinks
fit to exercise a little persuasion, I’m sure I have no objection. I
have done with the canting old dog. Now let his brother deal with him,
as I have no doubt he knows how. Then I’ll make short work of the
rebellious young cubs.”

The letter written by Richard, if less peremptory in its terms than
Sir Harry would have wished, produced the desired effect. Gul Ali made
no further attempt to take refuge with the British, but turned aside
meekly to the camp of his brother, while the unfilial Karimdâd, from
whose violence he asserted that he had fled, took possession of his
fortresses, and announced loudly that he would hold them against the
man who called himself the Bahadar Jang or any other Farangi in
creation. Sir Harry chuckled, and completed his consolidation at Bori,
but it was not his measures that alarmed Karimdâd. From Shahbaz
Khan’s fortress of Bidi came the news Richard had expected. Gul Ali
had resigned the Turban--of his own free will, it was carefully
added--in favour of his brother. The result was electrical. Karimdâd
and his cousins lost no time in quitting the strongholds they had
seized, and fled to Sultankot, far in the desert--a fortress which was
declared and believed by all Khemistan to be not only impregnable but
unreachable for an enemy, owing to the difficulties of the route and
the lack of water. Sir Harry chuckled again, and with a calmness that
staggered his own troops as much as his opponents, announced that he
was going to take Sultankot. It might be a hundred miles in the
desert, but if the Arabit bands could make the journey, so could
trained troops. The fortress might be impregnable to a native army,
but not to Europeans provided with artillery. Parts of the way might
be impassable for heavy guns, but he would rely on his field-pieces.
The wells might be destroyed or poisoned, vegetation might be lacking,
but he would carry water and forage with him. The route might be
unknown, but he would get guides from Shahbaz Khan, and in case the
opportunity might be too tempting, Shahbaz Khan himself should come
too. No smoothing-out of complications at one blow by allowing the
British force to be overwhelmed in the desert, leaving him undisputed
master of Khemistan! Shahbaz Khan professed unbounded delight in the
honour conferred upon him, but begged the General politely not to
impose upon himself the labour of such a march. He himself would
undertake to reduce Sultankot with his own troops, and bring the
rebellious princelings to heel. But Sir Harry refused to be spared,
and gave his reason openly, though happily not to his prospective
ally. It was just as well that Shahbaz Khan should be convinced of the
ability of British troops to reach and capture any objective
whatever--no matter how distant and difficult,--as a gentle hint that
when he was placed in power he also would find no place of refuge if
he chose to misbehave. The British force, fretting at the leash which
held it inactive after its hard training, was ready to go anywhere and
fight anything, and moved out joyfully from Bori into the desert, to
the number--after the manner of Anglo-Indian armies--of three thousand
fighting men and twenty thousand camp-followers.

Eveleen being what she was, it was natural--though Richard did not
think so--that the prospect of actual fighting should excite her
nearly as much as it did the soldiers. Returning one evening from a
visit to the camp at Bori under Brian’s escort, she burst into her
husband’s dressing-room, where he was trying hard to decide which of
his indispensable campaigning requisites were absolutely
indispensable, and which only relatively so.

“It’s a great sight!” she cried, without troubling to specify what the
sight was--“but terrible, too. I wonder does Sir Harry feel himself a
murderer when he thinks how few of those splendid horses and men may
come back?”

Richard’s lips twitched. Eveleen made it a grievance against him that
he had no sense of humour, but it sometimes seemed to him--as to other
married people with Irish partners--that the accusation might as fitly
apply to the accuser. “You are uncommonly cheering in your view of our
prospects, my dear,” he said.

“But what d’ye think yourself? Is there a chance of success? Truly,
now?”

“Under any other commander, not the faintest chance. Under Sir
Henry--well, he has such a turn for performing the impossible when
he’s said he will, that there may be a hope. But mind you, the
enterprise will either be the most horrible disaster in history, or
the maddest success.”

“And which would you say ’twill be?”

He spoke as though reluctantly. “Well, having had some opportunity of
observing the General, I pin my faith to his madness, which has more
method than the sound mind of most men. I believe he will succeed--not
without loss, of course; precious heavy loss, perhaps.”

But Eveleen paid no heed to the qualification. Quite unexpectedly, for
he was standing looking meditatively at the floor, with his arms full
of clothes--his servant having discreetly faded away,--Richard found
her head on his shoulder, and heard her coaxing voice in his ear--

“Ah, then, Ambrose, let me come too!”

“Let _you_ come? Nonsense! certainly not.”

“Ah, now, do!”

“I tell you I won’t hear of it. Am I dreaming, or are you? or is the
General’s madness infectious?”

“Why would you be so unkind? Just think how nice, when you come tired
to your tent after a march, to find your wife waiting to welcome you,
and your slippers warming--no, I suppose it ought be cooling--eh?”

“In my bath, I suppose--if there was one, or any slippers either. My
dear, don’t be silly. Do you know that we take no baggage with us
after the first day or two? You have no conception of the misery--the
squalor--of an ordinary desert campaign, and this will be far worse.”

“What horrid words you use!” complained Eveleen softly, stroking his
shoulder-strap. “Didn’t you hear Sir Harry himself telling how Lady
Cinnamond was with Sir Arthur at Salamanca, and even rode in the
charge?”

“That was Sir Arthur’s business, not mine. If I had been the Duke, I
would have cashiered him for allowing it. But perhaps the unfortunate
wretch was sufficiently punished by the anxiety he must have been
in--to say nothing of looking such a fool. And in any case, war in
Europe ain’t like war here. That’s a gentlemanly affair to this. You
stay at home and mind your house.”

“But I’ll only waste your money and bring you to debt and disgrace.
You’ve said so, often. Will you tell me now, am I the sort of wife to
sit on the verandah darning your stockings and dropping salt tears on
them because you’re away, thinking back over the future and looking
forward to the past?--no, I mean it’s t’other way about. But anyhow,
the sort of wife I am is the one that rides knee to knee with you in
the ranks, and takes her turn in keeping watch at night----”

“And can never keep awake if she tries! Won’t do, my dear. You must
remember you ain’t an Amazon, nor yet Joan of Arc, but the wife of a
British officer in the nineteenth century--a much more prosaic person.
The verandah is your lot, I fear, but we won’t insist on the darning.
I trust I ain’t unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? The man that insisted on wearing stockings of my
darning would be stark staring mad!” cried Eveleen, with terrific
emphasis. “And will you tell me, Major Ambrose, if you wanted that
sort of wife, why you married me?”

“Oh, pray, my dear, don’t let us have that over again! I gave you my
reason once, and if it don’t satisfy you, I’m sorry, for I have no
other to offer. Now behave like a sensible woman, and make up your
mind to be happy and employ yourself usefully in my absence. Come!”
with a bright idea, “how would you like to buy another horse and begin
to break him in?”

“I’ll remember that!” gloomily, yet with a distinct lightening of the
gloom. “But I warn you, if this is the way you answer me, you won’t
find me asking you another time. I’ll just come.”

“Oh, very well. If I know anything of the General, you’ll find
yourself sent back under escort, after a lecture which will prove to
you once for all that he has a rough side to his tongue, though ladies
don’t often feel it.”

“If you knew anything of me, you’d know you were merely inviting me to
prove you wrong. You’ll see!” He might have been excused for imagining
she had some specific plan in view, but her mind was roaming vaguely
over various possibilities of making herself disagreeable.



 CHAPTER XII.
 AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT.

/Life/ at Sahar after the departure of the expedition was every whit
as dull as Eveleen had known it would be. For a whole week she held
out obstinately against that tempting suggestion of Richard’s that she
should buy another horse--for the sole reason that the suggestion was
his. But involuntarily her mind was noting and registering the points
of possible colts as she passed them, and when the week was over, she
felt--relief mingling with triumph in having resisted for so
long--that the curb of self-restraint might be relaxed. Perhaps the
fact that she had just received a letter from Richard helped to
lighten her spirits, though his letters might best be described by the
term arid, while Brian’s--save for one scrawl on the back of an old
official envelope--were represented by a postscript added to her
husband’s, “Your brother desires his fond love, and will be certain to
write to-morrow.” But Eveleen was aware of her own deficiencies as a
letter-writer, and with unusual fairness, expected no better from
other people.

She was just going to dress for her evening ride, intending to
requisition the escort of one of the subalterns left unwillingly at
Sahar for a visit to a tribal camp not far off, where she had taken
note of a likely-looking steed, when the sound of an arrival outside,
and a masculine voice enquiring for the Beebee, brought her hastily to
the verandah, anticipating a messenger from the front. But it was
Colonel Bayard who ran up the steps to greet her--debonair and
friendly as ever, and with an air of increased cheerfulness which was
almost elation.

“Yes, it is I myself!” he cried, shaking hands so vigorously as almost
to forget to bow. “It’s good to be here again, Mrs Ambrose--I don’t
even regret my lost furlough, though my passage home was taken for
this week. But the delays in getting back from Bombay! I have been
fretting like a war-horse--but not for his reason. I don’t want to
plunge into a battle--far from it. My one desire is to prevent
fighting. It was a horrid blow to hear at the landing-stage that Sir
Henry had actually marched against the Khans, but I trust--I hope--I
may yet be in time to put an end to this lamentable adventure. And how
are you? but I need not enquire--your looks speak for you. Richard in
good health, I trust? but unhappy, I am sure, about this madness of
the General’s. Well, we shall put that right, I hope. I must start
to-night to catch up the force. Can’t be too thankful I am not a day
or two later.”

“Come in, come in!” said Eveleen, when she was allowed to utter a
word, and she led the way, not sorry to turn her face from him for a
moment. A dreadful suspicion was growing upon her that Colonel Bayard
was under a wholly false impression as to the footing on which he
stood and the object for which he had been recalled, but she could not
dash his hopes by saying so. An Englishwoman might have told him
bluntly Sir Harry’s views regarding him, but no Irishwoman could
possibly bring herself to do more than hint at things in a roundabout
way, leaving him to arrive at the truth for himself, if he could.
“After all,” she said, rather nervously, “it might not have made much
difference, d’ye think?”

“Every difference, so long as there has been no bloodshed, ma’am. If
we can only avoid that, I don’t despair of accommodating the whole
matter.”

“Ah, but if you knew the way the Khans have been playing fast and
loose! Nothing will hold them to their engagements. How can you reach
an accommodation?”

“They are puzzled and irritated by treatment they don’t understand,”
he responded eagerly. “But it’s true I don’t know the precise position
of affairs at this moment. That’s why I come to you, since I hear you
had a letter from Ambrose this afternoon.”

“Ambrose believes Sir Harry will reach Sultankot, though not without
loss.”

“But how? and what does he propose to do when he gets there?”

“His plan is to take his whole force to the edge of the desert, so
they say, and then to mount five or six hundred men on camels and make
a dash across. Two guns he means to carry with him, and they, he
believes, will compel surrender. If not, he’ll storm the place.”

“Madness! midsummer madness!” cried Colonel Bayard sorrowfully. “Why,
he can have no conception even of the number of camels needed for such
a force.”

“There has been difficulty in getting camels, I know. The contractors
have been fined for not bringing enough.”

“Of course! What could Lennox expect? They know the expedition is
foredoomed to disaster, and they will keep their beasts out of it if
they can. And with insufficient transport----”

“I wouldn’t say ’twas insufficient. Brian says”--Eveleen smiled at the
remembrance of the note scrawled on the envelope--“that the General is
reconsidering his high opinion of his dear nice camels now he sees
them at work, and that he’d be sorely tempted to shorten them all by a
neck if it could be done without diminishing their usefulness. There’s
four miles and a half of them, so he says.”

“Four miles and a half? Fifteen feet each? Only fifteen hundred,” he
calculated rapidly. “And the General’s own things must require a
hundred at least--more probably two--and other officers in proportion.
What is there left----?”

“Now there you’re wrong.” Eveleen smiled openly. “Four camels and no
more--that’s the General’s share. A soldier’s tent--his fine grand one
is left here--and everything else to match. And other people are cut
down just the same.”

“This is more and more serious. I had hoped he might be held back by
the inadequacy of his transport, but he may succeed in actually
penetrating into the desert. And there--what with spies and false
guides to lead him astray or into ambushes, and secret emissaries who
will cut the water-skins at night and leave him destitute, and that
dastardly practice of poisoning the wells--why, we have all the
materials for the most shocking disaster that has ever befallen
British arms!”

“But sure he has Shahbaz Khan with him, and he swears he’ll make him
taste all the water first! It’s a pity it wouldn’t be that old wretch
Gul Ali, but Ambrose says he has gone and made himself scarce again.”

“Made himself scarce? Do I understand Sir Henry was so ill-advised as
to subject the poor old fellow to personal restraint?”

“Not a bit of it! He was staying with his brother Shahbaz--quite free,
and as happy as possible. Sir Harry calls on Shahbaz, and sends word
he’ll pay his respects to Gul Ali to-morrow. But when to-morrow comes
the poor silly old creature is gone, leaving word that he never really
meant to resign the Turban--’twas all a mistake.”

“A mistake! Of course; who could have thought otherwise? He hoped to
placate Sir Henry by submission, and finding, as he must think, that
his malice still pursues him, he withdraws his abdication and seeks
safety in flight.”

“But ’twas all properly written out in his Koran, in the presence of
all the holy men they could get together at Bidi,” persisted Eveleen.
“Shahbaz Khan may have persuaded him to do it, but having done it,
would you say he oughtn’t stick to it? Sometimes I wonder”--she
stopped a moment--“will Shahbaz Khan be making mischief?”

“It’s possible. I have always thought him a fine fellow, and the
injured rather than the injurer, but if he is hoping to secure the
Turban by favour of the General---- Tell me what you mean, Mrs
Ambrose.”

“Why,” said Eveleen, rather flattered, “I wondered mightn’t he have
got Gul Ali to resign the Turban by telling him his life was in danger
from the General? The old man is silly enough to believe it. Then when
the General says he will be coming to call, Shahbaz humbugs the old
creature with some tale that he’ll take him away prisoner. Do you see,
it’s his interest that the two of them wouldn’t meet? So the old man
gets away--his brother making things easy for him--and the General
thinks worse of Gul Ali than ever, but only scolds Shahbaz for not
keeping better guard over him.”

“You have it! That’s it, I’m convinced, Mrs Ambrose! Shahbaz is a
villain, who is abusing the General’s confidence shockingly. Poor old
Gul Ali has been shamefully treated. As for the General, he must be
blind not to see the whole thing is a hum--but knowing no Persian, of
course---- Well, I am tenfold thankful I came to you. A lady’s insight
will often penetrate where our obtuser minds are at fault. But now to
try and put this wrong right. A dash into the desert after the
General--he must be stopped at any cost in his head long course----”

“I wonder wouldn’t you find that a little difficult?” suggested
Eveleen. “When Sir Harry has made up his mind--and after thinking
things over so long----”

“Ah, I see you are afraid I may speak too warmly! Nay, you need have
no fear. I have not a word of blame for him. The fault lies with the
delays which kept me from his side when he summoned me, and forced
him, as he no doubt believes, to this rash attempt. But his is a noble
mind. Few men, confronted with such a situation, would have realised
themselves incompetent to deal with it, and called back to their
councils the person they had superseded. Believe me, he shall know the
honour I feel for him. Sir Henry’s march stopped, then--and Heaven
grant it may be before there’s any loss of life!--I must return hither
at once, and make all speed to Qadirabad. If I can arrive before the
Khans, outraged by the General’s high-handed proceedings, have given
orders for a universal muster and the extermination of the British,
all will be well. I am their friend, and they recognise me as such.
Continually, as I came up the river, messengers have intercepted me,
bearing greetings from their Highnesses, and entreaties to come
ashore. But I refused to land, even at the capital, merely sending a
letter of apology to the durbar, pleading the necessity of consulting
with the General before I could wait upon them. But now”--he was
walking up and down, speaking in short hurried sentences--“I will go
to them, and I humbly trust, take peace with me. They know me and
trust me, and I go to them in complete confidence.”

“It’s quite safe, would you say?” demanded Eveleen, a stupendous idea
seizing her.

“Absolutely. Why not? I assure you you need have no fear for me,
though I know your kind heart.” He smiled at her.

“But I have not. Tell me now, you would take Mrs Bayard with you if
she was here?”

“Undoubtedly.” Colonel Bayard’s voice was valiant.

“Then would you take me?”

“Well, I’m afraid Ambrose might have some slight objection to
that--eh?”

“Oh, if he was going--of course I meant that.”

“Then your presence could do nothing but good, as far as I can see.
But he ain’t likely to be with me, I fear, so I must deny myself that
pleasure as well. Many thanks for all you have told me. Now I am
prepared. Good-bye, good-bye! If I succeed in curbing the General’s
rashness, the credit will be largely yours.”

He was down the steps and off again before Eveleen had done more than
realise he was still labouring under the delusion that he was the
person who counted, and not the General. But her mind was so full of
her new idea that she consoled herself with the assurance that ’twas
not her fault; she had done what she could to put him right; and if he
would only take the truth from Sir Harry’s own lips--why, he must.
Apparently he snatched some sort of meal at the Club or the Mess-house
while his baggage was being cut down to the General’s Spartan
standard, for as she was returning from her ride--which she took alone
after all, because she had plans to think out--she saw him going on
board one of the flat-bottomed boats which plied across the river. Two
men--evidently a servant and an orderly--were with him, and a camel
and two horses were already on board. She waved him farewell, and rode
on towards the landing-stage where the steamers moored, where she met
the very man she wanted--the captain of the _Asteroid_. He had seen
his vessel warped out again from the bank and all made snug on board,
and was on his way to sup with his crony, the captain of the _Nebula_,
on shore.

“Then you’ll be waiting here for orders--for days maybe?” she asked,
when she had greeted him.

“That’s so, ma’am--with wood on board, and everything ready to get up
steam at an hour’s notice. Colonel Bayard said he might be back any
day, with orders to go to Qadirabad at once.”

“And did he tell you that if Major Ambrose or my brother was with him,
you were to let me know, because I’ll be coming too?”

“Why, no, ma’am. To Qadirabad--just now?” He looked at her in
astonishment, but Eveleen was not to be cowed by looks. She had
realised that it was almost certain the General would send a member of
his own staff with Colonel Bayard if he let him go to the Khans at
all, and why not Richard or Brian? She looked sweetly at the sailor.

“And why wouldn’t I? Sure it’s just the proof of peace my presence
will be--making it quite certain we have no warlike intentions. My
going can do nothing but good--so the Colonel said to me himself just
now.”

Captain Franks, like other men, was powerless against Eveleen when she
really brought her batteries to bear, but he struggled gallantly. “You
won’t like it much, I’m afraid, ma’am. There’s sure to be troops on
board, and horses--a large escort.”

“I won’t mind--if you’ll pitch me a tent on deck again?”

“As you please, ma’am. But you’ll find it rarely chilly these
nights--not like when you came up from Bab-us-Sahel.”

Eveleen shivered mentally, for she hated cold. Her own first impulse
had been to take a high hand, and remark casually that the cabin--the
only one--would suit her quite well, but it had been succeeded by
another. Richard was always saying, or hinting, that she was
unreasonable. She would show him how wrong he was by refusing to
deprive him and his friend of the comfort--such as it was--of the
cabin, and making martyrs of herself and Ketty on deck. She smiled
heroically at the captain.

“As if I’d mind that! I’ll keep everything packed ready, and be on
board as soon as I get your message.”

Ketty and the old butler could hardly be expected to look at things
from her point of view, and by the tone of the long conversations she
heard going on between them after her orders were given, she gathered
that they objected strenuously to the proposed journey; but they knew
better than to remonstrate with her, and she ignored their discontent
callously. One more letter she received from Richard, written when the
forlorn hope was about to strike into the desert:--


 “Bayard arrived this evening, and accompanies us,” he wrote. “I fear
 he is disappointed by his interview with Sir Henry. He tells me he
 called upon you. Surely you might have taken the trouble to make him
 aware of his true position here?”


“Taken the trouble, indeed! As if I hadn’t tried! And when he wouldn’t
listen to a word!” said Eveleen indignantly, and passed on to another
scrawl from Brian, written like the first on the back of a huge
envelope:--


 “Don’t quarrel with my stationery,” he said. “The General has an
 _economy fit_ on, and has locked up all the writing-paper, and I must
 send you a few lines. Why would I always be writing to you about
 camels, I wonder? but believe me, I’d give a year of my life for you
 to have seen the things that have left me near dead with laughing at
 this moment. Three hundred and fifty men of the Queen’s --th mounted
 on camels, two to a camel, and camels and men all strangers to one
 another. But they were not mounted long. I give you my word, the whole
 country was speckled over with spots of scarlet and dun, wrestling in
 every variety of contention, and whether the language of the soldiers
 or of the camels was the worst, I would not like to say. And there was
 poor old Colonel Plummer looking at the scene with the liveliest
 disgust I ever saw depicted on a human phiz--he was in the Dragoons
 once, you may remember. But he plucked up heart and plunged into the
 fray, reconciling his men to their mounts, and the camels to one
 another, till he got ’em into some sort of order, and he is now
 putting his fantastic force through a few simple evolutions. He’s a
 great old sportsman--almost as great as my old lad, who is near bent
 double with rheumatism when he crawls out of his little tent to mount
 his horse, and unstiffens bit by bit as he rides, till you’d swear he
 was the model for a statue of the Duke. A fine set we are, I assure
 you--with our camel-men and our two howitzers drawn by camels, and our
 detachment of horse to frighten off the desert banditti from our
 slow-moving column. We have provisions for a fortnight, water for four
 days, our tents--common soldiers’ tents--and nothing in the world
 else. Won’t we be a sight to make the ladies stare when we come
 through this?”


That was the last news from the column for nearly three weeks, though
messengers still arrived from the main body, which was encamped about
Shahbaz Khan’s fortress of Bidi--thus holding his family hostage,
though this was not stated, in case of any attempt at treachery on his
part. But there was no call to dash into the desert and rescue Sir
Harry and his force, and even the tongue of rumour was silent in face
of his daring move. Then at last there came a summons from Captain
Franks to Eveleen. He had been warned by an express messenger to start
at once for a wooding-station about thirty miles down the river, there
to pick up Colonel Bayard and Major Ambrose and take them on to
Qadirabad. If Mrs Ambrose wished to go too, would she kindly lose no
time? Mrs Ambrose was at the landing-stage little more than an hour
after receiving the message, and found everything in a bustle, horses
being embarked in flat-bottomed boats, which the _Asteroid_ was to
tow, and the troops to whom they belonged crowded on board the vessel
herself. There did not seem to be an inch of room to spare anywhere.

“Are your horses to go, ma’am?” asked Captain Franks distractedly, as
he welcomed her to her tent, and in the same breath bade the mate
beware lest the lubbers on board that flat should knock all the ship’s
paint off.

Once more Eveleen showed herself triumphantly reasonable. “No, I’ll
borrow,” she said, and told the syces to go back. It was a very
disturbed night that lay before her, for even when the _Asteroid_ cast
off at last, the human cargo squabbled grievously over its scanty
accommodation. But in the morning the trials of the past hours were
forgotten when she was invited up to the paddle-box to look out over
the plain covered with stunted trees which extended southwards, and
watch for the arrival of the envoys. The _Asteroid_ reached the
meeting-place first, and it was not till some hours later that a
moving cloud of dust in the distance heralded the appearance of
mounted men at the far end of the clearing which was due to the
insatiable demands of the steamers for wood. There were three men
perched on camels, looking perilously high up and absurdly unsafe, and
a small body of horse.

“Sure it can’t be them!” cried Eveleen, as the camels knelt and the
three riders dismounted and limped towards the primitive wharf. “These
are blacks--not Europeans.”

“Never seen a European fresh from a desert trip before, ma’am?” asked
Captain Franks jovially. “Look at their hair and eyes, and you’ll
see.”

“It is, it is. And my brother too. Sure it’s a nice little family
party you’ll be carrying this voyage, captain!” and she waved her hand
gaily to the advancing three. They ought to have been pleased when
they recognised the white figure welcoming them from the paddle-box,
but it was quite obvious they were not. Richard Ambrose pulled up
suddenly, and said something to Colonel Bayard, who shook his head,
and Brian gave a subdued yell, and tried to hide behind the other two.

“I don’t want female society!” he wailed. “I want baths, and baths,
and baths, and clean things, and to lie in the shade with a cheroot
and a bottle of beer and all the saltpetre in Khemistan to cool it.
Why would a man have to talk and behave pretty when he don’t want to?
Major Ambrose, sir”--imitating the General at his gruffest--“pray why
don’t you keep that wife of yours in better order?”

“My misfortune!” responded Richard briefly, as he came up the gangway.
“No, my dear, pray don’t touch me”--warding Eveleen off as she ran
down to the deck. “I will come to you again presently. At this moment
I am not fit to speak to anybody. I did not expect to see you--or any
lady--on board here.”

“I am to blame, I fear,” said Colonel Bayard, evidently calling to
mind that last conversation. “But I own”--with a gentle reproof which
would have stricken most women to the heart--“I had not looked to find
my anxieties doubled by the honour of Mrs Ambrose’s company on our
expedition.”

“Ah, now, won’t you say the pleasure?” Eveleen called after him, as
the three were met and eagerly welcomed by the officers on board, and
disappeared with them.

“Seems almost as if they weren’t expecting to see you, ma’am,” said
Captain Franks, in a puzzled voice.

“That’s just it. They never thought I’d come. But that only shows they
don’t know me--eh?” said Eveleen cheerfully.

But she did not return to the paddle-box, choosing rather to sit at
her tent-door, on the little piece of deck that was sacred to her use,
in case Richard should be in the same mind when he returned. Not that
she would mind Captain Franks--or any one else hearing anything he had
to say; but if the poor man was determined to make an exhibition of
himself, ’twas kinder to let him do it in private. It was also kinder,
no doubt, to take the initiative in the conversation when he appeared,
that he might have another moment in which to recover his temper.

“That’s better--a thousand times better!” she was looking at him
critically. “You were quite coffee-coloured--black coffee--just now.
Now y’are tea-coloured, and I suppose the tea will get weaker and
weaker till you have your natural complexion again? And it’s nice to
see you looking respectable and like yourself. Did you--ah, now, did
you really come back in those rags expecting I’d mend them?”

“Not quite such a fool!” snapped Richard. He was really very angry,
that was clear, and any sense of guilt Eveleen might have felt
evaporated promptly. “Is it quite beyond you to understand that I am
exceedingly displeased to find you here?”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d come the next time without asking your leave?
Sure y’ought have known.”

“Perhaps I ought. At any rate, pray believe that if it had been
possible to go back and put you on shore again it should have been
done.”

“But there’s no difficulty in believing that!” innocently.

He restrained himself with an effort. “Can’t you realise that were you
a child, these mad escapades would be viewed more leniently? But for a
female of what should be a discreet age----”

“Discreet?” she snatched the word out of his mouth. “When I behave the
way you’d consider suitable to a female of discreet age I’ll be dead
and gone! Maybe you’ll be satisfied with me then, Major Ambrose!”

“Not I. I shall be dead long before that,” sardonically, and Eveleen
screamed with laughter. Perhaps it was as well that Brian came round
the tent into the reserved space at the moment.

“Sorry to interrupt your private conversation,” he said, “but
positively there’s nowhere else to go.”

“It’s not private,” cried Eveleen, still overcome with mirth--“except
on Major Ambrose’s part. He’s just made a joke, and he never will do
that when any one else is there, though he knows how I delight in his
jokes. But sit down, Brian boy, and tell me all about everything,
while Ambrose thinks of some more jokes for the next time we are alone
together. Did y’ever get to Sultankot, now?”

“We did,” responded Brian promptly. “But nobody else ever will.”

“Do you tell me that, now? And why?”

“Because we blew it up. I wonder wouldn’t you have heard the noise at
Sahar. Sure we were all bothered in our hearing for days after.”

“But what a thing to go all that way to capture the place, and then
blow it up! Was the garrison inside?”

“All the garrison there was--which was none. No, ’twas a mighty fine
place for all the young Khans to escape to, and talk big about what
they’d do when they met the General. But when they got his card, and
his message that he proposed to do himself the honour of paying ’em a
visit--why, they were not at home.”

“But tell us now how it happened. Did you see them running away?”

“Not the least taste of a sight of one of ’em. ’Twas the most
mysterious, queerest thing in the world--Ambrose will tell you so
too”--Richard grunted. “’Twas like coming suddenly on the stage of a
theatre without any actors. There we stood--Sir Harry and the
staff--on the edge of the sandhills. Down below us--like as if ’twas
in a cup, and near enough to touch with your finger--was the fortress,
beautifully built, all the towers and ramparts so clean-cut you’d say
it had only been finished the night before, and the morning sun
shining on it in a sort of romantic way made you think of something in
Scott. There! I meant to ask Keeling what it was--he knows Scott off
by heart--and I forgot. The road down the cliff was full in sight, and
there were the troops moving down into the valley, the camels’ feet
making no sound, the soldiers struck with awe, or something of the
sort. At any rate they were all dumb too, but ’twas ‘Eyes right!’ with
every man as he came out of the shadow of the cliff, as if they were
approaching the saluting-point at a review. I never saw anything like
it. And still there was no sound from the fort, no sign of a human
being even, while the troops formed up and advanced--no answer to our
summons. So at last we found the gates open, the cannon all freshly
loaded and primed, huge quantities of powder, grain enough to feed an
army, wells of good water--and not a soul anywhere! ’Twas like an
enchanted place. You longed for the sound of a bugle to break the
spell, even if it meant a rush of the enemy upon us out of hiding. But
there was no enemy to rush out; they had all made themselves scarce a
few hours before, when they saw we were really coming, and it seemed
we had nothing to do but leave our friend Shahbaz in possession, and
come back. But the General didn’t see it that way. He likes Shahbaz
all right, but he had a shrewd notion that his heart wouldn’t
precisely have been broke if we had all been swallowed up in the
desert, and that he’d be just as well without a strong place like that
all to himself--so difficult to get at, too. So Sultankot was
sentenced to be destroyed, and I will say this for Shahbaz, that he
took it like a sportsman! We had uncommon fun doing the business, for
we plugged shell into the place--just so that we mightn’t have dragged
the guns all that way for nothing--till it reached the powder, and
pop! Shahbaz was as busy as any of us, taking his turn to lay the gun,
and we all shouted and laughed like mad, while the General stood by,
grieving over the place like an old prophet in spectacles, because it
had taken so much trouble to build, and the builder must have been so
pleased with his job. It’s the wonderful old chap he is! Y’ought have
seen him on the way there, Evie--coming straight from writing his
endless letters with his hands all crippled to turning out Her
Majesty’s Europeans to drag the guns up the sandhills that were too
much for the camels. They run ’em up one steep place of a thousand
feet or so in five minutes, all joking and cheering, and old Harry
dashing the briny drops from his manly eyes, and swearing he loved the
British soldier more than any man on earth. Where the ground was not
so steep we used teams of sixty men and fourteen camels to each gun,
and got ’em up like winkin’. The men turned the least bit rusty on the
way back, and I don’t wonder at it, after all they had gone
through,--but he can do anything with ’em. Y’ought have heard ’em
cheer him when he went for a Madras Sapper who was pretending to make
a road for the guns--knocked him down, took his spade from him and set
to work himself, and talked to him--my word! the fellow was green with
fright though he couldn’t understand a syllable!”

“But why would the men turn rusty?” enquired Eveleen anxiously, for
Her Majesty’s --th was an Irish regiment.

“And why wouldn’t they, with a fortnight of such marches and such
work, and sand to eat and drink and breathe--and very little else?
Why, the dry air cracks your boots so that you carry about with you a
private desert on each foot, and the sand gets between you and your
clothes till you feel your shirt is made of sandpaper! And talking of
your clothes, you may be thankful you and they are well scoured with
sand, for there’s no such thing as a clean shirt. You turn the one you
have on your back inside-out when it gets too shockingly dirty, and
when t’other side has got considerably worse you turn it back again,
and so on till you’re like a set of colliers.”

“Now do you wonder we are the colour of coffee?” demanded Richard
suddenly.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were as black as a coal! And no wonder
y’are thin, poor creatures, if sand is all you’ve had to eat!”

“Well, not all,” admitted Brian. “But we calculate that each man’s
teeth have been ground down a quarter of an inch by the sand he’s
chewed with his food--more or less according to his appetite. And
never, never will we get the last of the sand out of our hair till
we’re all bald! D’ye wonder then the General had no difficulty in
getting complaints when he went round hunting for ’em as usual? But he
turned the men round his little finger easily, and they went back to
duty as meek as lambs when he had fired ’em off one of his heroic
orations, full of Assaye and Corunna.”

“Well, but now, what will have been the good of it all?” cried
Eveleen. “You have destroyed a place that was not doing anybody any
harm, and the people that were doing the harm have all escaped.”

“Don’t say that to Bayard, I beg of you!” said Richard quickly. “To
his mind the one good point of a bad business is that no lives have
been sacrificed.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” said Colonel Bayard’s voice, and he
came round the corner of the tent, throwing away the end of his
cheroot as he did so. “May I intrude, Mrs Ambrose? Richard, you and I
must have an explanation; there has been no opportunity hitherto. You
shall do us the honour to judge between us, ma’am.”

Brian rose hastily. “I think, Colonel, you will speak more freely
without me,” he said with some formality. “Any criticism of Sir Henry
Lennox offered in my hearing ’twould be at once my duty and my
pleasure to resent. So I’ll leave you,” and he departed.



 CHAPTER XIII.
 A LAST EFFORT.

/Colonel Bayard/ looked after Brian with a sigh. “Your brother is
highly conscientious, ma’am, but I hope I know better than to use
improper language about his chief in his presence. Nor have I anything
worse to say of the General than that I believe from my soul he had no
evil intention in putting me in my present disagreeable position.”

“Ah, believe me, his one thought was to atone to you for any slight
Lord Maryport might have seemed to offer,” said Eveleen earnestly. He
sighed again, impatiently.

“Then why this strange behaviour on his part? I was upheld by the
consciousness of rectitude, reconciled to the Governor-General’s
unjust treatment by the prospect it gave me of a speedy reunion with
my wife--actually on the point of departure for home. Then I am
summoned back in the most peremptory manner, compelled to sacrifice my
passage and relinquish my hopes. And for what? I believed, all my
friends believed, the Bombay papers proclaimed their hearty
concurrence--that Sir Henry had recognised his own incapacity for the
task allotted to him, and desired the Governor-General to command my
return. There was nothing peculiar in this save the singularity of
such a frank acknowledgment on his part--which I conceived accorded
strictly with the candour of his nature as I had experienced it,--and
it explained the haughty tone of Lord Maryport’s letter. The assiduous
attentions of the Khans on my way up the river showed that they took
the same view, and I made haste to join Sir Henry and relieve him, as
I imagined, from the burden of a duty unsuited to his talents. What
was the reality? I make no complaint of finding myself second where I
was formerly first, though I own it grated upon me; but in our first
interview it was made clear to me that Sir Henry desired my services
purely in a minor capacity. I was to be nothing but a _putli_ [puppet]
in his hands. Tell me, I beg of you, whether this was his attitude
from the first, or whether he changed towards me when he perceived the
delight with which my return was welcomed?”

He had so obviously decided in his own mind in favour of the second
alternative, that Eveleen and her husband both found it difficult to
answer him. Richard spoke hesitatingly at last. “I tried to hint at
what I believed to be the General’s true state of mind in one of my
letters, you may remember.”

“Did you? It’s possible. But if I noticed it, I set it down to your
habitual caution. But Mrs Ambrose--why did she not warn me three weeks
ago? I made no secret then of the feelings that inspired me.”

“Ah, forgive me!” cried Eveleen, conscience-stricken. “I tried--indeed
I tried--but you would not understand. And how would I tell you such
a thing as that straight out?”

“No, I suppose it would be impossible to an Irish person,” he spoke as
though to himself. “But what I can’t make out is”--with renewed
vehemence--“how Sir Henry can have asked for me, knowing my views and
my friendship with the Khans, and knowing also that all his intentions
were diametrically opposed to the policy I have consistently pursued?”

“No, there you do him an injustice,” said Richard quickly. “He had no
such intentions--he was as favourably disposed towards their
Highnesses as yourself. You and he were agreed upon the necessity of
forcing them to observe their obligations--but doing so in the most
considerate manner. I give you my word, I believe there has been too
much consideration. Had you been with us instead of at Bombay, and
witnessed the ingenious provocations, the childish artifices to which
the Khans have resorted, as though determined to tire out our
patience, you must have decided, with the General, that they had
exceeded all limits of toleration.”

“‘_Et tu, Brute!_’” said Colonel Bayard mournfully. “‘Mine own
familiar friend----’”

“Pray don’t think I am alone in this. You have met a good many of the
Khemistan Europeans in these three weeks. Is there one of them that
takes your view of the case in opposition to the General’s?”

“The General is the disposer of benefits nowadays,” irritably. “Nay,
forgive me--I am unjust. But these youths are all agog for
war--naturally enough; Sir Henry has trained ’em for it. Of course
they rejoice in the prospect of hostilities.”

“Not I. I have seen war in Ethiopia, and know what it means. Am I
likely to wish to bring it upon Khemistan if it can be avoided? But I
tell you plainly, I believe a temporising policy here, pursued further
at the present juncture, would lead to a retreat and a disaster which,
following upon our Ethiopian misfortunes, would lose us India. The
Khans--and especially Gul Ali--have played with us too long already.”

“I could forgive Sir Henry everything,” cried Colonel Bayard
vigorously, roused by the name, “but his treatment of Gul Ali. To
affect to hold the poor old man to a renunciation extorted from him by
force by that villain Shahbaz Khan is an outrage of which I had
fancied him incapable.”

“But sure he did resign the Turban to Shahbaz!” said Eveleen in
perplexity.

“True--most solemnly,” agreed her husband. “But when he quitted
Shahbaz’s hospitable roof, he saw fit to change his mind, and declare
the renunciation a farce.”

“And no wonder!” cried Colonel Bayard warmly. “When it was only
brought about by the pressure imposed on him by that most abandoned
scoundrel----”

“We have often agreed that Shahbaz was the ablest of the Khans,” said
Richard imperturbably. “You said to me once you saw no hope for the
dynasty but in him.”

“True, but he had not then shown himself in his real--his most
iniquitous colours. To force his innocent and venerable brother to
cede him the Turban by threats----”

“His innocent and venerable brother having failed to rob him of his
heirship by intrigues----” crisply.

“Ambrose, you are hopeless!” cried Colonel Bayard warmly. “The General
has bewitched you. Mrs Ambrose, in your gentle breast I know I shall
touch a chord of sympathy with the aged Prince’s misfortunes. Listen,
I beg of you. I was riding with the advanced guard from Bidi--where I
caught up the force--when we met a solitary _cossid_ mounted on a
camel. He recognised me, and dismounting, threw himself at my feet,
and bewailed the miserable lot of his master. With the General’s
permission I volunteered to seek out my old friend, and convey to him
the assurances of safety and kind treatment from Sir Henry, which it
occurred to me Shahbaz Khan must have kept back. You had said to me
that you suspected something of the sort, ma’am; do you remember?
Well, I found Gul Ali encamped in the jungle--a few wretched _rowties_
[small common tents] sheltering the few retainers who remained
faithful to him. Our appearance--your brother accompanied me, by the
way--produced at first the utmost consternation, the fugitives fearing
an attack. But my name restored confidence, and the Prince met and
embraced me, and conducted me into his miserable dwelling. Old and
sick, exposed to the heavy rains--this was the plight of the man I had
last seen enthroned in his palace. Briefly he unfolded to me his
brother’s perfidy. As I expected, Shahbaz had induced him to abdicate
by the strongest assurances of Sir Henry’s hostile disposition towards
him. I pledged him my honour that he was mistaken, and he would fain
have accompanied me there and then to make his submission. But I knew
he would find Shahbaz with the General, and fearing his timidity might
betray him once more, I persuaded him to send his son--not Karimdâd,
of course, but one of the younger ones--and a nephew instead.”

“That was the mistake!” said Richard sharply. “Had he but met the
General face to face----”

“Easy enough to see where another man has gone wrong.” Colonel Bayard
spoke with some displeasure. “Well, ma’am, sherbet was served, and we
parted with the usual compliments. My one aim was to lead the young
Khans to Sir Henry before they could be intimidated by Shahbaz. Alas!
it did not occur to me that he might corrupt them instead, though when
we met him he embraced them cordially, and begged a visit after their
audience. I took them to Sir Henry’s tent, where we all sat on the
carpet together, since there were no chairs. The General, who had met
the youths very civilly, addressed them kindly, but with
severity--through his Munshi, not through me--nor did he make the
slightest show of consulting me. Seeing me thus set aside, and reading
in his decided tone that he regarded them as rebels, is it any wonder
the young Khans were seized with alarm? They left his presence--I
suggested to him to show his goodwill by shaking hands with ’em, which
he did very readily--to seek Shahbaz, and I grieve to say they were
persuaded by that villainous plotter to betray their aged parent into
his hands. They saw Shahbaz enjoying Sir Henry’s favour and possessing
all the tokens of power, and in return for his bribes they fell in
with his designs. I despatched a spy to Gul Ali’s camp to mark their
return there, for I feared all was not well, and it was as I feared.
They insisted upon the General’s angry tone and the curtness of the
terms he had used, and declared it as his command that Gul Ali should
surrender himself again to Shahbaz at Bidi. Asked what part I, their
friend, had taken in the interview, they replied that even were I
sincere in my professions--of which they hinted a doubt--it was clear
I was devoid of any power to help. Do you wonder that the unfortunate
old man feared to offer the personal submission for which Sir Henry
had stipulated? Once again he made his escape--and so unremitting is
Shahbaz in his villainy that he even succeeded in bribing his
brother’s Munshi to substitute a defiant message under his seal for
the letter he had despatched in excuse for his non-appearance. Sir
Henry was highly irritated, and lent an ear all the more readily to
the poisonous suggestions of Shahbaz. With a view of clinching
matters, he replied to the letter with a direct refusal to communicate
further with Gul Ali unless he gave effect to his forced renunciation
by recognising his brother as Chief Khan.”

“But sure ’twas the wisest thing he could do!” Eveleen had been
bubbling over for some moments with the desire to speak. “Wouldn’t you
say the unfortunate old creature was silly? He can do no good for
himself or anybody else.”

Colonel Bayard was painfully taken aback. “I didn’t expect this from
you, Mrs Ambrose. Is the unhappy Gul Ali to be branded as a fool
because unfortunate? His misfortunes all spring from the misdeeds of
others.”

“Ah, but do they? Is he able to retain the fidelity of a single
supporter, will you tell me? Has he taken one bit of the advice you
have given him, or kept any single promise he has made? I grant you
he’s unfortunate, but I’d say with all my heart he was incapable as
well!”

“A Daniel come to judgment!” said Richard drily.

“And if he ain’t incapable,” pursued Eveleen, rushing on before
Colonel Bayard could speak, “he’s treacherous, believe me. As Ambrose
says, you don’t know the things he has been doing--stopping the
_dâks_ and attacking our boats on the river, besides the army he’s
been getting together. And when poor Sir Harry sends word that the
army is to be disbanded, all the old horror will do is to say there’s
no army to disband.”

“Precisely. How can he disband an army if he hasn’t got one? I grant
you that in their childish way the Khans have sought to lead Sir Henry
to think they were raising troops, but this was purely make-believe,
designed to deter him from attempting decisive measures against them.”

“Then they were finely mistaken in Sir Harry! But believe me, they
have been assembling their Arabit hordes for months. We have heard too
much of them to doubt that. Ah, don’t let your kind heart set you
against the General and all of us who see that unfortunate old
deceiver as he really is, and not as you do--an angel with wings a
weeshy bit muddy!”

“I have brought this upon myself, I suppose----” with a pique he could
not disguise. “But don’t be afraid, ma’am. I value my friends too
highly to part company with ’em over a difference of opinion, and I
trust they’ll extend the like compliment to me. This last effort to
preserve the authority of the Khans and prevent bloodshed I’ll carry
through with my whole heart. If it fail, my work here is done. I am
merely, as Sir Henry has more than once reminded me, a commissioner
under a peace treaty, and if there’s no treaty, I am at liberty to go
home.”

“Now why would such a nice man be so unreasonable as all that?” asked
Eveleen mournfully as he left them.

“Why, my dear, ain’t all nice people the same, in your estimation?”
Richard’s tone tried to be jaunty--not very successfully.

“Like yourself? Well, I wouldn’t say quite all--but a good many,
certainly. But sure Bayard will never be able to call Sir Harry
unreasonable after this. Did y’ever see anything like the way he has
given in to him time and again?”

“I own I never thought he had it in him to be so patient. If Bayard
succeeds in persuading the Khans to consult their own interests and
submit, they will have the General to thank, not themselves.”

“And if they won’t consult their own interests, and will not submit,
there’s not a soul on earth can accuse Sir Harry of dealing with them
hastily.”

“I don’t say that. People can say strange things. But if the Khans
have an anna’s worth of sense in their foolish heads, they will
submit--having stood out to the very last moment.”

“Well, I’m sorry for it!” said Eveleen. “Why, now”--as he looked at
her in amazement,--“have you forgotten I was against the silly
creatures from the first? Ever since Bayard said he had no power to
make them treat the women properly, don’t you know?”

“I had forgotten, certainly. Now I have some faint recollection----”

“Y’are very flattering!” sharply.

“If you expect me to remember all the contradictory speeches you make
on all sorts of topics, I fear, my dear----”

“When you talk like that, you make me feel I’d do _anything_--anything
in the wide world--to make an impression, to let you feel you had to
reckon with me.”

“My dear, pray don’t! I assure you it ain’t necessary any longer.”
Whether his alarm was real or pretended she could not distinguish.
“Henceforth your wildest utterances shall be most carefully weighed.
You forget you have already carried out your threat--by presenting
yourself here. If we get through, I promise you won’t find me
disregarding your threats again.”

“You don’t put it _very_ nicely,” she complained. “But tell me
now--d’ye really think we’ll have to fight?”

But apparently Richard repented his freedom of speech. “Not a bit of
it!” crushingly. “What I’m afraid of is that you will be actually and
literally bored to death.”

And not a word more would he say, though Eveleen tried coaxing and
reproaches in turn. Indignant though she was at the time, however,
there were moments, after they had reached Qadirabad, when she began
to feel his prophecy might come true. Whatever excitement there might
be for the men, who rode daily to the Fort to discuss Lord Maryport’s
treaty with the Khans in durbar, life at the Residency was the very
acme of dulness for the woman left at home. If Eveleen had expected to
be able to resume her former pursuits, she was mistaken. She blamed
herself bitterly for not having brought a horse--difficult though it
might have been for poor Captain Franks to find room for it--for the
lack of one played into the hands of her natural enemies. Any man who
prevented, or sought to prevent, Eveleen from riding when she wished
to ride was a natural enemy, and all the members of the
Mission--soldiers and Politicals alike--were immovably united in the
determination that she should not go outside the walls. The only
exception to this rule was the permission to go out by the water-gate,
cross an uninviting tract of sand which was really part of the bed of
the river, but now dry, and thus gain access to the _Asteroid_, which
lay in a meagre trickle called a channel. But this excursion was as
unsatisfying as the ride round the garden, which was the only one
allowed her--if not quite so tantalising,--and she did not repeat it.
If she was not to sink to the lowest depths and gossip with Ketty, she
must find her interests in that dreary treaty, which seemed to be
debated for hours day after day, but never signed. Poor Colonel Bayard
might have been the Khans’ bitterest enemy, instead of their most
tried and persevering friend, by the way they treated him. His
championship of their cause--expressed indiscreetly, perhaps, to Gul
Ali and his retainers--was made an excuse, and a perpetually recurring
one, for tormenting him. Was he really in sympathy with the deposed
Chief, whose honours had been so shamefully filched from him? Oh,
well, if he said so, it must be presumed to be true, but Gul Ali had
heard rumours---- And in any case, if he was on the side of the
oppressed, why was he representing their chief adversary, the Bahadar
Jang? Would he show his friendship by getting Gul Ali replaced in his
position of supremacy, and punishing the presumptuous Shahbaz? Over
and over again, by varying paths, the discussion was led dexterously
to this point, at which the harassed emissary could only reply that he
had no power whatever to interfere with the Governor-General’s
decisions; the utmost he could do would be to urge the expediency of
modifying them. This was not at all what was wanted, and the bald
question invariably followed: If you are a friend, and yet can do
nothing to help us, why are you here? The reply that he had hoped to
make submission easier by entreating instead of imposing it was not at
all in accordance with the Khans’ idea of a friend’s duties.

It almost seemed as though Colonel Bayard might have gone on
indefinitely presenting the treaty, and the Khans talking about it,
had not the spur been applied which the envoy had been dreading. He
had written feverish letters almost daily, entreating the General to
return to Sahar with his force--or at least to remain stationary, and
not pursue the route he had taken on leaving Sultankot, which would
bring him to the river about half-way to Qadirabad. It was the death
blow to his hopes when the news came that not only had Sir Harry
emerged safely on the river bank from the desert, but his flying
column had been joined there by the troops he had left at Bidi. The
effect on the Khans was no less marked. Their Vakils sealed that very
day the pledge which bound them to accept the treaty.

“Did y’ever see a man look so miserable when he’d got what he’d been
fighting for for a week?” demanded Eveleen of her husband when Colonel
Bayard had brought the draft home--not at all in triumph--and laid it
up in his desk. “You’d say he was sorry they have signed, instead of
glad.”

“I believe you. He don’t know whether to blame Sir Henry most for his
show of force, or their Highnesses for permitting themselves to be
affected by it.”

“But sure they couldn’t have gone on hesitating for ever!”

“He had hopes, I’m certain, of inducing the General to promise that if
they would sign the treaty, Gul Ali should get back his Turban. Of
course Sir Henry has no power to promise anything of the kind--it
rests with the Governor-General, and he will never grant it.”

“Well, if I was poor Bayard, I’d be glad the matter was settled and
out of my hands.”

“Pardon me--not if you were he. You would be more unhappy than ever,
because you had not succeeded in averting the misfortune. There’s a
sort of twist in his mind where his dear Khans are concerned. To him,
they and the General alike are pawns in the hand of Shahbaz, who is
the greatest villain existing, and advises all to their destruction.”

“But sure they are all dead against Shahbaz!”

“That’s merely another proof of the man’s cunning. Bayard has
persuaded himself that Shahbaz is so steeped in plots he can’t eat his
pillau without some ulterior object, while his poor simple brother and
nephews, beguiled by his subtlety, are innocent lambs asking to be
shorn. Lambs, indeed! much more like wolves, they look to other
people.”

“Then you think there’s danger?” Eveleen’s eyes were sparkling.

“I do think so, and I’ll tell you why. Perhaps it will make you more
contented to stay indoors, as you are told. The city is swarming with
Arabits, whose demeanour is as uncivil as they dare, though for the
moment they are held in check. Through some extraordinary blindness,
Bayard don’t see them--as a danger, at any rate. Not an armed man in
the streets, he writes to the General. They all have their swords and
shields--what does he expect of ’em? muskets and revolving pistols?
Their matchlocks are close at hand, I haven’t a doubt. And all our
spies bring in word of fresh bands--either concealed at a convenient
distance from the city, or pressing towards it from all quarters.
Kamal-ud-din alone, they say, has assembled ten thousand men, and is
approaching by forced marches. And here are we allowing ourselves to
be played with, while precious time--every day of which augments the
Arabit hosts--is lost!”

“Now I wonder why wouldn’t you tell Bayard that?” asked Eveleen
curiously.

“Do you think I haven’t?” he laughed shortly. “I try to bring the
reports to his notice, but he has no eye for ’em--too much engrossed
with the unmerited sufferings of that crew at the Fort. I wonder what
will be their next expedient for gaining time? He will allow himself
to be taken in by it, I’ll wager, through sheer remorse at having
conquered ’em so far!”

But perhaps the Khans thought their hold on Colonel Bayard was wearing
a little thin. At any rate, their next step was taken entirely without
his assistance. When he opened his desk in the morning, that he might
take the draft treaty with him to the Fort, the treaty was
gone--without any sign of violence, or even the forcing of the lock.
In this the thieves had overreached themselves. There were only two
keys to the desk, one of which was in Colonel Bayard’s own possession,
the other in that of his Munshi. The Munshi was a Qadirabad man, and
had returned to his home there when his employer left Khemistan for
Bombay, so that the Khans had had some three months in which to exert
upon him the various methods of persuasion in which they excelled.
Arrested promptly, he was so grievously surprised and terrified that
he made a full confession. For a handsome consideration, he had
unlocked the desk in the night and turned his back for a moment, then
locked the desk again, having seen and heard nothing. That was all he
knew, but the work had all to be done again.

For once, however, Colonel Bayard refused to take the part of his
gentle protégés. To corrupt his servant and break into his house,
that they might destroy the draft they had signed of their own free
will, was too much even for him. The treaty was gone, but in durbar
that day he took a high tone which brought the Khans to heel like
whipped dogs. They apologised piteously for the misdeed of some
unnamed retainer, who had been led away by the hope of helping his
masters to bribe the Munshi and steal and destroy the paper. They had
known nothing of the crime, they declared, and to prove it they would
set their seals the very next day to the treaty itself--not a mere
draft this time, but the whole of Lord Maryport’s requirements. Having
made this tremendous concession, it would not have been the Khans if
they had not promptly endeavoured to nullify it by demanding that Gul
Ali should have the Turban restored to him; otherwise, they said, it
was quite unnecessary to make a new treaty, since they had never
broken the old one. But Colonel Bayard was still sufficiently
disgusted and disillusioned to reply with a curt negative, and
returned with his staff to the Residency through streets ominously
filled with a sullen throng, who surged up to the very horses of the
escort, and muttered curses on the Farangis.

When they went to the Fort the next day, there was not a man of the
Mission who did not feel doubtful whether he would ever return. The
crowds in the streets were larger and more menacing, and it was with
the utmost difficulty that a passage was forced through them. The
demeanour of the guards and attendants showed a scarcely veiled
insolence, and round the walls of the audience-chamber were ranged a
small army of wild-looking Arabits, armed to the teeth. After their
long acquaintance, the Khans ought to have known Colonel Bayard
better, for this suggestion of physical force was the one thing needed
to stiffen his temper. He refused even to enter the durbar-hall till
the additional guards were withdrawn, and declined to be placated by
the suggestion that they were there to do honour to the treaty. The
Khans were evidently flurried by his coldness, and affixed their seals
in some haste, Gul Ali only pausing to remark in heartrending tones
that he had laid his life and honour and everything he had at the feet
of the British, and they had taken it all away. Colonel Bayard’s
generous heart responded instantly to the plaint of ill-usage, and he
spoke impulsively. He could do nothing in the matter of the Turban--he
only wished he could--but he would beg Sir Henry Lennox to visit
Qadirabad and hear what the Khans had to say, in the hope that he
might accord as an act of grace what could not be given as a right.

The effect of his hasty speech was electrical. The Khans broke into
radiant smiles, and Khair Husain modestly expressed their unworthiness
to welcome the shining presence of the Bahadar Jang. His gestures were
so emphatic as almost to seem extravagant, and Brian, by a meaning
look, directed his brother-in-law’s attention to a slight confusion
among the servants at the door. The trays of sherbet were just being
brought in, which were the signal for the conclusion of the interview,
and as far as the two men, watching without appearing to do so, could
see, they were hastily carried out again and then brought in a second
time--or possibly others substituted. What was the reason? Poison was
the first thought in the minds of both, and it seemed as though it was
also in that of Khair Husain, for in a rather marked way he drank from
his cup first, and then passed it to Colonel Bayard. The Englishman
had seen nothing of the by-play, and accepted the honour as a mere
graceful compliment, but it seemed to Richard and Brian that Khair
Husain directed an eye towards them as he drank. When they left the
audience-chamber, they were surprised to find a band of Arabit
horsemen drawn up facing their own troopers. Little Hafiz Ullah Khan,
the youngest of the princely family, who was escorting them to the
gate, explained volubly--

“It is those _badmashes_ outside--we cannot control them. They are
angry because the treaty is signed and my great-uncle’s wrongs have
not been redressed, and they might show rudeness. Therefore we send an
escort of our own to see you safely through the town. Would the
Bahadar Jang be likely to shed the light of his radiant countenance
upon us if he heard that his servants had eaten _gali_ [abuse] in our
streets?”

The reasoning was very clear, but it was abundantly obvious that the
mob were prepared to use much more substantial weapons than abuse. All
down the long Bazar from the gateway of the Fort to the city gate, the
Mission had practically to fight its way. At Colonel Bayard’s earnest
entreaty, his companions succeeded in getting through without drawing
their swords, but in two or three ugly rushes they were forced to
defend themselves by laying about them with the scabbards. The
troopers of the Khemistan Horse were hard to restrain, but they found
some alleviation of their discontent in backing their horses among the
crowd, with a callous disregard of toes and shins. The Khans’ cavalry
did more talking than anything else, but the only time Richard Ambrose
had leisure to listen to them, what they said was significant--“Let
them pass. These men are nothing. Wait till the Bahadar Jang comes!”
Something suspiciously resembling a torrent of curses accompanied the
name, but it might have been directed at the crowd, whose own language
was blood-curdling. It was not until half the distance had been
covered that stones began to fly--the partially demolished house of a
man who had presumed to become unduly rich and had suffered for it
affording a supply of missiles. Then indeed the riders had a hot time,
for to the stones and iron-shod _lathis_ in the street were added
stones and curses from the roofs. Most of them received blows more or
less severe, and Richard had his cap knocked off and got a nasty gash
on the forehead. Happily Brian was in time to prevent his being
knocked off his horse, for any man who went down in that yelling,
swearing, spitting crowd would have small chance to rise again. But
the gate was nearly reached, and the Arabit escort--with the first
sign of common-sense that had distinguished them--made a semicircle
and beat back the mob while their charges were filing through the
narrow portal. Once safely outside, and dignity consulted by riding a
short way as if nothing had happened, they pulled up beside a well to
repair damages. One of the troopers of the escort had an arm broken,
and while Colonel Bayard and the surgeon were looking to him, Richard
submitted unwillingly to the ministrations of his brother-in-law,
which were necessary because the blood running down his face prevented
him from seeing.

“I cot your eye in the durbar just now,” said Brian hastily. “Would
you say you thought what I did?”

“I think the General has saved all our lives without knowing it.”

“But you wouldn’t say he’d come here?”

“I should say the Khans will have to live a good bit longer before
they catch _that_ old weasel asleep.”



 CHAPTER XIV.
 OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN--

/After/ that exciting ride home, profound peace reigned about the
Residency for a whole day, as though the Khans wished to give time for
the impression to sink in. Then their Vakils arrived again, in a high
state of alarm, with which they were desperately anxious to infect the
British. The Khans were absolutely powerless to restrain the Arabits,
they said--as Colonel Bayard had had some slight proof already. Their
feelings were outraged by the signing of the treaty, and they would
only accept it on the condition that Gul Ali was at once acknowledged
again as holder of the Turban, and that Sir Henry’s troops, which had
advanced steadily down the river bank till they were now within a few
marches of the capital, should be instantly withdrawn. Otherwise, the
ambassador would do well to surrender the treaty and depart, for the
Khans could not protect him. To the mingled wrath and despair of his
officers, the threatened loss of the treaty--which had been so hard to
win--induced Colonel Bayard to write urging Sir Harry not merely to
come to Qadirabad and re-establish Gul Ali on the _masnad_, but to
withdraw his army into the desert--as far as the remote fortress of
Khangarh, near the British border,--that his peaceful intentions might
be made thoroughly clear. He told the Vakils what he had written,
pointing out that it would have no effect unless the Khans could keep
the Arabits under control, and they accepted the warning and withdrew
with all gravity, though their errand must have seemed to them
successful to the point of absurdity.

The next day Eveleen was in the garden--in the uncomfortable state
popularly described as finding herself at a loose end. She had tried
to nurse Richard, but Richard as an invalid was neither grateful nor
gracious. She wanted to fuss over him, and he ruthlessly declined to
be fussed over. He did not wish to be read to--perhaps this was not
surprising, since the only available reading consisted of back numbers
of various Bombay papers, singing the praises of Colonel Bayard and
patronising the General’s wisdom in perceiving in him the only man to
deal with the situation,--he did not wish to be talked to or otherwise
amused; all he asked was to be let alone and allowed to smoke in
peace. Thereupon Eveleen naturally went off in a huff--thereby, as she
realised presently with disgust, assuring him precisely the selfish
tranquillity he craved--and established herself in a shady spot, where
a masonry platform had been built under the shelter of two or three
large trees, to recover her equanimity. It was unfortunate for this
purpose that her position brought her in view of her old antagonist
the gardener, who had cheerfully ascribed the lack of garden produce
to the Beebee’s interference at the beginning of the cold weather.
Nevertheless, after the manner of his kind, he was able to supply
vegetables--at a price,--and Eveleen raged in vain when he exhibited
blandly his empty garden-beds. She was quite sure that he had sold
everything they contained, and was now suborning some other gardener
to do the same, though it was not quite clear who in Qadirabad would
be likely to have a taste for European vegetables. Perhaps it was Tom
Carthew, she thought, and wondered idly how he was getting on in his
uncomfortable, half-and-half, secretive life.

As so often happens, the thought was followed at no great distance by
the appearance of its object, though Eveleen did not perceive this at
first. What she saw from her point of vantage was an interested group
of women and children near the stables, gathered round a man who
seemed to be selling something. It was most probably sweets, she
thought, and remembering that she had not yet given the people in the
compound the treat which was their due after her long absence, she
told Ketty to fetch the man. It was altogether beneath Ketty’s dignity
to enter the domains of the syce-folk, but there was a servant close
at hand, specially detailed by Colonel Bayard to watch over the safety
of her Madam-sahib, and she despatched him on the errand. It was
rather a disappointment to find that the pedlar was not selling
sweets, but glass bangles--designed for what seemed impossibly slender
wrists--strung on rods according to size. Still, these would please
the women, at any rate, and she sent Ketty to the house for her purse
while she made her selection. To her astonishment, the moment the ayah
was out of hearing, the pedlar spoke in English--low and hastily.

“Don’t look at me, Miss Evie; I’m risking my life to be here, but it’s
to save yours. What was the Major thinkin’ of to bring you with him at
a time like this?”

“He didn’t bring me; I came,” returned Eveleen with dignity. “Now why
would you be risking your life, Tom Carthew?”

“Because they had it all ready to murder the Colonel and the gentlemen
two days ago, and though they were put off it then they mean to do it
now. You tell the Colonel, ma’am, not to trust Khair Husain Khan. I’ll
tell you how he’ll know what the rascal’s up to. He’ll come and offer
to post a guard of his servants to protect this place--and if you
accept, the guard will murder you all in your beds.”

“Now I wonder will the Colonel believe it?” mused Eveleen, her heart
beating a little faster than usual.

“He’d better. Why, ma’am, it was touch and go t’other day. The Khans
had made up their minds to cut up the Colonel into little pieces,
because he pretended to be their friend and was deceivin’ ’em. Then
when he made ’em send away the guards, they had the sherbet ready to
poison him--and they’d have done it too, but for what he let drop
about bringing the General here. They are fair set on gettin’ hold of
the General, and it won’t be cuttin’ into little bits for him. They’ve
sworn to put a cord through his nose and drag him round the city at
the tail of young Hafiz Ullah’s horse, for the people to see, and
after that--well, they call him Satan’s brother after his getting to
Sultankot as he did, never runnin’ across any of the bands that was
looking for him.”

“I wonder now, did they look very hard?” There must be no showing the
white feather, though Eveleen’s hands felt clammy, and her thoughtful
voice was a little shaky.

“They say they did, anyhow. Well, you can guess what they think is the
proper way to treat the devil. But will the General be coming, ma’am?”

“I’d say he would not.” Relentless cross-examining of Richard and
Brian had convinced Eveleen of this. “But sure the Khans will do
nothing till he has written to say so?”

“You might have said that yesterday, but something has happened this
morning to change their minds. There was a lot of Bharri chiefs on
their way here, and they came slap up against the General’s army.
Whether it was just brag, or they wanted to pick a quarrel, I don’t
know, but they made to ride straight through the camp of the Khemistan
Horse, and got taken prisoners. When the news came in, all the Khans
cried out at once that it was war now, and the General wouldn’t come.
That’s all I know.” His eyes were on the approaching form of Ketty,
and he began to rearrange his wares.

“No, but tell me quickly, what do they mean to do?” urged Eveleen.

“I’ve told you what they mean to do to the General. For his army, they
swear they have men enough to drive it into the river, without drawin’
a sword--just pushing. Then cut the throats of every English man,
woman, and child left in Khemistan. That’s what they mean to do.”

“But you can’t stay with them! Come here to us.”

“No, ma’am, I’ve made my bed and I must lie on it. Make the Beebee
understand that I am a poor man, and cannot possibly sell at the price
she offers,” he went on whiningly as Ketty came up. “Why must I be
ruined because I cannot afford a shop in the Bazar?”

The invitation to bargain roused Ketty’s keenest instincts.
Metaphorically she shouldered her mistress out of the fray, and fell
upon the unhappy bangle-seller tooth and nail. She brought him down
from annas to pice, and then pice by pice until he declared
truly--though she naturally thought it was falsely--that his wares had
cost him more to buy. Then she suddenly reflected that the
Madam-sahib’s wealth and importance would suffer in the estimation of
the servant people if she was known to drive too keen a bargain, and
with a royal air accepted on her behalf his last offer, informing him
unkindly that it was in consideration of his obvious wretchedness.
Eveleen, standing by and fuming, had to curb her impatience still
further and bid the pedlar follow her to a spot commanding a nearer
view of the stables, whence she watched him fitting the bangles to the
arms of the recipients, and received their grateful salams, and then
only was she free to return to the house, and burst in upon Richard
with her news. It was just as well he was not the serious invalid she
had wished to make him, for she could not possibly have kept her story
in any longer, and he had to remind her--as soon as he was able to
understand what she was driving at--that the source of the warning
must remain a secret. This had not occurred to her, and she was so
much shocked at her own carelessness that she consented--though sorely
against the grain--to postpone warning Colonel Bayard until he came of
his own accord to smoke a cigar with Richard. To send for him would
have aroused suspicion as readily as to go to speak to him in his
office and ask that the native clerks might be sent out of hearing,
and the delay had also the advantage of allowing Tom Carthew time to
get back to the city before suspicion could be aroused.

But it was very hard to wait, and when Colonel Bayard came at last,
his reception of the great news was disappointing in the extreme. At
first it seemed as if he would not believe it at all.

“There’s no likelihood whatever of Khair Husain’s offering to send
troops to protect the Agency,” he said. “It would be a gross insult,
and he wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But why should the Daroga suggest such a thing unless it had been
discussed?” asked Richard, for his wife was too much taken aback to
remonstrate.

“The man wants to safeguard his own neck, of course. He thinks, very
naturally, that Sir Henry is determined to destroy the Khans, and is
afraid he will suffer for being mixed up with them. So he tries to
establish a claim on our gratitude in advance by making up this tale.”

“But sure he was risking his life by coming to warn us!” cried
Eveleen, with flashing eyes. “Would you take no notice of what he
said?”

“Happily,” said Richard, in his coolest tones, “we shall be able to
test his truthfulness very shortly. If Khair Husain does offer to send
troops, the warning is confirmed.”

“But if Bayard has made up his mind not to take it?” Eveleen spoke
before Colonel Bayard could. He raised his hand in protest.

“Not made up my mind, ma’am--you’re mistaken there. I should hardly
feel justified in ignoring such a warning--yet to refuse the offer
would be a precious strong step to take. Khair Husain would naturally
feel himself ill-used.”

“But if you accepted it, we would _be_ ill-used,” said Eveleen
triumphantly. “Would you really like that better? And didn’t you
yourself just this minute say the offer would be an insult?”

“My dear Richard, there was a great casuist lost in Mrs Ambrose.”
Colonel Bayard managed to keep his indulgent air, though Eveleen felt,
and looked, as though she would like to box his ears. “And what,
ma’am”--kindly--“would be your idea of the proper procedure when the
offer had been refused?”

“Of course, I’d like greatly to be in a real fight,” said Eveleen
regretfully. “But”--summoning all the forces of duty and self-denial
to her aid--“I know you gentlemen will all cry out with one voice
that’s my bloodthirsty nonsense.” Deeply shocked, Colonel Bayard
negatived the suggestion with a deprecating hand. “Ah, don’t I know
it? So I’ll be moderate and sensible, and only say I suppose we ought
all get up the river again in the _Asteroid_.”

“And betray my trust here?” It was his turn to triumph. “No, ma’am, I
came to Qadirabad by the General’s orders”--he disregarded a sound as
of dissent from Richard,--“and here I stay until either I am turned
out or Sir Henry sends me orders to leave. But my first duty--Ambrose,
I know you will be with me in this--is to assure the safety of the
lady who has laboured so pluckily to save our lives, as she believes.
I will send word to Franks that Mrs Ambrose will sleep on board
to-night.”

“You think there’ll be a fight, and you won’t let me be in it?” Her
undisguised anguish and dismay brought back Colonel Bayard’s sunny
smile.

“Precisely!” he said, the last vestige of his ill-humour vanishing.
“Why, what curs you must think us, ma’am, to be willing to expose you
to a peril against which you have yourself warned us!”

Richard laughed--he could not help it--and Eveleen glared from one to
the other. “I’ll never speak a word to either of y’again--unless I
have to!” she declared wrathfully, and swept majestically from the
room. For the rest of the day she refused to be comforted or placated,
and made Richard very angry--because he felt she was making him
ridiculous--by declining to address him directly, and sending him
messages through Ketty, though they were on the same verandah.
Therefore he triumphed in his turn when, after being summoned to be
present when Colonel Bayard received a Vakil from Khair Husain Khan,
he was able to meet her again with a fine air of mystery.

“Something very queer about this----” shaking his head solemnly as he
sat down. “Giving warning is one thing, but playing the enemy’s
game----! Now why should she----?”

“Who are you talking about?” demanded Eveleen quickly. He ignored the
question.

“To offer precisely similar advice! Can she be in league with their
Highnesses? Yet how communicate with ’em? Something strange here----”

“Major Ambrose, are you talking about me?” Eveleen had flown to the
side of his chair, and was shaking him.

“My dear, I thought I was an invalid?” meekly. “May I not speak of
you, if it’s forbidden to speak to you?”

“Ah, then, don’t be such a tease! What’s it all about?”

“Does it flatter you to know that Khair Husain thinks precisely as you
do? The Vakil advised Bayard most earnestly to be off by water at once
if he would not accept the guard of troops, for the Khans can’t
restrain the Arabits any longer.”

“It’s flattered I am, indeed! But I won’t be if Bayard took his advice
when he wouldn’t take mine.”

“Don’t be afraid. He swore he wouldn’t budge an inch nor post an extra
sentry--told ’em to do their worst, in fact. So you are likely to
enjoy your wish and see a fight.”

“I never said I’d like to see one,” indignantly. “I said I wanted to
be in it!”

“Well, seeing it is the next best thing, surely?” But Eveleen did not
think so.

“If I’d known I would be punished for saving all our lives, I wouldn’t
have done it,” she said tragically to Brian as they walked down to the
river after dinner. It was thought better for her to make her
unwilling exit in the dark, lest hostile watchers, seeing it, should
interpret it as a sign of fear.

“Be aisy, then,” returned Brian. “You couldn’t have kept it in.”

“Couldn’t--eh? What are y’after now?”

“You had to give the warning, I tell you. You couldn’t have held your
tongue, if it was to save all our lives, and ’twas just the opposite
in this case.”

“D’ye tell me I couldn’t hold my tongue if ’twas necessary? A fine
brother y’are--to insult your own sister!”

“We’ll consult Ambrose, if you like. Will you say he wouldn’t agree
with me?”

“Of course he would. Gentlemen always agree with one another.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have him agree with you, when all his experience
went the other way, would you?”

“Wr-r-r-retch!” said Eveleen, with such a terrific rolling of her
_r_’s that Richard turned round and asked if she couldn’t get a few
more in. She disdained to reply, and happily at this moment they
reached the sandbank to which the _Asteroid_ was moored, and were met
at the foot of the gangway by Captain Franks in a high state of
pleasurable excitement.

“Welcome on board, ma’am! I have good news for you, sir----” to
Colonel Bayard. “There! d’ye hear that?”

“A steamer’s whistle?” in astonishment.

“Precisely, sir--the whistle of the _Nebula_, no less, with the Light
Company of Her Majesty’s --th on board, sent off post-haste by Sir
Henry, as soon as he saw things were getting risky here.”

“A welcome reinforcement, indeed!” said Colonel Bayard heartily. “We
must see that the news gets to the Khans at once. They will find it
easy enough to restrain the Arabits now. But how did you hear of this,
captain?”

“Why, sir, finding the river so low, Captain Warner was afraid of
running aground in the dark, so he sent his mate and two men in the
dinghy to find us and see where the channels were, and I sent my mate
back to pilot ’em in.”

“Well done. We must get ’em ashore at once--make a regular _tamasha_
of it, so that the spies in the bazar may take exaggerated reports to
the Fort. This is an enormous relief to my mind.”

“And incidentally to mine,” remarked Richard to Brian, as Colonel
Bayard handed Eveleen up the gangway to the deck, whither Captain
Franks preceded them to receive her properly. “Has it struck you that
we three become civilians from the moment Montgomery and his fellows
arrive?”

“D’ye tell me that? Ah, I see it! The Colonel is a mere Political, you
and I nothing but Staff--ornamental but powerless. Senior officer in
command of European troops takes charge. What a do!”

“Better restrain your joy a bit. We don’t want the notion to occur to
Bayard, or he’ll order the _Nebula_ to stand off till daylight, by
which time----”

“We’ll be smashed entirely,” supplied Brian. “I believe you, my boy!
Whereas if the Khans hear large reinforcements have arrived in the
night, they’ll wait till morning to attack, so as to get a good look
at ’em first.”

With much shrieking of whistles and a lavish display of lights, the
_Nebula_ was welcomed to her anchorage, and that the effect was not
wasted was clear from the array of villagers, roused from their beds
by the noise, who lined the bank above the Agency and watched the
landing with awed and not altogether pleasurable interest. Brian
pointed them out to Richard with a grin.

“Choused--eh?” responded Richard. “Every man of ’em went to bed
expecting to have the looting of the place in the morning, no doubt.
To see seventy-five Europeans, when you expected only to have thirty
dismounted sowars to deal with, must give you a bit of a shock.”

Brian nudged his elbow. “D’ye hear what Montgomery’s saying? We ain’t
out of the wood yet.”

“You are well supplied with ammunition, I trust, Colonel?” the --th
Captain was asking. “We came off in such a hurry that half-way here I
found to my annoyance we have nothing but the ten rounds apiece in the
men’s pouches.”

“Well, we could not stand a prolonged siege, certainly,” laughed
Colonel Bayard, “but that will matter less, as I am convinced we shall
not now have to fight at all.”

But Colonel Bayard was wrong. Whether the Arabits were really beyond
their masters’ control, or whether the spies in the village just
outside the Agency wall had gauged the extent of the reinforcement and
adjudged it negligible, morning light showed that the place was
surrounded, though the various bodies of horse and foot whose presence
could be distinguished betrayed no indecent alacrity to come out into
the open or approach too near. There was nothing in the nature of a
surprise, for Captain Montgomery lacked Colonel Bayard’s pathetic
faith in the Khans, and even a night attack would have found the
garrison prepared. Unfortunately there was no time now to take the
precautionary measures which should have been put in hand before. Save
on the side of the river, assailants might find cover in every
direction almost up to the walls, and at two points the compound was
actually commanded from without--by the native village which had grown
up as a sort of adjunct to the stables, and on the opposite side by a
house forming a kind of outpost, where the doctor had formerly lived,
and which was too much detached to be occupied effectively by so small
a garrison. Reluctantly Montgomery dismissed the idea of blowing it
up, since the powder could not be spared, and left it outside the line
of the defences. The two strong points were the Residency itself and a
range of office buildings, high and flat-roofed, which had fortunately
been placed so as to command both the village and the all-important
landing-stage. Montgomery observed caustically that it was quite
impossible Colonel Bayard could have put it there deliberately, so
that its defensive value was a happy accident. From it communication
could be maintained with the steamers by means of flag signalling, and
thus it was that Eveleen was able to keep in touch with the events of
that long morning from the shelter contrived for her close under one
of the paddle-boxes. The _Asteroid_ was a most peaceful craft, since
her builders had evidently considered bulwarks unnecessary for river
work, and her flush deck afforded no protection whatever to any one
upon it. She mounted a twelve-pounder gun, for which a breastwork had
been built up forward of boxes and cases of all sorts, and a similar
wall was erected about Eveleen and Ketty, outside which they were
forbidden to stir. Since the paddle-box cut off all view of the shore,
Eveleen insisted on having one look before she was built up in her
cell; but there was not much to see, even from the top, since the
lowness of the river left the Residency on a kind of mud cliff
considerably above the vessel. But she could see little puffy clouds
of smoke, rising and dissipating themselves slowly in the morning sky,
and followed by reports--more or less loud as they came from the heavy
matchlocks of the enemy, or the muskets which the --th were firing
through the loopholes they had cut in the mud wall with their
bayonets. On the right the reports sounded more distant, but almost
continuous--a sort of perpetual popping; but on the left shot answered
shot, as the enemy fired from cover among the village houses, and the
European marksmen replied from the office roof. Captain Franks hurried
her down, refusing to let her stay another moment, but she extracted
from him that the attack on the right was what he feared most, owing
to the expenditure of ammunition necessary to keep down the fire from
the Doctor’s House. He did not tell her, but there was another danger
at this point, in the shape of a nullah which formed a kind of covered
way right up to the wall, and which could be enfiladed only from the
Doctor’s House, so that a body of resolute men might assault with but
little fear of loss. It was noticeable, however, that the enemy, in
spite of their enormous superiority in numbers, betrayed no desire
whatever to come to close quarters, seeming satisfied with obliging
the besieged to expend their ammunition--largely wasted, of course,
owing to the ample cover around. The firing had gone on for close upon
three hours, and Eveleen, stifling in her nook among the boxes, had
assured Captain Franks piteously several times that she would rather
be shot than cooked, when a new sound, making itself heard in a
momentary lull, caused the Captain to prick up his ears--a sound of
rumbling and clanking.

“Guns, or I’m a Dutchman!” he said to himself, and noticed how the
signalman--who but the moment before had been assuring him cheerfully
that there were masses of the enemy in the village, but they durst not
leave cover; that the orchard was full of them, but not one could even
lift up his head to look over the wall; that the three men guarding
the gate into the bazar from the stables had not even had to fire a
shot--stiffened up suddenly and listened. Captain Franks listened too.
Where would the guns get to work--from the bazar square, whence they
could not merely knock the defences to pieces, but cut off the retreat
of the besieged? But no, the enemy were taking no risks, and the old
sailor was conscious of a kind of vicarious shame on their behalf as
he realised that they would not face the fire from the office roof.
The rumbling and clanking continued along the road that flanked the
landward wall of the compound, and then seemed to drop. “The nullah!”
said Captain Franks, and turned to decipher the signals which were
appealing urgently for his attention.

“‘To fall back from the front of the compound on the Residency, and
withdraw in an hour, when baggage has been evacuated.’ So we cut our
stick!” said Captain Franks. “What now? ‘Captain Delany will proceed
on board _Nebula_, and endeavour to rake nullah.’ Easier said than
done, if you ask me!” But he passed on the signal to his subordinate,
and presently Brian and his orderly ran down the path and across the
sandbanks. Once they were on board, the _Nebula_ dropped down a little
way till she was level with the nullah, and her people passed a
strenuous hour in trying to give their pop-gun sufficient elevation
for its shots to clear the cliff and drop in upon the enemy guns. No
very marked effect seemed to be produced--certainly there was no
direct hit,--but that a certain moral suasion was exercised seemed
clear from the fact that they did not open fire. Meanwhile, the
baggage-parties were busy as ants upon the cliff path and the hard
sands. Horses came down--to be put on board the flat-bottomed boat by
which they had come,--wounded men, to be made as comfortable as
possible on the shadeless deck, with the sun blazing down upon them,
for the only alternative was the oven-like depths below. Then came the
servants, to huddle together wherever they could find room,
whitey-brown with fear, some chattering spasmodically, some awestruck
into silence. As the baggage began to arrive--all sorts of things, of
all shapes and sizes,--there was work to be done, and Captain Franks
and his mate fell upon the servants with voice and threatening
fist--feebly cheered by the delighted wounded--until they roused
themselves sufficiently to help in piling packages to serve as a
bulwark. Then came a slow-moving party bearing still burdens
shoulder-high, and several rigid forms were laid reverently on the
deck forward, and covered with a tarpaulin.

As if this was a signal, the sound of a bugle came from the Agency--a
bugle which, though she had been warned to expect it, made Eveleen
shrink and shiver in her shelter, for it sounded the Retreat. Like a
reply to it came a burst of heavy firing, which was so alarming that
she was thankful when Captain Franks shouted down to her, “Only
covering the retreat on the office, ma’am!” Presently he added,
“They’re marching down from the water-gate now. Soon have ’em all safe
on board!” Almost as he spoke the noise of rumbling and clanking began
again, and he was black in the face before he could make her hear.
“They’ve found out how we’ve diddled ’em. S’pose they’ll bring the
guns round this way now.”

Before he had finished, Eveleen had pushed down part of her barricade
and climbed over the rest, and was running up the ladder to his side.
In ordinary circumstances he would have felt bound to rebuke her, but
he was too busy watching the last stages of the retreat--the troops
arriving section by section at the water-gate and marching down the
path, and last of all, the defenders of the office dropping from the
back windows and covering the rear as skirmishers. Even now the enemy
hesitated to press them closely, and one or two round shot from the
_Asteroid_ quite dispelled any thought of interfering with the march
across the sandbanks; but the rumbling and clanking was coming closer
again, and Captain Franks hailed Colonel Bayard with some anxiety.

“Get on board as quick as you can, sir, if you please! There ain’t no
time for being solemn. We’ve got the flat to pick up yet, and those
guns will have the range in a minute or two. _Nebula_, ahoy! Where do
you think you’re coming to?” for the smaller steamer had left her now
useless station opposite the nullah, and was forging up towards the
_Asteroid_. Captain Warner indicated by a thumb Brian on the bridge
beside him.

“Why, to help in the fight, of course!” shouted that young man
brightly. “We’ve got a gun too, have we not?”

“Yes, but you ain’t going to use it,” returned Captain Franks, losing
all sight of the fact that military authority was now paramount.
“Cap’en Warner”--they were now so close that he had not even to use
his speaking-trumpet--“you know that wood-pile you passed three miles
up? If the enemy think of that, we’re gone geese! Full steam ahead and
stand by to protect it. If there’s nobody there, you get on board
every stick you can carry--enough for us as well as yourselves.”

“Don’t go, captain,” said Brian encouragingly. “He’s trying to do you
out of the fight. Sure I’ll stand by you.”

“You’ll be coming on board here in irons as a mutineer in another two
minutes, young gentleman,” returned Captain Franks savagely. “Cap’en
Warner, who’s senior skipper of this flotilla? You have your orders.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’en Franks!” responded Captain Warner peaceably. “You
coming with us, sir?”

“Not a bit of it!” said Brian, and jumped from one ship to the other
as the _Nebula_ drew away. He landed neatly on the paddle-box, but his
orderly, following as in duty bound, fell into the water, and had to
be rescued with ropes by the Irish soldiers, who were enjoying
themselves hugely. Hauling him up on deck meant displacing the bulwark
of boxes, which brought Captain Franks down from the bridge in wrath
to insist upon its being put back instantly, in which he was backed by
Captain Montgomery as soon as he understood what had to be done next.
The flat-bottomed boat containing the horses drew considerably less
water than the steamer, and lay farther up the little creek in the
sand, so that the _Asteroid_ had to back towards her for the tow-rope
to be attached, and go ahead again to tow her out. While this
manœuvre was going on, the twelve-pounder was necessarily out of
action, and the enemy, waxing bold, made their appearance in the dry
bed of the river, as though resolved to emulate the unique feat of the
French in the Texel, and capture a vessel by means of cavalry. But the
European soldiers, lying down behind the boxes, fired through the
openings between them, and though the small remainder of precious
ammunition was woefully diminished, the enemy’s courage soon
evaporated.

The danger was not over yet, however. The steamer was laden almost to
the water’s edge, and the flat overcrowded and difficult to move.
Twice she ran aground, and once the tow-rope broke, while the
resourceful enemy added to the confusion by opening fire from the
three guns he had by this time mounted under the trees by the
water-gate. Musketry was of no avail at such a distance, and the
_Asteroid_ drew off again and brought her gun to bear, while the mate
led a party of volunteers to the rescue of the flat. Three times was
she brought a little way in triumph, and three times was the triumph
checked, but at last she was got out into the stream, while the
_Asteroid_ kept down the fire of the prudent gunners at the gate. The
course of the river took the steamer and her unwieldy consort nearer
the shore again as they moved off, and they were assailed not only by
the guns, but by musketry fire from matchlockmen posted in every patch
of cover. Every one had to lie flat on the deck save Captain Franks,
who seemed to bear a charmed life as he conned his ship through the
winding channel. So obvious were the dangers of the navigation that
the enemy on the bank kept up with the steamer for two miles, in the
earnest hope of seeing her run aground, when they could have poured
down on the sands and stormed her. But she failed to fulfil their
expectation, and drew up at length level with the _Nebula_, placidly
taking in logs from a colossal stack on the opposite bank till she
looked like a floating wood-pile. They anchored for the night side by
side.

“And we never had a fight at all, at all!” said Brian.

“A pretty fair imitation of one,” said Richard. “You might let your
sister please herself with the belief that she has seen a fight at
last.”

“_Seen_ it?” demanded Eveleen tragically. “Not the least taste of it
did I see--except puffs of smoke. Would you call it seeing to be at
the bottom of a well, and hear all sorts of things going on without
knowing what they were?”

“Never mind, Mrs Ambrose,” said Montgomery. “You can always say you
were present at a fight, anyhow. Not that the famous Arabits put up
much of a fight, though.”

“No, indeed,” said Colonel Bayard sadly. “Why should they? They had no
desire to fight. They were driven to it.”

“You wouldn’t say they’d not have been uncommon glad to kill us, if it
could have been done without fighting, Colonel?” put in Brian slily.
Colonel Bayard took him up sharply.

“Nothing of the kind. Why should they wish to kill us? It was a
horrible mistake, and I could have prevented it all if the General had
given me a free hand!”



 CHAPTER XV.
 --INTO THE FIRE.

/Awakened/ at sunrise by the festive sound of a steam-whistle, the
fugitives from the Agency turned out to view the approach of a vessel
identified by Captain Franks as the _Galaxy_. European soldiers
clustered on her deck, and an officer waved greetings from the
paddle-box. As the steamers neared one another, Eveleen recognised him
as her old enemy Captain Crosse.

“Too late, I see!” he shouted lugubriously. “We start off _ek dum_ to
rescue you, and you’ve done the rescuing yourselves!”

“Why, what have you got on board?” asked Colonel Bayard.

“Fifty men and ten thousand rounds of ammunition, colonel--and
despatches. You were to hold on until the General came to relieve
you.”

“To relieve me? Sir Henry is close at hand, then?”

“Three hours’ steaming--certainly no more. We should have met you
sooner if we could have got on in the dark. Here’s the General’s
letter.” He held it out, and Brian, making a long arm from the
_Asteroid’s_ paddle-box, took it from him.

“Thanks. Come to breakfast, won’t you?” said Colonel Bayard shortly,
and withdrew a pace or two--there was no possible privacy in the
crowded ship--to read the despatch. Presently he beckoned to Richard.

“He is bent on fighting,” he said with a sigh. “Look here--this was
written after receiving mine sent after our return from the durbar,
when I said I feared we might be besieged, and asked for supplies. You
see he bids me point-blank break off negotiations, and make no further
efforts for peace.”

“Possibly he thought you had done all that could be done in that
line----” with great seriousness. “That was the letter in which you
urged him to send away the army and come to Qadirabad himself--eh?”

“Yes, I urged it most strongly. And what does he do? Destroys the last
hope of accommodation--orders me to leave the Agency at once and
rejoin him, or if that’s impossible, put up a good defence and wait
for him there.”

“But what else could he have done?” asked Richard curiously.

“Waited--shown some patience, some forbearance, instead of hurrying
things like this. The old man knows nothing of Oriental ways--that’s
the sole excuse for him.”

“I shall begin to think the General ain’t so far wrong in his estimate
of old Indians, when he says they have got more Oriental than the
Orientals themselves!” grumbled Richard to himself as Colonel Bayard
turned away from him abruptly to greet Captain Crosse as he came on
board.

“And I have a special message for Mrs Ambrose,” the visitor was
saying. “Sir Henry was highly displeased when he heard where she was,
and is sharpening his tongue to give her the scolding she deserves.”

“Sharpening his tongue, is it?” cried Eveleen in high scorn. “Sure
it’s hardening his heart he means--or trying to.”

“Have it your own way, ma’am,” said Captain Crosse pacifically. “No
doubt the General will argue it out with you, but I know better.”

That the General was quite ready to deal with every one as he or she
deserved was made plain when the steamers arrived level with his camp.
It lay some little distance from the river, but he had sent horses to
be ready for them, and as Colonel Bayard and his party rode on ahead
of the troops, an approaching cloud of dust showed that he was
welcoming them in person. In his usual breakneck style he dashed up
with his staff, and shook hands all round with his left hand, for his
right arm was in a sling.

“Ah, Mrs Ambrose! anywhere else I should have been proud to see you.
Glad you’re safe, Bayard. You have made a fine defence, sir--I shall
have much pleasure in reporting it in the proper quarter. A little bit
out of conceit with the Khans now--eh? Three times in one day you
wrote to me they hadn’t an armed man in Qadirabad save their own
servants, and two days later they were besieging you with seven or
eight thousand troops!”

“You are better informed than I, General.” Colonel Bayard spoke
somewhat stiffly. “How you have arrived at that exact figure----”

“Spies, man, spies! Not being glued to steamers, they came on while
you were all snoozing sweetly in the night, though they had to skirt
round to flank the _shikargahs_, which you must have passed in happy
innocence that a whole army was concealed there. I was taking their
lowest estimate. What do you make the numbers, then--eh?”

“Anything up to eighteen thousand men, General, from what we saw when
they tried to harass us from the bank.”

“H’m. My information suggests more than that. By the seven thousand I
meant those only who beset the Residency. And in a nasty resolute
temper--eh? You believe that now?”

“For the moment, nothing more. Believe me, their heart ain’t in it. If
you could have met their Highnesses face to face----”

“Heavens, man! if I had taken your advice, the army would still be
three days’ march away at least, and my reinforcement could never have
reached you in time.”

“A reinforcement without ammunition, General!”

“My orders were that they should have sixty rounds apiece, but they
were in such a hurry to be off they never took ’em.”

“Ah, with that sixty rounds we could have held out till you came. You,
General--not the army. Your presence would have removed all
difficulties.”

“Yes, and my head from my shoulders--as I said when I got your letter.
What! you won’t believe a word against your dear gentle Khans, even
now? D’ye know anything of an unfortunate white man--an American, so
they tell me--called Thomas, who commanded their artillery?”

“Why, yes, General. We owe him much gratitude----”

“Well, you’ll never have the chance of repaying him in this world.
Faced with the order to fire on persons of his own colour, he refused,
and they cut off his nose and ears, and killed him.”

“And ’twas his warning saved all our lives!” cried Eveleen wildly.
“Oh, poor Tom Carthew, poor poor Tom! And that was the man”--she faced
round suddenly on her husband--“you wanted to forbid me to speak to!”

“I suppose there’s no doubt, sir----?” asked Richard.

“None whatever, I fear. The spy hesitated to tell me--because, so
Munshi said, he didn’t like to bring such news about a sahib. I told
him to say the only thing it would make me angry to hear would be that
the Sahib had stooped to dishonour, and I gave the spy ten rupees when
he had revealed the sad yet glorious truth. Not much doubt there. A
word with you, Ambrose, if you please.”

For once Colonel Bayard had no defence to offer of the Khans’ action,
and he dropped behind with Eveleen, pretending, with his usual
kindness, not to notice the tears she was unable to conceal, while
Richard took his place beside Sir Harry. The old soldier was
perturbed.

“Is Bayard wilfully blind, or is he mad?” he demanded wrathfully as
they drew ahead. “I have been mistaken in the man. Nothing but
massacre will open his eyes.”

“I think he has been trying to force himself to retain confidence in
the Khans, sir; but surely his eyes must be opened now! Did you hear
that the attack on the Agency was directed by Khair Husain Khan, who
had offered the day before to bring his troops to protect us? I saw
him plainly with my telescope, leading his army industriously from the
rear.”

The General laughed--a short hard laugh. “Well, they have come to the
end of their tricks and evasions now! At nine to-morrow morning I lead
my gallant troops against ’em.”

“Have you stipulated with the Khans that they shall await your
onslaught, General?”

Sir Harry laughed again. “I think they will--I trust they will. Were
their numbers double the eighteen thousand Bayard gives ’em, I would
still advance, but they may well consider eighteen thousand fairly
matched against two. They are awaiting us at Mahighar. We march at
dawn, and they won’t find us backward in keeping the appointment.”

“Do you propose to attack ’em in front, sir?”

“I do. Look at this: I had the choice of two roads. By marching inland
I might have come on ’em from the rear and turned their right flank,
penning ’em up with their backs to the river. But if my plans
miscarried, I in my turn should run the risk of being dispersed and
cut off in detail, since I should have nothing behind me but the
desert. True, if successful, I might annihilate ’em, but I ain’t a
lover of bloodshed, though Bayard believes me one. Whereas, coming at
’em straight in front, if I am beat back I retreat on the river, where
are my steamers, and where I entrench myself while waiting for the
reinforcements I have ordered down from Sahar. Why don’t I wait for
’em? you’ll say. Because I have enough men to beat the Khans with, and
I won’t rob my troops of their glory by bringing in others to share
it.”

“’Pon my honour, General”--Richard spoke with unwonted enthusiasm--“I
believe you’ll find ’em answer your expectations.”

“I know I shall. There ain’t a regiment in Her Majesty’s Army I would
rather have with me than my dear uproarious Irish boys--as tumultuous
in peace as they are terrible in fight. But what I wished to ask you
was about Mrs Ambrose. Do you prefer her to return on board the
_Asteroid_ when we march, or to take the chances of the battle with
us?”

“That must be as you decide, General.”

“Nay, I beg of you to make the choice. In Spain no one would have felt
the least surprise at her remaining with you, but we do things
differently nowadays.”

“Honestly, sir, I should infinitely prefer to leave her in the charge
of Mr Franks, but I can’t flatter myself she would remain there unless
she chose.”

“Precisely. And to embark on adventures of her own selection in a
country swarming with enemies might entail consequences that would
load us with remorse for the rest of our days--and none more than
myself. She shall accompany you and the force, but I will give her a
little good advice first.”

“May I say, General, how deeply I deplore that Mrs Ambrose’s conduct
should require to engage your attention at such a moment?”

“Nonsense, my good fellow! I have often thought you don’t half
appreciate your good fortune in finding yourself linked to a lady
happily endowed with perennial youth. Now don’t look for a nasty
meaning when I intend a compliment of a sort, but do me the favour to
find out whether Bayard has any more maggots in his brain.”

This meant that Eveleen became Sir Henry’s companion. She did so with
a certain diffidence, for it had begun to dawn upon her that her
presence was not precisely welcome. Possibly Captain Crosse had aided
her to make the discovery by a muttered remark about charming ladies
who _would_ poke their noses in where they weren’t wanted. He had said
from the first that European women had no business in Khemistan, she
might remember? She did remember, but would not flatter him by
acknowledging it, nor take any notice now when he murmured what
sounded like “something like a wigging!” The news of Tom Carthew’s
death had subdued her a good deal, so that the severe glance Sir Harry
turned upon her did not, as it would generally have done, pique her to
fresh flightiness.

“And pray, ma’am, why did you force yourself into Colonel Bayard’s
mission to Qadirabad?” he asked her.

She scorned the quibble that the Colonel had said he would welcome her
presence. “Ah, now, Sir Harry, wouldn’t you have found Sahar dull if
you’d been me?”

“Was that your sole reason, pray?”

“Not a bit of it. Ambrose wouldn’t take me with him to Sultankot, so I
told him the next time I’d come without asking. And I did.”

“I see. That you might boast a cheap triumph over your husband, you
chose to double--or at least to add very largely to my anxieties at
this time?”

“Well now, to tell you the truth, I never thought of that!”

The confession was so naïve and unexpected that Sir Harry nearly
spoiled the effect of his lecture by laughing. But he managed to
preserve a proper severity of demeanour as he said, “Let me assure you
I have been a prey to the most serious apprehensions as to your
safety.”

“Indeed, then, I ought to be flattered that Sir Harry Lennox would
think of me at all at such a time.”

She must have scented the unreality of his last remark! “I fear,” he
said smoothly, “Mrs Ambrose would hardly be flattered did she realise
the nature of my thoughts. But if you have no consideration for me, is
there none due to my good friend your excellent husband?”

“And don’t I show my consideration by wanting to be with him wherever
he goes? Who could take better care of him, if he got hurt, than his
own wife?”

“Whom he would infinitely prefer to know in safety at Sahar! Have some
compassion on the poor fellow’s mind, ma’am--don’t keep it all for his
body. Believe me, you have no right to inflict these additional
anxieties on persons who have enough to think of already. You have had
a tolerable example, surely, in the fate of the unfortunate man
Thomas?”

“But sure it was for my sake he brought the warning, and saved all our
lives!” cried Eveleen indignantly.

“Possibly, though some inkling of what was in hand would probably have
reached Bayard in any case. But don’t it occur to you that the reason
the test was proposed to the unhappy man was that his errand had been
divined, and he was given the choice of proving his fidelity to his
employers or expiating what they would consider his treachery?”

“Do you tell me he lost his own life by saving ours?”

“In consequence of saving them, as far as I see. The honour of your
friendship, ma’am, ain’t without its penalties. Shocking rude old
fellow, ain’t I?” as she gazed at him incredulously. “Believe me, I
would withdraw that remark if I could, but what does your own
conscience say about it?”

“It’s cruel y’are!” wept Eveleen. “When you know I would die for my
friends!”

“Pardon me,” drily--“they die for you, you mean.”

“Ah, cruel, cruel! As if I’d ever, ever go where I wasn’t wanted
again!”

“Come! now I have hopes of you. Does that mean that if I can find a
safe place for you among the baggage to-morrow, you pledge your word
to stay where you are put and do what you are bid?”

“Oh, and I’ll see the battle?” joyfully.

“Impossible to say, but I should think it unlikely. Will you do
absolutely what you are told--whether you find yourself in a good
place for seeing or not?”

“I will, I will! and I’ll be grateful to y’all my days.”

“May they be many!” Sir Harry’s tone was still dry. “If you don’t keep
your word they won’t be--that’s all.”

“Ah, then, would y’have the heart to have me shot?”

“Quite unnecessary. The enemy will see to that if you go running about
the country--or our own camp-followers, who are the choicest mob of
rascals I ever saw. I know they’re capable of any enormity, because
they treat their dumb beasts so abominably. I owe this to one of
’em”--he indicated his bandaged right hand.

“Why, did y’interpose to prevent a blow and receive it yourself, Sir
Harry?” with interest.

“Not precisely. A scoundrel was knocking his poor camel about, and my
fist found its way to his forehead. The fellow had a head like a rock!
It was my hand that was smashed; he remained unhurt. Munshi tells me
that the rascals have a game of running at one another with their
heads down, butting like rams, and I believe it--save that the sport
must be too harmless to be profitable.”

“I’m glad ’twas for a camel you did it,” said Eveleen. “Anybody would
defend a horse, but y’are the only one that’s really fond of camels,
don’t you know?”

Sir Henry looked at her suspiciously, and took advantage of
circumstances to change the subject with finality. “Here we are, you
see. We have managed to find a tent for you, but furniture was beyond
us. I call it the one advantage of Indian travelling, that each
visitor brings his own four-poster along with him.”

He dismounted with amazing agility, and came to help Eveleen from her
saddle, but was interrupted by Colonel Bayard.

“Ambrose has been telling me your plans, General, and I can’t say how
glad I am to find you share my view that it ain’t bloodshed, but a
moral effect, that’s called for. May I be permitted to do my part?
Lend me a couple of hundred Europeans and the steamers, and give me
one more day, and we will fire the _shikargahs_ and drive the game
towards you. No Orientals can stand being taken in flank, and where
they would fight desperately if assailed in front, it would not
surprise me did they surrender without fighting at all.”

“H’m!” grunted Sir Harry. “Presently, presently! We don’t hold
councils of war in public, my good fellow. But Europeans? Certainly
not. I have but four hundred in my whole army, and each man is worth
his weight in diamonds to me. And no more delay--not an hour! You must
be back in time. Can’t put off the battle to suit you. Sorry to keep
you waiting, ma’am.”

The day wore itself away slowly enough. Eveleen was tired after the
excitements of the last forty-eight hours, but she found it difficult
to rest. It was the cold weather, but at midday the heat made a tent a
very inadequate shelter, and the many sounds of a camp suggested such
interesting things which might be happening that she was for ever
jumping up to look out. Richard and Brian were busy outside the
General’s little tent close by. It was pitched under a rather
inadequate tree, in the shade of which the office work was necessarily
done, since it could not possibly have been accomplished inside.
Messengers came and went, officers arrived with reports of various
kinds, deputations of men with representations to make, offenders to
receive admonition--and the General dealt with them in patriarchal
style. Late in the afternoon Colonel Bayard and his two hundred Native
Infantry left for the steamers, the officers not disguising their
dissatisfaction at the possibility of missing the battle. At sunset
there was a far more picturesque spectacle, when the Khemistan Horse
rode out to reconnoitre from the land side the hunting-forest in which
the enemy was supposed to be concealed, and thus distract their
attention from Colonel Bayard’s operations by water. The camp woke up
as the sun went down. Fires were lighted, and the men who had grumbled
at the heat in their tents all day came out gladly to enjoy the
warmth. Sitting round the fires, they watched their meal cooking, and
exulted in the thought of the morrow. The British Army groused in
those days as in these, but the _nil admirari_ pose had not yet become
fashionable--or if it had, it had passed by these Irish lads and left
them unscathed. The General had a wood fire in front of his tent like
the rest, and its smoke served as a much-needed deterrent from the
attentions of the mosquitoes. He and Eveleen and his staff sat on
small boxes round a large box for a table, and when the resources of
his two canteens were exhausted, shared tumblers and even plates. Sir
Henry was in a reminiscent mood. He talked about his parents--his
father a giant both in mind and body, who would have been the greatest
General of the age had a bat-like Government but taken advantage of
his powers; his mother at once the best and the most beautiful woman
of her time. Then he turned to his brothers, of whom there were
several, each remarkable in his particular sphere, but none to compare
with the two who were soldiers like himself, and like him, had fought
and bled in the Peninsula. They had attained a certain measure of
recognition, but nothing to what they should have received had they
been treated fairly: there was a cross-grained fate pursuing every
Lennox which robbed him of the due reward of his deeds. In all this he
called upon his nephew--son to one of the ill-used soldiers--for
confirmation, which was dutifully given. But when the General’s
attention was distracted for a moment by the arrival of a message,
Frederick Lennox spoke in a hollow whisper to Eveleen.

“It’s all quite true, and yet there ain’t a word of it true! What’s
wrong with us Lennoxes is that we are all of us such queer
cross-grained fellows that we make our own enemies.”

Eveleen was greatly interested, for the Lennox temperament seemed to
have an affinity with her own--as Richard had once hinted,--and she
would fain have pursued the subject, but the General’s eye was upon
them again. The message had apparently recalled him from the past to
the present.

“They tell me now that if the Khans bring up all their forces, they
will put sixty thousand Arabits into the field against us to-morrow,”
he said. “Well, be they sixty or a hundred thousand, I’ll fight ’em!
It shall be do or die. No Ethiopian muddle for me! I would never show
my face again. Well, Heaven grant me to be worthy of my wife and
girls, and not disgrace ’em!”

“Sure y’are the first ever mentioned disgrace in the same breath with
yourself, Sir Harry,” said Eveleen earnestly. He glowered at her.

“Young troops--never saw a fight before, and a leader with no
experience of high command! The Duke’s battles were ended when he was
ten years younger than I--Napoleon’s the same. Yet there’s a kind of
elation in the delightful anxiety of leading an army--and such an
army--against a force twenty times its number. How many proud Arabits
will have bit the dust by this hour to-morrow! But who am I, to dare
to rejoice in the prospect of taking life, instead of lamenting the
grievous necessity? At least I have done my utmost to avoid
bloodshed--even Bayard admits it.” He had been talking as if to
himself, but his tone changed suddenly. “Well, well; a bit more
writing and a visit to the outposts, then three hours’ sleep, for I
had none last night--some foolish report or other coming in all night
long. Get what rest you can, Mrs Ambrose, and you, gentlemen. We march
at four.”

The night felt very short to Eveleen, though she must have had at
least two hours’ more sleep than the General. It was in that most
uncomfortable hour before dawn that she was waked, and it seemed
impossible ever to get ready in the cold and the confined space and by
the light of a dimly burning lantern. But she was outside at last, in
a chill grey light in which figures moved like shadows at first, but
gradually became more distinct. Richard brought her a cup of coffee,
which was hot and sweet and strong--the very stimulant she
needed,--and Brian presented her with a chunk of meat balanced on a
biscuit, which required all her attention to get it conveyed safely to
her mouth. When it was disposed of, she had leisure to look about. The
camp was disappearing amid cracks and creaks; soldiers, servants,
camp-followers were running about like ants in a threatened ant-hill.
The General, in a sheepskin coat which combined with his spectacles to
give him the look of a philosopher turned bandit, was receiving a
report from a dark-faced officer with a bushy black beard--Captain
Keeling of the Khemistan Horse,--which seemed to make him very angry.

“No sign of the enemy in the _shikargahs_? Then where on earth have
they got to? If their hearts have failed ’em again, I’ll chase ’em to
the gate of Qadirabad and out at t’other end! Then Bayard’s expedition
will be no use, and I can’t get at him! I wish I had never let him
go--robbing me of two hundred of my best sepoys and three invaluable
officers. Well, many thanks for the information, Keeling. You are
advanced guard now, you know. I needn’t tell you to keep a sharp
look-out for the rascals, with all these woods and nullahs about.”

Captain Keeling saluted and rode away, and somehow or other, from a
mob falling aimlessly over each other’s feet, the army sorted itself
out and into column of route, and the march began. The cavalry ahead
and on the flanks may have been able to see where they were going, but
the dust they stirred up made a gritty fog in which the infantry
toiled along blindly. It was full daylight now, and the sun was
growing hot. The General had discarded his woolly coat and carried it
before him on the saddle, and Eveleen threw back the veil she had worn
to protect her face from the dust, that she might at least be able to
breathe. In a brief halt about seven o’clock, Sir Henry conferred with
Captain Keeling again, and the Khemistan Horse trotted off briskly on
another reconnaissance, their place in the van being taken by a Bengal
Cavalry regiment. The army had not long got into motion again before a
gun was heard in front, then a regular fusillade, which was repeated
at brief intervals.

“He’s found ’em this time!” chuckled Sir Henry, and presently a sowar,
his horse in a lather, galloped back and presented a note. The General
read it with visible pleasure.

“The Arabits have kept the appointment right enough, gentlemen,” he
said to his staff. “They are drawn up behind Mahighar--the very place
I fixed on,--a strong position, so Keeling says, with both flanks
protected by _shikargahs_ and the front by a deep dry watercourse. He
estimates them at twenty thousand at least, with fifteen guns. The
Khans are in camp behind a fortified village on their right. He
remains under fire to reconnoitre more closely, which will give us
time for our part of the business.”

A brief order sent Brian back with the sowar, to bring the latest
news, and orderlies were despatched down the column to hurry the
loiterers and prevent straggling. Stewart rode ahead with the Engineer
officers, who knew exactly what they had to do, and presently the
General and his companions arrived at a clump of scraggy trees, round
which the ground was being neatly marked out with flags.

“Headquarters,” said Sir Henry laconically. “Ambrose, I shan’t want
you at present. You had better find out a nice sheltered place for Mrs
Ambrose here on the right somewhere. You won’t be disturbed. That’s
where the hospital tents will be, and there are no invalids to-day--as
yet. Dare say he don’t want to do anything of the kind,” he added,
more audibly than he intended, to Brian; “but hang it! a man does owe
some duty to his wife.”

Absurdly embarrassed, and not a little angry, Richard obeyed, and
Eveleen, lifted from her saddle, led the way into the grateful shade
of the little wood. The air was full of the thunder of the guns, and
her husband had to shout when he warned her of a projecting root that
might have made her trip. They paused in sight of the tents in course
of erection, where the surgeons--with what looked like, but doubtless
was not, unholy joy--were setting out in order objects of gruesome
aspect, and Eveleen turned with a smile.

“How cross y’are, Ambrose! Y’ought be giving me all sorts of farewell
messages, don’t you know?”

“I don’t know that there’s much to tell you,” he said gruffly. “Stay
near your tent, and do what you are told. If--if things go wrong, old
Abdul Qaiyam will take care of you, and get you away if it can be
done. You promise to do exactly as he says?”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d consider it dignified to take orders
from the bearer, but if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll do it by all
means.”

“And--if the worst comes to the worst, you know what to do? You have a
pistol?”

“I have that. Sure it’s a pleasure to find you think me capable of
doing the proper thing sometimes--if it’s only once in the world.”

“You appear to be in excellent spirits. I congratulate you.”

“Yes, and it _is_ appearance, and nothing else----” furiously. “D’
y’ask me why? Because if I didn’t I’d _howl_--there! and how would you
like that?”

Horribly ashamed, and even more embarrassed than before, Richard felt
the absolute necessity of making some acknowledgment, and forced a
“Thank you!” from his reluctant lips. Reading rather than hearing it,
Eveleen laughed with the tears in her eyes.

“Y’are so English, Ambrose! But don’t let us tease one another any
more at all. I’ll be quite happy making a garland to crown you with
when you come back victorious. And you’ll be happy knowing I’m quite
safe.”

“I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “This spot is shockingly
exposed--no defence of any kind---- Oh, look there! I might have known
Sir Henry would have some plan of his own. This is what they do at the
Cape in repelling Kaffir attacks--but there they have waggons for
their breastwork. D’ye see--between those two tents--the camels
kneeling with their heads outwards, and the baggage piled up between
’em, to make a barricade to fire over? A regular fortification! The
Arabits will think twice before they try to spread panic among our
camp-followers now--all herded inside, and a strong guard--though it
reduces our numbers----”

“Never mind! The fewer the greater honour,” said Eveleen, and after a
time they walked back towards the spot designated as headquarters,
where Sir Henry and the staff were just preparing to mount. A cloud of
dust to the right showed where the artillery was taking up its
position, while on the left the Bengal Cavalry were moving off to
support the Khemistan Horse. In front, drawn up in serried ranks, as
if on parade, was the infantry--the Queen’s --th in the post of honour
next to the guns.

“Hanged if I’d let my enemy take up his position as calmly as at a
review, if I was an Arabit commander,” said the General. “I wonder if
they have anything in the watercourse that Keeling did not see--any
sort of trap. We shall soon find out for ourselves.”

“A frontal attack, General?” asked Richard.

“Necessarily. Keeling sends word that he tried to ride round their
left, but the jungle is full of nullahs, all scarped, and matchlockmen
in the trees. I myself reconnoitred to the right just now with the
Bengalis, and it’s equally bad there--thick woods on either bank of
the watercourse, which is deep in wet mud. No matchlockmen showed
their noses, but that’s their cunning. They must be there, they would
be fools if they didn’t hold that _shikargah_, and worse fools if they
told me they were doing it. We caught sight of a smoke in the
distance, so Bayard has done his work, though miles away from the
enemy’s position. I wish I had that detachment back, but that’s crying
over spilt milk. Good-bye, Mrs Ambrose; give us your prayers.”

He bowed from his saddle to shake hands, and Eveleen looked up at him
with brimming eyes. “God bring you safe through, Sir Harry--and you,
my boy Brian and you----” she could not utter her husband’s name, but
gave her hand to each man as he bent towards her in passing. By the
cloud of dust that followed their movements she could see that Sir
Harry was taking up his position at the head of his array, and the
line moved off, rather to the right, while the firing continued on the
left. Had the baggage-guard occupied a hill of any sort, it might have
been possible to follow the fortunes of the fight; but the plain was
perfectly flat, and there was not even a house-roof to mount. Eveleen
wandered about with a white face, listening to the cannonade, and
wondering, whenever a momentary pause came, what terrible meaning it
might bear. The surgeons and their native assistants were fidgeting in
and out of the hospital tents, having few preparations to make
compared with their successors of to-day, and they also were
listening. At last the sound of the enemy’s fire was drowned by a
nearer roar--more sustained and regular.

“D’ye hear that, ma’am?” cried the nearest doctor, waving an unrolled
bandage about his head like a conjuror. “That’s blessed old Brown
Bess. We’ve got into touch with ’em! Now we shall soon have plenty to
do. There are our guns now!”

It was thrilling, but not enlightening. The rival roars continued, now
one predominating, now the other, then both uniting in a crash that
made the earth shake; but there was nothing to be seen but dust below
and distant smoke mounting into the blue sky above. Then curious
little forms appeared on the edge of the dust-cloud, looking like some
new kind of quadruped, and resolved themselves into doolies, each
carried by two brown men, running and panting as if in terror, but
bringing in their burdens faithfully through the gap left in the
barricade, and depositing them at the hospital tents.

“Better go round the other side of the _tope_, ma’am,” said the
surgeon, advancing with dreadful determination.

“Perhaps I could help?” suggested Eveleen half-heartedly.

“No, no. We don’t want ladies mixing themselves up in this sort of
work,” blissfully unconscious of the change a mere dozen of years was
to bring forth, and Eveleen retired to the shelter of her tent, and
stopped her ears from the sounds she thought she heard. Then the
surgeon hurried across to her.

“Fellow here, Mrs Ambrose--Kenton of the N.I.--pretty bad--if you
would sit by him and talk, or let him talk. We shall have to amputate
presently, but our hands are full just now, and he’s a nervous sort of
chap. If you can get him to talk to you, it’ll take his mind off it.”

Horribly scared, but ashamed to refuse, Eveleen went back with him, to
find the wounded man--boy rather, for he must have been younger than
Brian--laid in the shade of the trees. His face was white and drawn,
but over his body, at which Eveleen glanced fearfully, a covering had
been thrown. The doctor broke a branch from the nearest tree and put
it into her hand.

“That will keep the flies off, at any rate. And if he’s thirsty, you
can give him some water. Now please talk!”--in an urgent whisper, as
he went off.

It seemed horrible to disturb any one who was in such pain, but as
Eveleen sat down beside the boy she managed to say, “Don’t answer if
it hurts you too much, but just tell me--we are winning?”

“Of course!” The closed eyes opened with an effort, and met hers
indignantly. “With such a commander, and such men, how could we
possibly lose?”

“Sure y’are a boy after the General’s own heart!” said Eveleen
approvingly. Then, catching the doctor’s nod of encouragement as he
disappeared round a tent, she went on. “But tell me now, why did Sir
Harry turn to the right, when the poor Khemistan Horse had been under
fire so long on the left?”

“Because the matchlock-fire from the village was too heavy. Keeling’s
men were in skirmishing order, lying down behind their horses, and
couldn’t take much harm, but to lead a column of infantry into it
would have been destruction. But tell you what”--he spoke vivaciously,
though in a thin weak voice, and she had grown sufficiently accustomed
to the noise of the battle to be able to hear--“we very nearly caught
it just as hot on the right, and if the enemy commander knew his
business we should have done. That _shikargah_ there, which Sir Henry
reconnoitred with the Bengalis without seeing a soul, has a wall in
front of it, and in the wall was a gap--just broken by accident, as
you might say. But as we came near, there was a chap sitting astride
upon the wall, near the gap, who fired at the General, and missed.
Then another matchlock was handed up to him, and another, but he
missed every time, and one of our men toppled him off the wall with a
bullet. The General stood up in his stirrups and looked at the place
with his telescope, and then dismounted and went quite close. Then he
told Captain Crosse, of my regiment, to take his company just inside
the gap and hold it at all costs. And he is holding it, I tell you! We
heard the firing break out in the wood as we marched on. They had
prepared an ambush there to fall upon our flank, do you see? and if
they’d had the sense to cut loopholes, or throw up a banquette for
firing over the wall, they might have swept us all away--if they
hadn’t betrayed themselves by setting their sharpshooter to pick off
the General.”

“And then? if y’are not too tired,” said Eveleen quickly.

“Tired? It helps me to forget, you see. They were firing at us from
the opposite bank of the dry river as we got closer, but we held our
fire till we were not more than a hundred yards off. We marched on up
to the very bank, and then--give you my word, we did get a start!
Looking down into the bed of the stream was like looking into a sea of
turbaned heads, with rolling eyes and grinning teeth, and swords and
shields; and they all came at us with a frightful yell. They had been
crouching behind the bank to surprise us--and they did. We went at it
ding-dong, musket and matchlock and pistol, and bayonet and shield and
tulwar, they rushing up the bank in waves and rolling us back, and
then our men rallying and pouring in a volley that checked ’em a bit.
And the General riding up and down between, holloing us on! Didn’t you
hear ’em cheer him when he rallied the Queen’s --th? I should have
thought it could have been heard at Qadirabad! And then I went down,
and he sent an orderly to get a doolie, and Paddy the aide--oh, I beg
your pardon; that’s your brother, ain’t it?--helped to get me into it,
and that’s all I know. But tell me, what time is it?”

“It must be quite noon, I think,” said Eveleen.

“Noon? and we went into it at nine! Has the cavalry charged yet, do
you know?”

“The whole army might have charged, but we wouldn’t know. There is not
a thing to be seen for dust.”

“Believe me, you’d know if the Bengalis charged. The ground would
shake--quite a different feeling from the rumble the guns make. Oh,
why, why ain’t they charging the village? That was what the General
sent ’em to support the Khemistan Horse for--we all knew it--to make a
diversion if he was hard pressed. He can’t keep it up if they
don’t--there’s a hundred Arabits to every man of ours. We shall be cut
to pieces---- No, no--listen; what’s that?”

He tried to start up, but Eveleen held him down gently. “I hear, I
hear!” she cried, almost as excited as himself. “A different sound
entirely--like rolling thunder! I feel it more than I hear. Oh, will
it, will it be the charge?”

“It must be a charge, but is it their cavalry or ours? No, help me to
turn my head, please----” and with a great effort he got his ear near
the ground. “It _is_ ours--the noise is going away from us. This is
victory, then.”

For a few minutes the din of firing broke out with such force as to
drown all other sounds. Then it became broken and irregular, then
seemed to pass away altogether to the right. Neither Eveleen nor the
wounded boy could say a word. With parted lips and wildly beating
hearts they stared at one another, afraid to move lest they should
lose some pregnant sound as the minutes rolled on. Then they both
became aware that the sound of the firing had ceased. From far, far in
the distance came a thin flat cheer, then another, then a third.

“We’ve won!” said young Kenton. “I don’t mind now,” and fainted.



 CHAPTER XVI.
 THE MORROW OF VICTORY.

“/We/ are honoured, Mrs Ambrose,” said Sir Harry, with his most
courtly bow, as Eveleen hurried out of her tent--as quickly as its
extreme smallness would allow--to receive the dusty and grimy company
that rode up. The baggage and hospitals had moved on in the wake of
the tide of battle, and the night’s bivouac was on the other side of
the watercourse which had served the enemy as a trench--close to the
stretch of ground on which the Khans and their army had been encamped
the night before. “Valour would lose half its reward without the
approbation of the fair.”

“Ah then, Sir Harry, you have spoilt my compliment that I was going to
offer! What’s the use of my telling you y’are brave, when y’have said
it about yourselves already?”

“But how could we be other than brave when we had Mrs Ambrose to fight
for?” asked the General gallantly.

“Cot, Evie!” cried Brian. “Acknowledge us all as heroes now, or
confess your smiles have lost their power.”

“Where’s that wreath of mine?” demanded Richard--a little above
himself, like the rest, after this wonderful day.

“Here!” said Eveleen unexpectedly, bringing it out from behind her,
but he was equal to the occasion.

“Present it to the General, then, pray. We may all be heroes, as your
brother says, but there would have been no victory without him.”

“Will y’accept it, Sir Harry?” Eveleen held up the wreath.

“May it be conferred upon Black Prince instead? At one moment I
confess I was on the point of saving my valuable life by sacrificing
his, poor beast! so it’s fitting he should have some reward,
especially since poor Kenton---- But how is my young hero?”

“Quite happy once we heard the soldiers cheering for the victory----”
Eveleen was arranging the wreath over the charger’s ears. “They took
his arm off soon after that, and I have not seen him since, but the
surgeon says he will do well. Then was it he or Black Prince saved
your life, Sir Harry?”

“Young Kenton, as it happened. A big strapping fellow of an Arabit
came over the bank, saw me riding alone in front of the line, and made
straight for me. With these broken fingers, I was powerless to defend
myself, but I got half the reins into that hand, with frightful agony,
intending as he cut at me to give Black Prince’s head a chuck that
would make the poor animal the recipient of the blow instead of me.
But Kenton ran forward and took the cut on his arm, thrusting at the
Arabit, who warded it off with his shield, and would have cut at us
again, had not a soldier come up in time with his bayonet. So you see
I have the three of ’em to thank.”

“I’m jealous,” said Eveleen discontentedly. “What were these two men
of mine doing, Sir Harry?”

“Staying where they were told, ma’am, and carrying messages when they
were required. D’ye think I wanted the whole staff trotting up and
down with me to draw the enemy’s fire, and riding down our own men
when they turned? I tell you there was no room for parade manœuvres
of that sort. Our line was never more than three yards from the
enemy’s--sometimes only one. So don’t scold these good fellows when
they deserve to be praised rather. We shall meet at dinner,
gentlemen.”

He bowed again to her as he hobbled into his little shabby tent, and
the staff separated hastily, to make such improvements in their
appearance as the scanty materials at hand permitted, for the
General’s strict regulations as to baggage were still rigorously
enforced. Once more the party sat on boxes, with two larger boxes put
together for a table, and as always when Sir Harry was on active
service, the only drink was water. Bottled beer--which every European
on the Bombay side regarded as a necessary of life,--wine, and spirits
were sternly excluded from his campaigning requisites, as also smoking
materials of all kinds. But the meal was cheerful, even hilarious, and
every one had something to tell of the events of the day.

“What a battle!” said Sir Harry at last. “Three mortal hours of
helter-skelter fighting--musket against tulwar and shield,--and the
two lines within arm’s reach of one another the whole time. I saw our
soldiers loading in their haste without using the ramrod at all,
merely knocking the butt of the piece on the ground, and coolly
changing blunted flints while presenting the bayonet at the enemy.
Were there ever such troops?”

“Was there ever such a commander, General?” said Brian, in the easy
way in which an Irishman can pay a compliment without appearing
fulsome. “The troops would have broke and run time and again without
you to rally ’em. They would have done nothing without you.” The rest
murmured hearty assent.

“So the generous honest fellows testified when they gave me that cheer
in the midst of the battle,” said Sir Harry, with deep emotion.
“Believe me, gentlemen, I accepted it as the most moving tribute ever
paid to a British commander. But I had no choice. From the moment I
knew of the numbers of the enemy, and perceived his dispositions, I
saw I must lead my soldiers against him before they were aware of his
masses, and remain myself in the forefront of the fight throughout. A
merciful Providence has justified my prevision.”

“But did you guess they had the river-bed filled with troops, Sir
Harry?” asked Eveleen eagerly. “Sure you said----”

Sir Harry looked at her with humorous apology. “I did, ma’am--but I
knew what I must find unless the Arabit commander were a consummate
fool. He ain’t that, as his posting the ambush in the wood on our
right showed, but inexperience--or contempt of his foe”--a laugh went
round--“lost him the results he ought to have gained. That opening in
the wall should have been masked, and some sort of platform devised
from which to fire. As it was, the breach served me as a warning that
troops were in the wood ready to attack us in flank, and when I looked
inside and saw that by no possibility could they line the wall with
matchlockmen and mow us down, I had but to send the heroic Crosse and
his company to stop that hole as a cork stops a bottle, and the ambush
was rendered nugatory--though my brave Leonidas perished in holding
the gap. Yes”--as Eveleen started,--“poor Crosse has fallen, with half
his men. We could send them no assistance once we ourselves were
engaged, even had we had any to send. Only by breaching the wall with
cannon when we reached the bank were we able to relieve the
hard-pressed remnant.”

“Poor Crosse saved the army, General,” said Richard gruffly.

“Indeed you are right. The troops we had in Spain would have gone over
the bank and through the enemy up t’other side. But these young
soldiers--seeing a riverful of such ugly customers, jumping up at ’em
with nasty shining swords like so many Jack-in-the-boxes--they were
astonished, they hesitated. Had a flank attack come at the same
moment, they must have broke. But as it was, they only needed
rallying.”

“‘Only,’ General!” said Captain Stewart. “A good many times over.”

“True, but what other troops would have responded as they did? But it
should not have been necessary. Upon my soul, gentlemen”--forgetting
prudence in his warmth--“if Crosse saved the army, Welborne came
within an ace of destroying it. That charge was due an hour before.”

“Ah, we were listening for it--Mr Kenton and I!” cried Eveleen. “‘Why
won’t they charge?’ says he, over and over again, and at last it came.
But why not before, Sir Harry?”

“Because Welborne ‘thought it right to wait for definite orders----’”
the General mimicked the intonation ferociously. “I posted him there
with orders to charge the village at all costs if he saw me hard
pressed--and he couldn’t see; he must wait to be told. That gallant
fellow Keeling was straining at the leash, sending insulting messages
to Welborne to try and move him--at last preparing to charge the place
with the Khemistan Horse alone, which must have meant their
annihilation, when happily the orders arrived which I had snatched a
moment in the thickest press of the battle to send, wondering what in
the world had taken the cavalry. And then they did go! Straight at the
village, contemptuous of the bullets that rained upon ’em, over the
nullahs, heedless of emptied saddles, through the guns, sabring the
gunners, then through the camp of the Khans, driving its occupants
before ’em in headlong flight! Then at last our stubborn antagonists
in the watercourse, seeing their rear menaced, gave ground slowly and
sullenly, yielding to us reluctantly the blood-stained trench for
which we had so long contended. Mrs Ambrose--gentlemen--I give you my
word that when I stood in my stirrups and shouted, ‘The enemy are
beaten! God save the Queen!’ and my glorious soldiers answered me with
three feeble but indomitable cheers, I would not have changed
places--Heaven forgive me!--with the Duke after Waterloo!”

No comparison on earth could have meant more to Sir Harry, and his
voice trembled as though he feared sacrilege in venturing upon it, but
the little company round the table rose up with one accord and cheered
him again. The men were too much moved to speak, but Eveleen was never
at a loss for words, even while she dashed her tears away with a wet
handkerchief.

“And why would you, Sir Harry? Sure the odds were smaller against us
at Waterloo than to-day.”

“My dear lady, never say such a thing again. At Waterloo the Duke
confronted the greatest commander the world has ever known--and the
world itself was the prize. Here I was faced only by an unlettered
barbarian, knowing nothing of the lessons of military history, nor
skilful enough even to take advantage of an inexperienced adversary
commanding young troops. But after to-day I am no longer
inexperienced. Last night I wondered whether I could conduct a battle;
now I know I can. And my troops are not young soldiers any longer. Now
that they have seen the proud Arabit--not in flight, but stalking
unwillingly away, with frequent backward looks of hatred and
contempt--they may respect him, but they will fear him no longer.
Never again will they be checked by such a surprise as that of
to-day.”

“But sure there’ll be no more fighting?” she asked in dismay. “Not
after a battle like this?”

“What do you say, Ambrose? Have we seen the last of ’em yet?”

“I fear not, General. There are too many left.”

“My notion precisely. D’ye see, ma’am, a lot of these fellows must
have run away just because they saw others running--not because we
beat ’em, for there weren’t enough of us to do it. Moreover, I have
reason to believe they had not succeeded in bringing up all their
forces. Kamal-ud-din, in particular, I am assured was not present.”

“But the prisoners would maybe be telling you that just to make the
victory less, Sir Harry.”

“There ain’t any prisoners. No quarter was given--it was impossible.
The wounded Arabit, writhing on the ground, would cut at the legs of
the soldier trying to avoid trampling on him. I myself sought in vain
to save a brave fellow from the bayonet of one of our men. He
disdained my offer, and fought grimly to the end. ‘It’s butcher’s work
to-day, and nothing else, General,’ says the victor to me as he
withdrew his weapon. No, I have learnt nothing from the foe. My
informants are my own spies, who tell me that Kamal-ud-din, with his
ten thousand followers, had not come up. More and more do I rejoice
that I took the risk presented to me. I own I was tempted to hold off
for a while this morning, and let my artillery play upon the enemy’s
position before attempting the attack. What would have been the
result? Time, on which, unknown to me, all depended, would have been
lost. If the Khans had not taken courage to endeavour to outflank me,
Kamal-ud-din must have caught me in the rear. At least he will think
twice before doing so now. They know this cock can fight.”

“Ah, but tell me,” cried Eveleen, rather maladroitly--it was the
suggestion of loss of time that had been the connecting link in her
mind, “what has happened Colonel Bayard? Did you meet him at all?”

“He has not come in yet, but he had some distance to march. I wished
over and over again I had his two hundred sepoys, and especially the
European officers, with me, but he can quite well claim that the smoke
he raised alarmed the enemy, and prevented their making off in that
direction.” Sir Henry spoke in measured tones, but in the minds of all
present was the thought of Colonel Bayard’s unceasing efforts to bring
about further delay, and the disaster they might have caused. The
General spoke again in his ordinary voice.

“But without information from Bayard, or even my spies, I can see with
my own eyes that the enemy are by no means vanished away. There are
large bodies of ’em hanging about still in a highly suspicious
manner--ready, no doubt, to fall on our flanks should we attempt a
night march, or to harass us in any other respect. But they will find
no opportunity. I can’t order the cavalry to disperse ’em, for I have
not enough, and those I have are worn out with to-day’s exertions, and
I have work for ’em to-morrow; but if they venture to attack us, I
think they’ll have a hard nut to crack. Tell me, ma’am, do you remark
any peculiar feature about this camp?”

“Only that it seems smaller--more compact; and there are fewer natives
about--more soldiers,” said Eveleen hesitatingly. Sir Harry laughed
triumphantly.

“Aha, Ambrose! your good lady has a sharp eye. Yes, ma’am; from this
night’s bivouac the camp-followers are excluded. Their numbers and
their lack of discipline would embarrass any force--have ruined many,
in Ethiopia and elsewhere. The moment an attack is delivered the
terror-stricken multitude, with cries of panic, seek the opportunity
to escape, urging before them their animals, often their sole
possession. The disorderly mass, rushing upon the troops, bursts
through the ranks, and leaves an opening of which the enemy is waiting
to take advantage. But to-night we are formed in square, and the
camp-followers are outside at a convenient distance, while the
baggage, as you see, is in the centre. Should an alarm be raised, and
the followers run in upon the square, the soldiers are warned to fire
upon them and the enemy alike. More bloodshed--eh? Believe me, it
ain’t by any desire of mine, but I must safeguard the lives of my
troops. As I rode over the field just now, and beheld the heaps of
dead, I said to myself, ‘Am I guilty of these horrid scenes?’ but my
conscience refused to reproach me.”

“And well it might, General!” said Brian heartily. “Is there one of us
here hasn’t heard it said over and over again, ‘The General’s the only
officer in the force that don’t wish for a fight’?”

“Because I have seen battles before now--such as you young fellows
hardly dream of--and know their full horrors. Well, you will all
justify me, when I am dead and gone. Gentlemen, I am indebted to you
for your services to-day, and you won’t find me forgetful. To-morrow I
shall ask you, it may be, for others even more arduous. I send off a
squadron at dawn to demand the surrender of Qadirabad on pain of being
stormed, while we face about to deal with Kamal-ud-din when he comes
up--if he comes up, perhaps I should say.”

He stood up stiffly to shake hands with each of his guests. “Good
night, ma’am; good night, good night! I wish you would take order with
this brother of yours. He goes about looking for personal combats,
which I tell him ain’t becoming in a staff officer. After having his
horse killed under him in the bed of the watercourse, what does he do
but seek out and slay one of the principal chiefs of the enemy, in the
midst of his followers? There’s a fire-eater for you--eh?”

“Brian!” Eveleen’s tone was poignant, “d’ye tell me Cromaboo is
killed? I saw you were riding Bawn, but I thought----”

“Will you listen to her? She’d rather her own and only brother was
killed, than his horse!” cried Brian reproachfully.

“Come along, my dear. We are taking up the General’s time,” said
Richard, and she obeyed reluctantly. It was the kind of evening on
which it seems impossible to go to bed as if nothing had happened.

Colonel Bayard was in camp in the morning--very well pleased with
himself in the honest conviction that his expedition had contributed
materially to the General’s success. His force, on the other hand,
were so disgusted that their comrades found it advisable not to
mention the battle to them. To spend a whole day in trying to set fire
to a forest which would not burn, and from which the enemy had
silently vanished in the night, while eight miles away a
life-and-death struggle was going forward--as the booming of the guns
showed,--this was enough to make any troops angry. A little ray of
hope had brightened their path as they approached the camp towards
midnight, for an alarm of some sort had led to heavy firing; but if it
was really due to an attack by the enemy--and not to a panic among the
excluded camp-followers, who suffered heavily when they tried to find
refuge in the square--it was quickly beaten off. The General, wrapped
in his cloak, slept through it all, and even through Colonel Bayard’s
efforts to wake him and report, but in the morning he was as fresh and
cheerful as a youngster of twenty. He had already put things in motion
for the day when he met his staff at breakfast in the shivering dawn,
and at that uncomfortable hour they found his good humour little short
of irritating. But knowing him, they understood it when they realised
the stake for which he was playing.

“In an hour from now we should receive the reply of the Khans.” He
dropped the remark into the group round the table like a bomb.

“Have you summoned the city already, General?” asked Colonel Bayard,
laughing.

“I have. Keeling is gone off with a flag of truce, and the ten
best-mounted men he could pick from his regiment, so as to produce a
good impression.”

“And what terms do you offer the Khans, if I may ask?”

“Terms, sir?” explosively. “Their lives!”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” In Sir Harry’s voice there was no response to the
dismay in Colonel Bayard’s. “And there will be no haggling, neither.
They will find me as hard as iron. Why”--he smote his hand on the
table,--“I can afford nothing else. For the sake of having Qadirabad
behind me as a strong place to protect my wounded and baggage, I have
entered on this game of brag, but had the enemy the slightest
suspicion that it was brag, our goose would be cooked. What are those
bodies of armed men doing hanging about on all sides of us--within
cannon-shot, even? The city must be mine by noon, and then I will turn
upon these Arabit stragglers, and make up Kamal-ud-din’s mind for him.
With another couple of regiments of horse, I could disperse ’em in
style; but the cavalry is knocked up by the battle and the long march
before it, and the camels couldn’t drag the guns another mile. In half
an hour the hospitals and the baggage-train will set forward gently
towards Qadirabad, guarded by the cavalry at a walk, and I trust the
enemy, not knowing our plight, will take the movement as evidence of
my relentless determination. You’ll go with ’em, ma’am”--suddenly to
Eveleen, who was listening eagerly,--“but you won’t be rid of us long.
We have--er--a bit of tidying up to do here, and then the rest of the
force will follow.”

“And occupy the Fort to-night, Sir Harry?”

“H’m--hardly, I think. We shall see.”

“I presume you will listen to nothing from me, General,” broke in
Colonel Bayard anxiously; “but I can’t reconcile it with my conscience
not to tell you that this is madness. The city is packed with Arabits
armed to the teeth, devoted adherents of the Khans, on whose ruin you
are determined. You propose to drive them to desperation----”

“Not listen to you!” exploded Sir Harry. “Pray, sir, how long is it
since I listened to your repeated assurances that there were no armed
men in the city save the personal servants of the Khans? You are
singing to a different tune now. I have listened to you till you have
nearly succeeded in making an end of us all. If my intention be
madness, it is the calculated madness that stakes all upon a single
throw, and wins. The Khans shall have no further consideration--I owe
them none. My sole aim is the safety of my troops.”

“I see--I know,” sadly. “You must pardon my warmth, Sir Henry. The
Khans have been the principal object of my consideration for so
long--it is painful to me, you may guess, to see them overthrown. Be
sure, sir, I shall venture no further criticism.”

“Nonsense, man! I shall invite your remarks, and you will give them,
dozens of times in the next day or so, I make no doubt. But in this
matter my mind is made up.”

“And glad I am to hear it!” murmured Eveleen under her breath, meeting
a return glance of sympathy even from the well-trained eye of Richard.
Lovable as was Colonel Bayard’s chivalrous forbearance towards the
Khans, there were very few Europeans in Khemistan to whom it had not
by this time become decidedly exasperating, and she left the
breakfast-table in quite a happy frame of mind to pack up her few
possessions. Her place in the line of march was duly appointed
her--ahead of the hospital doolies, which again were followed by the
baggage-animals, so as to escape the dust these kicked up,--and she
exchanged a cheerful salutation with young Kenton as she passed him.
Guarded by the cavalry ahead and on either flank, the column moved
off--towards the long fortress on the hill, whose massive tower loomed
above the intervening jungle-clad flats, and dominated the town on the
slopes beneath it. Keen-eyed watchers on its ramparts might even have
been able to trace the course of yesterday’s battle--be able now to
discern what they read as the victor’s advance. The slow pace at which
the cavalry moved, owing to the fatigue of their horses, must have
seemed to the Khans and their followers the relentless deliberation of
fate, for the Vakils who were on their way from the city with Captain
Keeling and his flag of truce besought Sir Harry with anguish as soon
as they beheld him to stop the march until he himself was present to
control his troops. He sent a messenger after the convoy at once, and
a halt was called, to the joy of both man and beast. The General’s
colloquy with the Vakils was brief and businesslike, carrying
conviction to their hearts, which could not conceive it possible that
such demands could come from the commander of a weak tired force,
already frightfully reduced from its original strength. To them the
bent little man who emerged growling from the dirty tent hardly large
enough to shelter him was the irresistible disposer of many legions,
and when he had once cut short their elaborate compliments and
lamentable pleading, they offered no protest against his hard terms.
They would carry them back to their Highnesses, they said, and return.

“By noon, then!” snapped Sir Harry, with appalling ferocity.
“Otherwise---- Well, I shall have buried my dead by that time, and my
soldiers will have had their breakfast. Qadirabad would make a fine
supper for them!”

The deputation shuddered and withdrew--noting, to their horror, that
the tents which had sheltered the European part of the army during the
night were already being struck, and that the advanced-guard which had
been halted at their request resumed its march as soon as they had
passed it. It was abundantly clear that Sir Henry would be as good as
his word, for by noon his approaching troops were easily visible from
the gate of the Fort. Panic-stricken, the Vakils issued forth again,
bearing the entreaty of their panic-stricken masters that the Bahadar
Jang would deign to stay his victorious course. The Khans would
surrender, they were on the point of doing so; their palanquins were
actually being prepared.

“Before the gate, then,” said Sir Harry grimly. “They will find me
waiting for them,” and he halted his troops and bade them stand to
arms beneath the wall of the Fort. The soldiers grumbled horribly at
being cheated of their noonday rest, but not a man would willingly
have been absent when the procession of scarlet palanquins was seen
approaching, escorted by the usual gorgeous retinue mounted on gaily
caparisoned horses and camels. The little army which had yesterday
overthrown more than twenty times its own number formed square to
receive them, Sir Harry on his black Arab in the midst, with Colonel
Bayard beside him, and the staff behind. All were in field dress, worn
and soiled, for their scanty baggage allowed no finery, and the
General, spectacles on nose as usual, wore his shabby blue uniform and
the curious helmet tilted well over his eyes. To Eveleen, watching
from the background, the sense of drama was almost painfully present
as the six Khans, emerging one by one from their palanquins, made
their way humbly on foot to the conqueror, and proffered him their
jewelled swords, which he bade them retain. Gul Ali was almost maudlin
in his self-abasement, but Khair Husain evidently intended to carry
things with a high hand. He demanded jovially of Colonel Bayard where
he had been the day before, since he had hunted for him all over the
battlefield that he might be able to surrender to a friend, and he
offered the General something else besides his sword. What it was
Eveleen could not see, but she fancied the man’s eyes looked past Sir
Harry and rested on her. An angry refusal snapped out, and Khair
Husain passed on with a deprecatory gesture. Young Hafiz Ullah was set
at liberty, as a compliment to Colonel Bayard, to whose care he had
been committed by his father on his deathbed, but the rest of the
Khans were handed over to Brian for safe keeping--the scene of which
was to be their own beautiful garden-palace near the Agency, easily
guarded, and remote from the chance of a rescue. With slow dragging
steps the fallen Princes returned to their palanquins, and with their
servants, were carried away under a strong guard, Captain Stewart
riding up to the city with an escort to take over the principal
gateway as the General’s representative. Sir Harry drew a long breath
as he and Colonel Bayard turned their horses away again.

“Well, this is the sort of thing makes a man feel he hasn’t lived in
vain! Fine showy things those swords--eh? I hadn’t the heart to
deprive the poor beggars of ’em, though they would have made a nice
heirloom to hand down in a private gentleman’s family. And now to make
things lively for our backward friend Kamal-ud-din!”

“General!”--Colonel Bayard’s voice was hoarse with emotion--“I have
said nothing, raised no protest--I vowed I would make no further
effort--but after all this---- Ain’t you yet content?”

“Content?” Sir Harry stared at him. “What is there to be content
about? After this next battle, perhaps----”

“Another battle! more bloodshed! Don’t those awful heaps satisfy you
which I passed in the moonlight last night? Are you determined to
destroy this unhappy nation if it fails to destroy you?”

“It has destroyed nineteen of my officers and two hundred and
fifty-six men of my small force already. Merciful Heaven! do you think
me a stone? Shall I ever forget that long row this morning of the
corpses of my noblest friends, grim with dust and blood, laid side by
side until the sand should shroud them from my sight? Are you accusing
me of taking pleasure in bloodshed, Colonel Bayard?”

“Nay, not that---- Yet what can I think when I see you passing from
one horror to another? Your bravery, your capacity, none can now
dispute--if any one was ever fool enough to doubt it. Would that your
sword had been drawn in a nobler cause! but you have chosen the
shortest way, and it ain’t for me to remonstrate further. But shed no
more blood, I entreat you; make your name as famous for mercy as it
will always be for conquest.”

“What is it you are trying to get me to do?” Sir Harry turned and
looked at him suspiciously.

“Kamal-ud-din--I know him well; he is young and easily moved. At
present he is undecided whether to provoke a battle or not, because he
believes you incensed against him. Let me go to him----”

“Certainly not. Too valuable a hostage.”

“Let me write, then. I will choose a messenger from the retainers of
his uncles, who will inform him of their submission, and urge him to
come in and surrender. With him in your hands, there is no leader left
about whom the remnants of the Khans’ armies may rally, and you attain
at once all the results of a battle without fighting one.”

“Be it so, then. Heaven knows the army is in no state to fight again
to-day, and I should be crippled in any movement by this train of
wounded.”



 CHAPTER XVII.
 SUPPORTED ON BAYONETS.

“/A grand/ joke for y’, Evie!” Brian ran up the steps gleefully,
forgetful for the moment of the anxious charge which--so his friends
alleged--was sapping the bloom from his youthful cheek, and turning
his hair prematurely grey. It was three days after the battle at
Mahighar, the camp had been pitched in and about the Agency compound,
and in the ruined Residency itself the Engineers had patched up two or
three rooms and a verandah for Eveleen, that she might not have to
face the vicissitudes of the weather in a tent.

“And I have one for you!” responded Eveleen joyously. “Yours
first--you’ll appreciate mine all the better for waiting for it. Don’t
mind Ambrose; he’s far too busy to notice our nonsense.” She turned
slightly towards Brian, and with a wicked glance, laid one forefinger
over the other close to her eye. Richard was reading ostentatiously at
some little distance--but it was no more novel or interesting work
than an old Addiscombe text-book, somehow washed up on this distant
beach.

“Listen, then. D’ye know y’are the General’s guardian angel, his
talisman of success--that he won’t fight until y’are there, and if he
lost you he’d be a gone coon? What d’ye think of that now? It’s proud
y’ought to be, indeed.”

“I’d be prouder if I thought he took a proper view of my importance to
him,” dolefully. “I’ll impart to y’a horrid secret, Brian. Sometimes I
could almost believe the ungrateful old gentleman regarded me as an
encumbrance!”

“That’s his artfulness. He don’t want you to realise your value. Why,
when Khair Husain Khan, wishing to show suitable respect, desired to
send y’a fine present of jewels t’other day, d’ye think the old lad
would let you have it? Not he! Gave him a nasty snub, I promise you!”

“Ah, then, that was it!” Eveleen’s eyes danced. “I saw the creature
look at me, but how would I know what he was saying? Sure Sir Harry
might have had the politeness to offer me the choice whether I’d
accept or not.”

She glanced very slightly towards Richard, and Richard flung away his
book, remarked “Psh!” very loudly, and rose and stalked towards his
wife and her brother.

“Always glad to see you, Delany,” he remarked, with forced geniality,
“but I should be uncommonly obliged if you would help me in putting a
stop to this nonsense. You can’t think it’s particularly gratifying
for a man to know that such tales are going about the bazar with
respect to his wife.”

“But sure no one that matters regards ’em as anything but a joke!”
said Brian in surprise.

“Ah, but Ambrose can never see a joke, don’t you know?” said Eveleen
plaintively.

“Perhaps not, but I can see defiance when I am treated to it----”
Richard was not apt at epigram, and his return was deplorably lame. He
went on to seek sympathy from Brian, who did not look encouraging: he
disliked matrimonial differences which went deeper than mere surface
squabbling. “I desired your sister particularly not to show herself at
to-day’s ceremony, yet where should I find her but on horseback within
the square, close to the General--thus giving confirmation to all
these foolish reports?”

“As if I’d have let anything or anybody in the whole wide world keep
me away!” Eveleen broke in indignantly. “To see the colours go up on
the round tower, and the guns firing, and the soldiers cheering and
cheering as if they would never stop--would anything make me miss such
a sight, I ask you?”

“Not my wishes, evidently. You have no regard for them.”

“And why would I, when you gave me no slightest, tiniest hint of a
reason? Was there any, will you tell me?”

“I had a reason, certainly, but I didn’t want to alarm you. Perhaps I
was foolish to be so careful.”

“Will you never learn that when anything is really, truly interesting,
there ain’t the smallest possibility of its being alarming? Don’t
y’agree with me, Brian?”

“Well, now, I don’t entirely.” Brian was perhaps not sorry to give a
helping hand to a brother-man. “It might be you’d do well to be
alarmed in this case, Evie--I don’t know. It’s a bit of a mystery to
me. By what I make out from my Khans yonder--who can be precious
affable when they like--it has something to do with some piece of
jewellery of yours that you gave away or sold. The thing has got into
Kamal-ud-din’s hands--whatever it is--and he has it to thank that he
ain’t a prisoner like his uncles and cousins.” For with callous
disregard of Colonel Bayard’s assurances on his behalf, Kamal-ud-din
had first promised effusively to come in and surrender on the
following morning, and then employed the interval in removing himself
and his forces into the desert, _en route_ for his remote ancestral
fortress of Umarganj. Possibly the messenger who conveyed the letter
had conveyed also information as to the state of the British troops;
at any rate, Kamal-ud-din was fully justified in his belief that
pursuit was out of the question.

Eveleen pointed a dramatic finger at her husband. “Put the blame where
it ought to be, Brian. There’s the culprit for you. ’Twas that blue
pendant Uncle Tom gave me, that I showed y’at Bombay--the seal that
wouldn’t seal, don’t you know? Well, Ambrose found the Khans set a
value on it, believing ’twas the seal of King Solomon, and had been
stolen from them years and years ago, so he very kindly made them a
present of it, without so much as asking my leave.”

“I remember it--a sort of blue cheese-plate. But it’s you are joking
now, Evie. D’ye ask me to believe he took your pendant and gave it
away without your knowing?”

Richard growled inarticulately, and Eveleen felt obliged to furnish
the explanation he disdained to supply.

“Well, not that exactly. I had pledged it, or pawned it--whatever you
like to call it--to get you that money you wanted, when you were
afraid you’d miss the chance of getting into the General’s family,
don’t you know? and Ambrose was shockingly cross with me about it. So
I suppose he thought he’d punish me, but ’twas he gave it to
Kamal-ud-din, you see.”

“Holy Moses! I come into this too, do I?” groaned Brian. “Don’t betray
me to my old lad, either of you, or I _will_ get a wigging. For you
see, Evie, we have spoilt his luck between us. The stone and you go
together somehow--it’s blue, and your eyes are blue; green, rather,
I’d say if I was asked--so Khair Husain told me, and when y’are
separated, the luck’s split. At present we have the lady, and
Kamal-ud-din has the pendant--the Belle and the Bauble, to make a
pantomime title out of it. If the General had had the Bauble as well
as the Belle, he’d have swept up Kamal-ud-din with the rest of the
Khans, and conquered the country at one go. If Kamal-ud-din had had
the Belle as well as the Bauble, the Khans would have won t’other day,
and cut all our throats on the field of battle, and led the General in
triumph by a gold chain through his nose. Well, there y’are, you see.
Don’t it strike you as a bit of a temptation to the Arabits to bring
the Belle and the Bauble together again by carrying off the lady?”

“I’d like to see them try it!” declared Eveleen defiantly. “I sent a
message to Kamal-ud-din by poor Tom Carthew when he had the stone
first that I was ill-wishing it with all my might, but that’s
_nothing_ to what I’d do if they tried to get hold of me.
Besides”--with one of the sudden changes of mood her husband found so
bewildering--“it’s just a notion I have that Ambrose wouldn’t be so
ready to part with _me_, though he thinks he can make free as he likes
with my things.”

It was absolutely impossible for Richard to rearrange his thoughts
quickly enough to respond adequately to this overture of peace and the
glance that accompanied it, but he managed to call up some sort of
smile, and to mutter, “Oh no--rayther not, I’m sure!” Brian, scenting
a reconciliation, made haste to clinch the matter.

“And don’t you be so nasty about that old pendant, Evie. I’m quite
certain Ambrose would have given you something instead, if y’had asked
him nicely.”

“Ah, but Ambrose don’t agree with giving his wife presents when she
can’t keep accounts and wastes his money for him,” said Eveleen
wickedly. “There! would you believe it, I was forgetting my joke that
I had for you! What d’ye think of that, now?” she brought out of her
pocket a handkerchief tied up in knots, and unfastening them, let a
small torrent of gems tumble out upon the cane lounge where she was
sitting. Richard’s face darkened again angrily.

“Mrs Ambrose, where did you get those?”

“Looks as though somebody had been making you a present, if Ambrose
won’t,” said Brian lightly, with the amiable intention of averting
another dispute. “Or have you been making a little private expedition
of your own after loot? In the Fort to-day--oh, fie, Mrs Ambrose, fie!
Won’t I set the Provost Marshal and the Prize Agents on you!”

Eveleen was bathing her hands in the jewels, without troubling to
answer either man’s question. “Such a pity they spoil their stones so
cruelly,” she said. “I wonder why will they always pierce them and
they never seem to cut them so as to bring out the full beauty. And
flaws, now--you’d think they didn’t even notice them, as if they only
cared for a stone to be as large as possible.”

Richard’s hand gripped her shoulder--not gently. “You acknowledge
these are native stones, then--from the treasury, I suppose? How did
you get them?”

“If you hurt me so, I’ll cry. I know I’ll have a horrid bruise for
weeks. Y’are so rough, Ambrose!”

“Get on with y’, Evie,” said Brian curtly. “How did you get hold of
these things?”

“Well, then, I found them!” Eveleen looked defiantly from one to the
other, resenting their tone.

“You found them? Where, pray?”

“On my dressing-table--wrapped up in an old dirty bit of silk
embroidery. I nearly called Ketty to pick it up with a stick and throw
it away, it looked so horrid. Then I saw something sticking out, and
’twas this emerald.”

“Did your ayah know anything of the parcel?”

“She swore she did not, and I wouldn’t think she’d tell me a direct
lie.”

“May have been bribed to turn her back for a moment,” suggested Brian.

“More likely her attention was attracted by something going on
outside,” said Eveleen promptly. “Her bump of curiosity’s enormous,
don’t you know.”

“What do you make of this, Delany?” asked Richard hoarsely. “Is it
some such plot on Kamal-ud-din’s part as you hinted at just now?”

“To reunite the Belle and the Bauble, d’ye mean? I wouldn’t think
that--unless they’d imagine my sister was to be cot like a bird by
spreading a trail of crumbs in front of her. No, if y’ask me, I’d say
’twas some bright scheme on the part of those Khans of mine, that have
the heart worried out of me with their crooked ways. Every man of ’em
is laden with stones like these. I know because they’re so anxious to
make me presents of ’em. But now they know if I accept anything ’twill
only go to the Prize Agents, they’re knocking off a bit. Possibly, now
they have proved my Roman virtue, they are trying elsewhere.”

“But what’s the notion?”

“I ask y’, indeed! Just for a sort of propitiation, maybe, to the man
in charge of ’em. But then again, they may have some plan in hand, and
’twould help ’em if I went about with my eyes shut. Or it may be they
want a good word said for ’em to the General. You know these fellows.
Can any of us say what’s in their minds?”

“You think they are plotting to escape?”

“I don’t know, I tell you. The way they keep my mind on the stretch,
wondering what are they after now, you’d pity me if you knew! They
can’t want more indulgences or luxuries, for they’ve got ’em all. It
makes me angry to go from the General in his wretched little _rowty_,
that barely keeps the sun off his old head, to those chaps with their
great cool rooms and fountains and green stuff. It can’t be more
servants they want, for they couldn’t get ’em in. The place is packed
with big strapping fellows, that go backwards and forwards to the
Fort, and can carry news, or treasure, or anything they like but
arms--and I wouldn’t put it past ’em to smuggle them too now and then.
At least, there’ll be no more treasure to be had now, for the Prize
Agents have taken it over--three million pounds they talk about.”

“And you’d grudge your poor sister one little handful of spoilt
stones!” said Eveleen tragically.

“Precisely. Hand ’em over, Evie, and I’ll leave the lot with the Prize
Agents as I go back. Whatever they were put in your room for, ’twas
for no good, and you know that as well as I do.”

“He won’t leave me so much as one little weeshy diamond! Ah, it’s a
cruel brother I have, and a cruel husband too! I wonder have they any
hearts at all, at all?”

“It’s a brother and a husband miles too good for you y’have,” said
Brian, tying up the stones inexorably in his handkerchief. “See here,
Ambrose, I’ll be getting you a receipt for these, in case there’d be
any question of a trap.”

“You have a head on your shoulders,” said Richard heartily. “The
Sahib’s horse!” he called to a servant.

Presently he came back from the steps to find Eveleen pouting in her
corner of the lounge. “Sure you might have let _me_ send them to the
Prize Agent,” was her complaint. “What bit of a chance have I of doing
the right things, when two great men seize them out of my hands and do
them instead?”

“You see,” with a grave face, “you are so sadly destitute of jewellery
that they might have been a temptation.”

“Ah now, aren’t y’ashamed to turn my own words against me like that?
D’ye not know a good horse is more to me than a diamond necklace any
day?”

“But not more than this sort of thing, I hope, or I shall feel I have
gone wrong again.” He dropped a little parcel into her lap, and stood
watching while she snatched it up in surprise.

“And what’s this, now? Have you been wasting your money on me,
Ambrose? I’m surprised at you!”

Happily the possible double meaning of her last sentence did not occur
to her as she eagerly opened the case, and displayed a gold locket set
with pearls--large and massive, eminently what was then called “a
handsome piece of jewellery.” “And did you really choose this for me?”

“Bayard chose it in Bombay--I asked him. He brought it up with him,
and forgot all about it till he was packing again yesterday. Ain’t you
going to look inside?”

She opened it joyfully, never doubting what she was about to see, and
uttered a little sound of dismay. It was Brian’s cheerful eyes that
smiled quizzically at her, their expression curiously natural, though
the rest of the miniature showed the mannered stiffness of the native
artist.

“Do you like it?” asked Richard anxiously. “I got it done here to send
down after Bayard to take with him and have it put in the locket. I
was afraid you would miss that calotype of your brother when I took it
to the painter, but it was only two or three days in the bustle of
packing up, and you happened not to think of it.”

Eveleen was hardly listening to him. She lifted her eyes tragically
from the locket in her lap. “And why not yours?” she demanded.

“Mine? Why, I was sure you would rather have your brother’s,” he
replied, in all innocence.

“Major Ambrose, there are times when I’d like--I’d like---- I won’t
tell you what I’d like to do to you, but ’twould not be pleasant.”

“Then you ain’t pleased?” incredulously.

“Why in the world would you put _Brian_ into it?”

“Well, it was bought with that first money he paid back, you remember,
and it seemed suitable----”

Eveleen laughed drearily. “D’ye tell me that, now? Well then, with the
last money he pays back will you let him get me a locket and put you
into it? Then I’ll wear you both at once.”

“By all means, if you wish it. But I don’t quite----”

“You would not. I’d have y’understand, Ambrose, that you never will
see to your dying day! Ah, then, it’s a cross wife you have, isn’t it?
Why don’t you give me a box on the ear?”



To any one but Sir Harry Lennox, his position at this time would have
inevitably recalled that of the original Austrian who caught the
Tartar. With his little force hanging on gallantly to the river front
of Qadirabad, he was powerless to exercise any control on the land
side, and it did not need much shrewdness to guess that the Arabits
defeated at Mahighar were slipping out of the city in a continuous
stream to join Kamal-ud-din and strike a return blow under his
leadership. But it might have been more dangerous to keep them than to
let them go, and the General remained untroubled by their defection.
His concern at the moment was with bricks and mortar--or rather, in
this locality, earth and mud. In the course of ten strenuous days, the
ramshackle old Fort was put into such a state of repair as it had not
known since it was first built; an entrenched camp was constructed
about the battered Residency, and a small fortification erected on the
other side of the river, where the steamers lay, to protect them and
the precious stores they carried. But no one knew better than Sir
Harry how very inadequate was his force even to guard what he
held--much more to take the field again; and he had not only ordered
reinforcements up from Bab-us-Sahel and down from Sahar, but had put
his pride in his pocket so far as to ask the Governor-General for the
regiments from British India which he had refused earlier. Pending the
arrival of relief, he sat tight, presenting a spectacle of prudent
inactivity which was as surprising as it was trying to his officers,
who knew that Kamal-ud-din’s hopes must be rising with every messenger
that reached him from Qadirabad. What could be more obvious than that
the Bahadar Jang was distracted by the necessity of holding so much
ground with such small numbers, that he durst not show his nose
outside his fortifications, and that an attack in force on any portion
of them must oblige him either to concentrate his entire strength in
its defence and abandon the rest, or to hold the whole so weakly that
it would fall an easy prey? Gloomy reports went round, leading to
gloomier prognostications. The right bank of the river was wholly
hostile. In the north the wild tribes were coming down from their
hills, like vultures lured by the hope of being in at the death of the
old lion. Down in the delta the wild tribes of the plains were waxing
bold--interfering with the _dâks_, raiding the outlying houses of
Bab-us-Sahel. The river itself might be considered safe wherever there
was water for the steamers, but beyond the range of their guns
Kamal-ud-din could do whatever he liked even on the left bank. He
would know of the reinforcements marching from Sahar--of course he
would swoop upon them from his desert eyrie and annihilate them by
sheer weight of numbers.

“’Deed and y’are kindly welcome, as old Biddy used to say!” Eveleen
greeted her brother one afternoon. “Mr Ferrers and Sir Dugald Haigh
have been calling, and made me miserable entirely. Sir Dugald never
says anything, but he sits and looks so solemn you’d be certain things
were at their very worst. And Ferrers said any amount--that the
General had lost his opportunity once for all when he let Kamal-ud-din
escape and planted himself down here. But if only he was given the
chance, says he, he’d engage to beat up Kamal-ud-din’s headquarters
and bring him back prisoner, and so end the war at one blow.”

“Lieutenant Ferrers is a very great officer,” said Brian sardonically,
“and if ’twas only his own life, and not the lives of other men and
horses, would pay the price, I’d like well to see him sent out on just
that easy bit of business. But we must hope to get rid of him cheaper
than that.”

“Sure you may be as sarcastic as you please, but that don’t give me an
answer to hurl at the man. Here I am, knowing nothing but what he and
the rest say, and Ambrose looking virtuous and shocked when I ask him
will he tell me anything, and talking about matters of duty and
official secrets. Why, I believe the common soldiers know more of the
General’s plans than I do! Often I see a knot of them, and in the
middle his old helmet and Black Prince tossing his lovely little head,
and it don’t need to be a prophet to know they’re asking him all sorts
of questions, and he answering them as if he liked it.”

“And you never asked a question in your life, and the old lad wouldn’t
like it if you did!”

“That he would not--or at any rate, I’m on my best behaviour, and
trying not to tease him. Besides, wouldn’t I seem to be reflecting on
the state of his mind if I asked him did ever any General before lay
out a beautiful camp, and then move all his soldiers out of it into
the desert, and only leave the hospitals and the baggage and
headquarters and the prisoners and Ambrose and me inside?”

“You can’t say you have no neighbours!” laughed Brian. “But see here,
Evie, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t know what he’s after. Now
then, let me think how can I wrap up the truth in an Oriental
apologue, so that any unauthorised listeners may be puzzled to find
it? Listen, now; will you think y’are an old lady, poor and proud,
like our cousin Gracia, living out Donnybrook way on her little bit of
an annuity?” Eveleen looked mystified, but nodded. “Well, then, she
has prosperous relatives living in Merrion Square--Counsellor Sullivan
and his lady,--and she likes greatly to keep up the family feeling.
But she has no money for coach-hire, and how would she walk all that
way, even if she wasn’t terrified her little house would be robbed
while she was gone? Will you tell me what she’d do?”

“I’d say she’d ask them would they come and see her,” entering into
the spirit of the fable.

“Just so. And you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d put forward what
attractions she could offer--to make it clear the favour was on her
side, and the Counsellor and his lady would be well repaid for their
long drive? The roses in her little bit of a garden would be at their
best, and she could give ’em such eggs as they’d never buy in Dublin,
and fresh cream from the farm over the way. Can’t you see the old lady
in her old worn satin gown and her cap with the smuggled lace, and how
she be worrying the girl she has, the way she wouldn’t know what she’d
be doing? ‘I’d have you recollect, Rose Ann, there’s nothing so
wonderful about Merrion Square. In my young days, ’twas company from
the Cass’le, no less, we’d be entertaining--the Lord and Lady
Lieutenant, and the grand ones they’d bring with ’em. Not that I have
anything to say against my cousin the Counsellor--I have the highest
respect for him and Mrs Sullivan,--but go out of my way to make any
difference for them is a thing I’d never do. They must take us as we
are, and just put up with what we are accustomed to,’ and she looks so
majestically at the girl she’d never dare remember all the polishing
up of the old silver, and the eggs and cream ordered, and the saffron
cakes bought at the shop. D’ye see then how old Gracia, because she
can’t get to Merrion Square herself, will make the Sullivans come out
to Donnybrook, and bear the fatigue and expense--such as it is? and
how she’ll make her preparations to entertain ’em in good time, while
pretending she’s doing nothing of the kind? and how she’ll cry ’em
down as very good sort of people and praise ’em up because they are
relatives of hers, all in the same breath?”

“I do, I do!” cried Eveleen delightedly. “And Rose Ann understands
perfectly that though the Sullivans are no very great things, yet
she’ll bring eternal disgrace upon herself if she don’t treat them as
though they were. But your beloved charges, Brian--how will you bring
them in?”

“My ‘interesting’ charges, as the General calls ’em?” said Brian
thoughtfully. “Well now, wouldn’t they be the jealous neighbours that
would be always on the look-out to drop hints to the Sullivans that
the creature fed every day on stirabout and potatoes, the same as Rose
Ann? and if they could make a mistake in the day, or manage to arrive
an hour too early, they’d catch her going about the house in her old
patched petticoat and print bed-gown? Then if the Sullivans were the
malicious sort of people that like to spring disagreeable surprises on
their friends--why, they’d do it.”

“They would,” with conviction. “Ah, don’t you hope somebody of the
sort has been listening to us talking? There’s not much they could
make out of our tales of home. But I suppose I may ask you whether
your interesting charges have been more agreeable this two or three
days? It’s no secret to any one the way they behave.”

“I believe you--except to us,” said Brian, with unusual bitterness.
“The fellows are worse than ever, I tell you--so cock-a-hoop their
bearing would show they were in correspondence with Kamal-ud-din and
counting on his success if there was nothing else. Tell you what,
Evie, that fellow Bayard--I know he’s your friend and Ambrose’s, but I
can’t help saying it--the fellow’s a fool. It’s a blessing he’s left
us to ourselves in despair, but I had a letter from him to-day from
Bab-us-Sahel, begging me for his sake to leave nothing undone that
could conduce to the comfort and honour of the Khans. And already they
have so much liberty they’re a danger as well as a nuisance.”

“He’s such a faithful friend, don’t you know? He’ll never give them
up, however bad they are.”

“Despite their ‘fatal step of taking up arms against the British
power,’ as he says. Well, we’ll all bear witness he did his best that
the step would be fatal to us instead! You know he persuaded the
General to allow ’em have their crowds of servants going freely in and
out--spies, of course, every man of ’em. ’Twas so impossible to keep
’em in any sort of control, that after remonstrating with their
masters in vain, at last I complained to the General, and he came to
point out they had no shadow of reason for entertaining such a crew.
Give you my word there were two hundred Arabits at least in the very
tent where we sat talking to the Khans--all pressing close upon us and
looking by no means pleasant. I confess it struck me that if they
chose to fall on us we’d have a mighty poor chance. And what d’ye
think Khair Husain had the impudence to say with a straight face? ‘Our
people? But we have only a few Hindus--not enough to cook our
victuals. Not an Arabit ever enters this garden.’ Now what could be
the object of telling a silly lie like that? If y’ask me, I’d say
’twas simply impudence, and it riled the General. He said pretty
sharply, ‘I won’t kill you as you’d have killed the English, but any
further complaints, and I’ll clap y’all in irons and send y’on board
a steamer!’ I wish he’d do it, too; I ain’t cut out for a jailer. They
know now they can’t bribe me, but that’s about all, and one of our
spies tells the General they please themselves with promising to cut
me into little bits, beginning with my fingers and toes, when
Kamal-ud-din comes. They’re a sweet lot, I tell you--able for
anything. Why, when the General got up in a rage, as I said just now,
and went out, who would come catching at his coat and whining to him
for protection but old Gul Ali? The poor old beggar’s baggage was all
lost at Mahighar, and he came to prison destitute, and destitute he
remains. There he stood out in the sun, while the rest sat in their
silken tent. They won’t give him food or clothes or money to buy ’em,
and he swears they mean him to starve to death. Of course he got
protection promised him--against his own brothers and nephews,--and
the General sent him in a tent and some things. That’s what the
fellows are--with jewels dropping from ’em whenever they move!”

“Ah, those jewels! Did y’ever find out whether they put that bundle on
my dressing-table?”

“I did. Ambrose thought I’d better nip any further attempts in the bud
by showing ’em this one had not come to anything, so one day when
Khair Husain seemed inclined to be confidential I broke the truth to
him. He was a good deal chagrined, but not a bit ashamed.”

“But did he say what they had hoped I’d do?”

“’Twas to secure your intercession with the General on behalf of their
zenanas, so he said. But can you believe a word they’d say?”

“But I thought they had their zenanas with them?”

“Their wives and mothers and aunts and daughters and sisters--every
conceivable sort of female relative--but not the slave-girls. The
place wouldn’t hold ’em.”

“And they are allowed go back to their friends? That was one of the
things made Ferrers angry. He said the General let the women stay in
the Fort for days after the surrender, and there were hundreds of
armed men there as well, and they plundered nearly all the treasure.”

“Well, what would y’have the poor old boy do? The armed men were there
to guard the zenana, and Bayard and all the old Indians were dinning
it into his ears that at the first sign of an attempt to expel ’em,
they’d cut all the women’s throats and fight their way out of the
city. They had to be got out of the Fort somehow, or there would have
been no room for a garrison; and besides, it was not safe to leave ’em
there uncontrolled. So he gave ’em three days, while he was collecting
camels and palanquins to carry the women to the other palaces outside
the city. He knew the ladies would get their fingers into the
treasury, but he thought ’twas only fair they would have something to
support themselves, as the Khans ain’t likely to be able to keep up
such an establishment in future, and what d’ye think we find now they
have walked off with? Two millions out of the three the Prize Agents
saw in the treasury the first day!”

“No wonder the Khans are well off!” said Eveleen.

“Ah, it’s not all got to them, by any manner of means. Case of finding
and keeping, I’d say. But it did sicken me to hear Bayard, when he was
starting off down the river after the hoisting of the flag on the
Fort, saying to the General, ‘Remember the Khans’ honour is bound up
in their womenfolk. Indulge their prejudices, I entreat you. Their
wives and daughters are as dear to them as yours to you.’ Half the
army believes that Bayard was bribed by the Khans, I may tell you,
because of all the delays he brought about. Of course we know that’s
great nonsense, but if I’d been the General I’d have knocked him in
the river for daring to mention those females in the same breath with
little Sally and her sister!”



 CHAPTER XVIII.
 PLUCK AND LUCK.

/Nearly/ a month after the battle of Mahighar part of the load was
lifted from Sir Henry’s burdened mind by the Governor-General’s
ordering the annexation of Khemistan and the deportation of the Khans
to Bombay. Lord Maryport had not yet heard of the battle, but the
shuffling of the Khans over the treaty, and the attack on the Agency,
had convinced him that further delay was useless, and his action came
in time to diminish the General’s anxieties by allowing him to get rid
of his prisoners without fulfilling his threat to put them in irons.
There was a slight difference of opinion over their departure. The
Khans declared loudly that the Governor-General’s permission to take
with them into exile their families and servants included the
thousands of women for whom it had not been possible to find room in
the garden-palace. The ladies, on the other hand, having enquired
whether it was true that slavery was abolished under British rule,
flatly refused to go, and the General declined to compel them. Eveleen
triumphed ungenerously over Richard on the occasion.

“Didn’t I tell you the creatures were carried away to the Fort against
their wills? and you declaring they liked it, and were provided for
for life!”

“You forget, my dear, the conditions are altered. In the old days they
would have settled down happily, and never have dreamt of leaving the
palace.”

“As if that made it any better! If they were Arabit women ’twould be
different--they’d have a right to go where their lords went. But these
poor Hindu and Khemi girls, stolen away against their wills and shut
up in the Fort, forbidden to see even their parents again on pain of
death--would you so much as _wish_ them to be happy?”

“I fear my wishes would have precious little weight with ’em, my
dear--as sometimes happens with another lady. But ain’t you satisfied
now they are all at liberty to return to the parental roof? and I
trust they’ll enjoy the change!”

“And why wouldn’t they? when each has got her little property to keep
her till she can make her arrangements? I’m glad Sir Harry saw to it
they wouldn’t be left destitute.”

“That they certainly were not, but I admire your unselfishness, since
their gains have all come out of the prize-money we ought to have
had.”

“Ah, y’old money-grubber!” said Eveleen affectionately. “It’s as bad
as the General y’are, when he says he don’t mind how long Kamal-ud-din
hangs off and on without attacking, because he’s spending all his
money feeding his followers, and when it’s gone they’ll forsake him.”

“Precisely the sort of thing the General would say to you.”

The hint of superiority was intolerable. “And pray what does he say to
you, Major Ambrose, that y’are so high and mighty about it?”

“Accept my apologies, my dear. I assure you I was not alluding to any
confidential information imparted to me.”

“Then what were y’alluding to?”

“Mrs Ambrose, cross-examiner! Simply to the fact which the General is
kind enough to leave out of sight when he seeks to raise your spirits,
that though a certain amount of delay on Kamal-ud-din’s part may be of
service to us in allowing our reinforcements to come up, yet too much
of it will bring into the field against us an enemy far more deadly
than any of the Khans--the hot weather.”

“But sure Sir Harry was counting up all the reasons he has for being
thankful for the delay!”

“To reassure you, as I say. But believe me, the thought of the hot
weather harasses him day and night. What could we do here, unable to
march, with the river in flood, and the prevalence of sickness usual
at that season? He has succeeded to a marvel in alluring the enemy
from his fastnesses, whither we could not pursue him, and in keeping
him amused in the prospect of overcoming our weakness with ease as
soon as he tires of playing with us as a cat plays with a mouse. But
that ain’t success as the people of this country understand it. They
may hate Kamal-ud-din, with his horde of plundering Arabits sweeping
off their cattle, and his design of re-establishing the late tyranny
with himself as sole tyrant, but their main concern is to preserve
their own lives and as much of their property as they can. They have
hailed us as liberators, but when they see Kamal-ud-din’s rascals,
encamped only five miles from our entrenchments, driving off our
camels as they graze, while we don’t raise a finger to prevent ’em,
it’s enough to set ’em thinking whether it ain’t time to turn against
us.”

“And if they do?”

“Then it will be Ethiopia over again.”

“My dear Ambrose, d’ye think the General don’t know that as well as
you do?”

Richard spoke rather stiffly. “I am sure of it. Possibly I may have
wished to know whether you realised the situation.”

“I’m greatly obliged to you! Why not say at once you wanted to make my
flesh creep? You forget, sir, y’are speaking to a female that had the
honour of being present at the battle of Mahighar, when the Arabit
chivalry, springing from its lair armed to the teeth, was hurled back
in reluctant defeat by the might of British courage and endurance.”
Her husband’s lips relaxed in an unwilling smile, for she was
imitating the General in those moments when he indulged in what people
of his day called admiringly “elevated language.” The present
degenerate age would stigmatise it as “hot air” or “gas,” and ask
kindly whether the poor old man was feeling quite well.

“Present in spirit, certainly. Yes, I had forgotten I was speaking to
such a heroine. Renewed apologies!”

“Ah now, don’t tease! Just tell me, then, what’s the worst you
expect?”

“The worst that might happen?” Eveleen’s eyes danced as she noticed
that he altered the wording of her question. “All the spies tell us
Kamal-ud-din’s design is to attack the Fort in such strength that the
General must leave his camp undefended in order to succour the
garrison, and thus lose the hospitals and baggage, even if he beats
off the assault.”

“Well, then, you won’t make me believe Sir Harry is going to walk into
that trap! Tell me something worse.”

“If Kamal-ud-din is anything of a commander, and seriously desires to
embarrass us, he has only to fall on Rickmer marching from Sahar. The
General must endeavour to relieve him, and the farther off the action
takes place the more unprotected he must leave things here--absolutely
open to an attack from a second Arabit force. Why the Khan hasn’t
attacked Rickmer already is a thing that puzzles me. One might almost
believe he had little stomach for the fight. How is it he don’t see
he’s playing the General’s game?”

“So there’s more method in Sir Harry’s madness than you’d allow just
now? Sure you’ve forgot which side y’are arguing on! But I hear the
horses coming round. Have you time to ride with me this evening?”

“If I may have the honour.”

“Ah, then, don’t be making fun of your old wife!” and Eveleen pulled
his hair as she passed him. He looked after her with resigned
amusement. She was like an indiarubber ball; nothing would crush her.
Well, at any rate no one could say she was not happy. He had done his
duty by her, in spite of those two or three embarrassing outbursts
when her loudly asserted misery had made him doubt the wisdom of his
action. For all her years, she was a child still, with a child’s
sudden and unreasoning joy and sorrow, and a child she would remain.
Now that he realised this, he knew what his own part must be--always a
satisfaction to a man of his orderly, steady-going type of mind. Yes,
that must be why he had found the path of duty easier to tread of late
than when he had first brought his wife to Khemistan--he was getting
used to it.

As they rode down to the flats by the river, they were joined by
Brian--now released from his hated attendance on the Khans, who had
been put in charge of a senior officer for their voyage to
Bab-us-Sahel and thence to Bombay. He was bubbling over with delight.

“This is grand!” he cried. “Come with me and we’ll follow in the
General’s footsteps. If we haunt the old boy faithfully, I’ll show you
something worth seeing.”

“Anything new?” asked Richard.

“Rayther! Vakils with a letter from Kamal-ud-din--what d’ye think of
that? They were fools enough to let it be known they were come to
offer us terms of surrender, and when they arrived the General was
‘not at home.’ He had started on his evening ride, but if you’ll
believe me--’twas a curious thing--he left word he’d be passing the
Headquarters Mess about sunset. So they are to meet him there, and if
we happen to find ourselves in the neighbourhood about the same
time--well, the old lad has a tasty way of staging his scenes
sometimes.”

Such an intimation was not to be disregarded, and by a pure
coincidence the General had an audience of some size when he came
suddenly upon the waiting ambassadors, and learned their errand.
Receiving the letter at their hands, he gave it to Richard to read,
remarking that it was convenient he should happen to be there. “Aloud,
if you please,” he added.

The messengers clustered together a little more closely, as though for
mutual support, as Richard ran his eye over the elaborate and
inevitable compliments occupying the first part of the epistle. There
was a look about them as of naughty boys--bold yet frightened--as he
reached the business part. “I am to read his Highness’s letter aloud,
sir?” he asked. “Then this is what he suggests--you are to be free to
quit Khemistan with you troops and baggage, on condition of liberating
the Khans now in captivity, and restoring the occupied territory and
towns, and all spoil of every kind.”

A murmur of indignation rose and swelled among the European part of
the group, but the General held up his hand for silence. Into the
silence there came the heavy boom of the evening gun from the Fort.
Sir Harry laughed. “There! d’ye hear that?” he said. “That’s my
answer. Be off with it to your master!” and off the messengers went,
hardly waiting for the words to be translated into Persian.

“Now Rickmer will have to look out for himself; or rather, we must
look out for him,” said the General. “Kamal-ud-din has had a nasty
snub, and in his naughty pride he will do his best to pay me back.
Methinks it will cool his hot blood a little if we explore towards him
to-morrow, and display an impolite curiosity as to the disposition of
his forces.”

The “exploration”--which would now be called a reconnaissance in
force--was carried out on three successive days, the General moving
out with cavalry and guns in such warlike array that any young
commander might have been excused for expecting an immediate assault.
It was clear that Kamal-ud-din thought so, for he acted according to
his lights in calling in his stragglers and raiding parties and
waiting to be attacked. He was not attacked, but the General was able
to get a very fair idea of the strong positions he had prepared. The
secondary object of tempting him out into the open in order to
ascertain his strength was not attained, but a far more important one
was. It was three days before Kamal-ud-din realised that he had been
kept so busy and so much interested in front that Colonel Rickmer and
the Sahar column had got up behind him within two or three marches of
the General. Thereupon he decided to treat frontal demonstrations with
contempt in future, and take strong measures on his own account in his
rear.

On the evening of the day of the third reconnaissance, the General was
giving a dinner-party. It was clear by this time that Kamal-ud-din had
perceived the real nature of the entertainment devised for his
benefit, for the spies brought word that a large body of his men had
marched into the desert in a north-easterly direction, evidently with
the intention of making a circuit and falling upon Colonel Rickmer’s
column from an unexpected quarter. It was an anxious moment for Sir
Harry--not merely on the column’s account, but on his own. Until
Colonel Rickmer arrived, he had merely the less than three thousand
men of Mahighar--their numbers now sadly diminished by casualties and
sickness, as well as by the necessity of furnishing a garrison for the
Fort and guards for the camp and for the Khans on their voyage. True,
victory was possible even with this remnant--he would have knocked any
man down for denying it,--but the prudence which was so curiously
blended with his rashness made him loath to contemplate fighting
without the help of the northern column. The other reinforcements
coming by water might almost safely be discounted, for they could not
be expected for five days or even a week. Therefore the situation was
critical in the extreme, and because the General knew it, and knew
that his army knew it, and knew that the enemy must at least guess it,
he invited his officers to dinner to celebrate one of the Duke of
Wellington’s victories in the Peninsular War. He remembered and
observed them all religiously, as he did everything connected with his
old chief, but otherwise it is to be feared that few in camp could
have told when or where the battle of Tarbes was fought. The
increasing heat of the weather had obliged Sir Harry to give up his
favourite habit of eating and doing business in the open air, and the
_burra khana_ took place in a large double tent, its magnificent
lining of brocaded silk showing that it was part of the spoil taken
from the Khans. The table furniture was unchanged, however, consisting
of contributions from the Headquarters Mess and the canteens of the
staff. Above the General’s place simpered the portrait of the girl
Queen which had once hung in the reception-room in the Fort. By day it
was covered with a curtain--because, said Sir Harry, servants and
common people must not look upon the royal features--and exhibited
only as a high honour to loyal chiefs.

Eveleen, as the only lady present, was handed gallantly to the seat on
the General’s right, and the meal had not been long in progress before
she saw Richard, who was nearly opposite, receive a whispered message
from his servant and leave the table quietly. It was his duty to
translate or decode any messages that might arrive, and she was not
surprised when presently he reappeared at Sir Harry’s elbow, and
handed him a small piece of tissue paper, creased as though it had
been rolled up lengthways very small. As the General took it up, she
saw that there were two of these pieces of paper, both covered with
writing.

“From Colonel Rickmer, General, brought in a quill by a _cossid_ of
Colonel Welborne’s,” murmured Richard. Colonel Welborne was in modern
phrase Director of Intelligence, organising the elaborate system of
espionage and counter-espionage on which so much depended.

“And enclosing a message from Welborne, I see. Why, what’s this?” Sir
Harry’s growl of rage startled the table, and the diners who had been
politely pretending not to notice what was passing looked at him
quickly. He pulled himself together in an instant, and laughed
harshly.

“See here, gentlemen; this is good, ain’t it? Poor Rickmer desires me
to tell him what on earth he is to do, for Welborne sends him word,
‘For God’s sake, halt! You will be attacked to-morrow by forty
thousand men at least. Entrench yourself until the General can arrive
to your relief.’ Is he to halt or not, he asks me, since I have sent
him no orders to that effect. Here’s my answer--a pencil, Ambrose.” He
turned the note over and wrote in his sprawling characters on the
back, “‘Welborne’s men are all in buckram. Come on.’ Be good enough to
have that sent off at once. How does it strike you, gentlemen?”

A roar of laughter went round the table, and if the General had wished
to punish Colonel Welborne for his hesitancy in charging at Mahighar,
he must have felt that he was avenged when he heard the jokes and
quips levelled at the unfortunate man throughout the rest of the meal.
Moreover, every man present would impart the jest to others, and the
camp as well as the tent would quickly be ringing with the news of
Welborne’s nervousness and the General’s drastic treatment of it. But
though he laughed with the rest, he found a moment to growl to Eveleen
under cover of the talk--

“By no means sure Welborne ain’t correct. But he had no business to
tell Rickmer. I’m looking after him--watching Kamal-ud-din as a cat
watches a mouse. What reason has he for funk? Long before the Arabits
could walk over him I should be upon their rear.”

That he meant what he said was clear the next morning, when Captain
Stewart rode out with a squadron of native cavalry, under orders to
skirt round the enemy’s position and join Colonel Rickmer. If the
enemy came out in force to prevent him, he was to send back a message
at once, when the General would march to his assistance with horse,
foot, and guns. In any case Colonel Rickmer was to be informed that
Sir Henry would meet him on the morrow on the field of Mahighar--where
nothing would induce the Arabits to tempt fortune a second time--and
escort him into camp.

To every one’s astonishment this promise was kept to the letter,
though--as Brian told his sister--the column commander had lost his
head to such an extent that he might have been asking to be
annihilated. Probably Colonel Welborne’s message persisted in
recurring to his mind, despite the General’s cavalier comment, for his
one idea seemed to be to get into safety with a run. He had brought
with him from Sahar the women and children of his brigade, and a mass
of baggage that would have made Sir Harry tear his hair, and how they
had managed to get so far was a mystery.

“Stewart says the fellow might have intended all the time making a
present of ’em to Kamal-ud-din,” said Brian--“like the Russian chap
that dropped his children out of the sledge to divert the attention of
the wolves from himself. There was the whole caravan strung out over
the desert, straggling at its own sweet will, and Rickmer miles away
in front, swearing at his drivers to hurry, for all the world as
though he had been badly beat and was trying to get his guns off the
field. Happily the enemy was a good match to him for foolishness, for
one detachment only--just one--of Arabits turned up and began to be
nasty when Stewart was trying to get the stragglers into line and
protect their rear. When they opened a matchlock fire on the women and
baggage, he thought it was getting beyond a joke, and sent an express
to beg Rickmer to detach a troop for the rear. He had only six sowars
with him--the rest were guarding the flanks,--but he charged with ’em
and drove off the Arabits. Of course they came back when they saw they
had him unsupported, and ’twas near an hour before the cavalry he had
asked for turned up, bringing the cheerful news that Rickmer was still
pushing hard for Qadirabad--he’d cot sight of the tower of the Fort,
and it drew him like a magnet, you might say,--leaving the baggage and
the non-combatants to look after themselves. Stewart’s blood was
up--d’ye wonder?--and he told his horsemen to do their best while he
went hell-for-leather after Rickmer, and found him uncommonly busy and
excited getting his guns over a nullah. There was some plain speaking,
I gather--I wonder now was there just a scrap or two of language
unbecoming in a junior officer to his superior in rank?--and Stewart
got two field-pieces, and galloped back with ’em helter-skelter. A few
shots drove off the Arabits, and what was better, the sound reached
the General and brought us all out to the rescue; we met Rickmer’s
galloper on the way with the news he was attacked--but if Kamal-ud-din
and his chiefs were not the most incapable set of muffs that ever had
the cheek to stand up to a British army, Rickmer would be eternally
disgraced--and rightly.”

Kamal-ud-din’s extraordinary failure to seize his opportunity was the
talk of the camp that evening. The general opinion was that the young
Khan shared the weakness of his elders for intoxicating drugs, and was
incapable of giving orders at the moment, whilst his subordinates
durst not act without them; but Sir Harry had found an explanation far
more to his taste.

“It was chivalry--pure chivalry!” he told Eveleen, in all seriousness.
“The spies tell me that as soon as he heard there were European women
and children with the column he called off his troops and
countermanded the attack which had been ordered. He said the Bahadar
Jang had treated the Khans’ women with consideration, and he would
treat the Feringhee women the same.”

“But sure he did attack,” objected Eveleen.

“That was a body of horse that had already started--not his fault. A
fine fellow that--a young man after my own heart. It does one good to
be able to respect one’s enemy--as we did in the Peninsula, where the
British soldier thought far more of his French opponents than of his
bloodthirsty and treacherous allies.”

“And did the Spaniards know what you thought of them?” It seemed to
Eveleen that this attitude must have led to difficulties.

“They couldn’t very well help it. We had trouble with ’em now and
then. But how did it matter what they thought? We turned Napoleon out
for ’em, worse luck!”

“I wonder are all allies so trying to the people that are helping
them?” Eveleen spoke feelingly, for she had been doing her best to
help the ladies from Sahar to settle down after their long march and
final exciting experience, and they did not seem to her to be properly
grateful. She did not realise that it was highly disconcerting to
ladies of higher military rank to find “that Mrs Ambrose” established
in the best set of rooms in the Residency--their wrath was not
mollified by the explanation that it had been her home when her
husband was Assistant to Colonel Bayard,--while they were relegated to
less imposing apartments, or quartered in the garden-palace lately
vacated by the Khans. Everything was in such a bad state of repair,
too--with shot-holes in the walls very imperfectly patched up, and
roofs far from water-tight,--and there were no European comforts to be
had. It seemed to Eveleen that these good ladies thought considerably
more about their furniture and food than about the impending crisis,
and they declared that no one but a wild Irishwoman could have
expected them to settle down contentedly amid such surroundings. To
crown their misdeeds, they observed sympathetically, one after the
other, that Richard was not looking at all well, and that men of his
complexion were always the first to be affected by the sun. They
followed this up by a recital of the precautions with which they
pursued their own husbands--with the obvious implication that Mrs
Ambrose was sadly lacking in this respect,--and when Eveleen replied
with a furious denunciation of coddling, they shook their heads with a
pleased solemnity that could only mean, “Just as I thought!” She
relinquished her self-imposed duty at last in a huff, and during the
evening--with natural inconsistency--tormented Richard, who had work
to do, with sudden enquiries whether he was certain he really felt
quite well.

In the morning she had forgotten her anxieties, and when Richard
returned from office, was far more concerned to know whether the
General was intending to review the newly arrived troops--which he
could not tell her. They were breakfasting on the verandah, and as
Eveleen expressed somewhat vigorously her opinion of people who could
hear and remember everything but what was interesting, there came from
the big _shamiana_ opposite such a shout as made them both jump up and
run to the steps. The General and his aides were rushing out--one man
had still his fork in his hand,--snatching up any hats or caps
available, and making for the cliff overlooking the river. Brian had
the grace to tarry long enough to call out “Boats!” and Eveleen,
always ready for any excitement, whether she understood its nature or
not, promptly ran down after them. Richard came after her, and
presented her reprovingly with her sun-hat, which she accepted without
gratitude, since his forethought obliged her to stop and put it on.
Arriving panting at the head of the path, she looked down the river,
like all the rest. There was still a broad expanse of dry sandy ground
below, but the channel was a little wider than on the day when the
_Asteroid_ and the _Nebula_ had carried the besieged garrison into
safety, for the snows were just beginning to melt on the Roof of the
World. Up the channel from the direction of Bab-us-Sahel boats were
coming, one after the other, their gunwales lined with scarlet-coated
men who waved their caps and cheered as they saw the figures on the
cliff. The General and his staff responded as joyfully as boys.

“The boats! the boats! the reinforcements from Bombay!” everybody
called out to everybody else, and people began to run together from
all parts of the camp. But while nearly all eyes were fixed on the
boats coming up from the left hand, Frederick Lennox was looking
fixedly in exactly the opposite direction, over the scrubby jungle
which covered the low-lying land on the right.

“Hillo!” he said presently, then touched his uncle on the arm. “D’ye
see those masts, sir? What can they be?”

The General looked and looked again, unable to believe his eyes. “As
I’m a sinful man, the reinforcements by water from Sahar!” he cried.
“Was ever anything so neat? ’Pon my honour, I’d march against Napoleon
and the Grand Army now!”

“Really the old boy’s luck is positively amazing!” said Brian, as Sir
Harry went a little way down the path to feast his eyes on the
approaching craft. “Give you my word, he was in the very act of
saying, ‘Now if only my reinforcements from Bombay and Sahar would
come in! But that can’t be for a week at least, and I won’t let this
chap bully me within five miles of my camp all that time, so Rickmer’s
brigade must do my business.’ The words would hardly be out of his
mouth when Stewart, who was sitting where he could see out of the tent
door, called out, ‘There are boats--look!’ and we all tore out of the
place as you saw us. Sure the General will be as happy now as the day
is long--only the day won’t be half long enough for all he’ll want to
be doing.”

Never, surely, had even Sir Harry, that champion hustler, put in such
a day’s work. The new troops were out of their boats before they knew
they had arrived, and the General was inspecting them and gloating
over the howitzers and other war material they brought with them. A
host of coolies was at work pitching their tents while they enjoyed an
afternoon’s rest under the trees of the Khans’ garden, and then came
combined manœuvres, in which the new arrivals and Colonel Rickmer’s
force were brigaded with the General’s original troops, and ordered
about and handled by the redoubtable veteran until they began to know
their places and his methods. When they were at last dismissed to
their well-earned repose, the General’s day was not done. Vakils had
again arrived from Kamal-ud-din, and at his command been given a place
whence they could see all the movements of the troops, then taken up
and down the lines and bidden look well at everything, and finally
dismissed with the order to go and tell their master all they had
seen. But they were reluctant to depart, and reinforced by the young
Khan’s Diwan or Chief Minister, who arrived late at night, they sat on
the ground in Sir Harry’s tent, and talked and talked. This time it
was his turn to offer Kamal-ud-din his life, and his chiefs their
possessions, if they surrendered unconditionally on the morrow, but
they were no more prepared to accept such terms than he had been. It
was obvious they were trying to find out all they could, for they
stayed on though there was nothing more to say, and started fresh
quibbles whenever they were given leave to depart, until the General,
his Munshi, and Richard Ambrose were all worn out with parrying their
various questions. It was two in the morning before Sir Harry
succeeded in inducing them to accept his dismissal as genuine, and
they were ceremoniously escorted out. The General was wrapping his old
cloak about him as Richard returned.

“I suppose they thought they would finish me with fatigue,” he
grumbled. “This sort of thing tells on a man of sixty-one. Two hours’
sleep, Ambrose. Lie down anywhere and don’t waste any of it. We march
at four.”



 CHAPTER XIX.
 THE SECOND ROUND.

/It/ seemed only natural to Eveleen, who had learnt the hour of the
start from Brian, to bind Ketty by promises and threats to wake her at
half-past three, so that she was able not merely to ply Richard with
coffee and sandwiches--an attention he received with tolerance rather
than enthusiasm,--but to ride a short way with the army on its march.
Unfortunately Richard did not take the same view. He was not going to
be made a fool of before the new reinforcements by his wife’s sticking
to him as if he was not to be trusted out by himself! Eveleen looked
at him critically.

“Sure y’have got up too early, Ambrose, and your temper is spoilt for
the day! It’s Brian I’ll ride with, don’t be afraid, and you can be
cross all to yourself.”

“D’ye think I don’t know you have set your heart on emulating Lady
Cinnamond by riding in the ranks, Mrs Ambrose? But this ain’t
Salamanca, and I ain’t old Cinnamond. I tell you plainly I won’t have
it.”

“Wouldn’t you better wait till y’are asked?” sweetly.

Richard snorted furiously. “Well, just understand this, if you please.
If you attempt it, I’ll go sick and come straight back, rather than
look like a figure of fun before the whole army.”

“Indeed and you have got your way now. Will I let my husband shame
himself and me, and fail the General? Make your mind easy; I’ll not
come. But listen now; my mind is easy too. I might have been afraid
for y’if y’had started out this morning like a decent reasonable man,
but now y’are so cross I need have no fear at all that anything will
happen you.”

This assurance failed to mollify Richard to any particular extent, and
he took his leave of her with distinct coldness. Nor was he specially
pleased, when the force was at length in motion, marching eastwards
through a blind maze of wooded nullahs and _shikargahs_ cut up by
canals, in which the whole enemy army might have been concealed close
at hand, to hear Brian laugh suddenly, and on looking up to see
Eveleen sitting on her horse on a hillock which commanded some
approach to a view. She leaned forward eagerly and waved her
handkerchief as they passed beneath her, and the General saluted and
shook his fist at her in the same breath. It was to please Richard
that she turned and rode back to camp as soon as the staff had gone
by, but the ungrateful Richard, having saluted with extreme stiffness,
was unaware of her consideration, since he refused to look at her
again. Sir Harry and the rest thought he was anxious lest she might
fall into the hands of the enemy--for the spies had brought word that
Kamal-ud-din had moved from the position reconnoitred three days ago,
and might be lying in wait in this tangle of woods and ravines,
instead of waiting at his old headquarters to be attacked,--and tried
to console him with assurances that, much as she deserved it, nothing
worse was likely to happen to her, even if the Arabit scouts did
appear, than a good fright. Sir Harry’s force, numbering five thousand
men, was double that which he had led to victory at Mahighar, and he
had been able to leave eight hundred to guard the camp and five
hundred in garrison in the Fort, so that Kamal-ud-din would certainly
keep his men well together, and not allow desultory raiding. But had
Eveleen known what the General learned from a herdsman after a weary
march of some miles, she might have had the fright Brian kindly
desired for her. Kamal-ud-din had moved, not towards his original
position, but towards Qadirabad, so that he was now on the left rear
of the column, and threatening not only its communications, but also
the city and the camp. But since she did not know, she was not
alarmed, and unaware that the column had turned aside at right angles
from its first line of march, only wondered, when the boom of the guns
began, that the sound should seem so near.

She wandered about the house restlessly all morning, trying to guess
at the changing course of the battle by the varying cannonade, and
sorely tempted to ride out again and find her way to the hospital
tents, that she might be as close to the fighting as she had been at
Mahighar. Now and then an officer passed, from whom she learned that
the battle was certainly taking place well to the north of the
General’s line of march, but that there was no sign of the attack on
the city which had been anticipated for the same moment. Tired out
with anxiety, she sat down wearily at last on the verandah, looking
out over the wooded country, and distinguishing in impossible places
clouds of smoke that could only come from the guns. Then at last her
waiting was rewarded, for two men rode into the compound--Brian, a
gruesome figure in aggressive bandages and a deeply stained coat, and
a native orderly who was keeping so close at hand as to suggest he had
been supporting him on his horse. Eveleen dashed out--hatless, of
course, but happily by this time there was shade on this side of the
house.

“Brian, what’s happened you? Is it wounded y’are?”

“Not a bit of it.” Brian grinned languidly from the saddle. “Pricked
my finger, that’s all.”

“Ah then, don’t try to tease now! Will I bring a chair to help you get
down?”

“You will _not_. Go in and get a nice comfortable chair ready for me,
and Nizam Ali will help me get to it. And--I say--salts or something!”

That this last request was a heartless ruse on Brian’s part to get her
out of the way while he was helped down and into the house was clear
to her when she heard him whistling “Jim Crow” as she rummaged for the
salts, and on returning breathless found him established in a long
chair and again grinning. He rewarded her efforts so far as to take a
tremendous sniff at the salts and declare that he was “kilt,” even
before he thanked and dismissed the trooper, and then lay back in the
chair and laughed quietly.

“Oughtn’t you go to bed, Brian?” asked Eveleen anxiously.

“Not dis nigger. Why, d’ye think I’d be here but that my old lad said
I was making too much mess of his nice clean battlefield, and ordered
me off? The sawbones who tied me up wanted to put me in a doolie,
regardless of the other poor chaps waiting, but I says in my best
English History manner, ‘Brother,’ says I, ‘their need is greater than
mine,’ beckoned to Nizam Ali, and came away on my own four
feet--leastways on little Bawn’s. And here I am.”

“I’m sure y’are over-excited. Y’oughtn’t be talking so much. Brian!” a
horrible suspicion darting into her mind--“what about Ambrose?”

“Riding hard, when I saw him last, with a message from the General to
the cavalry not to chase the enemy too far, lest they’d be cut off
before the infantry could come up.”

“Then ’twas another victory?”

“Will you listen to the woman! Another victory? Of course it is--as
big as Mahighar, if not bigger. But it’s got to have a name found for
it, for did y’ever hear of such a name for a victory as Mussuck?”

“Mussuck? There’s some little bit of a village called that, I
remember. So ’twas there you fought? But sure you were all going quite
wrong when I saw you, then.”

“And would have done, but for a decent man minding cattle, who saved
us a big disappointment, and Kamal-ud-din a big triumph. We had to
turn almost straight back and march full two miles before we found him
in the position he’d prepared for himself.”

“The one you explored the other day?”

“No, much nearer the city. Didn’t I tell ye ’twas at Mussuck? Place
very like Mahighar. ‘Not much originality about _them_?’ says the
General. Same little river, even--except that it had a bit of water in
it by now, not just mud,--but farther down, of course, and ’twas on
our left instead of across our front. It was two nullahs they had
chosen for stopping us this time--one behind the other, tremendous
places; _shikargahs_ to right and left, village behind the left one,
as per usual. Nullahs scarped everywhere, and every scrap of jungle
and cover cleared away in front, of course, to give ’em a clear field
of fire. They do know their business, those chaps, if they can find
the place to suit ’em. Some fellow said he saw a European among ’em,
but that ain’t like----”

“Now oughtn’t you be quiet and rest a little? I love to hear about it,
but I’m afraid----”

“You needn’t be that. Why wouldn’t I get it clear in my own mind? We
had a bit of a check just at first, for after all the jungle and the
nullahs we’d been traversing, the army came out on the plain a good
deal mixed up, and the General had to go from regiment to regiment
straightening ’em out, instead of reconnoitring as he did at Mahighar.
That might have done for us, for Keeling, who was exploring under
fire, couldn’t get near enough to make certain how things lay. Somehow
we all had the notion that the village behind the enemy’s right wasn’t
held--the spies swore it. And what seemed to show they were
concentrated on their left was that men would keep on running out from
the edge of the wood there, take a good look at us, and run back
again--we could see ’em through our glasses. What would be more
natural than that they’d have an ambush there, as they did before, but
without any wall to keep ’em from coming out and falling on us? So the
General avoided that side, meaning to give ’em a good run under fire
across the cleared space before they could reach us. Through an
opening in the trees beyond the two nullahs, we could see the Arabits
in great numbers hurrying to their right, and it looked for all the
world as though the same idea had come to them and the General at the
same moment--each determined to rush the village before t’other side
could get there. But it was a trap again, though a different kind of
one. They had the place packed with men already, and the men that were
running were only in support. Eleven guns they brought to bear on us,
and before ours could get into position to reply, our line wavered a
bit, but there was never anything like falling back. The queer thing
was that the moment we stuck, off went our cavalry on the right in a
tremendous charge straight at the wood. Whether Keeling and Rickmer
had taken to heart the General’s remarks on the slackness of the
Bengallers at Mahighar, and thought he was in straits again and now
was their time I don’t know, but ’twas the finest sight I ever saw.
They plunged right down the nullahs and up again, all shouting their
war-cries, and we stood staring after ’em till the red turbans and the
gleaming swords were lost in the trees. If the wood had been held as
we thought, ’twould have been madness and destruction, that charge,
but ’twas not, and seeing the enemy as confounded as ourselves, the
General rallied the infantry and led ’em on. I give you my word not a
man faltered. The Queen’s --th led, as was their right after Mahighar,
and they marched straight up to the entrenchments as steady as on
parade. The Arabits tried to jump out on us with a howl, as they did
that first time, but ’twas a mighty poor imitation. ’Twas our men
jumped down among them instead, and we had a hand-to-hand fight all
along that nullah and the next. We had ’em much more at our mercy this
time--if you can call it that when they must have been six times our
numbers,--for Keeling and Rickmer were pressing ’em from the right,
and as fast as they got out of the nullah and ran for their lives,
they only ran into the arms of the rest of our cavalry, which had
skirted round the _shikargah_ on the left, and was waiting to receive
’em and turn ’em back. We had a frightful time in the village,
clearing ’em out of every house in turn, for they fought like tigers,
and of course our guns could do nothing for fear of hurting us.”

“And would that be where you were wounded?”

“Just outside it. Chap made a cut at me wrong way about--up instead of
down--nasty sort of blow. If it hadn’t been that I got in my cut at
the same minute, and spoiled the force of his--well, the old man’s
despatches would have regretted the loss of another promising young
officer. So you were very near rid of me, don’t you know?”

“Ah now, don’t, then! I can’t bear to think of it. How do any of
y’ever come out alive? Y’are sure”--with a break in her voice--“that
Ambrose was safe after that?”

“Didn’t I say so? Keeling sent back a message to the General that he
had cot sight of Kamal-ud-din’s elephant, and was going to pursue him
to Umarganj if necessary, and the old man sent Ambrose to catch him up
and see what direction he was taking. Couldn’t have the Khemistan
Horse lost in the desert and perhaps cut off, you see.”

“There, now! your voice is quite weak and shaky, and it’s my fault for
letting you talk so much. I wish Sir Harry would come--sure he’d soon
send you to bed.”

“He may not come back at all to-night--that’s why I’d so greatly have
liked to stay on the field. If he finds there’s reason to hope
Kamal-ud-din ain’t got very far, he’ll risk everything to catch him
and end the war at one blow, if I know him. But if he’s taken to the
desert, then it’s a case of rest for the troops before they can push
on farther.”

But Sir Harry did return that evening, though only for an hour. The
joyful shouts of the soldiers in the camp heralded his appearance, and
he rode into the compound looking very old and bent. After a word or
two to the Munshi salaaming respectfully at the door of the great
tent, he came across at once to the Residency.

“And what d’ye think of this fellow, ma’am?” he demanded of Eveleen as
Brian staggered to his feet and supported himself by one of the
verandah pillars. “No thanks to him that you have got him back safe, I
can tell you! I found him riding furiously all over the battlefield,
bleeding like a pig, looking for some other village to give its name
to the day, because he wouldn’t have it put on his tombstone that he
was mortally wounded at the battle of Mussuck!”

“And did he find one?” asked Eveleen, rather absently. It might have
been that the coarseness of the General’s language--so unheard-of when
speaking to a lady--betrayed unusual turmoil in his mind, or--had she
really caught him trying to signal to Brian unperceived?

“Not the ghost of one! To get him to go home quietly, I had to decree
that it should be for ever called the battle of Qadirabad, and he
promised me to die happy on that condition.”

“Sir Harry!” her voice was sharp. “Y’are not here to cut jokes about
Brian. There’s something wrong with Ambrose. What’s happened him?”

“My dear Mrs Ambrose, what should make you imagine----?”

“Will you tell me what it is? Is he--is he----?”

“No, he ain’t,” said Sir Harry gruffly--“if you mean dead--nor even
wounded. He had a slight sunstroke, but happily a surgeon was at hand
to bleed him, and he is recovering his senses in due course.”

Eveleen put her hand to her head. “But the sun is not hot yet--to
speak of,” she said in a puzzled voice.

“He had fever on him this morning, it seems. It was a foolish business
his setting out to ride all day in that state, but nobly foolish. You
must be proud of him.”

“’Twas my fault--I ought have seen it--begged him to remain behind. I
noticed he was cr--unlike himself.”

“Sure if that was the way of it, he’d have gone all the more, the more
you begged him,” said Brian, trying rather unsuccessfully to improve
matters. She looked at him as though she had not heard him.

“It’s my fault, I tell you. And now he’s sick, and away from me. Sir
Harry, you’ll let me----”

“I won’t let you go to seek him, ma’am, for he’s coming to you, as
fast as a Medical Department palanquin can bring him. We are encamped
on the battlefield, but the wounded must return hither, that the
hospital establishment may follow the army. So your mind may be at
rest as far as that’s concerned.”

“Y’are very good, Sir Harry. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see
everything is ready for him.”

“Why, Evie, he’ll not be here for hours yet!” remonstrated Brian, but
the General signed to him to be silent.

“Do, ma’am, do! Can’t make too much of our brave fellows, can we? I
must be off too.”

“But not without some refreshment.” Her hospitable instincts prevailed
even at this moment of desolation. “Brian, bid the servants bring some
food for the General, will you not?”

“Only too thankful to avoid transporting my rheumatic old carcase
across the compound again before it’s necessary,” said Sir Harry, when
Brian had summoned the butler and given him orders. “I have bid Munshi
get the office establishment on the march, for I must have ’em with me
since I’m deprived of poor Ambrose.”

“He ain’t worse than y’have allowed my sister believe, General?” with
sudden anxiety.

“No, but it’ll be a long business, I fear. To ride at all was bad
enough, but to accept that chase across country after Keeling was pure
madness. Had I had the slightest notion----! But there you are. I came
across two of the Queen’s --th as I left the battlefield--one crouched
almost double by the roadside, his comrade trying to cheer him on to
reach the hospital tents. I bade my orderly give the sick soldier a
lift, and learned from t’other that his friend ought to have reported
sick this morning, but refused on account of the approaching battle,
and so marched and fought all day before yielding to nature’s
imperious weakness. Others I hear of who received wounds in the attack
on Rickmer’s baggage, and concealed ’em, lest they should be forbid to
fight to-day. Could any enemy in the world defeat such men as these?”

“Did poor Ambrose get the message to Keeling, General?” asked Brian,
as Sir Harry wolfed down bread and meat and drank coffee in a way that
said much for his digestion, if little for his palate.

“No. Rickmer called off the pursuit when Keeling swears another
half-hour would have seen Kamal-ud-din a prisoner in his hands. Never
a word of this to Ambrose or your sister, remember. It was the poor
fellow’s excess of zeal led him to over-estimate his powers.”

“Then he fell from his horse at the moment you said you feared
Kamal-ud-din must have left sharpshooters in ambush to delay the
pursuit, sir? when he failed to cross the space of empty ground you
were watching with your telescope?”

“That was the place. The patrol I sent out found him lying
unconscious, his horse feeding beside him. And you came straight here,
as I bid you?”

“As straight as a swimming head would permit, General! Of course I was
beset for news as I passed through the camp, but I told all I could to
the first officer I met, and stationed a sentry to keep the curious
from approaching this house, according to your orders, so everything
has been quite quiet.”

“‘Quite quite!’” Sir Harry mimicked Brian’s pronunciation. “Good, I am
glad to leave you here to be a support to your sister--possibly also a
consolation to poor Ambrose. You and he must keep up one another’s
spirits.”

“But sure you’ll let me rejoin you, sir? This scratch--not a cat’s
scratch, I’ll allow, but equally not a tiger’s; will we say it’s a
tiger-kitten’s?--can’t keep me laid up more than a day or two. One
day, I’d say if I was asked, but I know what these medicos are when
once they get their hands on you.”

“We march again to-morrow, as soon as the doolies that have brought
the wounded hither rejoin. Why, my good fellow, are you blind not to
see that all hangs on our catching Kamal-ud-din _ek dum_? With him in
my hands, the last shot is fired, as I believe. But should he escape
and raise another army, with the hot weather and the inundations
coming on, he may bother us for another year. So hie after him! Let us
hope the gentleman will have the politeness to wait for us at Khanpur,
and not lead us away into the desert on an unmannerly wild-goose hunt
for Umarganj.”

“Hard luck for you to lose him, General, when you so nearly had your
fingers on him again!”

“Precious hard luck! But no, I won’t have a word said against my
luck--my most astounding good luck! That Rickmer’s column should get
in safe, despite its commander’s utmost efforts, that both my
reinforcements, from up and down the river, should arrive in the very
nick of time, that we should run across that herdsman this morning,
and learn that while we were flourishing forth to fight empty air the
enemy was in full march for our communications--what d’ye call that?
Nay, I will go further, and instead of what in our pagan style we call
luck, say that the hand of Providence has been manifest throughout.
There is a great future before Khemistan--I’m convinced of it. I see
all the hoarded wealth of Central Asia pouring down the river, and
making Bab-us-Sahel a port richer and more extensive by far than
Bombay. (As soon as I have time to think of anything but fighting, my
first care shall be the provision of a proper harbour.) I see the
great city of Victoria rising on the upper river, occupying the whole
of the site now covered by the wretched hovels of Sahar and Bahar and
the mouldering ramparts of Bori--the scene of an annual fair beside
which the glories of Novgorod grow pale, where the silks of Gamara and
the embroideries of China are spread forth to entrance the eyes of the
simple Arabit bringing for sale the precious gums of his mountain
deserts and the wiry beasts of his own breeding. I see that
Arabit--son and brother of the grim fighters whose piled corpses I
passed with unavailing horror and regret on my way hither,--his
immemorial weapons laid aside at the behest of British power, not
merely cultivating a desire for the manufactures of the West, and
thereby benefiting my beloved native land, but perceiving for the
first time the blessings of peace and the advantages of commerce, and
carrying the tale to the dwellers in his rugged glens. Positively
there’s no end to the wonders that will follow naturally upon this
day’s conquest. The price is heavy--those gory heaps, not merely of
the enemy, but of our own best and bravest,--but Heaven is my witness
that had the choice lain with me, not one drop of blood had been shed.
My hands are clean, for all that I have been ‘a man of war from my
youth.’”

“Who could deny it, General? Certainly no one that knows you, or has
taken part in the campaign. The enemy themselves will be the first to
admit it, when they are learning under your guidance the lessons of
peace as they have done--not by their own good will, I’ll
confess--those of war.”

Undoubtedly Brian possessed to perfection the art of smoothing down
the lion. Sir Harry’s rugged countenance radiated pleasure and
contentment, though he felt bound to protest.

“Well, well, we mustn’t make too sure! Yet it seems as though Heaven
had designs for me as well as for Khemistan. To be riding gently up
and down for three mortal hours at Mahighar between opposing forces
never more than fifteen yards apart, the target of both--for when the
--th got excited and fired high their bullets came rattling about my
head--and yet to go unscathed! To lead my soldiers unwittingly into
the line of fire to-day, then down into that nullah, with matchlocks
directed at my heart in dozens from the farther bank, and those fiery
swordsmen dashing upon me whirling their deadly blades! Delany, I
found my sword-hilt smashed by a bullet; after I had sent you away one
of the enemy’s magazines blew up close to me; yet I was unhurt. Not
even Black Prince was touched, poor beast!--which at Mahighar was
neither more nor less than a miracle--though my orderly behind me was
unhorsed both then and to-day. Nor have I been compelled to defend my
own life at the cost of another’s. To-day an Arabit ran at me with his
sword uplifted. I had a pistol ready, and could have shot him, but a
soldier stopped him with his bayonet before he could reach me. Even my
staff seem to share my immunity. Though riding hither and thither on
errands in the thickest of the fray, not one of you has even been hit
until you took this hurt of yours, and you came by that through your
thirst for hand-to-hand fighting, against which I have warned you.
There is indeed something remarkable in all this. D’ye know the people
have found a new name for me? Several times as I rode here I saw
groups of ’em bowing profoundly at the roadside, and on my orderly
calling out that the Bahadar Jang was in a hurry and could hear no
petitions now, their sole reply was to prostrate themselves
reverently, ejaculating ‘Padishah!’”

“And why not, sir?” asked Brian heartily--he had been fearing the
General had heard himself mentioned by the less complimentary title of
“Brother of Satan.” “Who would be so fit as yourself to administer the
territory you have added to Her Majesty’s dominions?”

“Well, that ain’t for me to say----” Sir Harry was obviously not
ill-pleased. “The Governor-General will select whom he chooses--though
I don’t pretend to be ignorant of his appreciation of the efforts of
the army. That _dâk_ which came in before we marched this morning was
Lord Maryport’s, containing his congratulations to us on Mahighar. I
have had no time to read it through, but it contained some
awards--Keeling is promoted aide-de-camp to the G.-G., I remember--and
he promises further promotions when he has been able to study my
despatches more fully. To be elated by the praises of a
civilian--pshaw! am I as weak as that? I trust not, I believe not.
Praise from the Duke, now--the assurance that the humblest of his
Grace’s pupils, endeavouring to put in practice lessons learnt from
that great man, had made no heinous mistake,--that would gratify my
most greedy desires, and lacking that, I shall remain unsatisfied. Put
it that Lord Maryport appoints me Governor of Khemistan, as you
suggest. I am touched by such a proof of his lordship’s confidence,
and naturally strive to acquit myself to his satisfaction, but if he
desired to do me a personal favour, he could please me no better than
by sending me back to my wife and girls. What are Khemistan and the
winning of battles to me compared with them?”

“But sure you’ll have both, General. Lady Lennox and the young ladies
won’t consent to be kept at Poonah much longer with you up here, if I
know ’em.”

“Possibly it may be feasible to get them here after the hot weather.
Then indeed I should have nothing left to wish for. But I must be
moving. I am glad to leave you here to look after your sister. See to
it that she never rides alone, by the bye. Munshi was telling me some
foolish tale of Kamal-ud-din’s believing that our luck resides in her
presence with us, and no doubt he is capable of seeking to transfer my
good fortune to himself. The lower he sees his cause sunk, the more
likely he is to attempt to re-establish it by some desperate
expedient. And see that she don’t drive the unfortunate Ambrose mad by
her affectionate assiduities, if you can.”

“Will you tell me you think I’m able for it, General?”

Sir Harry chuckled. “Give the poor fellow the support of your presence
when possible. But don’t attempt to dissuade your sister from a close
attendance on him, for you’ll get the worst of it. Never interfere
with a woman in her own province. She knows what will bring her
consolation, though you mayn’t realise it. That’s the advice of one
who has had a good deal to do with women.”

“I’m sorry the association has been so unfortunate as to teach you
such wisdom, General.”

“You young dog!” Sir Harry turned back on the verandah step and
chuckled again. “But you’re wrong there. I thank Heaven no woman has
ever known sorrow through me. Many are the tears I have kissed away,
but never caused one to flow. And you are thinking, you irreverent
young rascal”--with a renewed chuckle--“that to be kissed by a
battered old phiz like mine would be more likely to draw tears than to
allay ’em. I know you young fellows!”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thought, sir!” with virtuous indignation.
“But all the same, I’d give a good deal to be sure you don’t draw
floods of ’em from my little Sally when I ask you for her, before you
say yes!” he added _sotto voce_, as he supported himself by the pillar
while Sir Harry mounted his horse and called out a farewell message to
Eveleen.



 CHAPTER XX.
 IF SHE WILL, SHE WILL.

/It/ would be pleasant to state that the shock Eveleen had received
turned her in one hour into a normal wife, and that feminine intuition
taught her to care for her husband in his weakness without jarring him
by too great eagerness, but it would not be in accordance with the
facts. Perhaps the ladies who disliked her were justified in saying
that she was unwomanly. At any rate, the truth remains that she was
absolutely incapable of realising that there are times--and a good
many of them--when the soul of a sick person yearns for nothing on
earth but to be let alone. She could not let Richard alone. If she was
not doing some totally unnecessary and undesired thing for him, she
was thinking of something to do, and if she could not think of any
thing, she was asking him to suggest something. His bearer knew
exactly how to make him comfortable in bed, but it would have been
asking too much of Eveleen to expect her to believe this. She was
quite certain she could arrange things more to his taste than any one
else, and she arranged them complacently to _her_ taste, only to see a
possible improvement in less than five minutes, and to proceed to make
it. Richard’s hours were passed in undergoing a continual series of
experiments--each of which had to be talked about beforehand,
discussed while it was in progress, and made the subject of mutual
congratulation when it was over, until the next inspiration dawned on
Eveleen’s mind. He could not quite decide whether the talking made it
worse or better. It added the tortures of anticipation to those of
realisation, certainly, but it might have been worse if he had been
seized upon without warning. He was too weak to protest, too weary to
be sarcastic, though he derived not merely bodily satisfaction, but a
glimmering of amusement, from the air of portentous patience with
which his bearer would take any and every opportunity of the Beebee’s
absence to reverse each and all of her arrangements, and make his
master comfortable in his own way. Perhaps it was as well that
Eveleen’s inventive brain provided her with so many new and infallible
ideas for the better treatment of the sick, since she could never be
quite sure that the arrangement she found in force on her return might
not have been her own latest experiment but one, and not the bearer’s
at all. Her satisfaction in having her husband all to herself, and
being able to do everything for him--she told him so perpetually--was
so complete that Richard had not the heart to disturb it, and
sufferance being the badge of the bearer’s tribe, he refrained
likewise. The surgeon was the only person whose authority she
acknowledged--to a certain extent,--and he knew better than to wound
her, and probably provoke a scene, by throwing doubts on her capacity
as a nurse. What he did, and earned thereby the patient’s sincerest
gratitude, was to insist on her taking regular exercise--or in the
enthusiasm of her self-sacrifice she would have forsworn even her
beloved rides. The doctor used to detect, or so he imagined, a faint
smile in the eyes of the man on the bed when he took upon himself,
with friendly violence, to propel Mrs Ambrose from the sick-room.
“Just a short ride, my dear madam, beside your good brother’s
palkee”--for the surgeons had fulfilled Brian’s darkest anticipations
by condemning him to a recumbent position and no riding for a week at
least--“to cheer him up and give you a little change of scene.
Otherwise”--darkly--“we shall have you unable to resume your kind care
of Ambrose to-morrow, and what would become of him then?” with, it is
to be feared, a perceptible wink directed towards the patient.

Richard’s constitution--mental as well as physical--must have been a
good one, for he succeeded in surviving not merely his own imprudence
on the day of the battle, but his wife’s nursing after it, and in
arriving at the point when the surgeon said cheerfully, “Now we ought
to see some improvement every day!” But the forecast was not
justified. There was no relapse, but also no further improvement. The
patient remained in the same state day after day--unwilling or unable
to attempt exertion of any kind, still asking merely to be let alone.
It was only natural that Eveleen should become impatient. Her active
mind had run ahead of reality so far as to picture him convalescent
and established out of doors in the shade, with herself fetching and
carrying for him and anticipating his slightest wish. The trifling
drawback that there was no shade out of doors did not at first suggest
itself to her. The hot weather was coming on fast, and the emerald
greenery which had made the country round Qadirabad such a refreshing
sight to Indian eyes was growing brown and parched. Happily the
Residency had been built to suit the climate, with thick walls and
heavy chunamed verandahs, and an abundant supply of the mud-brick
ventilators evolved by local talent--erected on the roof to catch
every breath of air, and convey it in the form of wind down a kind of
chimney into each room, accompanied by a disproportionate quantity of
dust. But even in the Residency Eveleen gasped for breath behind the
close-drawn blinds, and felt that life was only worth living when
night and darkness made it possible to move about again outside,
though only to find that all her favourite leafy spots were sere and
dry. Then--probably by force of contrast--the thought of Bab-us-Sahel
and the sea suggested itself to her, and instantly her mind was made
up that a trip to Bab-us-Sahel was what Richard needed to restore him
to health. Of course he would never shake off his lassitude here, with
the hot breath of the desert blasting the vegetation and burning
everything up. A voyage down the river--peacefully floating onwards
night and day, drawing nearer each hour to real sea-breezes--that was
what would cure him, and he must and should have it. She said
so--without a thought of encountering opposition--to Brian, just
promoted to a gentle ride morning and evening instead of the
humiliating palkee, and was astonished and wounded to find that he did
not agree with her.

“Can’t you leave the poor fellow alone?” he demanded. “Sure he only
wants not to be teased and worried.”

“But who teases and worries him, I’d like to know? It’s rousing he
wants--any one could see that.”

“Ask the doctor, can’t you? and see what he’ll tell you.”

“I will not. Don’t I know what my own husband wants better than any
doctor?”

“But Ambrose don’t want to go to Bab-us-Sahel.”

“Does he not, indeed?” triumphantly. “I asked him would he like it,
and he said he would greatly.”

“I wonder did he even know what you were talking about? Plenty of
times I don’t believe he’s so much as listening.”

“Y’are very polite, indeed! I know better.”

“But see here, Evie, the floods will be coming down any day now, and
you wouldn’t be safe in any country boat--only a steamer, and you know
there ain’t one to spare.”

“Sure that’s the very reason we ought start at once--to make the
voyage before the floods begin. They don’t come till a full fortnight
after this--I was asking about it this morning--and that’ll give us
oceans of time.”

“You can never tell. They would as likely have begun a fortnight
ago--only they have not. Anybody will tell you there’s no reckoning on
’em.”

“Well, I can’t help that----” with a sudden shifting of her ground. “I
tell you we are going.”

“You can’t go without getting leave. Even if the doctor would let you,
Ambrose is on the staff, and you can’t go carrying him off to t’other
end of nowhere without a word to the General.”

“Sure I’ll write and ask him. Will that satisfy you?”

“Will you wait for the answer? Nonsense, Evie! y’are behaving like a
bit of a child. Look now what I’ll do for you. I’ll go see the General
and tell him all about it. He’ll be at Khanpur--or maybe even on his
way back here, and I suppose you will take what he says from his own
mouth. If he thinks it safe you will go, and if not, you stay here
like a rational being. You can trust him. Is that settled now?”

“I’ll be quite satisfied if I once see the General and settle it with
him,” agreed Eveleen--which was not quite the explicit pledge Brian
would have exacted had he been giving his full mind to the matter. But
Brian was uncomfortably conscious of ulterior motives in his
opposition to the plan. He was arguing quite as much for his own
benefit as Richard’s. The General would give him leave to escort his
sister and the invalid to Bab-us-Sahel, he was sure--only too readily,
indeed, for he did not want to go. He wanted to be back at his proper
work--not leaving Stewart and Frederick Lennox to win all sorts of
laurels without him. Khanpur had fallen without a blow--Khemistan is
full of Khanpurs, but this was Kamal-ud-din’s pleasure-capital on the
edge of the desert, quite distinct from his grim fortress of Umarganj
in its deepest depths. The inhabitants met the Bahadar Jang with
acclamations, and testified the utmost gratitude to him for delivering
them from the Arabit tyranny, but they could only hand over the shell
without the kernel. Kamal-ud-din, with his baggage and the remains of
his army, had escaped into the desert, presumably to Umarganj, and Sir
Harry settled down, with what patience he could command--which was
very little--to wait at Khanpur while his subordinates continued the
pursuit. It was not etiquette for him to move against Umarganj in
person, lest so great a potentate should incur the disgrace of a check
before a small desert fort, and he was beginning to pay some attention
to Indian opinion, which he had despised so heartily when he landed.
But he learned to wish that he had disregarded it on this occasion,
for Kamal-ud-din contrived marvellously to baffle his pursuers. He was
heard of in many places--now far ahead of his enemies, then at the
spot they had just left, and at this time there was a rumour that he
had managed to elude the troops altogether, and break back towards the
river. With the hot weather and the inundations close at hand, this
was a serious matter, and Brian anticipated a regular drive--a
combined effort to put an end once and for all to the young Khan’s
power for mischief. Little wonder, then, that Eveleen’s insistence on
the trip to Bab-us-Sahel failed to meet with sympathy.

Being anxious to get back to active service at the earliest possible
moment, Brian had obeyed orders so virtuously with regard to his
wound, that the surgeons were quite glad to have an opportunity for
rewarding him. His request was so modest--merely to ride out to
Khanpur with a supply convoy, which must necessarily travel slowly and
by night, pay his respects there to the General, and return, thus at
once testing his strength and increasing it, and the doctors sped him
joyfully. So did Eveleen. He felt bitterly afterwards that he ought to
have extorted a promise from her that she would make no move until his
return, but it is probable that at the time she had no thought of
anticipating it. According to her wont, she was entirely convinced
that things were going to happen as she wished, and referred to
Brian’s mission as though the General was merely to be informed
politely of the proposed journey instead of being asked to permit it.
Brian found this trying, and ventured to point out the misconception,
whereupon she faced round upon him with flashing eyes.

“D’ye tell me Sir Harry would have the heart to keep Ambrose here sick
when a month or so at Bab-us-Sahel would set him up entirely? It’s
yourself is making the difficulty, Brian, and if you say any more I’ll
know you don’t want us to go.”

This was precisely the case, but it seemed rather heartless to admit
it to an affectionate wife torn with anxiety for her husband, and
Brian said no more. His disobliging attitude rankled in Eveleen’s mind
for a while after he started, but as so often happens, it was
opportunity that provided the impulse to action. She was sitting with
Richard as usual, and after a night largely sleepless by reason of the
heat, was dozing in her chair--not restfully, but spasmodically. She
was too tired even to resent actively the fact that the bearer had
seized upon the chance of doing something for his master, and was
remaking the bed--if it could be called making when there was so
little to make. He was talking, too, and Richard was answering
drowsily, or rather acquiescing, at due intervals. It was something
about a Parsee trader whose business required his immediate presence
at Bombay. He had secured boats and a guard of armed men for the
voyage down the river to Bab-us-Sahel, but though he was intensely
anxious to get there before the floods began, he was horribly afraid
of the wild tribes plundering on the banks, and would give anything
for the countenance and protection of European fellow-travellers. By
Richard’s murmured assents, the information evidently conveyed nothing
to him, but Eveleen was wide awake by this time, and sat up suddenly.

“How did you hear this Firozji would like to take European passengers
in his boat, bearer?” she asked--in Persian which was very much of the
“station” order, but which long practice enabled Abdul Qaiyam readily
to understand. But he did not seem very clear about his answer. The
matter had been talked about among the servants. They might have heard
of it from Mr Firozji’s servants--he did not know. Eveleen suspected
at once that her desire to go down the river had been discussed--as
everything was discussed--by the servants, who were always at hand to
see and hear, and that one of them knew sufficient of Mr Firozji’s
affairs to conceive the idea of bringing the two parties together in
return for a tip from the Parsee, and possibly another from herself.
But to quarrel with the means by which her wish might be attained
would indeed be to look a gift-horse in the mouth, and she questioned
the bearer further, finding him better informed than his previous
vagueness might have suggested. To secure the escort of Europeans, Mr
Firozji would be willing to give up to them his own large and
comfortable boat, occupying a smaller one himself, and his servants
would undertake catering and cooking, so that only personal attendants
need be taken. This clinched the matter. Eveleen bade Abdul Qaiyam
summon Mr Firozji to wait upon her as soon as possible, and then
turned her attention to the not unimportant detail of getting the
doctor’s leave for the move. She met the poor man with shock tactics.

“Such a wonderful chance!” she cried triumphantly when he came in on
his evening visit--“splendid, I’d say, only the General hates the word
so. You know the way I have been longing and wishing to get Ambrose
down the river, but there wouldn’t be any boats going?”

It was the first the surgeon had been told of it officially, but he
also had servants, and they also talked. Therefore he was able to
answer with truth, “I have heard of it, certainly.”

“Well, and now here’s the very thing--old Firozji in the Bazar going
down with more boats than he wants, all in a hurry to avoid the
floods, don’t you know. He’ll be glad of European passengers, we’ll be
glad to travel with him, so did y’ever hear anything nicer?”

“I am not surprised at his welcoming European fellow-travellers, but I
doubt your finding him the safest of company. He’s afraid of the
Codgers, of course.”

These were the Kajias, the wildest of the wild tribes of Lower
Khemistan, who in the mouth of the British troops naturally became the
Codgers, and their Khan the King of the Codgers. The Kajias it was who
had been so bold as to raid the outlying houses of Bab-us-Sahel, and
Sir Henry had sent the Khan a stern reproof and orders to come in and
surrender. Eveleen laughed as she thought of it.

“And the Codgers will be afraid of us. Sure the General has put terror
upon them--so that’s all right. After these two victories no one would
dare touch a European.”

“I trust you may be correct. But----”

“Ah, then, don’t _but_ at me! Be good and kind like yourself, and help
me to make my _bandobast_ in time.”

“Why, when do you want to go?”

“I haven’t seen Firozji yet, but the way the bearer spoke I’d say he
would start to-night if he could--and what could be better? I
mean”--she explained kindly--“that Ambrose won’t have the worry of
looking forward. He’ll wake up out of this drowsy state and find
himself on the beautiful cool water, and he _will_ be pleased!”

“There’s something in that,” said the surgeon meditatively, and went
and looked at Richard, in whose eyes he caught a fleeting gleam of
recognition, which passed as quickly as it came. “But I fear you won’t
find it particularly cool on the river. The glare from the sand and
the water will be precious trying, after the shade here. You don’t
know what it means to be cooped up in a small boat in the hot weather,
with nothing but a mat roof between you and the sun, and no
possibility of finding even a rock or a tree to shelter you.”

“But it won’t be for very long,” cheerfully. “And _nothing_ could be
hotter than ’tis here.”

The surgeon was well aware of the contrary, but Eveleen looked so
tired and washed-out that he could not bring himself to dash her
hopes. He remembered another objection, however. “But what about
getting leave? You can’t spirit away the General’s political assistant
without asking him.”

“Why, now, what could be better?” she cried joyfully. “My brother has
gone to see Sir Harry and get leave for this very trip, only I never
thought we’d find a passage so easily. Sir Harry can’t refuse, and
Brian must come on after and overtake us.”

“Or fetch you back, if Sir Harry should refuse.”

“He will not, I’ll answer for him. ’Twould be as much as to say he
didn’t wish Ambrose would get better.”

“I have no doubt you would tell him so, ma’am. And you ain’t afraid of
the responsibility of looking after your husband with no doctor at
hand?”

“Why, what can doctors do for him?” ungratefully. “Ah, now”--realising
what she had said,--“you know what I mean. You have done all you
can--you said so,--and here he lies in this state, and you can get him
no further. You’ll tell me what I’ll do if he seems worse, and I’ll do
it. Why would I be frightened at all?”

“I don’t see that the voyage can do him any harm so long as you ain’t
shipwrecked or attacked by the Codgers,” said the surgeon dubiously;
“and at Bab-us-Sahel you will be able to turn him over to Gibbons. But
for pity’s sake don’t go and get marooned on a sandbank, or besieged
in some barren spot on the shore without a bit of shade, till your
brother comes and rescues you. I can’t answer for Ambrose if he’s
exposed to the sun again, remember. The heat is bad enough; you will
have to keep the bearer pouring water over him most of the day in any
case, I expect.”

“I will, I will; and if we have to be besieged I’ll be sure to pick
out a _shikargah_ or some other nice place. And you will see about a
pass for us, if one’s wanted, like the angel that y’are, and see that
no one would try to stop us, will you not?”

“But I would gladly keep you back myself until your brother was here
to take charge of you, if I didn’t know it would mean that you would
probably be prevented from going at all. Hang it, ma’am! I wish you
had sent me a chit to tell me what you wanted. How is a man to
consider things coolly with a flood of blarney pouring on his head?”

“But sure I don’t want you to consider things--only to do them,” said
Eveleen innocently, and he went off laughing. That morning it would
have seemed absurd that she should actually find her wishes fulfilled
by the evening, but so it happened. Mr Firozji, a short elderly man,
who contrived somehow to be both stout and wizened at the same time,
was evidently waiting outside for the doctor to go. He was very rich,
very timid, and so grateful for the prospect of having Major and Mrs
Ambrose as fellow-passengers that he would have promised almost
anything to secure them, and Eveleen had to insist that they should
pay their share of the boat hire and other expenses.

“’Twould be a fine joke against Ambrose to save his pocket by putting
him under an obligation to a black man, but I won’t be teasing him
when he’s so ill,” she said virtuously to herself. “Though Firozji
would maybe think it only fair to pay for the protection of our
presence,” she added a little ruefully. “It’s well I’m not timid, for
it looks as if my courage would have to do the whole party.”

It was not the first time in her life that she had felt nervous over
the fulfilment of one of her impulsive wishes, but she had never had
the feeling quite so strongly as to-night. Abdul Qaiyam and Ketty had
it too, for they both enquired anxiously if she was not going to wait
for the young Sahib. She was obliged to be very firm and cheerful with
them over the process of packing, realising that they would not be
sorry if they could manage to delay things till the opportunity was
lost. Despite the heat, she flew about from the sick-room to her own
room and then to the verandah, deciding what must be taken, and seeing
with her own eyes that it was packed. Abdul Qaiyam would never let his
master go short, she knew--if Richard suffered it would be through
forgetfulness, not malice,--but she had an idea that she herself might
find various things lacking that were indispensable to comfort unless
she looked after them herself. Richard remained in the same lethargic
state until the servants lifted him to carry him down to the boat.
Then there came another of those brief flashes of full consciousness,
and he looked disturbed--even protesting. Eveleen had a moment of
terror lest her plan should fall through even now. She bent over him
and smiled into his face.

“Off to Bab-us-Sahel!” she said brightly. “Do y’all the good in the
world!”

He seemed to try to say something, but in the effort the drowsiness
came over him again, and she was guiltily conscious that she was glad.
Once get him safely on board, and he might regain command of his
senses as soon as he liked. He was certain to make a fuss--especially
about her not waiting for Brian’s return--but she would point out
triumphantly that his return to consciousness was the best possible
proof of the wisdom of her action. The surgeon came to see them on
board, and gave anxious directions as to what was to be done if
various things happened, and she listened and did her best to label
them and stow them away in the proper compartments of her mind. A
number of friends were waiting to see them off, for the sudden journey
had given every one the idea that Richard had had a serious relapse,
and the only chance of saving his life was to take him at once to
Bab-us-Sahel, regardless alike of the unpropitious season and the
dangers of the way. They were very quiet and sympathetic as he was
carried down the path, but a certain revulsion of feeling was
perceptible when Eveleen followed. Ambrose looked no worse than he had
done for days, and Mrs Ambrose certainly had not the look of strain
that the situation demanded. Just a little anxious, no doubt, as any
woman is when she is trying to remember whether she has got everything
before starting on a journey, but with a look of something like
triumph as well. The condolences and good wishes fell rather flat, and
as they returned up the cliff by torchlight the ladies told their
husbands that either Mrs Ambrose was trying to get rid of the Major by
carrying him off away from medical aid, or she was going down the
river for some purpose of her own, regardless of the effect on him.

The chill of disapproval made itself felt, and Eveleen was conscious
of depression of spirits. The boat was as comfortable as had been
promised, their possessions were easily arranged so as to leave ample
room for moving about, and one or two suggestions which the doctor
made for the invalid’s comfort were instantly carried out. Yet she did
not feel happy. The surgeon’s last remark had been that they ought to
have a guard of soldiers--he was certain the General would have sent
one had he been there,--and anyhow, where were these armed servants of
Firozji’s? Mr Firozji explained anxiously that a boat had gone to
fetch them, and they would catch up the party below the camp, and the
doctor said he hoped it was all right, but his tone was doubtful.
Eveleen remembered it when the boatful of guards joined the other two.
They were armed, certainly--to the teeth, but they were a wild-looking
set, more like outlaws from the hills than the servants of a
law-abiding elderly merchant. But had Mr Firozji said they were his
servants? She could not remember that he had, and it looked very much
as though he had selected his guardians from among the masterless men
who had been left without occupation by the defeat of the Khans. If
she had guessed that he had carried one of the root principles of
Indian housekeeping so far as to guard against trouble from the Kajias
by going to some trouble to obtain members of the tribe as his escort,
she would have been still more uneasy, but she told herself that it
was too late to turn back now, and she must hope for the best. She
took out Richard’s pistols, and made sure that they were loaded, and
determined to sleep with them under her pillow and a supply of
ammunition within reach of her hand. After all, Brian ought to catch
them up in two days at most--less if he took a fast boat and kept the
crew up to their work. It did not occur to her that Brian might be in
no hurry to get back from Khanpur. He was a man of many friends, and
there was plenty to hear from all of them, and he had no particular
objection to leaving Eveleen to cool her heels at Qadirabad, as he
believed, for a day or two. The longer his return was delayed, the
more likely was she to have some new plan in her head--completely
ousting the Bab-us-Sahel one,--or the floods might even have begun,
and the journey be out of the question.

The surgeon’s warning came back to Eveleen many times in the course of
the next day, and when evening came she would readily have confessed
that at the Residency she had not known what heat was. In her
anticipations, the voyage had offered all the advantages of a steamer
except its speed, coupled with the absence of smoke and smell, and the
delight of being near the water. But she found that with the greater
speed of the steamer went the pleasant sensation of moving air, and
that the long hot hours when there was no breeze to fill the sails,
and the river-current seemed incredibly slow, provided a new form of
torture--such as might be experienced by a speck of dross on the
mirror-like surface of a huge cauldron of molten metal. Even Richard
was conscious of it, as she could not but see. He did not recognise
her--not even her voice when she spoke to him,--but he gasped feebly,
with now and then a pitiful little moan. The fear gripped her that he
might die before her eyes, and with threats and bribes she induced one
of the boatmen and a servant of Mr Firozji’s to keep the roof of the
cabin continually wet with buckets of water, while Abdul Qaiyam
performed the same service for his master beneath it. It was no light
task, for the heat seemed to dry things at once, and leave them even
drier than before; but she threw all her energy into the business of
keeping the men at their work, and when evening came her husband was a
little easier. She had a moment to rest, and to notice what she had
not done before--the threatening look of the sky. Mr Firozji, in a
quavering voice which sounded absurdly small for his substantial bulk,
opined that they were going to have a thunderstorm, and Eveleen did
not need him to tell her that if this extended far up the river, it
would mean that the dreaded inundation would begin at once. Other
people realised this as well, for the lazy boatmen began to work with
some appearance of energy, and the headman of the guards came into Mr
Firozji’s boat to urge some course of action upon him, which he
refused, though with a fluttering politeness which betrayed alarm.
Since there was still no breeze, it was necessary to pole the boats
along, as this wide unsheltered channel was not a safe place in which
to be caught by the storm; and the boatmen poled to such good purpose
that before the rapid darkness fell, the flotilla was moored under the
lee of an island--or rather sandbank--which promised some protection
from wind and current.



 CHAPTER XXI.
 WELL AND TRULY LAID.

/Still/ the storm tarried. Supper was served, and Eveleen made a
pretence of eating, lest the servants should attribute her lack of
appetite to fear. Then they went away to have their food--Ketty eating
in self-righteous solitude, while Abdul Qaiyam fraternised with the
boatmen, who had kindled a fire on the island to cook their rice.
Eveleen envied them as they sat in the smoke, for it served to keep
away mosquitoes and other flying pests, while she durst not light a
candle for fear of filling the cabin with the winged intruders. Alone
with her unconscious husband, she kept a dreary vigil, fearful of she
knew not what. She remembered that Richard had seemed about to say
something when the boat with the guards came up, but the momentary
impulse had passed, and he had shown no inclination to speak since.
What was it that had troubled him? Could it be that he had recognised
any of the men? But even so, what could the guards do, even if
ill-disposed? They might intend robbery, but the modest belongings of
the pair would be poor booty compared with the danger of provoking the
certain vengeance of the Bahadar Jang. Or if they were indeed
adherents of the Khans, their object might be simply to avenge the
wrongs of their former masters; and Eveleen shuddered as she
remembered what had befallen an invalid officer, on his way down the
river, at the hands of some of Khair Husain Khan’s servants. Dragged
from his boat shivering with fever, the sick man had pleaded with the
robbers, as he thought them, to leave him his clothes, because he was
so cold, and they had responded by cutting off his head. Sir Harry had
acted as might have been expected of him, informing the Khan he would
hang him from the round tower of the Fort unless the guilty servants
were given up. They were produced in an hour, and suffered the penalty
their master escaped, though it went sorely against the grain with Sir
Harry to spare Khair Husain and punish his tools. That example ought
to serve as a salutary warning, surely?

But Eveleen could not take comfort. The servants had returned and made
things ready for the night, and she had lain down on her bed, though
knowing she could not sleep. Every sense seemed to be more than
commonly alive, as though the coming storm, which had lulled Richard
into lethargy, merely stimulated her. Theoretically no one was awake
within miles of her--for what was the use of posting sentries on an
uninhabited island in the middle of a wide river?--but the air was
full of little unaccountable noises. A feeble soughing wind that went
and came, distant irritable growlings of the storm, the rattling,
rather than rustling, of the withered grass and rushes--these sounds
she could identify, but there were others whose meaning eluded her. Of
course it was only the lapping of the water that sounded like
whispers, and when one might think some one had dropped a weapon it
was merely the snapping off of a dead branch by its own weight; but
she wished they would not happen. The blinds at the ends of the cabin
were rolled up to allow the free passage of air, and she lay looking
out at the leaden sky, with no companionable stars to brighten it, and
listening to the sounds, and there fell upon her at last an agony of
terror. It had always been her boast that she did not know what nerves
were, but she would never make it again. The beating of her own heart
sounded to her like the rise and fall of a tremendous piston, such as
she had once heard in a Dublin factory, filling the whole earth and
sky; and as she cowered before its relentless thud, she trembled with
cold, though the slightest movement made her aware that her whole
frame was streaming with perspiration. She who had been afraid of
nothing was afraid of everything--the place, the time, the weather,
the solitude, the company, the silence, the sounds,--what she saw and
what she did not see.

She shook herself angrily free from the overmastering terror at
last--or at any rate, which perhaps showed equal courage, she acted as
if she did. Struggling from the bed and to her feet--for she found she
must put forth all her strength, as though she were really being held
down by a powerful hostile hand,--she threw on a dressing-gown and
groped her way forward. The old bearer, curled up like a dog beside
his master, heard her and looked up curiously: she saw his bright eyes
like a dog’s in the dark, lighted by some gleam behind her, perhaps
the ashes of the dying fire on the shore. She stood looking out, but
there was nothing to see. Dark sky, dark water--a perfect pall of
darkness brooding over everything,--and on her left a slightly deeper
darkness which showed the position of the island and its ragged grass
and shrubs. The voices of the night were whispering as before, and
again she felt that terrible sensation of helplessness. Once she
opened her lips to pray, but her pride was not broken yet. “And how
would I pray,” she asked herself sharply, “when I know every bit of
it’s my own doing?”

She staggered as she spoke, and caught at the framework of the cabin
to steady herself. What had made the boat lurch suddenly--some wave
which was the result of the storm higher up, its precursor here? She
looked more narrowly at the water. Was it fancy, or did she see round
things moving in it? And surely there were strange amorphous shapes
where there had been none before? Her heart stood still. The change,
if change there was, was so soundless, so ghostly. But the thought of
the supernatural passed from her mind with a shock. The boat was
moving. Not merely swaying at its moorings as the current tried to
suck it away from the protecting island, but moving out into the
stream and leaving the island behind. Wild thoughts of crocodiles
rushed into her mind. Could they possibly bite through stout ropes and
tow a boat along, or even leave it to float at its own sweet will?
Impossible; there must be human agency at work. With Eveleen to think
was to act, and kneeling precariously at the side of the boat, she
leaned over the gunwale and clutched at one of the round objects she
had thought she saw. The yell of horror which came from it told her
what the sense of touch told also, that it was a human head. The boat
was surrounded by swimming men, who were moving it away from the
island--presumably it was also being towed by a rope. But what the
great shapeless objects were, which she seemed to see beyond the
heads, she could not tell, nor did she trouble to conjecture. Whether
she or the man she had grasped was the more astonished might be
doubtful, but she had the advantage of position. Catching up an
earthen water-pot which stood outside the cabin for the sake of
coolness, she hurled it in the direction of the yell, and was on her
feet in a moment and under the mat roof. When she came out, Richard’s
pistols were in her hand, and she fired one in the direction of the
island as a signal. She could not believe that Mr Firozji was
concerned in any plot that might be toward, and if he was a man at all
he would come to the rescue with those guards of his.

The immediate response to her signal was a startling one. She had
barely time to recharge the pistol, working clumsily in the dark,
before there was a hasty movement of men aft--whether the boatmen or
the swimmers she could not tell, nor was she much concerned to know.
At the moment she was more conscious of Abdul Qaiyam’s heavy breathing
close beside her as he asked in a bewildered voice whether the Beebee
had shot anybody than of her possible assailants. Hurriedly she thrust
the ammunition pouch at him.

“Load when I pass y’a pistol!” she said sharply, and then called out
in her imperfect Persian to the men in front that if any one came
nearer she would shoot him. One man sprang forward, and she fired at
him point-blank. The blind shot in the dark must have taken effect,
for the man cried out and fell forward. Confused cries of rage and
protest came from the rest, and Eveleen held her hand. For the moment
she had thought of discharging all the three shots she had left into
the group, in the hope of driving them overboard at once, but the
imprudence of leaving herself defenceless, even for a moment, was
reinforced by mystification. The whole thing was like a bad dream--the
shapes in the water, the moving crowd dark against the dark sky, the
eager talking in an unknown tongue. If it was Persian, her knowledge
of the language was quite inadequate to cope with it. She stooped a
moment towards Abdul Qaiyam as he handed her the recharged pistol.

“Speak to them!” she said imperiously. “Ask them who they are--what
they want. Tell them we are well armed, and can see them though they
can’t see us.”

The old man was too much terrified to obey immediately, and she thrust
at him impatiently with her foot. Then his quavering voice made itself
heard--“Brothers!” and the men in front appeared to listen. One of
them stepped forward a little.

“Stand back, or I fire!” said Eveleen quickly, and the bearer repeated
the words in Persian. As he spoke, she remembered suddenly that she
must be visible to any one able to see through the cabin from end to
end, and she sank on her knees, resting the barrel of the heavy pistol
on the back of a camp-chair which she pulled noiselessly towards her.
Crouching thus, she was invisible to those in front, and a barrier--if
a frail one--between Richard and the enemy. But were they enemies, or
was there some absurd mistake? She could not decide, but she felt
fairly certain that what they had been speaking was not Persian,
though the spokesman--who had withdrawn a pace or two hastily before
her threat--was using that language with Abdul Qaiyam.

“These are very bad people,” the old man murmured to her at last, and
she listened without turning her head. “Kajia tribe--they come to
steal the boat--everything.”

“Nonsense! they’ll not do anything of the sort. Where will the Parsee
be, now? letting this kind of thing happen instead of coming to help
us.”

To her amazement the meek voice of Mr Firozji answered her--apparently
from somewhere close at hand. In her bewilderment she suffered her
gaze to stray for a moment, and discerned dimly that he was just
outside the boat, but seemingly not in the water. At least, his voice
was on a level with the gunwale, though there was no grating sound to
show that another boat was rasping alongside. The mad
incomprehensibility of the situation was more incomprehensible than
ever.

“The Beebee beholds in me a son of misfortune,” he said pathetically.
“The Kajias have deceived me. They have stolen the boat, so as to
carry away the Sahib, the Beebee, myself, the servant people--all.”

“And what may those guards of yours be about, to let them do it? Call
them, can’t you? Shout!”

“The Kajias would slay me,” in affright. “The guards are asleep.”

“Much good they are! But what do the Kajias want to do with us? We’d
be no good to them to steal.”

“Are they not taking us to their camp?” he suggested doubtfully.

“Well, they won’t, then. Tell them to go back and leave us on the
island, and take the boat if they want it.”

“They say the water will soon be rising, and we should all be drowned.
They refuse to leave us.”

“Sure they’re very considerate! Well, tell them we won’t go to their
camp--or if we do, there’ll be precious few of them will take us
there. I have plenty of shots here, and I’ll use them all first.”

“What does the Beebee please to desire?” was the question asked after
some interchange of conversation between Mr Firozji and the captors.
Eveleen had employed the interval in thinking hard. She did not
believe the Kajias meant to take their victims to their camp--or if
they did, it was merely for the sake of killing them more at their
leisure. It was in the highest degree unlikely that they would leave
witnesses alive to testify against them, or provoke Sir Harry further
by attempting to hold them to ransom. No, what they had no doubt
intended was to tow the boat out of earshot of the sleepy guards on
the island, and then cut the throats of all on board, and gut the
vessel and send her adrift, in the comfortable conviction that nothing
but unrecognisable fragments would survive the storm. This seemed the
more certain from their bringing with them the means of getting to
shore again, for the mysterious shapes--on one of which Mr Firozji was
uncomfortably poised, like a river-god in difficult
circumstances--were obviously the _mashaks_, or inflated skins, with
the help of which the tribes on the banks were in the habit of making
such short voyages as they found necessary. How they had managed to
abstract the poor little man from his own boat, under the eyes of his
servants, was a mystery, but everything was mysterious to-night.

He repeated his question as Eveleen hesitated a moment.

“Why, let them take us over to the other side,” she answered--the
desire to be as far as possible from the Kajias conquering all other
considerations. “I’d rather choose the desert than their camp.”

“There is no time. They are afraid of the storm.” Mr Firozji’s voice
sounded as if he was frightened himself.

“Well, they may say whether they’ll be shot, or drowned in the storm.
I’d much rather be drowned----” She stopped suddenly, for the second
pistol, which had lain beside her knee, was hastily withdrawn, and a
shot rang out behind her. Then she laughed rather wildly, for the
deferential voice of the old bearer murmured--

“This humble one made bold to fire at one of the sons of wickedness
who was climbing into the boat behind the Beebee’s back.”

“Quite right!” she said, still laughing, then turned sharply upon Mr
Firozji. “Tell them they are wasting time. If the storm overtakes us
’twill be their fault. I’m tired of this. Let them make up their
minds.”

Again there was a prolonged conversation, and apparently the Kajias
gave a grudging assent to the condition. “If the Beebee is determined
to drown all of us and the Kajias too, she must,” remarked Mr Firozji
sourly as he scrambled on board the boat, having taken the opportunity
of putting in a word for himself in the course of the negotiations.
Yet Eveleen had the idea that he was not really displeased, and she
wondered whether he could possibly be in league with the Kajias after
all. But the notion seemed so absurd that she banished it again,
though disregarding coldly his hints that the night air was unhealthy,
and refusing to invite him into the cabin. The Kajias--or the
boatmen--or perhaps they were the same: it was impossible to see--were
very busy, working with an alacrity rather surprising in the
circumstances. There was a slight chill breeze to be felt now, and
they were hoisting the sail, and also getting out their poles. Were
they really indifferent which bank they landed on, or were they
plotting further treachery? As noiselessly as she could, Eveleen
supplemented the chair which served her as a parapet by such other
pieces of furniture and packages as she could reach, and whispered to
Abdul Qaiyam to do the same at the other end of the cabin, entrusting
him with one of the pistols. In feeling about, she came across Ketty,
who had preserved such an unwonted silence during the stirring events
of the last half-hour that her mistress had forgotten all about her.
But she had been employing her time to advantage, as Eveleen
discovered when she found her dressing-case open and largely denuded.
Her handmaid had been removing such fittings as were of convenient
size, and concealing them about her person.

“What in the world are you doing, Ketty?” The tone would have been
louder but for prudential reasons.

“What madam doing without her things?” was the self-righteous reply,
calculated to make Eveleen repent her unjust suspicions. Were they
really unjust? she wondered.

“Well, I hope y’are taking care of the Sahib as well,” she said. “He
needs much more than I do.”

The sniff with which Ketty replied suggested that she considered this
would be trespassing on Abdul Qaiyam’s province, but her mistress had
no time to see whether she was obeying or not, for there were other
things to think of. The tardy storm was coming up at last, heralded by
the breeze which was taking the boat across the stream. Great drops of
rain were falling like bullets on the cabin roof, and the air was full
of a hissing noise. The boat was in the main stream now, and the
boatmen drew in their poles, and evidently settled down to hold tight
and hope for the best. The river seemed bewitched, cross-currents
driving the boat now this way, now that, and the men who were managing
the clumsy sail had no easy task. The vessel was not built for rough
weather, her draught being too shallow and her deck-load too heavy.
She bounced and bobbed about, shipping a good deal of water, and
hurling all the loose things in the cabin from side to side with every
lurch. Fearful of a surprise, Eveleen durst not leave her post even to
see that Richard was safe, and had to take what comfort she could from
the knowledge that his charpoy was fixed to the deck. By the sounds
she heard, she gathered that the two servants were in the throes of
sea-sickness, and she wondered dismally what would happen if she
herself were prostrated by it as on the voyage from Bombay. But her
mental preoccupation probably saved her, and she was able to maintain
her watch. Sheets of rain were falling now, and she was soaked to the
skin, but did her best to shelter the pistol under the wadded quilt
she dragged from her bed. The lightning was almost continuous, and
whenever the howling and shrieking of the wind would allow, the
rolling thunder filled up any pauses. The boat appeared to have
embarked with enthusiasm on a series of experiments--now trying to
stand on her head, now on her tail, and then seeing how far she could
heel over without actually dipping gunwale under. It was wonderful
that the mast did not go, though the great sail had been partly torn
and partly cut away, and replaced by a tiny one which just kept the
vessel before the wind. By the flashes of the lightning Eveleen noted
grimly the miserable huddled figures forward, and guessed that the
Kajias were not particularly happy in their conquest.

“If only there was a man on board worth a halfpenny--barring my poor
Ambrose,” she said to herself, “we’d retake the ship in no time. But
who is there at all? Firozji is no mortal use; if Bearer can fire a
pistol, that’s the most he can do; and as for the boatmen, if they
ain’t Codgers themselves, they’re every bit as bad. Indeed and they’re
worse, for they ain’t sea-sick.”

Her self-communing was interrupted by a tremendous clap of wind, which
came down on the boat as though determined to end her gambols at one
blow. But once more she righted herself, though the cabin roof was
torn bodily from its supports and carried gaily down the river.
Eveleen’s heart failed her until she had assured herself, by groping
and feeling, that Richard and the two servants were still there. The
roar and crack had been so overwhelming that for the moment she fully
believed the boat had broken in two, and they were all so wet already
that the exposure to the rain hardly signified. Moreover, the loss of
the mast and the cabin made the boat decidedly steadier, though
Eveleen was less grateful for this than might have been expected,
since she saw distinct signs of returning animation among the captors
when the lightning made them visible. Could they be nearing the shore?
she wondered. How long they had been tossing about, yet on the whole
forging eastwards, she could not tell, but now that the lightning was
less continuous, it seemed to her that between the flashes the
darkness was not quite so in tense. It was a poor prospect--to be
turned out on an unknown shore with a sick man and two frightened
servants; but the expectation of treachery was so strong in her mind
that she would have been thankful if they had been already there.
Certainly it was not goodwill on the part of the Kajias that had
induced them to undertake a voyage of so much danger and difficulty to
get rid of their prisoners, with the prospect of another even more
difficult and dangerous in getting back to their own side of the
river; what then was it? It was not fear. During her tempestuous vigil
she had seen that clearly. Her bluff before the storm had been
spirited, but at any moment she might have been rushed from behind and
thrown overboard, or a man on a _mashak_, shooting at the sound of her
voice in the dark, might have crippled or killed her without the
slightest risk to himself. It could hardly be vengeance, since--though
it might involve more suffering to your captives to maroon them on the
barren shore where they had mistakenly asked to be placed than to kill
them and dispose of their bodies in the river--their sufferings, which
you would not see, would hardly be sufficient compensation for the
risk to yourself involved in getting them there. Mr Firozji, too. A
certain complacence about the little man’s manner led Eveleen to the
conclusion that the greater part of his merchandise must consist in
precious stones hidden about his person, so that he could regard
lightly the loss of all the rest. But if she could guess this, so
could the Kajias, and were they really going to allow him to escape
with it? The whole thing--like all the events of the night--was beset
with riddles, and all that could be done was to keep a sharp watch
against surprise. But in what direction? Eveleen did not know where to
look, and moreover, the unceasing strain of the last few hours was
telling upon her. She had been soaked so repeatedly that she could
hardly remember what it was to feel dry and warm; she was aching in
every limb, and--what was worse--her eyes would hardly keep open. In
spite of the misery of body and anxiety of mind which had already
endured so long, she began to find her eyelids closing involuntarily
and imperceptibly, when she knew she ought to redouble her vigilance
of the night now that dawn would soon give her enemies the advantage.
She had no longer even the shelter of the cabin from which to fire,
and her poor attempt at a barricade had been disintegrated long ago,
and its component parts strewn upon the waters. She turned her head
with difficulty, and saw--yes, the light must be increasing, since now
she could see dimly Richard’s white face as he lay stark and stiff,
like a dead man, on the charpoy, which was fortunately fixed against
the framework of the cabin at the corner where it had suffered least,
the old bearer crouched beside him, one hand clenched on the pistol,
and Ketty hunched up, like a little old monkey, nearer to herself.
They were defenceless but for the two pistols--even if the charges
were not too damp to fire. The Kajias could shoot them down without
the slightest risk, or--supposing their matchlocks also were useless,
or their powder too precious to waste on such game--kill them with
their knives with little danger to themselves. Why had they not done
it long ago?

With equal difficulty Eveleen turned again towards them, where they
sat huddled in the bow, with the boatmen as a sort of neutrals
between, and Mr Firozji, with chattering teeth, crouching alone as
though disowned by all parties. The men in the bows were beginning to
lose something of their despairing attitude--taking an interest in
things again, and exchanging a word or two with one another. She could
see them, though in the driving rain she could not hear them; and she
tried to pierce the veil of moisture ahead, and see if land were
visible. But as yet she could see nothing but a grey expanse of angry
water, yellow in streaks with sand, and bearing on its bosom uprooted
trees and brushwood, with the grey sky overhead and the grey curtain
of rain between. She tried to collect her thoughts and devise some way
of getting Richard ashore--when they reached the shore. But what kind
of shore would it be--high and rocky, or the endless flat land over
which the flooded river must now be crawling relentlessly? How could
she decide till she knew?

The end came suddenly--so suddenly that for the moment she thought she
must have been asleep, and missed what led up to it. The boatmen had
their poles out again, the keel was grating on ground of some sort,
and yet there was still nothing to be seen but the river and the rain.
But to the accustomed eyes of the Kajias more must have been visible,
for they were standing up and talking eagerly. She noticed
indifferently what big strapping fellows they were--picturesque
despite their drenched clothes and shapeless turbans, and the
ringlets, of which they were ordinarily so proud, lying limp and
straight on their shoulders and mingling with their beards. The absurd
reflection occurred to her that the rain must have washed them a
little clean, which would be a strange experience to them. One of them
turned round and kicked Mr Firozji, saying something to him, and the
old Parsee stumbled up from the deck and addressed Eveleen in his
beautiful Persian, which she found so difficult to understand.

“The boat can go no farther--the water is shallow----” his words
tumbled over one another. “The boatmen will carry the Beebee ashore,
if she will promise not to shoot.”

“Let them take the Sahib first,” said Eveleen promptly, then
hesitated. How could she let them carry Richard away out of her sight,
not knowing where they were taking him? Better go first herself. And
yet how could she know how roughly they might handle him if she and
her pistol were not there? “Won’t you go first yourself?” she asked
eagerly. “Then you can see that they put Major Ambrose down carefully,
and I will come last.”

Mr Firozji’s face was ashy. “I fear--I greatly fear,” he stammered. “I
have the conviction that they will kill me if I leave the Sahib and
the Beebee.”

Clearly there was no help here. She must take the risk. She turned to
Abdul Qaiyam. “Watch over the Sahib, bearer; see that they carry him
properly on the charpoy. Fire the pistol if they are rough, and I will
come back. I can’t be any wetter than I am,” she added to herself, and
rather wondered that the captors should offer to put her ashore
instead of letting her wade. But when she was mounted on the shoulders
of a sturdy boatman, with another close at hand in case of accidents,
she saw how bad the footing was, and how confusing the currents even
in this shallow water. Just as they started she heard a resounding
splash, and looking round, was touched to see that Ketty had
deliberately thrown herself--or rather let herself--into the water
from the boat’s side, and was struggling after her, clutching the
scanty drapery of the second boatman. The water was up to the old
woman’s chest, but she pushed on bravely, and though the men on board
laughed, they did not attempt to stop her.

How far the two men waded Eveleen did not know. The boat was only
dimly visible as a misty shape through the falling rain when they
reached land as suddenly as they had discerned it earlier. It was land
in the sense of not being covered with water, but it resembled nothing
so much as a sandbank left bare, though not dry, by the retreating
tide. Yet apparently it was not an island, for it seemed to rise
slightly on the side away from the boat, and to continue rising; and
when Eveleen felt her feet on firm ground once more, her spirits went
up with a bound. Anything was better than that dreadful boat and the
company it carried, and when the rain stopped--which it must do soon
now--they would quickly be dry and comfortable, and could look for
some village where there was food and shelter to be found. She said as
much to Ketty as they stood looking after the two men, whose forms
were soon swallowed up in the driving rain. Most incomprehensibly,
Ketty laughed; but before Eveleen could demand the reason, her
cheerful anticipations were rudely contradicted by the sound of a shot
from the boat, with cries and the muffled noise of a struggle.
Unheeding Ketty’s agonised entreaties and attempt to hold her fast,
she dashed into the water and began to wade back. The boat seemed
farther away than she had been--and surely the boatmen were poling her
off? Eveleen gave a great cry as the truth burst upon her, then
struggled on again, though with failing strength, hindered by her
clothes and the treacherous sand. Somehow or other she reached the
boat when the water was up to her shoulders, and clung convulsively to
the gunwale, shrieking to her husband to wake, to escape, to save
himself, to save her. Mr Firozji lay on the deck in a pool of blood,
and the murderers were already stripping off his clothes in search of
booty. In front of his master stood Abdul Qaiyam--a most unheroic
hero, with the pistol wavering in a shaking hand, and a face grey with
fear. A man with a tulwar sprang at Eveleen as she clung to the side,
and brought down his weapon with a horrible sweep. In terror she
relaxed her grasp just in time, and fell back into the water with a
loud cry of despair.



 CHAPTER XXII.
 THE BELLE AND THE BAUBLE.

/When/ Eveleen came to the surface again--for she had found no footing
when she slipped from the boat’s side--she thought she must be
dreaming. On the gunwale above her stood Richard--a gaunt figure in
drenched pyjamas--laying about him furiously with a folded camp-chair.
She could hear his blows as they fell, and the dismayed cries of the
enemy, though she could not see the fight, and over the side of the
boat lay--dead or unconscious--the man who had struck at her with his
tulwar, his arms stretched limply as though trying to reach the water.
Apparently Richard’s onslaught had cleared a space about him on the
deck, for he turned suddenly, with heaving chest, and looked wildly at
the water--only to see his wife trying to regain her hold of the
gunwale. With a hasty exclamation he flung his weapon away, and
stooped to reach her. But she had the presence of mind to draw back.

“No, Ambrose--jump! Jump, bearer!” and deliberately she loosed her
grasp and dropped off into the water again. As she had expected,
Richard was after her in a moment, quite uncomprehending, and
decidedly angry.

“What did you go and do that for? I could have pulled you on board in
a minute. Now those fellows will make off with the boat.”

“Let them. We’re better without it. There’s no safety for y’on board,”
gasped Eveleen, as she struggled to turn him in the other direction.

“_Will_ you keep quiet? Any one would think you were determined to be
drowned. If only you won’t struggle, I can----” he had got his hand on
the edge of the boat again, and as Eveleen had done, removed it
hurriedly as some unseen person aimed a blow at it with the butt of a
matchlock.

“Didn’t I tell you? The land, Ambrose, the land! or we’ll all be
killed if we ain’t drowned.”

“This way, Sahib, this way!” came the despairing voice of Abdul
Qaiyam, standing on tiptoe some way farther in to get his mouth above
the water. “Destruction awaits your honour if you remain.”

Convinced at last, Richard struck out in the direction of the voice,
but speedily found his feet on the ground. Then, partly dragging,
partly carrying his wife, he waded towards the shore. Eveleen turned
her head once, with the horrible feeling that the boat was pursuing
them to run them down. But the enemy were merely standing in a row
watching them, and not attempting to follow, though their ready
matchlocks and tulwars showed that they had no amiable feelings
towards the fugitives. Their powder must certainly be wet, or why did
they not fire?

As the water grew shallower, the bearer came to his master’s help, and
between them they pulled Eveleen along, for she felt as if the last
horror had robbed her of every scrap of strength that remained. But a
warning cry from Ketty floated out to meet them as they waded in.
There was a sudden rush, and before their feet were even on dry land
they were struggling in the midst of a fresh crowd of assailants.
Eveleen had a vague impression of Richard snatching a tulwar from some
one and dealing tremendous blows in a scrimmage which seemed to have
arisen by magic, until a man with a heavy club struck at him from
behind, and he went down like a log. The fighting was so confused that
for a moment the assailants could not get at him with their swords,
and in that moment Eveleen had pushed into the _mêlée_ and thrown
herself upon him, shielding his body with her own, so that no blow
could reach him but through her. She tasted the bitterness of death a
dozen times as the raging combatants tried to drag her away, abused
her, threatened her, but the more frantic their efforts, the tighter
she clung. She could hardly believe that they were really abstaining
from injuring her, but when they drew back, baffled and breathing
hard, she realised that she had not a wound, and made use of the
moment’s respite to interlace her fingers under Richard’s shoulders to
give her a better purchase. She gathered from the tones of the
assailants that when they were not cursing her to one another, they
were adjuring her to cease her useless resistance lest she should
share her husband’s fate, but as they spoke in an unknown tongue she
made no attempt to answer. Some of them seemed to give the matter up
at last, and went off, while the rest still stood round, talking
angrily, and she ventured to relax her strained hold for a moment,
wondering now--when the tension was slackened--what she could do when
the enemy laid aside their strange scruple, and really attacked her.
So little would do it--a cut from one of those keen-edged tulwars
would sever a wrist as easily as a finger, and she would be helpless,
and Richard at their mercy.

There were fresh voices on the outskirts of the group. These men might
be less scrupulous, and once more she put forth all her strength in a
blind effort to hold--only to hold--Richard so that he might not be
touched. Even his head was covered by her wet hair, and she had
gathered his arms close to his sides when she clasped him first. He
was as safe as the frail rampart of her body could make him. But to
her immeasurable surprise, the sound that fell on her ears was not
that terrible whistle of the swung tulwar, but a voice--a voice
speaking English--a voice that she knew.

“Miss Evie--it’s never you!” said the voice. “Great heavens, however
did you manage to get here?”

“If it’s you, Tom Carthew,” she returned, in a voice muffled by her
hair, “call your murderous wretches off first, and then we’ll talk, if
you like.”

“But they won’t do you no harm, ma’am, nor the gent neither--though
how you came----”

“Do him no harm--when they have been doing their best to cut him to
pieces? No, go away. I’ll not move while there’s one of them about.”

Some vigorous speaking on Carthew’s part, and the armed men melted
unwillingly away, only to form a fresh hostile circle at a rather
greater distance.

“Now, ma’am, they’re well away from you, if you’ll let me help you up.
Captain Lennox won’t thank you----”

“Captain Lennox! What in the world would I be doing with Captain
Lennox?” with asperity. “Don’t you know Major Ambrose when you see
him?” Eveleen sat up and put back her hair, but refused to rise.

Tom Carthew might have objected with justice that he had been quite
unable to see Richard before, and could only see the back of his head
now, but he was looking helplessly from him to Eveleen. “Is it a
mistake, or have they played a trick on me?” he demanded slowly. “Were
you in the boat that was to be captured by the Codgers, ma’am--off an
island, nearer t’other side of the river than this one?”

“We were captured, indeed--by some horrid treachery that I’ve not been
able to make out yet. Was it your doing, will you tell me? And how is
it”--with sudden recollection--“that you wouldn’t be dead, as we heard
you were?”

“We needn’t go into that, ma’am--though I’ve often wished since that I
was. But that boat----”

But Eveleen would not suffer any evasion. “We heard you were killed
because you refused to fire on us in the Agency--your own people. Was
it true or was it not?”

“Not that I was killed,” sullenly.

“Nor that you refused to fire, then. Tom Carthew, I never expected to
find you a traitor!”

“You wait till you’re promised to have your nose and ears and eyelids
cut off, and be tied down and stuck out in the sun for the ants and
the hornets and the vultures and the pi dogs to finish, Miss Evie! See
if you wouldn’t fire then. And I didn’t go for to fire straight,
neither. You tell me if any soul in the Residency had a finger hurt
through my shooting.”

“No, I believe they did not,” reluctantly. “So you played both sides
false. And since then you have gone from bad to worse--laying plots
against your own old friends.”

“It’s a cheat, I tell you--a nasty trick they’ve played me. I was bid
make a plan for catching Captain Lennox, the General’s nephew, so that
the Khan might hold him for a hostage and bargain with his uncle.”

“And why would you be plotting against poor Captain Lennox--who never
did you any harm?”

“Why but because they can make me do what they like now, just by
threatening to hand me over to the General?”

“I see. Then there’s nothing you’d baulk at now? Indeed and I’m sorry
for you, Tom Carthew!”

“That you may well be, ma’am--but there is something I wouldn’t do,
and these chaps know it. They didn’t dare ask me betray an English
lady into their hands--least of all you. So they choused me with the
tale that it was Captain Lennox they wanted. You believe that?”

“I do, I do; it explains things. But d’ye see now, as you have got us
into this hole, it’s for you to get us out of it. And how will you do
that?”

“Now you’ve beat me, ma’am. Not that there’s anything for _you_ to be
afraid of--in the way of bad treatment, that is----”

“In what way, then? And what about Major Ambrose?”

Carthew hesitated. “I’m afraid--as you’ve had all your trouble for
nothing, Miss Evie.”

“What d’ye mean?” her voice rose to a shriek, and she flung herself on
her husband again. “Bad luck to you, Tom, to be giving me such a
fright! He ain’t dead a bit. I can feel his heart beat.”

“But it might be all the same as if he was, ma’am--better,
perhaps----”

“_Will_ you tell me what you mean? Why would they kill him, if that’s
what y’are driving at? If it’s a hostage they want, sure he’ll do them
every bit as well as Captain Lennox. The General would make no more
consequence of his nephew than he would of any other officer--sure you
know that yourself?”

“It ain’t a hostage he wants at all, I see it now. Think it over for
yourself, ma’am--remembering that blue stone of yours that’s in the
Khan’s hands. He thinks if he hadn’t had it, the General would have
beat him and sent him out of the country with the rest of his family.
It’s done that much good to him, but not near all the good it might
do, because you’ve been contrary wishing it all the time.”

“Sure if that’s all, I’ll wish it--and him--all the good in the world
except to beat the General. Fetch it here, Tom, and you will be
surprised at the good wishes I’ll pour over it and instil into it and
soak it with! Any mortal thing the gentleman can think of to ask for
he shall get, so far as it depends on me, if he’ll only lend us a boat
or some camels to get back to the army and a doctor with. But now be
quick, or I’ll go fast asleep and forget all the benefits I’m longing
to bestow on him!”

Carthew hesitated again. “I take it you wouldn’t be willing to come to
the camp alone?” he asked slowly.

She caught his meaning in an instant. “And leave Major Ambrose here?
Shame on you that you’d even ask me such a question! If he stays here,
I stay; and if I go to the camp or anywhere else, he goes too. And if
anything happens him--well, that blue stone will crack in pieces with
the ill wishes I’ll put on it before they’re done with me. And that’s
all I have to say to you.”

“All right, ma’am; I had to have it from your own lips, you see. Now I
know what to say to these fellows, and to the Khan too. I mean to take
a high tone with him, after his dirty trick, and I think I see a
way---- But don’t hope for too much,” earnestly, “for if anybody ever
was in a hole, you and your good gentleman are--not to speak of me,
that don’t count.”

Eveleen’s usual quickness of mind and speech was deserting her under
the pressure of fatigue, and she could not even find kind words in
which to reassure Carthew. She watched him dully as he went off to the
circle of Arabits, who had been looking on and listening suspiciously
as the colloquy proceeded, and spoke eagerly and confidentially to one
and another. Guessing that the alternative instantly present to their
minds was to rush upon Richard and rid themselves of him as they had
intended, she was ready to protect him again as she had done before,
but she could not bring her mind to bear upon less pressing issues.
The Arabits were not easy to convince, that was evident, and she
wondered whether they were trying to induce Carthew to keep her in
talk or distract her attention in some way while they made an end of
Richard--such a quick and easy thing to do, with so many against one!
But she had confidence, now as heretofore, in the streak of
faithfulness which formed part of the renegade’s weak nature. He might
betray his compatriots as a body, but the friend of his early days,
never! Her confidence was justified. When mind and body were alike
worn out, and she was almost dropping asleep as she sat, he returned
to say that the Arabits consented to carry Richard with them to the
camp, that Kamal-ud-din might have the responsibility of deciding what
was to be done with him. A camel-litter was brought forward--intended
for Eveleen’s own use--and Richard was lifted and laid upon the
cushions. It was the kind of long palanquin called in Persia a
_takhtrawan_, and Eveleen was able to climb in as well, and settle
herself in the place which otherwise would have been Ketty’s. Looking
out anxiously before the blinds were drawn down, she saw the two
servants accommodated--uncomfortably, but safely--behind two
camel-riders, and then the camels which bore the litter rose
grumblingly to their feet in response to the shaking of their
neck-chains of blue beads and tin bells by the drivers, and she had
time to remember that she was wet and cold, horribly hungry and most
incongruously thirsty, and in spite of all, consumed with sleep. But
how easy it would be for the enemy to keep watch upon her through the
semi-transparent grass blinds, and so find an opportunity of striking
at Richard! With infinite difficulty she crawled along the creaking,
swaying box until she could pillow her head upon her husband’s breast,
and then twisted a tress of her hair tightly round one of his buttons,
so that if any attempt was made to reach him, she must be disturbed.
Then at last she was able to resign herself to sleep, and in spite of
her cramped position, the shaking of the _takhtrawan_, the loud voices
outside, and the sun which presently blazed down upon the march, slept
peacefully for hours. She did not wake until the sudden kneeling of
the camels roused her to the knowledge that they had reached the camp,
where she naturally expected to face the man whose fate was perversely
linked with hers by the blue stone. But she found she was fortunate,
for Kamal-ud-din was not there at all. He had hastened back to his
army some distance to the north, and Tamas Sahib, who had so
successfully carried through the capture, was to proceed with his
captives to Umarganj at once. This meant that only the extreme heat of
the day was to be spent in the few small tents which had been left for
their accommodation, and which were like so many ovens on the
shadeless sand. Happily the storm had left the nullahs and hollows of
the neighbourhood well filled, and by means of Abdul Qaiyam, and with
the aid of Tom Carthew, Eveleen requisitioned a _salitah_, the strong
piece of canvas which, roped over all, serves to protect and hold
together the various packages making up a camel’s burden, and this,
dipped in water and hung over the _takhtrawan_, made it much cooler.
Richard remained in the same unconscious state, and a little
rice-water was all they could manage to force down his throat. Abdul
Qaiyam promised that when they halted for the night he would try to
make some broth, and with that Eveleen had to be content. While the
bearer attended to his master, she was thankful to submit her own
dishevelled person to Ketty’s ministrations, for it was torment to
have her hair hanging about her face in the heat. The brushes and
other things the old woman had pocketed--with whatever intention--came
in usefully now, and Eveleen felt that if only Ketty were dumb, she
could be quite fond of her for once. As things were, she was obliged
to pay for her services by listening to her grumbles.

The halt was short enough, and the march that followed a long one, and
so it went on for several days. Afterwards Eveleen thought she must
have been light-headed with fatigue--so confused were her
recollections of those unending rides in the _takhtrawan_, punctuated
by brief periods of blessed repose on firm ground, from which she was
invariably roused the moment she had fallen asleep. Makeshift meals,
cooked in some mysterious way by Abdul Qaiyam and all tasting of sand;
distant glimpses of Carthew, looking anxious and careworn, but
conjuring up a reassuring nod when he found her looking at him;
perpetual grumbling from Ketty, for which there was only too much
excuse and over all the ever-present sense of threatening peril, which
kept her always in a fever of devising expedients to safeguard Richard
and not let him out of her sight--this was the waking history of those
days for Eveleen. She did not know whether to be thankful or alarmed
that Richard should remain in a state of coma, nor whether she ought
to try to rouse him or not. The blow on the head had not fractured the
skull--of so much she and the bearer were able to assure one
another--but whether there was concussion they were not surgeons
enough to know. On the whole, it seemed better to leave the patient
undisturbed--save by the incessant noise and movement going on around
him--and trust that nature might be healing him in her own way.

How long they took to reach Umarganj Eveleen would have found it very
difficult to say. It might have been a week, it might have been
more--or less--before the joyful shouts of the escort announced that
they were within sight of their journey’s end, and she peeped through
a private spy-hole she had discovered and enlarged in the grass blind
to see what the place was like. There was nothing magical and
mysterious about it as there had been about the vanished Sultankot; it
was simply a straggling mud town, dominated by a mud fort. It was
surprising where its builders had managed to get so much mud in such a
dry region, but she supposed they made their bricks in the rainy
season, and piled them up hurriedly on the first fine day, lest they
should all melt into mud again. She noticed that Carthew led the way
round the town, so that they could reach the fort without passing
through more than a small part of it, and that he was evidently
anxious to get in as quickly as possible. The people were largely
defrauded of their spectacle, for only a few were aware of the arrival
in time to rush to their house-tops, where Eveleen heard them
chattering excitedly overhead as the camel-litter went swinging by.
There was some discussion when the gate of the fort was reached,
between Carthew and a stout negro who was waiting there--clearly an
official of some importance--on the subject of the disposal of the
prisoners, as it seemed, and it appeared that Carthew won, for he took
matters into his own hands and bade the camel-drivers follow him,
while his vanquished opponent strolled away with a contemptuous cock
of his nose, as Eveleen called it, which nature had rendered wholly
unnecessary.

The place in which Eveleen found herself, when she had crawled out of
the litter, which was taken from off its camels and carried bodily
inside, was apparently a kind of guard-room, cool enough with its
thick walls and high roof of beaten mud supported on wooden beams, but
open along the whole of one side, where a series of squat blunted
arches led out upon a verandah, which in its turn gave upon what
looked like the court of the guard--to judge by the number of stalwart
Arabits in all stages of dress and equipment who were strolling about
or preparing their food or sitting peacefully on similar verandahs.

“I’ll send some of the slaves in to clean the place up a bit for you,
ma’am,” said Carthew, his look of trouble more pronounced than ever,
“and some stuff to serve for a curtain to the arches. There’s _chiks_
you can let down till it comes, but for any sake don’t you go for to
set a foot beyond ’em. And don’t you have nothing to say to anybody
that comes out of the zenana gate opposite”--he indicated a massive
iron-bound portal, guarded by sentries sitting or lounging about it,
on the other side of the courtyard,--“nor put your lips to any food,
or sherbet, or what not, that may be brought you out of there, on no
account whatever. And I’ll go straight to the Khan--who’s got here
before us, after all--and do what I can to put a little decency into
him, if he kills me for it!”

He spoke so strongly, almost savagely, that Eveleen felt her fears
rising again. “Won’t you tell me now, what is it y’are afraid of?” she
asked timidly, for her.

“If I must, I will, when I come back. I’m leaving two men that I can
trust on your verandah here, and you keep behind the _chiks_, and
never leave your good gentleman for a minute--but that I know you
won’t do. And if I don’t come back, you’ll know that traitor though I
may be--I did my best for you, Miss Evie.”

“Indeed and I know it now, Tom, and I thank you for it with all my
heart, and so would Major Ambrose if he could speak.”

She held out her hand, and he wrung it and went off. Abdul Qaiyam and
one of the guards let down the _chiks_, and in the semi-darkness
Eveleen retired to the litter again, while two half-starved,
furtive-looking youths came in with inadequate brooms and swept the
more obvious dirt from the middle of the floor into the corners. Then
they departed, and there remained the problem of arranging the room,
with the aid of one charpoy, so doubtful in appearance that Eveleen
declined to make use of it, and the cushions from the litter. These
were spread on the _salitah_ on the floor, and Richard laid on
them--across a corner, in which Eveleen determined to fix her abode,
with the litter and the charpoy as flanking defences on either hand.
What Carthew’s vague warnings portended she could not divine, but she
had a horror of being snatched away unawares and leaving Richard
unprotected.

It was some time before Carthew appeared, and then he was accompanied
by men bearing trays of food--each viand occupying the exact middle of
an unnecessarily large tray,--which were received from them with joy
by the bearer, and surveyed with approval even by Ketty. But while the
servants were busy squabbling over the best way of arranging the food,
Carthew was stooping across Richard to speak to Eveleen.

“It was just as you thought, ma’am. My party had orders to kill Major
Ambrose, but on no account to lay a finger on yourself. If it hadn’t
been they were afraid of doin’ harm to you, they’d have killed him a
dozen times over. You saved his life when you threw yourself upon
him.”

“Of course. Why else would I have done it? Well, and what harm will
poor Major Ambrose ever have done to the Khan that he should hate him
so? Why is it at all?”

“Don’t you remember what I told you about that blue stone of yours,
ma’am? They call you the Woman of the Seal, and the Khan thinks he
won’t have his full luck till you two are together again--till you
have the seal and he has you. So--if you’ll excuse me mentioning
it--his notion was to give you back the stone and take you into his
zenana.”

“Sure the poor man little guesses the sort of time he’d have!”

“I’m glad you can take it like this, ma’am!”

The reproving tone sobered Eveleen. “But you can’t mean--it’s too
ridiculous entirely--that a man can propose to himself deliberately to
murder a woman’s husband, and then marry her himself?”

“It’s their way here,” apologetically. “It’s a--a sort of compensation
to the lady, if you understand me?”

“I do not, and you can tell your friend the Khan so.”

“It ain’t my fault, ma’am, believe me. I’m doing my best for
you--honest. I told the Khan you belonged to a particular tribe of
English whose women were uncommonly sought after for wives, on account
of their being so faithful.”

“Indeed, and that’s one way of discouraging him!”

“But I told him they were so wrapped up in their husbands that if the
husband was killed the wife went and died, ma’am.”

“I would--I know I would!” agreed Eveleen. “That was very true, Tom.
And was he convinced?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, ma’am; but I’m sure it made an
impression on him.” The luckless man refrained, naturally enough, from
adding that he had assured Kamal-ud-din the lady’s husband was at the
point of death, and if he were allowed to die in peace, and his wife
to tend him to the last and mourn for him a certain number of days,
the conventions of her tribe would be satisfied, and its daughter free
to marry again. He had a suspicion that Eveleen could hardly be
expected to accept this point of view. “If you’ll remember to keep
that up if he should insist on coming in here----”

“Keep that up? He’ll hear a good deal more than that if he forces
himself upon me! Tell me now--will I starve myself a little, just to
look more like dying?”

“I wouldn’t, ma’am. You may want all your strength any time--there’s
no knowing. Not but what I’ve done all I could to frighten the
Khan--swearing to him that if he lays a finger on you the General will
cut him up into little pieces, and all that. But you can’t tell.”

“I understand. I’ll know what to do.”

“Then good-bye for the present, ma’am. I’ll do my best to get word to
you first if he does think of comin’ this way, but I mayn’t have the
chance.” He went out dolefully, and Eveleen made a face after him.

“Y’are a faithful creature, I believe, but I greatly wish y’were a bit
more cheerful!” she said. “Just when I’d like a little help in keeping
up my spirits----”

Before she could finish the sentence, his face was poked in again.
“Ma’am, he’s comin’ now! For Heaven’s sake, keep cool, and remember
I’m nothing but the interpreter!”

The accents were so full of terror that Eveleen felt her heart sink.
But only for a moment. She stooped over her unconscious husband, and
touched his forehead with infinite tenderness. “Ah, my dear, wouldn’t
I fight for myself if need be? and have I not you to fight for as
well, when you’d be fighting for me if you could? Don’t be afraid now;
your wife is by your side.”

She put her hand for a moment to her waist, to make sure that the
little dagger there was ready in case of need. She and Abdul Qaiyam
had both lost their pistols either in leaving the boat or in the
struggle on the sand, but she had discovered that the old man
possessed a dagger, and demanded it summarily. She had carried it ever
since, safely concealed in the folds of her dressing-gown, and had
trained herself sternly not to betray its presence by letting her
fingers wander in that direction. Now she assured herself it could be
drawn in a flash, and stood waiting. It would look more unconcerned if
she remained seated in the Khan’s presence, but it would be easier to
take her at a disadvantage before she could rise from the ground.

There was a warning cry outside, and then the blind was lifted, and
three men came in--Tom Carthew, the negro who had been waiting at the
gate, and a youth richly dressed and jewelled, with a handsome
effeminate face--not unprepossessing in appearance, but like all his
family bearing the marks of dissipation. Eveleen told herself
triumphantly that he shrank under her gaze of righteous indignation.
She did not realise that in the semi-darkness of the room, her white
figure and wrathful eyes might be alarming. She bowed curtly as he
approached, then her hand flashed out.

“No further, please. Stop there,” and though the hand was empty,
Kamal-ud-din stopped short a yard from the bed, to look down curiously
at Richard’s gaunt form and sharpened features.

“He is certainly very near death,” he muttered to Tom Carthew--much to
the latter’s relief. “Tell the Beebee she has nothing to fear. Her
husband shall die in peace, and be honourably buried.”

Exercising a wide discretion, Carthew gave the first part of the
message only, adding various polite assurances for the sake of
verisimilitude. Eveleen’s stern aspect did not relax.

“Tell him I expected nothing less,” she said, which--giving the Khan’s
well-known magnanimity and benevolence as a reason--Carthew did.

“Tell the Beebee I am about to restore her what should never have been
taken from her,” said Kamal-ud-din--adding, with an unpleasant laugh,
“What one husband steals, another gives back,” and Carthew rejoiced
that his master had chosen to speak in Arabit rather than Persian.
With obvious reluctance to let it out of his grip, the negro produced
the Seal of Solomon, still suspended from its steel chain, and held it
out for Eveleen to take. She made the slightest gesture of rebuke, and
motioned to Abdul Qaiyam, who brought forward one of the trays on
which the food had been sent in, and receiving the pendant, presented
it respectfully to his mistress. For the first time her eyes ceased to
rest coldly on the Khan, evidently to his relief, as she stooped and
laid the Seal on Richard’s breast, passing the chain round his neck.

“I receive the trust as an honour, tell his Highness,” she said to
Carthew, “and I place his treasure in the safest spot known to me. As
long as I live, and Major Ambrose lives, no harm can come to it. If it
is removed or injured, the fault will not be ours.”

“Tell the Beebee she can be at ease,” said Kamal-ud-din, rather
hastily. “No harm can befall her.”

“Tell his Highness I thank him for his promise of protection, and
won’t detain him longer,” said Eveleen, and to her relief as much as
his own, Kamal-ud-din went. She heard no more of him till the next
day, when Carthew came to ask whether she needed anything.

“You did fine yesterday, ma’am!” he said admiringly--“almost
frightened the Khan, one might say.”

“Sure I’m glad ’twas the right thing,” she answered wearily. “’Twas
all I could do not to break down in the middle, and throw myself at
his feet, and cry and entreat him to let us go.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, ma’am. His Highness was all taken aback. He has
gone away to his army quite meek, as you might say. In fact, I have
hopes of his letting you and the Major and your servants go away
quietly when he comes again, but don’t you build too much upon it.”

It was well for Eveleen if she did not, for Carthew was too sanguine.



 CHAPTER XXIII.
 BRIAN TO THE RESCUE.

/Visiting/ his various friends, and hearing all that had happened
since the battle and his wound, Brian passed a pleasant three days at
Khanpur. Nor was his enjoyment sensibly mitigated by the thunderstorm
on his third night there--when he should have been returning to
Qadirabad,--which kept him a prisoner for twenty-four hours more. In
fact, he assured himself comfortably that ’twas a good thing entirely
it had come, since it would show Evie the absurdity of her plan of
getting down to Bab-us-Sahel before the floods began. Another pleasant
idle day, rejoicing in the temporary coolness of the air after the
rain, and he started back with a column returning for supplies and
bringing a few sick to the base hospital. Great was his astonishment,
when he rode up to the Residency in the morning, to find the servants
smoking on the verandah in an undress which made it plain that no
master was at hand. Their astonishment equalled his own, but they were
past-masters in the art of keeping up appearances, and in an
incredibly short space of time hookahs had been huddled out of sight,
_pagris_ donned or properly twisted, and the garments of office
hurried on. The butler, as became his importance, was the first who
was in a position to greet the young Sahib. “Sahib and Beebee done
gone,” was the burden of his reply to every question asked him, and at
last Brian gave up the attempt to obtain further information; and
bidding his own servant get his things in, and see after breakfast and
a bath, rode round to the hospital to question the surgeon. The
surgeon received him with ill-timed jocularity.

“Ha, ha! so your sister has stole a march on you, young man--eh? No
nice lazy time for you this morning--find a boat and set off after
her; that’s about the ticket, ain’t it?”

“If the river is low enough. How in the world would she contrive to
start yesterday?”

“Man alive, not yesterday! They went three evenings ago--two days
after you left.”

“Three evenings ago? But that was before the storm! Will you tell me,
was she mad enough to start down the river with that coming on?”

“They would take shelter somewhere. They would have got a good way,
and it may not have been as bad lower down as it was here.” But the
doctor’s startled face belied his comforting words. “Upon my soul,
Delany, I hope they didn’t come in for it on the open river. The rain
was enough to swamp any boat.”

“And how would it be better if they were cot in a narrow channel--with
the water sweeping over banks and islands and everything? ’Twas a
great storm, I tell you. We have had to go miles and miles round
coming back here--with lakes and rivers where there was dry land on
our way out.”

“Well, don’t I know it was a great storm--with three of the hospital
tents blown away bodily, and the whole staff working all night in the
wet to get the sick under cover? You can see for yourself how the
river has risen--look at the trees there, standing in the water.”
Suddenly realising that he was not very consoling, he changed his
tone. “But it don’t follow it was as bad where they were. They had
good boats and strong crews, and an armed guard, so there were plenty
of hands if help was needed. Old Firozji from the Bazar was going
down, and offered them to share his boat, but they had one to
themselves after all.”

“That’s how my sister managed it, then. I wondered who had I to thank
for helping her play the fool in this style. I wouldn’t envy the
feelings of any man that helped her get away--now.”

“’Suppose you are alluding to me,” said the surgeon gruffly. “Well,
you know your sister as well as I do, and you can tell whether she’s
much inclined to listen to advice that don’t fall in with her wishes.
She was determined to get off, thinking you’d be following
immediately. And I confess, the weather had been so sultry for two or
three days, I never thought of a storm except as a relief--quickly
come and quickly gone, you know. But this one took a whole day to come
up, and lasted proportionately. But then, as I say, it may not have
been as bad where they were. At any rate, we have heard nothing of any
disaster, and you know how quickly the natives get wind of that sort
of thing.”

“But sure they must have been miles and miles away by that time!
Suppose they were wrecked on an uninhabited part of the shore, or one
of those desolate islands in the middle of the river--how would the
news possibly get about? Well, you were right when you said ’twas a
fast boat and an early start for me, for I must be off after ’em at
once. Think of it! Ambrose helpless, and my sister alone with those
blackguards of boatmen--for the old Parsee would be no good,--not to
mention the Codgers on one bank, and Kamal-ud-din’s people anywhere on
t’other.”

“I thought Kamal-ud-din was penned in at Umarganj?”

“Penned in he may have been, but he’s got out of the pen--broke back
somehow to the river again. The General was very anxious about it--and
he would be worse if he knew this. I was greatly displeased when he
bid me escort my sister to Bab-us-Sahel--unless she gave up the
thought of the journey of her own free will--before going back to
duty, but I’m thankful now! Not that the old lad would have been hard
on me for going off after her, but I wouldn’t like to have exceeded my
leave. Can you coax the right boat out of any one for me? If only
there’d be a steamer in just now!”

“Wait a minute. You can’t go rushing off like this. I’ll send a _chit_
to the Marine Superintendent to tell him what you want, and say we’ll
both be round there after breakfast. But before you start off, we’ll
call upon old Firozji’s brothers in the Bazar. They may have had news
from him, and then we shall know it’s all right. Your quad. is
tired--eh? I can lend you a tat--or there’s that little Arab of your
sister’s, just come down by boat from Sahar. Do him good to stretch
his legs gently a bit. She must have forgot the General said he might
come down with the cavalry horses when she went off in such a hurry.”

“We might find out something, I suppose,” said Brian wretchedly, “but
I don’t like losing a moment.”

“Of course we may. And what’s the good of going off without getting
hold of all the information you can? If I thought it was any good, I
should say stay and eat your breakfast quietly, and let me go to the
Bazar, but I know it wouldn’t be.”

“Not a scrap!” agreed Brian, and would barely consent to snatch a
mouthful of breakfast while Bajazet was being saddled and brought
round. As they rode to the Bazar, the surgeon was full of cheerful
anticipations. Of course Mr Firozji would have sent word to his
partners of his safety--he was a fool not to have thought of it
before--the Parsees were well known for their family affection. But
when Mr Firozji’s brother appeared, with many bows and smiles, to
enquire the pleasure of the honourable gentlemen, he had nothing to
tell. Certainly he had not expected any messenger--the boats would
have been far beyond the limits within which the storm was likely to
be dangerous. He was quite sure his brother was safe and well. Had it
been otherwise he would have felt it here, in the heart--slapping an
organ which was well protected by many layers of adipose tissue. He
did not look to hear anything until his brother had reached
Bab-us-Sahel--why should he? And the young Sahib was alarmed about his
sister--feared she might have been wrecked? That was natural, but--if
he might be pardoned the word--foolish. How could she possibly have
journeyed in greater safety than under the care of his brother and the
protection of his guard?

“Would it be a military guard?” asked Brian.

The Parsee was voluble in his disclaimer. No, no; the merchandise on
board the boats was immensely valuable to the poor merchants whose
means of livelihood it was, but of no importance to the Government, so
that a guard could not be asked for. Mr Firozji had hired a
dozen--er--respectable men, well known to him for their courage and
fidelity, and armed them with swords and shields for the journey.

“Not much good against the Codgers’ matchlocks,” remarked Brian, when
they had taken their leave. The surgeon was meditating, and did not
respond for a moment.

“Did it strike you there was anything queer about the business?” he
burst out suddenly. “Think!”

“It struck me the ‘er--respectable men’ would probably be some of our
late opponents. That was all.”

“Then you missed something far more fishy. Why was there no military
guard? It might not have been granted simply to protect Parsee
merchandise, but for an officer and his wife it would have been
forthcoming in a moment. The General would break any man that refused
it. Then why wasn’t it asked for?”

“How would I know? Because my sister refused to wait while the
application was made possibly.”

“Possibly, but why should old Fatty there not have said so? Of course
old Firozji may have thought his kind of guard would come cheaper, and
that Ambrose and his wife would be such valuable prizes for the
Codgers that he himself could slip away unnoticed if there was a
scrimmage. But this is all nonsense. It’s most unlikely there has been
any scrimmage at all.”

“Of course; why would there be?” asked Brian dreamily. “No doubt the
old sinner is sailing happily down the river, congratulating himself
on the money he’s saved. But all the same,” inconsequently, “I’m
certain something has happened. I have a feeling----”

“So have all of us when we are anxious, but ninety-nine times out of a
hundred it all ends in smoke, and we are precious proud afterwards to
think we never had a second’s doubt all along. But tell you what. You
take one of the General’s spies with you--to look out for things
generally and cross-question anybody you may meet. If old Puggy ain’t
out on duty, he’s the man you want. A bullet chipped a bit off his
heel at Mahighar--he was not on the field in the way of business, but
just looking on at the show--and he’s been laid up since. But I know
he is out again, and he’s an uncommonly downy old bird. I’ll hunt him
up while you get your traps together.”

The search was successful, and when Brian and his bearer arrived at
the boat the doctor was there in triumph with an undersized elderly
native of indeterminate features and an expression of guileless
simplicity. It was almost impossible to believe that this was one of
the General’s famous secret agents, of whom he boasted that several
were in each camp of his enemies, and not a few in their very
households, but there was his name to prove it. He possessed a
complicated and sonorous name of his own, but Sir Harry had a short
way with such luxuries. He dubbed the man Puggy [_Pagi_, tracker] as
his tracker _par excellence_, and from such august lips the
undignified appellation was accepted as an honour and flaunted with
pride. Colonel Welborne, whose permission had to be obtained for him
to accompany Brian, was interested in the young man’s journey, and
came down to see them off.

“Hope you’ll find everything all right,” he said, “but in case of
accidents I have given you a sergeant’s guard of sepoys in Hindustani
dress, [mufti] so that you won’t attract undue attention. If the
Codgers take you by surprise, they may come in useful. But look you
here: no fighting--unless you have to extricate yourself from an
ambuscade, that is. If you find your sister is in the hands of the
Codgers--even if she is in the camp which you are outside of, don’t
try to rescue her on your own account. You can’t do it, and it will
only lead to her being killed or carried off into the hills. And if
you get yourself killed, how are we ever to know what has happened to
her? Just let Puggy do the talking and manage things his own way. If
she is in the camp he will find out without their knowing it, and
he’ll bring you off peacefully to go back and rescue her another day.
D’ye understand me?”

“I do,” said Brian reluctantly; “and I’m greatly obliged to you for
sparing him, sir. But listen, now: if I find her marooned on an
island, it’s myself will take the business in hand, and Puggy may go
hang!”

No degree of anxiety could depress Brian’s tongue, though his heart
might be heavy, and the little group of friends on the
landing-stage--at the very foot of the cliff now--praised his
cheerfulness to one another as they sped him on his way with good
wishes. After all, nothing untoward might have happened; he would
catch up his sister and go down with her to Bab-us-Sahel, then return
by land with his guard--since by that time the river was fairly
certain to be impossible for small boats.

The first day and a half of the voyage was unimportant, as was only
natural, since whatever had happened must presumably have happened
lower down. After that, when they had arrived at the stretch of river
which the boats might be supposed to have reached on the night of the
storm, a close watch was kept on the right-hand bank--the scene of the
activities of the Kajias. Boats going down the river would be inclined
to keep more or less to this side, and there was no apparent reason
for crossing to the other, though it also must be searched in the
course of the return voyage if no traces had been found earlier. A
forlorn cluster of shrubs and low trees, rising again out of the water
which had almost submerged them, could tell no tale, for the floods
had washed away all signs of the boatmen’s evening meal on the island
in the shelter of which the boats had been moored. A day after it had
been passed, when Brian was beginning to fear that the whole flotilla
had been swamped without leaving a trace, a trace appeared at last,
though not a cheering one. On a sandy beach, below the flood-mark,
half in and half out of the water, lay a battered boat, its mast and
its cabin gone. Brian saw it first, and his inarticulate shout
summoned the tracker and the soldiers to his side. It seemed to him
ages before his boatmen, poling carefully, brought their craft as near
as it was safe to go, and he could let himself overboard and swim to
the derelict. He did not notice that Puggy lingered to say something
to the havildar in charge of the sepoys before joining him. There was
nothing to show whether the boat was that they sought, save that it
had evidently been fitted up for European use; but though supports and
hooks remained, all the fittings were gone. It might be that the water
had swept it nearly bare, or it might have been systematically
gutted--there was nothing to show which, save a large dark stain on
the deck. Brian bent down to look at this, touched it, and turned
mutely to the tracker for his opinion. As he lifted his head a slight
movement among the bushes fringing the beach attracted his attention,
and he realised that he and his companion were the target for a dozen
or more matchlocks with fierce faces behind them. He was
thunder-struck, but Puggy smiled triumphantly, and Brian saw why. The
seeming peaceful passengers in their own boat had suddenly produced
muskets, and were lining the gunwale in warlike guise. It struck Brian
that if shooting began, they two were infallibly doomed, but the
tracker was so proud of his precaution that he had not the heart to
spoil his pleasure. The moral effect was certainly all that could be
desired, for a wild-looking elderly man, with a red-dyed beard, stood
up in the bushes, and demanded with righteous indignation--

“Why does the Sahib seek to steal what Allah and the river have given
us?”

“Suffer me to answer, Sahib,” said the tracker hurriedly; then to the
chief, “The Sahib seeks news of his sister, who embarked with her
husband before the storm in such a boat as this. Is there word of
her?”

“Nay,” was the reply. “The boat drifted ashore as ye see it--broken
and empty. Of any Sahib or Beebee we know nothing.”

“Nor of whose blood this is on the deck?”

“Nothing. How should we? Water has washed it, sun has dried it, maybe
many times over. There was no dead body on board--that at least we
know.”

“Here is a bullet sticking in the woodwork and another stain of blood.
Are any of your men wounded?”

“Have I not said there was no one on board, dead or alive?” The
chief’s tone betrayed his contempt for the very palpable trap set for
him. “How then could they fire on my men?”

“Yet this bullet belongs to a Farangi pistol, and the Sahib’s guns are
all gone. Here is the rack in which they were placed, ready to his
hand if he desired to shoot at a pelican or a crocodile, after the
manner of sahibs; but it is empty. The guns could not be washed away
and the rack left.”

“Nay, but”--triumphantly--“this Sahib was sick, and his guns were not
set out in the rack. They were----” sudden confusion as he realised
how hopelessly he had given himself away, then a show of violent
indignation to cover it. “They were washed away, I say. Who are you, O
base-born one, to cast doubt upon my words?”

With extraordinary self-command for a native, Puggy ignored the
attempt to lead him aside into personalities--ignored also the chief’s
self-betrayal, and spoke sadly and meekly. “Truly I am nothing--the
meanest of the attendants on the great and rich Sahib here, who seeks
news of his sister. So much wealth would he pour out on any camp that
had received her and shown her kindness that the poorest man in it
would wear silk and kincob thereafter.”

The chief was interested--dangerously interested. His eyes wandered to
the line of sepoys, then to his own men, very visible now in the
bushes in the excitement of listening to what was going on. Clearly he
was calculating whether the greater numbers on his side would
counterbalance the weight of the soldiers’ superior weapons if he made
a sudden dash. The matter was difficult to decide. “I perceive that
this Sahib is one of the Bahadar Jang’s young men--so handsome and
noble of aspect is he,” he temporised. “Is it true that he is also
rich?”

“He could take up the riches of Delhi in one hand,” was the boastful
answer. “And to his wealth he adds a yet more admirable prudence. All
his possessions he confided, before starting on this journey, to a
virtuous friend of his father’s, who has sworn upon the Gospel not to
part with so much as an anna unless the Sahib presents himself to ask
for it in person.”

“There are messages to be sent--letters.”

“The friend is pledged to pay no attention to them. After the lapse of
a certain time, he will employ the riches in building tombs--greater
and more magnificent than the wonder of Agra--to the memory of the
Sahib and his sister, where women desiring sons may come and entreat
the lady’s favour.”

“To my mind it is better to enrich the living than build tombs for the
dead,” said the baffled chief sourly.

“It is the Sahib’s pleasure, and who shall gainsay it? But far more
gladly would he bestow of his wealth on any who could restore to him
his sister living, or even tell him where she may be found.”

“The rain of riches passes over the field of the poverty-stricken, and
leaves on it not a single drop. Since we have nothing to sell that you
and your Sahib desire to buy, leave us our poor wreck that the waters
have brought us, and go your way--unless,” with a fresh gleam of hope
and covetousness, “the wealthy and high-born Sahib will deign to visit
our tents?”

“Nay, he is bent on an errand of life and death. He has no time to
pass the coolness of sherbet over his tongue, nor to exchange sweet
phrases with a host,” was the answer, much to Brian’s disappointment.
He remonstrated vigorously with the tracker when they had left the
derelict--which was far too much damaged for them to think of salving
it--and returned to their own boat. It was quite certain that this
little knot of Kajias knew more than they would tell; what was more
likely than that the passengers from the stranded boat were at hand in
their very camp? Puggy answered patiently and reprovingly.

“Surely the eyes of the presence are blinded by his grief, or he would
see that the Beebee cannot be in this camp. For see the chief, that
son of Iblis with whom we have just spoken--whose meat is covetousness
and his drink extortion--did he not desire to bring the presence
thither, in the hope of falling treacherously upon him and holding him
to ransom? And if the Beebee were there already, would the chief not
show, for a lure to the presence, some writing from her hand, were it
but a scrawl with a blackened stick upon a broken board from the
boat?--or if she were dead, then some jewel from her body, or even a
tress of her hair, that the presence might recognise his truth? But he
brings forward nothing; therefore it is certain she is not there. Yet
he knows more than he pretends, as the presence says.”

“That he does! ’Twas a bad slip when he admitted he knew the Major
Sahib was sick.”

“Was that all the presence noticed? Nay,” as Brian turned and looked
at him, “did he not note the _kurti_ [long coat] worn by the chief,
that it was of rich silk such as the Parsees wear, and that it had
been washed? Or that one of the men who stood up in the bushes had in
his girdle such a knife as the Farangis use at table, with a haft of
ivory nearly as long as the blade? There was more in the boat when it
came ashore than there is now.”

“Then what do you make out?”

“Nay, Sahib, how can I speak with certainty? All I can say is that if
the Beebee was on board, and was saved when the boat ran aground, she
must have been carried away quickly to the hills. But it is not clear
to my mind that she was there at all. It is possible, but I have seen
nothing to prove it.”

“But if not,” cried Brian quickly, “she must have been washed
overboard before the boat came ashore--and that I won’t believe. No;
they have carried her off into the hills, and Heaven only knows what
has happened the poor Major. Sick and helpless--I fear the unfortunate
fellow must have been drowned, and she would be left without a
defender. Good heavens!”

“Let not the presence grieve so sadly. If he will, let him put this
humble one ashore a day’s journey up the river, and he will make his
way in disguise into the hills, to the dwellings of the Kajias, and
sojourn among them until he has made certain either that the Beebee is
there or that she has never been there. Then he will bring word to the
presence.”

“And what will I be doing all that time?” cried Brian. “And what will
be happening her if she has been carried some other way? No, we’ll
make all speed back to Qadirabad, and I’ll get the General to give me
a column strong enough to overawe the Kajias and force the truth out
of ’em. Then we’ll know what we’re doing.”

“As the presence pleases,” said Puggy politely, but offering no
opinion as to the wisdom of Brian’s plan. While they were talking the
boatmen had been poling their vessel out into the stream again, and
now Brian called for the headman, and promised lavish rewards for
every hour gained on the time usually taken up-stream. The men did
their best, but the current was strong and the wind generally in the
wrong direction, and Brian chafed grievously at the slow progress
made. But at last the round tower of Qadirabad came in sight again,
and to his great joy he learned from the first officer he met that the
General had returned from Khanpur and taken up his quarters in the
Fort, Lord Maryport having now definitely appointed him Governor of
Khemistan. But the General, when Brian presented himself, was worried,
even testy.

“You should have let Puggy do as he proposed,” he said sharply. “Send
a column to stir up that wasps’ nest in the hills? Not a bit of it! No
man esteems and admires your sister more than I do, but I can’t
sacrifice the army to her. Here is Kamal-ud-din playing about in every
direction, just beyond my reach. Now he has started a brother--only
just out of the nursery, they say,--and the two young rascals are
kicking up a fine dust between them. All the bad elements in the
country are rallying to ’em, of course--whether they have submitted to
us or not. The thing is beginning to spread to this side of the river,
too--there’s a very pretty plot brewing in Qadirabad itself. I have my
spies, happily, and can stamp it out when I want to, so as long as we
are on the watch, the disaffected may as well be plotting as anything
else--keep ’em out of mischief. But I give you the credit of being
able to see for yourself that this ain’t a time for detaching columns
on private adventures.”

“If you could extend my leave, sir--let me go with Puggy and do what I
could, I mean?”

“And be recognised in no time, and give me another set of murderers to
hunt up and hang? No, my good fellow; when you joined the army it was
to serve her Majesty--not to go off on wild-goose chases after your
own female relatives,--and while I am above ground you’ll do it. It
may not be long. Over and over again of late I have thought I was on
the march. I can walk again now--but still groggy on my pins, as you
see. Incessant labour in this heat is killing to sixty and over, and
no doubt Welborne will give you all the leave you want.”

He turned abruptly to his papers again in a spasm of self-pity, and
Brian could not but capitulate unconditionally. “Don’t,
General--don’t, for Heaven’s sake, be talking like that! What in the
world would we all do without you? Sure Khemistan would be lost, and
the army with it.”

“It’s that already, according to the Bombay papers,” gruffly. “Now
that Bayard’s experienced wisdom is withdrawn, the army is as good as
sacrificed to the incapable old ruffian at its head. Believe me if you
can, Delany, those fellows are making pets of the Khans--calling ’em
‘fallen Princes’ and setting ’em up as saints--and blackguarding me
and my glorious soldiers high and low. Bayard is in it, of course--not
behind it, for he’s a decent chap, though weak, weak as water--but
when the _journalistic gentlemen_ get round him and play upon his
vanity he’ll say anything, and end by believing it himself. The
fellows are positively gloating over Kamal-ud-din and his proceedings,
I tell you. They butter him up as a heaven-taught commander, adored by
his people, the inspirer of a sacred war to expel the invaders, who
have the misfortune to be led by a disreputable old lunatic who threw
away his last chance of success when jealousy induced him to rid
himself of his good genius, Colonel Bayard! They recount my
dispositions and suggest how he ought to meet ’em, and all their
articles are translated and sent up here for the edification of
Kamal-ud-din and his fellow-plotters. But I’ll knock the chap out yet,
no matter who his treacherous backers may be, if only this old carcase
of mine will hold out for one more month!”

“Of course it will, General, and for many years to come! You have
shown me where my duty lies--though it breaks my heart to leave my
sister to all the trouble she may be in. I cannot forget”--half
apologetically--“what she’d be to me as a little child. No mother
could have been more tender--and she only a bit of a girl herself.”

“That only shows you never knew what it means to have a mother. No
tenderness can replace hers, though I am sure your sister did her
best.”

“She did, indeed. And do you tell me now I must leave her out of my
mind entirely? Ah, General, y’have a better heart than that!”

“Who talked about putting her out of your mind, pray? Because I
decline to hand over my troops to you to fritter away on this bank
when every man is wanted on t’other, is there any need to talk like a
fool? Puggy shall go after her, with a free hand and as much cash as
he wants at call. If he finds her he may be able to negotiate for her
ransom, or even help her to escape. That--what-d’ye-call-it?--sheet
with a grating in it--which these women wear”--“_burqa_,” murmured
Brian apologetically--“would disguise anybody first-rate--hide those
tell-tale eyes, and we may find her waiting for us when we get back.
Master Kamal-ud-din thinks he’s going to surround me, but it’s t’other
way about. I am going to surround him, and we march out to-morrow to
do it.”

“March out? Ah, General, not you! To take the field in this heat! We
can’t afford to lose you.”

“Precious little loss, according to the Bombay fellows. Yes, I am
going myself; it is necessary. Why, if they give us the slip now, it
means a ruinous delay, for the river will rise and cut us off from
Qadirabad till the cold weather. Provisions for five months! how could
we carry ’em? and yet without ’em we must perish. This inundation is
the most plaguy unaccountable thing! the old officers here tell me
they have known it complete six weeks before this; when the river rose
after that storm, everybody assured me it was here, yet the water has
gone down again, and I mean to take advantage of it. We have to march
against the enemy from all sides, and then strike hard, and you know
as well as I do that if I ain’t there my concentration will fail, and
some soft-hearted or white-livered chap will let the game out of the
net.”

Brian was to remember the prophecy a week later, when he rode one
morning into the desert camp where the General’s force was sweltering
in such heat as even the natives had rarely known, and the Europeans
had never even dreamt of. He had ridden all night on a self-imposed
mission, and after his strenuous forty miles dropped limply from his
horse more dead than alive. He had accompanied, as the General’s
representative, one of the other columns--that which was detailed to
prevent Kamal-ud-din from breaking away southwards between Umarganj
and the river, and getting down into the Delta, where he might evade
pursuit indefinitely. Colonel Bleackley was one of those officers
whose moral support and aim in life is exact obedience to orders, and
when news came that the river was rising again, his first impulse was
to remember that he had been told on no account to let himself be cut
off by the floods, but to retire upon the main body, and this he
prepared to do. Brian opposed his decision with might and main. The
column marching down from Sahar had turned back Kamal-ud-din’s
brother, Jamal-ud-din, and driven him towards the General, who had
dispersed his force and taken him prisoner. Kamal-ud-din himself, who
had been hurrying to the boy’s support, quailed under the unexpected
blow, and turned back into the desert. By advancing upon Umarganj,
Colonel Bleackley would catch the Khan in a trap, since the only wells
adequate to the needs of a mounted force were on the route he was
following. To retire now would be to destroy the General’s hopes, and
leave Kamal-ud-din free to be a thorn in his side for the future.
After much expostulation, a compromise was agreed upon. Brian might go
and ascertain Sir Harry’s wishes, and until he returned Colonel
Bleackley would hold his ground. Sir Harry’s wishes were expressed in
no uncertain voice.

“Tell the fellow to go on, go on, go on--no matter what’s in his way.
If he is caught by the water, let him get into Umarganj and maintain
himself there, and when Kamal-ud-din is tired of dancing about
outside, he’ll come in and surrender. Heaven only grant he don’t slip
through during this insane halt. What’s the good of our capturing
Jamal-ud-din if t’other one escapes? Nice young villain Jamal-ud-din
is too. Offered to make away with his brother and bring all his chiefs
to submit, if I would let him go, and recognise him as successor. But
that sort of thing don’t go down with me, as he knows now, and I am
sending off one of the Arabits captured with him to find Kamal and
warn him what a dear affectionate brother he’s got. Go and take a rest
now--if you can--while I concoct a despatch, with a dash of pepper in
it, for Bleackley. You’ll find your own tent cooler than this--only
have to simmer there, while we’re boiling alive here.”

There was a reason for this, since Sir Harry, unable to bear the sight
of his beloved Black Prince’s sufferings in the heat outside, had
taken him into his tent, where the charger lay on the ground exhausted
and gasping, and making the place, if possible, hotter than it would
otherwise have been. Brian retired thankfully, with a glance of
commiseration at Stewart, who durst not affront the General’s eyes
with shirt-sleeves, and was suffocating in his scarlet coat. In his
own tent he did as most of the Europeans in the force were doing--lay
down with wet cloths about his head, and bade a servant pour water
over him. The heat lay above him like a heavy pall, impeding his
breath, sucking away his strength, and from the tents near he heard
the repressed groans of men in torment like himself, while every now
and then a horrible stertorous sound--a kind of choking
screech--showed that some sufferer had succumbed to the appalling
oppression. Brian was listlessly counting the seizures within his
hearing, and speculating from which side the next gulp of agony would
come, when he was startled by a suffocating gasp from Sir Harry’s
tent.

“The General or Black Prince?” he asked himself, and staggering to his
feet, caught up his hat and reeled blindly across the few yards of
glaring sand between one semi-darkness and another. Sir Harry lay
prone across the table--a dreadful inarticulate noise coming from his
lips. Brian ran to lift him up, shouting for help as he did so, and in
a moment the camp was in a turmoil. Stewart, who had been sent to find
out something from the Brigade-Major, ran back, surgeons rushed up,
and volunteer helpers crowded to the tent in such numbers that they
had to be summarily dispersed. The General was bled, of course--people
were bled for every thing in those days,--and while he demanded
angrily but drowsily to be let alone and allowed to sleep, cold water
was applied to his head and hot to his feet, and he was vigorously
rubbed and slapped back to consciousness. He was the forty-fourth
victim of the heat that forenoon, and of the forty-three others not
one was alive three hours later.

The next morning he sent for Brian, who found him in bed--if his
narrow charpoy could be called a bed,--looking very ill and haggard
and by no means comfortable--under a dirty sheet which was more like a
tent-cloth. He spoke fast and eagerly.

“You must start--this afternoon. Must get to Bleackley by to-morrow
morning--rest in the worst of the heat. Despatch is ready. Have you a
horse?”

“I rode my sister’s little Bajazet, sir. He carried me well, but ’twas
bad going for him. He’d carry me back, I believe, but I’d be sorry to
kill him--such a game little beast.”

“I won’t have any horse ridden to death. Take Dick Turpin--he’ll carry
you. No more biting and kicking from him for a week or two!” with a
cackling laugh. “You won’t spare yourself, I know. Don’t spare him.”

“I won’t, General. Then I’ll be starting as soon as he can stand the
sun,” said Brian.



 CHAPTER XXIV.
 A SORE STRAIT.

/Tom Carthew/ must have known that Kamal-ud-din had hurried back into
the field in the hope of uniting with his brother’s force before Sir
Harry could intercept it, but he did not tell Eveleen so--possibly
because he was afraid of raising false hopes. He was in a pitiable
state of mind, equally afraid of the Arabits and of the British,
anxious--it would be too much to say determined to save Eveleen and
her husband, but fearing to take any practical step in that direction.
She argued the matter out with him after the Khan’s departure. It was
all very well for him to say that he hoped Kamal-ud-din would be kind
enough to let his captives go free, but it would be much more to the
purpose to help them to escape without putting the youth’s magnanimity
to the test. She was desperate enough to try any expedient Carthew
might suggest, and perhaps it was as well that he declined to think of
any. Even if they accomplished the all but impossible feat of getting
out of the fort and the town unnoticed, the desert ringed them round
as effectually as any wall. What could they do, burdened with a
helpless man? They would need camels and drivers, and even if they had
the means to secure the fidelity of the _sarwans_, they must follow
one of the well-known defined routes on which water was to be found,
and on any of these they were sure sooner or later to meet the
Arabits. When Eveleen persisted, he reduced her to silence by
inferring that she wished to leave her husband behind, as by no other
possibility could she be enabled to escape. It was characteristic of
him that he was not ashamed to use arguments from which a stronger man
would have shrunk. Eveleen felt a certain amount of unwilling
gratitude towards him, for he had undoubtedly served her well, but it
was mingled with no little impatience. He would not do a single
earthly thing because he was afraid of compromising his already shaky
position!

That one, at any rate, of his fears had been justified she learned
very early in her captivity. The brief--almost momentary--coolness of
morning was over, and the long hot hours had begun. In what Eveleen
called their dungeon, she and Ketty were sitting, doing nothing,
because there was nothing to do. With its thick walls and solid roof,
the place was cooler than the tents in the desert, but there could be
no movement of air. Deprived of the contrivances for mitigating the
heat to which she had grown accustomed, and of the exercise she would
have declared essential to her, Eveleen looked as thin and hollow-eyed
as her husband, but restless instead of quiet. The inaction was
horrible to her, and she spent her time in making wild plans of
escape, which she knew were useless. Everything was so dreadfully
complicated by Richard’s helplessness. There he lay, inert as a log,
tended like a baby--the very thing he would most have detested had he
known it--unable either to see, hear, speak, or, as far as they could
tell, feel. Eveleen’s heart yearned over him with a passion of pity as
she thought of his state, for to her active mind nothing could be more
dreadful than continued idleness. It was a relief to hear the bearer’s
voice in the verandah asking admittance, for in another moment she
must have broken into sobs. The old man’s errand was a pleasant
surprise. The ladies of the zenana had heard there was a Farangi lady
in the Fort, and as she had not asked permission to visit them, they
feared she must be in need of suitable raiment, and with a present of
fruit to testify their goodwill, they sent her such things as they
thought she might be wanting.

Such a kindly message would have been welcome at any time, but in
Eveleen’s depressed mood it was a heaven-sent distraction. It was as
though the ladies had divined Carthew’s anxiety, and sent nothing that
could be suspected of conveying poison, and she felt ashamed that he
should have doubted them. The fruit was magnificent, coming not from
sun-baked Khemistan, but from cooler regions across the mountains, and
Eveleen squeezed the juice from some grapes to make a drink for
Richard, and pleased herself with believing that he liked it. Ketty
was examining the other things sent, garments of embroidered silk and
finest muslin, perfumes and unguents in curious little baked earth
pots, and soap--or rather the washing-balls used throughout Khemistan,
the basis of which was a peculiar kind of earth dug near Qadirabad.
When the earth was mixed, as usually happened, with mustard-oil, the
balls did not commend themselves to the fastidious European taste, but
these were prepared in the proper way with oil of roses, and shed
abroad a delightful fragrance. Among the toilet articles her
forethought had provided, Ketty had included only one piece of soap,
so that the sight of this substitute was most welcome. Eveleen sat
turning the different things over and looking at them, and the thought
came into her mind that she was wasting time by not trying to enlist
the support of the ladies during the Khan’s absence. She would
certainly accept the invitation to visit them--though it might be
couched in the language of command.

“I wonder what will the best time be to go and see them?” she mused
aloud. “The Khan’s mother is the head of the establishment, of course.
What are you doing to the Master’s arm, Ketty? Was it a mosquito?”
Ketty grunted that it was done gone, and Eveleen rose and began to try
the effect of the clothes sent her. She could hardly pay the visit in
her much tattered dressing-gown, but neither was she prepared to don
trousers--beautifully as these were fashioned according to native
ideas, very wide above the knee and extremely tight below. There were
two or three tunics of curious shape, but wearable, she thought, and
perhaps she could arrange one of the _chadars_ as some kind of skirt
underneath them. She was pleating and draping and twisting, when
Ketty, with eyes of awful meaning, lifted Richard’s arm again and
showed her a long patch of fiery red from wrist almost to elbow.
Dropping the length of stuff she was holding, Eveleen sprang towards
him, and saw that the skin was burnt as though with some acid.

“Ketty, what have you been doing?” she demanded furiously

“Master no done feel,” was the complacent reply.

“You did do it, you horrible wretch? How dare you? You burned your
master’s arm?”

“Better done burn Master arm than Madam face,” persisted Ketty
stolidly.

“’Twas not! ’Twas worse--far worse! But why would you want to burn
either? Is it mad y’are?”

“Khanum done send wash-ball, done spoil Madam face--no marry Khan,”
explained the handmaid brazenly.

“The wash-balls?” Eveleen picked up one of them and regarded it with
dilated eyes. “You mean if I had used this on my face----? But why
burn your master?”

“Madam done see, done believe.”

“Wouldn’t I have tried it on my own arm if you’d told me? But to go
and torture him when he can’t feel----! Listen what I’ll do with you,
Ketty. I’m going to see the Khanum now, and you’ll go with me and
interpret. But what will we put on the poor arm first? This stuff
looks cooling---- Ah no, I won’t let one of them come within a mile of
him now. Bearer will likely know what to do.”

She summoned Abdul Qaiyam from the verandah, received his advice to
apply a little _ghi_ to the burn, and bade him send word that the
Farangi lady craved leave to wait on their Highnesses; but as he went
out again with disturbed face, she found herself clasped round the
knees by the agonised Ketty, pallid with terror.

“Madam no done scold! No good. No help here. Khanum done kill Madam,
kill Master, kill all.”

“Scold her? and why would I scold her? What good would that do? What
would I scold her about?”

“Wash-balls,” moaned Ketty, drawing back and looking as though she
doubted her mistress’s sanity.

“Oh, _those_! I won’t be saying a word about them, of course. Throw
them away---- No, put them by; I may be glad of them myself yet. Why,
Ketty, you silly old woman, don’t you see I want to put myself right
with the ladies? They are making a horrid mistake about me, and well
they may; and how can they be shown it unless I speak to them myself?”

“Done kill Master,” repeated Ketty miserably.

“If they do, they’ll certainly kill us as well, and then all our
troubles will be over. But they won’t, for I’ll leave the blue stone
round his neck, and Bearer to see that no one touches it. Here, put a
pin in this.”

As an additional security, she fastened her improvised skirt with the
girdle of her dressing-gown, then caught up another _chadar_ and
wrapped it round her head and shoulders, and waited impatiently for
the bearer’s return, while Ketty, abandoning her tragic attitude, took
up once more her familiar strain of grumbling. It seemed an immensely
long time before Abdul Qaiyam returned, for the ladies must have been
astonished by the suddenness of the visit, but at last he came back,
bringing with him one of the negro attendants of the zenana. Under
this man’s protection, after charging the long-suffering bearer with
many injunctions as to his master’s safety, Eveleen crossed the
courtyard--or rather, slipped from one patch of shade to another, and
thus skirted round it, encountering various Arabits who hastily
averted their eyes or took cover within the buildings. Ketty followed,
looking exactly as if she was going to be hanged, so her mistress told
her, and at the zenana door they were admitted by another negro, who
handed them over to a number of old women. These offered perfunctory
salutations in an unknown tongue, scrutinising the visitors greedily
the while, and led them to a large vaulted room partially underground,
where the ladies were passing away the hot hours as best they might.
Eveleen had learnt enough from Ketty’s gossip--though it was difficult
to tell whom she found to gossip with--to know who were the principal
personages before her. There were three young girls--rather meek and
abashed-looking--who sat together as though they found each other’s
company a support. Two of them were wives of Kamal-ud-din, and one was
his brother’s. Then there was Jamal-ud-din’s mother, a lady with a
dissatisfied expression, who sat as near as possible to the chief
place occupied by her superior, the mother of Kamal-ud-din. The Khanum
was the pleasantest-looking person there, with an assured manner which
showed to advantage beside the fidgetiness of her companion. To her,
even as her lips uttered the words of salutation, and without being
invited to approach, Eveleen moved swiftly forward, and dropping on
her knees, laid hold of the Khanum’s silken draperies.

“I seize the Lady’s skirt and claim her protection,” she said in her
best Persian. “Let her spread her mantle over my husband and me.”

Every one looked virtuously shocked that a woman should be so
abandoned as to refer to her husband as such, but apparently the
impropriety furnished a not disagreeable excitement, for the ladies
gathered a little closer and listened eagerly. The Khanum alone
remained unmoved.

“How is this, then?” she asked. “Is not the sick Farangi thy brother,
lady?”

“Not a bit of it!” Eveleen sat back on her heels, still holding the
Khanum’s dress, and felt--without realising the reason--the thrill
that went round as she lifted her eyes to her audience. “My brother is
only a boy. This is my husband, that I’ve followed over land and sea,
after he came back for me when I’d waited twenty years for him.” Ketty
followed as interpreter, but Eveleen began to suspect that her Persian
was about on a par with her English when she saw the blank look on the
ladies’ faces. She did her best, therefore, to repeat what she had
said, and between the two some measure of understanding followed. The
Khanum looked more sympathetic.

“It is told me the Farangi ladies are like the Turki women north of
the mountains, who ride unveiled with their lords--even to war,” she
said, and Eveleen followed the words anxiously and painfully. “But how
is it this Farangi Sahib was not slain?”

“He was sick--not wounded in battle,” explained Eveleen. “I was taking
him to the sea to heal him, for the sea heals all the ills of the
English.”

This was quite comprehensible. “Naturally, since they come up out of
it,” said the Khanum graciously.

“And we were betrayed into the hands of the Khan’s servants and
brought here,” Eveleen ended rather lamely, and the benevolence became
less marked.

“My son does not make war with sick men and with women. Why should ye
have been brought hither?”

“They said----” Eveleen tried hard to put the story of the Seal of
Solomon into manageable Persian, but found the task beyond her powers.
“It was all a piece of foolishness,” she said unhappily.

“What was foolish? the tale of the precious thing--dear to my son and
his whole house--the colour of which has passed into thine eyes? Why
say this now, when by thy malediction upon what should have caused
good fortune, thou hast brought so much evil upon my son and all the
brotherhood?”

“Ah, but it couldn’t really----” Eveleen was beginning, and then
realised that no amount of argument, even if she were equal to it,
would disabuse the ladies’ minds of their belief either in her power
or in that of the stone. “I was angry,” she confessed. “My husband
gave the talisman to the Khan without consulting me.”

“And it was thine own possession?” asked the Khanum, with evident
sympathy.

“My very own--given to me when I was married by the uncle who brought
me up.” There was quite a chorus of sympathy now, but Jamal-ud-din’s
mother struck a jarring note.

“And if it was,” she said querulously, “what better can his Highness,
the son of my sister, do than what he proposes--namely, to restore the
stone and take thee into his zenana, thus uniting thy influence with
the fortunes of his house?”

Eveleen flushed angrily--the ladies watching as if fascinated the red
spreading through the white skin. “We need not speak of that; it is
not the custom of my people,” she said, controlling herself with
difficulty. “Khanum, look----” she raised the heavy masses of hair
from her temples, and showed the streaks of white that were making
their appearance there. “I am old--old enough to be the mother of his
Highness. Let me go with my own lord, whom I love, and who came to
seek me after so many years.”

A little discussion arose. Jamal-ud-din’s mother held to her view of
the case, Kamal-ud-din’s wives--not unnaturally--taking the other,
though timidly and with due deference to their seniors. One of them
thought that as the Farangi woman had a husband already, it was
unnecessary to provide her with another; the other was cynically
inclined, and said that in a world where such a thing as constancy was
hardly to be found, it was a pity to make away with the one man who
had proved himself faithful. The Khanum, listening and pondering, made
it clear at last that she took a wider view of the matter.

“Is it true that by my son’s command, the Farangi Sahib is in no
danger of death for the present?” she asked.

“That was his promise, Khanum.”

“And the gratitude that is his due--hast thou shown that? In return
for the boon of life for thy lord, is good fortune once more to smile
upon my son’s house?”

Eveleen was taken aback. “I wish him--and have wished him--all
possible happiness,” she faltered.

“And success in his war with the English?”

“Nay,” wretchedly; “that I cannot do. Yet have pity, Khanum. Set not
the life of my husband in the scale against”--a happy thought--“that
of my brother.”

“The son of thy mother?” asked one of the girls with interest.

“The son of my mother, lady, and given into my arms by her when she
died.”

Even the Khanum seemed moved. “Thou art indeed in a sore strait!” she
said. “Rise, lady, and return to thy lord. For the present my skirt is
over thee and him. It may be that good fortune will attend my son. If
so, I will entreat him for thee. If not, I will send for thee again,
and we will speak of this.”

It was a sore strait indeed, and Eveleen could hardly see for tears
the _attar_ and _pan_ that were presented to her as she retired, nor
utter the words of farewell. At any other time she would have been
amused by the bearer’s incredulous delight on seeing her return alive
and unharmed, and Ketty’s obvious disgust at the unimportant part she
had been allowed to take in the proceedings, though she returned from
the zenana the richer by a fine new cloth--the gift of the Khanum. She
could not even be amused at herself for totally forgetting alike the
Khanum’s present of clothes and the poisoned soap that accompanied it,
nor at the ladies for ignoring them so completely. She could only tell
herself that she had degraded the English name in vain by her
humiliation, and that the General’s victory, which she was
patriotically sure would come, would certainly be set down as the
result of her malignity.

That she was right in this, at any rate, was proved only too soon,
when she was summoned again to the Khanum after a night of turmoil in
the town, when the shrill wailings of the women penetrated into the
fort and were answered by like cries from the zenana. Sir Harry had
defeated Jamal-ud-din’s force and held the boy prisoner, and
Kamal-ud-din had been too late to rescue his brother. The Arabits in
the courtyard cursed and spat at her as they turned their heads aside,
and in the zenana Jamal-ud-din’s mother, noisy and dishevelled amid a
group of sympathisers--yet not without a certain satisfaction in
finding herself for once the prominent person--met her with bitter
words and angry threats. Was this her gratitude? the ladies demanded
hysterically. Was she so blind as to imagine that now she was in
Kamal-ud-din’s power she could go on working her spells against him,
and yet expect to escape unpunished? With monotonous reiteration the
mourners repeated the question in different words, the only calm
person present being the Khanum, who had consulted propriety by
appearing ceremonially dishevelled, but sat apart from the noisy
group, wearing the peculiar air of detachment which distinguished her.
But she made no attempt to protect Eveleen.

“Go, go!” shrieked Jamal-ud-din’s mother at last, having exhausted her
store of insults--and it was not a small one--“but think not to
escape. Had I my will, thy head and that of the Farangi without would
already be speeding to the camp of the Brother of Satan, whom ye call
Bahadar Jang, to confront him at his table. But ye are
_protected_”--with terrific scorn--“by the son of my sister. Yet take
warning. If one hair falls from the head of my son, no protection of
his Highness will serve thee--or thy lord--from the vengeance of the
women, and these hands”--most realistic claws extended--“will be the
first to tear.”

Eveleen knew well enough what she meant. There were women everywhere
around--not merely the Princesses, in their transparent muslins, and
silks that a single violent movement would tear, but hard-faced old
women, of the race of those whose mission it was to finish up the
wounded in frontier warfare. She had often heard shudderingly of their
horrible methods of torture and mutilation--picking out the wounded
man’s eyes with the long needles used for applying _kohl_ to the
eyelids was one of the mildest,--and the thought of the little dagger
occurred to her again. Not for herself, there would not be time for
both, but for Richard. She looked involuntarily towards the impassive
Khanum, who spoke coldly.

“Go, and we will send for thee again. But bethink thee well ere thou
bring further evil upon this house.”

Returning wretchedly to the dungeon, Eveleen found, with a certain
warming of the heart, Carthew waiting to see her--or rather, shuffling
uneasily about the room, a look of rooted misery on his face. It must
have cost him so much effort to show himself on the side of such
desperately unpopular people, that she hated herself for thinking that
he had come because he feared she would make his allegiance even more
conspicuous by sending for him. The natural contrariety of Eveleen’s
disposition caused her spirits to rise immediately on beholding his
depression, and she greeted him with a very fair imitation of
cheerfulness.

“I’m glad to find you in such good spirits, ma’am,” he said--in a tone
very far from glad.

“And why wouldn’t I be, when the General is well on his way to come
and rescue us?”

Carthew shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish to damp you, ma’am, but I
doubt the General’s ever getting this far.”

“But why? You can’t think he’d leave us in the lurch?”

“Not if he knew it, I’m certain. But how is he to know where you are?”

Eveleen stared at him. “But why not? Where else in the world would we
be than here?”

“But why should he think to find you here? For anything he knows, if
you escaped the storm at all you’re on t’other side of the river.”

“The other side of the river!” she repeated, her eyes dilating. “But
how would we be there?”

“Didn’t I tell you, ma’am”--miserably--“of the plot I made to catch
Captain Lennox for the Khan--when it was you they meant all the time?
I had to lay a false trail to keep the General from sending the Camel
Corps to cut us off between the river and this, and so I did it by
bringing in the Codgers into the business, through that old Parsee
that was with you.”

“The poor little good old man? D’ye tell me he was in it? Sure I’ll
never believe in anybody again!”

“Not in the plot against you, but he was bringing supplies to the Khan
from his aunt--one of Gul Ali Khan’s wives--in Qadirabad. Paying his
army has swallowed up the Khan’s own treasure, pretty near, so he got
word to this old lady, and she promised him jewels to a fairish
amount. Old Firozji was to carry ’em about him, and I gave him all the
directions--how he was to get protection by sailing in a British
officer’s company, and make sure there was no trouble with the Codgers
by engaging some of ’em to guard him. At one of the halts on the
river--he was not to know beforehand which it would be--a messenger
from the Khan would meet him with a certain password, and he would
give up the jewels to him. The rest of the plan we arranged with the
Codgers. They were to capture the boats by surprise, and do what they
liked with ’em, but the old Parsee and the British officer were to be
brought across the river on _mussucks_ and handed over to us. That was
my idea, but you know it was yourself, and no officer, that the Khan
was after. The Codgers had the password, so that old Firozji would
come quiet, and when he had given us the jewels he was to be let go,
so that he could tell the General his boats and everything had been
stolen, and he had escaped with nothing but his life to bring word of
Captain Lennox being prisoner. It was the Codgers made things go
wrong, though why they should have brought you across the river in the
boat I can’t say.”

“I made them--with a pistol,” said Eveleen in a low voice.

“Then it was well you did, ma’am, or you would have come across tied
on to a _mussuck_, and your good gentleman there would never have been
heard of again. But I suppose it was that stirred up the Codgers,
making ’em think they’d been choused somehow. They killed the old
Parsee, anyhow, and collared the jewels themselves, instead of handing
’em over, and then made off, leaving me to find everything had gone
wrong.”

“Well, if y’ask me,” said Eveleen vigorously, “I think it served you
right entirely. Are you not ashamed of yourself, Tom Carthew, to be
plotting this way?”

“Don’t, Miss Evie, don’t! Ain’t we all in the same boat? If I failed
to get the jewels, wasn’t it because somehow or other I got hold of
the Major as well as yourself--and then listened to you and let him be
brought here? And if you ain’t bringing ’em the good luck they looked
for--why, it’s as plain as a pikestaff your thoughts are on the Major,
not the Khan.”

“I would just think so!”

“Well, there you are, you see. If there was ever any chance of the
General getting within twenty miles of this place, do you think the
Major would be there to see it? Why, it’s he keeps you from doing your
duty by them--that’s the way they look at it.”

“But you wouldn’t think--after all this time----?”

“It’s my fault again. I told ’em he was dying, you see--couldn’t live
above a day or two--and I believed it. But he’s alive still.”

“Of course he is! And sometimes--I almost think there seems a little
weeshy bit of difference--a sort of change in his eyes--as if his soul
was trying to find its way back, don’t you know?”

“Miss Evie, don’t--for pity’s sake! The one chance for you is that he
stays as he is. I don’t _think_ the Khan would finish off a man in
that state--I hope he wouldn’t. But if once he saw him beginning to
get better----”

“Y’are a nice old croaker, Tom! Then the General must come quick,
before he gets better--eh? But what did you mean by saying there was
not a great chance of his coming?”

“Why should he? The river is rising again, he dursn’t let himself be
cut off away from his camp, he don’t know of any particular reason for
coming here. He won’t come. He’ll turn back and make for
Qadirabad--you’ll see.”

“I won’t, then! I believe the General will come in time and save us.
Y’ought be ashamed of yourself for trying to make me unhappy about it.
I tell y’ I won’t be miserable--there!” But whether, when she was
again comparatively alone, Eveleen was quite as valiantly positive as
she professed to be, Ketty could have told.

Three days later the blow fell--just the reverse of the last one. The
town rang with rejoicings and blazed with lights. From the zenana came
presents of fruit and sweetmeats, jewels and rich garments, with a
special message from the Khanum herself: “The mother of his Highness
send thanks and greetings to the Farangi lady, who had brought
blessing when to blind eyes she seemed to be bringing a curse.”

It was some time before a diligent quest for information on Ketty’s
part made this cryptic message clear. The reason for the general
rejoicing was soon discovered. The Bahadar Jang was sick unto death.
All his people stricken about the same time were dead already, and he
must soon follow. Depression and disintegration had already set in
among his forces, as was shown by the conduct of the body of troops
detached to cut off the Khan from Umarganj. It had halted for no
reason, and remained passive, and Kamal-ud-din had passed it safely,
and would arrive in an hour or two. This was the news as it was
communicated to the public, but to one or two cronies of his own the
messenger had imparted the further tale of young Jamal-ud-din’s
dishonour--his offer to assassinate his brother to win favour with his
captor,--and this it was that had moved the gratitude of the Khanum.
Now they knew where they were, she said, and her son could guard
himself in future. The capture of the boy, which had seemed such a
disaster, was a blessing in disguise, since it had revealed him in his
true colours. And to this she adhered, though Jamal-ud-din’s mother
stormed and raved and tore her hair as she vowed that the treachery
must have been suggested by the enemy, and that her son had feigned to
assent to it only through fear of death.

Eveleen cared nothing for Jamal-ud-din and his mother and step-mother.
The news of the General’s illness--perhaps death--and Kamal-ud-din’s
return came upon her like a thunderbolt, in nowise lightened by the
knowledge that both events were in all good faith ascribed to her
favourable influence. At last she had tried hard enough--and behold
the result! They would never let her go now that she had so signally
proved her value to them. She had signed Richard’s death-warrant as
surely as though she had set her hand to paper, for though they might
contemptuously decline to take his life, how could he live on in this
state without her tendance? She might escape dishonour herself, thanks
to the little dagger, but how could she save him?

She sprang up wildly at last, and meeting the surprised glance of
Ketty, who had been hugging herself in the complacency natural to the
bearer of appalling tidings, bade her harshly to go out--make
enquiries--bring more news. Ketty was nothing loath. The present
popularity of her mistress shed its lustre over her, and she knew she
would be a welcome guest among the wives of the soldiers in the
courtyard. Out she went, and Eveleen, who had stood rigid with her
hand to her heart, crossed the room again and sank on her knees beside
her husband. Pride was gone now.

“O God,” she sobbed, “it was my fault--all my fault. But that’s the
very reason I need Thy help. I can do nothing, I deserve nothing. I
have ruined myself, but not him----O God, not him! Let him be
saved--whatever happens to me--whatever--_whatever_.”

Exhausted by the vehemence of her entreaty, she knelt in silence,
panting painfully. Then her outstretched hands touched one of
Richard’s, clasped it and let it go, and then in the semi-darkness she
passed them gently over his face--as though for the last time.

“So often I have said I’d die for him, and now I have killed him!” The
words were forced from her, and she broke into a low hopeless sobbing,
with her head on his breast. Was it fancy--madness--or did she really
hear his voice close to her ear, speaking dreamily and as though he
was but half awake?

“What is it? My dear, don’t, pray don’t!”

“Don’t what?” she asked in amazement.

“Don’t cry--so sadly. I can’t--bear it.” He was certainly speaking, in
a drowsy voice like one newly awakened from a long sleep. Eveleen gave
a cry.

“Ambrose, can you hear me? Are y’awake?”

“Gently--hush, pray. I was afraid--of something. It must have
been--this.”

“Is it _afraid_ you were? Will you tell me have you been in your right
senses all this while, when I thought you could hear nothing?”

“I don’t think so,” doubtfully, but the voice was stronger. “There
have been times---- Sometimes I think I must have heard---- Perhaps I
might have waked---- But I heard Carthew say--the one chance for
you---- Something on my mouth--sort of padlock----”

“Then why in the world wouldn’t you break it? D’ye think I’d mind what
happened me if I’d had the chance of hearing you speak? Ambrose, I’d
like to shake you!”

“Pray do--but for Heaven’s sake don’t speak so loud. Not unless we are
out of the wood by this time. Are we? Surely not; or why were you
crying in that--that lamentable way?”

The familiar dry tone brought Eveleen to her senses. She sat back and
looked at him in dismay.

“Indeed, and if you did keep silence because you were afraid of my
foolishness I wouldn’t wonder. I deserve it. To think of my calling
out that way! But Bearer’s outside to warn us if anybody comes near,
and every one’s too busy to care about us just now.”

Richard’s hand came on hers with a sudden heavy pressure. “Listen!” he
murmured.

“Let the exalted magnificence listen to the words of this humble one,”
pleaded the voice of Abdul Qaiyam. “In very deed there is no one
within. The Beebee talks with herself.”

“In such a voice as that? Stand aside, old man. If this is true, I
will ask pardon. Out of the way!”

A hand lifted the grass blind, and Kamal-ud-din stood in the opening,
in his hand the drawn sword with which he had just threatened the old
servant.



 CHAPTER XXV.
 USE AND WONT.

/The/ sun had risen some time, and the waves of heat were rolling up
to the assault of Colonel Bleackley’s camp in the shadeless desert,
but the bored and discontented officers who were lounging about the
mess tent made no move to retire to their own quarters. They had no
spirit even for what jealous civilians called “Arabit-hunting,” the
perpetual diversion of Sir Harry and his circle--which meant recalling
the exploits of this or that comrade in the battles, and how many of
the enemy he had killed. The few words exchanged among them were not
of a character flattering to the commander of their column.

“Shoving his responsibility off upon Delany!” growled Captain Keeling
savagely. “We ought to be in Umarganj now, and should be if he had
done his duty.”

“More just to say Delany shouldered the responsibility of his own
accord,” said the measured tones of Sir Dugald Haigh. “But it ought
not to have been left to him.”

“Well, he’s paid for it, poor chap!” muttered some one else. “Must
have broke down somewhere, or he’d be back by now.”

“Wouldn’t choose to be in Bleackley’s shoes when old Harry talks to
him about this business!” said another cheerfully.

“If the General don’t take it up, I’ll expose him myself!” snarled
Captain Keeling, with the public spirit which so endeared him to his
superiors.

“I believe you, my boy!” cried the rest in chorus, which broke off
into shouts of welcome as an exhausted young man rode a very meek
horse painfully into the space before the tent. With unwonted
discretion, Brian declined to state the result of his mission
otherwise than by nods and winks, but by the way he brandished the
despatch which he insisted he must deliver to Colonel Bleackley
forthwith, the others guessed he had been successful. But while he
waited for his audience he could not resist telling the rest how
uncommonly cool they were here--which was naturally soothing to men
who felt that they were rapidly frizzling away,--and to prove his
words, describing the terrible mortality in the General’s camp. That
Colonel Bleackley heard what was said was clear when he had read the
despatch, though his bearer professed to have awakened him from sleep.

“You are acquainted with the contents of this, I suppose, Captain
Delany?”

“I am, Colonel. The General would likely think it better in case the
despatch got destroyed.”

“Sir Henry was of course unaware when he wrote that my spies report
Umarganj to have been evacuated by the enemy. I doubt whether I am
justified in pushing forward, on the strength of an order dictated in
the state of health you describe. In case of the General’s death I
might incur very grave censure.”

Brian felt Captain Keeling bristling behind him, and anticipated him
hastily. “Believe me, Colonel, if Sir Henry were unhappily to succumb,
he’d rise from his grave to haunt y’ if you did not push forward.”

“You are acquainted with his probable course of action in any
circumstances whatever, apparently.” Colonel Bleackley looked at Brian
without any particular affection. “Better go and rest and get
something to eat. So valuable a person must not come to harm, if I am
to escape the attentions of the General’s ghost.”

Brian went off vowing angrily that he was not going to rest--not he! A
snack of something to eat, and he was good for the day’s work yet.
Besides, it was no use trying to sleep in this heat; he had tried it
at the other camp, and it meant dying before you could wake up--in the
case of other people, he explained hastily in answer to interested
enquiries. But whether it was that the double journey had taken more
out of him than he knew, or that it really was cooler here--owing to
the drier air--than near the river, it is certain that he was fast
asleep when Captain Keeling lifted the flap of his tent and looked in,
and on being addressed merely grunted and went to sleep again.

“Poor beggar! let him sleep. He deserves it,” said Sir Dugald Haigh,
looking over Captain Keeling’s shoulder.

“I know he deserves the best we can give him. That’s why I thought he
ought to come on this reconnaissance.”

“And you’re disappointed because the poor chap ain’t made of cast
steel and whipcord like yourself? After all, he’ll be in at the death,
thanks to Bleackley.”

“Hang Bleackley! I’ll swear I could take the place by a _coup de main_
with my men and your guns--and to be forbidden to approach too near,
or pursue the enemy----”

“Got to engage ’em first--find ’em, too. Well, when you do, the guns
will be up in support, if I have to drag ’em through the sand at my
quad.’s tail.”

“All serene. I count on you.”

Brian’s slumbers that day were disturbed by rolling thunder, which
worried rather than troubled him--it was so persistent. He was never
really awakened, however, and arose at sunset, refreshed but rather
injured, to find to his astonishment that there had been no storm at
all. The thunder of which he had been intermittently conscious was
that of Sir Dugald Haigh’s guns, with the support of which the
Khemistan Horse had attacked a strong Arabit force covering Umarganj
and driven it from its position. Forbidden beforehand to follow up his
victory, Captain Keeling, with murder in his heart, could only send to
inform his superior that the way to the town was now open, and entreat
to be allowed to pursue the retreating foe and cut off Kamal-ud-din’s
retreat. He had not been in the fight--so Captain Keeling had learnt
from the prisoners he had taken,--but he was certainly in the town,
and his capture would end the war at one blow. But Colonel Bleackley
scented stratagems and ambushes, and flatly forbade his subordinate to
do more than bivouac for the night on the ground he had won. The next
day the whole force moved forward majestically--also slowly,--the
Khemistan Horse acting as advanced-guard instead of reconnoitring
ahead of the column. Brian, riding with Captain Keeling, had little
conversation with him, for the Commandant was too much disgusted to
talk. He was quite certain Kamal-ud-din would have seized the
opportunity to make good his escape, and all the work would have to be
done over again. They rode on grumpily in the broiling heat, their
eyes mocked by the most enticing mirage imaginable in the
circumstances. A stately castle rose from the margin of a pellucid
lake, in which its battlemented turrets were faithfully mirrored.
Behind it towered mountains which it could have been sworn were
snow-capped, and on either side were waving palms and green
undergrowth. Both men were well accustomed to deceptions of such a
kind by this time, and were not unduly disappointed when the
delightful prospect faded suddenly, revealing a straggling mass of mud
hovels surrounded by a mud wall and clustering about a mud fort. This
was Umarganj, the goal of their efforts--but a goal without reward, as
Captain Keeling perceived when he handed his telescope to his
companion and pointed out a group of men waiting in the shade of the
gateway facing them.

“Townspeople--on the watch to surrender the place,” he growled.
“Kamal-ud-din and his Arabits have cut their stick, of course.”

“I wonder now was he gone when the spies brought that tale to
Bleackley yesterday?” said Brian.

“Not he. Spread the report in the hope Bleackley would think he was a
day late for the fair and go home. You put a stop to that, happily.
Then my young gentleman leaves the fellows we defeated yesterday to
fight a rearguard action and allow him time to get away, and clears
out comfortably while we have our proper meals and go to bed in nice
time!”

Brian laughed at the savagery of the tone, and they rode on, to be met
by the men they had seen--a number of the notables of the town, whose
protestations of their devotion to the General and the British, and
their delight in surrendering, scarcely carried conviction. They were
a ragged, wild-looking crew, and the place was so miserable and
poverty-stricken that both men were conscious of a mean joy in the
thought that Colonel Bleackley would consider its possession a very
poor return for the long march it had cost. But one of the
ambassadors--possibly reading some depreciation in the faces of the
conquerors--approached them ingratiatingly.

“The Sahib and the Beebee are quite safe, and their servants,” he
said. “And”--with a smirk--“we have a prisoner to hand over who will
rejoice the heart of the Padishah--on whom be the blessing of God!”

“The Sahib and Beebee!” repeated Brian in astonishment. “What Sahib
and Beebee? It can’t possibly be----”

“Not your sister and her husband--how could it be?” demanded Captain
Keeling crushingly. “They are miles away on t’other side of the
river.”

“I don’t know. I did hear at H.Q. that Puggy had come in swearing he
would stake his reputation they had never been on that bank at all,
but he had gone out on another errand, and I had no time to hunt him
up. If it could be----!”

“Who is this Sahib?” snapped Captain Keeling to the man.

“This slave cannot tell his name, Sahib, but he is sick, and his
Beebee enjoys the gift of good fortune.”

“I wouldn’t exactly have thought that!” muttered Brian. “But I must
see--I’ll ride on. Good heavens, if it might be! How in the world
would they get here?”

“You had better wait, unless you want to be chased and put under
arrest. Here comes the great Bleackley to take over the negotiations.
Now for a triumphal entry!”

Quivering with impatience, Brian had to wait while Colonel
Bleackley--through an interpreter--questioned the deputation, and
learned that Kamal-ud-din, with his family and such of his forces as
remained faithful to him, had left the town the night before. Of the
Arabits who declined to follow his fortunes farther, most had gone
their several ways, after plundering where they could, and besides the
townspeople there were left only a few who were tired of fighting, and
the wounded from yesterday’s action. Renewed assurances of the town’s
delight in welcoming the British convinced Colonel Bleackley that no
treachery was to be feared, and he announced his intention of taking
possession of the fort. Led by the Khemistan Horse, the expedition
entered the town and marched through the streets, to be greeted by a
weird apparition as it approached the fort gate. An elderly native--a
down-country Mohammedan from his dress--was dancing wildly on the
battlements and waving his _pagri_ like a streamer. Catching sight of
Brian, he turned the stream of blessings he was pouring on the column
generally into a more personal channel, and Brian recognised his
brother-in-law’s bearer.

“If you’ll believe me, it is them after all!” he cried joyfully. “Come
down, y’old sinner, and show us where your Sahib is.”

Descending with miraculous speed by some unseen staircase, Abdul
Qaiyam appeared in the gateway, his turban neatly rolled as though by
magic, his aspect composed and stately. “The Sahib and the Beebee
await the young Sahib,” he announced in his most important voice.

“Go and find your sister by all means, Delany,” said Colonel
Bleackley, and Brian followed his guide to the courtyard guarding the
zenana door, where Richard lay on his charpoy on the verandah, with
Eveleen beaming proudly at his side, Ketty beside her, and a nervous
figure lurking in the shadows behind.

“Hillo, Delany!” said Richard.

“So here y’are at last, Brian!” cried Eveleen, most unjustly. “No
thanks to you we’re here to meet you!”

“I believe you, ma’am! No thanks to me y’are here at all, but to your
own wicked wayward will. Well, this is a sight for sore eyes! How are
y’, Ambrose? Now tell me all about it, Evie.”

Shaking hands with Richard and kissing Eveleen simultaneously, Brian
settled himself between them. “Now that’s first chop! Give you my word
I never thought I’d have this pleasure. Sit down here, Evie, and tell
me all the story of your perverse doings, and how you managed to crown
’em all by letting yourself be found at Umarganj instead of among the
Codgers.”

Eveleen needed no second invitation to embark on so congenial a theme,
and with Richard putting in a dry word or two here and there in a weak
voice--to serve, as he remarked once, as rocks in the path of the
cataract--her narrative poured forth, with characteristic disdain of
order and chronology, and frequent promises to return later to such
and such a point and explain--the moment for which never came. Still,
having extorted permission to tell her tale in her own way, she did
arrive at last at the evening of Richard’s return to consciousness,
and Kamal-ud-din’s most inopportune appearance on the scene.

“If you’ll believe me, Brian, I was _frightened_”--with the solemnity
needed to carry conviction of so improbable a fact,--“really terribly
frightened. The instant before I was scolding Ambrose for not letting
me know the very moment he had his senses again, and I had plenty more
to say, when there stood that--that _incongruous_ youth, _glooming_ at
us with great angry eyes, and a drawn sword in his hand!”

“And I leave you to guess what your sister did,” said Richard, taking
advantage of her pause for effect.

“Why, I’d say she’d spring up and take her stand nobly in the front of
you, and treat that incongruous youth to the rough side of her
tongue,” said Brian.

“Well, then, I did not!” said Eveleen triumphantly. “You’ll never
guess it. I’m ashamed of myself entirely when I think how I’d ever do
such a thing. I just ducked down behind Ambrose, and cried, and cried,
and cried!”

“Y’old impostor, Evie!” shouted Brian.

“I was _not_. ’Twas all I could do--to think how everything had gone
wrong just as it was getting right. And poor Ambrose lying there
getting soaked with tears, and not a chance of saying a word because
of the noise!”

“As you may imagine, your sister is colouring her narrative a bit,”
supplied Richard. “’Matter of fact, the Khan was as much taken aback
as we were, and began to look most uncommon foolish. It was
unnecessary for me to say anything--even had I had the chance.”

“Do I understand, then, that Evie wept and wept until her tears would
float him out of the place, still looking foolish?” demanded Brian.

“You do not. The Seal of Solomon was still hung round Ambrose’s neck,
and the chain cot my hair as I cried. That reminded me of the thing.”

“It would,” acquiesced Brian gravely.

“And I jumped up, and took it off Ambrose, and held it out to the
youth and said, ‘Ah, take it, take it, and my blessing with it! All
the luck you can have I’ll wish you with all my heart, and if it’s my
poor eyes y’are set on I’ll give them to y’on a plate like St Lucy,
and go groping blind all the rest of my life, but don’t take me away
from Ambrose here!’”

“Precious moving!” remarked Brian. “And I hope Kamal-ud-din was duly
moved?”

“He was not.” Eveleen paused, and Richard filled the gap.

“Unfortunately my wife spoke in English, you see--which is not one of
the Khan’s accomplishments. Otherwise her rash offer might have been
accepted, and you would have found a shocking spectacle to greet you.”

“Ah, you may talk and make a joke of it!” said Eveleen, with
tremendous energy; “but I meant it, and I’d have done it too.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. But how was the sacrifice averted?”

“I ventured to put in my oar,” said Richard. “Seeing the youth look
puzzled and angry, I summoned up my best Persian and laid the
compliments on with a trowel. I told him the terror of his name had
frightened my wife into thinking him capable of things he would never
dream of doing. I blamed myself for giving him the seal when it was
not mine to give, and begged him humbly to hold me responsible. I
pointed out that Mrs Ambrose was now quite willing to surrender it--as
a spontaneous tribute of esteem and admiration. I congratulated myself
on recovering my senses in time to unite my sentiments with hers in
making the gift.”

“Sure you never heard such an oration!” said Eveleen to Brian. “It
flowed on, and gained strength as it flowed--like a river--and I only
understanding a word here and there. And the poor Khan looking more
and more sheepish under the weight of compliments! And the whole thing
no good at all in the end!”

“No, I deny that!” said Richard vigorously. “If it didn’t convince the
young gentleman, I shall always swear it brought him into an amiable
frame of mind.”

“And how would he show that? Up to the present, he don’t seem to have
had much chance, between the two of you.”

“He asked,” said Eveleen with dignity, “was the Beebee willing to give
him the seal of her own free will? _I_ could understand that, and I
nodded my head as fast as I could go.”

“Quite forgetting that y’ought have nodded up instead of down?”
chuckled Brian. “’Tis a scatter-brain y’are, Evie!”

“Well, he knew what I meant, because I held the thing out to him with
my sweetest smile, and he took it, and said to Ambrose his mother had
warned him he’d better accept a gift offered with goodwill than seize
an unwilling wife, and I was so thankful I didn’t interrupt the
proceedings to tell him he’d never have had a wife in me.”

“Sure it’s well he’s a good boy and minds his mamma,” said Brian, his
tone a little puzzled.

“Ah, but that was not all, then. I wondered would you see it. He said
to Ambrose: ‘The Bahadar Jang gave life to me, his enemy, when he sent
to warn me that my brother was seeking to compass my death. In return
I leave him his people, safe and sound.’ Then some more compliments,
and away he went. And that was the last we saw of him--except a cloud
of dust vanishing to the southward yesterday evening. But who’s this
coming in--Europeans?”

“The great Bleackley coming to pay his respects to the rescued lady,
no doubt. And Keeling--you know him. Why, my dear girl, what’s the
matter?” for Eveleen had sprung up in terror.

“It’s Tom. I ought have told you before. I was coming to it. But
they’ll likely not notice.” She shook an agitated finger at the figure
in the background. “Just pretend he ain’t there, Brian.”

But evidently Colonel Bleackley was better informed than she hoped,
for when he had greeted her and Richard and congratulated them on
their escape and demanded a full account of their adventures later on,
he said blandly--

“You have that renegade Thomas here, I understand. Like the fellow’s
impudence to take refuge with you. Wonder he ain’t ashamed to show his
face. The man who trained the Khans’ artillery and fired on the
Residency, I mean.”

“But sure he has saved our lives again and again. He’s only here now
because he came back to save us when he might have escaped,” urged
Eveleen hotly. “Ah, now, Colonel Bleackley, let the poor fellow go!”

But Colonel Bleackley shook his head. “Impossible, my dear madam,
impossible! How could I answer to the General for such a piece of
folly? He will wish to deal with the fellow himself, I am certain, and
make an example of him.”

“Don’t you trouble yourself, Miss Evie,” said Carthew, coming forward
in his shuffling way. “It was bound to come. I’ve never done anybody
much credit yet, but I’m glad it’s through helpin’ you and the Major
that I’ve got caught. Leave it at that.”

But nothing was farther from Eveleen’s intentions, and the moment
Colonel Bleackley was gone--Carthew having been removed in custody
earlier--she attacked her brother again on the subject.

“He must be let go, Brian--you must give the General no peace till he
pardons him. He had actually escaped--he went away with the Khan,
leaving us, as he thought, perfectly safe. Then one of the servants
let out that the younger Khanum--Jamal-ud-din’s mother--had left word
with the town authorities, and bribed them, to kill us and make out
we’d never been here at all, and poor Tom came riding back post-haste
to warn us. We were quite quiet and happy, not keeping any watch or
anything, but he got us into the tower beside the gateway, where there
was a little bit of a room with a tiny door, and there we stayed all
night--fearfully hot. The townspeople came prowling round the empty
courts and places, but Tom cocked his pistols very loud when they came
near us, and they were frightened. They must have thought you were not
coming to the city when you didn’t advance yesterday, for this morning
they sent word that ’twas all right, we were quite safe, for you were
coming, and when we sent Bearer up to the top of the gate to look, he
called out that ’twas so, and he danced for joy! But when poor Tom
tried to go away again the way the Khan had gone, the people stopped
him and wouldn’t let him go, and he came back here. We must save him,
or we’ll be disgraced for ever. Ambrose feels just precisely as I do
about it.”

“Well, my dear, I think if Carthew could make up his mind to face a
trial----”

“But he can’t--you know he can’t. It ain’t his fault if he was born a
coward, and if it is, we have reason to be tender to his faults if any
one has. If you won’t help him escape, I will.”

“I will,” said Brian; “but I won’t be melodramatic about it. I’ll just
get hold of the General.”

And get hold of the General he did--when the expedition retraced its
steps to the riverside camp,--riding ahead to bear the news of all
that had happened. Officers and men streamed out joyously to welcome
Eveleen and her husband--Colonel Bleackley thought it was to welcome
him, and smiled on them graciously,--and Sir Harry himself rode out on
Black Prince, looking old and shaky, with his worn blue coat hanging
loose upon him, but his face wreathed with smiles.

“I was never so delighted in my life!” he cried, as he shook hands
vigorously with the rescued ones. “It has been touch and go with me,
but I began to mend when I heard Haigh’s guns in the
distance--showing, as I hoped, that Kamal-ud-din had been brought to
action, and now the sight of Mrs Ambrose has wrought a complete cure!
No time to waste if we are to leave that plague-spot in time to get
across the river, but at least we can frizzle through the rest of the
hot weather in the shade at Qadirabad, instead of out in the desert.”

“Y’ought take a little rest at Bab-us-Sahel yourself, Sir Harry,” said
Eveleen. “’Twould do you great good.”

“Well, well, all in good time. Lord Maryport has been kind enough to
bid me build a house there and do my work in a better climate than
Qadirabad. You and Ambrose may go down by road now in safety if you
choose, for the King of the Codgers has thrown up his hand. Vowed to
Doveton at Bab-us-Sahel that he would never come in to make his
submission with less than seven hundred retainers at his back, the old
rascal! but I sent him word he was to present himself in Qadirabad
without a follower of any sort, and he’s coming! So you may go when
you like--but with an escort this time, if you please, ma’am----”
Eveleen had the grace to look ashamed. “Keeping us all on the rack
with anxiety on your behalf--as if the hot weather wasn’t trying
enough by itself,--and taking up the services of my whole espionage to
find you, without even letting ’em have the satisfaction of doing it!
It’s to that brother of yours you owe it that you’re here, do you know
that?”

“I do, Sir Harry, I do. Knowing him yourself, would you say he was one
to hide his trumpet under a bushel?”

Sir Harry considered the metaphor gravely. “Perhaps not,
ma’am--perhaps not. But I owe him not a little gratitude for schooling
that fighting brute Dick Turpin for me. The beast is a reformed
character nowadays, by the look of him. I shall hear of it from the
Bombay papers, no doubt--a regular shout of execration of the wicked
officer who all but killed his horse. Or they’ll go a step farther,
and say he did kill him. Why not? paper and ink are cheap, and truth
is precious dear. Some day I shall see it set forth solemnly in print
that I eat an Arabit baby for my breakfast every morning, and insist
upon having ’em fat--ever since the mild and restraining influence of
the accomplished Colonel Bayard was so unfortunately withdrawn!”

He spoke in jest, but as though with prevision of the paper warfare
that was to embitter the remainder of his life. The Flag might fly
from the round tower of Qadirabad, and in the cool chambers where the
Khans had passed their time drowsily in drugged slumber their
supplanter might work ten, twelve, eighteen hours a day upon plans for
the sanitary, economic, moral betterment of Khemistan. But the flow of
poisoned comment from Bombay was to know no rest, and the famous
Bayard-Lennox controversy, which raged unabated throughout both men’s
lives, and still divides historians, was to leave the home authorities
doubtful whether the annexation of Khemistan had not after all been a
piece of high-handed rascality perpetrated by the General on his own
authority, and to rob him and his force of their well-deserved
honours. Sir Harry could not see as far as this, however.

“But I’ll do something for your brother myself,” he added
mysteriously. “He shall go down to Bombay in September with my nephew
Fred, and help him bring back my wife and girls. That’s a task to his
mind--eh? Don’t you tell him, ma’am--let it come as a surprise.
Where’s the fellow gone?”

“Here he is,” said Eveleen, rather nervously, for Brian had rejoined
them in company with a sallow man in native dress, who seemed to shun
the curious glances thrown at him. “And this is the person who saved
our lives, Sir Harry.”

The General looked searchingly at the renegade, then spoke briskly.
“An American, I understand, Mr Thomas?”

It was the chance of escape, and Eveleen breathed again. But for once
Carthew held up his head and squared his shoulders. “No, General; I
can’t deny my country even to save my life. I am an Englishman.”

“Nothing to boast of in your case, I fear. I am sorry to see you here.
At Qadirabad I shall be compelled to place you under strict arrest,
pending an enquiry into your case--at Qadirabad, do you understand?”

If Carthew did not understand, Brian and Eveleen did, and the next
morning the two, going out for an early ride, halted near a tent on
the outskirts of the camp, mysteriously left unguarded. Brian led a
spare horse with well-filled saddle-bags, and when they rode on again
this horse had a rider. Out of sight of the camp, on the southward
route leading eventually to Kamal-ud-din’s refuge in the Delta, the
three halted.

“Tom, you wouldn’t come back even now and face it?” asked Eveleen
anxiously. “The General would see you had a fair trial, and we would
all bear witness----”

“I can’t, Miss Evie.” Carthew’s habitual stoop and shifty manner had
returned. “I can’t face it. I’m shamed enough. The private soldiers
point their thumbs at me. They all know who I am--the chap that fired
on his own people. No, thankin’ you kindly, I’ll go where everybody
else is as bad as me.”

“God bless you, Tom--even there--wherever you go!” and Eveleen and
Brian shook hands with him, and watched him ride away in the cool
light of the dawn.

 * * * * * * * *

“I’m greatly pleased you have seen my sister--really made her
acquaintance, I mean.” Brian spoke with an anxiety which was a little
comic in view of the extreme youth of the lady he was addressing. Miss
Sally Lennox resembled her father too strongly to be called
good-looking, and Brian was the only person ever likely to claim that
the famous eagle-beak was an ornament to a feminine face. She was very
quiet in manner, even demure--an epithet which was not one of reproach
in those days. Brian and she were sitting on the steps leading to the
ramparts above the General’s house in the Fort, with the charitable
purpose of shielding the retreat of her elder sister and Captain
Stewart to the battlements overhead, where they were enjoying sweet
communion, all unconscious that Sir Harry was demanding his senior
aide-de-camp, and Lady Lennox looking for her step-daughter.

“Yes, Mamma gave me permission to spend the day with her. Papa was so
kind as to ask her for me.” Miss Sally was invariably proper to the
point of primness in her intercourse with her stepmother, which may
have accounted for some of the wisdom with which her father credited
her.

“And you saw a good deal of her? And--and did you get on?”

The amusement in Sally’s smile was not unmixed with gentle contempt.
She not to “get on” with any woman living--or to confess it if she did
not! “Oh, I assure you we got on delightfully. Mrs Ambrose was good
enough to describe all her adventures to me. How charmingly she
talks--so original and vivacious, ain’t she?”

“And did you see Ambrose at all?”

“He came in while I was there. I thought him a very agreeable,
gentlemanly person. I adore that dry cool manner.” The merest glint of
an upward glance through long eyelashes to observe how Brian received
this, which was naturally not with enthusiasm.

“He’s a good fellow, of course. I wonder now--d’ye remember my telling
y’at Poonah I was troubled about my sister and Ambrose?--that they
didn’t seem quite to hit it off together.”

“I remember it perfectly.” Again the smile. As though any information
was ever forgotten that had once been stored away beneath the smooth
bands of hair on that knowing little head!

“Well, now, did you notice anything of the kind--that he did not
appreciate her as he ought?”

“No, indeed. I thought them a most congenial couple.”

“Well, there y’are now! That was the very last thing I’d have said of
’em. Was it just my fancy after all? Wait now and I’ll tell you. When
I was on my way here with the General first of all, I heard a man in
the Club at Bombay telling a story of another man who went home at the
same time he did, to marry a lady he’d got engaged to years and years
before. This man was at a ball one night, and the second man came into
the supper-room looking like a ghost, and poured himself out a glass
of brandy neat. ‘What’s the matter?’ says the first fellow. ‘She’s
old--she’s old!’ he says--‘and she was the loveliest girl in the three
kingdoms.’ ‘But sure y’have seen her before to-night?’ says t’other.
‘Times and times, but always in the open, and on her horse. ’Tis a
picture she is then, as she always was. But to-night, dressed up among
all the girls----! And I have come eight thousand miles to marry her!’
‘And did he marry her?’ asks one of the men that were listening. ‘Of
course,’ says the fellow--‘’tis the sort he is,’ and that was all. I
was not saying anything, naturally, but I made some enquiries
afterwards in a careless sort of way, and found the man that had
spoken was in Ireland about the time my sister was married. Tell me
now, what d’ye think?”

This time Sally’s smile was very pleasant--almost compassionate. “Let
me tell you what I noticed,” she said. “Your sister and I were
together in her room when Major Ambrose came in from office. Your
sister rose to go and meet him, but remembered me and sat down again,
though I begged her not to make a stranger of me. Then he came and
looked round the curtain. ‘Er--I wanted just to know where you were,
my dear,’ he said. Now where should she be but there? It was not
necessary for him to come. He came because he wished to see her.”

“And you gather from that----?”

“Pray what would _you_ gather?”

“It sounds all right, don’t it? Well, that’s consoling, indeed. But
will you tell me, was it all right the whole time or not? Was I just
imagining things?”

“How can I tell? And”--demurely--“do you think we ought to discuss
other people’s affairs in this way?”

“But sure it’s my own sister, and for my own consolation. She was a
pretty good age, of course--bound to be after all those years. It’s
t’other way about with me, don’t you know? The girl I’ll marry will be
nothing but a babe in arms compared with me.” From some idea of the
reverence due to youth, Brian was wont to conduct his wooing in this
impersonal style, which was seen through by the lady with the greatest
ease.

“Never mind!” she said kindly. “I am sure she will cherish the utmost
regard for you.”

“But I’ll be double her age! I’ll be a he-hag!”

“It sounds rather like an ass,” murmured Sally. “Donkey” was a slang
word then--as “moke” is now, and impossible on the lips of Lady
Lennox’s step-daughter.

“Then it sounds like what I am! But will it be that all poor Evie did
for her husband--when she saved his life, don’t you know,--will that
have turned his heart to her again?”

“How sentimental we are becoming!” lightly. “No, I think not. Efforts
of that kind might prove her own affection for her husband, but could
hardly awaken his if it were dead.”

“Then will you tell me what it was that did, O wise young judge?”

“How can I say for certain? I can only suggest that Major Ambrose is
convinced by this time that his wife is one of the happy people who
never grow old----”

“He is that, indeed. Have I not heard him myself times without number
cast it at her that she would never grow _up_?”

“I had not quite finished.--And perhaps he finds himself prizing,
because they are hers, even those features in her character which he
used to resent.”

“Cannot do without her--eh? But sure that’s a consequence, and I’m
asking you for a cause, a reason, an explanation!”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can give you,” meekly.

“‘My wise little Sally!’” murmured Brian.

“That is a quotation--from Papa, ain’t it?” reprovingly.

“Quite so. But”--audaciously--“it’s a quotation which I trust one day
to make my own!”

 THE END.



 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.

This book is part of the author’s “Modern East” series. The full
series, in order, being:

 The Flag of the Adventurer
 Two Strong Men
 The Advanced-Guard
 His Excellency’s English Governess
 Peace With Honour
 The Warden of the Marches

Alterations to the text:

A few minor punctuation corrections.

Note: minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies have been left
as is.

[Title Page]

Add illustrator’s credit and brief note indicating this novel’s
position in the series. See above.

[Footnotes]

Place footnotes in square brackets inline with the text.

[Chapter I]

Change “Shahbaz Khan, and his son, _Karimdad_” to _Karimdâd_. (Keeping
this character’s name consistent.)

[Chapter V]

“Have it your own way, my dear, You have your…” change the second
comma to a period.

[Chapter XIII]

“stopping the _daks_ and attacking our boats” to _dâks_. (Keeping
this foreign word consistent.)

[Chapter XV]

“gun was heard in front, then a regular _fusilade_” to _fusillade_.

[Chapter XVI]

“there was no _respose_ to the dismay in Colonel Bayard’s” to
_response_.

[Chapter XXII]

“because you’ve been _contrairy_ wishing it” to _contrary_.

[End of Text]





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